‘So you did,’ his mother smiled, then pretended to frown. ‘You didn’t wash your hands, though, and you’ve got black streaks down your face.’
He turned to his father. ‘I can lift the full pail, now, and I just put it down once, on the Robertsons’ landing.’
‘Good for you.’ Big Tam grinned and ruffled his son’s hair, only slightly darker than his own, making it more untidy than ever. ‘You’ll soon be as strong as your Da.’
Cissie went to bed at eight o’clock like her brothers and sisters, but listened for her father going out, which he usually did in the weeks just before and after a baby was born. She had always supposed that he was going back to the pub, so she was surprised to hear her mother say, sharply, ‘Can you not stay away from it for one night, Tam?’
‘I need a woman!’ her father snapped.
The door slammed then, and Cissie was left puzzling at the sound of her mother weeping. Why did he need a woman? He had a wife and three daughters already, weren’t they enough for him? Recalling that her mother had told Aggie Robertson he hit her if she refused him, Cissie’s suspicions intensified. Her father wasn’t as good as he would have people believe.
Chapter Three
1910
The blinds were raised for the first time in four days, but even the bright sunlight streaming in didn’t cheer the young McGregors, and Cissie, eleven now, looked round the room at her brothers and sisters, still shining clean from the scrubbing she had given them after their dinner. Not Tommy. At twelve, he wouldn’t have allowed her to shame him. Nevertheless she had forced him to dip the hairbrush in water, and his coppery hair had been plastered flat against his head for the funeral, making him look like a stunted old man, though it was as unruly as ever by this time.
Joe’s hair had looked black from the soaking she’d given it, but was its normal reddish-brown now, matching the rims of his eyes, swollen from crying. Marie’s face was white and pinched, her ribbon slipping off her long tresses, and Rosie had pulled hers off as soon as they came home. Pat, almost five, was sucking his thumb, as he always did when he was troubled. He was still the youngest, for another two had been born dead, though they had come during the day and Cissie would have known nothing about them if she hadn’t heard Aggie giving Da a piece of her mind.
‘It’s bad enough making that poor wife of yours have a bairn every year, but covering up three deaths is something I’ll never understand. You’re no better than an animal, Tam McGregor, and I should get the bobbies to you.’
Cissie had waited for her father to erupt in anger, but he had merely asked, over-politely, ‘I hope you’ve bundled this one up for me?’
‘It’s under the bed like the last one,’ Aggie had snapped, ‘so your other bairns won’t see it. You should think black, burning shame o’ yourself, when your wife’s lying through there at death’s door.’
Cissie could find no compunction in her heart for her father, though he had been weeping ever since his wife died. Instead of getting the doctor in to see her, as he should have done, he had sat by the fire until the small hours of the morning, then crept out to get rid of the baby. On his return, he had come running through to her, his eyes wild in his pure white face.
‘Your Mam’s gone, Cissie,’ he’d got out, like somebody was strangling him. ‘She was all right when I took away – but she’s – oh, my God, what’ll I do?’
‘Ssh!’ she had whispered, more in control than he was. ‘You’ll waken Marie and Rosie with your carrying on. I’ll come through to the kitchen in a minute.’
She had pulled her coat over her nightshift because it was cold, and had gone downstairs first to tell Mrs Robertson what had happened. It was Aggie, shivering in her winceyette nightdress, who instructed Tam what he had to do, and he’d run out without a word.
Aggie had looked at Cissie then. ‘Will you be all right till I go down and dress myself? I’ll be as quick as I can, but I can’t be wandering about in my gownie when the doctor and the undertakers come.’
As soon as the door closed, Cissie had gone to the bed and looked down on her mother’s face – so careworn in life and looking older than her years, but peaceful in death, as if she were glad to be leaving her worries behind. ‘Oh, Mam,’ she whispered, ‘how will we manage without you?’
She had still been weeping silently when Aggie came back wearing her usual black dress which had seen better days. ‘I think you’d better go back to your bed, lass,’ she had said, gently. ‘You can’t do anything for your Mam now.’
Cissie had trailed away, but couldn’t sleep for the noise of strange feet on the stairs. Then her attention was held by an angry voice saying, ‘God Almighty! I should report you for that, Tam McGregor.’
