“Mammy, what are you waiting for? Are you not going to come over here and say hello to your first grand-bairn?”
Kate needed no second bidding. The next instant found her perched somewhat gingerly on the edge of the bed, as she too gazed in awe at the baby now nestling in its mother’s arms.
Kate laid a hand on her daughter’s pale cheek, and she stroked it lovingly.
“Oh, Jenny, lass. It’s true. It’s all over. But although I’m glad for you, dear, I’m that sorry I wasn’t here to help you in your hour of need.”
Jenny shook her head and her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, Mammy, Mammy. Please don’t fret yourself. The main thing is it’s all over. And Granny there, she was a tower of strength. In fact with her quick thinking, you could say that she saved my life.”
Kate rose to her feet and, stretching a welcoming hand to Granny, drew her into their private group at the bedside. Then, after having planted a kiss on her daughter’s head, Kate peered down at the bundle in Jenny’s arms.
“You ... and the bairn, you’re both all right? You still haven’t told me ... what is it, boy or girl?”
Granny Gorbals, a broad grin splitting her face from ear to ear, and mightily pleased as if she at her great age had given birth, at once rushed in to answer the new grandmother’s question.
“The wee bairn is grand. As perfect a specimen of humanity as I’ve ever seen. And don’t forget, I’ve been on nodding terms with quite a few new-born babes. It’s got the right number of everything: ten tiny fingers, ten twinkling wee toes, a mop of black curly hair, a wee rosebud mouth. There’s only one thing missing ...”
Kate at once frowned in apprehension.
“Something missing? Granny, for God’s sake, what do you mean?”
Granny gave a wicked smile and a naughty wink, as if she knew she was about to scandalise the strait-laced Kate.
“The only thing missing? One of them funny dangly things that wee boys come ready-equipped with into this world. And damned soon learn to use, if I’m not much mistaken.”
Despite herself and probably more from a sense of relief than from anything else, Kate burst out laughing.
“Oh, Granny, what a terrible way to talk.”
Then, as the full meaning of what Granny had just said dawned on her, Kate stood with mouth agape, face aglow, her voice tinged with wonder.
“Oh, Granny, Jenny. Do you mean it? I’ve got ... I’ve really got a grand-daughter?”
The old woman nodded, her own face glowing with pride, delight and an almost proprietorial air.
“Are you daft or something, Kate? Of course you’ve got a grand-daughter. Is that not what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past ten minutes? And while we’re at it, I’ll tell you something else. Blood relation or not–and I don’t care what anybody else says or thinks – as of this minute, I’m looking on that wee bairn as my very own great-grandchild. So there, Kate Kinnon; you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
Again Kate laughed and without another word spoken, the two women fell, half-laughing, half-weeping into each other’s arms. Friends and neighbours for so many years, through dark days and fine, their tears now mingled in happiness at the birth, the safe delivery and above all, the perfection of this bastard child.
When at last they drew apart, both women dabbed at their eyes, Granny with the edge of her best pinafore which she had obviously donned in honour of the occasion, and Kate with a rag which she withdrew from the sleeve of her working serge-dress.
Suddenly, with hand now lowered to replace the rag, she stopped with a puzzled frown on her face.
“But wait a minute. Big Beenie down in the close she mentioned something about an accident. What was that all about?”
Granny made a grand dismissive gesture with her work-worn hand,
“Accident? Ach, I would not give it such a name. More like a wee mishap, and certainly nothing for you to get your knickers in a twist about, Kate; it was just ... well ... Pearce got his hand in the way of some hot water that cowped. Nothing for you to worry about. But you know what men are like; talk about a fuss. Anybody would have thought that he was giving birth, instead of your brave wee Jenny there.”
Kate was still not entirely convinced.
“But, are you sure he’s all right, Granny?’
The old woman nodded.
“Fine. Grand and as happy as a pig in shit. Mind you, I made him a wee herbal infusion. Then I got Aggie, the midwife, to take a wee look at him for good measure. But for all that, he was making such a hullaballoo – he was disturbing Jenny rather than the other way round – that Aggie and I brought her in here to get on with the important job of birthing in peace and quiet and without the so called help of any bloody man.”
