by Millie Vigor
‘Are you all right?’ fussed the women as they helped Catherine to her feet. ‘Can we get you anything, fetch anyone?’
‘What a nasty girl that one is.’
‘She had no right to treat you like that. What was it all about?’
Shocked at the attack and feeling very dizzy, Catherine looked round her in a daze. ‘Oh, nothing really,’ she said, ‘just a disagreement.’ She was glad the women had come in, for if they hadn’t she would have been at Sheila’s mercy.
‘Looked like more than that, to me.’
‘You should report her to the police.’
Putting up a hand to run her fingers through her hair, Catherine winced when she touched the tender spot on her head where Sheila had almost pulled hair out by its roots. ‘It’s all right, I’ll live,’ she said. But she felt bruised and shaken, angry that she’d been caught off guard. Then, giving her head a shake, she said, ‘I don’t feel like dancing any more. I think I’ll go home.’ She took her coat from the peg and put it on, didn’t bother to change her shoes and ran down the stairs to look for Billie. He was outside drinking beer out of a bottle.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said when he saw her.
‘Don’t ask questions,’ she said. ‘Just take me home, please.’
‘Home, you want to go home? There’ll be lots more fun yet.’
‘I think I’ve had enough fun for tonight.’
Though he questioned her as he drove she told him to shut up. He didn’t stop to let her out at the top of the track but drove straight down. Catherine, thinking she’d had enough punishment for one night, clutched the handle of the door and shut her eyes.
Her door was never locked. She went straight in. At the table she felt for matches, found them and lit the lamp. She had been angry that Sheila had dared to attack her and anger had stayed with her all the way home, but now, having kept it at bay shock overcame her and she was trembling.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ asked Billie.
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘No? Then why did you want to leave the dance?’
‘Leave me alone, Billie. I can’t do the Shetland dances and I didn’t want to stay. Thank you for taking me, but you can go home now.’
‘I can see you’re upset,’ said Billie. ‘Why, you’re trembling. It was nothing to do with not being able to do the dances, was it? Tell me the truth.’
He stood over her and it was obvious he wouldn’t give up until she’d told him. ‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘Sheila McKechnie attacked me. I don’t know what she would have done if someone hadn’t come in and stopped her.’
‘Attacked you? What for?’ said Billie.
‘She thinks I’m going out with Norrie and she says he’s hers and she was just giving me a warning. She didn’t have to be so violent,’ said Catherine. Her eyes were filling with tears. ‘Get the whisky, Billie, I need a dram.’ Then she was crying and Billy was on his knees, looking up into her face.
‘Don’t weep, Catherine, I don’t like to see that. I’ll look after you; you don’t have to worry about her or Norrie.’ He smiled at her and with tears coursing down her cheeks she stared at him. ‘I’ve loved you for a long time, Catherine,’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘Marry me, Catherine. I’ll look after you and little Robbie.’
‘Oh Billie, don’t,’ she cried.
The smile on Billie’s face slid away. ‘You need someone to care for you. I can do that. You don’t have to struggle alone.’
‘Stop it, stop it,’ sobbed Catherine.
‘Why? I want to look after you. Don’t you love me? I thought you did … you kissed me and I thought you did. ‘
‘No, you can’t love me, Billie.’ Catherine shrank back into the chair, away from him. ‘I don’t love you.’ Slowly he let go of her hands. ‘I do love you, but not in the way you would want me to.’
‘What’s going on?’ shouted Norrie Williams as he burst in. ‘Get up off your knees, Billie Robertson; you’re making a damn fool of yourself’
‘And what’s it got to do with you?’ said Catherine. She jumped up, sending Billie rolling on the floor. ‘What do you mean by bursting in to my house like that? Have you never been taught to knock?’
‘I was told you were set on and I wanted to see if you were all right.’ One look at her tear-stained face told him she was not. ‘Am I not allowed to do that?’
