by Anne Forsyth
She knew she looked smart for her first day—a fine wool skirt in forest green that she’d made herself, and a cream blouse, and the soft green cardigan she’d finished knitting last week. And to complete the outfit, she’d bought a new pair of fully-fashioned nylons. At 8s.11d. it was more than she would normally have paid, but this was an important day and she wanted to look her best.
As she pulled on her camel coat and beret, and her new soft brown leather gloves—a present from Lorna—she glanced out of the window at the bridge, as she did every morning. She could see small figures—almost like toy figures—moving about on the catwalk. She wondered if Matt was among them. She prayed he would be safe.
She closed the door behind her and set off down the hill to catch the Dunfermline bus.
‘Well, Mrs Mackay,’ Mr Hardy greeted her. ‘Your first day, eh? I hope you’re going to enjoy working with us. I’ll just show you round, and then we’ll have a coffee. I find it’s a good start to the working day, don’t you?’
He really was quite young, Nancy thought, a lot younger than her—and not at all intimidating.
As if he had read her thoughts he smiled and showed her into the office that was to be hers. She noted the new Remington typewriter on the desk, and some tired-looking spider plants on the window-sill.
But what struck her most was the large pile of papers on the desk and a mass of files—on the chair, in the corner of the room—everywhere, even on the floor.
‘It’s a bit of a challenge for you, I’m afraid,’ her new boss went on a little apologetically. ‘Our last secretary wasn’t very efficient. She’d no idea about filing.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Nancy reassured him. ‘I’ll make a start—you don’t mind if I do a bit of reorganising?’
‘Go ahead.’ He looked relieved. ‘I’m sure you’ll know just what to do. Now let’s see . . .’
‘That cup of coffee?’
* * *
‘Another birthday,’ Grandpa said, then he brightened up. ‘And another clootie dumpling to look forward to.’
‘Nancy’s a dab hand at the clootie dumpling.’ Joe grinned. ‘And it wouldn’t be a proper birthday without it.’
‘She’s a good lass,’ Grandpa said, stretching out his legs in the armchair and warming his hands at the cheerful blaze.
‘Now you’ll take a dram before your dinner,’ Joe said, ‘seeing as it’s a special occasion.’
‘Well, just a wee one!’
‘So here’s to you,’ Joe said, raising his glass. ‘Happy birthday and many more.’
‘Thank you.’ Grandpa raised his own glass. ‘And a toast to you and Nancy and the young ones. It’s going to be quite a time ahead with the bridge opening next year. A great occasion.’
Joe didn’t respond and Grandpa looked at him enquiringly.
‘For some.’
‘You don’t sound that pleased about it.’
‘I’m not, and that’s a fact,’ said Joe. ‘Oh, it’s going to be a fine piece of engineering and it’ll bring more business and more jobs to Fife—and dear knows, they’re badly needed. But . . .’
‘But what?’
Joe shrugged.
‘I’m maybe being a bit selfish. But I’ve been on the ferries a long time—it’s going to be a big change. And I’m used to the outdoors, meeting people. A job on the tolls just won’t be the same. Still, it’s work, I suppose.’
Grandpa was silent for a moment.
‘There’s always going to be changes. I can mind—’ He broke off.
‘You were going to say?’ Joe noticed that the old man looked a little distant as though he were thinking of some time in the far-away past.
‘I was thinking about the number of times I changed my job. First, there was the rail bridge—and when that was built, well, I was still a young lad, but there were always jobs for men that were trained and willing to work. I got a job in Kirkcaldy, I remember, at the linoleum works.
‘I was doing fine, newly wed and a bairn on the way. Then came the war . . . I was lucky—many of them never came back—you can tell by the names on the war memorial. After the war, it was a bad time—there wasn’t the work. You’d see men, some of them crippled, selling matches on the street corners. I was lucky. We moved to Dunfermline. I got a job working in one of the linen factories.’
‘Dunfermline linen,’ Joe said thoughtfully. ‘The best in the world.’