As if right on cue, and as if to disturb their own peace, Hannah having overheard the word Aggie at once thought it referred to her doll, Raggie-Aggie, still lying on the floor from where it had previously been abandoned, in favour of the then greater attraction of the toffee-apple. However, with the latter now but a sticky, glorious memory, Hannah at once started banging the sides of her go-chair and yelling: “Raggie-Aggie, Raggie-Aggie, Hannah wants RaggieAggie:”
Granny and Kate exchanged sympathetic smiles, but it was the older woman, ever-mindful of the needs of her adopted charge, who was first on her feet.
“Right, my lovely. In this house, whatever Wee Hannah wants, Hannah gets.”
She bent her arthritic frame to retrieve the doll, handed it over to the young woman, aid chucked her under the chin, which she then wiped with a damp cloth before creaking her way back to her seat.
As she settled the cushion at her back, Granny grinned over.
“Right, that’s another crisis solved; Pearce will still be sleeping like the big baby he is, after that herbal mickeyfinn I slipped him. No, my dear,” and here she leant over and patted Kate’s arm, “no, you’ve nothing to worry about. Oh but wait a minute, I tell a lie. There is indeed one wee worry
Kate, knowing now beyond a doubt not ally that all members of her family were safe, but also that from what she had reported, Granny had coped magnificently, at once thought that Granny was on the point of making one of her rather near-the-knuckle jokes.
However, feeling that in the circumstances the least she could do was to humour Granny, Kate at once assumed an air of the most frantic worry, at the same time grabbing hold of the old woman’s hand.
“Oh, Granny. What now? What final worry could there possibly be?”
Granny first cast a glance over to the wall-bed, to the drowsy Jenny and the sleeping, and as yet un-named, new born baby.
“Well, it’s two things I’m worried about, if you must know. One is, what are we going to call the wee darling? I know what I call her, my own wee Rosebud. But what is to be her baptised name? And the other problem: it seems a real shame to me, to have to bed the wee precious in a kitchen drawer. If only we had a nice wee cradle. Ach, well, maybe some day ...”
Kate, as if she had taken leave of her senses, leapt from her chair.
“Oh, my God: Shuggie.”
Without a word of explanation to Granny, she raced to the door, with Granny’s gob-stopper eyes following her until she disappeared from sight and fled from the room. She raced down the stairs at a high rate of knots, with every step of the way, the words hammering at her brain.
He’ll have disappeared. I just know it. He’ll have vanished into thin air with my gold sovereign, the carriage built pram and that lovely crib. How stupid of me. If only I’d waited until he had delivered the goods, and then paid him. Oh, well, it’s done now.
Chapter 25
When Kate reached the close and peered out into the street, her worst fears were at once confirmed. Of Shuggie, his barrow, and her own bought and paid for goods, there was not a sign. Between her disappointment at her own stupidity, her misplaced trust in Shuggie, and the intense emotion of all that had happened, it was suddenly all too much for her. Great, shaking
sobs convulsed her body. At last, when the storm of weeping had somewhat abated, she straightened her body and took stock of her situation.
Well, Kate my lass. You’ve been a bloody fool. No denying that. But at least, even if you have lost the crib and the swanky pram you still have that lovely wee grandchild upstairs. Aye, and now no place to bed the wee darling. Honestly. And anyway, you’ve still got your best friend, Granny. So, dry your eyes and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
After first checking to make sure that her purse was still in the pocket of her work-dress and that the rest of her money had not also been lost, she started hurrying along the street towards Mr McGregor’s wee newsagent and sweetie shop on the corner. With head bent, looking neither to left nor right, and intent on getting some of Granny’s favourite soft peppermint-creams, she rushed along the deserted street. At this hour, and on such a cold winter’s day, most people were indoors hugging their coal fires and making preparations for meals and the return of weary workers from shipyards, the Fruit Market or White’s Chemical Works.
