Her sorrow and sense of betrayal still too raw for her to cope with, Carrie heaved a shuddering sigh. She didn’t think she’d ever get over it, so why should she expect Lexie to forget? Poor lass! Alistair Ritchie could have helped her, but maybe he could see there was something not right about her nowadays. It wasn’t anything her mother could put a finger on, but she was definitely different, more serious … over-serious, that was it … intense. She was young, and should be enjoying herself more, but she had likely heard what they were saying, and all, though a true family man doesn’t up tail and leave his wife and daughter without a word, no matter what sort of trouble he finds himself in. He buckles to and faces up to whatever it is, but … fathering a bairn on a woman that wasn’t his wife, a girl, really, twenty years younger than himself? In a place like Forvit, he’d have been the butt of the filthiest of crude jokes, and he wouldn’t have liked that.
Running the general store and sub-post office, as well as being an elder in the kirk, he’d always held his head up, taken a pride in not going drinking with the other men, and especially not playing around with loose women, for there was a few of that kind about, even in this wee village. His interest lay in music. His father had taught him how to play their little harmonium, and he had played the pipe organ in the kirk since he was fifteen. He took the choir practice every Wednesday, the only night of the week he ever went out, and that was where he’d got friendly with Nancy Lawrie, for she was one of the sopranos.
But bad blood will out, though there had been no hint of it before! And Lexie was his daughter, so maybe there was something unnatural in her, as well? It wasn’t noticeable, thank heaven, but the shock could have been enough to bring it to the surface – for just a wee while, please God! One good thing, she was coping all right in the shop, learning the postal work and all, and that could take her mind off things. And she’d find another lad. Of course she would!
* * *
Lying on top of the bedcovers, Lexie was angry at her mother for being so perceptive, but whatever she said or thought, the girl was certain that absence would make Alistair’s heart grow fonder, and she was prepared to wait for months, even years, for him to come back to her. But suppose he kept his threat and didn’t come near her when he came back to visit his mother and father? What then?
She contemplated this awful thought for some time, then decided that it would be up to her to seek him out and make him admit he loved her, as she was sure he did … deep down. He was the only man she’d ever want, and even if it took until they were middle-aged, till they were both grey-haired, she would get him in the end.
Chapter 2
While the Aberdeen Steam Navigation Company’s ‘Lochnagar’ was docked at Leith, the two youths stood at the rail to watch the activity involved in the taking aboard of some twenty or so new passengers and their baggage, a welcome break from the long hours of having only seagulls and water to look at, their faces spattered by the spray sent up as the ship’s prow cleaved through the angry waves.
The lengthy interlude over and on their way once more, Alistair cast a sour glance at his friend, to whom he felt somewhat less than friendly at that precise moment. ‘Could you nae have got a better place for us than right up at the sharp end?’
Dougal seemed rather put out. ‘What did you expect for fifteen bob? A luxury cabin? Second class return was two pounds, but single was one pound, seven and six, meals included. I ken’t my mother would gi’e me enough to feed the five thousand, so I said we wouldna need meals. I saved you twelve and a tanner, and that’s the thanks I get.’
‘Aye, well, but I thought I’d get to London dry.’
‘Ach, stop your girnin’. Tell yoursel’ Lexie Fraser’s getting further and further awa’ every minute. Does that nae cheer you up?’
They ate their second ‘meal’ now, rationing their pooled resources – a crusty loaf, a hunk of cheese and a pound of cold sausages from Alistair’s mother, a large meat roll, a jar of her rhubarb chutney and six hard boiled eggs from Dougal’s. Meg Finnie had also packed into the small canvas bag a flagon of home-made ginger beer to wash down the dry fare. Not long after they had packed away their remaining food, the sun peeped uncertainly through the clouds, and the sky slowly came ablaze with light.
‘This is more like it,’ Alistair observed, as the heat penetrated his damp clothes.
‘Aye, thank goodness,’ Dougal muttered. ‘Maybe you’ll be happy now.’
