Monday Girl

by Doris Davidson

  ‘No, not really. He was giving me some fatherly advice.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Uncle Tim, he said, so it would be uncly advice. I’m sorry. I promise I’m going to enjoy myself.’

  ‘That’s better. I don’t like to see you unhappy.’

  Tim’s joking, with Jack’s assistance, made the rest of the evening fly past. Renee couldn’t brood because she was laughing so much at their antics, and she was honestly sorry when it was time to go home. While they walked, Jack kept up a steady chatter, to which she responded in a similar light vein, but when they had almost reached the house, he stopped and slid his arm round her. It was at the same place where Tim had stood with her, and she felt her muscles tightening at the thought of being caught by Fergus again. But why should she worry about him now? He’d shown that he didn’t want her any longer.

  She received Jack’s kiss gladly then, as a balm for her inner wounds.

  ‘You’ve got guts, Renee, I’ll say that for you,’ he said softly. ‘Keep going. He’s only here for a few more days . . . I’m disappointed in your mother, though.’

  He knows, about everything, she thought. He must have guessed what had been going on, and was pitying her all the more. ‘Thanks, Jack,’ she said, simply, and they walked on.

  Once again, Anne was still sitting in the living room.

  ‘Fergus has gone to bed, he was tired after his long journey.’ She couldn’t meet Renee’s eyes, and the girl felt fleetingly sorry for her, until she remembered how deceitful her mother had been in writing to him, and, even worse, that she had been alone with him all evening.

  ‘We’d a really marvellous time, Mum. Tim and Moira were there, too, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we, Jack?’

  ‘Aye, it was great fun.’ He knew what this show of over-enthusiasm was costing her. ‘Where’s Fergus sleeping?’

  Since Mike Donaldson had married, Tim had been sharing the downstairs bedroom with Jack, to save work for Anne, but Fergus might have gone to his old room.

  ‘He’s upstairs.’ Again, Anne avoided looking at her daughter, who now realised why that room had been left unoccupied. She had wondered why her mother had not taken in another two boarders, but she must have known all along that Fergus would be back.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to take your tea,’ Anne said. ‘Use the red flask, and leave the tartan one for Tim, it’s smaller.’ She rose and walked to the door. ‘Goodnight, Jack.’

  He held the door open for her. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Gordon.’ He closed it softly behind her, then came back to sit down.

  ‘I’ll pour it out,’ Renee said, waiting for him to push his cup and saucer across. ‘Do you think Tim’s serious about Moira?’ She concentrated on unscrewing the cap of the thermos flask.

  He understood that she was trying to prevent him from touching on a more painful subject. ‘He says he’s serious, and I think he means it. I thought at one time that you and him . . .’ He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Renee smiled. ‘I told you before – I like him, but that’s all.’

  ‘The same as you like me.’ Jack grinned and shrugged.

  ‘You told me that as well.’ He looked down at the contents of his cup. ‘I know we can’t choose who we fall in love with, it just happens, but remember, Renee, I’ll always be available for you to turn to when . . . at any time.’

  She stretched her hand out across the table and laid it over his. ‘I know, Jack, and I’m very grateful, but . . .’

  ‘Aye.’

  They’d just finished the tea, when Tim came in, so Renee said, ‘Goodnight, boys,’ and left them talking.

  The next few days passed without any awkward incidents

  – without any incidents at all – and Renee was coming to terms with the plain, unvarnished truth that Fergus obviously did not want to revive their previous relationship, but, on the Monday morning, after Tim and Jack had left for work, and Anne was in the scullery, he whispered,

  ‘Tonight. Half past seven, inside the Graveyard.’ Anne came back, so he didn’t wait for any sign from the girl that she would be there. Renee was left to stare at the half-slice of toast still on her plate. Her mouth was dry, her heart was hammering, there was an insistent pounding in her ears, and she hoped that her mother wouldn’t notice her confusion. Luckily, Anne’s mind seemed to be elsewhere as she gathered up the dirty dishes.

