Crystal's Song
Page 6
“You do?”
“Aye, you see Phyllis hasnae been herself all day. Wheezing and gasping. Hasnae eaten a thing. Took me all my time to get her to have a wee drink o’ water.”
Both women went over to the wooden bed and gazed down at what appeared to be a peacefully sleeping child.
“Oh my Gawd,” exclaimed Patsy as she bent over and lifted Phyllis in her arms. “She’s away. My wee angel’s away. And I never got time to say goodbye.” Both women were now weeping uncontrollably.
“It must have just happened,” protested Etta. “I was speaking to her just before you came in.”
Patsy made no reply. She just kept rocking her granddaughter back and forth while she lovingly stroked her face. “Knew I couldn’t keep you forever,” she whispered to the dead child. “But I just hoped you’d stay a wee while longer – specially now your Daddy will be coming home.”
Nothing could distract Patsy from mourning the loss of her granddaughter. Neither the sound of the outside door opening when Tess returned home nor Tess’s subsequent wails when Etta told her that Phyllis was dead had any effect. Only when Tess jumped back suddenly from the bed and screamed, “Oh, Etta, you dirty thing!” did Patsy become aware again of what was happening around her.
“Why are you saying that to Etta? It’s not her fault that Phyllis suddenly …” Patsy was finding it so hard to say the word – dead! “We were warned she’d have to leave us one day and that it would happen quickly, like this,” Patsy said through her sobs.
“But, Granny, I’m not blaming Etta for Phyllis. It’s just that she has stood there and peed hersel’!”
Patsy glanced down at the linoleum floor that was now awash and then raised her eyes to Etta’s, waiting for some explanation, but all Etta could do was mumble, “I’ve no been myself the day either. The pain in my back’s sheer agony now this bairn’s so big.”
“Oh, Etta, don’t you ken you’re in labour?”
“But my baby’s not due till February,” protested Etta, who had so many times told the lie about the time of the expected birth that she now believed it herself.
“Maybe so,” replied Patsy. “But Tess, just you run down Restalrig Road to the big house the midwives bide in.” Tess looked bewildered. “Ye ken, just up from the Leith Provi.” Still unsure, Tess slowly nodded. “And tell them to get to Etta’s as soon as they can.” Patsy now looked at Etta who was visibly wincing as a long contraction gripped her and Patsy called out after Tess, “In fact, tell them sooner than soon!”
“But, Granny, will they not all be in bed?” Tess shouted back.
Sheer exasperation made Patsy yell, “Aye, but when they hear the bell it tells them a baby’s on the way so they get up! So move yourself.”
Turning to Etta, who was now lying on the floor, Patsy dragged her upright. “It’s no that I don’t want to help you but with Phyllis lying here you’d be much more comfortable at home.” With that she hauled Etta to her feet, flung her coat round her shoulders and then together the two women made the slow and painful journey to Learig Close with Etta stopping frequently as yet another pain engulfed her.
They had just turned into Learig Close when Patsy realised that Rachel Campbell, returning as usual from work, was just ahead of them and she called out to her. Immediately Rachel laid down her heavy shopping bags and ran to help Patsy. “But Etta was just saying to me yesterday that she didn’t know what size she would be by February – and here, the wee soul’s on its way now.”
Patsy nodded before going on to explain about Phyllis and was grateful when Rachel replied emphatically, “Look, you get yourself back to the wee lassie. Sure she might be in heaven but she shouldn’t be lying there all by herself. Now, off you go and I’ll look after Etta. I’ll call my neighbour, Peggy, to come and help me until the nurses come.” Rachel stopped as Etta gave out yet another piercing scream.
It was three hours later, in the morning, when Rachel tapped gently at the Glasses’ door in Restalrig Circus. Immediately it was opened by a man that Rachel thought was Patsy’s husband but because of the blackout she wasn’t able to see him clearly – though she could certainly recognise the smell of alcohol on his breath.
“I, er. Well, I’ve come …”
“What?” bellowed the man, swaying to and fro. “This is a hoose o’ mournin’, I tell ye. So if ye’re on the cadge, just sling yer hook.”
