The Back of Beyond

by Doris Davidson

  After trying everything she could to make her change her mind, Marge had conceded that it was Gwen’s choice and let the subject drop, and Dougal had carried the bag out to his car. He, too, had been against her running off, urging her to wait until she had talked things over with her husband at least one more time, but she couldn’t bear the idea of having to face Alistair again. And, unable to budge her on this, Marge had made her family’s breakfast before rousing Peggy.

  Their youngest sister had been horrified at what had gone on while she was asleep, but her fury was directed at Gwen for what she had done, not at Alistair for not trying to understand. The quarrel which had ensued had wakened Leila, whose face had blanched when she heard the reason for it. ‘When I saw Nicky at Grandma’s funeral, I said he was like Ken. I told you on the train home, remember, Mum?’

  Recalling it, Gwen felt worse than ever. She had never dreamt that her daughter suspected anything, but, bless her heart, Leila hadn’t turned against her. Through her tears, she had said, ‘If it wasn’t that I don’t want to be hundreds of miles away from Barry, I’d come with you.’

  At this, Dougal had pulled a face. ‘There wouldn’t have been room for you, Leila. It’s going to be hard enough to pack everybody in as it is, plus all the luggage.’

  By the time two cases had been strapped to the roof rack, and as many of the bags, cases and parcels as possible in the boot, the two boys had appeared, and Leila, guessing that the adults wouldn’t want Nicky to hear anything, took him upstairs again to make sure he hadn’t left any of the comics and toys he had arrived with.

  It had been left to Gwen to tell David, and her fragile composure had almost snapped at the sight of his stricken face. ‘I don’t know if you can understand why,’ she ended, ‘but I’m going back to London to live in Grandma’s house. She left it to me.’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’ His voice, beginning to deepen anyway, had cracked. ‘But what about us? Leila and me? Where are we going to live?’

  ‘I’ll let you make your own choice,’ Gwen had said, her own voice perilously near breaking. ‘You both work in Aberdeen, so …’ She had been unable to go on.

  Because the car was packed to capacity and more – Gwen’s travelling bag ended up sitting on the floor with Nicky’s feet resting on it, and both she and Peggy nursing large carrier bags – the choice did not have to be made immediately, and Leila and David stood at the gate, white-faced and forlorn, as they waved goodbye.

  They met Alistair halfway down the track, but he kept his head down even when Dougal drew his car to a halt. ‘Drive on,’ Gwen whispered, her heart so full she had nothing to say to her husband on perhaps the last time she would ever see him.

  Dougal, however, obviously wanted to make Alistair squirm. Rolling down his window, he called, ‘Your wife’s in my car, man, heartbroken at having to leave her home and her children. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’

  The other man making no sign of having heard, Dougal continued, ‘Damn you, you selfish son-of-a-bitch!’

  He had driven on then, his face scarlet, and they had soon left Forvit far behind, but cramped as they were, only young Nicky ever complained. They made the whole journey, all five hundred plus miles of it, in eighteen hours – including the stops due to the call of nature and to buy some sustenance to keep them going – with only a modicum of conversation between them.

  Turning to her other side now, Gwen wondered if the pain in her limbs would ever go away. They had almost seized up when Dougal helped her out of the car, and no doubt Peggy would be the same. Her youngest sister hadn’t spoken to her since they set out, and, quite possibly, Marge, too, would start resenting her for upsetting their lives. It was going to be hard on all of them with her living in the middle house, and how was she going to cope with seeing young Nicky every day and his carroty nob reminding her of who his father had been?

  Marge had said they would leave her alone if that’s what she wanted, and right now that’s exactly what she wanted. She would have to come to terms with herself before she could face anyone else, and that was going to take some time. Then! What then? She couldn’t expect Alistair to send her any money, so she would have to get a job of some kind, and she had never gone out to work before.

