Waters of the Heart

by Doris Davidson

  She hadn’t even told Phoebe about the two letters Joe had sent, in case her father got to hear about them, for the postman, who lived on the same landing as Aggie, had known to deliver them there. The first had been written when he joined the crew of an unnamed battleship after his training, and the other when he had returned to Britain after his first engagement with the enemy. It was this one which had upset her, for Joe had written like a disillusioned man, not like the eager boy he had been when she last saw him. She had written to him then, telling him that she was married and asking him to come and see her when he got the chance, but she realised that it might be some time before he could.

  She worried more than ever about him now, and about Tommy, who was also on the high seas, likely running the gauntlet of German U-boats to deliver whatever cargo his ship was carrying. It wouldn’t be so bad if she could only see them, to make sure that they were both all right, she thought, glad that she had a baby to take up her attention.

  James was three months old when Aggie had her first ‘turn’. Actually, she had had several warnings over the past six months but hadn’t wanted to alarm Cissie by telling her. The girl, therefore, was all the more alarmed when the old lady reeled as she rose from the table. ‘What’s wrong, Aggie?’

  Her mother-in-law collapsed into the nearest chair, and after laying the baby in the Moses basket, Cissie crossed the kitchen in two strides. ‘Have you a pain?’

  A slight movement of her head was as much as the old woman could give in confirmation, and Cissie couldn’t think how to help her. The pain could be anywhere. Aggie’s pink face was a ghastly grey now, her lips blue as she struggled to place her hand on her chest to show where it hurt. It could be indigestion, Cissie thought, or a bout of flatulence, but she soon realised that it was more than that. ‘I’ll go and get Phoebe,’ she said, praying that her father’s wife had not gone out shopping.

  Fortunately, Phoebe was at home. Together they ran downstairs, both of them afraid of what they might find, but Aggie had recovered a little. ‘You’d think the . . . devil was after the . . . pair o’ you,’ she gasped, as they burst in.

  ‘Is the pain away?’ Cissie puffed.

  ‘Aye, I’ve had wee turns before, but that was the worst.’

  Phoebe pursed her lips. ‘It sounds like your heart. You’ll have to take things easy. How old are you?’

  ‘It’s nobody’s . . . business how old I am,’ the old woman began, then common sense took over and she added, ‘You’re right, I’d better watch myself. I’m seventy-seven.’

  Over the tea Cissie made, Aggie’s cheeks slowly regained their natural colour and she found it easier to speak. ‘I used to worry about Jim being left on his own, but he’s got you now, Cissie, so he’ll be all right when I go.’

  Frowning, Cissie said, ‘You’re not going to die for a long time yet.’

  Suspecting that it might not be as long as the girl hoped, Phoebe changed the subject. ‘Is my wee James wakened?’ He was a contented child and hardly ever cried, so she wasn’t at all surprised to find his eyes wide open and his tiny fists waving. ‘Come to your Grandma Phoebe, my wee lamb,’ she crooned, lifting him out of the basket. ‘You’re not a bit like your Da, but I can see your Granda in you.’

  If she had noticed the anxious glance that passed between the other two, she would have realised the truth, but she was planting light kisses on the baby’s downy head, and Aggie let her breath out slowly. ‘It’s natural for there to be a family likeness, and he takes after his mother’s side, not ours.’

  ‘Aye,’ Phoebe agreed. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back, or Tam’ll be in and no supper ready for him.’ She handed the baby to his mother and went out.

  ‘She doesn’t know,’ Aggie assured Cissie, ‘not yet, any road, but it’ll not be long till she puts two and two together, for I’m sure she must have got a shock to think you and my Jim . . .’ She looked at the girl with her eyebrows raised. ‘Have you let him . . .’

  Opening her blouse to feed her child, Cissie could feel the heat creeping up her neck. She knew that Aggie’s only reason for asking was her desire for a real grandchild – however much she loved little James, he was not of her flesh and blood – and she deserved an honest answer. ‘I wouldn’t refuse him if he asked, but he never makes a move.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ Aggie lay back and closed her eyes.

