Only now did it enter her head that she had never cried when she was a child.
‘Where has his crying gone?’ she insisted.
‘Eh?’ Melvin flung back his head and roared with laughter. ‘That’s priceless, that is! Where has his crying gone? Sounds like a line from a song.’ Suddenly he blustered into the old Scottish tune ‘Wha saw the Tattie Hawkers?’ and went clopping round the kitchen like a Clydesdale carthorse. ‘Where has his crying gone - where has his crying gone - where has his crying gone - it’s gone up the Broomilaw!’
Catriona’s mind retreated back to the bedroom to Fergus.
‘Come on!’ Melvin grabbed her, jigged her around a couple of times before stopping to fondle her. ‘Remember we’re off for our holidays tomorrow.’
Her eyes strained nervously towards the door.
‘What’s wrong?’ Melvin pressed himself against her. ‘What are you looking so frightened for?’
Catriona bunched her fists against his chest.
‘The child might come in.’
‘So what?’ He pushed forward until he had made her stagger and fall into the cushions of the fireside chair. He lay heavy on top of her. ‘My dressing-gown’s tucked around you. He won’t see anything.’
Shivering violently, pinned down by the weight of Melvin, her mind darted about seeking some solid ground of understanding, some yardstick by which she could properly measure the rightness or wrongness of events.
Betty’s letters had been loving to the point of painful embarrassment. It had been an agony to read them. Never before in her life had she been so acutely distressed. ‘My dream man’ and ‘my wonderful passionate lover’ were favourite phrases of Betty’s.
From the cheap notepaper and the weak spidery scrawl had emerged the unmistakable and almost grovelling gratitude of a young girl already condemned to death but clinging desperately to the image of herself as a loving and vital woman - ‘Any day now I’ll be able to return to you and lie beside you and be a real wife to you, the kind of wife you want.’ ‘Please forgive me for being ill’ was another phrase which kept recurring with harrowing insistency. ‘Please be patient with me. Soon I’ll be lying at your side and I’ll be able to turn to you and love you and love you with all the energy that’s in me. I’ll be everything a good wife should. Everything and more, much more. Melvin, Melvin, I promise you, if you’ll only love me still, and be patient.’
‘If you’re half as good a wife as Betty,’ Melvin had informed her as he had pushed yet another letter under her nose, ‘you’ll do all right. You’ve a lot to learn though, but don’t worry too much about it. I’ll teach you just as I taught her.’
Now, over Melvin’s shoulder she saw the kitchen door open and Fergus appear.
‘The child!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘The child!’
‘Aw, shut up!’ Melvin breathed hoarsely in her ear.
Fergus had eyes like blue diamonds.
‘Oh, Melvin … Oh, Melvin, please!’
The knocking at the outside door came straight from God, straight from the good Lord, to save her.
‘Melvin, somebody’s at the door.’
‘Who the Hell can that be?’ He heaved himself up, furious,hardly giving her time to twist round and hide herself from the diamond eyes and rearrange her clothing.
‘Well, go on!’ he fumed. ‘Answer it.’
Hardly aware of what she was doing or where she was going, Catriona ran pell-mell into the hall and jerked open the door.
‘Yes?’
For a minute Amy Gordon lost her voice. She stared at the pale sweating face, the expanding nostrils, the huge amber eyes filled to overflowing with what looked like terror.
‘I’m Mrs Gordon from upstairs, remember?’ Her freckled motherly face softened into a puzzled question-smile. ‘Are you feeling all right, dear?’
Catriona longed to throw herself into the old woman’s arms and beg for help and protection but a lifetime of training in the virtues of self-discipline and an inborn Scottish embarrassment at melodramatic displays of emotion kept her firmly in check.
She lowered eyes and voice. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I brought you some of my home-baked scones and I wondered if you needed a hand with your packing. You’ll hardly have had time to settle in Dessie Street, never mind get ready to go away to Rothesay.’
‘Please come in!’ Catriona led the way to the front room. ‘It’s awfully kind of you. The scones look delicious. Thank you very much. Can I make you a cup of tea or something?’
