“Good God Almighty. Can you do nothing right, girl?”
What further infuriated him was that rather than answer in kind, Jenny instead chose the path of silent insolence. As so often in the past, notably in his dealings with Spud Murphy the carter on that memorable day of the flitting, silent insolence was the one thing which Pearce either could not or would not suffer. So on seeing the look of utter disdain on Jenny’s face, he clattered the half-empty cup back down on the saucer with such force that the teaspoon fell to the linoleumed floor. In his rage, he looked first of all at the teaspoon where it lay, at the cup sitting in its puddle of now cold tea, and finally at Jenny.
“Jenny;” he roared, “I demand that you start all over again. Take away this damned cup. Bring me a napkin and a fresh cup of tea, and for the love of God, serve it decently.”
Still without a word, Jenny, with elaborate care removed the offending cup, and set about doing his bidding. As she this time prepared a tray, her seething thoughts were bubbling inside her brain. She knew, of course, her father was already in a foul mood.
Had she taken Mammy’s advice to heart, then by now she would have been safely settled in her own wee single-end home, with a loving husband by her side and far removed from this hated room and its equally detested occupant. She just could not believe how naïve she had been – especially after the dire consequences of her first sexual experiences with that married wastrel of a so-called man, Ross Cuthbert. How could she have been so daft? Well, thanks to her own stupidity, Brian had found out her guilty secret long before the planned wedding date. When, from their night of illicit passion in Glasgow Green, he had discovered he was quite clearly not the first on the scene, he had beat a hasty retreat in search of a fresh young virgin for his bride.
Last thing Jenny heard of him was that he had emigrated to Canada – a land where it was rumoured the authorities were giving away free, with both hands, huge tracts of Prairie land to pioneer settlers.
Jenny sighed with despair, frustration and an intense longing for what might have been had she heeded her mother’s warnings. Hearing this discontented sound, Pearce at once reacted in like-fashion.
“Jenny, what in God’s name is wrong now? Is it not enough that you have brought shame on this household? And lost us our lodger – the one bright spark in my life –and my only true friend, Mrs Delaney. Now there was a real lady for you; well-born, mannerly and with a proper respect for the rightness of things. Yes, a lady, Josephine Delaney.”
At once Jenny turned to face him as she shouted back, giving him as good as she herself had received.
“What’s wrong, did you say, Dadda? I’ll tell you what’s wrong I’m sick, fed-up with waiting hand and foot on you.”
Pearce’s already pasty complexion went ashen
“Listen you ... you pregnant hussy. Believe me, I would die rather than ask your help.”
Just at that point, a wave of nausea and faintness hit her and she had no alternative but to stand there, clutching on to the edge of the still-uncleared kitchen table. Suddenly, as if matters were not already bad enough, she felt a spurt of wet warmth trickling down from between her legs. She knew enough of the facts of life to realise what was happening. Clutching a trembling hand to her forehead, and in the greatest blind panic she had ever known in her life, she screamed at the top of her voice: “Oh my God. It’s started. The baby. It’s started. God help me.”
In one last desperate bid to reach the door and whatever help might be found beyond the suffocatingly-warm kitchen and its other occupant, she lunged her ungainly body away from the mainstay of the table.
It was then that she fell in a dead faint just in front of the closed door. As she fell with a crash that shook the foundations, her last coherent thought was: The baby– it’s started. And who in God’s name is going to help me now?
Chapter 23
It was some five or six hours later and well into the afternoon before Kate finally got back to Garth Street. In the normal way, she would have been home much earlier. However, something so unusual had happened that she felt justified, at least for once in her life, in making the most of it.
Mrs Scott had, as in the years before, insisted that she and Kate have their annual pre-Christmas party. As usual Kate had thoroughly enjoyed herself and to her surprise and delight Mrs Scott had given her five guineas. When Kate had tried to refuse, Mrs Scott had been adamant. Kate could take the five guineas or she could stop coming to work and chat.
To even the most casual bystander, it must have been apparent that right at that moment, all was well with the world of Kate Kinnon. She almost danced along the street in her delight at her unexpected good fortune, her face shone with happiness and from time to time, she hummed a catchy Irish tune.
