The Back of Beyond

by Doris Davidson

  ‘I must’ve made a mistake then.’

  Cycling back to the cottage, Marge decided not to tell Gwen about it. She’d only get more worried, and the success of the whole thing depended on them both staying calm. In any case, Lexie Fraser hadn’t seemed sure it was Gwen. She’d probably said it for effect more than anything, maybe she’d been there with a soldier herself, and had wanted her, Marge, to ask what she’d been doing at the tower at half past nine at night. She’d been wanting to prove she had a man friend. That was all.

  Lexie smiled craftily to herself when Marge went out. Did that Cockney think she’d come up the Don in a banana boat? Maybe – a weak maybe – it was just a coincidence that Alistair’s wife was feeling off colour, but more likely it was because her lover-boy had put her up the spout. Judging by the time that had gone past, she would be due to feel sick and that kind of thing. It all fitted in, and the situation should be monitored as closely as possible. If she was expecting, Gwen Ritchie hadn’t a hope of hiding it.

  In London, maybe, but not in Forvit. Not a hope! Definitely not!

  Chapter 19

  Marge was greatly relieved that Lexie Fraser, usually subcovertly inquisitive about all her customers’ lives, especially Alistair’s wife’s, had never commented on how pale and haggard Gwen was beginning to look. In fact, the shopkeeper seemed quite surprised when Marge said that her sister was going to see a specialist the following week. ‘It’s a woman’s problem, you see, and she was too embarrassed to go to the doctor here, so I took her to a lady doctor in Aberdeen a few weeks ago. She made all the arrangements:’

  Lexie just nodded half-heartedly and said, ‘So she would. Now, that’s one pound, sixteen and four pence, please, Mrs Finnie.’

  Marge picked out the correct amount from the money she had just received as her army allowance, and as she packed her purchases into the shopping bag, she wondered what God-sent problem was keeping Lexie so preoccupied. The thing was, she thought, while she cycled back to the cottage, it might not last long, and it was better to face all possible snags before they arose. That was why she had given the first hint of something brewing … but leading the shopkeeper, naturally, in the wrong direction.

  ‘You’d better not go to the shop again,’ she told her sister when she went in. ‘I’ve told Lexie you’re going to see a specialist next week, and even if I’m not sure if she took it in, it’s better that you stop going to the village till after …’

  Gwen looked up sadly from preparing the vegetables. ‘But if you’re going to pretend it’s you who’s having the baby, you can’t go either. She’ll see you’re not expecting.’

  ‘It’s going to be OK. I’ll stick a cushion up my jumper …’

  ‘But you’ll need two cushions when it comes nearer the time, and you won’t have any clothes to fit over that.’

  ‘I think I will. D’you remember, before Alice left, she said she’d never thrown out any of her mother’s clothes? She said they were in an old trunk in the attic, and Mrs Ritchie was quite stout, remember? I’ll go up this afternoon and sort something out. It’ll work, Gwennie, I promise it will.’

  ‘Oh, Marge, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Marge pulled a face. ‘You wouldn’t be in this mess, for a start. You’d never have gone out with Ken Partridge if I hadn’t made you.’

  That afternoon, while Marge was up in the attic, Gwen went into her son’s room to look at the photographs again. David had got some nice snaps of the tower, of the house, of some of his chums, but those taken at Benview were really good. Of course, Ken had taken two and Marge had taken one, but the one David had taken was by far the best – Ken standing between her and her sister with his arms round their shoulders. David had told them not to be so serious, she recalled, so Marge, grinning up at Ken, had passed some silly remark, he was smiling broadly at her, and she, herself, was laughing.

  Gwen studied this print for several seconds, waiting to see if what she’d felt for the man on that last night would return, the powerful emotion that had led to her present predicament, but there was nothing. She still felt an affection for him, missed him coming to the cottage, but that was all. Her heart hadn’t speeded up in the slightest. It was Alistair she loved, and God knows what he would think of her if he ever found out what she had done.

