When the Lights Come on Again

by Maggie Craig

  Liz wasn’t so sure now that they were romantically involved with each other. They were very discreet about it if they were. They called each other darling and sweetie, but people like them always did. They never held hands and she had never seen them kiss except for a peck on the cheek: a friendly salute when they met or parted.

  Helen still maintained that Adam fancied Liz. Liz couldn’t see it. He’d never said anything to make her think that. They were friends, that was all, sharing the same quirky sense of humour and sense of fun.

  She yawned again.

  ‘Late night with your boyfriend, Miss MacMillan? You really ought to get more sleep, you know.’

  She gave him a level look. As far as Miss Gilchrist was concerned, the comment had probably sounded harmless enough. Only Liz and Eric Mitchell understood what lay beneath the words.

  Since she had stood up to him, there had been no more incidents. She was pretty sure he’d left the other girl alone too, but he managed to get in the occasional barbed comment and he still sometimes looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl. Liz supposed she could put up with that.

  ‘A man?’ queried Miss Gilchrist of the office boy. ‘Asking to speak to Miss MacMillan? On a private matter?’ She made it sound like a hanging offence.

  ‘Aye, Miss Gilchrist,’ said the office boy. ‘I mean yes,’ he hurriedly corrected. ‘Shall I show him in?’

  ‘Do so,’ said Miss Gilchrist with a regal inclination of her head. Adam’s mother wasn’t the only woman who could do a Queen Mary impersonation. Liz looked up with interest to see who her visitor was.

  All at once the lazy autumn afternoon was vibrantly alive. Mario Rossi had walked into the room.

  Twenty-two

  Miss Gilchrist rose to her feet and went forward to greet Mario. Greet wasn’t perhaps the correct word. That implied a friendly, or at least civil, welcome. The senior secretary looked more like a Pole or a Czechoslovak discovering a German at the border. Back you dog! Get off my territory!

  She raised a hand as though to ward him off. Perhaps she thought she could simply push this unwanted intruder out of the office. Liz wouldn’t have put it past her to try, but stopping Mario’s confident progress into the room made her think of King Canute attempting to hold back the waves.

  At least Miss Gilchrist was doing something. By the look on her face she was about to give young Mr Rossi a suitable dressing-down. Liz doubted that she herself could have strung three sensible words together at the moment. What was he doing here? And how on earth had he known where to find her during the working day?

  ‘I feel I should point out, young man, that personal callers are not—’

  She got no further. Mario seized her hand, shook it firmly and introduced himself .

  ‘Good afternoon - or should it be good evening at this time of day?’ The quizzical air was quite charming. ‘I’m never quite sure. I’m Mario Rossi. And you must be...’

  ‘Lucy Gilchrist.’ Despite the Queen Mary act, she was finding it difficult not to sound taken aback. Liz didn’t blame her. Having the Rossi smile trained on you could rock any female’s composure and Miss Gilchrist was a woman like any other.

  Well, maybe not exactly like any other ... but it was obvious that even she was finding the Italian charm difficult to resist.

  ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Miss MacMillan’s told me so much about you - how you’ve helped her in her work, how much she looks up to you.’

  ‘She has?’ Miss Gilchrist swivelled round to Liz, who hastily adopted an expression of admiration. At least she hoped it conveyed admiration. It would be a pity if it made her look like a half-wit instead.

  ‘Miss MacMillan and I work together at the Infirmary, you see,’ Mario was explaining to Miss Gilchrist. ‘I’m a medical student. There are some things which need to be sorted out regarding the evacuation of the children on Friday. Administrative matters. I’m sure you understand.’

  Miss Gilchrist asked him something. Liz didn’t quite catch it, but she heard the reply.

  ‘Yes, it is good to feel that one can do something to help the country during these difficult times.’

  What a ham. As far as she knew, he wasn’t involved with the evacuation arrangements at all. The flattery was outrageous too, but Miss Gilchrist - could she possibly be called a sweet, pretty name like Lucy? - was drinking it in as eagerly as Mario was dishing it out.