Rachel was about to react angrily when Patsy opened the door further. “Oh, it’s yourself, Rachel. Ignore this idiot,” and with that she pushed her husband Danny back. “Come away in.”
“No, no,” replied Rachel, shaking her head. “I just came round to tell you, with you being so friendly with Etta Simpson like, that she’s had a nice wee boy.”
“Oh, but with him being one or two months early, he’ll be very small.”
Rachel looked bewildered. “Well, he is wee, but no wee for his age. Weighed in, he did, at nine-and-a-half pound – and, before you ask, that was without a nappy!”
Patsy pondered before asking, “And who does he take after?”
“Oh, his Granddad. Spitting image of old Mr Simpson, so he is. Even got the long accountant’s fingers for counting the money.”
Patsy just nodded. Evidently even on a night like this she could still put two and two thegither.
Rachel had turned to leave when a giggling woman, Patsy’s daughter, approached the pathway. Patsy immediately sprang in front of Rachel, blocking her view, but she did hear Dinah being given a loud slap by her mother. Rachel then had to jump back sharply, as Patsy roughly bundled her daughter past her while shouting at Dinah’s military escort to “Boo-row off!” She then went on to yell at Dinah, her voice cracking with emotion, “Where in the name of heaven have you been when you were needed here at home?”
“Dancing. Celebrating. ’Cause my Tam’s safe.”
Another loud slap from Patsy found its target as she retorted, “Aye, our Tam’s safe and so is my Phyllis. Safe in the arms of Jesus!”
7
The constant knocking on the front door roused Patsy from her catnapping but, finding it hard to fully awaken, it took her some time to open the door.
“What do you want?” she shouted after the retreating figure.
“It’s only me,” Mary answered, turning round and walking back to where Patsy was standing. “Just got settled in and was fancying a wee cuppa … but I’ve nae sugar.”
Patsy smiled and with a beckoning gesture invited Mary into her home. The house in Restalrig Road was where she’d moved to a year ago when Danny Kelly, her paralysed husband, was released from hospital in a wheelchair. His paralysis had stemmed from an inebriated backward fall down the well-worn stairs in West Cromwell Street. Of course, according to Danny, the blame lay with the housing factor who should have kept the stairs in a decent state of repair. He’d been vehement that the accident had nothing at all to do with his own drunken stupor. Patsy thought back to Danny and the short time he had lived in the Restalrig Road house before his death. Such a pity it was that the Learig Inn had been so handy. Indeed, most people were amazed to see how well Danny could manoeuvre his wheelchair down to the pub. And it was an even bigger pity that on leaving there one night he’d decided to steer himself into the path of a No.13 bus. But at least his end had been mercifully instantaneous.
The ground floor, left-hand house in a six-in-a-block tenement, which was situated next to the YMCA, really suited Patsy very well. It was small but the accommodation was much better than the room and kitchen in West Cromwell Street. Here, she had a living room, a couple of bedrooms, a small kitchen and a bathroom all to herself. Patsy truly regretted that she hadn’t had this house when Phyllis had been alive, since that would have been so handy being just minutes away from Restalrig Circus, which meant she could have spent much more time with the bairn. And now, with Phyllis’s other Granny, Mary Glass, being re-housed in Restalrig Road, in the superior flats just opposite the shops, life could have been so good for Phyllis.
“Settling in?” Patsy asked, dragging a chair out from the table and sitting down.
Mary silently nodded assent while pulling out a chair to sit down on. “Aye, wasn’t I just jammy bumping into Annie Forbes and her hating being in Restalrig Road and looking for an exchange back to West Cromwell Street. Cannae understand why she wasnae grateful for a lavvy aw to herself. Anyway …”
Patsy knew Mary all too well and realised she wanted to tell Patsy something. “Private and confidential like,” she would whisper to Patsy when she was ready to confide.
“Staying long enough for a cuppa?” asked Patsy. Mary nodded. “Well, I’ll just put the kettle on. Mind you, Mary, if you’re going to ladle in the sugar like you usually do, then you’ll have to take it out of that lot you’ve just put in the brown paper poke. Fair’s fair.”
