Towards a Dark Horizon Page 5

I retraced my steps back to the house. Danny and I had left without saying a proper goodbye but, when I reached the close, I found I couldn’t face Hattie, Kit or George – not to mention Bella – so I set off for the Hilltown and my work.

  Connie was sitting in her little back shop when I arrived. On hearing the bell, she popped her head out. ‘Och, it’s you, Ann. I’m having a cup of tea because it’s so quiet. Mind you, Thursday is aye the same. No money to spend.’

  I had to smile in spite of all the worry. No money on a Thursday and precious little on other days, I thought.

  ‘I know you did say you would work this wee bit extra to make up for your time off this morning,’ said Connie, lighting a cigarette and blowing a long stream of blue smoke into the shop. ‘But, as you can see, Ann, there’s no customers around. Just you get off home and you can maybe do a bit extra another time.’

  In one way, I was grateful to get home but, in another perverse way, I would have liked some company that afternoon to take my mind away from the traumatic morning.

  By the time Dad arrived home from the warehouse, I was shaking like a leaf. I had spent the entire afternoon going over and over the story. I could well understand the agonies that Danny was going through and, to make it worse, I couldn’t help him – or Maddie.

  Dad’s face still had its wary look. Although he hadn’t gone back to Kit’s house after the interment and didn’t know the story was out, he did know something. I was sure of that.

  ‘What time did you leave Kit’s house?’ he asked.

  I didn’t answer his question. Instead I said, ‘Dad, did you know about Pat Ryan’s terrible time in the war?’

  His face went white and he gave me another wary look.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I told him. ‘Danny blurted it out during the funeral tea. Of course it was bedlam. Hattie has been in tears ever since and Danny is going …’ I stopped. I didn’t want to mention Maddie. If the engagement was truly off, then the news had to come from them. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.

  ‘What is Danny going to do?’ He sounded suspicious.

  ‘Nothing. Tell me, did you know about this?’

  He sat down in front of the fire. The meal was simmering on the stove but we both ignored it. He passed a grimy hand over his eyes and for a moment I thought he was crying but when he spoke, his eyes were dry. ‘I didn’t know about it until the night of the wake. Mick Malloy got so drunk and started speaking about the days before the war – how happy they had all been as young pals before it started. He then went on about the horrors of it. The mud and the trenches, the smell of death that was always in the air … well, some of us tried to shut him up but he seemed hell-bent on reliving the terrible times. Then, when he mentioned Pat … well, it was a huge surprise to me and a terrible shock for Danny. He went really white and I thought he would faint but he just sat so quiet and never said another word. George tried hard to minimise it but the damage was done and the deed was out.’

  I was puzzled. ‘Why was it never mentioned at the time, Dad?’

  Suddenly he was angry. ‘The only thing that remains is that all this death and destruction was for nothing – a few feet of land. Oh, no, Ann, none of us old soldiers talk about those days and do you know why?’

  I shook my head numbly.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you why – because most of the sights were too terrible to remember. Thousands of men gassed and blinded with mustard gas. Then there was the mud. Acres and acres of it – stretching as far as the eye could see. Mud and barbed wire and dead bodies – that was our daily view. At the battles of Neuve Chapelle and Loos, there were so many dead soldiers that just about every house in Dundee got a telegram, telling them that their husband or son or brother had been killed. Pat’s involvement with the firing squad was a terrible, terrible thing for him but the real culprits were in the comfy cosy offices of the War Office. They directed the officers to shoot deserters which, in our minds, was barbaric but it was a barbaric time. Pat’s horror was just one horror amongst thousands of others.’

  I wished again that Mick Malloy had stayed silent. What good did raking up the past ever do?

  ‘I don’t want to sound callous, Ann, but I’m starving,’ he said as he went over to the sink to wash his hands.

  I knew he was far from being cold-hearted. He just wanted to get on with living and leave all the unhappy memories where they belonged – in the past.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, sitting at the table, ‘I had nightmares for years after. In fact, I still do from time to time. I’m back in that sea of mud and filth and noise. I’ll tell you this – I’m grateful to wake up in my bed in the morning. Joe feels the same. We survived the horrors while lots of our mates perished and, believe me, for years after we both felt so guilty about it.’

