by Millie Gray
Freda nodded, wishing a wee French fancy was all she had to think about today.
‘Well, now he’s upped it to a fresh cream chocolate éclair!’
‘Look, Hannah, I’m not quite following where this is going—’
‘Well, as an éclair costs more than a French fancy, don’t you think this means he is trying to date me?’
‘I would need to know more about this man . . . I mean, has he ever been attached to anyone else?’
‘No, that’s just it! You see, he’s always had a mother.’
‘And has she died or something?’
‘Not quite, but she is very ill.’
‘Which hospital is she in?’
‘Oh, she is still at home. But I think that when he looks at me, he feels that he should be planning for the future.’
Unfortunately, with all that was going on in Freda’s life, it was not the day for her to be anything but blunt with the very clever, but very naïve, Hannah. ‘Hannah,’ she began, ‘don’t be a stupid fool. You haven’t said how old he is but I am betting he is twice your age.’
‘Not quite twice,’ Hannah replied defensively.
‘Okay, maybe not quite twice, but listen to me and listen good. He is not quite anything more than a man looking for another mother because his birth one is on her way out. He’s looking for someone like you, who he thinks will be grateful for a wedding ring.’
Hannah’s lip started to quiver. Tears were not far away, but Freda was now in full swing so she continued, ‘You are good-looking, clever and desirable. You deserve better than old age creeping over you. Hannah, can’t you see that he only upped you to an éclair because he now has his grubby little paws on the housekeeping money? For goodness sake, you deserve someone who will look after you, provide for you, put himself out for you . . . and, finally, someone who will grow old with you.’
‘Freda, you are forgetting that I cannot be choosy, because I am not all there.’
‘And if you don’t get a grip and stop selling yourself short you will be another bit missing, because I’m going to part your head from your shoulders!’
Both girls had now raised their voices, and Robin decided that they might require a referee. He emerged quietly from the backroom and simpered, ‘Problems?’
‘No,’ Freda replied, ‘Hannah was just saying to me that she has decided to get a hold on her life and, from now on, every Friday night she is going to be dancing up at the Plaza with some blokes her own age!’
Hannah shrugged, her eyes downcast. She nodded to signal consent, before mumbling coldly, ‘I had best be off. I have to be back in the office in twenty minutes.’ She hesitated. Freda was her best friend, who she trusted completely. So, with her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to face Freda. ‘Will you be going to the Plaza with me on Friday?’
Freda nodded. ‘I sure will be. And Hannah, if you get back to the office and there is another éclair on your desk, I trust you know where to stick it?’
The door had just clicked shut when Robin asked, ‘What was all that about?’
‘Nothing that a little gumption from Hannah won’t put right.’ Freda paused and bit on her thumb. ‘I hope to heavens that before we get to the Plaza on Friday the slimy toad doesn’t get desperate and offer her a fresh cream meringue!’
Robin laughed. ‘You sure have a great turn of phrase. Now, before Hannah came in, you were just about to—’
‘Yes,’ she interrupted, ‘I was just about to say that, if you are sure that you can settle for a marriage in name only, then I am pleased – no, delighted – to accept your offer.’
Robin was perplexed. He was so sure that Freda was planning to say thanks but no thanks. What had changed her mind? Obviously it had something to do with what she had discussed with Hannah.
‘And, Robin,’ Freda continued, ‘before we get carried away, we have to think of the problems . . . the obstacles . . .’
‘Like what?’
‘Where would we live?’
Robin just shrugged in reply.
‘Under the circumstances, if we lived with your mum or mine, don’t you think they would find our relationship . . . a bit weird?’
Robin replied with another hunch of his shoulders.
‘Edinburgh Corporation housing department has a waiting list as long as your arm. We can’t afford private renting and there are no single, furnished rooms up for rent in this area.’
‘How do you know all that?’
‘If you had lived with my stepfather, you would also have made all the enquiries necessary to get a new home. It wasn’t just for me – I also had Susan to think of.’
