A Cut Above

by Millie Gray

Before anything further could be said, a porter arrived with a wheelchair. ‘Mrs Dalgleish,’ he hollered, ‘your taxi has arrived!’

  Hannah looked quizzically at Freda, who explained, ‘Grandad is quite poorly, so the sister said that she would arrange for me to go up to F ward to see him. I’ll get into the chair and you follow with Jackie. I just wish him to see her.’

  Before Hannah could say that Grandad would probably like to see the little boy too, a sister arrived, holding a diminutive baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.

  ‘I am very sorry,’ the sister said, ‘I would have liked to pass your son to you, Mrs Dalgleish, but he is a wee bit frail. He’s wrapped in a yellow blanket so that all of my staff know he is to be handled with care. Now, off we go, and after your grandfather has seen his great-grandson, I will return the wee baby to the nursery immediately.

  *

  Seven days, very long in some ways and very short in others, had passed since the birth of the twins, and Granny Rosie and Freda were sitting in the living room of Granny Rosie’s Marionville Crescent home, each of them bottle feeding a baby.

  ‘That was some send off your grandad got yesterday. Never in my life have I seen such a . . .’ Granny Rosie seemed stumped for words.

  ‘It was certainly different from what I remember my dad’s being like. There were just so many tears at Dad’s,’ Freda mused.

  ‘Aye,’ Granny Rosie agreed, ‘but then your dad’s going was tragic, because he left us well before his time . . . But my gentle Jack, your grandad, well . . . it is heartbreaking for me, but most would say that he had one year more than what the Bible promises – you know, threescore and ten.’

  Freda, who was still very emotional about the loss of her grandad, just sniffed in response.

  ‘Wasn’t God good, allowing him to stay until he saw these two little beauties?’ Rosie continued. She had removed the bottle from the mouth of the baby she was holding and as she gently rubbed his back, she smiled. ‘And you and Robin coming to live here with me until the house on Brunton Place is habitable will help me come to terms with losing Jack.’

  ‘Granny, we will be here for years!’

  Rosie chuckled and hunched her shoulders with delight.

  ‘You can laugh,’ Freda went on, ‘but that house is so ramshackle it will cost more to make it habitable than it would to repair Mary, Queen of Scots’ broken-down Craigmillar Castle!’

  Rosie was now speaking to the baby. ‘Hear that, Harry, your mum was just saying that you will be staying here with me until you are at least walking.’

  ‘Yes – and you too, my darling Jackie.’ Freda looked down at her daughter’s face. ‘I can bet that you will have to show your brother how to do that.’

  This statement had Rosie stiffen. It was evident to her that Freda had bonded, or was wishing to bond, with Jackie, but she showed little interest in bonding with Harry. Rosie feared that because Harry was a boy and would mature into a man, and therefore possibly – God forbid! – a man like his father, Freda was rejecting him. In her seventy-one years, Rosie had seen this happen a few times. As she certainly did not wish it to happen to her precious wee great-grandson, she knew that she had to say something to Freda. Being astute and not wishing to ruffle Freda’s feathers, Rosie knew that she would have to be foxy, tactful and, most importantly, sensitive.

  Just then, Freda turned and laid the sleeping Jackie down in her Moses basket. As she turned, she placed her left hand over her shoulder, which indicated to Rosie that she was thinking of her dad.

  Rosie lifted Harry up on to her right shoulder and lightly pressed her cheek to his. She crooned, ‘There, there, my bonnie boy. Och, you are just so like my Fred was.’ She stopped to fish for a handkerchief and wipe her eyes. ‘You know, Freda, your grandad and I would have liked more bairns, but we were only blessed with your dad.’ She gulped a short breath before adding, ‘Premature, your dad was. Just a delicate wee bundle like Harry here. Your Harry is the living image of my Fred – I think that your dad has been given back to me in Harry, and we must look after him and treasure him.’

  Freda now looked earnestly down at Harry. She knew she had to really look at him to be sure that he did not look like his father, Drew Black. As she scanned Harry’s tiny, crushed-up face, he opened his eyes and – did she imagine it? – smiled up at her. She could once more see that smile of her dad’s . . . Yes, Harry’s smile was identical to her dad’s, his right upper-lip crooked up.