Probably he’s now sold my stuff all over again at Paddy’s Market. Honestly, I could kick myself. How could I have been so stupid, so trusting?
However, when the door-bell pinged behind her, with poke of sweeties clutched in hand she left Mr McGregor’s, she happened to glance down the side-street opposite to his shop, and there saw a loaded barrow, amazingly like the one which had earlier been at her own close-mouth.
With heart hammering in her breast, she crossed the cobbled street, pausing only to let the rag-and-bone man’s horse and cart pass.
Then she walked down Glassford Street, all the while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on what she had by now decided in her own mind was an apparition. But when she was right beside the barrow, she reached out a hand and touched the satin of the ornate crib. On the point then of drawing it closer for a more detailed inspection, she heard an irate voice address her in broad Glasgow from the other side of the cart:
“Hey, Missus. Just you leave that stuff alone. Take your thieving hands off it.”
She watched in fascination as a boy of about nine came round the cart towards her. Bootless, dressed in rags, and with a river of yellow slime coursing from his nose, he nevertheless had about him an air of authority. With the inborn insolence of his upbringing, he first of all looked her up and down, snorted up some of the overhang, and finished by scratching heartily at his nit-ridden locks.
“That stuff isnae yours. So just don’t you touch it. It belongs to Auld-Shuggie, and he paid me good money for to watch it for him while he’s in there.”
This last comment was accompanied by a stem nod of the head towards the building behind her. Kate turned round and saw that she was standing in front of one of the local public-houses, of which there were all too many in the Candleriggs.
The filthy street urchin went on: “Aye, Auld Shuggie says to me: ‘I’ve had a good day, son and I’m waiting for tae deliver this stuff to a wee woman round in Garth Street. But I’m dying for a wee refreshment. So, what say I give you a silver sixpence, Bonnie, will ye watch over my barrow?’ That’s what Auld Shuggie said. And I tell you, Missus, I’ve never had a whole sixpence in my hand in all my born days so I’ll guard this barrow-load of stuff with my life – aye, to the death, if necessary.”
Despite herself, Kate smiled. Then, more in admiration for the stand the urchin had taken than anything, she said: “Good for you, son. Listen, I’ve had a good day as well. In fact that stuff you’ve been guarding with your life, it’s for me. And here’s what I’ll do, I’ll –”
But she got no further, for at once the suspicion was back in the boy’s eyes.
“Listen, Missus. You can say or do anything you like. But here I am and here I stay until Auld Shuggie comes back.”
Kate shrugged her shoulders and said nothing in reply, as if accepting the inevitability of defeat. Then she reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew her draw-string purse. She could feel the urchin’s eyes following her every move and was aware of the tension between them mounting. Finally, between finger and thumb she extracted a silver threepenny-bit, which she then transferred to the palm of her left-hand. She held this inducement out to the boy.
“Look. This money is yours. All you have to do is go into the Hangman’s Rest and ask Auld Shuggie to finish up his refreshment and come out here to speak to me. Now, that’s not much to ask of you, is it? And at the end of it, the threepenny-bit will be yours when you bring Auld Shuggie out here to me.”
That the boy was sorely tempted, Kate could read in his eyes. And from the conflicting emotions racing across his face, she knew the battle he was having with his conscience. Thus she was not surprised when, after biting at his lower lip in deliberation, he scowled.
“Missus, I’d like to earn that threepenny-bit, for between that and the sixpence I got from Auld Shuggie, my Mammy would think she was the Queen herself, But in my close, we cannae trust nobody. And I don’t even know you. If you got rid of me into that pub, even for a minute, chances are you would take to your heels and run like the devil himself was after you – and run away with the barrow.”