  Joe was one of Dad’s oldest friends. They say that every dark cloud has a silver lining and this was mine. Dad had never opened his heart to me like this before and I was grateful for the chance to know him better.

  I had one favour to ask him. ‘Dad, will you tell this story to Danny just like you’ve told it to me? I think it will help him understand what his dad went through – just like a thousand others.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think anything will help Danny at this moment. He has his own life to lead and his own problems to sort out.’

  ‘Please, Dad.’

  He reached over for another slice of bread to mop up the remains of his stew. ‘I don’t know. If I thought anything I said to him would help him, then I would do it but not just now. Leave it for a few days because anything I say to him now won’t penetrate his grief.’

  I had no option but to agree. Anyway, I had to go and pick up Lily – something I wasn’t looking forward to. It had nothing to do with my sister but everything to do with the house in the Overgate – perhaps Hattie, Kit and George were still there.

  Much to my surprise, the house was deserted when I arrived. Rosie appeared from next door with Lily. She had been eating beans on toast and had a bright orange ring around her mouth.

  ‘Your granny and grandad are at Hattie’s house, Ann. They had to call the doctor because Hattie was ill.’ Her plump face was sympathetic. ‘I think the stress of the funeral was too much for her.’

  I wondered how much she knew. ‘What about Danny?’

  ‘I’ve no idea – I expect he’ll be with his mother.’

  Good – she doesn’t know the story, I thought.

  ‘I think your granny is planning on staying with Hattie tonight, Ann – at least that’s what she said.’

  ‘Thanks for looking after Lily. I’ll take her home then head for the Westport.’

  Rosie shook her head and her large bun of hair at the nape of her neck almost came loose. ‘We can look after Lily till you get back from Hattie’s house. It’s no bother.’ She gazed at Lily with affection. ‘Isn’t that right, my wee pet?’

  Lily grinned. ‘I haven’t finished my beans yet and Rosie has got me a cream cake so it’ll take hours to eat it all, Ann.’

  I smiled at them. ‘I’ll be about an hour.’

  As I made my way to the Westport I thought about Rosie – darling Rosie, she was totally devoted to Dad. In spite of this devotion, he hadn’t asked her to marry him yet. It was my dearest wish and, although no one could ever replace Mum, Rosie came a good second best.

  As it turned out, I was away for a good two hours. Danny and Grandad sat in the pristine living room while Granny was in the bedroom with Hattie. Grandad looked as if he was dying for a puff of his pipe but he wouldn’t want to smoke in this lovely room. Danny looked even more ill than when I left him and I was concerned. By the look on his face he didn’t want company – maybe he preferred to mourn alone.

  I went into the tiny back bedroom and was immediately taken aback by its elegance. The bed had a satin bedcover with a matching squashy-looking quilt. In the corner was a kidney-shaped dressing table with a frill made from the same ice-blue satin. At any ot
her time, I would have remarked on its beauty but not tonight.

  Hattie lay motionless in her bed and was fast asleep. Granny sat on a small padded chair by the side of the bed. She looked tired but she gazed at me gratefully. ‘Och, you’ve come, Ann. Thank goodness because we don’t know what to do about Danny. He won’t talk to us and this is not like him to be this way.’

  My heart sank. ‘He won’t talk to me either, Granny.’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘It’s a terrible business. We had to call the doctor out for Hattie because she went hysterical after you left. What Bella thinks about it all, goodness knows. You know what an old gossip she is.’

  ‘How is Hattie?’

  ‘Well, the doctor gave her something to make her sleep but there was seemingly a terrible scene when Danny came in from his work. She begged him not to tell Maddie or the Pringles anything about his father.’

  My heart sank even further. ‘That’s stupid. I told Danny to tell them everything. This won’t make any difference to his engagement to Maddie or to her parents.’ Although I was saying the words, I knew now there was no hope of him telling Maddie or indeed anyone about his late father. What a mess.

