In a Class of Their Own

by Millie Gray

  “Right enough, Alice! She’ll be here in no time. And I bet when she sails in she’ll already have had a bath at the hospital. In a real bath at that – and with real hot water.”

  “And she’ll hae taken the shampoo off her hair with a real spray – not had to slunge it with a milk jug and colander like you’ve just done.”

  “You know, Alice, you’re the only one in here that knows what I’m putting up with.”

  “Oh, gie it a rest, will ye?” Sam retorted vehemently.

  “That’s your answer to everything, Sam. Yon electrician said four days and we’d be all shipshape again, and here we are at day five and …”

  “I ken. I ken,” agreed her twin. “But look, they’re gonnae work overtime on it the day so by the morn the lights’ll be on and we’ll even hae an immersion on the hot water tank. Noo surely that’s enough to straighten up yer coupon.”

  “Are you having me on, Sam? I mean, are you saying we’ll really have an immersion heater?” Carrie squealed in disbelief.

  “For sure.”

  “But we had hardly enough money to pay for the lights and plugs to be put in.”

  “That’s richt, but I bunged the heid guy a couple o quid that I’d made frae selling aff the scrap yesterday.”

  “Oh no! No! No!” Carrie howled, waving her hands dramatically. “I just don’t want to know about you selling off Robb’s scrap and pocketing the money.”

  “So ye’ll no be haein’ a hot soak in the big bath the morn’s nicht?”

  “Well…”

  Before Carrie could finish capitulating, Hannah opened the door. Carrie, Sam, Alice and Paul all silently waited for her to scream when she surveyed the mess but, to their mutual surprise, she didn’t. All she did was to execute a series of precious little pirouettes over the floor until she reached the kitchen.

  “Well,” she simpered, pretending to be switching on a light, “won’t it be just dandy next week when you can just go ‘Ping’ and the light comes on?”

  “Aye, but right now what are we going to do?” Carrie expostulated.

  “Put the kettle on and have our breakfast,” declared Hannah, fishing in her shopping bag and dragging out a large brown paper bag. “And just look,” she exalted, “I’ve brought in some of the Home Bakery’s nice hot rolls. One each for us girls and two each for Sam and Paul.”

  “I’ll get the frying pan oot for ye, Carrie. Then we can slap some black pudding and crispy bacon on the rolls,” said Sam, starting to whistle merrily.

  “I just love Seturdays, so I dae,” enthused Paul, getting up to fetch the bacon and black pudding from the cupboard.

  “You do?” teased Hannah with a mischievous smile.

  Paul, now seated at the table, cupped his chin in his hands and a smug grin lit up his face before he spoke. “Aye, cos on Seturdays ye get bacon rolls for yer breakfast and then Carrie smuggles Alice an’ me intae the pictures an’ at the interval she sneaks us a drink on a stick.”

  “And is that all that happens on a Saturday?” asked Hannah, trying to keep her laughter in check.

  “Naw. Forbye that,” said Paul smugly, “when we get oot o the pictures, Carrie gies us the money to get a bag of chips for oorsels on our wey hame.”

  “Talking of the pictures, what’s on at the Palace today?” Hannah asked Carrie, affectionately ruffling Paul’s unruly jet hair.

  “The Third Man. See yon Orson Wells? He’s brilliant. It’s been on all week and I’m still not sick of it.” Carrie handed Hannah the bread knife so that she could cut open the rolls. “But here, how about me smuggling you in too?”

  “Indeed not,” Hannah said reprovingly, waggling the knife in Carrie’s face. “I have a reputation to keep up, so I’m quite willing to pay my one and threepence. And then … I’ll let you show me to a seat in the two and threes.”

  “No can do!” said Carrie, mimicking Hannah’s tone of voice and gestures. “The two and threes are upstairs and the boss takes the tickets there himself.”

  “So I’d need to pay two and threepence?”

  Carrie nodded.

  “That’s a bit much for me, Carrie. But I just couldn’t possibly sit in the one and threes. After all, somebody might see me.”

  Carrie, who had taken over frying the black pudding and bacon, sniggered. “Tell you what, snobby, we’ll just have to compromise. You buy a one and three ticket and then I’ll slip you into the one and nines.”

  “Aye, and in the meantime,” chuckled Sam, “just slip me ower some o the black puddin’ that’s noo burnt to perfection.”