‘That’s what I said, and all, doctor,’ Aggie chimed in.
‘If it wasn’t that your wife was lying dead, I would,’ the doctor had said. ‘But perhaps that is your punishment.’
Cissie hadn’t heard what her father mumbled, but Doctor Burr had gone on, ‘You’d better get her laid out ready for the undertakers.’
Whoever he had been speaking to, it was Aggie who replied. ‘I’ll do it, Doctor.’
Cissie had no idea what was entailed in ‘laying out’, but she was sure that Aggie would see to it properly. Snuggling down, she had gone to sleep.
Mam had been buried in the Grove Cemetery, and the house seemed empty without her, though there were still seven of them there. Cissie tried to swallow the great lump in her throat. They would be lost without Mam – she’d always been ready with a kind word and a smile if they were upset, a smear of ointment and a bandage if they’d hurt themselves, a rub of wintergreen or a belladonna plaster on their chests if they had coughs.
Chancing a quick glance at her father, Cissie was amazed to see him standing up. ‘I’m going out for an hour or so,’ he said, catching her eye and looking away quickly. ‘Make sure the young ones get to bed at the usual time, Cissie. It’s up to you now.’
Nothing was said after he went out. Tommy rose to attend to his brothers and Cissie saw to her sisters, and it wasn’t until they were settled that the two eldest McGregors sat down again in the kitchen.
‘He’s a dirty brute,’ Tommy said, vehemently. ‘He could hardly wait till Mam was under the ground before he went to get another woman.’
This was Cissie’s chance. ‘Why does he need a woman?’
Tommy looked pityingly at her. ‘Do you not know that yet? A man needs a woman to . . .’ He stopped, drew a deep breath, then told her exactly why men needed women, in the frank, basic words he had learned from older school-fellows.
Cissie’s eyes, the same bluey-green as her mother’s, were popping out of their sockets by the time he finished, though she understood only part of what he said. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she spat out, at last. ‘Men aren’t all like that. Mrs Robertson told Mam once that her Jimmer hardly ever . . .’
‘Ach, Jimmer was an old man, and anyway, he’s been dead donkey’s years, he doesn’t count.’
‘He was still a man.’ After a slight hesitation, Cissie said, ‘Have you ever . . .?’
Tommy flushed. ‘No, I haven’t, not yet, but I will as soon as I’m old enough.’
‘How old have you to be?’
‘It’s nothing to do with age. It’s when your . . .’ Tommy sighed, then said, ‘It’s time we went to bed. If Da comes back and finds us still up, he’ll go daft.’
Not wanting to disturb her sisters, Cissie undressed in the dark, mulling over Tommy’s disclosure for a few minutes, but giving up because she found it disgusting. As she slid under the blankets, she let her mind go back to the funeral. Da had been crying so much that he hadn’t thought of anybody but himself, and it had been Jim Robertson who had put his arms round her, while Tommy cuddled Joe and Pat, and Aggie was comforting Marie and Rosie. ‘Your Mam’s better away,’ Jim had said, gently, squeezing her hand.
She had been shocked at his callousness at the time, but now she understood vaguely what he had meant. J
im had added, ‘If you’re ever in trouble, Cissie, come to me and I’ll do my best to help you.’
She couldn’t imagine being in any kind of trouble, but it was nice to know she had such a good friend downstairs.
It was the following evening before Cissie became aware of how much her mother’s death would affect her. Big Tam came home at his usual time, ate his supper and sat down by the fire. ‘You’ll have to take your Mam’s place, Cissie,’ he told her. ‘You’re the only one who can look after the wee ones and keep the house going.’
‘But I’ll be at school all day . . .’
‘You’ll not be going back to school, Cissie. You’ll soon be twelve, old enough to keep house for your poor old Da.’
He gave a slight smile at that, but it hadn’t eased the ache in her heart. She loved school, she adored Miss Munro as much as she had adored Miss Deans, she couldn’t stay away for ever – but if she disobeyed him, Da might take his belt to her like he sometimes did to Tommy for answering back.