  One of their neighbours sat down beside Renee on the bus, making it impossible for her to concentrate on her own thoughts, and she was kept busy all forenoon, so it wasn’t until she was on her way home at lunchtime that she was able to consider the unexpected turn of events. What a cheek Fergus had! After sneering at her on Thursday, and ignoring her all over the weekend, he expected her to come running as soon as he snapped his fingers. Several times on the journey she decided not to meet him that night. Let him think what he liked. But she always changed her mind, and finally plumped for keeping the date, but only to listen to any explanations he could offer for his callous behaviour. She knew she was being stupid, that she was asking for trouble, that her heart would probably be broken again as it always was with Fergus Cooper, but she had to talk to him.

  He wasn’t there when she arrived home, and she was relieved that she could act normally with her mother. She took her dinner quickly as usual, because the travelling took up most of her lunch hour.

  ‘I’ll be going out with Phyllis tonight,’ she told Anne before she left. That should set her mother thinking, but she could put two and two together if she liked. Renee avoided letting her thoughts touch on Fergus during the afternoon. She was meeting him at half past seven, and there was no point in dragging her bruised feelings through the mill more than she could help.

  At teatime, only Jack and Tim were in the dining room, arguing about football until their landlady came through. Anne eyed her daughter speculatively. ‘Fergus came home in the afternoon, but he went out again.’ Her face was tight and her voice was cold. God, they must have had another quarrel, Renee thought. Her mother must have really put two and two together and realised that she was going out with Fergus, not Phyllis. Anne must have tackled him about it, and that’s why he hadn’t waited for tea. Good! Her mother could have the sore heart this time, for a change, and could imagine what they were doing while they were together. Renee noticed that Jack looked hurt. He had guessed, too, but it couldn’t be helped.

  She came off the bus at the Graveyard, the affectionate name Aberdonians gave to the old kirkyard of St Nicholas’ Church, their city’s Mother Kirk, where the flat gravestones of long-dead citizens were used as a short cut from Union Street to George Street. The iron gates, although directly off the main thoroughfare, led into a quiet, calm oasis, far removed from the noise and bustle of Union Street. Fergus was waiting for her on a secluded bench, well away from curious eyes, and she would have walked right past him if he hadn’t seen her coming and stepped forward. She stiffened involuntarily as his arms went round her, and turned her head away from his kiss. ‘No, Fergus. You can’t expect to carry on as if nothing had happened. I want to know why you wrote to my mother and not to me. You swore it was me you loved, not her, but . . .’

  ‘Renee,’ he interrupted. ‘Darling, listen . . .’

  ‘No, you listen. I’ve had enough! I’ve been through hell and back over you, and I’ve had it! I’m finished!’

  It wasn’t what she’d intended to say. It had come out without her being conscious of even thinking it, but she was glad, and hoped she was wounding him as much as he’d wounded her in the past. Fergus seemed stunned by the tirade, but recovered quickly. ‘I know what all this is about,’ he sneered. ‘It’s Jack Thomson. You’re in love with him now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Maybe I am. What’s it to you?’

  ‘You’re mine! You’ve been my Monday girl for . . .’

  ‘Cut that out, Fergus Cooper! It’s no use now. You made a mockery
of that long ago, and all your sweet-talking won’t make any difference.’

  His cajoling smile faded. ‘OK then, if that’s how you feel. Your smarmy Jack can have you, but does he know he’s getting second-hand goods? You can’t change that, Renee. I was first.’

  She felt her gorge rising. ‘Shut up! Shut up! I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to . . . You can’t hold a candle to Jack. He’s everything you’re not – decent, genuine . . . Oh!’ She turned and walked away from him, so angry that she couldn’t trust herself to say anything else.

  He bounded after her and gripped her shoulder. ‘Go on, then. Tie yourself to him. You’ll soon get fed up, and I guarantee you’ll remember me every time he makes love to you on a Monday. You’ll always remember that you belong to me, no matter who thinks he owns you.’

  She shook off his hand and stood breathing heavily. ‘I don’t know if Jack has even thought of marrying me, but if he asks me I’ll say yes, and you’ll never cross my mind on Mondays or any other day of the week. As for being fed up with him, I’d be happy for the rest of my life as long as he kept on loving me, because I’d know it was just me for him, not hundreds of other girls, and certainly never my own mother.’