  Dougal had made a stop in Lewisham to let them stock up on provisions, so she rose to make a cup of tea. She wasn’t hungry, but she needed something to refresh her mouth. Looking at the little clock her mother had always had on the bedside table, she found that it was still only two o’clock – five hours short of two days since she left home. No, she corrected herself, home was here now … but her thoughts were still in Forvit. Alistair would be getting up in a few hours, and Leila and David, breakfast would be the usual rush, without her to make sure they had everything, then they would all get in the car …

  She would have to stop this. She would never get over things if she carried on like this. Gulping down the lump of self-pity in her throat that threatened to choke her, she came to the conclusion that she would never get over anything anyway, not on her own. She couldn’t appeal to Marge or Peggy for sympathy or advice, so who …? Dear old Ivy had died over a year ago, and now there was absolutely nobody.

  Then it struck her – Tilly Barker! After delivering Nicky, the midwife had become a good friend, and they had exchanged Christmas cards ever since. She had also written when Ivy died. Yes, Tilly would help her, Gwen decided … if she had remembered to take her address book with her. Grabbing her handbag, she rummaged inside, casting aside letters from Marge as well as old electricity and gas bills. It flitted across her mind that Alistair would have to look after those now, but it didn’t put her off her search. Just as she was thinking that she must have forgotten to put the little book back after she wrote her cards last Christmas, her fingers touched its imitation leather cover.

  The decision made, she deemed it best to leave before the households on either side of her were stirring, and so it was that, if anyone had been in Woodyates Road ten minutes later, he or she would have seen her closing her house door very carefully to prevent any noisy click, creeping furtively down the garden path and being equally cautious opening and closing the gate. Then, carrying the travelling bag she hadn’t yet unpacked, she strode purposefully towards Burnt Ash Road and the railway station. She would be in King’s Cross in no time, and even if she had to wait hours for a train to Newcastle, at least she wouldn’t be seen there.

  Alistair studied his son and daughter as they ate the toast he had made for them. By the look of them they’d had as little sleep as he had. Although he had found out, only by asking a direct question, that they knew everything, they hadn’t mentioned their mother again, not even to condemn her or take her part. What was more, they had neither accused him of being cruel nor agreed that he had done the right thing. It was difficult to know what they were thinking, where he stood with them.

  When he’d arrived back in the cottage two mornings ago, he could see that they were very upset, but they had kept themselves under control, even David, who was normally quicker to air his true feelings than Leila. They had both expressed their desire to go to work as usual, and he’d had to wait until evening before Leila told him that they were going to stay with him until they made up their minds what to do.

  ‘I’m going steady with Barry Mearns,’ she had told him with no sign of shyness, ‘so I don’t really want to leave, and David’s in Forvit football team, so … well, we’ll just wait and see what happens.’

  And that was it – she wouldn’t say another word. That evening, she had gone out to meet her lad as soon as she had tidied up the supper things, and David had gone out with his friends, so he himself would have been free to go to see Lexie, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her, because he did, more than he had ever done in his whole life, but he was just managing, by the skin of his teeth, to keep himself under control at the moment, and it would only need one word of encouragement from her … If she gave way to h
er emotions and all, anything could happen, and he wasn’t ready for any more complications in his life.

  Of course, Lexie didn’t know yet about Gwen, but no doubt it would soon get round the place that his wife had left him, and he’d have to make it known that he was the innocent party and had wanted her to go. It made no real difference, of course, for either way, they would know that another man was involved. He could practically hear Lizzie Wilkie’s mother and her cronies. ‘That’s what comes o’ takin’ up wi’ they English dirt.’

  And the reply would be, ‘Aye, they’re nae like Forvit lassies.’

  But surely at least one of the women would stick up for Gwen? Say something like, ‘But Alistair Ritchie’s wife wasna as flighty as her sister.’