  Rosie nodded. She knew that Freda would try to love Harry as much as she did Jackie, but she was also a realist. She knew that if Harry did resemble his grandfather, Fred, then things would work out just fine. However, she also acknowledged that it would be hard for Freda to bond with Harry if he did end up resembling his brute of a father. She was about to say something to Freda, when her eye was drawn over to the window. Moira and Stevie were pushing a brand-new twin pram up the garden path.

  ‘Oh, Harry-boy,’ she said. ‘I think your granny and grandad Dalgleish will be hoping to take you and your sister out for a walk in the brand-spanking-new pram they have bought you!’

  Freda was a bit reticent about conceding to Moira’s wish that she pack a bag with two feeding bottles and some nappies, and let Moira and Stevie look after the twins for the afternoon so that she and Rosie could have a rest. Freda knew that the babies would not be going directly to the park; no, they would be taken along Great Junction Street and paraded up and down so that the populace could admire them. In Stevie’s case, it would also be an opportunity to show off the living proof that Robin was not homosexual.

  *

  Moira, Stevie and the babies could have only been gone about ten minutes before both Rosie and Freda stretched themselves out on the sofas and fell asleep. However, only a half hour later they were awakened from their slumbers by the ringing of the doorbell.

  ‘It’s all right, Granny,’ Freda muttered, getting to her feet, ‘you snooze on. I’ll see who’s at the door.’

  Stumbling into the hall, she was surprised to see that the visitor had already opened the door and was advancing towards her.

  ‘Hannah, it’s good to see you,’ Freda said, ‘but what brings you here today? Is Saturday not the day that you spend with Tom Davidson?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Hannah replied.

  By now, the young women were back in the lounge, where Granny Rosie was getting to her feet. ‘Oh, it’s you, Hannah,’ Rosie said. ‘Now that I have the chance, I must thank you for coming to Jack’s funeral. You were such a great help to Freda.’

  ‘It was nothing, Mrs Dalgleish. I was just so pleased to help with the babies. Where are they today?’

  ‘Holding a peep show down in Leith!’ Freda chuckled. ‘But Hannah, I get the feeling—’

  Before Freda could say anything further, Rosie interrupted. ‘Look, I’ll go through to the kitchen and make up some tea and sandwiches – that will let you two lassies get up to date with all your tittle-tattle.’

  Rosie had just quietly closed the door when Hannah sank down on to an easy chair. ‘Freda, I’m sorry to bother you, especially right now with all that you are coping with.’ She exhaled deeply. ‘Freda, I need some advice.’

  ‘On what?’ Freda asked, before she too took a seat.

  ‘Well, the good news is that Tom has suggested that he and I get engaged.’

  ‘That’s just wonderful! What’s the problem? You are both single and’ – Freda chuckled – ‘very much in love.’

  ‘That’s all true. It’s his religion that’s the problem . . . Freda, he’s Roman Catholic.’

  ‘So? You either change your religion, or you agree that any children of the marriage will be brought up as Catholics and educated at Catholic schools – although that will not matter in your case.’

  ‘That’s just it. You see, when he asked me to marry him, I felt that I had to be honest with him. So, I told him about my problem. I thought that, as he loves me, it would only be a slight inconvenience to him – something he could cope with.�
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  ‘Are you saying that he is being squeamish about the dilator thing?’

  ‘No, not that.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘It’s his mother.’

  ‘But you told me he didn’t have a mother.’

  ‘Of course he has a mother! She just doesn’t live with him.’ Hannah looked pleadingly at Freda before saying, ‘Please, Freda, this is all very difficult for me, so don’t interrupt until I tell you the whole story. Here goes. Tom told his mother that we were going to get married but there would be no grandchildren for her because of . . . well, you know what. His mother said that was a price she was not prepared to pay, so—’

  ‘Just a minute, Hannah. You, like me, are twenty-one and Tom is – correct me if I’m wrong – seven years your senior?’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Here is what I think. Tom is a man who has always done his own thing. As soon as he was able to, he left his mum and set up on his own. He is therefore his own man. Deciding not to marry you because of your problem is his decision.’