  ‘You couldn’t be happy.’ Fergus stuck his face, contorted with rage, close to hers. ‘You need excitement, a proper heman to keep you satisfied. You need me.’ His expression softened. ‘You can’t send me away like this, when I might be killed any time.’

  She glared at him. ‘Don’t try any of your tricks, Fergus, for they won’t work any more. I’ve come to my senses at last.’ That seemed to hit the target, because he said, sadly,

  ‘Your mother guessed you were meeting me tonight, you know, and we’d another barney. She didn’t tell me not to keep the date, but she said I was never to come back to her house after I leave tomorrow.’ He looked at her pitifully.

  ‘She means it this time, Renee.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Good! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going home.’ She pulled away from him, and walked on along the path towards the side gate.

  ‘I swear to you, Renee,’ he shouted after her, ‘every time anybody makes love to you on a Monday, you’ll remember that I was first, and you belong to me. And there’s nothing you can do about that!’

  Ignoring him, and, without once looking back, she went down the steps and through the narrow gate on legs that were shaking violently. She felt empty, drained of all feeling, but she had broken his spell over her, with his own, unwitting, help.

  After she crossed Schoolhill, and was walking up George Street, she realised that she was going in the direction of her grandmother’s house. It hadn’t been intentional, but she had to unburden herself to someone, and who better than her beloved granny, who had been perceptive enough, the first time she saw him, to assess Fergus for the rotter he really was? Unfortunately, her warnings had fallen on ears unwilling to listen. Sheer doggedness kept Renee going until she reached the tenement in Woodside, but she was still trembling as she climbed the stairs. By pure good luck, Peter McIntosh was out, and Maggie looked up in surprise when Renee walked in.

  ‘What brings you here at this time o’ night?’ she asked, then one look at the girl’s face in the light of the gas lamp on the wall told her that something dreadful had happened, and her voice became anxious. ‘Sit doon, my dearie, an’ tell me aboot it.’

  ‘Oh, Granny!’ Renee’s delicate composure crumbled at the love and concern in the old woman’s words. ‘You were right about Fergus. He was no good.’ She burst into tears and ran to the outstretched arms, then sank to the floor with her head on her grandmother’s lap. Maggie let her sob her heart out, patting her head occasionally in sympathy, until the girl’s shoulders stopped heaving and she held up her head, pathetically. The faded blue eyes looked down with compassion.

  ‘Can ye speak aboot it, noo?’

  Renee took a shuddering breath. ‘I’ve been stupid, Granny. Really stupid. I thought . . . he swore he loved me, but . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘Ye found oot that he didna?’ Maggie didn’t sound surprised, and waited for the rest of the story.

  ‘It was worse than that. He’d been . . . making love to . . . other girls as well.’ Renee had almost given away her mother’s secret, too, but covered up quickly.

  ‘Aye.’ The woman’s expression did not change. There was no disapproval or shock on her face as she took the girl’s hand. ‘Lassie, ye’re nae the first to be let doon like that, an’ ye’ll nae be the last. At least ye’ve seen through him noo.’

  ‘Yes, I have seen through him now, Granny. You warned me about him long ago, and so did Jack Thomson and Tim Donaldson, but I was sure he loved me, so I wouldn’t listen.’ Her grandmother smiled sadly. ‘Sometimes it’s best if ye learn yer lesson the hard road. Ye’ll nae mak’ the same mistake again, will ye?’

  ‘No, I’m sure I won’t, but, oh Granny, it was awful. We’d a blazing row tonight, and we said terrible things to each other.’

  The grey head nodded. ‘Nae doot ye deserved them, the pair o’ ye.’ She squeezed Renee’s hand to let her see that she wasn’t censuring her, and they sat silently, lovingly, until Maggie said, ‘He’s hame on leave, then?’

  ‘He goes away tomorrow, and I’ll be glad to see the last of him. I’m sure he’ll never come back to our house again, because Mum won’t let him.’

