The Sunday Girls Page 15

  ‘But Dad can’t shunt his responsibilities on to Granny, Grandad and me.’ I knew I was shouting but I couldn’t help it. ‘My mum died giving birth to Lily and now he just wants to forget all about us …’ I stopped, a forlorn thought flitting through my brain. ‘Still, as Granny says, maybe it’s just gossip.’ I didn’t believe it was all gossip but maybe a lot of it was exaggerated nonsense.

  Grandad appeared just as Bella began to pour cold water over my suggestion. ‘No, it’s true right enough. Joe, your father’s crony, came and told us last week – just after you left for the Ferry.’

  I looked at Granny and she nodded.

  Bella smacked her lips. ‘Then Nan got a frantic visit from Nellie and Rita. They’ve tried to tell him he’s making a big mistake but he’ll not listen.’ She stopped and the gleeful look was replaced by a sour expression. ‘Women like the Merry Widow can be like syrup over a hot pancake, I can tell you.’

  For the first time, Grandad ventured an opinion. ‘What do you know about men, Bella, seeing you’ve never had much success in that way? As far as we’re concerned, if Johnny doesn’t want his family, then we don’t need him or his fancy woman. We’ll look after Ann and Lily with or without his help.’

  At that moment, I felt so proud of my grandparents that I almost burst into tears.

  Meanwhile, Hattie was still bemoaning Mrs Davidson’s common personality and lack of housewifery skills. ‘How could Johnny be attracted to such a common woman? I saw her in the street the other day and she still had her Dinky curlers in her hair and it was covered by a manky-looking headsquare – and it was teatime.’ Hattie shuddered. ‘She then had the audacity to wave to me like she was already a relation of mine.’ She gave another slight shudder but whether this was because of the tatty scarf or the fact she was common wasn’t clear.

  I looked at my grandparents, noting, once more, their tiredness and I was furious with Dad for putting the care of a young baby on their shoulders. ‘Right then,’ I said, my mind made up, ‘I’m having a word with him tomorrow about all this.’ Although my words sounded brave, I knew within my heart that, if he was indeed smitten with his new love, then my words would fall on deaf ears.

  Bella brightened up. ‘That’s right, Ann, you knock some sense into the daft bugger’s head.’

  Hattie placed the dead animal around her neck and prepared herself for the final word on the unsuitability of her intended sister-in-law. ‘I wouldn’t mind him getting married again if she was a nice person with a bit of class.’

  There was no mention as to whether this so-called nice woman with class would also be selfish enough to persuade a man to abandon his family, but clearly this was not important in Hattie’s view. Hattie would forgive anything from someone who lived up a close with a tiled wall.

  Granny shook her head sadly. ‘What a family – a son that acts like an idiot and a daughter that acts like a snob.’

  Then, at that point, Danny and Maddie arrived into the fray and Hattie almost had a fit. She didn’t like Maddie visiting the house in the Overgate, what with the dilapidated pram, the worn lino and the equally ancient looking furniture, not to mention the outside toilet. For the thousandth time she earnestly wished her parents lived in a nice house in a classy location.

  Maddie gave me a warm smile and wanted to hear all about my job but, when she realised there had been a family crisis, she stopped in mid sentence and stayed silent – not that I would have mentioned Miss Hood to her. I know I didn’t have to explain my unhappiness to Danny, he had already sensed it and that was the reason for him coming to the Ferry this afternoon.

  My one blessing was that Lily seemed to be over her illness and Granny had some money to help with the daily grind of life. Because of Maddie’s appearance, the topic of Dad’s intended marriage was dropped.

  Bella now began her long catalogue of illnesses – real and imagined. As usual, Maddie was her confidante and, years later, Danny and I maintained that Bella was the main reason for Maddie becoming a nurse. After all, there wasn’t a complaint or illness under the sun that Bella hadn’t encountered first. In fact, the doctors at the Royal Infirmary should have awarded her a badge.

  I didn’t walk back with them to the Perth Road because I was tired but Danny appeared later. ‘Come out for a quiet walk, Ann,’ he said.

