by Anne Douglas
‘You must face facts, Jamie. We have no future, you and I. All I want now is to say goodbye.’
‘How can you want that, if you still love me? Look, I know I’ve behaved stupidly – badly – but nobody regrets that more than me. Please, Roz, don’t throw away what we have. There’ll be nothing underhand any more, we can make things work—’
‘Goodbye, Jamie.’ Roz moved to the flat door and opened it. ‘We won’t be working together much longer – I’m going to send off my application for that job I saw, and if I don’t get it I’ll get something else.’
‘You needn’t do that,’ Jamie said quietly. ‘I’m the one who’ll be leaving.’
‘You?’
‘Yes. If everything’s over between us, I don’t want to work at Tarrel’s any more. There was some talk when I was down last time of my old firm opening a new office – it would be a chance for me.’
‘I see.’ Roz held the door open. ‘Good luck, then.’
His face struggling to contain his emotions, he gazed at her for a long moment, then turned away and went down the stairs while she listened to every step. When the outer door had banged behind him, she stood like a statue, feeling as cold, until at last she moved to her bed, where she flung herself down and let the tears flow.
‘Oh, Jamie,’ she sobbed, ‘Jamie.’
And it was there Flo and Chrissie found her when they returned from work, and the three of them clung together, trying to bring comfort, but they all knew in their hearts that there would be no comfort for some time to come.
Thirty-Seven
It was a warm May evening in 1951 and Mrs Burr’s art class was hard at work, painting the portrait of the Art School caretaker. He was not young, which made it easier, for an earlier subject had been a seventeen-year-old student they’d managed to make appear at least thirty-five every time they added a little shadow to her lovely, unlined face.
‘So frustrating, do you remember?’ Roz whispered to Norma, who’d joined the class with her in the previous September, glad to see her interested in something new after her unhappy love affair. ‘This chap’s much easier, eh?’
‘Aye, he’s got so many wrinkles, it doesn’t matter what we add in,’ Norma agreed. ‘But I don’t mind having a go at any subject, do you? The main thing is to get painting, to have an interest outside work.’
‘Very true,’ Roz agreed, smiling to herself, for though Norma had enjoyed painting Mrs Burr’s earlier cones and spheres, still-lifes and bunches of leaves, her real interest now was something quite different. Oh, yes, a certain young man named Tim Clunie, who sat behind them in the class, painting in a great, bold, dashing style and frequently calling out remarks to Roz and Norma, but mainly Norma. In fact, he had already taken her for a drink after class several times. Roz had always excused herself, not wanting to play gooseberry and hoping that this could be the real thing for Norma, who so desperately wanted a ‘young man’ in her life. It would be wonderful to see her happy.
As for herself – well, she wasn’t unhappy any more. She did have serious anxieties concerning Dougal, who, after all he’d said about never fighting battles, had been posted to the war in Korea, and also for her mother, who was only just coming to terms with that, but the searing pain of her split with Jamie was over. Now she could get on with her life, which, if it was not very exciting, at least did not hurt.
It was true, there’d been disappointment, when she’d crazily thought Mr Banks might just possibly have considered her for Jamie’s job after he’d left for the Borders, but she’d never really had hopes of it. When, therefore, he’d appointed the plump candidate at the original interview to run the department, she’d accepted it with good grace. She and Mr Appin got on together from the start, for he proved as easy-going as Mr MacKenna, and the calmness of the new arrangement after the roller-coaster of the time with Jamie quite suited her, she being something of a convalescent.
But then she’d begun to look around for new interests, this evening art class being one, though she was also considering trying a second class in social studies in the autumn. All in all, life was becoming bright again for her and for Chrissie, who now had a new man in her life, if Bob MacGarry from up the stairs at Deller Street could be called new. But Chrissie seemed very happy again, except, like Roz, she worried about Dougal. And, of course, Flo.
Time was passing and Mrs Burr, a sweet-faced woman in her fifties, was making her rounds, putting a touch here, a touch there on everyone’s canvases, always being very diplomatic in making suggestions and never upsetting people so that they didn’t want to return.