  That was what kept niggling at him, eating away at his self-esteem. Gwen had always been content to sit at home every night with her husband and children, both before and after the war. She had never looked at another man … so what had been so special about ‘Uncle Ken’? It probably hadn’t been all her fault, of course, the man could have put pressure on her. Knowing how genuine she was, he could have set himself out to push down her barriers, to get her to fall for him. Making up to her children would have been the first step, and sympathizing about not hearing from her husband, until, being the kind of person she was, the liking had turned to loving and she’d have been putty in his hands. That was how it had been, and nobody could tell him they’d only been together once. Marge was as bad, of course, thinking up lies to cover up for her, and spinning absolute whoppers after the child was born. He still couldn’t understand Gwen agreeing to a deception like that.

  Yet … if she had written and told him instead of letting him find out for himself, would he have forgiven her? He didn’t think so. He’d have been taken prisoner before he got such a letter, as low as he could be, so what would that have done to him? He’d have felt like doing himself in, that was what – so he should be grateful that she hadn’t mentioned it. What if she had told him after he was repatriated? How would he have felt then? He would have arrived home a physical wreck to a wife he hadn’t seen in three years to find her holding a two-year-old kid. It might have taken his befogged brain a few minutes to figure out it was another man’s child, but once he did … Christ! He’d have felt like doing her in!

  His hands had been tied by the way it happened – to learn a thing like that in front of your best friend and his wife, in front of your own kids! Oh, he’d yelled at her, but if they’d been on their own it would have been different. He likely would have killed her, he’d been so angry. Any man would have been the same, especially when he had kept on the straight and narrow himself before he was sent overseas and captured.

  God, what a bloody mess!

  Having been half expecting Alistair to put in another appearance, Lexie answered the door with a smile which slipped a little when she saw Roddy Liddell. His visits were beginning to disconcert her, in more ways than one. ‘I’m sorry to be bothering you so late,’ he said, ‘but there’s something I must ask you. May I come in?’

  She wondered what on earth he wanted to find out, for she had told him everything she knew, which wasn’t much, but she didn’t want to make him feel he was intruding. He had been a bit stiff towards her lately, for some reason.

  When he was seated, he said, ‘I know I’ve made a nuisance of myself already, but I was going over the information we have so far, when something struck me.’

  ‘Yes?’ she ventured.

  ‘When the body was found, the constable recorded that you were very shocked, that before he told you it was a woman, you thought it might be your father.’

  ‘Yes?’ Her deepening apprehension was evident in her voice.

  ‘Had you any reason to think that it could have been your father?’

  ‘Not really, but … he disappeared the day after Nancy, and everybody thought … but it wasn’t my father’s child she was carrying, it was the doctor’s.’

  ‘Yes, I remember – Tom Birnie.’ Liddell rubbed his left hand across his mouth. ‘Could there possibly have been anything between Mrs Birnie and your father?’

  ‘Oh no! They knew each other, of course. He was choirmaster at the kirk, and she was one of the contraltos, but that was all. There was never any gossip about them, and she went to Stirling to look after her mother.’

  ‘So her husband made out, but he wouldn’t want it known that she had left him.’

  ‘No, I’m positive my father wasn’t carrying on with Mrs Birnie.’ Gulping, she went on, ‘I wish I knew where he was and why …’ She broke off, too overcome to continue.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ the man began, ‘that’s the last thing I’d want to do, Lexie.’

  ‘Is it Roddy?’ she managed to whisper, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, and then his manner changed abruptly. ‘I must get to the bottom of the mysteries surrounding this murder. I must keep an open mind. I hope you understand.’

  When she locked the door behind him a few minutes later, she sat down at the fire again. She did understand. She, too, felt that the slate would have to be wiped clean, otherwise there would always be a restraint, a barrier, between them.

  Gwen hired a cab to take her from Newcastle to Moltby, praying as it took her out of the city that Tilly hadn’t moved. Her limbs were trembling as she pressed the doorbell, but Tilly’s smiling welcome, astonished but warm, dispelled her fears. ‘Gwen Ritchie! Oh, my dear, what’s happened? I can see there’s something.’

