Crystal's Song

by Millie Gray

  All too soon they were past the open-air swimming pool and she shuddered to recall how often she’d swum there in the freezing July water. How she’d paraded bravely in her bikini, with her skin turning blue because she wouldn’t wrap up. On they went together, past the amusement park, and were approaching the indoor swimming pool at the foot of Bellfield Street when Tom pushed the chair towards a bench. He swung her round to face the turbulent sea and sat down. “Happy?” he asked. “Is this what you wanted?”

  Holding back her tears, Dinah nodded before saying, “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

  Unlike Dinah, he was unable to hide his grief and all he could mutter was, “You know, when I was taken prisoner, at night when we were cold and hungry, I used to think about the two of us on Portobello Prom. I know you won’t believe this – but sometimes just picturing the cold rushing tide in my mind warmed me up. Heated me so well that the desolation was made bearable.” He faltered and his voice cracked before he could go on. “You see, I knew that one day I would get back to you! My determination to return to you saved my life.”

  Dinah leant sideways and took his hand in hers. They looked lovingly at one another but nothing more was said. There was no need for any more words.

  Crystal had arrived home on the evening flight and, no matter how much she wanted to see her mother again, it was just too late to disturb the household.

  So it wasn’t surprising that as soon as Bing left for work the next morning, she quickly tidied up before dashing to Stories the bakers in Leith Walk. “Eight rolls and a round of well-fired bran scones,” she hurriedly requested from the dilatory shop assistant. “And could you please be quick? I want to catch the next bus to Restalrig.”

  The house door was never locked these days, to allow the family, doctors and friends to come in quietly, and so Crystal was in the back living room before anyone knew she was there.

  The room, Crystal knew, would be thoroughly cleaned daily. Yet, no matter how much Dettol they used or how hard her two Grannies and Frieda worked, they were unable by now to mask the odour of Dinah’s mortal decay. The stench frightened Crystal and when it invaded her nostrils she had to suppress the urge to throw up. Another feature that disturbed her was the ghostly half-light in the sickroom. Before going to draw back the curtains and let in the limited December daylight, she checked to see whether the large easy chair that her father now slept in was vacant. A sigh of relief escaped her when she discovered that it was indeed empty. But, before she could let the light in, a voice behind her whispered, “Thought you were a figment of my imagination.”

  Crystal turned and gladly let her father’s arms encircle her. “No. I got home last night. Wanted to come and see you then but Bing said it was just too late. Anyway, I knew you’d all be settled down for the night.”

  “Is that really you, Crystal?” Dinah’s weakened voice called out.

  Releasing herself from her father, Crystal went over to her mother. “Yeah, Mam, it’s me. And just wait till I tell you all about my adventure.”

  Dinah struggled to pull herself up on the couch. “Good. But could you do it while you give me a quick wee dicht?”

  “Of course. But you must promise to save me from Granny Patsy’s wrath when she finds out I’ve taken over her duties.” Dinah nodded and they both giggled.

  Tom interrupted them. “When you came in, Crystal, I was just about to go and rouse Elsie for her work and then get Joe and Myra ready for school, so I’ll go and get on with those things now.” He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin and added, “But I think I’ll take up residence in the bathroom first.”

  As soon as her father had left, Crystal set about making Dinah more comfortable. As she washed her mother’s sunken cheeks and massaged her bony hands, she babbled on about Lloret de Mar. It was no more than idle banter that stopped her showing Dinah how shocked she was at seeing the deterioration the last week had brought. Here was her mother, the most beautiful of creatures, ravaged by a disease that none of them properly understood. Crystal choked back her fear before saying in the brightest tone she could summon, “Oh, Mammy, I know how much you like the beach and the sea. I just wish I could take you to Lloret de Mar. Believe me, even in December it’s warm enough to picnic on the shore. I just sat in a deck chair and watched the sea coming and going. It was all so lovely.”

  “Nothing is more lovely than Portobello in the winter when it’s just us locals who brave the elements and simply enjoy looking at the view.” A short silence followed before Dinah croaked, “Do you know what Portobello means?” Crystal shook her head. “Beautiful port. My lovely beautiful port.”

