The Nickum

by Doris Davidson

  He kissed her cheek and she moved towards her mother. ‘Mam?’

  The pleading on her face made Emily gasp with emotion, but she hugged the young woman for several moments. ‘Look after yourself, Becky,’ she managed to say, ‘and be sure to write and let us know how you get on.’

  ‘I will, Mam, I promise.’ The noise of a vehicle drawing up at the door made her glance out of the window. ‘Here’s the car Jackie’s father said he would send. He’s been ever so good.’ She ran out, and waved airily to them as the Sunbeam Talbot glided away, making very little sound even on the rough stony track.

  ‘It must be nice to have money,’ Emily commented bitterly, ‘dishing out a thousand pounds when you feel like it. If we could have done that, d’you think she’d have come back here to live?’ Her voice breaking altogether, she slumped down into her chair at the fireside, and Jake’s heart was breaking into so many small fragments that he could give her no comfort. All he could think of was that if his daughter hadn’t kept the news of the mess she had made of her life until the very last moment, he might have managed to talk her out of this final step.

  Chapter Eleven

  1936

  Connie Brodie rose early. Her husband had come home in the early hours of the morning, as drunk as she had ever seen him, and had looked at her as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her, a look he had perfected to a T over the few months he’d been a husband.

  ‘Jeez, Con,’ he’d mumbled, ‘you’re as fat as a bloody pig. It’s nae wonder I’ve had to get a nice bit o’ stuff to …’ He leered at her conspiratorially.

  She knew he was waiting for her to row with him which would give him an excuse to hit her, so she kept as calm as she could.

  ‘She was the bees’ knees,’ he persisted, baiting her. ‘Lovely slim body, but paps as soft as a quilt.’ He kept eyeing her, waiting for the explosion, but she had learned a lesson from his previous assaults. ‘You’re nae jealous? Damn fine wife you are.’ Stumbling towards her, he let fly with his fist, almost overbalancing with the effort.

  Even knowing that her silence was riling him, she was determined not to give in. Another punch with the same force would have him off his feet altogether, and she would just leave him lying on the floor. Unfortunately, it was a series of punches that he inflicted on her – her face, her chest, her stomach – before he keeled over and she left him lying. Weeping softly, she poured some warm water into the basin and dabbed her battered face and breasts, wishing that she’d had the presence of mind to protect her unborn child with her hands.

  When she heard movement behind her, she waited for the next attack, but her lout of a husband didn’t even look her way as he staggered outside. Her legs were shaking now with relief. She needed a cup of tea, and then she would go back to bed for a while. Gordie wouldn’t likely be back until midnight or later. It took ten agonising minutes before she was able to sit down in her armchair, and before she had drunk half her tea, she had fallen fast asleep; a sleep so deep it was almost unconsciousness.

  Gordon Brodie had a morning of ups and downs. It hadn’t started well, with his bitch of a wife looking at him like he was shit and never saying a word, but he had soon sorted her out. A few wallops now and then did her good, and that great belly of hers made him want to spew. He didn’t want to touch her nowadays, so he had to look for satisfaction elsewhere. He hadn’t gone to work; how could he with this passion eating at his vitals? By a stroke of luck, he’d suddenly recalled a woman he’d dallied with off and on, who was always ready to open her legs for him. But not today. ‘I heard you was a married man,’ she’d barked at him, ‘an’ I’m nae wantin’ blamed for splitting up a man and wife.’

  ‘She’s expectin’,’ he’d explained, hoping that would change her mind.

  ‘You canna get her an’ you come rinnin’ to me? Well, nothing doin’, you randy swine, so aff you go an’ dinna come back. I can get plenty ither men, better nor you.’

  He had very nearly hit her, but had thought better of it. She was a hefty piece and could likely knock him flat with one finger. He had wandered about for a while, round and round in circles trying to think, and then gone into the hotel bar. It was just after eleven and the Tufted Duck didn’t close till half two. Nursing a pint, he looked around him. As usual during the day, the customers were mostly old men, but three women were sitting at a table in the corner. None of them looked any great shakes, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, so he sauntered over with what he believed was a smile to charm the birds off the trees. ‘Hello, ladies, my luck must be in the day.’