‘Oh, very bold!’ Roz and Norma heard her commenting on Tim’s work. ‘I’m not sure if the Cubist style quite suits our Mr Muir, but it’s certainly very interesting. Well done! And Norma, my dear, how did you get on? Why, I think you’ve caught Mr Muir nicely, though you’ve perhaps made him a little too serious, don’t you think? If we were to curl his mouth up a little, maybe? Just a flick of the brush – there!
‘And Roz, you’ve got his eyes just right, haven’t you? Deep set, quite dark in colour. But does it seem to you that you’ve given him a beard, instead of just a little shadow? You can leave adjusting it for now, though. We’re running out of time.’
Moving to the front of the class, Mrs Burr clapped her hands for attention. ‘Now, listen everyone, we only have one more class before we end the course and then have our outing. This year, it’s to be to Kirkcudbright – the artists’ town, as it’s called. Please give me your names next week so that I can book numbers for the coach. Wash all your brushes and leave your canvases on their easels as usual, but first join with me in giving Mr Muir a big hand for being such a wonderful subject!’
There was loud applause for the caretaker, who came down from the dais rubbing his stiff legs and giving an embarrassed smile, after which Tim, curly black hair on end and paint down one cheek, came over to Norma and Roz.
‘You going to Kirkcudbright?’ he asked, looking at Norma.
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered quickly. ‘How about you?’
‘You bet! Fancy a drink again tonight?’ He turned to Roz. ‘How about you, Roz?’
‘Thanks, but I’ve got to get home,’ Roz replied kindly as she gathered up her brushes, but Norma, blushing, said she’d love to go for a drink.
‘Right, let’s get tidied up, then. Usual place, eh?’
‘Usual place,’ Norma echoed, with a beaming smile.
Departing for her tram, Roz was also smiling.
Fingers crossed all goes well there, she thought. And fingers crossed, too, that she would find her mother in a good mood after she’d attended a therapy session at the hospital that day. Following Dougal’s posting to Korea she’d been so down that her doctor had recommended a new idea for treatment, which was meeting and talking with other sufferers. After initial hostility, Flo seemed mainly to enjoy it, though as usual with her, you could never tell how things would go. Sometimes she was in a good mood when she returned, sometimes she wasn’t. Roz would just have to wait and see how she was that evening.
Thirty-Eight
As soon as she went into the flat, she could tell that this was not going to be one of the good times. Her mother’s face was blank of all expression, but her blue eyes on Roz were cold.
‘Had a good time?’ she asked. ‘Enjoyed your painting? You’re usually full of it.’
‘Yes, I did enjoy it,’ Roz replied, taking off her jacket. ‘We were painting a portrait of the caretaker this evening.’
‘The caretaker?’ Flo laughed. ‘Not a very expensive model, then.’
‘He was a very good model, as a matter of fact. Held his pose well.’ Roz washed her hands and filled the kettle. ‘And Mrs Burr’s fixed on a place for our outing – it’s Kirkcudbright, the artists’ town, as folk call it.’
‘If that’s tea you’re making, I don’t want any. I had enough at the hospital, with all those folk nattering on. Some of them just like the sound of their own voice, I sometimes t
hink.’
‘Well, I want some tea,’ Roz said, preparing it. ‘And why are you complaining about the other people at the session? You usually like talking to them.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, tonight I just couldn’t be bothered.’ Flo moved her head restlessly. ‘I keep wondering how Dougal is managing out there in that foreign land. I mean, why do our Scottish soldiers have to go and fight somewhere like that? It’s nothing to do with us if those Koreans want to fight amongst themselves, eh?’
‘I think the United Nations stepped in when the North Koreans invaded the South, and the Americans and other countries sent in troops to help the South. It’s not just our soldiers who are out there, Ma.’
‘Seems to me it’s a shame anybody is, then. And we just go on with our lives while Dougal’s out there, putting up with I don’t know what. Look at you, for instance, all excited about going to Kirkcudbright, and Chrissie out enjoying herself with Bob MacGarry!’
‘Doesn’t mean we’re not thinking of Dougal as well,’ Roz said, drinking her tea and keeping calm with difficulty. ‘And talking of Chrissie, I think I hear her now.’
How pretty she is these days, Roz thought as her sister came in, smiling, her bright hair springing from her brow, her blue eyes shining. So different from the way she’d looked after Richard had left her, when she’d appeared so weary, so woebegone – almost plain. Seemed Bob MacGarry had worked some sort of magic on her since he’d persuaded her to go out with him, even when at first she’d said she wasn’t interested. He was interested, though, and maybe that had been the balm that was needed to soothe Chrissie’s wounded heart. His interest, his admiration, had certainly given her her looks back, and now probably much more. Were they in love? Roz thought they must be, and this time the love was not one-sided. This time, Roz prayed, all would go well for her sister, and in fact wasn’t really worried that it would not.
‘Hello, you folks!’ cried Chrissie, taking off her light coat. ‘I’m back!’
‘So we see,’ said Flo. ‘What was on at the pictures, then?’
‘A Hitchcock film. Strangers on a Train. Really creepy. I was so scared!’
‘And enjoyed yourself no end,’ laughed Roz. ‘Why didn’t you bring Bob in for a cup of tea?’
‘He said he’d better not. He wants an early start tomorrow.’ Chrissie felt the teapot. ‘Cold, eh? I’ll make some cocoa instead. Ma, how was the therapy?’
Flo shrugged. ‘Waste o’ time, in my opinion. What’s the good o’ talking?’
Chrissie and Roz exchanged glances.
‘Now, why say that, Ma?’ Chrissie asked. ‘You’ve found it useful before and the doctors recommend it.’
‘Doctors.’ Flo rose. ‘I’m beginning to wonder just how much they know. Anyway, I’m off to my bed.’
‘Have some cocoa first, eh? Might make you sleep well.’
‘No, I want to go now, rest my legs. But you girls might think about getting a letter off to your brother sometime. You know how much letters mean to him.’
‘Ma, I’ve just sent one!’ Roz cried. ‘And Chrissie added a note. You don’t need to remind us.’
‘All right, just as long as you don’t forget him. Goodnight, then. And put the lights out, eh?’
‘Bad day?’ asked Chrissie, making the cocoa, when Flo had left them.
‘Seems like it,’ Roz answered. ‘But you know she has good days and bad days. We’ve just got to weather ’em.’
‘Shame, when she was doing so well before Dougal had to go to Korea. I thought she was better.’
‘She’ll get better again. It’s like being on a see-saw, up and down, up and down.’
‘And at the minute, down. Hey, I never asked you about your painting, Roz. How did it go?’
‘Fine. We did the caretaker’s portrait tonight.’
‘The caretaker? Bet that was a first for him.’
‘He’s very good. And we’ve got our outing organized. It’s to Kirkcudbright.’
‘Kircoobray.’ Chrissie mimicked Roz’s correct pronunciation of the name. ‘That’ll be nice for you, eh?’
‘Very. I’m looking forward to it,’ Roz smiled.
Thirty-Nine
‘Kirkcudbright?’
When Roz told him where she was going the following day, a Saturday, Angus Appin looked up from his desk with interest. Only thirty-three, his double chin and stout figure added to his years, but on the credit side, perhaps because he was plump, he also appeared pleasant and affable, which went down well with the clients.
‘Now, that’s a nice place!’ he commented. ‘Pattie and I had a weekend there once and really enjoyed it. Don’t they call it the artists’ town?’
‘Yes, seemingly a whole bunch of artists came over from Glasgow to paint there because of the light and everything being so picturesque. Our evening class teacher thought it’d be ideal for our outing.’
‘Of course, you’re an artist too, Miss Rainey. You’ll be sure to enjoy it, then.’
‘I don’t know about being an artist,’ she said with a laugh, ‘but I am looking forward to seeing what the artists saw that made them want to paint Kirkcudbright. And, of course, where they lived, if possible.’
‘Because you like houses. I remember you saying that when I came to the interview – the one I failed.’ Mr Appin locked his desk and stood up, frowning slightly. ‘Often wonder what went wrong here for Wonder Boy Shield. No one ever says.’
‘Nothing went wrong,’ Roz said quickly. ‘It was just matters at home, I think. He wanted to go back.’
