The Nickum

by Doris Davidson

  ‘Emmy, my lovie, you’re tired. You’re nae really fit to be lookin’ after a wee laddie – a wee nickum,’ he added, trying in vain to make her laugh, because it had become a standing joke. ‘I’ll tell Herbert next Sunday this’ll be oor last week.’

  ‘No, no. I’m all right. It’s just … oh I don’t know what it is. Just a queer feeling I have, now and again, that something’s going to happen – change. Don’t ask, for I don’t understand it myself.’

  Several more days passed, during which Emily prepared herself for a shock of some kind, but when nothing had happened by the following Sunday, other than Billy emptying the contents of her flour bin onto the kitchen floor when she had run out to take in the washing because the rain had come on. Unfortunately, the rain had been absolutely torrential, and her dripping feet and the water running off the long oilskin coat of Jake’s that she had put on made a thin paste form on the congoleum, so that it became as slippery as ice. Negotiating it as carefully as she could she still skidded and almost fell, and the delighted little boy tried to slide on it, getting himself in a right mess in the process by constantly tumbling down, on purpose.

  She was thus more tired than usual by the time Sunday came round, and was looking forward to her ‘free’ week. At the usual time on the Sunday afternoon, Herbert Meldrum’s car drew up outside the gate, but it was Millie who came in to collect her son. ‘Dad’s busy with some reorganisation he’s thinking of doing at the school,’ she explained, ‘and I think he’s beginning to trust me not to bash his car. It’s over a year since I passed my test and this is actually the very first time he’s let me touch it.’

  ‘I’ve heard some men think mair o’ their cars than their bairns,’ Jake laughed, ‘but me? I’m content to be on Shanks’s mare. Nae that I could afford a car, in ony case.’

  ‘How are you two, this week?’ she asked now. ‘No problems with this little monkey?’

  Emily shot a quick glance at her husband, who ignored the message. ‘Weel, lass, I’m nae that bad, but Emily’s real tired. We was wonderin’ …’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me you want to stop having Billy?’ Her eyes were filled with tears. ‘Mum hasn’t been well at all this week, and the doctor says it’s her heart. He told her she’d better let the child’s other grandmother take over for a while, but …’

  Her worry for her mother was so obvious that Emily’s heart went out to her. She loved this girl, who could have been their daughter-in-law and was indeed just like a daughter to them. ‘No, it’s all right, Millie. I’ve just been a bit down this week, that’s all, but I’ll be fine. Just leave him here.’

  ‘Are you sure, though? I don’t want you cracking up as well. I know he’s a proper handful.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Emily assured her.

  ‘We can do your washing for you – I’m sure that would help. Dad bought Mum a new washing machine. The old one was hard work, you know, with having to use the handle to make the agitator work, and the gas ring underneath took quite a long time to heat the water. Plus she had to fill it and empty it with a pail, but this new one’s got a hose to fix to the tap, and one to take the water down the drain. Better still, since it’s plugged into the electricity, that’s what works the agitator, the water heats in no time. Marvellous. So don’t you carry on slaving. I’ll change your bed sheets and things, and let me have all your dirty clothes. I can come every Sunday morning, and take back the laundered things the next week. That should save you some work, mm?’

  Overcome by this offer, Emily said weakly, ‘I couldn’t let you do that.’

  ‘Why not? Just think of what you’ve done for me. Please, Emily, it’ll let me think I’m not taking advantage of you.’

  ‘But you don’t manage to come home every weekend, so …’

  ‘I’ll make sure I do come home. Anyway, Dad’s speaking about getting Mum a woman in to help with the housework, and do the laundry and all the heavier work. It’ll all work out perfectly.’

  She started by changing the sheets in the box bed in the kitchen, then went through to the other room to change those on her son’s single bed, saying as she went through the door, ‘You can look out whatever else there is to wash.’

  Husband and wife regarded each other as if in shock, but at last Jake grinned. ‘By gum! She’s doesna waste time, does she? Oor Willie would’ve been a lucky man gettin’ a wife like that.’ He regretted the words the minute they were out, for his wife’s eyes had clouded over.