Mrs Gordon arranged her plump body comfortably on the settee by the window. ‘Well, I really came to help you not to hinder you, dear,’ she laughed. ‘But I never say no to a nice cup of tea.’
‘Oh, thank you. You’re so kind. I won’t be a minute.’ Catriona backed stumbling towards the door, clutching the plate of scones against herself as if she were terrified they’d take wings and fly away. ‘I’ll just run through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I won’t be a minute. Please don’t go away.’
She left Mrs Gordon more perplexed than ever, but, amused too, shaking her head and chuckling.
Melvin was tucking his shirt into his trousers in front of the kitchen fire. He always liked to get dressed in front of a fire.
‘What the hell does she want?’ His whisper rasped like sandpaper.
‘To help me.’ Flushed with excitement Catriona splashed water into the kettle and lit the gas cooker.
‘Well, tell her you don’t need any help! You’ve got me!’
She flung a curious glance at him as she clattered cups and saucers on to a tray. It seemed very odd to whisper when the whole width of the hall and more was between them and Mrs Gordon - and both the front room and the kitchen doors were shut.
‘But the packing and everything. Women’s kind of work.’
‘I can do anything a woman can do and better. Cooking and baking’s supposed to be a woman’s job but I’ve yet to meet the woman who could cook a better meal or bake a better loaf than me!’ He growled at her. ‘You’re not going to have females filling my house from morning till night. Tell her the packing’s done and get rid of her.’
‘But I’ve promised her a cup of tea. She’s through in the front room waiting. And she brought scones - see, aren’t they lovely? Wasn’t that kind?’
‘Stop your idiotic chattering! I’ve got a bakehouse of scones downstairs. Give her the tea and get rid of her as quick as you can. I want to talk to you. I can see I’ll have to talk to you. There’s a lot you don’t know about marriage. And anyway,’ his whisper strained as loud as his throat would allow, ‘I’ve enough to suffer with Jimmy’s piano. Sometimes I can’t even hear the boxing. He drowns out my wireless. He’s worse than the blasted riveters over at Benlin’s.’
‘What?’ Her head was reeling as she rushed around making the tea and finding a milk jug and sugar bowl. ‘Who’s Jimmy?’
‘Her son. Oh, you’ll soon find out all about Jimmy. She never stops talking about him. A tall curly-haired bloke. You must hae seen him at the Govan Fair. He was tossing pancakes on the float. He works days. He’s our confectioner. Look what you’re doing! You’ve spilt milk on my good tray. That’ll seep under the glass now.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She hurried for a cloth but he beat her to it and reverently mopped up the milk. ‘I made that tray.’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Carry it carefully and watch my good dishes, and remember I’ve done the packing and I want to talk to you.’
The tray sped across the hall, milk leaping, splashing, dishes, spoons clattering, chinkling, hysterical.
‘Saints alive!’ Mrs Gordon laughed out loud when Catriona exploded into the room. ‘You’re an awful wee lassie. But never mind, you’ll soon settle down.’ She accepted an eagerly proffered cup of tea with a sigh of pleasure. ‘I understood your mother being upset, of course, with everything being so unexpected, and Melvin being a good bit older than you, but your mother doesn’t
really know Melvin or any of us very well, does she? No, thank you, I won’t have a scone, dear, but you eat them up. You’re such a skinny wee thing. I know who your mother was, of course. God forgive me, I don’t manage to Meeting very often but I have heard her speak. A wonderful woman. You must be very proud of her. And I’m sure everything will work out all right and you’ll be able to tell her not to worry. Are you listening to me, dear?’
‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’
‘Melvin MacNair is a good man.’
‘Oh?’ Amber eyes grew large, desperate to learn, yet astonished. ‘Is he?’
Chapter 15
Sandy had been so upset when he’d heard about Baldy drinking and gambling away all his holiday money, he’d taken twice as long as normal to clear out his van.
His tall telegraph-pole figure, topped by his padded cap and the bread-boards, drooped in and out the Dessie Street close, tender feet pecking the ground like a hen on tiptoe.
He was thinking about Sarah, not Baldy. ‘Poor wee thing.’ He puffed and puttered into the bakehouse. ‘And her looking as if she could be doing with a holiday, too!’
