The Breadmakers Saga

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘Poor thing!’

  ‘What’s poor about that? You’re better without parents half the time. All they do is interfere and try and cause trouble. Betty didn’t need anybody. She had me! She dropped her girl friends, even her best friend after we got married. Never saw them again, until the night before she died. I knew she couldn’t last another night - down to skin and bone Betty was - a terrible sight. So I thought I’d give her a wee treat. She had been awful fond of that best friend - Jenny - Jenny something her name was. Funny how you forget. I’ve forgotten it now. Anyway I thought my Betty would like to see Jenny before she died so I sent for her and she came and I let her stay the night. Betty died the next morning. We were both with her - Jenny and I.’

  A long silence followed in which Melvin played with his moustache and his eyes became glazed, remembering.

  Catriona’s mind darted about in distress. She looked round at the photo of Betty on the kitchen mantelpiece, stared perplexedly at the sad still eyes.

  ‘Melvin, are you sure you’re right? It says in the Bible to love thy neighbour.’

  ‘Obviously Jesus Christ never knew Dessie Street or Starky Street or any of the streets around here or He’d never have said a daft thing like that.’

  ‘But when Peter asked Jesus how often he was supposed to forgive people who’d sinned against him - “As many as seven times?” he asked, and Jesus said, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.”’

  ‘Aw, shut up! You sound just like your mother!’ He jerked her roughly off his knee and away from him. ‘And I’m having neither your mother nor anybody like her in here. She knows her Bible, doesn’t she? But a lot of good her knowing it did you! A squashed, dominated, stuttering little nonentity, that’s what her and her holiness did to you. Folk like your mother are the biggest and worst kind of hypocrites in the world and they ought to be shot! They just use their religion to frighten folk and to get their own way. I bet your mother’s frightened you silly all your life, eh? Hasn’t she?’

  Too many memories of too many fear-filled days and nights, of visions of retributions known and unknown clawed over Catriona’s nerves. They could not be denied.

  She stood before Melvin, head bent low, fingers twisting, a contrite child made all the more wretched by his withdrawal of affection.

  ‘I’m sorry, Melvin.’

  ‘I don’t want your hypocrites in here.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re young. You’ve a lot to learn about life and people.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That’s what makes me laugh about you.’ Unexpectedly he let out a guffaw. ‘You always agree with everything anybody says about you. Good God!’ His expression changed. ‘That’s that door again. Watch out of my way. This time I’ll go!’

  She remained facing his empty chair, her mind suspended with surprise. It had never occurred to her to disagree with anyone’s criticism of herself. The mere idea was both astonishing and intriguing. And she had Melvin to thank for planting the idea in her head.

  ‘Come away through, Tam.’ Melvin returned, and gave his eyes a rapid roll towards the ceiling before turning to reveal the little white-haired swagger of a man behind him.

  ‘Hallo, there!’ Tam tossed his cap from his right hand to his left and came sauntering bouncily towards her, right hand outstretched.

  ‘I’m Tam MacGuffie, your next-door neighbour, hen! Welcome to Dessie Street. You’re a bonny wee lassie.’ He grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down with such fervour she marvelled at the strength of him. ‘We’ll be seeing you at Rothesay, eh?’

  ‘Not if we see you first!’ said Melvin. ‘Here’s a quid and tell Baldy from me, he’d better watch it. I’ll have his guts for garters one of these days!’

  Catriona flushed a bright scarlet, tried to smile but failed and struggled to find enough voice to apologize for Melvin.

  ‘Aye, he’s a lad, is Baldy.’ Tam laughed, apparently not in the least offended. ‘Thanks, Melvin. You’re a good sport, so you are.’ He punched Catriona’s arm and she staggered sideways against the chair and sat down with a thump. ‘You’re a lucky wee lassie to have a man like this. I hope you realize that.’

  He squared up to Melvin as he passed him, ducked a couple of times then landed a good-natured punch on Melvin’s chest before trotting out of the kitchen. ‘I’ve to meet Sanny. He’s away along the Main Road chasing after his horse. Cheerio the now, hen,’ he shouted from the hall. ‘I hope you enjoy your sail doon the watter tomorrow! We’ll all be there all together. Och, it’s grand, so it is. You’ll love it.’