  Maggie’s eyebrows rose. ‘She ken’t aboot you and him, did she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Renee wondered how much she could say without Granny realising what had actually been going on in the house in Cattofield. ‘You see, I told her myself before Fergus went away the first time, because I wanted everything out in the open.’ Would that be enough to satisfy her grandmother’s curiosity?

  Maggie nodded wisely. ‘Now I understand. I was a bit feared that yer mother had mair than a soft spot for Fergus hersel’.’

  Their eyes met and held, until Renee looked away. ‘That’s all finished now . . . I think . . . and I’m finished with him, too.’

  The old woman was quiet for a few minutes, then she said, ‘I’m goin’ to mak’ ye a cup o’ tea, then ye’d better get hame, but mind this, Renee, a mother’s a lassie’s best friend. Dinna let that waster come atween ye.’

  She stood up and the girl rose off the floor to take out the dishes while her grandmother filled the kettle and lit the gas ring. They sat down at the table to wait for it to come to the boil, and Maggie suddenly looked anxiously at Renee.

  ‘There’s jist one thing I have to ask ye, lassie . . . Ye’re nae goin’ to ha’e his bairn, are ye?’

  Renee shook her head. ‘No, Granny, I’m not. Thank God for that.’

  ‘Aye, thank God. Ye’ve got aff light, for things could ha’e been a lot worse.’

  When Renee was leaving, her grandmother said, ‘We’ll nae tell yer mother ye’ve been here, eh?’

  ‘Thanks, Granny . . . for everything. I feel better now.’ On her way home she congratulated herself that at last she’d had the courage to do what she should have done months ago. If only she had listened to Granny, and Jack and Tim, she could have saved herself all the heartache. Her step lightened as she went on. She felt purged, as if she had cast an evil demon from her soul. She smiled grimly. That was exactly what she had done. She had rid herself of a Svengali who had hypnotised her for far too long.

  Fergus Cooper would be leaving tomorrow for good. Thank God he would never affect her life again.

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the sound of John Boles’ voice died away, Anne rose to wind up the gramophone. This twelve-inch recording of the ‘Desert Song’ had been one of her late husband’s favourites, and the song, ‘One Alone’, especially, made her think nostalgically of Jim Gordon. She glanced across to her daughter, who was curled up on the settee, but Renee was too busy reading to be any company. They were alone in the house,
Tim Donaldson and Jack Thomson having gone to visit Mike and Babs, and Anne’s heart ached with longing for the life she had once known, and hadn’t fully appreciated until it was gone.

  Sighing, she lifted the record and drew her sleeve lightly round it to remove any particles of dust. She was replacing it on the turntable when she was startled by the ringing of the doorbell.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Renee jumped up eagerly. She had no idea who might be calling, but any visitor would brighten them up. The small dark-haired girl standing on the step was a complete stranger, and seemed nervous and apprehensive.

  ‘Yes?’ Renee asked, helpfully, because the girl appeared to be unsure of what to say.

  ‘Is this where . . . er . . . Mrs Gordon lives?’ The last three words came out in a rush.

  ‘Yes, come in.’ Renee led the way into the living room, puzzling over who this girl could be, and what she wanted with Anne. ‘Mum, somebody wants to see you.’ She gestured to the girl to sit down, but the caller shook her head and remained just inside the door, one hand clenching and unclenching spasmodically at the front edge of her coat, so Renee shrugged and sat down on the settee again.

  Anne switched off the gramophone and waited, but, when nothing was forthcoming, she smiled. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’

  ‘Did . . . er . . . Fergus Cooper lodge here?’ The almost-whispered words made both Anne and Renee look at her in astonishment.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ Anne said, after a slight pause. ‘But he joined the army in September.’

  ‘I know.’ The girl was silent again and the other two kept looking at her expectantly.

  ‘Has he been back on leave yet?’ This time, the voice was a little stronger.

  ‘He was here after his training was finished, and he went back about a couple of months ago.’ Anne’s perplexed face had begun to show signs of anxiety. ‘Was it him you really wanted to see?’