‘Aye, it’s fine work,’ Grandpa said. ‘Let’s hope it continues.’
Nancy put her head round the door.
‘Will you sit in to the table? The dinner’s nearly ready . I’ve got a nice bit of steak, as a treat—and I haven’t forgotten the sixpences in the dumpling.’
‘There’s no-one makes a clootie dumpling like you, lass,’ Grandpa said.
‘Well, it’s a special day.’ Nancy smiled fondly. ‘Now sit in, before it all gets cold.’
Joe laid a hand on William’s shoulder.
‘Thanks again, Dad. You’ve been a great help.’
* * *
Shona had taken special care over her appearance that evening. She was pleased with the dress in soft blue wool that she’d made at dressmaking classes. And on a shopping trip to Edinburgh the previous Saturday, she’d bought a pair of knee-high soft leather boots—the latest fashion.
Wearing them, she felt as elegant as any of the models in the magazines. At the same time she’d splurged out on a luxury talc and a bath salts gift set.
One of the other teachers had teased her recently.
‘You look smart these days, Shona—dressing for someone special?’
Shona had hastily denied it but couldn’t hide her blushes. Because, of course, it was Mark. He was quite different from any other man she’d met—but still there was that faint niggle at the back of her mind. He was fun to be with, that was important. There hadn’t been a lot of fun in Shona’s life.
But she wasn’t sure if she could trust him.
She went into the front room to wait for him—just as, so many times, she’d watched for his car coming along the road. It wouldn’t be long now. Six-thirty, he’d said, with a table booked for seven. And time, maybe, for a spin along to Limekilns or Aberdour.
By seven o’clock Shona was beginning to feel a little anxious. What if the car had broken down? What if he had had an accident? ?
She picked up a magazine and thumbed through it, not really concentrating on what she was reading. She tried very hard to interest herself in the short stories, but her mind was miles away.
He would have phoned, of course he would, if there had been some hold-up at work. He knew they’d fixed to meet that evening.
By eight o’clock, she realised he wasn’t going to arrive. She threw down the magazine and began to make her way upstairs.
Coming downstairs, Walter glanced at her.
‘Going out somewhere nice?’ he said.
Shona shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
She went upstairs, took off the blue dress and put on her old skirt and a comfortable roll-neck jersey.
* * *
It was perhaps a couple of days later when Nancy called upstairs.
‘Phone for you, Shona.’
She hurried downstairs—it had to be Mark. Trembling a little, she picked up the receiver.
‘Hallo, Shona. It’s Mark. How are you?’
She didn’t say anything.
‘Are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wondered if you’d like to go out some evening this week?’
She drew a deep breath.
‘What about last Friday?’
‘Friday?’
‘We were supposed to be going out to dinner.’
‘Oh, yes—look, I’m sorry about that. I got tied up with something at work. I tried to ring you, but I couldn’t get through. You didn’t put anything off, did you?’
Shona was silent.
‘Not mad at me, are you? I’ve said I’m sorry.’ He was beginning
to sound bored. ‘What about that dinner we postponed—I could ring you when I’ve looked at my diary?’
‘I shouldn’t bother. I’m sure there are plenty other girls you can call on,’ Shona said in a tone that quelled nine-year-olds at school.
‘Goodbye, Mark.’
‘Have it your own way, then. It’s your loss.’
She put down the phone and found that her hand was trembling, but she felt lighter. The anxious feeling had gone. So that was the real Mark!
Walter was scanning the pages of the Dunfermline Press. He glanced up as she entered the room, then got to his feet, looking a little flustered.
‘I just wanted to see if there was anything on at the pictures. What sort of film do you like, Shona?’
‘Oh, anything entertaining—something lighthearted, or a really good thriller. ‘Nothing too romantic,’ she added grimly.
‘I go for comedy, every time,’ Walter said. ‘Did you see Doctor in Distress? Mind you, I like a good thriller too. Something like The Great Escape Or Hitchcock’s The Birds.’
Shona shuddered.