  Not for the first time, a surge of deep affection for her husband welled up in Cissie. A bolster could be set between them every night, and she had sometimes felt like snuggling up to him, to let him know that his bowed back didn’t revolt her any longer, but she wasn’t sure if the tenderness he generated in her was pity or gratitude. It wasn’t love.

  Love was what she had felt for Hugh Phimister. She hadn’t seen him since she broke off with him, and maybe it was just as well, for she couldn’t have kept up the pretence of there being someone else. Miss Birnie would have told his mother that she was married, and he would be hurt to think that she had preferred a man so much older, a man with a hump on his back and bandy legs, when his own body was perfect.

  Cissie jumped when a hand touched her arm. ‘What are you thinking about, lass?’ Aggie asked, gently.

  Laying James over her shoulder to wind him, the girl said, ‘Nothing, I was dozing. Are you all right now?’

  ‘I’m fine. Eh, Cissie, are you sorry you married my Jim?’

  ‘Why would I be sorry?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not the kind of man you’d dreamt of.’

  ‘He’s a good man, none better, and I’ll never be sorry I married him.’ James giving a loud burp at that point, she changed him to her other breast.

  ‘And you’ll look after my Jim when I’m away?’

  ‘You know I will, Aggie. You didn’t need to ask.’

  The old lady gave a long sigh. ‘That’s my mind at rest, any road. Now, when James is finished, gi’e him to me. I’ll change him and you can get on wi’ the supper.’

  Cissie had to wait until she and Jim were in bed before she could tell him. ‘Your mother had a funny turn today.’

  He was all attention immediately. ‘What kind o’ turn?’

  ‘Phoebe said it was her heart, but she got over it quick.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here with her now. I never liked the idea of her being on her own all day at her age.’

  ‘I’ll always be here with her – and with you.’

  She felt him turning towards her, still not touching her. ‘You’ll never want to leave me?’

  ‘No, never. I . . . I like you an awful lot, Jim.’

  His hand came over to brush her cheek. ‘You know how I feel about you, but I never thought you’d . . .’

  ‘I’m not saying I love you,’ she interrupted, hastily, ‘but I do like you, and if you want to . . . whenever you feel like it . . .’

  ‘Not yet, Cissie. I want you to be sure.’

  ‘I am sure.’ She could feel his hardness against her side now, and suddenly remembered her father. Could she really let another man – could she bear that pain again?

  As if he could read her thoughts, Jim moved away. ‘I’d better wait, though I can tell you this, Cissie: it wouldn’t be like your Da did to you, for I love you, and I’d never hurt you. But get some sleep now, like a good lass.’

  Next morning, an irritated Aggie shrugged off her son’s concern. ‘Cissie shouldn’t have said anything. It was just a wee turn, nothing to speak about. Get away to your work and stop fussing, you’re like an old woman yourself.’

  Cissie smiled as she handed him his dinner ‘piece’. ‘Off you go, Jim. I’ll see she doesn’t tire herself.’

  When he went out, his mother looked at the girl. ‘There’s something different about him the day. I’m not being nosy, but . . . did you and him . . .’

  Colouring, Cissie said, ‘I told him I’d be happy to let him, if he wanted to, and he said he’d wait.’

  ‘Aye, my Jim’s a canny one. He wouldn’t want you to give in to him out
of pity. It’ll take time, lass, for he knows it’s not love you feel for him. Now, I’ll see to the dishes and let you get to the butcher before the best beef’s away.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t be . . .’

  ‘None of your havers. Away you go, and don’t hurry back.’

  Even at eight o’clock in the morning, the sun was glinting on the quartz of the granite buildings and reflecting off the shop windows, and Cissie’s spirits rose as she pushed the pram slowly down the hill, stopping to have a look at the display of ladies’ underwear in Duncan Fraser’s although it wasn’t open for business yet. It was good to be out on such a lovely day, she thought, as she went past the chemist to turn the corner into George Street, and good for James to be getting the fresh air into his little lungs.