  The street was as busy on a Sunday as any other day and, once again, I was struck by the clamour. The open shops and upstairs windows all looked dim in the subdued glow from the gas lamps, especially after the brightness of the electric light at Whitegate Lodge.

  ‘Are you going to see your dad tomorrow, Ann?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, although nobody knows much about it at the moment, your dad is drinking a lot with this Mrs Davidson. Joe told me in confidence that his pals are worried about him. He never buys any food for himself and although Rita and Nellie do their best for him, they’re hard up with this means test and they’ve bairns to feed as well.’

  A feeling of despair washed over me. ‘Oh, Danny, what will I do? He’ll not listen to me but he’s got to realise that Granny can’t look after Lily forever. I can’t give up my job although I hate the housekeeper.’ And I went on to tell him the details of my treatment at her hands.

  Danny was furious. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, Ann, without that tyrant but I did get the feeling something was wrong. Still, jobs are hard to find and I’m grateful for my job with Lipton’s.’ He stopped as if a thought had entered his mind. ‘Why don’t you tell Mrs Pringle or Maddie about the rotten housekeeper?’

  This was the last thing I wanted and I said so. ‘What if Mrs Barrie asks me to leave if there’s trouble? No – I’ll just have to not let it bother me and I have Mrs Peters on my side.’ At that moment, the thought of the motherly cook filled me with confidence. Then I suddenly thought of Rosie. I hadn’t seen her that night.

  Danny explained why. ‘She’s heartbroken about your dad. She also knew about this big family meeting and she’s keeping out of it. The strange thing is, she knew about your dad long before Joe and the neighbours. She told me she kept seeing him and Mrs Davidson in the snug bar of the Windmill pub every time she went in with the War Cry paper. Again, in confidence, she told me that he was always drunk and that this woman was always hanging around him, telling all and sundry that they were getting married. Poor Rosie.’

  I was appalled. ‘Don’t tell me this woman drinks as well? Maybe it’s a blessing that Lily will not be going to live with them. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being ill-treated and neglected.’ A surge of anger swept over me at this thought.

  We walked back up the stairs in the semi-darkness. Because the gas mantle was partially broken, only a thin blue flame erupted from it, illuminating a few inches of wall but failing to cast any light on the well-worn stone stairs.

  ‘Just think how great it would be if Dad married Rosie – she’s such a treasure,’ I said.

  Danny agreed, then added, ‘Oh, I almost forgot – Ma Ryan said to watch out for a blackbird, Ann, and that you’re in danger from it. The only thing is, she doesn’t know what the danger is.’

  He looked so worried that I smiled and reassured him. ‘Don’t worry, Danny, I promise to look out every time I hang out the washing and I’ll not end up like the maid in “Sing a Song of Sixpence” – I’ll not lose my nose,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Later in bed, cheerful was the last word for how I felt. I still had this onerous task ahead of me tomorrow and I couldn’t help but ponder on the unfairness of life. Dad could have married Rosie with all her motherly qualities but instead he had chosen a woman who wore her lipstick right up to her nose. In the attraction stakes, it seemed as if the lipstick had won by a few miles.

  8

  It was only 11.30 a.m. and dad was in the Windmill pub – at least that was the story according to Rita. I was sitting in her tiny kitchen, having a cup of tea and listening to her toddler son wailing with indignation at not
being allowed out of the old, paint-chipped playpen which took up half the floor space. Lily was also in it, sitting in the far corner with an old rattle in her hand and a mesmerised expression on her face at the antics of the red-faced toddler across from her.

  Rita had collared Joe who had been standing with his usual gang of cronies. She had dispatched him with the message that I was here and waiting to see my father. Joe set off up the hill like a puffing steam train.

  Once again I had poked my head into our flat and again I was dismayed by the forlorn neglect. Either Dad was just using it as a place to sleep or else he was living somewhere else. I was hoping he would hurry up and come to Rita’s house as I had promised to take Lily for her usual walk along the Esplanade. I was also feeling tired, having not long spent the early part of the morning at the wash-house doing the weekly wash. Either way, I was fed up and annoyed at Dad for avoiding his responsibilities. As a result I was only listening to Rita’s chatter with half an ear.

  Suddenly she stopped, bringing me out of my reverie. ‘That’s Joe now.’