Just fancy Mrs Scott giving me all that money. It could not have come at a better time. Lucky me.
She was actually heading home, desperate to tell Jenny and Granny of her good fortune, when all of a sudden she stopped short in such a manner that the shawled woman behind her all but cannoned into her. The other woman was obviously not having such a good day, for at the near collision, she let out a stream of expletives which left Kate blushing and profuse with apologies.
Anyway, having gone to such trouble to change course in mid-stream, Kate decided to proceed with her bright idea. Glad to see the back of the other woman, she grinned.
Yes. I will do it; why shouldn’t I steal a couple of hours? After all, it isn’t as if anyone will be needing me right now. Hannah is safely under Granny’s wing. Jenny still has a few weeks to go to reach her time. Anyway, she’s looking after Pearce. Right. Here goes.
She retraced her steps and instead headed towards the Briggait and from there to Shipbank Lane. Her final goal was Paddy’s Market and the many second-hand stalls which were sited in the archways under the railway line.
When she arrived, it was to find the usual scene of noise, laughter and. bustling activity. There was much evidence of the usual Glasgow bonhomie and ribaldry, as stallholders, browsers and buyers alike traded not only second-hand goods but friendly insults.
Altogether, the atmosphere of the place exactly suited her mood, and not least on account of the air of added excitement and suspense as everyone kept a weather eye open for the polis, as members of Her Majesty’s Constabulary were known locally.
Kate would have loved to dawdle over the hats, coats, bed linen, tablecloths, and even books. But on this occasion, she had come with a specific purpose in mind and she determined not to be detracted from it. She already knew that if there was a bargain to be had anywhere in Glasgow, then this was the place for it. So in this Aladdin’s cave under the railway bridges of the Second City, she started her hunt. She scoured from one end of Paddy’s Market to the other, but nowhere could she find what she wanted. At last she sighed, and with a deep frown on her face, all her earlier jubilation gone, she was on the point of giving up the search when she spied a face she recognised. It was old Shuggie, the kindly soul she had met before at the Book Barra in Stockwell Street. But as far as Kate could see, this time it was not a barrowload of books he was trundling. Kate shook her head in disbelief.
I just don’t believe it. This must be a dream. Surely I couldn’t possibly be lucky twice in one day?
She awakened from her reverie when she heard her name being called, and glancing up, with a questioning look in her eyes, she found that she was being hailed by the very man himself, old Shuggie.
“My, my. And if it’s not Kathleen Mavourneen herself, my lovely Irish colleen.”
Kate laughed, willing herself to keep her eyes on old Shuggie and well away from the contents of his barrow, even though she felt their magnetism drawing her. It would never do, she realised full well, to evince too much interest. The only result of that would be to put the price up.
But she had reckoned without old Shuggie’s friendly and direct manner.
“Nice to see ye, hen. But if you’re looking for books from me the day – a
s I mind, it was poetry you were after? Aye, never could stand the bloody rubbish myself. If it’s books you’re after ... weel, hen, not to put too fine a point on it, you’re shit out of luck.”
Kate gave a broad grin.
“Well, that’s the wonder of poetry disposed of Shuggie, and no mistake.”
They laughed together in easy companionship, with all the while Kate wondering the best way, without appearing too obvious, to broach the subject uppermost in her mind. Fortunately, Shuggie put her out of her misery.
With a disparaging wave of his hand towards his overloaded barrow, he shook his head.
“Not a book in sight. Bugger my luck. No, hen, I’m stuck with this barra-load of rubbish.
When he again indicated with a grubby forefinger the contents piled high on his barrow, Kate this time took a closer look. Her eyes grew wide with amazement. Seeing this, the old man grinned.
“No wonder you’re near losing your eye-sight, hen. A right barrow-load of rubbish for a respectable book-dealer like me to be wheeling aboot the streets of Glasgow. I feel a right big Jessie. Just hope none o’ my drinking pals see me.
In her excitement, Kate had to gulp a couple of times before she could speak. Even then, when the words came, they had an odd husky quality. She pointed to the object of Shuggie’s scorn.
