Remedy is None by William McIlvanney

a sudden familiar hollow feeling just how loosely she was anchored to her present life even after all this time. It only took one of these distant supercilious moods of Peter’s to make her sense of security break its moorings and cast her adrift.
    ‘It took me some time to realize what was missing in all therooms. Then it eventually got through to me. Fires. There wasn’t a fireplace in any of the houses we saw.’
    ‘That would suit Raymond,’ Eleanor said. ‘He hasn’t quite mastered the art of getting one started yet. He uses newspapers, firelighters, and enough sticks for a Guy Fawkes bonfire. And he’s still down on his knees blowing like a bellows.’
    ‘How would you know about that?’ Raymond spoke in the same pseudo-jocular tone that Eleanor was using. ‘You’re never out your bed till it’s roaring up the chimney.’
    ‘Well, it gives me an excuse for having a long lie.’
    ‘You don’t need any excuse for that. Talking of fires, though. Have you heard the one about the minister with the four sons? I heard it in the office yesterday.’
    ‘All right, I’ll buy it,’ Peter said.
    ‘Minister has four sons. David, Peter, Paul and James. Are you sure you haven’t heard it now?’
    ‘Let’s all get down on our knees and plead with him,’ Eleanor exclaimed brightly.
    ‘No, but I hate getting told half-way through a joke that you’ve heard it. Or getting the punch-line stolen. Anyway. This minister has four sons. David, Peter, James and Paul. Three good ones. Follow in his footsteps. Become ministers. One prodigal. James. A right tearaway. Wine, women and song. Well, at breakfast this morning, the minister’s down first. So he’s standing in front of the fire. Warming his chorus and verse. Peter comes down next. “Good morning, Peter.” “Good morning, Father.” So Peter joins him, standing by the fire. Next one down is Paul. “Good morning, Paul.” “Good morning, Father.” And he joins the other two at the fire. That’s three ministers standing in front of the fire. Right? The next one to come is the fourth minister. James. So –’
    ‘James!’ Eleanor struck like a cobra. ‘You said James was the bad one. The black sheep.’
    ‘Black sheep?’ Raymond sparred for time, trying to gather his thoughts. ‘Who the hell mentioned sheep? James. That’s the third son that’s a minister.’
    ‘No. That’s not what you said.’ Eleanor mounted righteousness and went into battle. ‘You said James was the womanizer. I can remember exactly what you said, Smart Alec. You said the three sons who were ministers were Peter and Paul and . . .’ she said, and slid indecorously from the saddle.
    Raymond let her squirm in silence for a moment before he went on with devastating contempt, ‘Thank you, Lesley Welsh. The Memory Woman. Well. As I was saying . . .
    ‘So the father says, “Good morning, James.” “Good morning, Father. Good morning, Peter. Good morning, David.” ’
    ‘David?’ Eleanor asked the ceiling, as if appealing for Jove’s thunderbolt of justice.
    ‘ David! ’ Raymond ground out the name on a mill-wheel of determination that crushed all opposition, ‘ “Good morning, David .” So that’s the four ministers standing in front of the fire. They’re all standing there. The four of them. In a line.’ Raymond was playing for time, obviously rattled. His eyes had a hunted look. But he had to go on. ‘They’re all there. When Andrew comes in. “Good ’
    ‘God!’ Eleanor exchanged martyrdom for denunciation. ‘Andrew! Are you sure it wasn’t Bathsheba? Or Uriah? Uriah the Heep.’
    ‘Look!’ Raymond threw words at her blindly, like stones from the rubble of his thoughts. ‘Damnit. To hell. Who’s telling the joke? What difference does it make? I’ll call him what the hell I like. Admiral bloody Nelson if it suits me.’
    ‘Fine, fine, that’s right,’ Eleanor soothed, like a nurse dealing with a fractious mental patient, rubbing him very gently the