  She returned the slim wallet to the shelf when she heard her sister creaking down the rickety ladder. ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘A few skirts and some knitted jumpers and cardigans, and a coat, so we’re OK. It’s a good thing we went to Aberdeen last Thursday. If Lexie does start asking questions about us, she’ll find out that was true, though she’d have a fit if she knew it was for a maternity skirt for you. We’ll have to go again next week to keep to my story, but we can buy some baby things. Nobody’ll think it’s queer that you couldn’t ask the local doc about your “problem”. They all know how shy and easily embarrassed you are.’

  Gwen sat down with a thump when they returned to the kitchen. ‘You said I wouldn’t have to tell any lies, but I’ve still got to go along with this awful deception.’

  ‘If you don’t,’ Marge snapped, in exasperation, ‘you’ll lose Alistair. So what would you rather do? End your marriage, or listen to me tell a few whoppers?’

  ‘Don’t try to make me laugh. I never felt less like laughing in my whole life.’

  Gwen could see that Marge was enjoying the masquerade. She came down to breakfast every day already padded in case the postman came, and if he did, she took him in for his usual ‘cuppa’ as bold as brass. Real pregnant women tried to hide their condition, not flaunt it in front of people like she was doing. Being Marge, of course, she could get away with it, Gwen mused, a trifle enviously, whereas she was so scared in case Sandy Mearns suspected anything that she wrapped herself in a blanket before he was due, and sat in an armchair until he left. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she was worrying more and more about what had still to come.

  ‘I can’t leave it too long before I go …’ she began one day. ‘Travelling so far wouldn’t be good for the baby.’

  Marge wrinkled her nose. ‘Safe up to the end of your eighth month, I’d say.’

  A little put out, Gwen said sourly, ‘What do you know about it? You’ve never had any.’ The minute the words were out, she regretted them. ‘I’m sorry, Marge, but I’d like to make up my own mind sometimes.’

  ‘Go when you like!’ Marge retorted, ‘I thought … if you’re away too long, the kids’ll wonder what’s up.’

  ‘OK, I’ll wait a month, though Ivy said to go any time I wanted.’

  Ivy Crocker had been another of Marge’s brainwaves. ‘You don’t want to let Mum and Peg know,’ she had observed, ‘and it’s safer not to ask Alice. Ivy was the only other person I could think of, and she’ll likely be glad of some company for a while. She’s had a pretty rough time this last year, what with her sister dying and then Len, so she’ll likely be glad of some company for a while. Besides, she’s not the kind to condemn you.’

  For the next two weeks, the pseudo-pregnant Marge cycled into the village to collect their army allowances, and to stock up with groceries for the week, answering, when anyone hinted that she shouldn’t be on a bike and her so far on, ‘It’s good exercise for me, and I’m as fit as a fiddle … a dashed big fiddle, but still fit. It’s Gwen who’s … she’s to go to London to see some kind of specialist. She’s just waiting to be told the date.’

  At last, noticing one day how awkwardly Gwen was walking, Marge decided it was time to implement the next stage of her plan, and asked Lexie if it was all right if David and Leila handed in a shopping list on their way to school each Monday, and collected the items on their way home. ‘Gwen’s annoyed at me for carrying on biking so long,’ she explained, ‘and she’s not fit for it … she’s got some woman’s trouble, you see. Her hospital appointment’s on the second of May, so that’s less than a week to go, thank goodness. I just hope the London surgeons can cure what’s wrong
with her.’

  Lexie appended the official Post Office rubber stamp to the two allotment books, and said, ‘If you sign your book every week, I can let the bairns have the cash, as well. It’s against the rules, but … under the circumstances …’

  ‘Thanks, that’s ever so kind of you,’ Marge exclaimed, having been rather worried as to how she would manage if there was no money coming in.

  ‘Get Gwen to sign hers for however long she thinks she’ll be away,’ Lexie offered, ‘and I’ll give it to Leila week by week along with yours.’

  ‘Gee, thanks!’ Marge’s opinion of her rose. ‘Hopefully, she should be back before I …’ Winking, she patted the area of the cushions.

  Through the window, Lexie watched Marge placing her purchases into the bag behind the saddle of her bicycle. She was a fly one, every move thought out, covering up for her sister. Some woman’s trouble? Tosh! What ailed Gwen Ritchie was what that soldier had put in her belly, and it was well over a year since Alistair had been home. She hadn’t been in the shop for months, and nobody had seen her. Wait, though! Sandy Mearns must have seen her – he said he always got a cup of tea at Benview when he was there.