‘Just the trailer. Too creepy for me. I didn’t know you were such a film fan.’ She smiled.
‘Ever since I was a boy,’ he said. ‘We used to queue up on a Saturday morning.’
He scanned the paper.
‘I see The Mouse on the Moon is showing.’
‘Oh, Margaret Rutherford’s in that, isn’t she? She’s always wonderful. Remember the Miss Marple films . . . ?’
‘Shona, would you like to come to the pictures with me?’ Walter said suddenly.
She smiled at him.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
As they settled in their seats, in time for the Pathé newsreel, Walter thought what a quiet, pleasant girl she was. She didn’t try to flirt with him or put on an act.
Later, as they left the cinema, Walter put his hand gently under Shona’s arm.
‘Time for a coffee before we set off home?’
‘Yes, please. I did enjoy the film—thank you for inviting me.’
Walter glanced at her. She didn’t laugh enough, this girl. And yet he’d noticed in the cinema, how much she’d enjoyed the film, how she turned to him with a smile at a specially entertaining scene.
If only he could make her laugh more, he thought. That serious, earnest side—that wasn’t really Shona.
She was still smiling as he brought the coffees to the table.
‘Biscuits?’ he said. ‘I brought some I thought you’d like.’
Shona unwrapped a chocolate bar, and sipped her coffee.
‘Do you—’ He paused, thinking it sounded a bit hackneyed. ‘Do you often go out of an evening?’
‘Sometimes.’
Shona bit her lip, remembering the date with Mark when he hadn’t appeared.
‘Well, if you’d like,’ he said, not looking directly at her, ‘we could do this some other time. I’m a great film fan, as you probably gathered, and it’s nice to have someone to share it with—someone who’s a fellow enthusiast.’
‘Yes, I’d like to, only you must let me pay my own ticket next time.’
Walter shook his head.
‘Certainly not. I’m glad you enjoyed the evening.’
Shona realised that talking about films, feeling comfortable and at ease in Walter’s presence, she hadn’t thought about Mark at all.
‘Unless, of course,’ Walter stirred his coffee, ‘your boyfriend would object.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she said firmly. ‘I found out he wasn’t the person I thought he was. So I chucked him!’
She grinned and Walter was gratified to see she’d lost that tense look he’d noticed before. Her eyes sparkled and she looked so carefree.
* * *
Shona began talking about going to the pictures with her grandmother.
‘We really got our money’s worth. We’d often see a film twice round. The Way to the Stars, This Happy Breed . . .’ she remembered affectionately.
‘You miss her,’ Walter said gently.
‘Yes.’ Shona paused. ‘But I see now that she would have had to move from the cottage. It wasn’t the fault of the authorities—they didn’t deliberately try to put her out of her home. I think,’ she went on thoughtfully, ‘that it was time she moved out, so I don’t feel bitter or angry about it any more.’
‘I’m glad about that,’ Walter said.
‘I’ve been a bit hard, blaming you,’ Shona said in a rush, ‘and it really wasn’t anything to do with you. And now—well, the memories I have of Gran are happy ones.’
‘I’m sure that’s the way she’d want it.’
Walter reached across the table and for a moment laid his hand on top of Shona’s.
They were silent for a moment, then Shona said, ‘We’d maybe better go. They’ll be closing soon.’
‘It’s been fun,’ she said lightly, as they reached home.
‘I enjoyed it too.’
As Shona climbed the stairs, Nancy appeared
‘Have a good evening?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, it was a great picture.’
That night Shona remembered how Walter had held her arm crossing the road, how he’d turned to her sharing the comic moments in the film, how he’d laid his hand on hers for that moment or two. How nice, how reassuring he was, and how happy she felt . . .
* * *
Shona looked out of her bedroom window at the familiar outline of the road bridge. Not long now till it was officially opened by Her Majesty the Queen. She noticed too the ferryboat, the Queen Margaret, leaving the pier. There would be lots of changes, she thought—not just for Joe and the others on the ferries, but for all the men who’d worked on the bridge.
