‘Don’t blame the bairn.’ Helen turned to John. ‘It’s your fault, you should have been watching her.’
Laura sprang to his defence, forgetting to cry in her concern for him. ‘It was my own fault for not listening.’
John continued to protest vehemently every Saturday. ‘Not again! She’s just a pest.’
‘I am not! I am not!’ Laura would shout.
John’s treatment did not diminish Laura’s hero-worship, and she loved going to Quarry Street, although the other boys took their lead from him and did everything they could to put her off joining them in their exploits. She wasn’t so happy on the occasional visits to King’s Gate with her mother. Her namesake allowed her to play with the beautiful dolls in the playroom, and all the other expensive toys, but the eight years between them prevented them from being true companions. Moreover, Laura Robb attended a private girls’ school, while Laura Fullerton went to Mile End, where John had gone before he passed the qualifying examination and moved to Rosemount Intermediate.
Elspeth and Ann laughed every time they heard the plaintive, piping cry floating downstairs, ‘I want to be the teacher this time,’ because the more modulated voice always answered, ‘You’re too small to be the teacher.’ Of course, Laura Fullerton always had the final retort. ‘Well, I’m not playing schools at all, then.’
The girl’s enjoyment at Quarry Street was marred only when Donald and his family came for a week’s holiday, Helen having bought a bed settee for the best room to accommodate them, and making James share the single bed in the small room which had been his father’s before it had been Elspeth’s and was now John’s. Only a little over two years younger than John, he was welcomed by the other children, and enjoyed the novelty of the burn at the foot of the street, with the mature, graceful trees on its banks. He and his ‘uncle’ became inseparable, and both ordered Laura around, and she was annoyed that her beloved John devoted all his time to showing James the best trees to climb. She was always glad when Donald took his family back to Hull.
David had thought, when he bought the bungalow, that he would put his jealousy of John Forrest behind him when the clock was no longer standing at his elbow when he sat down at the fire, but it had only intensified. When he came home at nights, tired and resentful at being told by the manager that he could push sales further if he put his mind to it, what was the first thing he saw when he let himself into his own house? That damned grandfather clock! It galled him to think that Elspeth seemed to have made it a shrine to her first love, keeping it highly polished and flicking imaginary specks of dust off it each time she went past it. She paid more attention to it than she did to him. Although Elspeth was content to be a housewife, her marriage was not as peaceful as it had been. David seemed to be drawing farther and farther away from her, and she felt hurt that he had stopped kissing her before he went to work in the mornings.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked one evening, after he had been sitting silently reading for some time. ‘You hardly speak to me at all now.’
‘What is there to speak about?’
His abruptness dismayed her. He had never spoken to her like that before. ‘Is anything worrying you at your work?’ she persevered. ‘You’ll maybe feel better for telling me, though I’ll likely not be able to help you.’
‘Nothing’s worrying me, and I wish you’d stop harping on about things.’
Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean to nag at you.’
That night, she lay beside him worrying about the change in his manner, and when she did eventually fall asleep, she was soon catapulted out of it by his flailing arms. He’d had no nightmares for some time, and she was actually relieved that he was having one now. It must have been building up in him, which would explain his earlier brusque behaviour. As she usually did at such times, she stroked his brow and tried to soothe him, but he would not be pacified. It was fully thirty minutes before he quietened down, then he opened his eyes and looked at her accusingly.
‘You’re all right now, David,’ she crooned.
‘I’m not all right when I know my wife spends all her time thinking about another man,’ he snapped.
Recoiling in shock, she said, ‘I never think about another man. I’ve never thought about anybody else except you.’
‘You can’t tell me you don’t think about your precious John Forrest every time you look at that clock,’ he sneered.
‘Oh, David,’ she gasped, ‘I knew fine you’d be jealous.’
‘I’m not jealous, but no man wants to have his wife’s first lover’s gift to her staring him in the face every time he comes home.’
‘He wasn’t my ...’ The words stuck in her throat.