  Strangely enough, Aggie Mearns walked into the shop not long after Marge had left and said, in her tinny voice, ‘Was that Dougal Finnie’s wife I saw biking off?’

  Smiling inwardly at how fate was playing into her hands, Lexie nodded. ‘She was asking if she could send a list with Alistair’s kids.’

  ‘It was aboot time she stopped comin’, that track’s full o’ humps and muckle stanes, and it must be eight month since Dougal was hame. She coulda lost that bairn. I’m nae needin’ much the day, Lexie, just a loaf, and a pair o’ laces, and a packet o’ envelopes.’

  As she selected the requested items, Lexie manipulated the conversation to suit her. ‘She was telling me Alistair’s wife has to go to London for some special operation.’

  ‘Sandy says she’s a poor thing, aye sitting in a easy chair rolled up in a blanket.’

  ‘Well, I hope the operation’s a success. Now, was there anything else, Aggie?’

  ‘No, that’s the lot.’

  After Mrs Mearns had paid and gone, Lexie considered what she had learned. Sandy hadn’t actually seen Gwen walking about, so she could be as fat as a pig and he wouldn’t know. Like most men, he probably wouldn’t realize she was expecting unless she dropped the bairn at his feet.

  But suspicion wasn’t proof. Gwen could have some woman’s trouble that needed a special operation, it was possible, so it was just a case of waiting to see whether one or two babies turned up at Benview in the next few weeks.

  The stage had been set, but young David forestalled the final act by two days. Squeezing past his mother one morning, he muttered, ‘Mum, if you and Auntie Marge get any fatter, there won’t be room for both of you in this kitchen at one time.’

  Marge saved Gwen’s stricken face by roaring with laughter. ‘It’s all the country food, and the working outside gives us big appetites.’

  But the boy had made the sisters think, and when they were alone, Marge said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go today, Gwennie. I’ll write out a pretend letter from Peg, saying Mum’s ill, so we’ll have that to show if David or Leila ask any awkward questions when they come home from school. I’ll see you on to the train at Aberdeen, so don’t panic about that, and I’ll carry your case down to the bus. Will you manage to walk that far?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll manage.’ Gwen’s mind was one big whirl. She was worried that her son and daughter might suspect the truth; she was dreading having to walk to the main road; she was scared that someone who knew her would be on the bus; she was petrified at the thought of travelling as far as Newcastle on her own in her present condition.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ Gwennie,’ Marge assured her, ‘but we’ll have to get a move on. I’ll phone from the station to let Ivy know you’re on your way, and I’m sure she’ll meet you at the other end.’

  By the time she arrived in Aberdeen, Gwen was shivering with apprehension, and she followed Marge gratefully into the station tearoom. ‘I’ll go and phone Ivy,’ Marge said, brightly, when she came back from the counter with a cup of tea and a sandwich. ‘You’ll be OK till I come back?’

  Gwen nodded, afraid that the tears would come if she said anything, but she did manage to eat half the sandwich and drink the tea before her sister showed up again.

  ‘That’s all settled,’ Marge said, a little breathlessly. ‘I told her when you’ll arrive, and she’ll meet you at the station. Everything’s organized, so don’t look so scared. It’s not your first, for heaven’s sake.’

  Gwen shook her head wretchedly. ‘But Mum and Peg and you looked after me when I had Leila and David, and Alistair …’ She broke off, biting her bottom lip.

  ‘Ivy’ll look after you. I’d have come with you like a shot, but we’ve the kids to think of. I wish there was some way we could … somebody we could trust to look after them, but it’s best that nobody in Forvit knows what’s going on. Now, there’s still two hours till the London train leaves, so why don’t we go to a bank and ask if you can get some money out of that account Alistair set up for you when we came up to Scotland first?’

  Gwen had made up her mind at the time that she would never touch a penny of that money, but Alistair had said she was at liberty to draw out as much as she wanted in an emergency. ‘I suppose I could call this an emergency,’ she muttered, ‘and I will need cash to pay Ivy for keeping me, and for my fare home.’