At Newcastle, while the new passengers came up the gangway, Dougal invented some reasons for their making the journey. ‘See that woman wi’ the red hat? I bet she’s a Russian spy going to London to report to her bosses, and that man wi’ the mouser’s a forger, wi’ his attache case full o’ counterfeit notes.’
Alistair had found a new worry. ‘What if the boat sinks wi’ the extra weight …?’
‘Ach, Ally,’ Dougal exploded, ‘would you stop imagining things?’
Anchors up and in motion again, they decided it was time to settle for the night. The covered-in sleeping area, roughly triangular, could only be described as steerage class, but no one else was there, so it was with relief that they unfolded the bedding and made up two of the six bunk beds.
Finding it difficult to get comfortable on the lumpy mattresses and pillows, Alistair suddenly sat bolt upright. ‘Did you get some place for us to bide in London?’
‘We’ll easy find a place.’ Dougal looked sheepish for not having thought of this.
When a stocky, middle-aged member of the crew looked in some time later to check on how many had taken advantage of this basic accommodation, they were still sitting brooding, shoulders hunched, fair and dark heads bowed, blue eyes and brown staring dejectedly at the rough, grey blankets. A flat cap sitting at a rakish angle on his straggly white hair, the man regarded them speculatively. ‘I hope you two aint expecting to find the streets of London paved with gold? All you Scotch laddies seem to think …’
‘We’re not as daft as that,’ Dougal objected, offended by the implied slight.
‘Just as well, then.’ The man hesitated, then asked, ‘Have you jobs to go to?’
Dougal’s frown deepened to a scowl. ‘Aye, we’re all fixed up.’
The seaman walked away with disbelief written all over his weather-beaten face.
‘Why did you tell him that?’ Alistair wanted to know. ‘It’s a downright lie, and he didna believe you, any road.’
‘He can believe what he likes. We’ll easy find jobs, I can feel it in my bones.’
Alistair still wasn’t convinced, but, giving his chum the benefit of the doubt, he kept quiet. Dougal had said he’d been thinking of going to London for a while, and he must have found out how the land lay as far as getting work was concerned. He would realize they couldn’t live on nothing. Of course, the Finnies were well off. Joe, Dougal’s father, had his own farm, and even if it wasn’t the biggest in the Forvit area, it certainly wasn’t the smallest, so he’d likely given Dougal a fiver at least, maybe even a tenner, to keep him going till he was earning for himself, whereas all he’d got was a measly two pounds, which wouldn’t last long when they’d to pay for board and lodgings … if they ever found a place, that was.
But the Finnies’ money and the Ritchies’ lack of it wasn’t the only difference between him and Dougal, he reflected. He was inclined to be a bit of a pessimist, whereas Dougal always found something bright about every situation, and managed to wriggle out of all the trouble he got them into with his mischievous ways.
In the morning, they made a breakfast of bread, cheese and chutney, washed down with the last of the ginger beer. The day passed uneventfully, eating when they felt the need of sustenance with only water to wash things down, taking a stroll now and then to save their legs stiffening up.
Thirty-five and a half hours after they had left Aberdeen, a movement of the other passengers told them they were nearing their destination, and they joined the line waiting to disembark, taking the opportunity to drink in the sights
– the dirty buildings, the bustle of sea traffic as the boat made its way through the docks. At long last, however, they stepped shakily onto dry land, still feeling as if they were rising and falling with the tide.
‘Which way do we go, then?’ Alistair wanted to know, but Dougal’s non-committal grimace made him burst out, ‘You mean you havena found out anything aboot anything?’
‘I thought … I thought …’
Seeing Dougal so obviously at a loss for words or action of any kind made Alistair more than a little frightened, as if a crutch he depended on had been taken away, but anger soon took over. ‘How are we supposed to find a bed for the night, then? Or were you hoping somebody would throw a blanket over us if we lay down here?’
A heavy hand on Dougal’s shoulder saved him from trying to justify himself, and he looked up into the kindly grey eyes of the seaman who had spoken to them the night before. ‘I can tell by your miserable faces you’re worrying about something. You said you had jobs, but it wasn’t true, was it? And you’ve nowhere to live either, right?’
