by Joan Lingard
Elma glared at her sister. Her chest was heaving as if she were trying to get her breath.
‘Willa was just reading a letter of Tommy’s to us,’ said Ina. ‘A man from another boat fell overboard and got eaten by a shark.’
‘The sea’s swarming with them,’ said Bunty. ‘In Australia, that is. No here, fortunately. Sit yourself down, Elma, and take the weight off your feet. There’s a spare doughnut in the bag you can have.’
But Elma was not interested in Tommy’s letter, or jammy doughnuts. She was glaring at Bunty. She seemed too wound up almost to speak. Malkie gave the intruder a searching look and, sensing trouble, began to cry.
‘There, there, your granny’s got you safe,’ said the woman herself, patting his back and turning his face away from Elma.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Elma, and tell us what’s got up your back?’ suggested Bunty. ‘You look in a right old tizzy.’
‘You know!’
‘Do I?’
‘Don’t come the innocent with me!’
‘I don’t know what the blazes you’re on about. I’m no a mind-reader.’
Willa pulled up a kitchen chair and Elma plopped down on it.
‘You encouraged him!’
‘Who?’
‘Gerald, of course!’
‘Encouraged him to do what?’
‘That woman!’
‘Oh, that,’ said Bunty. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’
‘She’s a friend of yours.’
‘She’s a customer. She comes in every afternoon for her Evening News, never misses. She likes to keep up with things.’
For once Ina did not chip in to say that it was a pity Tommy had passed up his chances to become a reporter on the paper.
‘You give her tea through the back,’ said Elma.
‘I give tea to a few folk. She’s a widow woman, in need of company.’
‘And she got it with my Gerald!’
‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Ina.
‘Do you want a cup of tea, Aunt Elma?’ asked Willa.
Elma ignored them both. She was on fire. Willa wondered if steam might issue out of her nostrils at any moment.
‘You introduced them!’
‘She was having a wee cup of tea with me when Gerry came in. It would have been rude of me if I hadn’t introduced them.’
‘Well, you certainly started something.’
‘Has he run off with her?’ asked Ina. ‘Whoever she is.’
‘Of course not! Gerald wouldn’t do that to me. He’s not going to see her again. I’ve put a stop to that!’
‘I’d better get back and open up the shop.’ Bunty stood up.
‘I would ask you not to serve that woman again, Bunty. You are my sister and families have to stick by each other.’
Bunty stared at her. ‘You must be kidding. I’m not turning away a good customer. She buys cigarettes and chocolates as well.’
‘I thought she was the type.’ Elma sat back, looking satisfied. ‘A smoker.’
‘And a chocolate-eater,’ said Willa softly.
‘She’s done nothing to me,’ said Bunty, ‘so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.’ Then she left.
‘She’s heartless, that one,’ said Elma. ‘And a cheeky besom.’
‘Aye, she can be,’ agreed Ina.
‘You understand how I feel, don’t you, Ina?’
‘What’s her name, this woman that Gerry’s gone off with?’
‘He’s not gone off with her. And he’s not going to!’
‘Whatever.’
‘I believe she’s a Mrs Mooney.’ Elma almost choked over the saying of it. Normally pallid, her face had taken on a purplish hue.
‘Must be Irish.’ Ina nodded. ‘Did you see them together or what?’
‘Mrs Cant saw them going into the Hermitage.’
‘What was Mrs Cant doing up at the Hermitage?’
‘What does it matter what she was doing? She was there, wasn’t she? And she saw them. Hand-in-hand. A right harlot she is. And a papist to boot!’
‘A papist,’ repeated Ina. ‘I suppose she would be with a name like Mooney. I must say I’m surprised at Gerry associating with one. And him an elder in the kirk, and a Mason.’
‘It’s as well it’s been stopped before the minister caught on to it,’ said Elma. ‘Or that’d be Gerald out on his ear.’
‘Would they excommunicate him?’ asked Willa, about to add, ‘Just for that,’ but thought better of it.