Patsy had just poured the tea when Mary blurted out, “Dod’s getting oot the morn.”
“Oh, done his time already?”
“Naw. Well … aye. You see, he got time off for guid behaviour.”
“Good behaviour? Well, well, well.” And Patsy sucked in her lips as she savoured her tea. “That’s a first for him – so you must be real pleased.”
Mary shook her head. “Naw. You see, when he comes oot o’ Saughton the morn they’ll be handing him his call-up papers afore they shut the doors ahint him!”
“Are you saying they’re calling him up straight away?”
“Aye.” Mary moved her head closer to Patsy. “I think the guid behaviour thing is just them taking my Dod for a hurl. I mean, they ken he doesnae knock the hell oot o’ folk unless he kens them real well. I mean to say, Patsy, have you ever known him to be charged with thumping anybody he wasnae on first-name terms wi”’
Patsy took her time before answering, “But now we know for sure that we’re going to win the war …”
“We are?” Mary replied, making no attempt to hide her incredulity.
“Of course we are! Surely you’re no forgetting that, firstly, our braw Eighth Army sorted out Rommel at El Alamein in October last year and then just back there in July did the Russians no blooter all the German tanks at Kursk?”
Mary looked away. “Okay, you might be right,” she said, turning back to face Patsy. “But why, oh why then do they want my Dod?”
Patsy nodded. “That’s just what I’m wondering,” she said. What she didn’t tell Mary was that surely the powers that be must be mad to risk everything they had gained by putting Dod on the front line! Good heavens, didn’t they know he’d sell his Granny if the price was right – never mind trading any future victories?
The small home bakery in Restalrig Road was open from six o’clock in the morning selling freshly baked rolls and bran scones. Even if the shop had opened at five o’clock there would still have been a queue of eager customers. This Friday was no different. Patsy had just staggered through with a red-hot tray of rolls when the baker opened the door and the first three customers crammed themselves into the limited space. “Sleep in, Patsy?” joked Wilma Johnston.
“No,” was Patsy’s curt reply. “I’ve been in here since half past four. Ye ken! While you were still lying in your kip, I was earning my daily bread. So what’s it the day? The same half-dozen rolls and two bran?”
“Aye. Here, I’m real glad your Dinah’s getting herself out and about again. I thought she was never going to get over your poor wee Phyllis. And then with her dad following on so quick it seemed to knock the life clean oot o’ her.”
Patsy drew herself up sharp. What on earth was this woman talking about? Dinah had been a model of good behaviour since the night of Phyllis’s death nearly two years ago. And not only had her behaviour been exemplary but she regularly visited the bairns in Linlithgow and wrote every week to Tam – even although there never seemed to be any letters getting out of the prisoner of war camp.
“Mind you,” Wilma blundered on, “I’ll bet she’s fair missing yon tall, dark, handsome GI” Then, adding to Patsy’s discomfiture and terror, Wilma turned to the others in the queue and licked her lips as she told them, “Sure like a film star, he was. The best-looking of the hale tribe that Dinah and her pals had in tow!”
“There’s your order. Next please,” Patsy hissed through gritted teeth, as she tossed the bag of hot rolls in Wilma’s direction.
“Getting them for nothing, am I?” Wilma asked cheekily, while thumping the money down on the counter.
“Sorry,” mumbled Patsy, grabbing the coins and tossing them into the till. “I’m no quite mysel’ the day. Need three jobs I do, just to keep my head above water. And I’m that tired, I’m nearly drowning.” Patsy was indeed exhausted because not only did she work five hours at the bakery every morning but three afternoons a week she cleaned for the piano teacher who owned one of the big houses down in Restalrig Road – while on Friday and Saturday nights she served in Angelo’s fish and chip shop. Yet what else could she do? She had to work to keep herself and there weren’t many who would employ someone of her age. Oh aye, being sixty-one had its drawbacks, one of which was to be regarded as being over the hill, so she was grateful that she still did have work. She smiled at the thought of the bonuses – free rolls and buns from the morning job, a fish tea every Friday and Saturday night, and a tinkle on the piano when she dusted the keyboard.