  She smiled to everyone she met, and felt happier than she had done for a long time, even when one of her neighbours looked into the pram and said, ‘Poor wee soul.’ It didn’t matter to Cissie what anyone thought. James was a darling, though he wasn’t normal, and his brown eyes were darting all over the place, like he was curious about his surroundings. She left him outside the butcher’s shop until she bought a ham shank to make lentil soup, but when she was passing the dairy on her way back, Miss Birnie ran out.

  ‘Mrs Phimister told me yesterday her Hugh’s been pining since you and him fell out, and he’s joined the army – the Scottish Horse, I think. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you, and you married now, but I know you thought a lot of him.’

  Aware that her ex-employer, like Hugh’s mother, must have wondered what had gone wrong between them, Cissie could only say, ‘Yes, I did think a lot of him, but it’s all over. I’m happy with Jim, and there’s the baby now, and all.’

  Her curiosity unsatisfied, Miss Birnie gave in gracefully. ‘Let me see him.’ Pulling the covers back, she gazed down at the gurgling infant for a moment, then said, sadly, ‘Oh, I’m sorry for you, Cissie.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sorry for me, Miss Birnie. Jim’s a good husband, and I wouldn’t change James for all the tea in China.’ As serenely as she could, Cissie rearranged the pram covers and walked on, in spite of the almost unbearable ache in her heart, an ache which was proof that she still loved Hugh as much as ever. Even remembering that his mother had said he’d pined for her did not help, and she was glad that he had joined the army, because there wasn’t the slightest chance that they could ever be together again. The flashing reflections off the glass and the glittering quartz were lost on her as she plodded up Schoolhill. She did not look across at the clock in St Nicholas Kirk as she usually did, not even when the bells chimed the half-hour. In the last of the thirty minutes she had been out, she had been thrown completely off balance.

  Leaving the pram in the back lobby, she carried her child upstairs, the shopping basket slung over her arm. ‘I hope I haven’t been too long,’ she began, then stopped in alarm. Aggie was stretched out on the floor, the upturned teapot lying beside her. Setting James down in the Moses basket, Cissie knelt down to attend to her mother-in-law, but got no response. She sat back on her heels to feel for a pulse, and could find nothing.

  Her head spinning, she ran upstairs for Phoebe, but it was too late. ‘She’s gone,’ her stepmother said, after a few moments. ‘Poor Aggie, her heart’s given out altogether this time. I’ll stay here with James till you get the doctor to come and make out the death certificate. And you’d better go and tell Jim, so he can arrange the funeral.’

  That night, for the very first time, Jim Robertson put his arms round his wife, who was weeping because she had been out when Aggie died. ‘Don’t upset yourself, lass. You likely couldn’t have done anything.’ Stroking her hair, he went on, ‘I’m right glad I’ve got you now, Cissie.’

  His lips were tender and compassionate as she turned to him – for her own consolation as much as his – but within seconds her stomach turned over, as she realised that her desperate kisses had aroused him beyond his control. She felt sick but she couldn’t be so cruel as to refuse him when he had just lost his mother.

  Gritting her teeth, she shook her head when he asked, very unsure of himself, ‘You’ll not be angry, Cissie?’

  He was hesitant at first, but when his breathing quickened and she knew he was on the point of entering her, she had to grip herself tightly, waiting for the excruciating pain she was sure would come.

  ‘D’you want me to stop?’ His voice was thick, but gentle.

  ‘No,’ she forced out.

  It wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Jim had made no animal noises, nor had he hurt her, yet she still didn’t like it. Maybe decent women weren’t supposed to like it – only women like that Sally she had seen rolling about with her father. In a few minutes, instead of the frenzied thrusting and horrible roar she had expected, Jim withdrew at the crucial moment, and rubbed himself against her thigh.

  When he was still, he groaned, ‘I’m sorry, Cissie. I know you hated it, and I’ll never do it again.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t forget . . .’