Robin nodded. Then, strolling into the back room, he called out, ‘Know something, all we need in here is a bed, a settee, a dresser and a wardrobe. There’s already a table, chairs and a small cooker.’
Freda joined him in the back room. ‘Yes,’ she mumbled hesitantly, ‘you and I could live here . . . but what will we do when the baby arrives? You do know that they take up a lot of space with their prams, cots, nappies . . .? Not to mention the room will always be full of washing!’
‘I know all that, but by the time the baby arrives I am hoping that I will be able to open the back shop up as a beauty salon, because we will have—’
‘Just stop right there, Robin. Look, we saved hard for years to set up our business, but I have to tell you: we are just about stony.’
‘Where did all the money go? I mean, we still have an income from the wigs.’
‘Don’t be so daft – doing this place up has just eaten money. Next week I will have to go over and bite Granny Rosie’s ear.’
‘You mean to ask her for a loan? But where will she get it?’
‘From her bra.’
‘Her bra?’
‘Aye, her bra . . . Surely you know that’s where all old fisherwomen keep their money?’
Robin had grown quite crestfallen. Then, as if touched by a wand, he brightened. ‘You are forgetting that the special prices I will be charging on Thursday, Friday and Saturday will bring in a fortune.’
Freda sighed. ‘Robin, I accept that the money my old dears will bring in at the beginning of the week will pay for the running of the shop, but I am still to be convinced that your clients will be daft enough to pay over the odds for one of your hairdos!’
‘They will. Take my word for it. The more they have to fork out, the more they will be convinced that they’re going to get exclusive attention. That was what I was trying to tell you. Oh aye, within six months we will have stashed away the deposit for a house of our own.’
The desire to argue with Robin over his ambitious claims ebbed from Freda. She flung down a towel and said, ‘Right, we will see what six months brings in. But let’s get back to what we have to do now.’
‘Right enough. Firstly, we have to get down to the registry office and book a wedding. I suppose we will need our birth certificates.’
‘Yes, and I can only hope, Robin, that they will not ask for a certificate about your sanity.’
‘Then we will tell our mums.’ Robin stopped, and Freda could see that his thoughts were far away. What she didn’t know was that he was thinking of his mum, Moira, and how, when some of her pals were digging the dirt about the latest scandal – some poor soul whose lassie had got pregnant without being churched, or got some of the milkman’s double cream and paid for it in kind – she never got involved. She and her best buddy Patsy would just exchange knowing looks, before exhaling and shaking their heads.
‘You in a private dream world of your own, Robin, or, as we are getting married, would you like to share your thoughts with me?’ Freda asked.
‘Just thinking about telling my mum we are getting married, because . . . you do know we will have to tell everybody that it was me who got you into trouble?’
‘Yes I do, but my mum – and indeed my granny – will not be deluded.’
‘I know that, but will they say anything?’
‘No. They wil
l be the souls of discretion. So we just have to worry about Billy and how he is going to feel.’
‘Billy will be fine with it because it will get his mother off his back. Tired, he is, of her insisting that he gives me the heave-ho. The only person we have to worry about is Joey, when my mum gets him to tell my dad!’
*
The first person to be told that Freda and Robin were to be married was Ellen. Freda told her on Wednesday night, when she came in from her new job at M&S. She had just got in the door and started to unpack her bag of knock-down-price goodies when Freda said, ‘You liking your new job, Mum?’
Ellen nodded. ‘Believe me, it is just what I needed . . . a right boost to my confidence, it is. You see, Freda, there is no use in worrying about your problems – you have to do something about them.’
‘Yes, I know. And, Mum, I think you should sit down, because I have something to tell you.’
Ellen slumped down on a chair.
‘Now, don’t worry,’ Freda said.
Ellen’s response was to gulp, and swallow hard. From past experience, she knew that when someone was going to tell you something but firstly told you not to worry, then they were almost certainly about to impart bad news – or, at the very least, something you’d prefer not to know.
‘It’s just that—’ Freda broke off, before continuing in a happy-go-lucky tone. ‘Believe me, it will work out fine. Mum’– she paused to inhale – ‘Robin and I have decided to get married in two weeks’ time.’