  Hannah smiled. Carrie passed the black pudding to Sam. The crisp bacon followed from the frying pan. The kettle boiled. The rolls were all filled. The beano commenced. All were happy.

  When Hannah, Paul and Alice came out of the picture house, Carrie was on her tea break and stood waiting for them.

  “Look,” she said, “the house is such a dreadful mess. And I’ve got a bob or two in my pocket, so how about I treat you to a fish tea in Costa’s?”

  “You mean a sit-in tea,” squealed Alice.

  “But there’s always a queue out past the door on a Saturday,” Hannah argued.

  “Aye, but Bernie’s working there.”

  “Bernie’s working in Costa’s? I thought she worked in the Bonds.”

  “So she does, Hannah,” explained Carrie, “but she’s so tired out she needs a holiday. And the only way she can afford one is to work overtime in Costa’s chippie three nights a week.”

  “But surely if she’s that tired she shouldn’t be –” Hannah didn’t bother going on. She knew it was useless trying to explain how illogical it was for Bernie to be working even harder if she was exhausted. Besides, they’d now arrived at the chip shop and Bernie had beckoned for them to come to the top of the queue. She showed them to the only vacant table which had a handwritten card on it plainly indicating it was reserved. It read, in fact:

  Dinnae sit here!

  Carrie’s coming in and she will be in a hurry to eat her chips

  Once Alice and Paul had squeezed themselves at the end of the two benches on either side of the table, their excitement at the thought of a sit-in tea boiled over exuberantly and their gales of laughter echoed around the shop, much to the amusement of the other customers. Hannah and Carrie sat sedately at the outer places facing each other and only then did they look haughtily at Bernie, who was standing ready with her pad and pencil.

  “Is it just fower fish teas that ye want?” Bernie asked as she spat on the top on her indelible pencil.

  Carrie nodded graciously, but Paul intervened loudly, “Naw. Naw. I’m haein’ a white puddin’ supper covered in broon sauce – an’ I’ll wash it doon wi’ Vimto.”

  “So will I,” Alice chimed in.

  “So, Alice, ye’re gonnae hae a puddin’ supper an aw?” Bernie queried, spitting once more on her pencil.

  “No. I want a fish tea without the tea and – Vimto instead.”

  Bernie looked from Carrie to Alice and then back to Carrie before laying down the pad and pencil in front of Carrie. “Here, write it oot yersel’. Fish tea wi’ nae tea!” she exclaimed. “Sure, you lot are no the full shillin’.”

  Silently Carrie wrote out the order and returned the pad back to Bernie, who scanned it carefully.

  “Did your Alice no say she wanted a fish tea wi’ nae tea?”

  Carrie nodded.

  Bernie stuck the pad under Carrie’s nose once again. “But ye’ve ordered her a single fish and richt enough that comes with nae tea, but it also comes with nae chips nor breid and butter.”

  Carrie sighed and flashed her eyes to the ceiling. “She’ll not be able to eat all the chips that come with a fish supper, so Hannah and I will give her some off our plates.”

  “And what’s she gonnae drink?”

  Carrie pointed to the pad. “Vimto. See? There’s two ordered.”

  “Aw richt,” said Bernie indifferently, though still not convinced that Carrie and company kn
ew what they wanted. “But here,” she insisted. “Whit aboot the buttered breid that comes wi’ the fish teas?”

  “We’re all having that as well.”

  Bernie was about to argue but thought better of it and retired with the order.

  “Honestly,” said Carrie in disgust. “Here’s us getting up in the world, sitting in to have a fish tea, and Bernie tries to take us down a peg by asking if we’ll have buttered bread with our chips?”

  “I know, Carrie,” Hannah pronounced. “But I suppose we just have to make allowances for her. She’s not in our class.”

  Carrie had to go back on duty at the cinema before Bernie had worked out the bill, but she left money with Hannah to pay for the feast.

  Hannah had just squared up and all three were about to leave when Sam dashed in.

  “The cashier at the Palace telt me I’d find ye aw here. Where’s Carrie?”

  “She’s away back to the picture house. You must have passed her,” replied Hannah.

  “Never saw her. But we’ll just hae to leave her for the noo.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, Hannah, Granny’s awfae bad. Dinnae think she’s gonnae mak it this time.”

