by Joan Lingard
‘So where are you thinking of going the night?’ asked Ina suspiciously.
‘Nowhere special. Just to a café for an ice cream, something like that.’
‘Oh well, all right then. You might bring me back a slider. And mind you’re not too late.’
It was a fine June evening, ideal for strolling along Princes Street and through the gardens.
‘Put on your glad rags and a bit of make-up,’ said Pauline. ‘I thought we’d go to a cocktail bar first.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘What about the Caley?’
‘Would that not be too dear?’ Willa had never been in the Caledonian Hotel at the west end of Princes Street.
‘Mrs Mooney paid me well. She’s rolling. She said to me, “Take Willa out and give her a good time. She needs it with that husband of hers philandering his way round the world!”’ Pauline giggled. ‘Maureen’s got a good way with words. Maybe it’s with her being Irish.’
‘Pauline, Tommy is not philandering. He’s working.’
‘You can’t call that work, can you? Come on! Picnics, parties, dances, runs in motor cars, afternoon tea.’
‘But in between they have to work. When they’re at sea.’
‘They spend an awful long time on shore. And what about those dances and parties? The hospitality that he’s always on about? Everybody loves the boys in blue, can’t do enough for them. You don’t think he’s staying faithful to you for a whole year, do you? Maureen says it’d be too much to expect of a lusty young man. And Tommy’s lusty. So get dressed!’
‘I don’t know what to wear.’
‘Put on your mauve chiffon dress.’
That was one Willa used to go dancing in. She hadn’t worn it since before she’d fallen pregnant with Malcolm.
‘We’re not going dancing and that’s definite!’
‘Put it on! It’ll make you feel good.’
Willa was surprised that the dress still fitted her.
‘You’ve got your figure back,’ said Pauline. She herself had put on a little weight though Willa did not say so. ‘Do you want to borrow my new lipstick? It’d go nicely with your dress.’
This was like told times, the two of them together, getting dressed, making up, for a night out.
‘Pity we can’t go to the Palais,’ said Pauline.
‘I couldn’t,’ said Willa.
‘Oh, all right!’
‘Don’t be late,’ Ina repeated, when she saw them setting out. A frown creased her forehead. Willa realised she didn’t like her going out all dressed up with Pauline. She was uneasy. Willa was a little herself.
Once out in the balmy summer evening, she felt liberated. She could have danced her way down Lothian Road, letting the gauzy chiffon swirl around her bare legs. The feel of it made her feel carefree again. Pauline linked arms with her. She was wearing a scarlet silk dress with black fringes bordering the knee-length hemline and round her head she sported a scarlet band that looked dramatic against her glossy dark hair, neatly clipped just below the ears. She’d spent some of her wages at the hairdresser’s. A few men turned their heads to look at them and one or two called out.
‘We could get off with anybody we want,’ said Pauline. ‘And why the hell shouldn’t we?’ She sounded reckless, more reckless than Willa had ever known her.
‘I don’t intend to get off with anybody!’
‘All right, keep your hair on!’
Pauline began to sing. ‘Ma, he’s making eyes at me, Ma, he’s awful nice to me…I could do with somebody to be awful nice to me.’
They sailed past the uniformed commissionaire into the formal splendour of the Caledonian Hotel.
‘Can I help you ladies?’ Another uniformed employee was at their elbow.
‘Could you please direct us to the cocktail bar?’ said Pauline.
Once ensconced in comfortable chairs, they proceeded to study the menu.
‘I’m going to have a Singapore Sling,’ announced Willa. ‘Tommy went to Singapore. It was wonderful! Well, of course it was. What else could it be?’
‘Expect he drank a bucketload of slings while he was there. Two Singapore Slings, if you please,’ Pauline said to the waiter.
Rather good, they decided, after the first few sips. Nice fruity taste, not too strong on the rum. The first drinks slid down easily and Pauline ordered another.
‘Maureen gave me a fiver to take you out.’
‘A fiver,’ echoed Willa. ‘She must be rolling.’
Halfway through their second drinks, they were approached by a couple of men who had been eyeing them and whom Pauline had been giving the eye in return, even though Willa had tried to discourage her. They looked like business men in their dark suits, well-laundered white shirts and silk ties and gold signet rings on their pinkies.