  Joe sat down, trying to regain his breath. ‘I’m getting too old to be living on this hill,’ he panted, as if he had run a five-mile race. He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Your dad doesn’t want to come to here but he says he’ll meet you at the Plaza door.’ He sounded apologetic – as if this bad news was his fault.

  Rita opened her mouth as if to protest but I was too tired for any more arguments. I stood up. ‘That’s fine, Joe – I’ll go and meet him.’ I turned to Rita who stood with an angry look. ‘Can I leave Lily here for a wee while?’

  ‘Of course you can, Ann.’ She gazed with weariness at her son who was now shaking the bars of the playpen like some demented gorilla at the zoo. She bent down and lifted him up. ‘All right, you wee toerag. Do you know you’re giving Lily a fright with all your roaring?’

  It was another cold day but it was now dry, the earlier rain having stopped. I jumped over deep puddles of dark rainwater and skirted around the miniature river that was running down the gutter. I noticed, with amusement, the clutch of young children squealing with delight as they ran alongside a flotilla of pretend boats made from sweetie wrappers. They all clapped their hands with joy as these fragments disappeared down the drain, along with the swirling, dirty water.

  As usual, the street was abuzz with people. They were standing on street corners or in shop doorways. Being unemployed, they had lots of time for gossip. I rehearsed all the things I had to say to Dad – most of them were angry accusations. My anger wasn’t helped by the fact that the entrance to the Plaza cinema was devoid of people and there was no sign of him on the street.

  I stepped into the shelter of the large doorway, tightly pulling my coat in an effort to keep warm. The cold wind swirled around me, gently rattling the glass doors of the picture house and pushing a pile of discarded debris into the far corner where it lay in a cigarette packet mountain. After ten minutes, I was really furious. Joe’s message had been delivered thirty minutes earlier and there was still no sign of him leaving the pub.

  I walked up as far as the Windmill door but my view inside was restricted by the inner swing doors. I hesitated on the threshold, almost willing Dad to appear – nothing.

  Suddenly the thought of Lily being left with Rita, who had enough to cope with without the added burden of my problems being dumped on her lap, leapt into my head and I made up my mind. I pushed open the door and entered the inner sanctum. I was in a long low-ceilinged bar with the warm stale smell of beer. A bluish haze was hanging like a cloud over the assorted chairs and tables. This smoky residue was almost certainly from the previous evening because the place was deserted except for the barman, a plump, cheery-faced man who was washing glasses behind the shiny-topped bar. He was whistling something totally tuneless but stopped in amazement when I rushed into the middle of the room. He gazed at me with his smooth round face, unsure if I was a customer or had perhaps been catapulted from a giant sling to land at his feet, so sudden was my entrance. My courage evaporated like morning mist and I turned, prior to running back outside.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he said, his face still puzzled. ‘I mean are you looking for somebody? Because you’re too young to buy a drink in a pub.’

  I looked at him, my face red with embarrassment. ‘I thought Johnny Neill was in here,’ I stuttered.

  His eyes opened wide and I could almost hear him thinking, ‘Now what does she want with him?’

  Instead, he nodded his head towards the door and I thought for one awful moment that Dad had left without seeing me. He nodded again. ‘He’s in the snug bar – just through the door and it’s on your left.’

  With my anger now threatening to erupt like some distant earthquake, I pushed my way into the snug bar which was well named because it was so tiny. A small hatch looked on to the main bar and there was just enough room for a well-worn, tatty-looking bench to be placed along one wall, under the window.

  Dad sat on this bench and suddenly all my anger disappeared to be replaced by a feeling of pity. His weight had dropped so much that his threadbare jacket now looked two sizes too big for him and the week-old stubble didn’t improve his neglected, dishevelled appearance. Still, I was relieved to see he was sober but the pub hadn’t been open for long and it was a long day into night. He looked up in surprise as I entered, along with the cold, swirling wind.

  He smiled – a lovely smile that, up until last summer, had captivated everyone. ‘Hullo, Ann. What are you doing here? How is the job going?’ I could tell he was trying to be both cheerful and carefree but he failed on both counts.