  Despite feeling that what she was about to confess could turn Tilly against her, too, Gwen told her everything, the tears coming in fits and starts as she spoke, and she was grateful that her listener did not interrupt. ‘I don’t know what you think of me now,’ she ended. ‘I’ll understand if you tell me to leave.’

  ‘Leave?’ Tilly cried. ‘Why would I do that? You told me at the time that the baby wasn’t your husband’s. Quite a few of the children I brought into the world during the war were mistakes, and …’

  ‘But the lies I’d to tell?’

  ‘I can understand the need for them. I was lucky, you know. I got involved with an American marine not long after you went home. He was a real film-star type, and it was his voice that got me – such a gorgeous drawl, deep and sexy.’ She laughed at the astonishment on Gwen’s face. ‘I met him at a dance, his name was Grover, he must have been six foot five or six, and I fell for him like I was a teenager again, and me in my thirties.’

  ‘But you didn’t …?’

  ‘Lots of times, but, like I said, I was lucky, which was a blessing. I couldn’t have passed a child of his off as Fred’s.’ She stopped, then finished with a twinkle in her eyes and a huge grin all over her round face, ‘You see, he was black.’

  ‘Oh, Tilly!’

  ‘That shocked you? I bet you don’t feel so bad now about your little affair, eh?’

  ‘I can’t believe you actually … Don’t you feel guilty at all?’

  Tilly pulled a face. ‘I did at first, but Fred was a warden and often out all night, and in any case, I discovered … well, to put it bluntly, it had put a bit of ginger into my relations with Fred. So, good came from … I was going to say, from evil, but I never felt I was doing anything wrong.’

  ‘What I did was a lot worse. It was the lies that got to Alistair, the not owning up to Nicky being mine. I was scared to tell the truth in case I spoiled my marriage, but in the end, I destroyed it completely, and very nearly Marge’s, as well.’ She fell silent, then, after a few moments, she asked, ‘Did your Fred never suspect anything? Didn’t he wonder why … like you said, there was more ginger in your relationship?’

  ‘If he did, he didn’t say anything, just enjoyed it.’

  Gwen managed a weak smile. ‘Tilly, I hope you don’t mind, but …’

  ‘Yes, you can stop here for as long as you like.’

  ‘How did you know …?’

  ‘I’m not psychic, it was ju
st a matter of logic. You hadn’t anywhere to go when your husband put you out …’

  Gwen told her about the house in Lee Green and went on, ‘But I couldn’t stay there with my sisters so close, and Peggy wasn’t very friendly, and I needed somebody to talk to … but what will Fred say?’

  ‘Fred won’t say anything. He’s not a bad old stick, though he sometimes goes down the pub and comes back smelling like a knocking shop. You’re welcome to stay here till you sort things out.’

  ‘I don’t know if they’ll ever sort out,’ Gwen muttered.

  ‘It don’t matter,’ Tilly beamed. ‘You can move in altogether if you like.’

  Lexie wasn’t surprised by the phone call from Nancy Lawrie – she’d never be able to think of her as Mrs Fleming – but she was surprised by what she said.

  ‘I’ve just thought, Lexie … oh, you’ll likely say I’m off my rocker, but it’s worth a try.’

  ‘But … but …? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Listen. Why don’t I put an advert in one of the Scottish papers for information as to the whereabouts of Alec Fraser, at one time resident in Forvit, Aberdeenshire?’

  ‘But the police haven’t had any reply to their appeals.’

  ‘That’s the point! Some folk are scared to have anything to do with the police, but they might answer a newspaper ad. D’you see what I mean?’

  At a loss to know what to think, Lexie said, miserably, ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You don’t sound very keen. Don’t you want to find your father?’

  ‘I do, but … shouldn’t we leave it to the police?’ Lexie couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. Was she afraid to know the truth? Was that why she was holding back?