Slumping back against her chair, Ellen gasped. ‘No, Freda! Please, don’t tell me you are . . .’
Freda dropped her head, so that her mother wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes. This was all the confirmation Ellen needed.
‘But Robin is not the father?’ Ellen murmured.
Still with head bowed, Freda whispered, ‘Not the natural father, but Robin will be a better father than that sod ever was, or could be.’
‘Dear God,’ Ellen cried, throwing her arms up and addressing the ceiling, ‘is there no end to the torture you put me through? Yes, I have sinned, but my Freda hasn’t so why has she to pay?’
‘Mum, you are not to blame. Please, I need you to understand why Robin and I are doing this. You see, we have always been pals who share everything, so our getting married is just taking our partnership a stage further. As for the baby, who is not even here yet, please don’t tell anyone what you . . . well, what you only suspect.’
Rising, Ellen went over to Freda and took her in her arms. ‘Darling, what a price you are going to pay to give the child of a monster a name. You do know that Robin is—’
‘Homosexual? Yes, I do. Knowing that – and I have always known that – makes it all the easier. As I have already said, he and I are mates, partners . . . we support each other through thick and thin.’
‘I know you accept that he loves Billy and that because of attitudes they cannot come out and tell the world that they love each other, but Freda, what will happen if you fall in love? Would you be prepared to be just a bit on the side or, worse still, to dump Robin?’
*
As expected, Robin had an easier time telling his mum. Moira was no fool, and she quickly worked out that her son was not the father of Freda’s baby, although she did wonder who was. Nonetheless, her son saying he was getting married to a lassie because she was in trouble didn’t upset Moira. She liked Freda and somehow she knew that, whatever else happened, their marriage would be a success. The problem, as she saw it, was this: what was Stevie going to say when Joey told him?
Looking over to the birdcage, Moira smiled.
The smile became a broad grin as Moira thought back to a short while earlier, when Robin had been round to tell her the news. They’d been quietly chatting, when Robin turned to her and said, ‘Here, Mum, am I wrong, or is there something different about Joey boy?’
‘In what way?’ she replied.
‘Well, last week he was half the size he is today and not only that, he also had a blue-feathered chest. Now he has got a sort of green one, and the feathers on his head have turned white.’
‘You are very observant, dear,’ Moira whispered. ‘You see, Robin, I don’t know what I do wrong, because my budgies never live longer than nine years. When the first one died, I bought another one to replace it and nobody seemed to notice. And that was strange, because the first dead Joey, God rest his soul, was green-feathered, whilst the new one was a brilliant blue. And today, when I realised the second one had died . . .’ She stopped, folding one hand over the other and tittering. ‘I just had to go and get another one. After all, if we do not have a bird, your dad and I can’t communicate with each other.’
‘That makes sense, but is that budgie not a parakeet?’
‘Aye,’ Moira agreed, as she went over and tweet, tweet, tweeted to the bird. ‘But they are the same kind of thing. You see, Robin, son, I was so upset about Joey, which was understandable – he was my mouthpiece over the past few years – that I got my pal Patsy to chum me to the pet shop. On the way there, she asked me if I had ever thought of getting a bigger budgie – a parakeet. She told me that parakeets are very sociable birds that like to chat. Then, when I got to the shop . . .’ She ran her fingers over the bird’s cage and spoke, rather than tweeted, to the bird, ‘I saw you, and we fell in love with each other – no other bird in the whole wide world would do me.’
In response, the bird chirped and fluttered. Robin just shook his head. Often he had wondered if any other bairns he knew had been brought up, as he had been, by such completely off-the-wall parents.