  Liz caught Eric Mitchell’s eye. She wished she hadn’t.

  Ten minutes later, Liz was walking along Clyde Street with Mario. Miss Gilchrist had taken her breath away by allowing her to leave work early. In fact, she’d insisted upon it, ‘If it’s to do with the arrangements for the poor little children who have to leave their homes.’

  Miss Gilchrist the humanitarian? That was a good one. Could the beaming approval of a handsome young man have anything to do with her change of heart? You’re getting cynical, MacMillan.

  ‘You ought to be on the stage.’ She shot Mario a sideways glance, and he returned it, a gleam in his dark eyes.

  ‘And there’s one leaving at sundown?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were involved in the evacuation. There’s nothing to discuss anyway. It’s all organized. And I’ve never mentioned Miss Gilchrist to you. You don’t know her from a hole in the road.’

  The observation, or the way she had put it, earned her one of his flashing smiles, the ones which were beginning to do strange things to her insides. Who was she trying to kid? They’d always done strange things to her insides. Since the day she’d first set eyes on him.

  ‘Nope,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but I thought you were about to get into trouble for having a personal caller - of the male variety too,’ he added mischievously. ‘Are you heading for the subway?’

  ‘Yes, it’s one of my nights for the hospital.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  She sent him another curious glance. ‘I’ve been going there for some time now. I think I know the way.’

  He smiled, but said nothing, putting out a protective arm to stop her stepping off the pavement. She hadn’t noticed that there was a tram coming along the road.

  ‘Now it’s safe,’ he said after it had clanked past. They crossed over to the other side of the street.

  ‘How did you know where I worked?’

  ‘Och, I managed to get the address out of Adam. Eventually. And I am involved in the evacuation,’ he added. ‘I’m not coming with you, but I’m helping organize things at the station on Friday morning.’

  They made their way through into St Enoch Square. Outside the subway station Liz stopped, turning to face Mario.

  ‘Why did you come to my office?’

  He returned her steady gaze. He wasn’t smiling, but it was lurking in the corners of his mouth, hiding behind his brown eyes.

  ‘Because I wanted to see you.’

  ‘We see each other all the time,’ she pointed out. ‘At the hospital, and at your father’s café.

  ‘There’s always other people at the café. Perhaps I wanted to see you on your own.’

  That shut her up. So did the way he was looking down into her upturned face.

  ‘I thought your eyes were green,’ he murmured, ‘but they look grey right now - a beautiful soft grey. Don’t look away.’

  Discomfited by the compliment, she had dropped the eyes in question. She looked up again and blurted out a question. ‘Are you a practising Catholic?’

  ‘Yes. I’m hoping I’ll get good at it one day. Might even be able to do it for a living.’

  ‘Somehow I don’t see you as a candidate for the priesthood.’

  ‘Just as well,’ he murmured, his eyes narrowing in amusement. ‘If I were we most certainly wouldn’t be having this conversation.’ He grew serious again. ‘Is that what bothers you? That I’m a Catholic and you’re not?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what bothers me.’

  ‘Answer me one more question then. The same way you answered that one. With s
imple honesty.’ She was wearing a blue polka-dot shirt-waister dress with a big white collar. He took the edge of that between his finger and thumb and began to gently rub it. He was all but touching her, but Liz didn’t dart back. She looked up into his face and knew exactly what he was going to ask her.

  ‘Do you like me?’

  Her whole future hung on the answer to that question. She could lie to him, nip this in the bud right now. It would make life much easier. It would make life bleak and empty.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I like you. I like you very much indeed.’

  ‘When it comes down to it does it really matter what religion people are?’ They were on the underground. Mario had bought the tickets for them both, asking only if Liz wanted to go to Partick Cross and walk up, or Hillhead and walk down. The hospital was equidistant between the two stops, the café slightly closer to Hillhead station.