  I looked at him reproachfully. ‘Dad, for goodness’ sake, what’s the matter with you? You look terrible and you were supposed to meet me at the Plaza door.’ I hadn’t meant to be so forthright so, in an effort to cover up my brusqueness, I said gently, ‘Come home with me. You can see Lily while I make your dinner and I’ll get some messages in for you.’

  To my surprise, he backed away from me. ‘No, I’m not going back to that house. It has too many unhappy memories for me.’ Tears appeared in his eyes but he brushed them away with an angry hand. ‘No, away you go back to Granny and your new job and don’t worry about me.’

  Then, before I could answer, the door opened and a woman came in, tottering on uncomfortable-looking high heels. She was small and very thin and in her forties, I thought, with dark blonde curls framing a white, pinched-looking, sharp-featured face.

  There was no sign of the Dinky curlers or the manky headsquare and, although no lipstick was evident, the pinky remains of the last application was still visible. It gave her mouth a round ‘O’ look as if she was permanently surprised by everything.

  ‘Johnny …’ She stopped when she saw me and began to do a funny reverse movement through the narrow door. She wobbled on her high heels and for a moment it looked as if she would topple backwards but she managed to regain her balance. She gave me a small, apologetic smile before backing out.

  Dad had stayed silent during these manoeuvres but I noticed an amused glint in his eyes. ‘That’s Marlene and no doubt Rosie has told the entire Overgate about her. She must see some awful sights, our Rosie, because of her habit of shaking her can under our noses in the pub, selling her Sally Ann papers.’

  ‘No, Dad,’ I said quietly, ‘it wasn’t Rosie. She never said a word. It was your pals and your neighbours who are worried about you.’

  He looked surprised. ‘So it wasn’t Rosie?’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘Granny says that Rosie wishes you the best of luck with Mrs Davidson.’ I stopped. I’d almost said ‘the Merry Widow’. ‘Rosie says if she makes you happy, then good luck and she’ll not bother you again about getting Lily christened.’ I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Is it true you’re getting married again, Dad?’

  Once again the amused glint appeared. ‘Och, Ann, you’re not to listen to old women’s gossip and neither has your granny. I just like Marlene’s company and we have a good laugh t
ogether.’

  I doubted that because he looked as if the last good laugh he had was over a year ago – when Mum was still alive.

  As if he read my mind, the amused glint vanished to be replaced by a terrible sad look. ‘I can’t go back to the house, as I’ve told you, because of all the memories. Maybe if I had a job it would be better but hanging about day in and day out without your mother is terrible.’

  I suddenly knew how he felt and there was nothing I could do about the situation. We all missed Mum terribly but we had Lily to look after so maybe we were coping better with it. As for Dad, well, as Granny said, he had to come to terms with his own private grief and made his own life for himself.

  ‘So there’s to be no wedding, then?’ I said.

  He looked over his shoulder towards the door, placing a finger to his lips. ‘Not so loud. Don’t let Marlene hear that – she thinks there is but there’s many a slip ‘tween the cup and the lip,’ he said, giving me a huge wink.

  I had to laugh in spite of my earlier anger. ‘Oh, Dad, you’re a right charmer. First Rosie and now Marlene.’

  As I made my way out of the snug bar, he called after me, ‘Tell Rosie I’m asking for her.’

  ‘No, Dad, that’s something you’ll have to do for yourself.’

  I gave him a final sad wave just as Marlene’s head appeared from the door of the main bar. She was patting her curls and she had an odd, anxious look on her face. Another thing I noticed as I quickly left was the fact that she had put on her make-up. Her face had a curious orange tint and, as Bella had succinctly put it, cherry-red lipstick right up to her nose in an exaggerated Cupid’s bow.

  Joe was waiting for me at the foot of the Hilltown. When he saw me, he detached himself from the large group of men. I saw Jamie amongst the group but fortunately he was too busy trying to extract the last few puffs from a half-inch cigarette stub. His thin cheeks were sucked in with the effort and I wondered if he was using the old ploy of holding the cigarette with a Kirby grip in order to get a few more puffs. As it was I was just grateful that our Hogmanay encounter had obviously been forgotten. Joe didn’t speak. He merely lifted an eyebrow but I knew he was worried about Dad.