Far from being annoyed at his lack of trust in her, Kate could not prevent a slow smile spreading over her face at the mental picture conjured up of herself, a proud new Granny, running through the streets of Candleriggs with not only a stolen barrow, but a self-righteous, ragged urchin in hot pursuit. She was on the point of admitting defeat and resigning herself to a long wait outside the public-house. Given that Shuggie had entered its portals with a whole gold sovereign in his pocket, and also from the sounds of revelry now issuing from the depths of The Hangman’s Rest, she realised with a sinking of the heart and a droop to her shoulders, that her wait could be a very long, drawn-out one indeed.
She shook her head in despair. With a reflective look on her face, she observed the boy, who was now standing, feet astride, and arms folded in front of his puny chest, with an air of complete authority and total security for his charge. With a deep sigh, Kate replaced the money in her purse, then without so much as another glance at the boy, she turned and set off at a slow pace back down the street. She had gone only a few paces when she thought she heard someone shout after her. Instead of turning round, she kept on walking, head bent against the sharp wind and convinced in her own mind that it had been some drunk who had called alt to a woman alone in the deserted streets. But then she heard it again.
“Missus. Hey, Missus. Can you come back here for a wee minute? I’ve just had a great idea.”
Kate turned her head and, seeing that it was the boy himself, she at once retraced her steps. Even if he had not mentioned his good idea, she would have known at once from the delighted expression on his face that he had gone some way to solving their problem. He had.
“Listen, Missus: I know fine well that a lady like you cannot go into a pub. And because I’ve been paid good money to stay here and guard the barrow, I can’t go in either. So,” and here he beckoned her closer, “this is what we do. We’ll get Bugsie to go in with a message for Shuggie. Pure dead brilliant, eh?”
Without further ado, like a stage magician producing a rabbit from a hat, he whipped off the satin-edged blanket to reveal a sleeping toddler curled up inside the good, carriage-built pram.
For once in her life, Kate was lost for words and not least because the urchin had considered her to be a lady. And when the said Bugsie, having been rudely awakened by his brother, finally crawled out from his haven, she could see at once how the filthy child had come by his nickname. With his crumpled, torn rags which hung loosely on his thin body, his deeply-ingrained black bare feet, and his matted hair which was positively alive and moving with lice, he could be none other than Bugsie. As if hypnotised, it was all Kate could do to drag her eyes away from this apparition and over to a quick contemplation of the once-lovely and spotlessly-clean pram. She was sure that it was not a trick of the light; she had actually seen some of Bugsie’s compleme
nt of fleas hopping over the white mattress and lace-edged pillow. There and then she decided in her own mind:
First thing tonight – that’s to say if I ever do get my precious pram home – then I’ll disinfect it. Humph. Some bargain this has turned out to be. Jenny’s wee Rosebud of a new-born baby will be having her first birthday before she ever sees her swanky pram.
However, turning her attention to the problem in hand, she was suddenly aware that the guardian of the property was addressing her.
“Like I said, Missus, a lady like you cannot go into the Hangman’s Rest. So, I’ll stand guard out here With you. We’ll send Bugsie in to do the needful. Just one thing –he’s not exactly the full twenty-shillings to the pound – if you get my meaning.”
Kate did get the full meaning – if anyone knew about someone being a wee bit daft in the head then she most certainly did. She nodded and waited for the urchin to outline his master plan.
She did not have long to wait. Placing a hand on top of Bugsie’s seething head, the older boy explained the situation to him. Kate shuddered at the very thought of placing a hand on that moving mass of lice. In fact, autosuggestion or not, she felt a compulsive urge to have a good scratch at her own top-knot. With a supreme effort, she managed concentrate instead on the detailed instructions being spelled out for wee Bugsie.
“Right. Now listen, son, I know you’re a bit stupid – glaikit – like, and can’t remember things too well. So here’s what we do. Do you mind I took you round to see yon big building on fire? Right – so you know what fire looks like?”
Bugsie, his mouth agape, nodded.
“Good. Well, I’m going to push you into that pub. All you have to do is shout at your loudest, ‘Hey, Shuggie, your barrow’s on fire. Shuggie, your barrow’s on fire.’ Got that? That message will bring him out quick enough. Well, let me hear you saying it. One, two, three.”
Fortunes of the Heart Page 24