  Granny shook her head. ‘Well, you know Hattie. She’ll do anything to keep up her pretence of being a lady. She can’t help it.’

  I was suddenly worried for my grandparents. They both looked so weary. ‘Granny, if you both want to go home, I’ll stay here for a wee while – in case Hattie wakes up.’

  She looked relieved. ‘We’ll keep Lily overnight, Ann.’

  She went through to collect Grandad. I could hear the quiet voices as they said their goodbyes to Danny.

  After a few minutes, I also joined him. Hattie was sleeping peacefully and I knew I would hear her if she became distressed again. However, Danny was another matter. He sat by the fire, gazing solemnly into the flames. He didn’t turn his head when I came into the room. My heart was like a stone when I looked at him. I didn’t know what to say to him and I was totally surprised by this. We had been so close to one another all our lives and we could almost read each other’s minds but not this time. It was as if he had shut me and all his family out of his life and his thoughts. I put a hand on his arm.

  Like a sleepwalker, he looked at me with dull, lifeless eyes and I was shocked by his expression. ‘Danny, please talk to me. You’ve had a terrible shock but don’t let it ruin your life.’

  Suddenly, as if a veil was lifted from his face, his expression changed to normal – the old Danny I knew and loved. ‘Ann, don’t worry about Mum or me. We’ll be fine but we just need time – that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, Danny, take all the time you need. I’ll stay here tonight in case your mum needs me.’

  ‘No, Ann, just you get away home. I’ll be here and Granny is coming back tomorrow so everything is fine.’

  His voice was firm so I had no option but to go home. He obviously wanted to be alone. At the front door, I almost told him what Dad had said about the horrors of the Great War but I didn’t. Perhaps, I thought, he had heard enough about that terrible era. I did, however, remind him to go and see Maddie on the Sunday and, although he agreed, I could see his heart wasn’t in it.

  I hardly slept over the next two nights and I was secretly dreading Sunday morning. There had been no more word from either Maddie or Danny. Where and when they were meeting was also a secret but I hoped they would still be together after it.

  As it turned out, my Sunday leisure was dictated by Lily. She danced through to the kitchen and said she wanted to go to Broughty Ferry to see Jean Peters.

  ‘Please, please, Ann, can we go?’

  I had little choice in the face of such eagerness so we set off for the bus. I was actually quite relieved to get away from the house and my worries for a few hours.

  Jean and I had met up on a few occasions since my departure from Whitegate Lodge but most of these meetings had been in the Broughty Ferry in a small teashop on the High Street. She still lived with her husband in Long Lane and I knew that her inheritance from Mrs Barrie had made their lives comfortable – something we had in common.

  The street was almost deserted when we got off the bus and I was once again reminded how quiet this place was compared to Dundee – except maybe during the summer months when people were attracted to the beach and the water. Today, in spite of some watery sunshine, the wind blew cold and straight from the North Sea.

  Lily was full of excitement as we stood on her doorstep. She was as fond of Jean as I was. She was a good friend to me and had been my ally against Miss Hood in my days at Whitegate Lodge.

  Jean opened the door, her hands covered in flour. ‘Well, I never! I was just thinking about you, Lily.’ Pleasure was written all over her face. Being childless herself she always spoiled any child in her company.

  Lily hopped from one foot to another, desperate to be asked in but remembering her manners which I had warned her to do earlier.

  Jean knew this and she teased Lily by making her stand outside. Doing a good imitation of Granny, Lily put her hands on her hips and said, ‘Can I come in, please?’

  Jean roared with laughter and I was suddenly grateful for this joyous sound. It had been days since I had heard anyone laugh or even seen someone smile. We had been all wrapped up in Danny’s private gloom. She ushered us into her small living room. The flames from the blazing fire were reflected in the old-fashioned but highly polished furniture.

  Lily went to help with the tea. Jean called out from the tiny scullery. ‘You know where the biscuit barrel is, my wee pet.’

  Lily set the table with such a serious look that I almost burst out laughing. As I didn’t want to hurt her feelings I managed to control this urge.