‘That’s about it,’ Dougal muttered.
‘If you wait till I get finished, I’ll try to figure out something for you. I shouldn’t be more than ’arf an hour, and there’s plenty to see here in Limehouse.’
Trying to show that he was in no way daunted by their homeless predicament, Dougal pointed along the quay to where a few of their fellow passengers were standing. ‘What are they waiting for? Are they taking another boat to somewhere else?’
‘They’ll be going upriver to the Houses of Parliament. Sightseers. Now, just stand there and don’t wander off. I’ll be back as soon as I can!’
Their waiting was lightened by the activity around them although Dougal seemed a bit preoccupied, and it didn’t feel like half an hour to either of them before the seaman was with them again. He swung his seabag from his shoulder down to the ground, but before he had time to say anything, Dougal put forward the idea which had occurred to him. ‘Look, we’ll be OK. If you just tell us where to find the YMCA, we’ll …’
The man’s bellowing laugh stopped him. ‘It don’t allus do to be so independent. My trouble-and-strife’s been speaking about taking in lodgers to make some extra cash, and you look like real decent boys, so why don’t you come home with me? She was going to put a card in the grocer’s window, but you could save her the bother, and I can guarantee she won’t fleece you like some landladies.’
Alistair glanced at his pal then said firmly, ‘We won’t be able to pay her much … not till we find work.’
‘My Ivy’s a trusting soul. Me name’s Len Crocker, by the way, and we’ve a two up, two down in Hackney. Oh, there’s a bloke I want a word with. Hang on a minute.’
‘That’s a bit of luck,’ Dougal smiled, when the stocky little man moved away.
‘Aye, he seems real nice, but his wife mightna like us.’
‘We can look for somewhere else, and the same goes if we dinna like her.’
Alistair pursed his mouth. ‘You ken, Dougal, I’m having second thoughts about this.’
‘We’ll be fine. There’s plenty of jobs in London if we look in the right places.’
‘Maybe, but how’ll we ken where the right places are?’
Dougal sighed and waved his hands airily. ‘We’ll find them.’ He looked pensive for a moment, then added, ‘I tell you this, if Ivy’s anything like her man, we’ll be in clover.’
‘If she takes to us.’
‘Ach, Ally, stop looking on the black side. If you turn up there wi’ a sour face like that, she’ll definitely nae take to you.’
Back with them, Len hoisted his seabag on to his shoulder again and boomed, ‘Right, me hearties! Best foot forrard. Home James, and don’t spare the horses, as they say.’
Each carrying a cardboard suitcase – containing two changes of underwear, shirts, flannels, jerseys, several pairs of hand-knitted socks, plus their Sunday suits and shoes and half a dozen well-laundered handkerchiefs – the boys had difficulty in keeping up with him as he strode out briskly to where they would get a bus to Hackney. Once seated in the double-decker, he kept up a running commentary on everything they passed, and in no time, it seemed, he said that this was where they got off. ‘Just a step or two now,’ he assured them, but they went through a veritable maze of identical streets before he announced, with some pride, ‘This is it! Home sweet home and the fire black out.’
Alistair and Dougal exchanged alarmed glances, but his throaty chuckle let them know he was only joking. He opened the immaculately painted green door and shouted, ‘I’ve brung two young gentlemen to see you, Ivy, love!’
They were ushered into a small sitting room and had only time to notice the brightly burning fire when a buxom woman with very blonde hair, probably in her forties, bustled in. Her slight frown vanished when she saw them. ‘Well,’ she simpered, ‘this is a naice surprise. When you said young gentlemen, Len, I didn’t expect them to be this young.’ She shot her husband an enquiring look.
‘That’s not me usual welcome,’ he grinned, grabbing her round the waist and planting a kiss on her full mouth before explaining, ‘They’re from Aberdeen, and they’ve nowhere to live, so I said you might …’
She jumped in quickly, addressing Alistair as she straightened her skirt. ‘Ai suppose Ai could take you, if you’re willing to share?’
At this point, Dougal thought it expedient to acquaint her with all the facts. ‘We can’t pay much till we’re earning.’