As soon as Robin left that afternoon, Moira began to confide in Joey. ‘You see, Joey, my Robin is a sensitive, creative laddie, and when you meet my husband, Stevie, who is big and coarse in every way – especially his mouth! – you’ll be wondering how he fathered such a gentle, thoughtful boy.’ She chuckled, lifting a duster and starting to polish the birdcage. ‘I never said to Robin that I know he didn’t get Freda into trouble. He wouldn’t, because he loves Billy and Billy loves him. Freda, bless her, is his business partner. Although, to be fair, they have loved each other, in a very affectionate way, since they were toddlers. See, the first time Robin, Freda, Ellen and I were down at the Portobello shows, we allowed the kids to have a go on the helter-skelter. When they whizzed down, Freda, the poor wee soul, was shaking with terror. But Robin . . . well, Robin was laughing and singing! Ellen, as she wiped Freda’s tears away, joked that she thought Robin must have been born on the helter-skelter. I never corrected her. You see, Joey, Robin wasn’t exactly born on the helter-skelter, right enough, but he was certainly conceived near one! So, now you’ll be wondering about Autumn, my darling daughter. Well, with the way she throws herself here, there and everywhere – and not just when she’s dancing – it’s easy to guess that there is a bit of the Jungle Ride in her . . .’
Thirty minutes later, Moira was still chatting to Joey when the door opened and Stevie barged through it.
‘I’ve no’ had a bad day, Joey boy,’ Stevie began. ‘Aye, and like always, I’ve been working my tripe out so that your lazy mistress can stand and admire you with a stupid gaze on her face.’
‘Joey, tell our lord and master that his tea will be another half-hour and that a week on Saturday he has not to volunteer to work overtime.’
‘And you tell her, Joey, that if I wish to overtax myself by working overtime for slave wages, that is my concern and has nothing to do with her. And tell her that if I do go out and work overtime, her grubby paws will no’ be seeing any of the extra dosh.’
‘Tell him, Joey, go on and tell him that I’m not interested in his dough – aye, not even if Hughie Green invites him on to Double Your Money! But, a week on Saturday he will be unable to work, because he’ll be at the registry office, watching his son getting hitched to Freda Scott.’
‘Robin is marrying a lassie, Joey?’ Stevie stuttered, eyes bulging and mouth gaping.
The bird nodded its head and chirped twice.
>
‘I dinnae believe it. No, I dinnae believe it,’ Stevie spluttered in reply.
‘Joey, you tell the Brain of Britain that he’d better believe it because, at the present time, you are only allowed to marry a member of the opposite sex.’
Stevie’s demeanour was beginning to change. He started tapping his feet in time with his ranting. ‘Here, Joey, see, when I looked at you just then, I could have sworn you were a different bird from yesterday. Aye, and it’s not just that the feathers on your wee heid hae turned white, you are also now sporting a chest yon Marilyn Monroe would have been proud to say was all hers. And if that’s no’ enough, it’s so swollen that it looks a different colour. Now, I think I was wrong. You’re the same wee bird. Honestly, son, I think you, like me, are just over the moon that oor Robin is going to marry a lassie!’
Moira was just about to tell Joey to inform Stevie that he was a different bird, when Stevie squealed, ‘Now, Joey, tell her that if our son is getting married, I want to invite some folks.’
‘Joey, you tell him that they are getting married in the poky wee registry office on Junction Place, so there’s only room for the immediate family,’ Moira gasped. ‘And if he’s thinking of trying to squeeze another couple of bodies into Freda’s mother’s house for the wedding tea . . . well, he can think again.’
‘You tell her, Joey, that if my laddie is getting married to a lassie, then it’s no’ going to be a hole-and-corner affair. I want – no, Joey, I insist – that we invite all my pals who think my son is a nancy boy. Then, when they are tucking into a steak pie at the Kintore Rooms on Queen Street, they can eat their words along with it.’
‘Steak pie at the Kintore Rooms on Queen Street, Joey? Has he lost his marbles?’
‘Naw, I havenae, and you tell her, Joey, that as it’s the cooperative function suite, she might even get a dividend when I give her the dosh to pay the bill. Yes, Joey, I am so over the moon that I will not only pay the bill for the meal but also put on a free bar!’
‘Naw, naw, Joey, you tell him he already has a dividend, because Freda’s . . . pregnant. That means we have a grandchild on the way and we need all our spare cash to buy a pram!’