‘Ha! You can’t deny it, can you? He was your lover!’
Steeling herself, she muttered, ‘He wasn’t my lover, we were just ... friends, and it was long before I met you, David, so you can’t hold that against me, surely?’
Letting out a shuddering sigh, he gasped her hand. ‘No, you’re right, I can’t hold it against you. I’m sorry, Elspeth, it’s just the damned nightmares that get at me, so I can’t think straight.’
‘Do you want me to get rid of the clock?’
‘No, no! I just said the first thing that came into my head. Oh, Elspeth, Elspeth, I love you.’
Turning towards him, she submitted to his lovemaking but got no pleasure from it because of the hurtful things he had said ... and she had to admit they were true. She did think of John Forrest, not every time she looked at the clock, but every time she polished it or wound it up, and he had been her lover, but only for a brief moment in her life. How could David understand? Her love for him was not the same, perhaps not quite deep enough, but it was still a satisfying love, and he had no need to be jealous.
David’s nightmares became more frequent over the next few months, and were usually followed by veiled accusations, but Elspeth was prepared for them now and was glad that they were not as specific as the first time. The trouble was that they made her think more and more of John Forrest, and she was afraid that, if her husband asked her again if the dead soldier had been her lover, she wouldn’t be able to deny it.
On her visits, Lizzie did notice that her daughter seemed to be worrying about something, but Elspeth wouldn’t tell her what it was. She even denied that there was anything wrong, though her mother was positive that it had something to do with David, who seemed to have grown dour lately.
In October, 1927, David was promoted to manager, his tormentor having retired, and because he no longer had the aggravation, his mind eased. Elspeth believed that the fits of depression he had suffered before had been due to worry about his work, because he had fewer nightmares now, and he seemed to have got over his jealousy, too. Their love life was not as exciting as it had once been, but they had been married for over seven years now and the bloom would have worn off anybody’s marriage in that time.
Elspeth’s first purchase with her extra housekeeping allowance was heavier curtains for the living room, but she had set her sights on replacing all her furniture, which was beginning to look shabby. Her life was running smoothly again, her happiness being evident from the bloom on her cheeks and her ever-ready smile.
Lizzie was pleased that her daughter was looking so well, because her own health was beginning to deteriorate, with rheumatics and pains in her chest, but she never mentioned them to anyone. She sometimes wished that she had accepted David’s offer of a home three years earlier, but she had known that two women in one kitchen always spelt trouble.
Even when she had let David persuade her to stay for a few days a year or so back, Elspeth had been kind of short with her. She was happiest in her own little house, which she kept clean and tidy, though she wasn’t able to do as much as she used to do.
One afternoon at the end of August, 1928, Elspeth was surprised by a visit from Mrs Wallace, who had occupied the cottar house next to Lizzie for the past four years.
‘Your mo
ther’s had a heart attack,’ the woman said, as soon as the door was opened. ‘I come in the ambulance wi’ her, for they took her to Woolmanhill.’
Elspeth’s face had blanched. ‘Will she be all right?’
‘I waited will they said she was a wee bit better, but I think she’s real bad.’
‘Oh, God, I’ll have to go to her.’ Elspeth turned to get her coat from the bedroom, then hesitated and said, ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked you in and offered you a cup o’ tea. It was good o’ you to come and tell me.’
‘They gave me tea at the hospital the time I was waiting, thanks just the same, and I was pleased I could be doing something for Lizzie, she’s been a good neighbour to me.’
‘I’ll come back wi’ you on the bus, for I’m anxious to ken how she is.’ Elspeth disappeared and returned slipping her arms into her coat sleeves. ‘I’d best leave a note to let David ken where I am, in case I’m not back by teatime. Laura’ll go next door when she comes home from the school, for she kens Mrs Sangster’ll take her in if I’m not here.’