‘Put him out the church? It wouldn’t come to that but they wouldn’t let him go on being an elder. He’s meant to be an example.’
‘I didn’t know that was what an elder was for,’ said Ina. ‘I thought it was to take up the collection.’
‘They have different roles to play.’ Elma smoothed back a strand of hair – it was seldom that any were out of place, which showed how shaken up she was. ‘It’s not often we see you in the church these days, is it, Ina? You either, Willa. It’s up to you to set an example to your boy, you know. You’re not wanting him to grow up a heathen.’
Willa said she must go out and get some messages in. They were needing a few things from the grocer. ‘I’ll take Malcolm. He could do with some air.’
She held out her hands to him but he didn’t want to leave the comfortable knee he was settled on.
‘He’s not wanting to go out,’ said his granny, holding him tight. ‘He’s wanting to stay.’
‘He loves his gran, so he does,’ said Elma. She loved to say that and Willa was convinced she did it to annoy her.
She reached over, and forcibly lifted up the baby, who squawked loudly and trod air with furious feet. She put him under her arm and carried him out of the room and down the stairs to the bottom lobby. She strapped him into his pram, still protesting, resisting with all the strength of his small body, clutching his rattle.
‘There now, young man,’ she said, fastening the buckle. ‘You and I are going for a walk whether you like it or not.’
He tossed the rattle over the side and looked down to see where it had landed. She picked it up and handed it back to him. He threw it overboard again, with a grin that reminded her of his father.
‘I’m not playing this game, my lad,’ she told him and put the rattle at the end of the pram out of his reach. ‘You’d like to lead me a dance, wouldn’t you?’ He roared. She released the brake and they set off.
She wheeled the pram along to Melville Drive and up Middle Meadow Walk and Malcolm decided to forget his gripes and enjoy the trees shimmering in the sunshine, making pretty patterns against the blue of the sky. Willa loved the month of May when everything was fresh and green and the whole of summer lay ahead. A number of students were on the path, on foot mostly, a few on bicycles, going to and fro between the university and their digs in Marchmont. Willa thought of Richard and wondered if he would be in the library, though, glancing at her watch and seeing that it was a quarter to four, she realised that he would have left by now to go and do his afternoon tutoring. She had not seen him since the day he had kissed her in the secret garden. When she thought of him she became confused.
They met near the top of the path. He had books under his arm.
‘Willa!’ he cried and for a moment they stood there like two people in a game of statues, gazing at each other and saying nothing. Then Willa had to move the pram to the side so that two ladies could pass and that broke the spell.
Richard looked into the pram. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Malcolm.’
‘Hello, Malcolm.’
Richard smiled uncertainly at him and the baby stared back with his wide-open dark eyes. Richard lifted the rattle and shook it and Malcolm stretched out his hand imploringly and Richard put the rattle into it. Malcolm crowed and bestowed a wide smile on his benefactor, making him smile in turn.
‘He’s a beautiful baby,’ said Richard. He said it a little sadly, Willa thought.
He came round the side of the pram
to join her and put his hand close to hers on the handle. Even that slight touch disturbed her.
‘I’ve been dying to see you. I’ve been to the library every day. Willa, I must see you! Don’t you want to see me?’
‘I do but—’
‘What about tomorrow afternoon?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Please!’
‘I’ll try. But we’re beginning to be noticed in the library.’
‘I’ll be in our café from two onwards. I’ll wait. Come when you can.’
He must go for he had a lesson with a boy at four o’clock in Grange Road. He had afternoon and early evening classes now every weekday and Saturday morning; he was trying to save money so that he could go back to university in the autumn to do his final year.
‘You’d better go or you’ll be late,’ said Willa, glancing around, in case Mrs Cant or any others of her kind might be lurking.
His hand had crept over hers so that their fingers were interlinked. He wanted to kiss her and for a moment it looked as if he would, but they could not risk it, not here, out in this wide-open space, where half of Edinburgh might observe them.
‘Go!’ she told him.