It wasn’t so bad. She’d got into the hang of it after three whole weeks, and with Pat at school now, she could get on with the housework in peace. She spent the whole of every Wednesday in the wash-house, though doing the laundry for seven took it out of her, and her knuckles were red raw from rubbing the clothes on the washboard. She took her turn for cleaning the stairs and the two lobbies – one out to the backyard and the other out to the street. She planned the meals ahead and didn’t have to run out at the last minute for things she’d forgotten. She could make soup and pastry (though her first efforts had been like cement), fry ham and eggs, stew rabbit or slices of shoulder steak. She could do everything Mam had done – but she still wished Mam was there.
Her brothers and sisters turned to her for comfort, and she felt quite grown up at times, but at other times, mostly when she was in bed, the tears came, tears of fatigue, of self-pity, of sorrow for her mother. Da went out every night and wasn’t home before she fell asleep, but he seemed to be quite pleased with the way she kept house. He’d even started patting her head before he went out, like he would pat a dog for being good, and it felt nice to be appreciated.
Aggie Robertson had seemed surprised when Cissie told her that. ‘He just pats your head? Well, maybe I was mistaken.’
Humphy Jim, as all the children called him, often stopped her on the stairs and said, ‘Mind what I told you now,’ and she always answered, ‘Yes.’
Thinking it over as she sat down to have a glass of milk and a biscuit one afternoon, Cissie wondered why they were so concerned for her. She was managing fine, though she’d have to hurry and bake some oatcakes before suppertime, and there was still some ironing left over from yesterday.
Pat didn’t usually come straight home from school, so Cissie was surprised that he was first in, but he spread a slice of bread with jam and ran outside again to play on the back green with Dougie Gibb from upstairs. Then Marie and Rosie appeared, with Joe just behind them.
‘Where’s Tommy?’ Cissie asked, because he was never late.
‘He’s awa’ to Greigie’s . . .’ Marie began.
‘None of that playground words,’ Cissie said sharply. ‘You know Mam didn’t like us speaking like that.’
‘You’re getting to be a right old grumph,’ Marie pouted. ‘He found a thruppenny bit lying on the pavement when we were going to school in the morning, and he went to Greig’s candy shop in the Gallowgate to buy some sweets.’
‘I hope he gets black-striped balls,’ Rosie observed.
‘I like clove rock best,’ Marie put in.
‘Soor plooms for me,’ said Joe, looking defensively at Cissie. ‘And you needn’t scowl, for that’s what they’re called on the jar, so saying sour plums would be wrong.’
‘He’ll likely have eaten whatever he buys before he comes home,’ Cissie said, dryly.
She was proved wrong in ten minutes. When Tommy came in, he had a large bag of assorted broken candies, so each of them got their favourite – Tommy’s being hore-hound and Cissie’s acid drops. They left a share of mixed pieces for Pat, who would eat anything, and who emptied the bag in seconds. As a result of indulging themselves, none of the children was able to eat very much at suppertime.
‘What’s wrong with you all tonight?’ Big Tam surveyed them with a perplexed frown. ‘I hope you’re not sickening for something?’
The older children glanced at each other guiltily, but Pat, having no guile, gave the secret away. ‘Tommy took home candy and we’ve eaten too much.’
Tam whipped round. ‘Where did you get money to buy candy, Tommy? Did you steal it?’
Tommy’s face turned an indignant red. ‘No, I didn’t steal it. I found a thruppenny bit on the pavement, and . . .’
‘You should have left it where it was. Maybe some poor old woman went back to look for it and it wasn’t there. Taking something that doesn’t belong to you is stealing, no matter where you found it, and you know what I think of boys that steal.’ Big Tam undid his belt. ‘Take down your breeks and get over that chair.’
‘Oh, but Da . . .’
‘Get your breeks down!’
Mortified more than scared, Tommy opened his buttons and let his breeches drop to the floor, trying to cover his nakedness with his hands as best he could, because neither he nor his brothers ever wore drawers. He flinched but kept the tears back when he received three sharp strokes, and his shamed face was as red as the weals on his buttocks when he pulled his trousers up again.
When Tam finished his supper and went out, Tommy muttered, ‘I’ll pay him back for that, see if I don’t.’
Cissie turned on Pat. ‘It was your fault. You shouldn’t have told Da about the candy.’
‘Aye,’ Marie sneered. ‘You’re just a tell-tale-tit.’