  ‘We can’t let her do this, Jake. It would be like us taking advantage of her.’

  ‘She’ll nae think that, never fret. She’s young an’ fit, an’ willin’. If this is the change you’ve been worryin’ aboot, it’s the best thing that coulda happened. Except for Margaret Meldrum’s he’rt, of course.’

  Billy didn’t seem to mind staying with his ‘Gamma an’ Ganda Fowlie’, and nodded happily when his mother told him, ‘Grandma and Granda Meldrum will come to see you as often as they can.’

  It had all been arranged so quickly that Emily lay in bed that night wondering if she had been dreaming. This was certainly a change, but not what she had worried about. Still, she assured herself, as her mother-in-law used to say, ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’ The washing machine would take a load of work off her shoulders, and give her more time to enjoy her grandson, wee Nickum though he certainly was. In any case, he’d be going to school in little more than a year.

  Almost three weeks later, when she heard the car drawing up at the door, Emily thought at first that it would be Herbert Meldrum bringing back the laundry early for some reason, but it wasn’t his car she saw when she lifted the net curtain to make sure. It was the Tillyburnie taxi, and a tall, gaunt young man was coming out. He gestured to the driver to wait until he made sure he had come to the right place, she thought – and then strode over and knocked on the door. She opened it warily.

  ‘Mrs Jacob Fowlie?’ he asked.

  She liked the look of him, pleasant manner, very pale complexion, but he likely worked inside an office somewhere. If he hadn’t looked so respectable, she would have thought he was just out of prison or some kind of confinement, but he wasn’t that kind at all. ‘Yes?’

  He turned and signed to the driver, who moved away at once. ‘You don’t know me, Mrs Fowlie, but you may have heard of me. My name is Pat Michie …’

  Her hand on her heart, Emily plumped down on the nearest chair. ‘Pat Michie? Willie’s pal?’

  ‘That’s right. Oh, I hope I haven’t upset you?’

  Her eyes had filled with tears, but she brushed them away. ‘No, no. I’m surprised, that’s all.’

  ‘I came to tell you – I don’t suppose you know anything about how he … died?’ Her negative head-shake made him carry on. ‘He saved my life, you see. In fact, he saved a whole lot of lives.’

  Motioning to him to sit down too, it didn’t even enter her head to offer him a cup of tea, her usual method of welcoming a visitor. Her entire being was concentrated on hearing what she had longed to find out for some years now. It came pouring out, the awful truth of the tragedy that this young man had lived through; the guilt that still haunted him.

  It had started with the withdrawal of the troops who had thought they had wrested El Alamein from the enemy; the reorganisation of the men; the realisation of one Commanding Officer that they needed help desperately; the request for a volunteer to replace the Despatch riders who had been killed in the fierce battle.

  Although Emily knew at once who had volunteered, she said nothing, unwilling to break into a narrative which she knew was the truth, not some gilded tale the War Office had issued to cover up some dire mistake.

  ‘So Willie roared off on the old motor bike, and I could have kicked him for being so foolhardy. We all knew there were snipers lurking in the scrub just beyond where we were encamped, for they had killed quite a few of our lads, and I just hoped he’d be extra careful.’

  ‘Careful wasn’t Willie’s style.’ Knowing h
er son’s failings, she couldn’t help saying it. ‘And extra careful was something he’d never have recognised.’

  Acknowledging this with a faint nod, Pat continued, anxious to explain how he had come into the picture. ‘A few of us were sent out to search for the radio equipment that had been dropped as we were retreating, and I happened to pick the area where the snipers were hiding – or maybe there was only one, I don’t know. Whatever, I hadn’t been there more than ten minutes when I went down with several bullets in my side. I lost consciousness, and they must have thought I was dead, for nobody came to finish me off. Willie must have come back some time after that, saw me lying in the road and tumbled to what had happened. I had come round by then, but I’m not really sure of this. I think he’d heard a movement and realised we were both in danger. Anyway, he flopped over me to save me, and took the volley himself.’ Pat looked up now, the sweat standing out on his brow as he recalled the scene.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Fowlie, I maybe shouldn’t have told you, but I wanted you to know how brave he was. And it’ll maybe comfort you to know something else. Just before he died, he looked straight into my eyes and said, “This is for you, Poopie.” Do you understand that?’