‘That’s quate all right,’ she smiled, not taking her eyes off Alistair, ‘we can arrange all that later. Ai suppose Len told you Ai’m Ivy, so what’s your name, dearie?’
‘I’m Alistair Ritchie, and he’s Dougal Finnie.’ He felt most uncomfortable under her intense stare.
‘Alistair?’ she beamed, and, obviously finding the effort too much, she stopped trying to sound more refined than she was. ‘I like that, so Scotch, but I expect you’re hungry after coming all the way from Aberdeen. Five hundred miles anyway, isn’t it? Show them up to the spare room, Len, love, and I’ll rustle up something for them to eat.’ She had turned briefly to her husband but directed her last words once more at Alistair. ‘Just come down when you’re ready, dearie.’
The upstairs room was large and airy, with a wide double bed, a wardrobe, a tallboy, a basket chair and a wooden-armed chair. Dougal grimaced. ‘Nae exactly the best of hotels, is it, but it’s clean, so I suppose it’ll be OK.’
‘There’s just one bed,’ Alistair pointed out. ‘I’ve never had to share a bed before.’
‘Neither have I, but ach, we’ll manage. It’s that big we’ll have to look for each other in the mornings.’
The window, Alistair discovered when he went across to it, looked down on a small, well-tended garden at the rear of the house, a neat little patch of lawn surrounded by several flower beds which had the promise of being colourful in spring and summer. ‘One of the Crockers must be keen on gardening,’ he observed. ‘Ivy, likely, for Len’s job must take him away a lot.’
Coming up behind him, Dougal nudged his arm in a knowing way. ‘She’s taken a right fancy to you … dearie.’
‘Oh, I hope no’,’ Alistair groaned. ‘She’s as old as my mother.’
‘She could teach you a thing or two if you let her, you lucky devil.’
‘Nae fears! I dinna want her near me, and I’m nae sure if we shoulda come here.’
‘Like I said, if we dinna like it, we can look for somewhere else. Hurry up and put your things past, for my belly thinks my throat’s cut.’
Agreeing that Dougal should have the top two drawers of the tallboy and Alistair the other two, they didn’t take long to stow their few belongings away. Dougal was all set to go downstairs as soon as they put their empty cases on top of the wardrobe, but Alistair insisted that they should at least was their hands before eating their meal. Luckily, Len had pointed out the doors to the lavatory and the separate bathroom, so they didn’t have to ask, and
some minutes later, hair slicked down with water, boyish faces shining, fingernails spotless, they went out on to the landing, where their appetites were whetted by the delicious smell wafting up from downstairs.
‘Oh boy,’ Dougal whispered, ‘I’m going to enjoy this, whatever it is.’
They were rather taken aback by the huge amount on their plates as they sat down at the table, and they couldn’t help noticing that, although they had a pork chop along with the sausages, eggs, beans, fried bread and chips, their host and hostess had not. Dougal opened his mouth to say something about this, but Alistair gave his shin a surreptitious kick under the table. It was obvious to him that the chops had been cooked for Ivy and Len’s supper, and the sausages had probably been intended for their next day’s dinner, but it would have been bad manners to draw attention to it.
Ivy took the opportunity now to find out more about them, her peroxided head nodding at Dougal’s replies but her lipsticked mouth smiling at Alistair. She showed great surprise when she learned that Forvit village consisted of only about twenty houses, a general store which was also a sub-post office, and that butcher meat was bought from a van that came from Bankside, four and a half miles away, three times a week.
‘Well!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re going to know a big difference here.’
‘There’s a kirk … a church, of course,’ Alistair volunteered, ‘and a doctor, though the chemist’s in Bankside, and all, and the garage.’
‘Wot about a police station?’ Len put in. ‘There must be police in Forvit.’
Dougal grinned now. ‘There’s no crime, so … no police. The nearest bobby’s at the far end of Bankside.’
Len pursued the subject. ‘Wot if ’e couldn’t handle something that happened? A big robbery, say, or an assault, or … a murder?’
The Back of Beyond Page 2