“And what might you be planning to do with that ... er ... that barrow-load of rubbish, as you choose to call it?”
Quick as a flash came Shuggie’s reply.
“See Ettna Cassidy’s stall over there? Weel, I’m hoping that good old Ettna will give me ten bob for the lot and let me get the hell out of here.”
Kate gulped. She could hardly keep the excitement out of her voice.
“Ten bob, eh? Listen, Shuggie, how would you like to double your money at one fell swoop, as it were? I’ll give you a golden sovereign for the cot and the pram.”
Shuggie’s eyes widened with surprise and delight, but before he could say anything, Kate went on.
“Just one thing, though. I’d need to ask you to wheel the load round to Garth Street for me. Then hump it up four flights to the top flat. Do you think you could do that?”
Shuggie half-raised his bunnet and, with black-rimmed fingers, groped underneath the skip of his cloth cap as though seeking something of value which he had lost. At length he grinned over the stubs of teeth which so exactly matched his finger-nails.
“Listen, hen, for a golden sovereign – well, let me tell you this – I’d even sell my Granny, never mind take a wee jaunt round to Garth Street. Aye, I’d be happy tae wheel this bloody lot of rubbish tae Kingdom Come for ten bob, niwer mind a golden sovereign. Must be my lucky day.”
“Lucky day. You and me both, Shuggie. Tell you what, I’ll give you the sovereign now, we’ll walk round to my house together. Then, after you’ve unloaded the stuff – well, there might even be a wee cup of tea and a hot potato cake for you. How would that suit you, Shuggie?”
The old man nodded his assent.
Then, with a great display, he spat first on the palm of one hand, then on the other, rubbed them together and finally grabbed hold of the shafts of the barrow. He grinned.
“Right, then. Nae more talk. Lead on, MacDuff. And I’ll tell you this – I could murder for a drink even if it is only the cup that’s supposed to cheer.”
So it was that in high good humour the oddly-matched pair set out, with Kate’s purse now a bit lighter. Even so, she felt that it had been money well spent. Now she was assured that when Jenny’s bairn would be born, probably in another two or three weeks, then it would be the first child in the Kinnon family to have its own satin-lined Moses basket. There would be no kitchen dresser drawer for her grandchild. Even better perhaps was the carriage-built high pram which she knew that she herself or Jenny would be proud to wheel through the streets of Candleriggs. Yes, while it was certainly true that Jenny’s baby, at least in the eyes of the law and of enquiring neighbours, would be born a bastard, nevertheless from that moment, Kate decided that nothing but the best would be good enough for the new baby whenever he or she decided to arrive.
Chapter 24
Half an hour or so later, Kate, Shuggie, and the overloaded barrow arrived outside her own close in Garth Street. That in itself would have been excitement enough for the interested and highly inquisitive neighbours who, if nothing else, always loved a removal, or a flittin’ as they called it. However, given the knots of overalled, beshawled women already gathered at the close-mouth, it was at once clear that something of even greater moment had already taken place. As Kate approached the first group of whispering women, they immediately stopped all efforts at conversation, and instead, after a commiserating glance at Kate, moved aside to let her pass. By now highly intrigued as to what could possibly have happened in her absence to occasion such underlying excitement, Kate cocked an enquiring head. But on seeing this, most of her neighbours at once lowered their eyes, as if bent on making a minute study of the pavement puddles at their feet. It was left to Big Beanie McGuire to act as spokeswoman.
This formidable lady lived on the ground floor, and on account of her white-scrolled and disinfectant-scrubbed door-step and her child-chasing efforts, she was known as the Queen of the Close. She it was who assuming command of the situation, stepped forward and taking Kate by the arm, said in her broad Glasgow accent: “It shouldn’t be too long now, Mistress Kinnon. It’s five hours ago and more since the midwife went up there. And even before that we heard the screams of the poor lassie. But God willing, it won’t be long now.”
Kate clutched the other woman’s hand, and her eyes wide with fear and amazement, she asked in a hoarse voice: “Poor lassie? Midwife? Surely ye don’t mean ... no, it can’t be Jenny. She’s got close on another month still to go. Tell me, ye don’t mean it.”