  Chapter 16

  Rab had felt depressed before but never so hopelessly as he felt now. Looking back on his life he saw it as a complete waste of time and he blamed nobody but himself for his failures.

  Low in his chair, head sunk forward, shaggy brows down, clothes hanging loose over big bones, he ignored Hannah’s tirade, allowed it to pass him by, but in doing so each low-pitched, husky, nagging word sucked more of his vitality from him.

  He did not need to argue with Hannah or answer her back or even listen to her to exhaust himself.

  He recognized the fact, of course, that he never got enough sleep. Hannah’s friends and neighbours were forever banging in and out of the house while he tossed and turned in the bedroom and punched his pillows and fervently wished eternal damnation on every member of the Band of Jesus.

  Nevertheless the responsibility remained with him. It was his house and his wife and he ought to be able to keep both to his liking.

  He had tried. Oh, he had tried, all right. He had accepted the challenge, fought the good fight - and been beaten. He’d tried to escape and been successful for a wee while but now even Lexy had grown sick of him.

  She had asked for the return of her key. No explanation, no tender goodbyes, no regrets, no nothing. He didn’t blame her. She was a healthy young girl. He was a middle-aged man, an unhealthy man.

  Maybe she was afraid of catching the ‘baker’s dermatitis’ that so often plagued his arms. Then there was his stomach ulcer. He’d confided in Lexy about that. Oh, how he must have bored the girl.

  She had been more than patient with him.

  No, he couldn’t blame her. He was a fool! A bloody big fool!

  Hannah was right. He was as mad as a hatter!

  ‘You’re mad!’ she had bent over his chair and informed him quietly yet with dark triumph. ‘I knew it. May the good Lord have mercy on your soul.’

  She had been on at him for ages about his long silence, the moods of depression that alternated with wild bouts of temper. Then eventually, the day after Catriona’s wedding in fact, she had, unknown to him, called in the doctor.

  Lying in bed that morning, his mind roaming helplessly back over his life and all the things he regretted doing and all the things he wished he had done instead, he heard the knock on the outside door, the footsteps, and the whispering in the lobby.

  Then, suddenly, into the bedroom marched Hannah followed by a young man, old Dr Grant’s new assistant.

  The shock, on top of the sleepless morning, after the long hard night’s work, paralysed him to begin with.

  He had never uttered a word while the doctor examined him, a confident young whipper-snapper with a whole lot of complicated new-fangled ideas; he had even started in a dazed faltering voice to answer some of the man’s questions. It was only when Hannah began butting in and answering the questions for him that the realization of what was going on made his emotions burst alight and flame up until they almost consumed his body as well as his brain.

  He’d leapt out of bed, sending the doctor sprawling and chased Hannah all through the house in his night-shirt bawling abuse at her at the pitch of his voice.

  The young doctor quickly recovered and, like something out of a Charlie Chaplin film, had joined in the chase. Even when the eager beaver received a black eye for his troubles he had, it must be admitted, taken it very well.

  There had
been no malice in his voice when he had recommended a psychiatrist.

  Rab squirmed inside. He’d heard it said that in America nobody thought a thing about going to these headshrinkers but in his part of the world it was unheard of. A psychiatrist was the luxury of the rich hypochondriac, and the necessity of the madman.

  He sighed the past away and stared bleakly ahead at the future.

  First a holiday up at Montrose with Hannah’s Aunty Flora and Uncle Dougal who went to bed at eight o’clock and believed that the wireless was the voice of the devil.

  Then after the holiday - if Hannah had her way - the headshrinker.

  Slowly he raised his face. He glowered at Hannah.

  ‘You’ll have me in the asylum yet, woman!’

  ‘That’s where you belong!’

  Just in time, the doorbell saved her.

  Catriona was taken aback when she looked out the window and saw the straight-backed, ruddy-cheeked, familiar figure marching across the Main Road. Yet it was reasonable enough that her mother should wish to see her before they both left for their respective holidays.