  ‘It matters if you’re a Jew in Germany,’ she replied, her voice sombre. ‘Or Austria, or Czechoslovakia...’

  ‘And probably Poland too in a couple of days,’ he finished for her. ‘That’s my point,’ he said quietly. ‘Doesn’t the way the Nazis are treating the Jews show what happens when religious prejudice gets out of hand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed slowly. ‘It does.’ Preparatory to stopping, the train braked sharply. Sitting next to him on the cushioned seat which ran the length of the carriage, Liz curled her fingers round the upright pole on her other side. She didn’t want to cannon into him when the train came to a halt.

  Mario pressed the point, studying her face as she thought about what he had said. ‘Your brother and your friend are made for each other. Religion doesn’t seem to matter to them.’

  And do you think you and I are made for each other? Is that what you’re saying?

  She didn’t dare ask the question, nor did she point out that he wasn’t quite right about religion not mattering to Helen and Eddie. It mattered to both of them a great deal - in diametrically opposing ways. Liz had been wondering for some time now how a good Catholic girl and an atheist who didn’t believe in marriage were going to settle their future together.

  ‘You’re looking very serious.’

  ‘These are serious times.’

  ‘That’s very true. We might all be dead by this time next week.’

  Liz grimaced. ‘Your point being?’

  ‘My point being that if we’re all going to hell in a handcart anyway - do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred pounds - why deny ourselves good company on the journey? Even if it isn’t of an officially approved religion.’

  ‘You’re very plausible,’ she told him. The train pulled away from Cowcaddens. Three more stops to go.

  ‘It’s my Italian charm.’

  This situation called for the folded arms and the tapping foot. Hard to do when you were sitting down next to the culprit, the shoogly motion of the train occasionally tossing you towards him. Funny how it seemed to send him in the opposite direction - towards her.

  Being shaken up like a sack of potatoes wasn’t exactly conducive to maintaining your feminine dignity either. Nor did the mischievous twinkle in Mario’s eyes help much.

  ‘Have I worn down your resistance, then?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘You Presbyterians. You never give an inch, do you? Particularly if there’s any danger of ending up doing something you might actually enjoy.’

  That made Liz laugh too. Yes, she liked him. Not only the good looks and the charm, but the Mario who lay behind them, the man who saw the serious side of life all too clearly, but who preferred to laugh and make fun of it all.

  “The pictures,’ he said. ‘On Thursday night. How about it? To take our minds off Poland and Czechoslovakia and little men with moustaches.’

  It was what Adam had suggested too, but coming from Mario Rossi it caught her on the hop. Sitting next to him on a busy and well-lit subway train swapping wisecracks and smart comments was one thing. Sitting next to him in the darkness of the cinema was quite another.

  ‘Hillhead next stop,’ she said brightly as the train pulled away from Kelvinbridge.

  He tapped his lips with one long finger. ‘I know. I’ve been doing this journey for some time now. I think I know the way.’

  It was what she had said to him earlier. Fatally, it also reminded her of the unfortunate comment Conor Gallagher had accidentally made last year, the one about Mario not going all the way with her. The memory made Liz blush and drop her eyes.

  ‘Och, go on,’ he said softly to her bowed head. ‘Be a devil. Come to the pictures with me. It might be our last chance for a while. They’re talking about closing the cinemas once war’s declared. I’ll even let you choose the flick. Pick a soppy one if you like. I don’t mind.’ His voice grew brisker. ‘Our stop now.’

  A soppy one, she thought as they went up to the street. He meant a romantic one. A love story. The sort of film which had people kissing in it. Definitely not. It might give him ideas.

  Walking out into the sunshine of Byres Road with him, Liz lifted her chin. ‘Not a soppy one. Mars Attacks the Earth - that’s what I’d like to see.’

  He stopped and turned to face her, a little smile dancing around his mouth. ‘Flash Gordon,’ he said. ‘You want me to take you to a Flash Gordon film. For our first date.’

  Liz put her hands on her hips. ‘I like Flash Gordon.’