There was no need for Patsy to knock at Dinah’s door since the key was in the lock. That was no great surprise as Dinah found it easier for people to let themselves in rather than her having the bother of going to open the door. However, when Patsy advanced into the living room (which in her opinion was in need of a good tidy-up) she was confronted by Etta staggering towards the bathroom with a kettle of boiling water. On seeing Patsy, Etta did a quick about-turn into the kitchen with the dribbling kettle. Patsy’s eyes were now drawn to Etta’s infant son, Bill, who was rocking on his bottom from side to side on the floor. From the odour emanating from that direction he was obviously in need of a nappy change.
“Is your Bill no needing his hippen changed?” she called through to Etta.
“Aye, I’m just going to do it. Wish he was potty-trained.”
“Well, you’ll have to work at that – no spend most of the day smoking fags and with your nose in a paper. Look, if you don’t change him right now he’ll have spread it all not just up his back but right up into his head.”
Before Etta could speak, a voice from the bathroom shouted, “Etta, where on earth are you with the hot water? This bath is getting to be bearable … and I’m needing the gin topped up.”
Etta had re-emerged from the kitchen and Patsy was surprised when she skipped over the floor, lifted up Bill and then fled out of the front door.
“Etta, you dozy besom,” cried Dinah, “you’re supposed to be helping me with my problem. But right now you’re only hindering me. Now get in here pronto with that water.”
When the bathroom door was kicked fully open, Dinah drew her feet up from the bottom of the bath so they wouldn’t be scalded when the boiling water was poured in. But it wasn’t the water that sent Dinah’s temperature soaring. It was the sight of her mother who, despite the limited daylight coming though the semi-blacked-out window, immediately knew what was going on. Without uttering a word, Patsy plunged a hand into the scalding water, fished out the plug and sent the water cascading away. “What do you think you’re doing?” screamed Dinah while trying to grab the stopper from her mother.
“Trying to save your soul from eternal damnation,” shouted her mother vehemently, as she grabbed a towel and began to rub Dinah’s back dry. “And why I’m bothering I don’t know, because writhing in purgatory or burning in hell forever more is a sight too good for you!”
/> Dinah’s head slumped forward and she began to sob uncontrollably. “Mum. Don’t you realise I’ll be a laughing-stock?” she cried.
“Well, wouldn’t that be preferable to eternal damnation?” retorted Patsy.
“You don’t understand.” Dinah hesitated as she searched for an excuse that would have her mother relent. “I was taken advantage of by a …” She just couldn’t continue.
“A GI Joe?” sneered Patsy, seizing the gin bottle and pouring the remaining contents into the lavatory, flushing it away with a defiant pull of the chain.
Dinah nodded. “So you see, it would be better to risk damnation and get rid of it.”
“What?” screeched Patsy. “Look, Dinah, if you, a married woman, hadn’t been keeping company with that blasted man, he couldn’t have … well he just couldn’t have!”
“But Mum, you seem to think I don’t know I’ve sinned and now am going to commit an even bigger sin – a mortal one – that three Hail Marys and an hour on my knees praying won’t get me out of. But I have to do something.” Dinah could see from the look on her mother’s face that Patsy was going to take a lot more convincing before she’d let her abort the baby so she continued quickly, “Don’t you see that I’d rather be doomed for ever than what it would do to … Oh, Mum, think how Tam would feel when he gets home – and he will get home now that we’re winning.” Dinah looked imploringly at her mother but still there was no sign of weakening from Patsy so she hurriedly added, “Not to mention the disgrace on the bairns.”
“I am thinking about Tam and the bairns and all the heartache you’ll cause them. But more important, I’m thinking of myself because if I did let you do such a mortal sin I would be condemned too!” Dinah looked as if she was about to interrupt her mother but changed her mind and Patsy continued her tirade: “So the best solution is for you to go to the Sisters in Glasgow where nobody will know who you are – and what you are. The bairn, God bless him or her, can be adopted from there.”