Beenie, every inch the Queen of the Close, patted Kate’s hands as if conferring a blessing or an award on her loyal, if humble, servant. Then, standing with arms akimbo and smacking her lips, as one about to retell a prime piece of gossip, she leant closer to Kate, and stage-whispered for the benefit also of the bystanders: “Near another month, you say? Aye, well, that’s as maybe, Mistress Kinnon. But we all know fine well that Nature’s its own master; doesn’t have any truck with calendars and the like. And of course, that accident this morning could well have hurried things on a wee bit. I’m sure that’s what has happened.”
There was a murmur of assent from the onlookers who, it was clear from their facial expressions, were enjoying every moment and every nuance of the drama being played out.
All thoughts of a patiently-waiting Shuggie and his barrow-load of goods still at the close-mouth vanished from Kate’s mind.
“Accident, what accident? For God’s sake, Mistress McGuire – Beenie, tell me.”
Obviously highly pleased with the effect that her news had had on the now distraught woman visibly wilting before her, Beenie, perhaps because she genuinely did not know as much as she had implied, or perhaps even to prolong the dramatic effect, shrugged.
“The accident? Well, now, Mistress Kinnon – Kate, my dear, you’ll have to ask Granny Gorbals about that. Seems she was there, or thereabouts, anyway, at the time it happened.”
Kate did not wait to hear another single word but, summoning up all her reserves of strength, she took to the stairs which she raced up two at a time.
By the time she had reached the third flight of steep stairs, Kate was forced to stop for breath. As she stood there, clutching on to the banister, gasping as if her last breath had come, with the sharp and agonising pain of a stitch in her side, it suddenly dawned on her exactly what form the reported accident must have taken. In her bones, without any busybodies telling her any more half details, she knew instinctively that her wee Hannah was dead. As her frantic brain raced ahead, she could see in her mind’s eye the scene – Granny had perhaps dozed off as she was prone to do, and Hannah, with her fascination for fire, had somehow toppled tom her go-chair and been bur
ned to death.
At this point, Kate shook her head, as if not only to wipe the mental image from her mind, but also to clarify a few points.
No, that can’t be it. Surely there would be a smell of burning on the stairway. And wouldn’t poor old Granny have burned to death too? Got it. Poor wee Hannah – she’s choked to death – on one of Granny’s fresh-from-the-griddle scones. It’s been too hot for Hannah and she’s choked, God help her.
Kate, although still painfully aware of the stitch in her side, had one last boost of energy– sufficient to get her up the last flight of stairs.
At last, finding herself outside Granny’s door, she at once flung the thin plywood door wide and breenged in without even the customary cry of, “Yoo-hoo. It’s only me, Granny.”
The moment she entered the single-end, the sight that met her eyes pulled her up short, so that she had to hold on to the door-jamb for much-needed support. As she stood there, breathing heavily and taking in the unusual and totally unexpected scene, she felt as though she herself were far removed from it. And it was as if the scene were being enacted on a brightly-lit stage, the actors going about their business while she, the audience, was somewhere beyond the footlights and beyond their ken.
It was Hannah who was spot-lighted first. She looked as though she had been freshly washed and groomed for, with face aglow in the firelight, and every coarse black hair firmly in place, she was at that moment greedily and noisily sucking at a large candy-apple, the juice of which was dribbling down her chin. Suddenly, perhaps sensing the presence of her Mammy, she raised her eyes.
“Mammy, Mammy, Hannah a good girl. Jenny a bad girl. Jenny screaming. Jenny shouting bad words. But Hannah good for Granny.”
Almost as an automatic reaction, Kate, with one hand still on her throbbing side, went over to Hannah and patted the girl’s head. But all the while her physical presence was with the self-righteous Hannah, her eyes never left those of her other daughter, at that moment cosily tucked up in Granny’s wall-bed. Seeing this, Jenny gave her Mammy a sweet, shy smile, after first gazing down with wonder at the shawl-wrapped bundle in her arms.
Fortunes of the Heart Page 23