  Crystal thought her mother was perhaps growing over-sentimental, so quickly changed the subject by asking, “Did you miss me? Enjoy the wedding reception?”

  “I did. And every day I was wondering how you were getting on.”

  “Oh, we were fine. Bing told me,” confided Crystal, “about how his mother couldn’t cope after his father was killed in the war.”

  “Is she still alive?” Crystal nodded silently.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Nobody knew. She’s now in Bangour Village Hospital and you know how nobody wants to say they have a relative in an asylum. Poor Bing doesn’t think she’ll ever get out. Said she’d been there so long she was becoming institutionalised and wouldn’t ever be able to cope in the outside world.”

  “Does he go to see her?”

  “Yes. And I’m going to go with him. You don’t need to worry about her coming out because our house was never hers. It was his granny’s and when her son, Bing’s dad, was killed she changed her will and left it to Bing.”

  It was now time for Dinah to ask the questions that she was burning to ask. “Crystal,” she said, plucking nervously at her blankets, “are you happy?” Crystal nodded. “I mean, really happy?”

  “Don’t know about being really happy. Don’t even know what that means. But I do know that I’m quite content. Bing’s a good man. He’s had a sad life but now I know he loves me – and he really does love me.” She stopped, brought up her leg and playfully slapped it. “He even loves this crooked old leg of mine. That being the case, I’m determined to be a good wife to him. Keep his home. Have his kids. I’m so grateful.”

  Dinah fell back on her pillows again. “But,” she whispered, taking Crystal’s hand in hers and giving a sigh, “you haven’t said if he makes you happy. Really happy. I do so want you to be happy like your Dad and I are.”

  “I’ve told you, Mammy. I’m content. He’s good to me.” Crystal hesitated. She thought it would be quite wrong not to answer her mother honestly. Even though her mother was dying, Dinah wouldn’t want Crystal to deceive her. So Crystal continued, while stroking her mother’s brow, “Oh, Mammy, if you want to know whether Bing makes me sing in the morning – then I have to say truthfully that the answer is no!”

  26

  The family had hoped that by March the numbing cold they had felt ever since Christmas Eve, when Dinah had quietly passed away in her sleep, would now have started to thaw. Relatives, friends and neighbours had all been very kind and considerate to Tom and Dinah’s children. But it was going to take a lot more than endless pots of soup and rice puddings from Granny Patsy, not to mention extra bags of coal from Tom’s old school pal, before there was any lessening of that paralysing chill that had engulfed them on Hogmanay, when they had said goodbye to Dinah at Seafield Crematorium.

  Joe and Myra, whom everyone bent over backwards to care for, seemed to be the only ones to welcome the blizzards that had cut off northern communities this winter. Thanks to Andy, who again happened to have a friend who had died leaving a brand-new television, they could now tune into what was going on in the country and they laughed when they saw aeroplanes dropping supplies to the stranded in the north of Scotland.

  When not glued to the television watching Wagon Train, the pair were down sledging on Leith Links. They were adamant that Leith Links, unlike the
rest of Edinburgh, was not in the grip of the freezing spell and that therefore they were perfectly safe. Safe indeed they were until Myra tumbled off her sledge as it went careering down the Plague Mound and she gaped in horror when the blood from her gashed forehead sprinkled the pristine snow.

  Joe, who was now eleven and well-developed for his years, should have been looking after her. However, as he was happily basking in the adoration being given him by a group of teenage females who seemed bowled over by his charm and good looks, Joe was far too busy to be looking after Myra.

  When one of the boys, who all wanted to be like Joe, called out that Myra was hurt, Joe panicked. He knew his dad was apt to turn everything into a drama these days. Life would have been so much easier for them all if his dad had simply screamed that he didn’t want Dinah to die and that he didn’t wish to live without her. If only he’d kicked the cat and sworn at Frieda. But he did none of these things. Yet, when some little thing went wrong, it became a federal case.