  “They’ve been saying that for over two years now,” Hannah whispered, putting a protective arm around Alice.

  “Aye, but this time they’ve sent for the priest to gie her the Last Rites – twice. So come on – we must get to her afore …”

  “Is Daddy there?”

  “Aye, he is, Hannah. Sittin’ greetin’ in the corner – like the useless constipated wee shite that he is.”

  It was nine o’clock when Carrie finished at the Palace, and it was raining so heavily that when she stepped out into the street she pulled up the collar of her coat and was about to turn into Duke Street when Hannah suddenly emerged out of the shadow of the sweet shop.

  “Carrie,” sobbed Hannah, clutching Carrie’s hand. “You have to go, right now, and see Granny. She’s in a real bad way.”

  “No need. Mary Brown is for ever saying that, but our Granny always pulls through.”

  “Honestly, Carrie, you have to go right now.”

  “No!”

  “Look, this time I’ve seen her and I’ve spoken to the doctor as well.”

  Taken aback, Carrie changed her tone of voice. “Are the others there?”

  “No. Sam took Alice and Paul out of it. You know what Auntie Ella and Daddy are like.”

  “So it’ll be just you and me in the middle of that bunch?”

  “Sorry, Carrie, I can only walk you as far as the bus stop.”

  Carrie’s eyes silently pleaded with Hannah.

  Hannah shook her head. “I simply have to leave you – I haven’t got a late pass. And you know what a bitch the Night Sister is.”

  Carrie nodded her agreement – well aware that Hannah wouldn’t leave her to go to Granny’s all alone if she could help it.

  Making their way along Great Junction Street, Carrie found herself slipping her hand through Hannah’s arm. “Dear God,” she said to herself. “What will we do without our darling Granny?”

  On reaching Admiralty Street, Carrie hesitated at the entrance to the stair. Mary Brown and Jessie Mack were gossiping in hushed whispers at the foot of the stairs but stopped as soon as they saw Carrie. Seeing her fear plainly, Mary said, “C’mon, hen. I’ll gang wi’ ye. Ye’ll be awricht if ye just haud on to me.”

  Upstairs, the door of Rosie’s house was ajar. They could see people kneeling and praying. A priest was bending over the bed telling Rosie she was dying and that she should make her peace with God. Carrie felt shocked. Shouldn’t her Granny be allowed to die in peace without her house being full of nuns and priests. And why were all those candles burning? And that mimosa, whose smell irritated her nostrils, who in the world had brought that stuff in? She knew that for the rest of her life she would always hate mimosa. Burning candles, heavy-scented mimosa and chanting prayers would forever remind her of this night – a night she had never wanted to see.

  Carrie’s hand was still being held tightly by Mary Brown when Auntie Ella called out, “She’s sinking fast. Oh, Mammy, please hear. If I ever hurt ye I’m sorry.”

  Mary began to drag Carrie over to the bed, but Ella was now lying prostrate over Rosie, crying out again and again to be forgiven. Carrie thought Auntie Ella and her father should both ask Rosie to forgive them because when she was last able to speak, Rosie had said that she did love them both but that they had broken her heart – Ella because she had been cursed with the green eye and coveted everything she saw. Johnny’s unforgivable sin was his desertion of her beloved grandchildren.

  As Carrie patted her Granny’s hand she became aware that her father, who was carefully avoiding eye contact with herself, was also trying to throw himself over his dying mother. Ella’s two boys also felt they should be lying across Rosie, but to do so they had to push Carrie aside. Time to leave, she thought.

  As she turned away with Mary and left the house, Carrie realised that her father didn’t want the new parish priest to know that he was married and that she, Carrie, was his daughter. Or that she was Rosie’s blood granddaughter, who was being denied the right to say goodbye to her precious grandmother.

  Silently stumbling into the lobby, Mary insisted on taking Carrie into her house, where she allowed her to sob. And sob. And sob.

  “Weel may ye greet, hen,” said Mary, patting Carrie’s head compassionately. “But ken somethin’? Ye an’ yer brithers and sisters, alang with Davy, were the true loves of her life. The very reason her hard-wrocht life was worth livin’.”