  There was no sign of Mr Peters. ‘He’s out,’ said Jean. ‘Gone to do a job for one of our neighbours.’ She put the teapot down beside the fire. ‘He’s more or less retired now but he still likes to keep his hand in and do the odd job now and again. My legacy from Mrs Barrie has made our lives more comfortable.’

  She placed a large plate of floury scones in front of Lily. ‘Well, wee lass, eat up.’

  Lily needed no second bidding and she proclaimed after scoffing her third scone and jam, ‘I aye feel hungry when I’m at the Ferry. Granny says it’s the sea air.’ She sounded so comical that we both burst out laughing.

  She was certainly growing up fast these days and, thankfully, she was healthy and sturdy. I thought of Maddie’s sister Joy and the differences in their appearance. Although both born on the same day, when they were together, Lily towered over the fragile-looking Joy.

  After tea Jean suggested a walk to the beach. Lily had her coat on in a flash and we set out. The watery sun had disappeared and was replaced with a cold greyness. The sea and sky seemed to merge on the horizon and the beach was deserted. The sand, left shiny wet by the receding tide, stretched before us in a pristine panorama and was unmarked by any human feet. Abandoned by the receding seawater, a brown strip of seaweed lay like a tide-mark of lost, drowned souls.

  Thankfully I couldn’t see Whitegate Lodge from this vantage point. As if reading my mind, Jean said, ‘I never go near the house now that Mrs Barrie’s dead.’

  Tears came into my eyes when I recalled my late employer. It had been in the month of January when I started work as a housemaid at Whitegate Lodge and it had been my first sight of Miss Hood. I wondered if all my troubles were destined to happen in January.

  Jean squeezed my arm. ‘Is everything going well for you now, Ann?’

  I thought of Maddie and Danny and, although I didn’t mean to mention them, it all came out. However, I kept quiet about Pat’s wartime experience. I knew Danny wouldn’t want his father’s name bandied about or for the whole sorry story to become public knowledge. I just told Jean that he was upset after Dad Ryan’s death.

  Jean listened quietly as we watched Lily run over the expanse of wet sand. She said softly, ‘Well, Ann, I hope they manage to sort it all out but you mustn
’t let it worry you. They have to make their own decisions and mistakes.’

  ‘But Danny was aye there for me, Jean,’ I protested. ‘You mind how much he helped me when Lily was a baby.’

  ‘That’s what I mean, Ann – you were just a bairn yourself then and you had your baby sister to look after and support but that was a good few years ago and you are both older now. He must make up his own mind, either rightly or wrongly, and Maddie must do the same.’

  She was right of course. I looked at her, my eyes glassy with tears.

  She continued, ‘You’ve carried enough on your young shoulders, Ann – your sister and your dad plus the sad death of your mum. Maybe it’s become a way of life for you to take on all your family’s burdens.’

  I looked at Lily. She was trying to outrun a seagull. Her face registering dismay as it flew into the air with a noisy squawk.

  ‘I would advise you to let go and just enjoy yourself,’ said Jean. ‘Your sister is growing up, your father may marry Rosie, Danny may or may not marry Maddie but these things are out of your control, lass. Take Jean’s advice and let go.’

  I still said nothing as I watched Lily run over the sand with the sheer exuberance of being alive.

  She went on, ‘What about Greg? No doubt you’ll want to settle down one day with him.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Then you’ll know what real worries are like when you’re an old married woman.’

  ‘Greg is still in Glasgow and anyway we are just friends. I could never leave Lily and go off into the far blue yonder. You know that, Jean.’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘What a pity! At your age, you should be out enjoying yourself and not worrying over everybody – especially not Danny or Maddie. Now promise me, Ann.’

  ‘I promise,’ I said but I didn’t believe I could keep such a promise.

  Lily ran up to us. Her shoes plastered with wet sand and her cheeks red with the chafing wind. Her eyes were full of laughter.

  ‘Och, me, would you look at yourself?’ said Jean, throwing up her hands in mock horror. ‘Let’s get back for our tea.’

  Lily led the way with an excitement that made me wonder if my sister’s life revolved around food.