  Emily could not have described, supposing she had been offered a fortune for doing so, how she felt at that moment. It was as if God himself had looked down on her and assured her that her son had absolved himself of all the imagined blame he had carried on his shoulders for years. ‘Yes, I understand it. Do you?’

  ‘Aye, he told me all about Poopie, so I know he blamed himself.’

  ‘And you think he went to meet his Maker easier because he’d atoned for neglecting Poopie?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. What’s more, because he delivered the message that we needed reinforcements, he saved a lot more lives.’

  They sat in silence for some minutes, each remembering the dead soldier in their own way – Pat as a close friend and comrade, Emily as the ‘wee nickum’ who had been the bane of her life for most of his, and their emotions were too raw to speak about.

  At last, with a start, the woman pulled herself together, remembered her manners, and offered her visitor a cup of tea. Their tongues seemed to be released with the refreshment, and the conversation centred now on current issues – what Pat intended to do with his life, how he would feel free to look for work, to make a career of some kind, and the time slipped past unnoticed. It was only when the kitchen clock struck twelve that Emily shot to her feet. ‘Oh my, Jake’ll be in and there’s no dinner ready.’

  Pat also stood up. ‘I’d better get out of your way, then.’

  ‘You can’t go yet. You’ll have to wait and meet Willie’s father.’

  Jake, of course, the rough countryman that he was, took Pat’s version of events much more calmly than his wife, outwardly at least, but perhaps much more affected than he seemed. Having only half an hour’s break, he didn’t tarry long, bolting the thick cheese sandwiches his wife rustled up, and the other two were left alone once more.

  It was only after he’d dried the dishes and helped to lay them past that Pat noticed the box of toys in the corner of the kitchen and looked at his hostess for an answer.

  ‘They’re my grandson’s,’ she smiled. ‘We were sharing him for a few years, but his other grandma had heart trouble, so we’d to take him all the time except weekends when his mother came home. She’s a teacher in Aberdeen, and she’s home on holiday just now, so she’s got him till the schools start again.’

  Looking puzzled, Pat said, ‘Did your younger daughter come home from America? Is he her little boy?’

  ‘No, no – well Becky did come back and she works in the town, as well, but it’s Willie’s little boy. Billy, he’s called, and he’s just as mischievous as his father was.’

  ‘And his mother? Is it Millie, by any chance? Willie spoke a lot about her.’

  ‘Yes, Millie it is, and she’s a really nice girl. She got our Becky lodgings in her aunt’s house in Aberdeen.’

  ‘I would like to see Millie, Mrs Fowlie. Could you let me have her address?’

  ‘Her father’s the dominie, so it’s the schoolhouse, but you’re not fit enough to walk that far.’

  ‘I could phone for a taxi.’

  ‘Oh, laddie, there’s no phones round here, but I tell you what. If you stay the night, you could get a lift from the grocer’s van in the morning. He’s here about ten, and we’re the last of his calls hereabouts, and I’m sure he goes to the Meldrums’ on his way to the Mains.’

  ‘You don’t mind me staying overnight?’

  It turned out to be an ideal arrangement. It gave Jake an opportunity to ask as many questions as he wanted about the Battle of El Alamein, the dreary months Pat had spent in various hospitals for well over a year in Cairo being patched up, but not quite ready for battle. It was fortunate that the war had come to an end and this young man was no longer needed, yet he had been treated in various hospitals for well over a year before he was discharged with the warning ‘to take his time about looking for a job’. Emily, already acquainted with all the facts, was content to sit and listen, her heart sore for the son who should also have been present but had been too intent on clearing his conscience to consider anyone’s feelings but his own.

  Immediately this thought crossed her mind, she was ashamed. That wasn’t the way of it. Willie’s intention had been to save Pat, and in doing so Poopie had come to his mind. It was good. He had actually killed two birds with one stone – although that wasn’t a proper way of expressing it. He was a hero, twice over – that was nearer the mark, for the salvo that ended his life had given a warning to all the soldiers in the area. Not only that, his journey had resulted also in bringing extra troops who swung the battle in their favour.