  When Carrie arrived home in Learig Close the house was in darkness. It was eleven o’clock and she assumed they’d all gone to bed. She had just stepped in the door, however, when Sam called out.

  “Let there be licht – and there was licht!” He flicked the switch and the house became illuminated.

  “I thought they wouldn’t be finished until tomorrow,” Carrie muttered.

  “Persuaded them to work on, I did. So what do ye think?”

  Tears welled up in Carrie’s eyes. “Sam …”

  “Dinnae greet,” pleaded Sam. “Look, I’ve heated the water for a bath for ye. Ye can hae a soak in the big bath richt noo.” Turning his face from her and staring into the louping flames of the fire, he reiterated, “But please dinnae greet.”

  “And Hannah left you a Radox bath cube,” Alice blurted out, pressing the cube under Carrie’s nose. “Smell it. It’s called Ashes of Roses.”

  Carrie sniffed the bath cube and shook her head as the tears splashed down. “Ashes of Roses, is it?” she said half-hysterically. “Love roses, so I do.”

  “Noo, look what ye’ve done, Alice. And I just didnae want her to greet. D’ye no realise – I can staun onythin’ but yin of ye greetin’.”

  Alice went to leave, but Carrie grabbed her in a fierce embrace. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t cry any more and we’re not going to Granny’s funeral either cos …”

  She was about to tell them about what had happened but Sam interrupted her. “Ye’re bloody richt we’re no,” he exploded. “They can go and find some ither puir beggers to insult.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll all go later on in the afternoon and say our goodbyes then to Granny.” Carrie paused before going on softly, “You do know she’s not going to be buried with Granddad in Seafield? She’s going to the Catholic cemetery at Mount Vernon.” Carrie turned her gaze away from Sam, Alice and Paul. “Seems funny to me,” she remarked, “that Granddad and Granny never let religion separate them in life and now in death others have decided that they should lie miles apart.”

  Sam, Paul and Alice all stood silent.

  Two weeks later Carrie met Sam in Great Junction Street while she was out buying a bag of chips for her tea.

  “Pictures busy, Carrie?” asked Sam.

  “Aye. Just out for ten minutes. But here, where are you off to?”

  “Seeing it’s Hogmanay, I’m on my we
y to see Uncle Davy.”

  Carrie almost let her chips fall. “He’s not there, Sam! Did you not know? Hannah and me went along this morning and Mary Brown told us he’d given the house up.”

  “But why?”

  Carrie kicked some rubbish lying at her feet and shrugged. “Seems he’s now staying with Ella.”

  “Naw. He couldnae go and bide wi’ her. He’s a Proddie, like us.”

  “Look, Sam. Don’t blame him. The poor soul just couldn’t live on his own and our Dad wouldn’t go and stay with him.”

  “An’ whar’s my wee stool? The yin my Granny yased to save pennies in for me?”

  “Forget the stool, Sam. In fact, forget everything that was ever in that house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our dear loving Auntie Ella – took it all for Mark and Tony.”

  “Ye saying oor Dad didnae even hae the guts to put up a fight for my wee stool – or for just yin wee reminder of our Gran for us?”

  Carrie shook her head.

  “What kind of blasted folk are they?”

  “Good Christians,” answered his sister. “But, Sam, like Hannah said today, these wee keepsakes are only bric-a-brac. The one thing they can’t take from us, the most important thing, is that her blood runs through our veins.”

  CHAPTER 13

  GIVING UP THE GHOST

  It was a cold February in 1952 and all the children were enjoying Rachel being at home. It suited them to come home to a warm, comforting fire and to find their tea on the table. Carrie, who was now going on eighteen and at five feet five the same height as Hannah, swore that whenever she turned into the street the “Ah! Bisto” aroma of Rachel’s mince, tatties and dough-boys would assail her nostrils. Instead of walking she would race along the street to relish the delicacy.

  To be truthful, Rachel had also enjoyed the last two weeks. Not only had she managed to have things all redd up for the family coming home every day, but she was able to treat her neighbours to the wholesome smell of bleach and carbolic as she scoured every neuk and cranny in the house. Even the glory-hole, where a store of logs and coal was kept, along with dusters, brushes, indeed anything she wanted kept out of sight, got a right going-over. Her final task had been to whitewash the glory-hole, and now poor Sam was having to clean his football boots in the garden before tossing them in there.