  Surely Melvin could not object to that? Still, she was glad he’d gone down to the bakehouse for Fergus’s present and hoped he would be delayed there for some considerable time.

  Her heart pattered with excitement at the prospect of showing off her very own home, although she still hadn’t had enough time to convince herself of the reality of it.

  She winged her way through the hall towards the kitchen and her soul caught its first sniff of freedom. Her mother could have no sway over her, could take nothing away from her here.

  She was free, she was safe.

  Round and round she danced, light-footed, long hair swirling far out then curling back close to her.

  Fergus giggled when he saw her.

  ‘Oh!’ Her cheeks burned bright with embarrassment but she laughed. ‘Granny’s coming to visit us. You’ll be a nice polite boy for Granny, sure you will?’

  ‘Won’t!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, why not? I’ll make tea and you can have some, or milk if you’d rather. And there’s still some of Mrs Gordon’s scones left.’

  ‘Want to go to bed!’

  ‘But, Fergus, I’d like you and Granny to be friends with each other.’

  ‘Want to go to bed!’ His toe poked the rug, then dug into it, then kicked it. ‘Don’t want a granny. Don’t like a granny!’

  Harassment quickened and sharpened her voice.

  ‘Oh, all right. Go to bed, I don’t care.’

  Guilt flashed across her face but the problem of her mother’s loud insistent ring at the doorbell was far more urgent.

  Perspiring with excitement now, she flicked a glance of pride around the immaculate kitchen. The sink at the lace-curtained window was sparkling white and had a red-painted cupboard underneath it. The cooker shone, too, and the grey linoleum floor. A bright red fire burned in the hearth and its warm flickering reflected under and over the table on to the kitchen cabinet.

  The hall was square, far bigger and more imposing than the narrow lobby in the house at Farmbank, and of course the bedrooms and the sitting-room were, by comparison, luxurious and beautiful.

  She did another little jig of joy.

  Freedom! Freedom!

  As soon as the front door opened, the air became charged with anxiety.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Her mother came in, gripped her by the arm and, peering closely and worriedly at her, hustled her into the sitting-room. ‘You don’t look all right. What has that man been doing to you?’

  In the front room she put her arm round her daughter’s shoulders. ‘What has he been doing to you, child?’

  No one was more surprised than Catriona herself at the sudden waterfall of tears that came gushing up to overflow and spurt down her cheeks. Trembling violently, she hugged close to her mother.

  ‘The wicked villain!’ Hannah was trembling too. ‘Men are all the same. All they ever want is to degrade a woman. They can do anything they like - if you don’t fight to protect yourself - and a woman is at a terrible disadvantage, especially if a man gets her tied down with children. A woman has only one weapon to defend herself, and that weapon, Catriona, is her tongue. Oh, it’s a man’s world! You’re beginning to find out what that means, no doubt. May the good Lord help and protect you!’

  Hannah firmly disentangled herself, led the shivering girl over to the settee and pushed her down among the cushions.

  ‘You wait there. I’ll go through to the kitchen and make you a nice hot cup of tea.’

  Visions of Melvin returning to find Hannah making herself at home in his kitchen came to sweat fear through every pore.

  ‘No … I’m … I’m … I’m … all … right … m … m … Mummy!’

  ‘Put your feet up!’ Hannah grabbed Catriona’s feet and heaved them up on to the settee for her.

  ‘But … m … m … Mummy!’

  ‘Just you relax and don’t worry. I hope you’re remembering to say your prayers. All this is a punishment for something you know. God has strange ways of working. Lie back. Don’t move! I’ll be back with a hot drink to revive you in a minute.’

  The tears opened the flood-gate of emotion that had been held back by the shock of recent happenings.

  She felt ill. She was glad to be lying down on the settee. She didn’t think she could conjure up enough strength to stand up.

  The horror of it all! She was actually, legally married, tied, in the power of a mustachioed monster of a man - for the rest of her life!

  Her mother came striding back with the tea as confidently as if she owned the place.

  Catriona envied her courage; especially when a few minutes later she heard the sound of Melvin’s key turning and the front door opening.