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful,’ he murmured. ‘Success at last. Even if the cinema is going to be full of wee horrors.’

  He walked her down to the door of Outpatients. Liz stuck out her hand. ‘Tomorrow night, then? Goodbye.’

  Ignoring that businesslike hand, Mario Rossi smiled a lazy smile. ‘Shouldn’t we agree a time and place, Elisabetta?’

  Oh, wow. Hearing his father say the Italian version of her name was one thing. Hearing it in his son’s dark brown voice was something else entirely.

  ‘Shall I pick you up at your house? Oh no, because your father would come out breathing fire and waving garlic at me.’ That was something else Conor had said last year. Had Mario been reminded of the other comment too?

  Liz managed to stammer out a meeting place. He suggested a time. Then he bent forward, as though to kiss her cheek. Liz took a step back. He frowned, but then he lifted her hand, bent his head and kissed it. In the middle of Church Street. Nobody had ever done that before.

  ‘Liz? Are you asleep yet?’

  She switched on her bedside light and sat up. Eddie was standing in her bedroom doorway in his dressing gown.

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Come in.’

  She tossed him one of her pillows and he sat down on the floor opposite her bed and put it at his back. Talking quietly, they began mulling over the events of the week. They moved quickly from the political to the personal.

  ‘What are you going to do when they call you up next year, Eddie? Will you go?’ She looked anxiously at him.

  Not so long ago she would have known the answer to that question. Her brother would undoubtedly have been a conscientious objector. Things were different now.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said quietly. ‘This has become everybody’s war - a fight for democracy. I’m not a communist any more, but I still believe that socialism is the key to the future. First we’ll sort Hitler out. Then we’ll sort ourselves out. Create a better country and a fairer society. For our children and our children’s children.’

  His long legs stretched out in front of him, he was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on a large rose in the pattern of the bedroom wallpaper.

  ‘What about your own future, Eddie? Yours and Helen’s?’

  He turned his head and brought his gaze back to her. ‘I love her, Liz,’ he said. ‘She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  The simplicity and sincerity of his answer tugged at her heartstrings, but it didn’t really answer her question.

  ‘Are the two of you going to get married?’

  His grey
eyes were troubled. ‘Liz, you know I don’t believe in marriage.’ He changed the subject. ‘I do want to introduce her to Ma and Father, though.’

  ‘How would you broach it?’ Liz asked, aware of an uneasiness that wasn’t entirely on Eddie and Helen’s account.

  Her brother’s smile was wry.

  ‘Och, that’s easy. Father, I’ll say, I’ve fallen in love with a beautiful, kind, lovely girl. Clever too, with a mischievous sense of humour. She makes me laugh all the time. She’s from a good family - not well off, but very respectable - and she and Liz are good friends. They get on like a house on fire. I’m sure you and mother will really like her too.’

  Liz, watching while he delivered this paean of praise, saw him cock one dark eyebrow. ‘Oh, and by the way, Father - and I know this won’t matter to you at all - her parents are Irish and she’s a Roman Catholic.’

  Liz felt her stomach lurch. ‘And he’ll say?’ she invited.

  ‘Son, if she’s the girl you’ve chosen, that’s fine by me.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that, Eddie.’ Liz shook her head. ‘I really wish I could.’

  ‘You don’t think it might be different once he’d met her?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps if I introduced her to Ma first?’

  ‘Ma would love her.’ That wasn’t in any doubt. Liz knew that while their mother might well be concerned about the religious difference, seeing how happy Helen and Eddie were together would be enough to overcome her misgivings. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Sadie’s reaction that mattered.

  ‘How could anybody not love her?’ asked Eddie in accents of amazement. ‘Surely, Liz, when he sees how beautiful she is? Inside and out?’

  ‘Eddie,’ Liz said urgently, sitting up straighter in bed. ‘He won’t see any of that. All he’ll see is that she’s a Roman Catholic. You know that as well as I do.’