Elspeth was so worried that she hardly spoke on the journey into town, and ran along the streets to the Infirmary when she came off the bus, stopping in shock as she entered the ward and saw her mother. The effects of the passing years had not been evident before, but this frail figure in the bed looked very old – very old and very ill.
‘Mother, I’m here, and you’re going to be fine.’
Lizzie smiled weakly. ‘It’s good to see you, Eppie, but I’m feared I’ll not get better. My time has come.’
‘No, no! Don’t speak daft! You’ll be up and about in no time.’ Elspeth ruined her confident statement by starting to weep softly.
‘Don’t upset yourself, Eppie. I’ve lived my life, and I’m not sorry to be slipping away.’
A nurse motioning to Elspeth to leave then, she bent to kiss the bluish lips before she went, and did her best to hold back her feelings on the journey home, but when she let herself into the bungalow, she held on to the side of the grandfather clock and burst into noisy sobs. She had composed herself before her daughter came home from school, and was able to tell David quite calmly what had happened.
‘Let me go in to see her tonight,’ he said. ‘You’re too upset to go back so soon.’
‘No, I want to go myself, so you’ll have to stay with Laura.’
Having had time to think, Elspeth sought out the ward sister when she went to the hospital. ‘I’m Mrs Gray’s daughter. Is she going to get better?’
‘There’s always hope,’ the woman said, ‘but it was quite a bad attack, and another one may prove fatal ...’ Her manner became brisker. ‘You never know, she may fool us all and be back on her feet in a week or two.’
Lizzie’s dull eyes brightened a little when Elspeth went into the ward. ‘You were here the day already, there’s no need for you to come twice a day.’
‘I wanted to come, Mother, and I’m sure you’ll just be in here for a wee while, then I’ll take you to bide wi’ me.’
‘It’s good o’ you to offer, Eppie lass, but I can’t see my-self ever being happy in the town.’
‘You can’t bide on your own now, though, so just make up your mind you’re coming to me.’
Lizzie closed her eyes, and Elspeth prayed that she would indeed ‘fool them all’ and recover, and was relieved when her mother looked up at her. ‘I’m right pleased things have worked out wi’ you and David.’ She smoothed the counterpane with a transparent hand. ‘I often worried myself in case he found out about the bairn that died. You should have tell’t him, Eppie, for there shouldna be secrets between a woman and her man.’
Elspeth felt sick. Why did her mother have to bring that up? It was bad enough that she believed the child to be dead, but John, a gangling thirteen-year-old, was the living image of his father, as Lizzie would see the second she set eyes on him, and a meeting with the Watsons would be inevitable if she came to live at the bungalow. It was all bound to come out.
Her mother was regarding her curiously, so she said, ‘It’s long past and forgotten, and David’ll never find out, for the Watsons and the Robbs would never tell him.’
‘No more would I, Eppie, but skeletons have a habit o’ coming out o’ the cupboard when you least expect it. They’ll not bide hidden for ever, you ken.’ Lizzie lifted her thin, wasted hand and studied her fingernails carefully. ‘Eppie, I’ve left written instructions wi’ Mr Reid, the solicitor, to sell up my things when I’ve passed on, and to put the ...’
‘Don’t speak about passing on, Mother, for you’ll get over this turn, and live for years yet.’
Lizzie ignored the interruption. ‘I’ve tell’t him to put the money in a trust for you. I ken you’re not needing it the now, but there might come a time when you will.’
Elspeth returned home tired and depressed. Her mother had been trying to remind her that, if David ever found out about her first child, he might cast her off without a shilling, as the saying went. She was very quiet all evening, and David, presuming that she was upset by her mother’s condition, was extra loving and caring towards her, which made her feel more guilty and more worried than ever. She didn’t deserve his love and trust. She had told so many lies in her life that she was bound to be punished for them some day.
Lizzie had another, massive, heart attack the next day, and died just before Elspeth went in to see her in the afternoon. The sister offered to telephone David’s shop, and he arrived within ten minutes to comfort his wife.
‘She was hardly sixty,’ she sobbed, ‘and when I think o’ the worry I caused her, I can hardly bear it.’