  Joe was struggling to drag a reluctant and sobbing Myra up the road to find someone who could tend her wound when one of the school teachers who taught in Leith Academy Primary appeared and asked if she might help. Joe felt he really didn’t need her assistance but she insisted on taking Myra into her home to tend the bleeding forehead. Then she firmly instructed Joe to go and fetch his father. “And only your father, mind you!”

  He had just unfolded the whole story to his father, saying that Miss Cole insisted that he should go to collect Myra, when Frieda said, “Oh no. I know Miss Cole all too well, so I think I should go and fetch Myra.”

  “Why?” asked Johnny.

  “Because she and quite a few others would dearly like to console your father.”

  “So?”

  “Oh, Johnny. There’s consoling and there’s consoling! And, believe me, Miss Cole’s idea of consoling will be candlelight suppers and counselling on the settee.”

  Tom was furious that Frieda thought he would be daft enough to fall for such trickery. Before anyone could stop him, Tom had fled from the house and sprinted down the road.

  After an hour had gone by and neither Tom nor Myra had returned, Frieda stood up and announced she would go to Miss Cole’s house to bring both of them back home.

  After she had rung the bell three times, the door was reluctantly opened by Miss Cole who said, “I’m very busy. Could you come back tomorrow?”

  “Nein,” was the curt reply as Frieda pushed past her and looked in each room in turn. Eventually she went into a small bedroom and gasped when she saw Myra, with a bandaged head, all tucked up in bed but with no sign of Tom. “Right!” she said to bewildered Myra in a most Teutonic tone. “You come with me – mach schnell! Now, where is your father?”

  Myra willingly scrambled from the bed and raced out of the door followed by Frieda. They both had to halt abruptly at the study door since it was being fiercely guarded by Miss Cole. That lady had underestimated Frieda, who promptly stamped on her foot so hard that Miss Cole not only yelped in pain but fell so hard against the door that it flew open.

  Frieda could do nothing else but laugh at the pitiful sight that she saw as she looked into the room – there stood a tie-less, jacketless, shoeless and sockless Tom trying to climb out of the window. “Tut, tut!” she said, in her most disapproving voice. “What on earth is going on here?”

  By now Miss Cole had managed to compose herself. “I was engaged in the ‘laying on of hands’,” she announced, trying to push Tom back on a chair. “It is a well-known method of bringing consolation to the bereaved.”

  “That right?” retorted Frieda, grabbing hold of Tom and thrusting his clothes into his hands. “Well, I can assure you that you are free to lay your hands on anyone you like – but get your hands off him. He’s mine. And I have my own ways of making him better!”

  Tam looked flabbergasted. “Look, I’m nobody’s but my own. And I don’t want …”

  Frieda gave him another fierce push. “Quiet! Get yourself dressed. We go home now. Myra’s wanting her cocoa. And for you, Tom, I am going to make you a nice German toddy – you know, schnapps and schnapps and more schnapps!”

  Carrying Myra, Tom and Frieda made their way back up Restalrig Road without a word being said. When they arrived home Tom immediately turned to Frieda and was about to remonstrate when she put up her hand. “No need to thank me for saving you from that man-eater. But you know, Tom, you should have been in Germany during the war and you would have been more worldly wise than you are now.” Tom wanted to remind Frieda that he had been a guest of the Third Reich for five years and that their cruelty was something he would never forget but Frieda went on relentlessly: “Surely you know that handsome widowers like you are always much sought after.”

  A peal of laughter resonated around the room. “My Dad being sought after?” chuckled Johnny.

  “Oh yes! He will be. And don’t you forget, Johnny Glass, I fell in love with you because you are so much like your Dad.”

  Tom looked at Frieda. He’d never given her a chance. He had to admit she’d been his mainstay ever since Dinah had fallen ill. She had nursed Dinah meticulously, never allowing herself to feel disgusted when attending to Dinah’s most basic needs. After Dinah’s death, she’d cooked and cleaned, looked after the children and held the whole family together. It was time now, he thought, to say thank you. “Frieda,” he began hesitantly, “I just want you to know how much I admire and appreciate what you’ve done for us all and … Oh blast it! I love you like a daughter, I do.”