‘Well, now you can see I am, so you can go.’ She turned on Billie who was hauling himself to his feet, ‘And you can go too, Billie,’ she said.
‘I can see you’re not all right,’ said Norrie. ‘Who’s been making you cry? If it’s young Billie I’ll skin him.’
‘Well, it isn’t,’ said Catherine.
‘It’s not me she’s in trouble over,’ shouted Billie, ‘it’s you; it was that Scots lass that attacked her; she thinks you belong to her.’
‘Well, she’s wrong. I’ve told her enough times,’ said Norrie.
Billie had balled his hands into fists, Norrie too; both looked ready to fight.
‘Then you’d better tell her again.’
‘I’m not going to; she’s got no claim on me.’ Norrie’s nose was perilously close to Billie’s.
‘Then you’d better tell Catherine,’ said Billie through clenched teeth.
‘And who do you think you are to be tellin me…?’
‘Stop it both of you,’ shouted Catherine, ‘and get out. I’ve had more than enough today without listening to you two. Go.’
The fact that Catherine was shouting at them made both men stop their arguing and stare at her.
‘Go go go,’ she screamed. They didn’t move, but just stood and stared at her. ‘And don’t come back … either of you … ever.’
TWENTY SIX
WARM AUGUST AND cool September had given way to rain. It had been falling continuously for days on end. October crept in with muddy feet and each day when Catherine drew back her curtains and looked out of the window there was the same leaden sky, the same steadily falling rain drumming on the roof, running in little rivers down the hillside and filling bums to the brim. Her heart ached for Daa who, she knew, worried about his crops of oats and potatoes. If only the rain would stop and the wind would dry things up he could get them harvested.
A louring sky filled with rain-bearing clouds made the already dark nights of a winter closing in seem even darker. Winter was going to be a long one, it seemed, and for the first time since she had stepped off the boat that March morning so long ago Catherine had a desperate urge to get away.
What was there to stay for? After the night of the show, when Billie had declared his love for her and she had sent him away, he had disappeared. It was thought he’d gone away on the boat and Jannie had raved at her.
‘You’re an ill-favoured lass. Robbie should never have brought you here. It’s been nothin’ but trouble since he did. Go home … go home.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ cried Catherine. ‘I didn’t tell him to go. What he does is nothing to do with me. He’s a man and old enough to make his own decisions.’
But Jannie would not let up. ‘You’ve been encouraging him; he never was over here so often till you came.’
‘I’m not going to stand here and argue with you, Jannie; think what you like.’ Catherine went back to her house and slammed shut the door.
Norrie stayed away. Once or twice she had seen him when he visited Kay and she happened to be there. He didn’t ask her out again. She missed him. She missed him now as rain wept on the window. Missed him and his nonsense and the way he made her laugh, missed the sound of the fiddle and the lilting strains of a slow waltz he played: a melody that always touched a chord in her heart. Never during her struggle to make good and be accepted had she felt so alone.
‘Why did you have to be taken from me, Robbie?’ she cried. She was sitting by the fire and, burying her face in her hands she gave way and wept.
‘What’s the matter, Mam?’ said little Robbie, taking
Catherine’s hands in his and pulling them away from her face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh, Robbie, it’s just a little sadness, but I’ll be all right.’ She pulled the boy on to her lap and wrapped her arms round him; wiped some of the tears away with her hand and let the others dry on her face. ‘I was missing your daddy.’
‘Where is my daddy?’
Catherine, whose cheek was resting on the little boy’s head, moved him away and leaned back so she could look at him. He was nearly five years old and for the first time he had asked about his father. It was time she told him.
‘Cuddle up then and I’ll tell you,’ she said. She described the man who had walked into her life, whose quiet presence lulled her after stressful days, who had brought her to Shetland and to Deepdale. Told how he had gone out to fish for lobsters and how he had drowned and that, after she had lost him, she knew she was going to have a baby. ‘And that baby is you,’ she said.