  Millie Meldrum was shocked at first, yet delighted that the young man had wanted to tell her what had happened to Willie, and like Emily, she had to sit down. Younger, however, and much more resilient, she could withstand the assault on her emotions without breaking down, and could nod her satisfaction at his answers to her relevant questions. They had gone over the whole saga once and were probing a little deeper, when Billy bounced in.

  ‘Me and Ganda feeded the ducks,’ he said, his speech having much improved since his mother had spent some of her holiday time trying to train him. She was by no means satisfied with his grammar, but enough was enough at one time.

  Herbert waited only long enough to be introduced and to be told the young man’s reason for being there, before he went upstairs to see his wife, who had been in bed for some weeks now and was indeed showing some signs of getting over the trouble she had had.

  Billy now proceeded to make friends with the stranger. ‘My Daddy was a shoulder,’ he announced.

  ‘I know,’ Pat smiled. ‘I was in the army with him.’

  ‘Was you a Goddon Highland as well?’

  ‘I was that.’

  The bond forged, the little boy sidled up to the young man. ‘My Daddy was brave. Was you?’

  Pat grinned now. ‘Not me, lad. I’m no hero.’

  When Herbert came back, he said Pat was to stay for lunch, and he was welcome to stay for as long as he wanted. ‘It’ll do me good to have some male company for a while,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve been under petticoat government for far too long.’

  ‘I’ll have lunch, but I must get home,’ Pat apologised. ‘Mum thinks I should spend more time with her.’

  ‘Well, she’s quite right on that, but couldn’t you spend an hour or two with me? We could go for a walk in the afternoon. I’d like to know more about … well, just more.’

  It was almost six o’clock, therefore, when Herbert deposited his new young friend outside his home in Elgin despite his objections that he didn’t want to take advantage. ‘Nonsense, my boy. I consider it my duty, since you’ve been good enough to let my daughter know what happened. I think that was what she felt so badly about, that she had no idea of what had happened to Willie.’

  ‘I
wasn’t sure about coming,’ the young man admitted. ‘I was scared it might upset her too much. I know it upset Mrs Fowlie.’

  ‘But I’m sure she was glad you made the effort.’ He refused to go in to meet Mrs Michie, but issued an open invitation for Pat to visit the schoolhouse whenever he wanted. ‘And remember to let us know when you get a decent job. Don’t take any old thing. Make sure it’s worthwhile, and if you need someone to vouch for you, I’ll be pleased to oblige.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Mr Meldrum, and thank you for everything.’

  Neither the Meldrums nor the Fowlies gave out any information on who their young visitor was or why he had called, so the curiosity aroused in the area was left un-answered, and rumours ran rife.

  ‘It was a debt collector to the Fowlies.’

  ‘But nae the Meldrums as weel, surely? They canna be short o’ cash.’

  Or – ‘It was a man lookin’ for Becky Fowlie. She’d stolen money fae him. But dinna ask fit wye he went to the Meldrums, ’cos I dinna ken that.’

  Or – ‘He was a solicitor – the Meldrums are suein’ the Fowlies for their Willie puttin’ Millie in the puddin’ club.’

  ‘But they canna prove it was Willie, can they?’

  ‘The bobbies can prove onything these days, even if the criminal’s been deid for years. Onywye, a’body ken’t Willie was the father.’

  And so it went on, with Jake itching to let fly at them and Emily telling him it would only make things worse. ‘Let them say what they like. They can’t hurt us.’

  Another unexpected visit from Becky gave Emily good cause to worry. Her daughter never did anything unusual without it having an underlying motive, but what could she want this time?

  ‘Millie tells me her mother’s going to start taking a turn in looking after Billy again?’ the girl began.

  ‘What’s Billy got to do with it?’

  ‘Look, Mam, I’ll come clean. I’ve been seeing a lot of Jack Burns, and he wants us to get wed again, and he says he won’t care if I don’t want a family. But, I know he does, so I want to—’