‘Well heeled,’ whispered Pauline, when she saw them getting up to come across. ‘They won’t be selling stockings and suspender belts like Ernest.’
‘Pauline, leave me out of this,’ said Willa in an even lower voice, for the men were upon them, commenting that it seemed a shame that two such lovely ladies should be sitting on their own. Would they mind if they joined them?
So they did, and immediately ordered another drink each for the two ladies and double brandies for themselves. As Willa’s third drink was set in front of her she began to wonder if Singapore Slings were not stronger than she’d thought to begin with. She was going to sip this one slowly.
‘What brings you gentlemen to Edinburgh?’ asked Pauline.
‘Business, business!’
‘That’s what we thought!’ laughed Pauline, who had moved into high flirtatious mode.
‘And you ladies?’
Pauline informed the men that they lived in Edinburgh and worked as stenographers.
‘I’ll know where to come then if I want any dictation taken down.’
There was more laughter.
When the men ordered another round Willa got up and went to enquire about the ladies’ toilet. The ladies’ powder room was on the first floor, she was informed. She felt slightly light-headed as she made her way up the grand staircase holding on to the banister rail. Pauline came tripping up behind her.
‘What do you think then, Willa?’
‘That you and I should go for a walk in the gardens. On our own. I’m beginning to feel drunk.’
‘They’re nice though, aren’t they? I rather fancy Ralph, he’s got such a lovely smooth English accent. Oxford, wouldn’t you say?’
‘He’ll be off back to London tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s just a night out.’
‘And you know what they’ll be looking for.’
‘I’m not going to give it to them, am I? It’s just a laugh.’
They used the toilets and combed their hair and Pauline refreshed her lipstick, making a face at herself in the mirror. The powder-room attendant was watching them.
‘Ralph’s company imports shoes from Italy,’ said Pauline. ‘He’s promised to bring me a couple of pairs next time he’s up in Edinburgh. He says the leather’s as soft as a baby’s bottom.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Willa. ‘I need air.’
Pauline dropped a penny in the attendant’s dish.
When they returned to their table in the cocktail bar, they found that Ralph had a proposal.
‘Why don’t we all go up to my room for some more drinks? It’s quieter and there’s a good view of the castle. We could have room service, a little smoked salmon, caviar, anything you ladies would fancy.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Willa, who had remained standing, ‘but I must go.’ She looked at Pauline.
‘We thought we might have a wee walk in the gardens. Take the air like.’
‘Why don’t we join you ladies for a stroll?’ suggested Ralph. ‘You might fancy a little something to eat and drink later.’
They left the hotel, the men having paid for all their Singapore Slings, leaving Mrs Mooney’s five pound note intact. Will
a and Pauline walked in the middle, with their escorts on the outside.
They crossed the road and took the nearest entrance down into Princes Street gardens. Willa was relieved to see that they were well thronged and an orchestra was playing on the bandstand. Ralph took Pauline’s hand almost immediately and swung it playfully to and fro between them. Willa avoided the other man, whose name was Neville, taking hers. She kept both hands clasped firmly behind her back.
‘Lot of people about,’ commented Neville.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Edinburgh always this busy?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said.
Willa turned her head as Pauline erupted into giggles. Ralph had moved from holding her hand to sliding his arm around her waist. Now he was tickling her ribs and she was saying, ‘You’re terrible, so you are. Stop it, stop it!’ But Ralph knew that she didn’t really want him to stop it.
Neville, feeling perhaps that he was being shown up, tried to move closer to Willa and take hold of her arm, but she sidestepped and allowed a man coming in the opposite direction to pass between them. If it were not for Pauline she would have wheeled sharply to the right and made off.
‘Not very friendly, are you?’ said Neville, when they had reformed into a group of four.
‘No, not very. I’m married, you see. I expect you are too?’
‘You’re very direct.’
‘No point in being anything else.’
‘I like girls with a bit of spirit.’
‘What’s your wife like?’
‘No need to bring her into it.’
He was probably right about that. She wouldn’t wish to bring Tommy in either, whichever ocean he was in. Pauline and Ralph now had their arms entwined around each other.
Willa sighed and looked away and then stood stock-still. Coming down the bank below the castle ramparts was a figure that she recognised.
‘Richard!’ she shouted and began to run up the hill towards him, Pauline forgotten.