Jimmy shook his head, his young face a picture of misery, so keenly was he feeling Sarah’s plight.
‘How could Baldy do it? What harm has Sarah done anybody? What harm?’
Tam lifted his checked cloth cap to give his head a good scratch. He had escaped back down to the bakehouse as fast as he could. He was always escaping somewhere, the street corner, the pub, the bookie’s, anywhere away from his own home and family. ‘We’ll have to all pitch in. We’ll have to do something.’
Sandy’s bloodhound mouth pulled down.
‘Aye, but what?’
‘Put round the hat, you mean?’ Jimmy stopped piping cream into the sponges and looked up, eyes on fire. ‘Start a collection?’
‘Aye, son!’ Tam smacked and rubbed his hands together. ‘The very thing!’
Sandy’s lip jerked out and in for a minute.
‘There’s not much time, Tam, and folks haven’t much money to spare these days.’
‘Och, don’t fash yourself, Sandy. You know folks’ll give as much as they can. I’ll do the organizing. I’ll go round everybody in the close for a start. Then the street. Even if everybody gives just a few coppers it’ll be enough.’
‘I could take you round the rest of the streets in the van.’
‘Good man!’
‘And we could trot over to Farmbank. Rab would want to give something. That’s one thing about Rab. He’s not mean. Nor’s that wife of his. She’d give you the shirt off her back I’ve heard.’
‘Christ, that’s something I’d like to see - the shirt off her back!’
Sandy’s teeth and gums came into view but Jimmy cut hilarity short.
‘Tam, keep to the point. It’s true what Sandy says. There isn’t much time and everybody’s busy getting ready for tomorrow.’
‘Aye, you’re right, Jimmy.’ Sandy sobered down, then suddenly leapt into unexpected and unusual life. ‘That bloody cuddy!’ he yelled, and rushed away in an agony of speed as if he were propelling himself through a minefield.
He was too late! Billy the horse had heard the Benlin hooter and was off like Tam O’Shanter’s mare, hell-bent for home.
Billy knew, the same as anybody else, and by the same token, that knocking off time was time to knock off.
‘Ya bloody cuddy!’ Sandy shook a furious fist at the horse and dangerously rocking, rollicking van as they disappeared into the distance, away along the Main Road. ‘I’ll get you for this. I’ll teach you yet you stupid old ass!’
He drooped slowly back to the bakehouse where both Lexy and wee Eck were hugging each other, holding each other up, staggering about bumping into things, hysterical with laughter.
He puttered gloomily at them.
‘I’ll fillet that beast yet. I’ll break every bone in his body.’
Not even Jimmy was shocked by this remark. It was common knowledge that Sandy McNulty loved Billy the horse, and often talked to the animal like a brother.
‘Och, keep the head, Sanny. Take the tram along to the stables if your feet can’t thole the walking.’
‘One of them days, Tam, that bloody cuddy will do that once too often to me.’
‘Well, then.’ Tam hitched up his shoulders, smacked and rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s it settled, eh? We all put in as much as we can and get everybody else to do the same.’
‘Great, Tam!’ Jimmy radiated enthusiasm. ‘Just great!’
‘I’m away up, then.’ Tam gave the vanman his usual punch as he passed, making Sandy’s sad eyes roll and his red nose redden. ‘You go and fetch King Billy while I pass the hat round the close.’
Melvin straddled the front of the fire, thumbs hooked in braces.
‘Marriage,’ he announced, ‘is like two raindrops trickling down a window-pane, running into one another and becoming one.’
A giggle sprang unexpectedly to Catriona’s lips, horrifying both Melvin and herself.
An outraged eye bulged down at her.
‘I have always believed that marriage was a serious business. You obviously think it’s just a joke.’
‘Oh, no!’ she hastened to assure him. ‘Oh, no, I don’t.’
‘Well, what are you snickering for?’
She lowered her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Melvin. I don’t know what made me do it. What were you saying?’
He fondled his moustache, hesitated, then once more took the plunge.
‘Marriage is like two raindrops trickling down a window-pane, running into one another and becoming one.’