She watched him as he hurried down the path. He turned back to wave halfway and then again as he reached the end of the Walk and prepared to cross Melville Drive. Four o’clock sounded from a nearby church clock. He was going to be late. She saw him break into a run and sprint across the road. He had an athletic frame and moved well.
Malcolm was ginning and rocking the pram. He did not like to be ignored. Willa looked down and saw the rattle on the ground. When he saw her looking he put on his grin again. He was a wee devil; he knew how to twist her round his little finger. She shook her head at him and smiled and, picking up the rattle, she presented it to him, telling him not to dare to throw it out again.
On her way back, loath to return so soon to the flat and Tommy’s mother, she called in at Bunty’s. She found her in the back shop with Mrs Mooney.
Mrs Mooney was wearing a lime-green cloche hat and she was smoking. She held a lime-green cigarette holder to carmine lips, inhaled deeply, sucking in her rouged cheeks, and blew out a stream of smoke. She was smoking Sobranie cigarettes, favoured by Bunty when she wanted a change from Craven A. Willa recognised the smell.
‘Willa,’ said Bunty, ‘this is my friend Mrs Mooney. Maureen, this is my nephew Tommy’s wife.’
‘Nice to meet you, Willa. I’ve heard a lot about you. And is this your wee boy? Isn’t he just gorgeous?’
Malcolm, in his mother’s arms, eyed the woman uncertainly, but seemed bemused by the lime-green cigarette holder. He put out his hand for it but its owner wagged her finger at him and said, ‘That’s not for you, not till you’re a big boy, like your daddy. I hear he’s gorgeous too.’
Willa shifted Malcolm onto her other arm. Mrs Mooney seemed to have heard a great deal and was obviously more than an occasional visitor to Bunty’s inner sanctum.
‘Have a seat, hen,’ said Bunty, shifting over to make room. ‘There’s still some tea in the pot.’ She took another cup and saucer from the cupboard.
Willa sat down on the opposite side of the table to Mrs Mooney and Bunty, anxious to keep Malcolm out of the line of their cigarette smoke.
‘I’m just on my way actually.’ Mrs Mooney released the cigarette end from its holder and stubbed it out on an ashtray on the table. They’d had a few cigarettes, to judge from the number of butts. Malcolm was watching every move the woman made. ‘I want to catch the greengrocer before he closes. I’ve got a nice juicy pork chop for my tea so I thought I’d get some mushrooms to go with it. Nice meeting you, Willa.’
‘You, too, Mrs Mooney.’
‘Call me Maureen. Everybody does. I’ll see you, Bunty.’
Mrs Mooney clicked out on high green heels. Now that she was on her feet Willa could see that she was wearing a cream silk dress with a low-slung waist and knee-length hemline. Around her neck was slung a rope of lime-green beads.
‘Don’t forget your Evening News,’ Bunty shouted after her.
They heard the shop door ping as Mrs Mooney closed it behind her.
‘Classy dresser, isn’t she?’ said Bunty. ‘She’s quite a girl. She was doing the cancan in here one afternoon.’
Mrs Mooney must be well over forty, thought Willa, but Bunty referred to everyone of her own age, and even older, as a girl.
‘She’s a good laugh,’ added Bunty. ‘And we can all do with a laugh now and then.’
Willa drank her tea and Bunty gave Malcolm a biscuit to keep him happy.
‘She’s got a nice juicy chop for her tea. Did you catch that?’
‘Is Gerry still seeing her?’
Bunty shrugged. ‘How should I know?’ But she obviously did.
‘I thought Elma was going to explode this afternoon.’
‘Maureen’s not doing her any harm. She’s not going to take Gerry away from her. She wouldn’t want him full-time. She likes her independence. You get used to it, you know.’
‘I suppose you do.’
‘You’ve not got much, have you?’
Willa shrugged.
‘That’s what having a baby does to you.’
‘I wouldn’t be without him.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t now that he’s here.’