The little boy was silent for a moment or two. ‘Do you have a daa?’ he asked and when she said, yes, ‘Where is he?’
‘He lives in England. You have another grandma and grandpa and aunts and an uncle and lots of cousins too.’
It took some time for the little boy to accept this. ‘Where’s England?’
England, Southampton, home. Was her mother still fussing over meals? Had everybody got enough? Would they like some more? Was her sister still trying to ape the latest fashions? Was her father still smoking his pipe while he read the paper? And were the city-centre shops, where anything your heart desired could be bought and wouldn’t have to be ordered and waited for, alive with the hustle and bustle of eager shoppers? Days would still be warm. Suddenly home seemed very attractive.
‘I think it’s time we had a holiday,’ said Catherine. ‘How would you like to meet your other relations? Don’t answer that; I’ve decided. We shall go.’
Bags packed and tickets in her handbag, Catherine looked at the clock. Twenty minutes yet before Billie’s father had promised to pick them up and take them to the boat. There was time to say goodbye to her friend.
Kay was sitting in a chair; her hands were idle, her knitting on her lap.
‘We’ll be off soon,’ said Catherine. ‘Just come to say goodbye.’
Kay looked up. ‘Never say goodbye, my dear, it’s so final. Have a safe journey and give my love to England. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see it again. And you,’ she looked at little Robbie, ‘bring me back a stick of rock, will you?’
‘You look tired, Kay,’ said Catherine. ‘Are you all right?’
‘As much as I ever will be,’ said Kay. ‘I’m getting old; in fact I’m old already. Can’t complain, I’ve had a good life and old age comes to us all if we’re lucky. Don’t worry about me, just come back safe, this valley needs you.’
Catherine kissed the old lady and Kay leaned forward to put a kiss on Robbie’s forehead. ‘Don’t forget my stick of rock; I haven’t had one for ages. Have a lovely time and tell me all about it when you come home. Now go, I can hear Bobbie Robertson tooting his horn.’
Billie’s father had already put Catherine’s luggage in the back of his van, all she had to do was shut the door of her house. She wouldn’t lock it for Kay had the key and would look after it while they were away.
‘Have you had any news of Billie?’ she asked when they were on the road.
‘Never a word.’
‘Which is not bad,’ she said. ‘If he’d come to grief you’d have heard.’
‘I would hope so,’ said Bobbie.
‘I’m a bit worried about Kay,’ said Catherine, ‘she doesn’t look well. Do you ever see Norrie Williams in your travels?’
‘Ay, now and then.’
‘When you do would you ask him if he would look in on her?’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Bobbie, and Catherine knew he would.
The boat trip was passable; Catherine was thankful that it was made at night and that she and Robbie were able to sleep. For her the journey on the train to London seemed endless, the follow-on to Southampton bearable. But used to the bare hills of Shetland, the little boy was fascinated by the countryside they were flying through and drank in the sight of green fields, trees and hedgerows. Catherine felt at home with the banging of train doors, passengers coming and going, the smell of a station, the hiss of steam, the clank of an engine, the guard’s whistle and the click-clack of wheels over points.
By the time they reached Southampton she was tired and Robbie exhausted. He’d been asleep, she had wakened him and he clung to her while she looked out to see who had come to meet them. Her father and youngest sister were there. They saw her and waved and her father came aboard to greet her. ‘It’s been a long time,’ he said as he hugged her. Then, looking at Robbie, he said, ‘And who’s this?’
‘Robbie, say hello to your granddad,’ said Catherine.
‘He’s no my granda,’ said Robbie, clinging to his mother’s skirt.
‘Yes, he is. We’d better get off and find our luggage, Dad.’
Their suitcases were on the platform, offloaded from the guard’s van by a porter. Janet, Catherine’s sister, had identified them and was standing by them. ‘My God, how you’ve changed, our sis?’ she cried as she threw her arms round Catherine. ‘You’re thinner and you’ve cut your hair and … no … don’t tell me that’s the coat you wore when you went away.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Catherine looked down at her coat. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s out of date. Don’t you have papers or magazines where you live?’