  ‘Bugger aff,’ retorted the female in the middle, not bothering to remove the cigarette dangling from her thickly painted lips.

  His face flushed with fury. ‘Well, that’s nice, I must say. I was just makin’ conversation, but if that’s how you feel, you can shove your heid up your backside.’

  ‘An’ you can tak’ a runnin’ jump at yoursel’. You think you’re something, but you’re jist a big round O.’

  This came from the youngest-looking of the three, still not very young, but just that little bit more attractive than the other two. Her hair, although the same peroxide blonde as theirs, curled neatly round her face, her skin was less mottled, her neck less craggy, but she had spoiled her chances with him.

  He turned to the last one. ‘Would you care for a drink?’

  ‘Would I nae?’ she cackled, setting his teeth on edge. ‘I maistly only tak’ brandy, but I canna afford it the day.’ She drained the last few drops from her half pint of beer and sat back expectantly.

  Growing more frustrated by the minute, and guessing that the woman had hardly ever drunk brandy in her life, Gordie nevertheless put his order to the barman, whose smirk came dangerously near to earning him a punch on the mouth, but Gordie turned away in a few seconds with the two glasses in his hand. Sitting down next to the chosen recipient of his attentions, Gordie wondered if he was doing the right thing. There must be other women, more personable women, who would be glad of his company. ‘So? How’s things goin’ wi’ you?’ This was his usual opener, in the seductive voice that generally worked wonders.

  ‘Ach, well,’ she simpered, ‘aye busy. Hardly get time to draw a breath, some days.’

  He nodded. ‘Aye, I’m the same myself some days, but … um … well, I find myself at a loose end for the next hour. Would you … ? Would you be interestered in … ?’

  ‘Ach, Maggie,’ interrupted the personage in the centre of the three, ‘tell him tae get lost an’ leave us to enjoy wir drinks in peace.’

  Indignant at being thwarted when he was almost certain he had made an impression on his prey, Gordie ignored her. ‘Listen, eh, Maggie? I’m prepared to pay. I am not after anything for nothing.’

  She regarded him scornfully. ‘You listen, Mister. Me an’ my friends is just out for a few quiet drinks. We’ve had enough o’ men like you that think they’re God’s gift to weemen. I tell you, I wouldna want you supposin’ you came free in a ha’penny lucky bag.’

  Outraged, he adopted an upper-class drawl. ‘There’s no need to turn nasty. I was merely suggesting …’

  It was the farthest away ‘lady’ who said, imitating his mode of speech, ‘An’ I’m merely suggesting that you make yourself scarce, my fine fellow. You can surely see you’re as welcome here as a dose of the pox.’

  All three females fell about laughing. ‘Oh, my God, Nettie, you’re a richt ane,’ screeched one. ‘A dose o’ the pox! That fits him richt enough.’

  Conscious of being the focus of all eyes in the room, Gordie whipped round and stalked out as if he had to keep an urgent appointment. It was the first time he’d ever been treated like this. Oh, he’d been refused before, but always with what sounded like a legitimate excuse. He tottered on for a few hundred yards with no notion of where he was going before realising that the brandy had combined with what he’d had the night before, and he was in no state to go anywhere. Nodding wisely to himself, he made up his mind to go home. He cou
ld vent his wounded pride on his wife. She had likely recovered from the punching he’d given her earlier. His spirits lifted as it crossed his mind that what he had already done to her could, with any luck, have resulted in her losing the blasted baby she was carrying. It was bad enough trying to keep a wife as well as himself, without another mouth to feed.

  His step lightened, his head came up and he felt ready to face whatever names Connie called him. Or her mother, if she’d managed to get word to her, somehow or other. He just hoped Jake Fowlie hadn’t been told.