‘I didn’t know Tommy would get the belt.’ The five-year-old had been horrified, and was aggrieved that nobody had told him to keep quiet about the sweets.
‘Is it awful sore, Tommy?’ Cissie asked, as she rose to clear the table. ‘Will I put on some ointment for you?’
‘And let you all see my backside again? No, thank you.’
To show their father what they thought of him, the young McGregors refused to talk to him for the next two days, but on the third evening, he shocked them by ushering in a woman of a kind they had never seen before. She was bold, painted, had yellowish blonde hair, and her silky blouse and straight skirt were so tight that her every curve was accentuated. If Cissie and Tommy had been older, they might have recognised her as belonging to the oldest profession in the world.
‘Eh, Tam,’ she simpered, as Cissie hastily set another place at the table, ‘you didna tell me you’d six bairns. What a man you musta been.’
‘What a man I still am,’ he boasted, ‘and I’d have had eleven if the rest had lived.’
‘And what’s your names?’ the woman gushed, looking at Tommy first.
He hung his head, but little Pat made the introductions. ‘I’m Pat, he’s Tommy, Joe, Cissie, Marie and Rosie.’
‘I’m Mina. Oh, Tam, your hoose looks real bonnie.’
Beaming, he said, ‘Cissie’s been a grand help to me since her mother died.’
Mina sat back as a plate was laid in front of her. ‘So it’s you that’s the housewife, Cissie? Well, I’m moving in, so you’ll not have so much to do.’
‘Moving in?’ Cissie was aghast at this. ‘But there’s no room for you. Where’ll you sleep?’
‘Wi’ your Da, of course.’ Mina let out a raucous laugh. ‘He said he needed a woman to keep him warm at nights.’
Later, hearing the springs of the kitchen bed groaning rhythmically once more, accompanied by groans from her father and delighted squeals from the awful woman, Cissie thought, with a grim satisfaction, that Mina would soon be suffering the same agonies of childbirth that Mam had gone through, and it would serve her right.
Next day, Cissie was feeling rather put out because her father’s ‘woman’ was shifting things around and p
lanning the evening meal, when Mina suddenly said, ‘Should you not be at the school?’
‘Da kept me at home to keep house.’
‘There’s not enough work here for two o’ us. You can go back to the school the morrow if you want.’
Cissie’s opinion of Mina underwent a swift change for the better. She wasn’t a bit like Mam, but at least she had some heart. ‘What’ll Da say?’
‘Leave your Da to me.’
Big Tam raised no objections when he was told, and Cissie went to school the following morning with her brothers and sisters. ‘Mina’s not so bad when you get to know her,’ she told Tommy, whose only answer was a deep scowl.
A few mornings later, Mrs Robertson detained Cissie on the first-floor landing. ‘I see your Da’s got a bidie-in.’
‘What’s a bidie-in?’
This flustered Aggie. She hadn’t remembered how young the girl was. ‘Ach, me, it’s . . . a woman a man takes into his bed when he hasn’t got a wife.’
Cissie smiled now. ‘Her name’s Mina, and she’s let me go back to school.’
‘I don’t know how long she’ll last,’ Aggie said, darkly. ‘I used to see her standing at the foot of Market Street.’
‘The foot of Market Street?’ Cissie couldn’t understand the significance of this.
‘Where the notables stand to pick up a man. That’s likely where your Da met her.’
Still uncomprehending, Cissie said, ‘I don’t know where he met her, but I’d better go or I’ll be late.’
She carried on down the stairs thoughtfully, wondering why Aggie didn’t approve of Mina standing at the foot of Market Street. Not that it mattered, anyway, for Tommy was the only one of the family who hadn’t taken to her, and he was just being awkward. Da hadn’t been out one night since she came, and he was always in a good humour, which made life easier for all of them.
Chapter Four
1913
There had been a succession of women looking after the McGregors at intervals since Mina had left. Like her, they normally lasted no more than three or four weeks, often not even that, but very few of them had been as willing to work as she had been. Most of them had left all the cleaning for Cissie to do at weekends, but she didn’t really mind, not when they kept her father happy and let her go to school until they walked out – or were thrown out. She did worry that Rosie and Pat might be upset by so many strangers, but it didn’t seem to bother them, and they didn’t get attached to any of them.
Waters of the Heart Page 2