‘Most children give their parents cause to worry some time,’ he soothed. ‘Stop blaming yourself and just try to remember she’s with your father again.’ He waited until she calmed down, then took her home, remaining with her for some time before he went out to make the necessary arrangements.
Left on her own, Elspeth wept once more, reproaching herself for the things she had done, and for the things she hadn’t done, as is usual when a loved one dies.
They left Laura with Helen when they went to Auchlonie for the funeral. Elspeth had been afraid that Mrs Forrest would be there, but only Blairton himself attended, coming over to shake hands with her at the graveside.
Mr Ferguson of Mains of Denseat came up to her next. ‘It’s not a very good time to be asking, Elspeth, but I’d be obliged if you’d clear out the house as quick as you can. You see, one o’ my men’s getting wed, so he’ll be moving out o’ the bothy once I get a lavatory put in to the house.’
She smiled faintly. ‘I was meaning to clear things out the day, any road, for I’m not wanting to have to come back.’
‘That’s fine, then. Eh ... I’m sorry about your mother.’
Harry Bain – again without his wife – patted Elspeth’s back. ‘I’m pleased to see you again, though it’s a sad occasion.’ He glanced at David, standing awkwardly by her side. ‘You’ll be Elspeth’s man? See and look after her, then, for she’s had a hard life.’
Elspeth’s heart almost stopped. She had forgotten that Harry was another person who knew about her first child and was extremely thankful when he, too, moved away.
Under the circumstances, no one expected to be asked back to the little house, so Elspeth and David went there alone, and, while she sorted through her mother’s belongings – packing all the personal things into a box for Mrs Wallace to dispose of, and checking that the furniture was in a fit state to be sold – he went out to the back garden.
At the end of three hours, her task over, Elspeth looked sadly at the grandfather clock and wished that it didn’t have to be sold. If Laura had been of marriageable age, it could have been given to her, but there was no room in the bungalow to store it for that eventuality. It occurred to Elspeth that the identical one in Aberdeen should rightfully go to John Watson after she died, having been bought by his father, but he didn’t know that he was her son, and, God willing, he never would. Even if h
e ever needed to produce his birth certificate for anything, it was in a shortened form since the Watsons had adopted him legally, and there would be no mention of his being illegitimate.
David came in carrying a wooden box filled to the brim with vegetables. ‘We may as well take the good of them,’ he told her. ‘Are you ready? I know it’s been a difficult day for you, but it’s all over now.’
When they went outside, Elspeth turned the heavy key in the lock, handed it in to Mrs Wallace, then left her childhood home forever.
Part Three
Chapter Twenty
1938
In Laird and Company’s office, the conversation between the men centred on the precarious situation in Europe, but the three young clerkesses weren’t bothered that the Germans had invaded Austria – they were more interested in the latest fashions in clothes and hair styles or the private lives of the glamorous Hollywood filmstars.
Mr Steele, the chief clerk, was on his favourite hobby horse. ‘Hitler’s after supremacy in Europe.’
The head cashier, Mr McDonald, nodded gravely. ‘Yes, he’ll likely have a go at some other countries before Britain, but there’s going to be a second world war shortly, unless I’m very much mistaken.’
One of the younger clerks laughed. ‘Hitler would never be so stupid as to risk a war with us.’
His superior frowned. ‘Don’t be too sure, sonny boy.’
Laura Fullerton was glad to be handed a docket to take to the warehouse, but because there were some really nice boys there, she went into the cloakroom first to make sure that she was presentable. Her reflection pleased her. Her heart-shaped face was free of ink stains and smuts, the eyes that looked back at her were a clear blue and her rich auburn hair was still as curly as it had been when she was a child, shining like satin in the electric light. Her lips – softer and more natural looking than the cupid’s bow some girls painted on – might be better with a touch more colour, but her lipstick was in her handbag in a drawer of her desk.
Time Shall Reap Page 21