  As he drew nearer to the old cottage that was his home, an icy shiver suddenly ran down his back. He halted for a moment, wondering if this was a warning of trouble, then, assuring himself that it must have been ‘somebody walking on his grave’ as the old saying went, he marched as jauntily as he could up the long path. The house was hidden for most of the way by a row of silver birches, but after passing them he saw that everything looked perfectly normal and felt much easier. The drink had made him imagine things.

  Ready to excuse his drunken state, he opened the kitchen door to find his wife asleep by the fireside. ‘Get up, you lazy bitch,’ he roared. ‘I’m needing something to eat.’

  Hardly allowing her to recover her senses, he lunged at her, yanked her to her feet and bared his teeth when she let out an involuntary moan. ‘So you’re nae ignoring me this time? Let’s see how good you are, though. Nae mair pushing me awa’. You’re my wife and you’ve to dae what I tell you.’

  Her composure was too much for him. What right had she to criticise him? He was the man of the house; she was only one of his chattels. ‘You want some mair, do you?’ he snarled, taking the back of his hand round her ear.

  She knew she should hold her tongue, that whatever she said would rouse him to further anger, yet she wanted to prove that she could stand up for herself. ‘Man of the house? You? What have you ever done for this house? I’ve done everything myself; I’ve cooked, kept things clean; I’ve …’

  Losing all control of himself, he kicked her low down on her belly, and she sank to the floor in agony, but he still had not finished with her. Although he could see that she was fighting for breath, he kicked her over and over again until she lay completely still. ‘That’ll learn you to defy me!’ he cried, suddenly collapsing into his usual chair. Why should he not have a rest as well as her?

  Connie crouched behind the old couch that had been left in the old cottage, hugging her bruised body for comfort. It wasn’t the first time Gordie had hit her – he seemed to take great delight in using her as a punchbag – but this was the worst yet. Whimpering, she closed her eyes to shut out the bare walls, the patches of black where the damp had taken a grip. Her brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly – she couldn’t remember exactly what had happened – but she did know that this was no place for an infant to be born. Then the thought crossed her mind that maybe it wouldn’t be born alive anyway. Its father was doing his best to make sure of that.

  When he had first learned that she was expecting, he had wanted her to get rid of ‘what was in her belly’ but she had flatly refused and said he’d have to marry her, otherwise her father would knock him senseless. He had threatened to swear that the child wasn’t his, that she’d been with another man. She had just laughed at that, and said her father wouldn’t believe him. Then he had got more persistent and said he knew some old crone who specialised in abortions, but she had held out against that, as well. Now he was doing his best to dispose of it himself by battering her almost every day.

  The pain in her stomach intensified suddenly. Sharp and deep, over and over again, as if her body was protesting at something. Her eyes shot open as her head cleared. Oh, God! The baby must be coming early, and there was nobody here to help her – or near enough to hear her if she shouted.

  She would probably be better to get herself to bed, though, if she could manage to get the rubber sheet and some towels from the press. Finding it impossible to get to her feet from this position, she heaved herself on to her knees with great difficulty. After several attempts, she discovered that she still couldn’t stand up, but never mind. She could crawl, couldn’t she?

  But even crawling wasn’t so easy, not trailing this cumbersome lump along with her. Her first target, the towels and rubber sheet, was another impossible task, being on the second shelf from the floor, but she persevered in fits and starts, stretching that little bit nearer each time. At last her flailing hand touched something, and a quick tug brought a cascade of towels and, thank heaven, the rubber sheet on top.

  So far, so good, but how to take just what she was needing? That was the problem. Her brain incapable of finding an easy answer, she shoved the bundle forward with her chin, for she needed both hands on the floor to keep her steady. Her load gradually lessened, as she inched forward, leaving behind her a trail of items that had worked loose.

  She had barely reached the door of the poky bedroom when she found that she could go no farther. All her efforts to reach up and turn the knob came to nothing as she lost consciousness and collapsed on top of two towels – all that were left.