  Frieda went over and kissed Tom lightly on the cheek. “Thank you, mein Lieb. And now you make me feel guilty, you see … Johnny, you must tell him.”

  “Dad, Frieda’s pregnant.” Everyone in the room clapped their hands and shouted congratulations. Johnny held up one hand. “Quiet. I haven’t finished. And we’ve managed to get a wee house, so we’ll be leaving you all to get on with it.”

  Tom sank down on a chair. How on earth was he going to manage without Frieda? Frieda the Kraut that he never wanted his son to marry. Frieda whom he now needed so badly. She in turn sensed his fear and said, with a wink towards Johnny, “But Tom, we’re only moving further down Restalrig Road. In fact we’ll be in a flat on the right-hand side of the road and that little flat looks straight into Miss Cole’s house. So, my dear Tom, if ever she decides to go up the road instead of down – with friendly persuasion – I’ll have her change direction!”

  27

  Tom was determined that this Christmas would be a real family Christmas like the ones they’d had before they lost Dinah. But how, he wondered, would he achieve this – because, one year on, everyone’s grief was still so very raw. Frieda came up trumps, however, by giving birth to a seven-pound baby girl. The baby was officially to be called Patricia but already that was shortened, not to Patsy (after whom she was called) but to Tricia.

  The new baby caught everybody’s attention, especially since she and her parents were living with Tom. This arrangement had come about because Frieda missed having a back door and a garden to hang her washing in. So when a lower-flatted wreck of a villa became vacant in Pirniefield, just off Restalrig, Johnny and Frieda had put in a ridiculously low offer and were overjoyed when it was accepted.

  Luckily, their own small flat in Restalrig Road sold very quickly. The Pirniefield house, however, did require quite a bit of work done before it was habitable and so, to minimise the financial outlay, the task of repairing the solid house to the standard of all those around it fell to Johnny and Tom, both of whom were expert tradesmen.

  Rupert had done his usual calculations and came to the conclusion that, even if the house had been a steal, Johnny and Frieda would require some financial help. He also reckoned that, as both Tom and Johnny worked full-time and would only be able to work on the house in their spare time, it would take at least three months before the family could move in.

  Rather to Rupert’s surprise, Tom seemed delighted to agree with him. But Tess’s husba
nd was really put out when Tom suggested that Johnny, Frieda and his grandchild, Tricia, should move back in with him.

  Tess, who was becoming more and more like her husband and was now being eaten up by jealousy, made a point of seeking out Crystal to ask what she thought of the Pirniefield mystery. Crystal replied, “Look here, Tess, the only mystery I’m interested in right now is why I’ve been married for a whole year and yet I’m still not expecting!”

  “Oh,” huffed Tess, “I thought you were just waiting till you’d saved up enough to get out of that pokey wee flat in Jameson Place.”

  “Jameson Place is not pokey. It’s bright and cosy.”

  “Anything you say, Mrs Nippy,” retorted Tess.

  Crystal continued to speak – but more to herself. “And Bing and I want a family right now! And my brooding has got worse ever since Tricia arrived. I just love nursing her, walking her out in her pram. And … she’s so like Mum.”

  “Oh, if that’s all it takes to make you happy, then I’ve good news for you.” Crystal looked expectantly over to Tess who now appeared to be seething with bitterness as she went on: “You see, I’m having another baby in June and we never meant to have another one for two years. I’m not Superwoman, so I’ll need all the help I can get to cope with two bawling infants!”

  This news upset Crystal. “You mean you’re expecting by accident?”

  Tess sighed. “Yes. Rupert did calculate the safe dates by the rhythm method but somehow or another …”

  A gale of laughter from Crystal echoed round the house, bringing both Tom and Granny Patsy rushing in to discover what all the hilarity was about. Crystal pointed to Tess and exclaimed, “You lot won’t believe it, but our ever-cautious Rupert got so carried away with the rhythm that he added a few beats of his own and now our Tess’s jiggered!”