  ‘Oh … m … mu … mu … Mummy!’

  ‘Just you keep lying there! Just you finish drinking your tea! That man won’t dare say one word to you while I’m here!’

  A nerve-stretching pause ensued. At long last the room door swung open, and Melvin came bumping in on his knees holding hands with a life-size monkey.

  ‘Here we are!’ he bawled. ‘Ready for the Glesga Fair - wee Mickey and me!’

  A stunned silence smacked over his face when his bulging eyes alighted on his horrified mother-in-law.

  ‘Well!’ Hannah was first to gather her wits together. She held her handsome head high and stared witheringly down at Melvin. ‘There’s more than one man in Glasgow needs to see a psychiatrist!’

  Sarah just kept pushing herself on as if nothing had happened, as if she still had her holiday money and the noise from Lender Lil was not filling the house.

  She fixed up the ironing board and stood, with what looked to Mrs Fowler like impertinent nonchalance, with her back to the sink, a cigarette dangling from her lips, smoke drifting up and making her eyes wrinkle as she ironed her husband’s clean shirts.

  Mrs Fowler howled and mopped at waterfalls of tears with a big white handkerchief.

  ‘All that money! All that money! … But, of course, you’d drive anybody to drink. It’s all your fault. My Baldy never did anything like this when he lived with me. Look at you - you’re a disgrace. It’s time somebody forced you to be decent. You’re coming with me and you’re going to stay at my place in Rothesay. You’re going to do as you’re told for a change and no more of your snash, Sarah Sweeney!’

  ‘Sarah Fowler. Fowler! Ah’m sorry, hen, but if ah gave you an inch you’d take a mile. And if you think ah’m goin’ to crush in with you you’ve another think comin’.’

  ‘Fancy! Talking to me like that. You!’

  Sarah removed her cigarette so that she could bend her mouth into a smile.

  ‘Aye, just fancy the three of us in a wee single-end in Rothesay!’

  ‘You and me in the double bed and Baldy on the couch, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘You’ll not separate me and my man, hen.’ Sarah replaced the cigarette and continued slowly
and heavily with the ironing.

  ‘I’m going through to the bathroom to wash my face.’ Mrs Fowler turned to an unusually silent Baldy who was hovering huge and awkward in the middle of the floor. ‘And you’d better put her in her place before I come back, do you hear? Stupid idiot!’ Her fist shot out and punched him in the ear as she passed.

  Baldy’s ear turned scarlet but otherwise he didn’t pay the slightest attention to the assault. He made straight for Sarah as soon as his mother swept away.

  ‘Och, come on, hen, be a sport. We might as well do as she says. Why shouldn’t she spend some of her money on us for a change? The old bag’s loaded.’

  Sarah sucked at her cigarette and said nothing.

  Baldy put a muscle-hard arm round her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

  ‘Will I have a word with her, then? Butter up the old cow and see if I can’t get her to loaned us the money for our own wee single-end?’

  ‘Our own wee single-end.’ For a terrible moment Sarah thought she was going to disgrace herself and embarrass Baldy by bursting into tears.

  Instead she puffed violently at her cigarette then managed to choke and cough out, ‘You haven’t a chance in bloody hell!’

  ‘Here. She’s coming. I’ll catch her before she starts on you again.’

  In two or three big strides Baldy covered the kitchen, bashing into and crashing over a chair in the process.

  Sarah shook her head, her mouth doing its best to contort into a smile.

  Out in the hall, out of Sarah’s hearing, and with the thunder of the lavatory cistern in the background, Baldy met his mother.

  ‘Be a sport, Ma. Loaned us some money. I’ve enough to contend with with that dirty slut I married. Don’t you let me down.’

  Mrs Fowler punched him good and hard in the stomach.

  ‘What are you blethering about? I’m offering to give you a holiday - pocket money and all. Don’t you dare talk to me about letting folks down. What do you think you did to me when you got yourself mixed up with a useless article like that through there? You didn’t need to marry her, you big fat fool! Our family’s always been respectable. We’ve never had anything to do with the likes of Sarah Sweeney.’