  Hannah began to shake her head as tears welled and her lips quivered.

  ‘Believe me,’ Freda continued, ‘he is a hypocritical coward who is not brave enough to say to your face that he wants to call it a day because of your problem. Hannah, get real, his mother objecting to no grandchildren suits his purpose and he is delighted to hide behind her skirts!’ Freda paused. ‘Hannah, did you come here today to ask me what I think you should do?’

  Wracking sobs shook Hannah’s body. ‘Freda,’ she spluttered. ‘I love him so much that I don’t wish to live my life if he is not in it! Is it not bad enough that I will never cradle my own children? Must I go through life a lonely, bitter old maid, too?’

  A few minutes elapsed while Freda contemplated. ‘Hannah,’ she quietly began, ‘he has made up his mind and you have to accept that. But, on the plus side, you are a very good-looking, intelligent woman and, more importantly, a selfless, loving, caring one too! Hannah, I can tell you that you will live to be grateful that Tom Davidson left your life. You were wrong about him being all there! He is not all there, he is truly disabled: he is missing a heart!’

  Hannah’s sobs began to abate and Freda knew that she had to say something positive – something to help Hannah get back on track with her life. A sly smile crossed her face; she knew how easy that would be. She whispered, ‘Hannah, I hope – no, I know – that someday soon Mr Right will come into your life and he, like me, will know that he is so, so lucky to have you by his side.’

  Freda went over to Hannah. Hannah, her dear friend. The friend who had been there for Freda, through all her trials and tribulations. As she stroked Hannah’s beautiful, silken hair, Freda was overcome by a desire to do Tom Davidson an injury. With her left hand, she squeezed her right shoulder tightly and gulped. She was back to wondering if the dreams she frequently had about the night of Drew’s attack were really dreams at all. Did she ruthlessly stab her stepfather? Today, as she thought about doing Tom Davidson actual bodily harm, she was certain that she had had that uncontrollable urge before and she knew that she was capable of violence. She tried to relax. Surely, the desire to care for her babies, which was growing so strongly within her, would stamp out any violent urges? Indeed, she was so overwhelmed by love for her children that she knew she would always think twice before taking revenge. Besides, was a louse like Tom Davidson really worth doing a prison sentence for? No. As Granny Rosie was always saying, God – well, her God – always evens the score. Therefore, Freda thought, she and Hannah should just sit back and wait for Tom Davidson to get his comeuppance . . .

  Eight

  July 1970

  Hannah had just finished giving Jackie’s details to the receptionist and was about to sit the children down in the waiting area of the Royal Hospital for Sick Children’s Accident and Emergency department, when three-year-old Jackie decided to throw a tantrum. As per usual when having one of those exhibitions, she flung herself down on the floor and appeared to be trying to kick her legs off her body.

  ‘Jackie,’ Hannah began, but she was drowned out by Jackie’s blood-curdling screams and deafening shrieks, which echoed around the room.

  ‘You are not my mummy! I want my mummy!’

  Trying to give the impression that she was in control, Hannah bent down and fruitlessly tried to haul Jackie to her feet. She very quietly and pointedly said, ‘Jackie, your mother is just parking the car and she will be here in a minute. Now, stop this nonsense. Come on and sit nicely, like Harry is doing, until someone comes to see your sore arm.’

  Hannah’s lecture only seemed to infuriate Jackie further, as she started to haul at the bloodied bandage on her right arm.

  Just then, a group of four young junior doctors came into the waiting area, along with a consultant who was showing them around the hospital. To Hannah’s surprise, the tallest of the group came over to her. Glancing up at his face, she was delighted to see two familiar dancing eyes and a pair of generous lips forming a welcoming smile.

  ‘Ewan!’ she shrieked. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘We’ – he indicated to the rest of his group, who were now leaving the room – ‘will be starting our two-year hospital training here next week, so we are just having the geography of the hospital pointed out to us. What brings you here? Well, you and the children . . .’ Ewan was now playing a silent peek-a-boo with Harry who, as per usual, was trying to make himself invisible by wrapping himself in the folds of Hannah’s skirt.

  Thankfully, Jackie had now spent all her fury and was sitting up on the floor.