Sitting on the fireside chair, hands clasped demurely on lap, Catriona kept her head bent low.
‘You’re doing it again!’ he accused.
‘Maybe it’s the idea of you being a raindrop. I mean … I mean … Oh, Melvin, please let me laugh!’
He didn’t reply but a sound rumbled up from his chest like far-off thunder until it exploded in an open-mouthed roar of hilarity.
She smacked her hands over her mouth as if afraid she would go completely berserk.
Soon they were both mopping up tears of mirth that had all but exhausted them.
‘OK! OK!’ Melvin was first to recover. ‘So I’m no raindrop. So shut up and listen to what I’ve got to tell you. Get up and let me sit there. Here, sit on my knee and sit quiet and serious and behave yourself.’
Not many occasions in her life had been happy ones. But she felt happy now. Sitting on Melvin’s knee, her head held back against his shoulder, she remembered years ago being held like this by her father. The house had been very still and empty. They had clung together in silence and she had felt safe.
Melvin was restless.
‘I mean this!’ He cleared his throat. ‘l’m not like most Scotsmen. The men round about here, for instance, make me sick. To them a wife’s just part of their goods and chattels and their homes are just hotel rooms or lodging houses, places where they sleep and eat and get dressed to go out to football matches or pubs or bookies or out somewhere with the lads. Not me, I’m all for my home, and my wife and family. I’ve no interest at all outside this house unless it’s to take my wife and family somewhere. And I neither gamble nor drink. I don’t believe in wasting good money. That’s why I always have a shilling or two in my pocket and a pound or two in the bank. Are you listening to me? It’s time you gave yourself a shake and woke yourself up. There’s always such a faraway dreamy look about you.’
‘No, I’m listening, Melvin!’
‘Well, anyway, as I said, I believe a happy marriage should be two people like one but living for each other, doing things for each other, trying to make each other happy all the time. To be a good wife you ought to study my every wish and comfort and your whole life from now on should be wrapped up in that. And I’ll do everything humanly possible to see that you lack absolutely nothing to make you happy and keep you satisfied.’ He suddenly gurgled. ‘I keep y
ou sexually satisfied, don’t I? I know my sex, eh?’
This could not be denied so she kept silent. He turned serious too.
‘There’s something wrong with a marriage, I always say, if it needs to depend on anything from outsiders.’
Her eyes stretched with surprise. ‘From outsiders?’
‘Take Mrs Gordon, for instance. She was in here like a flash. She thinks it’s going to be different because it’s a different wife. Well, it’s not. It’s a wonder Sarah hasn’t been. She’s usually first.’
Catriona shook her head.
‘You jump about from one thing to another. I can’t keep up with you.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, giving her an affectionate pat. ‘I’ve a quick mind and you’re pathetically slow. Never mind, I’ll soon get you trained.’
‘But I get mixed up with them all. Who’s Sarah?’
‘Baldy Fowler’s wife. The silly fool that spoiled our wedding day.’
‘Oh, dear, wasn’t it awful?’
‘She’s an idiot and a dirty slut into the bargain. You could stir that woman’s house with a stick. But never mind her. The point is they would all be in and out here like yo-yos if you let them. That’s the way they live. It would fit them better to mind their own business and keep themselves to themselves and busy themselves cleaning their houses.’ .
He tidied his moustache, smoothed, twirled it, pushed it up at the edges. ‘But never mind any of them! The point is we don’t need anybody if we’re happily married. There’s something wrong with a marriage, I always say, if the couple can’t satisfy each other’s every need.’ His gaze acquired a hint of reprimand. ‘Betty and I were perfectly happy together.’
Catriona sighed.
‘What are you sighing for? What have you got to sigh about? You’ve a good husband, a ready-made child and lovely home. What more could a woman want?’
‘I was just thinking that I’ll never be able to be as good a wife as Betty. She seems to have had everything, even looks.’
‘Oh, you’ll do - if you do as you’re told. I mean - if you just concentrate on your husband, your home and your family, that’s all I’m saying. A good marriage doesn’t need neighbours or friends or relations or anybody. Betty was an orphan.’
The Breadmakers Saga Page 11