Before long, Walter would be gone, on to another job.
‘It has to come to an end,’ she told herself firmly. Oh, it had been fun—the outings with Walter, the visits to the pictures, the walks. How easily they got on together, she thought, after such a shaky start. They shared the same interests—trips along the coast to Crail and St Andrews—and spent many evenings at the pictures.
Walter was such good company, thought Shona. But—she glanced at the bridge—in only a few short months, it would be finished. And then? And then Walter would move on, and would forget her. I’ve been let down once, she thought, and it’s not going to happen again . . .
She remembered especially that spring day just a few weeks ago when they’d gone, to Dunfermline on his half-day.
Of course she had known the town well—since childhood—but now she’d enjoyed showing Walter her favourite places—the Abbey, Andrew Carnegie’s birthplace, and especially the Glen, as people affectionately called Pittencrieff Park.
Walter had looked around appreciatively.
‘What’s that?’ he said as they heard a loud screech.
‘Just one of the peacocks. Look, there he is . . .’
They stopped to admire the bird with its vivid plumage as it pecked its way across the path, looking for food.
‘People give them peanuts,’ Shona said. ‘They’re always hungry. They sort of belong to the Glen and you can hear them right down in Monastery Street—people say if you can hear the peacocks, that means the wind has changed and there’s going to be rain.’
‘So they’re a weather forecast in themselves.’ Walter grinned.
They explored the Glen—the afternoon was quiet and they had the park almost to themselves.
‘I love the hothouses,’ Shona said. ‘When I was small and came here with Gran, I specially liked the one that has tropical plants. It was so hot and steamy I’d close my eyes and imagine I was in the jungle.’
Walter laughed.
‘More comfortable than the real thing!’
‘Of course, you’ve been all over the world,’ Shona said. ‘The tropics, too?’
Walter nodded.
‘You wouldn’t believe the wildlife. The first time I saw humming birds, I couldn’t believe what I saw, the
colour was so vivid. And the tropical storms. Everything seemed so much brighter once the storm was over. I remember once driving through an African village after a storm and there right in front of us was a sheet of yellow.’
Shona looked puzzled.
‘Butterflies,’ he explained. ‘Yellow butterflies. It must have been something to do with the weather conditions—amazing.’
Shona’s eyes shone.
‘It sounds wonderful. Oh, I’d like to travel—I’ve been on holidays abroad, and that’s fun, but to go to such remote places . . .’
‘It can be uncomfortable and difficult at times,’ Walter said, ‘but it’s worth it. I think so anyway Shona . . .’ He reached out and took her hand.
Suddenly their closeness seemed to be broken, as Shona drew away. Of course he was longing to go back to the life he knew. This had just been an interlude.
The rest of the day had been a little awkward. When they got back to the Mackays’, Shona thanked Walter politely.
‘We must go out for a day again soon,’ he said.
‘That would be nice,’ Shona said a little coolly.
Walter gave her a sharp glance.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said. ‘It’s been a lovely afternoon. Thank you.’
Walter looked puzzled by her formality.
Something was wrong. Was it something he’d said? Oh well—whatever it was, she would come round.
Upstairs, Shona took off her jacket and scarf, and glanced in the mirror. She didn’t notice her face was flushed with the afternoon’s sunshine and her eyes were bright. But it took all her resolve to remember what she had decided.
In a few months Walter would be gone. He wouldn’t remember the lovely day they’d spent in the Glen in the warm sunshine.
I’m not going to let myself fall in love, she thought. From now on, we’ll be friends—but distant friends.
* * *
‘There’s a phone call for you, Mrs Mackay.’
‘Thank you.’
Nancy took the receiver. She’d been waiting for delivery of a new desk and it had been promised for Tuesday. She hoped the firm wasn’t going to say there was some delay. Sometimes the phone seemed to ring all day, though Nancy was more confident now about dealing with enquiries, and she felt she was managing to cope .
‘Mrs Mackay speaking,’ she announced crisply.