  ‘Jackie, here,’ Hannah explained, ‘decided to throw herself off the garden wall. She bounced off the path and cut her arm. Then she landed in the rose bushes, which resulted in grazed legs!’

  ‘I wouldn’t have hurt myself if Harry had done as I told him to and laid himself down on the ground so I could land on him!’ Jackie retorted.

  Ewan started to laugh. Before completely controlling himself, he grabbed Hannah and encircled her in a strong embrace. ‘Hannah, this chance meeting was so great. I take it that the children are Freda and Robin’s?’

  Hannah was so overcome by Ewan’s loving actions that all she could do in response was lightly pat him on each shoulder and nod. However, before anything further could be said, Freda came rushing into the room.

  ‘Sorry, Hannah,’ she began, ‘I just couldn’t find a place to park!’ It was then that she became aware of Ewan. She hadn’t seen him for more than three years, and she blushed when she remembered the last words they had spoken to each other. Bitter words that, even today, had the ability to make her feel cheap and dirty. Today, seeing him in person after so many years, she became awash once again with her futile feelings for him. She was, however, pleased to note that he had matured into a slim but athletic build of nearly six feet, and his eyes seemed to dance when he looked at her. Was his bewitching gaze, she wondered, trying to tell her that he was genuinely delighted to see her? Or was he just thrilled to be meeting up with Hannah again? Before she could ponder further, she was taken aback as he swept her up into his arms.

  She felt his lips brush against her hair as he said, ‘Good to see you, Freda. How are you?’

  ‘Doing well. And, as you can see, my children are . . .’ She was about to say ‘just wonderful’, when she remembered that her mother had enlightened her that she and Robin looked at the twins through rose-tinted glasses.

  Two wonderful minutes elapsed as they held each other – time that allowed him to breathe in her intoxicating feminine fragrance. He gulped. The desire to hold her closer and never let her go overwhelmed him, but he knew that he must reluctantly release her – she was, after all, the wife of his best friend and therefore ‘out of bounds’ to him. Dragging his thirst for her back under control, he turned his attention to Jackie. ‘Miss,’ he said, lifting her bandaged arm up, ‘what is the matter here?’

  Before Jackie could reply, Harry slunk over to he
r side and lifted his little face to stare into Ewan’s eyes. He mumbled, ‘Please, Mister, don’t hurt her. She cries when she gets jagged.’

  ‘It’s okay, little fellow. I won’t hurt your sister and, know something, you are just so like your dad.’ Ewan straightened up. ‘Remember, Freda,’ he said jauntily, ‘how, when we were at primary school, Robin never liked anyone to get hurt? I think he must have gone through hundreds of hankies wiping up our classmates’ tears and the gushing blood from their scraped knees. By the way, every time I try to persuade Robin to meet me for a catch-up at the weekends, he says he is busy.’ Freda looked perplexed, prompting Ewan to add, ‘Believe me, he does! Only last week I asked him to come on a night out to celebrate my graduation, but he said he couldn’t make that either.’

  Freda didn’t reply immediately, because she was trying to fathom why Robin had not told Ewan about his routine visit to London every month. The London visits had begun after Billy’s mother announced that she was opening up a salon in London’s Mayfair. Both Billy and Robin had been shocked when she went on to declare that Billy would manage the London venture. This ploy was the latest of Mrs Stuart’s efforts to break Billy and Robin up. She was convinced that if she could get Robin out of Billy’s life, Billy would no longer be homosexual. Therefore, she reckoned all she had to do was put miles between them. Unfortunately for her, like all her other dodges, it failed. There was just no way that Robin and Billy could live happily without having some kind of relationship with one another. So now, every four weeks Robin took off for London on Friday night and did not return until Monday afternoon. Thinking about London, it dawned on Freda that Robin had not told Ewan about his arrangements with Billy because he did not wish it to be known that his marriage to Freda was just a convenience. This desire was even stronger now, because Robin just loved being Daddy to Jackie and Harry. Freda shuddered at the thought that one day she might have to tell her children the truth about their parentage. Not only would that be devastating to the children, but also to Stevie, who took Jackie and Harry out every Saturday afternoon – being told that his precious grandchildren were really not his lineage would be a blow too cruel for him to endure.