  This errand accomplished, they did some window shopping until Gwen spotted a clock above a jeweller’s window. ‘Look at the time. You’ll have to get back for David and Leila. What’ll they think if you’re not there when they get home from school?’

  ‘I left a note, and the pretend letter from Peg, so they think you’re on your way to London because Mum’s been taken ill, and if Lexie ever asks them where you are, that’s what they’ll say.’

  ‘But you told her I was going to hospital …’

  ‘She’ll think I’ve told them different to stop them worrying about you. You know, my girl, you’ve got a dashed clever sister.’ Marge gave a wicked grin. ‘I’ve thought of everything, and I’ll make ready that pram Alice said she had for Morag. It’ll be all clean and sparkling like a new pin before you get back with … whatsisname.’

  ‘D’you think it’ll be a boy?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest, but I’ll love it whatever it is.’

  Gwen had to swallow the lump which had risen in her throat at this. She had forgotten that the baby wouldn’t be hers once she got back to Forvit. Marge would have to look after it otherwise David and Leila, Leila especially, would think it strange.

  When they returned to the station, she said, ‘Marge, I know you’re hanging about here to make sure I’m all right, but I’ll be a lot happier if you just go home to the kids now.’

  Not wanting to upset her sister at this stage, Marge said, ‘OK, don’t go lifting that case. Ask a porter to look after you when it’s train time.’

  Feeling anything but comfortable about the whole business, Gwen would have panicked altogether if she had known what a narrow escape she’d had from discovery. They had left Forvit at five past eleven, quite unaware that Mrs Mearns, the postman’s wife, had come to Aberdeen by the next bus on her way to see a friend in Laurencekirk. She had arrived at the station while they went to the bank and, when the gates opened to let passengers in, had found a seat in a carriage near the engine because she was always afraid that the back end of the train might stop short of the platform.

  Only five minutes later, the porter helped Gwen into the first empty compartment they came to, unwittingly enabling Gwen to escape detection.

  The meeting on the platform at Newcastle some hours later was too much for her. Despite her abhorrence of bringing attention on herself, she burst into tears and rushed into Ivy Crocker’s welcoming arms, heedless of the people milling around them.

&nb
sp; ‘Hush, love,’ the older woman crooned, ‘hush now. It’s going to be all right. Ivy’ll look after you.’

  When she composed herself, Gwen noticed that her old friend was looking much older. She still wore too much make-up, still bleached her hair, but there were lines on her forehead that could not be hidden. There was a sadness in her black-outlined eyes, a sadness that told how much she missed her life’s partner.

  Ivy was looking at her compassionately. ‘All right now, dearie?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, I made a proper exhibition of myself.’

  ‘Nobody noticed, but we’d better get on. I’ll carry the case, if you can manage the bag? Won’t be long now, less than half an hour on the bus, then a few minutes’ walk.’

  In just over the half hour, Gwen was sitting in the kitchen of an old cottage in the village of Moltby. ‘Put your feet up on that pouffe till I pour you a drop of my plum wine.’ Ivy pushed a squashed round pouffe towards her. ‘I bet you’re exhausted after such a long journey,’ she observed in a moment, handing over a glass.

  Gwen nodded wearily. ‘I am a bit tired.’

  ‘Your room’s all ready for you, so you can have a lie down any time you want.’

  ‘Oh Ivy, you’ve always been so kind to me.’ Gwen’s voice was trembling now, the tears perilously near the surface again. ‘What must you think of me?’

  Ivy stepped in before she broke down for the second time. ‘Gwen, I make it my business not to mind anybody else’s, and I wouldn’t presume to judge you, but I would like to know … why?’

  Knowing that Ivy had thought the world of Alistair, Gwen did her best to explain, in low, shamed monotones, beginning with Ken taking Marge and the bicycle home from the 1941 Hogmanay Do.

  ‘Sexual attraction,’ Ivy said, when the tale ended. ‘That’s what it had been, because you were both vulnerable to your emotions. I don’t condone what you did, but I do understand. I had my own moments, you know, I wasn’t always this old and this ugly.’