Malcolm was doing a good job at mangling the biscuit with his three front teeth. Bits of soggy biscuit had spilled down his front which Willa wiped away. She had written to tell Tommy about the teeth but he had never referred to them when he’d written back.
‘Maureen’s been on her own for ten years. Her man died of a burst ulcer. He was in the spirits trade so he left her well provided for. She’s got a comfortable flat, very smart it is, with two bedrooms, a big sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, in Tarvit Street.’
‘We’ll have to hope Mrs Cant doesn’t find out where she lives then.’
‘They were a bit careless, the two of them, going walking in the Hermitage in broad daylight. If they’d gone down to Portobello or somewhere on the other side of town they’d have got away with it. Something to keep in mind.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Willa sharply.
‘Nothing,’ said Bunty, trying to look innocent. ‘Another wee drop of tea?’
‘No thanks. I’d better be getting back.’ Willa stood up and stretched herself. She had half intended to confide in Bunty about Richard but had changed her mind, after having met Mrs Mooney.
~ 13 ~
Sydney again!
Dear Willa,
Here we are back in Sydney for a couple of days – no complaints about that! – before sailing on to New Zealand.
This time Tommy had sent a picture postcard, of Sydney harbour, with just a couple of lines written on the back of it. If he’d picked up a girl first time round in Sydney he’d be able to take up with her again on his second visit.
‘That’s two days in a row you’ve heard from him,’ said the postie. ‘He must be missing you.’
‘He told me the post could be a bit topsy-turvy.’ Willa closed the door.
She stood with her back to it, thinking about Richard, trying to decide should she or should she not go to the café this afternoon at two o’clock. She had wakened early and lain in bed turning it over and over in her head. If she did it would be the first time they would meet by appointment. All the other times had been casual, a case of bumping into each other. At least that was how she liked to think of it. This would seem to shift their relationship onto a different footing.
‘Was that the postie?’ called Ina from the kitchen.
‘Card from Tommy.’ Willa took it in to her.
Ina was still eating her porridge and hadn’t taken her stays down yet from the pulley. Malcolm, seated in his high chair, liked to watch the suspenders swaying in the draught from the fire. The coals were banked high in the range.
‘It’s awful hot in here,’ said Ina.
It was smelly too
. It was time she washed her stays again. Trouble was they took ages to dry because you couldn’t put them through the mangle and she refused to peg them out in the back green on public view.
Willa went over to the window and pushed the bottom half up a few inches. In a minute or two Ina would be complaining about the draught.
‘Tommy never forgets us, does he?’ said his mother, gazing at Sydney harbour. ‘So he’s going on to New Zealand? Show us where that is, Willa. I get lost trying to think where he is.’
Willa lifted the globe down from the shelf and spun it until she found New Zealand. Another pink country.
‘Lord help us, he is at the end of the world. He couldn’t be much further away, could he?’
‘He could if he went a bit further on, down to the South Pole.’
‘They’re not going there, are they?’
‘No, they’re not.’
‘That’s good then.’
The bell went.
‘I hope that’s not Elma again,’ said Ina. ‘I had enough of her yesterday. I feel real sorry for her but she raved on for about three hours. After all, it’s over now, Gerry and that woman, so why can’t she let it be? Anyway, it seems the only thing they did was go for a walk.’
The bell sounded again, and again. Willa hastened to answer it.
‘I’m coming,’ she shouted.
Pauline stood on the mat. She was carrying a small cardboard suitcase and she’d been crying.
‘I need to talk to you, Willa.’
‘You’d better come in.’
‘Who’s that?’ called Ina from the kitchen.
‘Pauline. We’re going into my room for a minute.’
Willa took her into the room and closed the door. Pauline sat down on the bed and resumed crying.
‘What’s happened? Has Ernest dumped you?’
‘No.’ Pauline retrieved a handkerchief from the leg of her knickers and blew her nose loudly. ‘But I’ve lost my job and my mum’s thrown me out.’
Willa sat down beside her. ‘Because you lost your job?’
‘And other things.’
