A/N: Hey, guys! This will only be a short two or three part story, based around a proverb I was taught by a friend whilst living in Portree. I hope it makes sense!
It's set between series four and series five, just a couple of weeks after it comes to light that Sandra's dad committed suicide.
Sarah x
Sandra sat in the office, stuck doing the paperwork for the case they had just solved. It had been complicated, to say the least, for the old woman who had been the key had dementia, and therefore lost all knowledge of the English language and only spoke in her first language: Gaelic. Scottish Gaelic. It made Sandra feel slightly guilty, but it had been frustrating, not to be able to understand her. Even Brian had very little knowledge of the language.
The woman's daughter spoke Gaelic, of course, but Sandra didn't trust her not to twist the translations – she didn't seem impartial. And Sandra had been right; it was the daughter, Eilidh, who murdered her father not long after they all moved to London in 1999, when she was nineteen.
In the end, they had been forced to pull a Gaelic-speaking PC from the Western Isles police force. A young woman of twenty-one, sent to translate for them; it turned out that the Met didn't have a translator for Gaelic. German, French, Thai, Arabic, Mandarin, Japanese, not a problem...but a native language of Britain? No way. Who needs a Gaelic-speaking officer in London?
After they had arrested Eilidh, the mother had been very upset. The PC, Catrìona, had managed to calm the elderly woman down, and it wasn't long before Catrìona was smiling with her, whatever they talked about. Catrìona said the woman asked to go back to her native Raasay, or nearby Skye, for she had nothing left for her in London, and her daughter could no longer look after her. So Catrìona obliged, asking Sandra to help her set the process in motion. To be honest, the woman would be better off back on one of the islands, where her culture and first language were still very much ingrained.
But Iseabail, the old woman, had looked directly at Sandra, and then to Gerry, and said something. In front of the others, Catrìona had refused to translate, and it had annoyed Sandra. However, she never got the chance to frighten it out of the girl, because the others had been listening.
Sandra startled slightly when there was a knock on her door; she had been lost in thought, away from the world currently surrounding her. It was Catrìona, her long black hair taken out of its bun now that she was finished for the day. She looked almost Hispanic, but apparently that was fairly common in the Western Isles. "I just came down to say goodbye, Superintendent," she smiled. "I caught Gerry, Jack and Brian on their way out. They're insisting I join them in the pub."
"Typical," Sandra chuckled slightly. "You'd better go, or I'll never hear the end of it."
"I will," she grinned. Catrìona had a very thick Scottish accent, but not that stereotypical Glaswegian kind. It was almost as impossible to understand sometimes, but it came from a lifetime of Gaelic-medium education in Stronoway. "Aren't you going to ask?" Catrìona added.
Sandra looked down at the papers on her desk, almost embarrassed to admit she was very curious about what had been said about her and Gerry. It almost felt like she was invading on another culture to ask. "What did Iseabail say about me and Gerry?" she relented.
"Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal," Catrìona said.
"I heard that bit," returned Sandra. "But I don't have the first clue what it means."
"It means," began Catrìona, "Three that come unbidden – love, jealousy and fear."
Whatever Sandra expected, it wasn't that. Talk about speaking in riddles. "And that was said, why?"
"It's an old Gaelic proverb," was all Catrìona explained about the phrase's meaning. "Iseabail was looking only at you and Gerry when she said it. In my experience, elderly women have some wisdom, dementia or no dementia."
Sandra smiled to herself when she really thought about it. "Love, jealousy and fear are what keep the two of us alive."
Catrìona grinned at her. "Come out with us. Give me a proper big city send off. God knows Stornoway's the biggest place I'm going to see for a while after this."
"Oh, alright," Sandra smiled. "I can do this on Monday, I guess." Catrìona smiled as Sandra got up and put her coat on. "I'd ask you to teach me how to say that proverb, but I don't feel like providing a free comedy show," she quipped, switching the lights off. Catrìona burst out laughing, linking her arm with Sandra's. There was something comforting about Catrìona, and her smiley ways and warm demeanour. She was nothing like Sandra, even when Sandra had been twenty-one, but that was probably a good thing. For Catrìona, at least. She was sunny.
Sandra smiled to herself, wondering exactly what Catrìona was thinking of. Was she thinking about Gerry as much as Sandra had been today? Gerry had not been on great form once they realised who was the murderer – he did not do well with daughters who despised their fathers, and vice versa, as the case happened to be. He just couldn't get his head around it, and Sandra understood that. But, Christ, his mood was irritating.
Three that come unbidden – love, jealousy and fear.
Love, jealousy and fear.
Love.
Jealousy.
Fear.
Three that come unbidden.
The words chased one another in Sandra's stretched and tired mind. Oh, why did that have to be said when she was so exhausted that she didn't even want to think about it. About Gerry. About herself. About anything, really.
The women met the three men in the pub, and Gerry instantly offered to buy the first round. Catrìona and Sandra sat together, opposite Gerry and Jack, while Brian sat on the edge of the corner bench. When Gerry sat back down, Sandra felt compelled to stare him in the eyes and try and find within him what he felt for her. He looked at her with all three of those things Iseabail had worded. Gaol, eud is eagal. Love, jealousy and fear. Only now did she see it clearly.
She'd never considered jealousy in him before, but now she thought on it, he had been pretty unenthusiastic about any man Sandra went near, even if it was with a ten foot barge pole. Never had she entertained that idea.
She had never really considered that he might love her in any way, either, but now she had to doubt the conclusions of her own ignorance. He had been fiercely protective of her on a few occasions, but she had let herself assume that he only protected her because he thought she was weak. But he didn't think that at all, did he?
And he did look at her with fear in his eyes. To be honest, he always had done, from the first day he realised she was not the type of woman he was used to working with. But recently that fear had changed. It wasn't a fear of her. It was a fear he held for her. He was scared for her. And she had an inkling that she knew why; she was distancing herself, and she knew he didn't like it much. Since the truth about her father's death came to light – though part of her still didn't believe it, weeks later – she had put a wedge between herself and her team. Particularly Jack. But Jack wasn't like Gerry. Jack wasn't one to force her hand, whereas Gerry would if he thought he had no choice.
Had Iseabail seen all this before Sandra had? Was Sandra that blind?
The problem was that Iseabail was right – they came unbidden. They came without invitation or warning, and there was bugger all to be done to get rid of each one of those three emotions. Gerry and Sandra were two peas in a pod, and they both knew it. They both felt emotion but struggled to express it without coming across as simply angry. It was a bad habit, but it was theirs. At least half the occasions she and Gerry shouted at one another, it was not brought on by anger. It was brought on by a huge mess of emotion, anger only a tiny portion of that mess.
Sandra had to speak to him. To allay his fears, to find out what he felt jealous of, to find out what it was he loved. Or who.
"What you starin' at?!" demanded a rough, Cockney voice. Sandra's reverie was broken and she shook her head slightly. She had been staring at Gerry and he had noticed. That was stupid of her, to look at him so long that he noticed. "Sandra?" he asked; this time he sounded a bit worried.
"Nothing," she smiled, making him smile back at her.
"Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal."
Everyone turned and looked at Catrìona, who just smiled into her glass of wine. Gerry didn't ask, and neither did Jack or Brian, and Sandra didn't need to. But Gerry did look curious. "Slàinte mhath!" Catrìona toasted, putting her glass in the air between the five of them.
Sandra looked at Gerry, Jack and Brian, who all shrugged and said in unison, "Cheers!"
Hope you like it so far!
Please feel free to leave me a review and tell me your thoughts!
Sarah x