  Some hours later, Gordie woke up wondering, for a moment, where he was. One glance round made him recall a little of what had happened. The kitchen looked like a battlefield, with things lying about, furniture overturned, broken ornaments everywhere. But all that was the result of the quarrel he’d had earlier with his wife, so why hadn’t she tidied it up? She was usually real fussy about keeping things tidy. Where the hell was she anyway? Gone back to her bed like enough, the lazy slut. She’d left the door into the lobby wide open as well, not much wonder the place was getting cold.

  Steadying himself against the table as he stood up, he shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and picked his way carefully over the well-worn linoleum. When he saw his wife lying on the lobby floor, a pang of – not conscience, more warning of something not quite right – smote him, and he bent down to touch her. Feeling no pulse sobered him quicker than a pail of cold water in his face would have done, and he stood in dismay, trying to think what to do.

  God Almighty! He hadn’t expected this! His brain was still too fuzzed up with drink, last night’s as well as today’s. He needed to get a proper sleep to clear it, but how could he get to his bed with this thing in his way? He didn’t fancy stepping over his dead wife.Turning round with the intention of going outside, round the back and climbing in through the bedroom window, he suddenly became conscious of someone coming up the path. It was only a glimpse through the kitchen window and, without taking time to find out who it was, he pivoted round on his heel. Leaping over the obstruction, he ran into the bedroom and pushed up the window. Fear of discovery gave him unsuspected agility and he clambered out with no difficulty and ran off.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Willie and Millie were standing at her gate, lingering as they always did, but unable to take the next step in their relationship, her father came running round the corner of the house. ‘I’m glad I caught you, William,’ he smiled. ‘Would you mind coming into the garage with me?’

  Puzzled, the youth glanced round at him. ‘I can’t stay long, sir. I’ve got my chores to do at home, as well as my homework.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised that you were expected to help your father. It must be very difficult for you to keep up with everything.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but I’m coping … just.’ He gave a wry grin.

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t do what I meant to do.’ Mr Meldrum hesitated, and then seemed to come to a decision. ‘No, I do not see why I shouldn’t. I was clearing out some rubbish – it gets so cluttered, you see – and I spotted my old bicycle in the corner. It’s still in quite good condition, for once I bought the Ford I became used to driving around and saving my energy.’

  Wondering what was coming, Willie waited patiently. If the man wanted help to pump up a tyre that would be fine, but he didn’t have much time to spare.

  ‘I can see you’re puzzled, my boy, so I won’t pr
olong the agony any longer. I would be glad if you will take the bike off my hands. It will go to rack and ruin if it hangs up there much longer, and to be honest, my cycling days are over.’

  Unable to take in the offer, Willie helped him to lift the Raleigh off the hooks on the wall. It looked good, much better than the one he and Malcie Middleton had put together. In fact, apart from the thick layer of dust there, and the cobwebs between the brakes and the grips of the handlebars, it looked almost new.

  ‘Well, what d’you say, William? Can you find a use for it? I’m sure Millie would be glad of company on her outings …’ His eyes twinkled as he added, ‘That is, if you can give her some of your time.’

  Wishing fervently that he could give her all of his time, Willie couldn’t help blushing. ‘It’s very good of you, Mr Meldrum, but I can’t accept it.’

  ‘If you mean you have no wish to go cycling with my daughter …’

  ‘Oh no, sir, it’s not that. In fact there’s nothing I’d like better, but I really don’t get any time off.’

  ‘You could always cycle to school. That would save your bus fares home and me the journey in the mornings. I think I had better remind your father that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and that goes for girls, too. My Millie needs some relaxation, something to look forward to each week. Perhaps on Sundays?’ He seemed pleased to note the glance the two young people exchanged. ‘Take it with you, my boy, but check it over thoroughly before you venture out on it.’

  Recalling what had happened when he had not been very thorough in checking over a bicycle, Willie silently vowed to be extra particular this time. After thanking his old headmaster he wheeled the vehicle down the path, with Millie walking alongside him. ‘It’s very good of your father,’ he told her, ‘and I’d give anything to go out on runs with you, but cycling to school and back will give us a wee bit more time together.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking.’ Smiling mischievously, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth.