by Anne Forsyth
‘Let me see.’ Aunt Lizzie put down the silks she had chosen. She scanned the paper, and handed it back. There was silence as she began to stitch.
* * *
‘They know about you,’ said Doug glumly, that evening. Neela raised her pencil-thin eyebrows.
‘And why not?’ she said. ‘You’re not ashamed of me, are you?’ She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
‘No, of course not,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s just that—well, you know how people talk.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ she said sharply.
‘Nothing at all,’ he said, but he still couldn’t forget that exchange with Rona earlier in the evening.
His mind went back to his meeting with Neela—what was it, two months ago now?
He’d first met her when he went to a local dance in the town hall. She had been leaning against the wall, not at all embarrassed to be on her own, smoking a cigarette in a long scarlet holder. Among the local girls she looked like an exotic flower.
Doug had never seen anyone like her. Her beautifully groomed hair, the vivid red lips, her general air of sophistication—what was she doing here?
‘I dare you to ask that one to dance.’ His friend, Fred, jerked his head towards the corner where Neela had stood coolly watching the dancers.
Doug had laughed. ‘She’d never look at me.’
‘Go on.’
They teased Doug a good deal at the garage. Some of the others were courting—nice sensible girls who were saving for their bottom drawer. But who was this girl, and where had she come from?
‘All right,’ he said suddenly.
‘They’d slapped him on the back. ‘Good old Doug. Well done.’
Doug had stammered out his invitation to dance. And she’d smiled at him—he did hope his friends were watching.
‘I’m not much of a dancer,’ he said apologetically as he had trodden for the third time on the black suede shoes.
She made a face. ‘No, you’re not, are you? But you’ve won your bet.’
His face flamed.
‘I know,’ she said calmly, ‘your friends were daring you to dance with me.’
‘No, well, yes. I mean . . .’ he stammered.
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s sit this one out and you can buy me a lemonade.’
Up in the gallery, looking down on the dancers, she turned to him.
‘So what’s your name?’
‘I’m Doug Maclaren.’
‘And what do you do, Doug?’
‘I’m . . .’ Doug hesitated. He was only an apprentice in the garage, though the boss, Sanny Munro, had said he was doing well, and he expected to be promoted to mechanic.
‘I’m in cars,’ he said.
‘Ooh . . .’ she sounded impressed. ‘So when you take a girl out, you’ve got a smashing new Bentley, or an MG, maybe?’ She gave him a roguish sideways look.
‘And you?’ he said. ‘I’ve not seen you around,’ he said. ‘Are you new to the town?’
She paused. ‘Not exactly. I’ve been working in Edinburgh, but it didn’t suit me. I’ve come back for a bit while I look round.’
‘So, are you working round here?’
‘For a bit,’ she said casually. ‘Till I find something else in the city.’ She added, ‘I’m the sort of girl who likes the bright lights—cafés, theatres, dance halls. Real dance halls, I mean. Not,’ she glanced down at the dancers, ‘not somewhere like this.’
‘So you don’t stay in the town?’
‘My, you ask a lot of questions.’ She nudged his arm.
‘Cheeky, eh? Well, I’m staying at home meantime, just till I decide what to do. It’s a one-horse town.’ She attempted an American accent, not very successfully, but Doug was impressed.
‘Then,’ said Doug, greatly daring, ‘maybe we could go out one evening, to the pictures? Do you like the pictures?’
‘Eh,’ she said, ‘you’re a fast worker, aren’t you, Doug? But mind you, I like a lad with a bit of go in him.’
Doug said bashfully, ‘Well, whatever you like. What about the pictures?’
‘If there’s a Cary Grant film,’ she said dreamily. ‘He’s my favourite—so sophisticated.’
Doug decided to lose no time. ‘How about Friday evening?’ he said. ‘About six. I’ll pick you up.’
‘No,’ she said, a little too quickly. ‘Better if I meet you in the town. Outside the Regal at six p.m., and don’t keep me waiting.’
‘Oh, I’ll not do that.’
‘And I hope it’s a good film. I like a romance.’
She turned her smile on him, and Doug was hooked. He had to get to know this girl—she was unlike anyone he had met before.
SPENDING TIME WITH CALLUM
When they met that Friday evening outside the Regal, Doug was very nervous. He had just enough money for the front of the circle, and he’d bought a small box of mint creams.
He was there a good quarter-of-an-hour before. Would she be there as she had promised? Or had she thought better of it?
But a few minutes after six, she arrived. If anything she looked even more glamorous—in a bright red coat, and black high-heeled shoes.
‘Did you think I wasn’t coming?’ she said ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. I got held up at the . . .’
She bit the words back, but Doug was so entranced by her that he didn’t notice.
‘I’ve got the tickets,’ he said. ‘And there’s a wee box of sweeties for you.’
‘Oh, I like a generous man,’ she smiled at him ‘So what’s the big picture?’
‘I know you said you liked Cary Grant, but the film’s not on till next week.’
‘Oh, well, as you’ve bought the tickets, we might as well use them.’
Doug knew from then on, that the evening was not going well. She wouldn’t let him hold her hand during the film, and she refused an ice-cream in the interval, though she ate most of the box of mints.
As the audience streamed out of the cinema, she turned to him. ‘Thanks, Doug.’
Doug said desperately, ‘Have you not time for a coffee?’ He himself would have liked a cup of tea, but he thought coffee sounded more sophisticated.
‘Not tonight,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d better be getting back.’
‘Maybe you’d like to come out with me next week?’
‘The pictures again?’ said Neela,
‘If you like?’
‘Or,’ she said, ‘we could go out for dinner.’
‘Yes,’ he said, hesitating.
‘Of course,’ she added, ‘if you don’t want to ...’
‘Oh, but I do.’ Doug leaned forward. ‘I think you’re the most attractive girl I’ve met in a long time.’
‘Really?’ She looked at him from under her eyelashes.
‘Yes, really.’
‘You’re such a nice boy.’ She patted his hand, and he tried to grasp hers, but she quickly withdrew it.
He didn’t really want to be a nice boy—after all, at 23, he was old enough to marry, old enough to be a proper mechanic, to be on the way to owning his own business.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ he offered.
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘You can walk me to the end of the street. You know how people gossip.’
At the end of the street, she turned to him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You really are nice, Doug, quite the nicest boy I’ve met for years.’
Doug walked home in a daze. Aunt Lizzie was sleeping in an armchair, Father was listening to the wireless, and Rona was tidying up in the kitchen.
‘Have a good evening?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Ooh, out with your pals, were you?’
Doug said nothing.
‘Was it a good film?’
Doug nodded.
‘Did she enjoy it?’
‘I didn’t say I’d been with a girl.’
‘You didn’t need to. You’ve got lipstick on your cheek.’ Rona got up and y
awned. ‘I’m away to my bed. Some of us have to be up early.’
She turned towards the stairs.
Doug glared after her. Why couldn’t his family mind their own business?
* * *
Rona was serving a customer with potato scones when she heard a tap on the window and saw Callum making faces at her. She tried hard not to giggle, and did her best to concentrate on the customer.
‘Will that be all?’
The woman hesitated, and looked at the cakes. ‘I’m not sure. What are your cream cookies like?’
Oh, do hurry up, said Rona, though she said it to herself. At this rate Callum was going to give up and go away.
‘I’ll take two,’ said the woman.
Oh, how slow she was! But at last she paid for the scones and cookies and stowed them in her basket. Rona saw she was inclined to talk. ‘A fine breezy day,’ she began.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said briskly ‘I hope you enjoy the scones—freshly baked.’
She smiled at the woman, trying not to let her exasperation show, and finally the woman left the shop.
‘I thought she’d never go,’ said Rona as Callum pushed the door open.
He grinned at her. ‘I’ve been waiting for you a good quarter-of-an-hour. Didn’t you see me waving at you through the window?’
‘You’ll get me the sack,’ she said solemnly.
‘Well, anyway. Are you doing anything this evening? We could go to the pictures or maybe for a cup of coffee—there’s that new coffee bar.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Rona had heard about the coffee bar. It was popular with the young folk of the town—there was a jukebox and they’d recently installed a television set.
* * *
‘Come on then.’ He took her hand a little while later, and she wished she had been wearing elegant suede gloves instead of her old grey woollen gloves with a darn in the thumb. But it was still wintry and her old gloves and thick grey coat would have to do.
In the café, he fetched the cups of coffee from the counter along with a plate of biscuits.
‘Not very exciting, I’m afraid.’
‘They’re fine.’
Rona glanced at the flickering black and white TV screen in the corner. ‘I’ve never seen TV,’ she said. ‘It’s marvellous.’
‘One day,’ he said, ‘and it won’t be all that long, everyone will have a television set in their living room.’
‘Fat chance,’ she said, laughing. ‘You don’t know my father and Aunt Lizzie. We’ve got an old wireless and that’s about as far as they’ll go.’
‘Just like my folks. Not that there’s much time to listen to the wireless—apart from the weather forecast. And sometimes Dad listens to Farming Today.’
‘Aunt Lizzie doesn’t even listen to the Scottish country dance programme,’ said Rona gloomily.
‘Your aunt—she’s the one in the shop, isn’t she?’ Callum said, not liking to be inquisitive. ‘Your mother—is she . . ?’
‘She died when I was fifteen. Aunt Lizzie came to look after us.’
Callum nodded, and remembering the grim figure behind the till, felt a wave of sympathy. What a dull home it must be, compared to his own. He thought of his own mother, placid and cheerful, always busy baking for the Rural or the Guild. She was good to the neighbours too—taking a bowl of soup or a plate of mince to anyone in trouble.
‘And your mother?’ Rona asked.
‘She’s all right,’ said Callum.
‘Have you always worked on the farm?’ Rona stirred her coffee.
He nodded. ‘Except for National Service. I’m . . .’ he paused. ‘I’m a bit fed up with it, I can tell you. I’d really like to go abroad, travel a bit.’
‘You didn’t travel when you were in the Army?’
He shook his head. ‘No chance. Oh, it’s not that I don’t like farming, but I fancy trying my luck in Canada. I’ve a cousin who emigrated—he’s got a shop now, near Montreal. Still, that’s in the future. What about you?’
‘I’d like to go to London—or even Edinburgh. I’ve never been to London. But there’s not much chance of that.’
‘So here we both are, stuck in Kirkton—for the moment, at least.’ He grinned.
‘Anyway, listen, do you like country dancing? There’s a ceilidh on at that town hall next Saturday. What about it? With stovies at half time.’
‘Sounds great.’ Rona smiled. ‘I’d really enjoy that.’
* * *
‘So,’ said Nancy, the next day when she caught up with Rona. ‘What’s he like then—a dreamboat?’
‘No,’ Rona hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t say that, but he’s good fun.’
‘Can’t have everything,’ said her friend. ‘Did I tell you about the man who came to repair the typewriters?’
CONFRONTING DOUG
‘There was something else worrying Rona. Once or twice she had seen Doug in the town and he’d pretended not to see her. On two separate occasions she had seen him helping the same girl into the passenger seat.
She was very smart, thought Rona. I’d never get away with all that make-up. Father would have a fit if I wore all that eye makeup. And as for Aunt Lizzie . . .
So where had he got the car? She had an idea that as a mechanic at the garage, he wasn’t paid that much—certainly not enough to buy a car.
He couldn’t have . . . no, she pushed the thought away. Doug was honest as the day, he’d never think of borrowing a car.
But still, she was uneasy, and she decided that she must ask him, as tactfully as she could, who the car belonged to. It was all a matter of waiting for the right moment.
Meantime, Callum had dropped into the shop.
‘OK to come to the ceilidh on Saturday?’
‘I’d love to,’ Rona paused as she carried a tray of sultana scones to the counter.
‘Great. I’ll see you outside the town hall at seven, if that suits you.’
‘Fine.’
‘I’d better be off. Your auntie’s glowering at me.’
‘Take no notice,’ said Rona. ‘See you Saturday.’
It was ages since she’d had a date. And Callum, well, he was good fun and it was time she had a little fun.
‘What did that laddie want?’
Rona sighed. She might have known there was no escaping Aunt Lizzie’s eagle eye.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Well,’ said her aunt sternly. ‘You’ll have to tell him to stop coming into the shop for nothing. We’re not a charity. And you gave him a free pie.’
‘That was weeks ago.’ Rona defended herself hotly.
‘You tell him,’ said Aunt Lizzie, ‘either he comes in here and buys something like a proper customer or he stays away. I can see what he’s after.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Rona’s temper flared up. ‘Why shouldn’t he come into the shop? Anyway, I’m going to the ceilidh with him on Saturday.’
‘In my day,’ said Aunt Lizzie, ‘a young man knew his place and he’d ask her father’s permission to take a young girl out.’
‘This is nineteen fifty-two,’ said Rona between gritted teeth. ‘Not eighteen fifty-two.’
‘I’ll not have impertinence from you, miss.’
‘What’s all this about?’ Angus appeared from the back of the shop. ‘I can’t have this argy-bargy in front of the customers.’
‘There’s no-one in the shop,’ muttered Rona.
‘I’m just telling your daughter,’ said Aunt Lizzie, ‘that she’s not to encourage young men coming into the shop.’
Rona’s face flushed. ‘Why not? Anyway I’m going to the ceilidh with him on Saturday, whether you like it or not.’
‘Well,’ said Angus slowly. He was becoming rather tired of Aunt Lizzie, and her constant laying down of the law.
He looked at Rona and saw in her face in that moment how like her mother she was, and felt a sudden pang of loss. Oh, she was a bonnie one, this girl of his, and she was growing up to look just like his Ruby.<
br />
It was Aunt Lizzie’s dour expression that decided Angus. ‘Oh, well, I can’t see it’ll do much harm going to the dancing, but you mind he brings you home and I don’t want you out later than half-past ten.’
‘Oh, thank you, Father!’ Rona would have flung her arms round her father, except that they weren’t the type to embrace.
‘Well,’ said Aunt Lizzie in a tight voice, ‘of course, my opinion wasn’t asked.’
‘No,’ said Angus, ‘it wasn’t, and now let’s get on with the work. There’s that order for the hotel, tomorrow, they want it by eleven o’clock.’
* * *
Rona wished that she could have had a new dress for the dance, but knew that wasn’t possible. She would have to make do with her pale blue wool dress, but she added a bow at the neckline and thought it looked right for the occasion.
You didn’t want to look too dressed up for a ceilidh, but she brushed her hair until it shone and put on her best nylons, and made up carefully with her new Natural Rose lipstick, and a dash of Chypre, the scent that she’d bought with some of her Christmas present money. Her sandals were comfortable anyway and she hoped she’d be dancing all night.
Callum, when he met her, thought she looked a picture—that gorgeous hair, and her cheeks pink with excitement. ‘You look grand,’ he said awkwardly. He was not used to paying compliments to girls.
Clumsily, he steered her into the hall, and they paused almost deafened by the noise of the band—the band that was only the local band.
Everyone knew them. There was the postie on the accordion, and Johnnie Greig from the butcher’s, thumping the drums as if his life depended on it. But to Rona, in her excitement, they seemed just as good as any dance band that you heard on the country dance programme on the wireless.
And the dance hall—well, Rona knew it was just the big room in the town hall, the hall they used for meetings, for flower shows and concerts. But tonight it was different, it was a special sort of feel about it.
‘Take your partners for the Duke of Perth.’
Callum grabbed her by the hand and grinned at her. ‘You know this one?’
She nodded, smiling. She’d enjoyed dancing at school and. knew most of the dances. Callum was a good dancer and he whirled her round without any effort, and never once stepped on her toes.