‘Got a job in the Borders now, hasn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’ Roz put on her jacket. ‘Time to go. Have a nice weekend, Mr Appin. Isn’t it nice we get the whole of Saturday off now?’
‘Haven’t I heard mutterings that it was about time?’ Mr Appin grinned. ‘Enjoy Kirkcudbright, Miss Rainey!’
‘I will, Mr Appin.’
Seeing Norma at Reception, Roz stopped. ‘All set for tomorrow, Norma? We’ve got an early start.’
‘Suits me. I’m just keen to get going.’
Norma, like Chrissie, was looking very pretty, possibly for the same reason – a young man had singled her out to be with and found her attractive. Now why is it always that way round? Roz mused, after she’d said she’d see Norma on the coach early the next morning. Why did you never hear of a young man suddenly looking handsome because some girl had asked him out? Maybe, one day, women wouldn’t be so dependent on men’s interest as they were at the present time, but Roz had the feeling that day was some way off still.
Not to worry, she wasn’t dependent on any man now. She was living her life and looking to her own future, and that was the way she wanted it. On the tram home she was feeling quite cheerful, until she remembered Mr Appin’s words on Jamie. Over him as she was, she still didn’t like talking about him, still didn’t want to know just where he was and what he was doing. She’d made a clean break, and that, too, was the way she wanted it.
‘All set for tomorrow?’ Flo asked that evening when she returned from work. ‘You’ve a long drive, eh?’
‘Part of the outing, seeing the scenery.’
Flo hesitated a little, her pale eyes moving everywhere except to Roz. ‘Look, I’m not going to make a thing of it, but I’m sorry I’ve not been so easy these past few weeks. It’s just that things come over me and I feel – well, you know how I feel.’
‘Ma, it’s all right, I understand. We all understand.’
‘Aye, but it’s funny, eh? All the worry’s still there for Dougal, but today I feel better, as though I can manage, yet nothing’s changed. There’s no rhyme or reason in it.’
‘If you’re feeling better, that’s what matters,’ Roz said earnestly. ‘You just have to take each day as it comes, eh? And if today’s a good day, that’s grand.’
‘Have a good day yourself then, tomorrow. I’ve never been to Kirkcudbright, but I’ve heard it’s very pretty, with a harbour and sweet little houses. Don�
��t you go fancying living there, though.’
‘Now why would I do that?’
‘Well, if you’re thinking of being an artist, you might.’
‘Honestly, Ma, I’m what they call a Sunday painter!’ Roz gave a cheerful laugh. ‘I could never be a professional. All I want is to work with property.’
‘Still dreaming of lovely houses?’
‘Not for myself. I’ve given up on that.’
‘Just as well. Dream of something possible, is my advice.’
‘At the minute, I’m not dreaming at all,’ said Roz.
Forty
As soon as their coach arrived in Kirkcudbright on a perfect May morning, Mrs Burr’s students scattered. As she had explained, there was to be no formal organization of the day. They were all free to see what they wanted, but perhaps they would like to take note of the quality of the light in this town, which was that of a place by the sea, for Kirkcudbright was not only by a river but had a harbour overlooking the Irish Sea. The artists, many from Glasgow, who had formed their own colony in the town, had been drawn by that light and the beauty of the area, and all the students, therefore, should try to get a feel of what had attracted the artists of long ago and still attracted the artists of today.
‘What to do first, then?’ Roz asked Norma and Tim as they stood together in the centre of the town, guidebooks at the ready. ‘I’d like to see where Jessie M. King lived. You know she did those beautiful illustrations for children’s books? The guide book says she had a house in one of the closes off the High Street.’
‘I’d like to see her house, too,’ said Norma, looking at Tim, who shrugged.
‘Not really my style. I’d rather see that old ruin over there – MacLellan’s Castle.’
As they turned to study the roofless tower house near at hand, Tim consulted his guidebook. ‘Says this MacLellan man was once very powerful, and built his castle in 1582. Might get some ideas for pictures there. Or maybe from the Tollbooth – it used to be a prison. Good and dark, eh? Just right for me.’