‘Of course we do, but I don’t have much time to sit down and read and nowhere much to go, so I don’t need a lot of clothes.’
‘Cut it out, you two,’ said their father. ‘There’s a tired little boy here and your mother will be looking out for us and wondering where we’ve got to.’
‘Why didn’t she come to meet us?’
‘She’s cooking a meal, thought you’d be hungry.’
Catherine, in the front seat of her father’s car with Robbie on her knee, peered out at the streets as he drove her home. ‘The place has changed,’ she said when she saw all the building work that had been going on in the city.
‘You haven’t seen anything yet,’ said Janet, ‘you won’t know where you are. I guarantee you’d get lost if we let you out on your own.’
There were tears in Doris Marshall’s eyes as she rushed out of the house and swept her daughter into her arms. ‘You’re here at last,’ she cried. ‘I thought you were never going to get away from that dragon you call your mother-in-law.’
‘Oh come on, Mum. Don’t you think I can stand up for myself?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Doris was riffling in her pocket for a handkerchief, ‘but you never know. Come on in, you must be tired after such a long journey.’
Robbie still clung to his mother’s skirt. Catherine bent down to pick him up. ‘Here’s your other grandma, Robbie.’ But Robbie put his arms round Catherine’s neck and buried his face in her shoulder.
‘He must be very tired,’ said Doris. ‘Give him some supper and put him to bed, then we can catch up on all your news.’
Robbie would eat nothing and when Catherine put him to bed he was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow. Very gently she prised his fingers from the clutch he had on her blouse, waited to make sure she had not disturbed him, then crept back down the stairs.
Her mother patted the seat beside her on the settee, her father put a drink in her hand and her sister leaned over the back of the settee to listen.
‘And is that Jannie behaving any better towards you?’ asked Doris.
‘Yes, what’s this I hear?’ said Catherine’s father. ‘Your mother tells me Robbie’s mother’s been giving you a hard time.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Catherine. ‘You have to stand up to her and I do.’
‘I hear you’ve no electricity or running water.’
‘Ha ha,’ laughed Catherine. �
��We’ve got plenty of water; it’s just that it’s not in a pipe with a tap on the end. But it’s coming to us soon – electricity too; they have it in Lerwick now.’
Her mother protested when she told how Noble had won a prize at the show. ‘You’re a nurse, you shouldn’t be doing rough work like that.’
But Catherine said, ‘It was a major achievement really, especially,’ and she smiled as she thought of it, ‘for a woman and an English one at that.’ She told them that most wives helped with the work of the croft and if they didn’t have other jobs did knitting to earn extra money. ‘And I work at the local surgery,’ she said. ‘It’s only a cleaning job. I’ve been offered the post of health visitor, but it means going to Edinburgh to train and I don’t think I could spare the time.’
Catherine’s father had been smoking and listening to the ebb and flow of questions and answers, now he knocked the dottle out of his pipe and put the pipe in his pocket. ‘And do the others treat you well?’ he asked.
‘Daa does,’ she said.
Her father leaned forward. ‘And does that mean the others don’t?’
‘No, Kay and Laura are fine. Mina’s a bit stand-offish and Jannie hasn’t got over losing Robbie. She needs to blame somebody and there’s only me.’
‘But are you happy there? That’s what I want to know.’
‘Yes.’ Catherine smiled at her father. ‘I have some good friends,’ she thought of Kay, ‘and life is never dull with Robbie around.’
‘He seems very shy.’
‘He probably doesn’t understand you, he’s surrounded by people at home who speak the dialect and a lot of the time he does too.’
‘But you don’t. Don’t you make him speak English?’
‘Why should I? He’s a Shetlander.’
When at last there was a lull in the conversation Janet chipped in with, ‘When did you last buy any new clothes, our sis?’ She had taken Catherine’s clothes out of her suitcases and put them away.