  ‘Aye, I know.’

  Both Jim and Cissie took their own time to get over Aggie’s sudden death, and although they slipped into a rather flat routine, it suited Cissie, who considered that she’d had more than her share of ups and downs – mostly downs – over the past year. Her life centred round her baby, and it felt good to be sitting quietly in the evenings, Jim reading the newspaper and she knitting little garments.

  Phoebe came down most afternoons and pushed the pram when she and Cissie took James out for an airing. Marie, who was now working in George Street Woolworth’s, usually called in on her way upstairs, not knowing that her little nephew was also her brother. Pat popped in and out at any odd time on the pretext of seeing the baby, but more probably because Cissie kept a good supply of sweets and biscuits.

  When Jim offered to sleep in the kitchen, Cissie had told him not to be silly, so they still went to the same bed. She hadn’t really expected him to lie beside her and not touch her, but he kept his promise and lay well apart from her. Sometimes, she wished that he would be more loving, and did put out a tentative hand to him one night, but when he moved towards her, she automatically drew back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, ‘I thought you wanted . . .’

  ‘I do, Jim, honest.’

  ‘You’re still not ready.’

  ‘Will you put your arms round me, then? I feel lonely.’

  After that, he held her every night, kissing her tenderly until she fell asleep, and although she could feel how much he wanted her, he did nothing else. She was grateful to him, for the holding and kissing was all she needed. Maybe some day she would forget her revulsion and respond to him as a wife should, but he was right. She wasn’t ready yet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Secure in her husband’s self-sacrificing love, life for Cissie had regained a little flavour. She would never forget Hugh Phimister, would never love Jim in the same way, but she could sense the stirrings of something deeper than affection for him. She longed for more than platonic kisses, although she still wasn’t sure if she could let him make love to her again. But he had been so patient and understanding that she was ashamed to have kept him hanging on for so long, and decided, late one afternoon, to tell him when they went to bed that she was ready for him at last. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to feign enjoyment.

  She was setting the table for supper when Phoebe ran in, her face chalk white. ‘A telegram’s just come,’ she burst out. ‘Joe’s ship’s been sunk and all hands lost.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Cissie held on to the nearest chair.

  ‘Your Da’ll be awful upset when he comes home, Cissie, and he’s going to need you. It could be the time for you to make things up with him.’

  Even weeping for her brother, Cissie’s stomach cramped at the thought of talking to her father. Phoebe didn’t know the real reason for her marriage to Jim, and must wonder why she was so bitter against her father, but she
couldn’t face him. ‘I can’t,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t, Phoebe! Honest, I can’t.’

  ‘Please?’ Phoebe pleaded. ‘For my sake?’

  It wasn’t fair, Cissie thought, resentfully. She couldn’t disappoint this woman after all she had done, but it would be a terrible ordeal. ‘All right,’ she gulped, ‘I’ll come up after I give Jim his supper.’

  ‘Thank you, Cissie. I’m sure it’ll make your Da happy.’

  Guessing that her father would be just as averse to the reunion as she was, Cissie doubted that very much.

  When Jim came home and heard about Joe, he took his wife in his arms to comfort her, but when she nervously told him that she was going to see her father, he frowned. ‘I don’t want you to have anything to do with him, Cissie.’

  ‘I’m doing it for Phoebe, Jim. She’s been good to me, and James, and your mother, and all. I’d do anything rather than go, you should know that, but I couldn’t say no to her.’

  He sighed. ‘Well, if it’s for Phoebe . . .’

  Cissie’s feet trailed when she went upstairs after supper, her heart fluttered as she gave a timid knock on the door.

  ‘You didn’t need to knock,’ Phoebe smiled, when she let her in. ‘This is as much your home now as it ever was.’

  ‘It was my home, but not now.’ She went into the kitchen, where Big Tam was sitting so straight in his chair that it seemed an iron bar must be holding him upright. His face was pale, and his head was turned resolutely away from her. Her brother and sister, however, both gave her watery smiles.