He had heard her above the sound of the music and came running to meet her. They collided and fell to the ground where they rolled over on the grass together, oblivious of the people in the gardens below them. They lay face to face, feeling the flow of the other’s breath.
‘What have you been doing?’
‘Drinking Singapore Slings.’
‘Did I ever tell you you were beautiful?’
She had no time to answer for his mouth had found hers.
They lay until the band had ceased to play and the light had waned. People were starting to move out of the garden. The attendants would soon lock the gates.
‘Come on,’ said Richard, lifting Willa onto her feet. ‘Let’s go up higher.’
It was darker higher up, out of reach of the street lights. There was only a small slice of moon. They heard the attendants’ distant voices calling closing time. In a little while it became very quiet inside the gardens except for the swish of traffic moving along Princes Street.
‘What are you wearing?’ Richard ran his hands down her body.
‘Chiffon.’
‘It feels like a spider’s web. Oh, Willa, I love you so much I want to shout it out all over Edinburgh.’
He kissed her again and then, what she had vowed should never happen, happened. Now that it had, their coming together seemed to be so easy, so inevitable, like something that they had been gradually moving towards and which nothing could prevent for, at that moment, the world beyond did not exist. There was no question of resisting.
~ 16 ~
Suva, Fiji
Dear Willa,
Thought you’d like to see what a Fijian man looks like.
It’ll give you a laugh.
Tommy xxx
‘Gey funny-looking hair,’ said the postman who, as a matter of course, examined all postcards before delivering them.
‘Seven inches deep, so I believe,’ said Willa, making to close the door.
‘Could nest a couple of birds in there.’
‘Cheerio now, Sandy!’
Ina and Malcolm were still sleeping, thank God for that at least. Willa had been at the window watching for Pauline when she’d seen the postie cross the road. She’d opened the door before he could ring the bell and wake the sleepers.
She’d risen early, having gone to bed late, very late. Two o’clock had been striking when Richard had finally kissed her goodbye at the bottom door. She’d crept up the stairs in her stained, ragged chiffon dress and prayed that Tommy’s mother would be asleep. She had been, deep asleep, in bed, lying on her back snoring, with Malcolm curled up against her side, breathing softly. Willa had wanted to lean over and kiss his flushed cheek but had dared not. She had closed the door on the sleepers and crawled into her own bed where she’d dozed restlessly.
The first thing she had done on rising was fetch some vinegar from the kitchen and go into the bathroom where she’d mixed it with warm water and used her douche. She had then buried her dress in the bucket, under a pile of vegetable peelings.
With the postcard in her hand, she went back to the window to look down on the street. There was still no sign of Pauline. It was nearly eight o’clock and Malcolm would be sure to wake soon. The St Cuthbert milk cart was parked at the kerb below while the milkman moved from door to door with his crates of bottles. Willa ran down the stairs.
‘We could do with a couple of pints,’ she said.
‘I was coming up.’
‘Thought I’d just come down. It’s a nice morning.’ Willa stroked the horse’s nose. Sometimes she brought him a carrot but not this morning.
When she glanced up she saw a cab coming round the clock. It pulled neatly into the space behind the milk cart.
‘Somebody’s in the money,’ said the milkman.
The taxi door opened, and out stepped Pauline. The black fringe round her red hemline had become detached at one side and was hanging down. Her red headband was missing and her hair no longer looked sleek.
‘Had a good night out, hen?’ asked the milkman.
Pauline was not looking at them.
‘Come on,’ said Willa, taking her by the arm and managing to juggle the two milk bottles at the same time. ‘Let’s get you up the stairs before Ina wakes and all hell’s let loose.’
She had just got Pauline into her room and shut the door when she heard Ina’s voice.
‘Willa, are you up?’
‘I’m coming!’
Willa went out. Ina was standing in the lobby in her voluminous off-white interlock nightdress with her hair screwed into tight steel curlers. She had Malcolm in her arms. Willa took him from her and kissed the top of his head.
‘He’s dirty,’ said his grandmother.
‘I’ll change him,’ said Willa. ‘And then I’ll put the kettle on.’
She went into the bathroom and changed his nappy. It was heavily soiled and she wondered how long he’d lain in it. His bottom looked chapped.
‘There you are, my little love,’ she said, smiling down at him where he lay peaceably, face-up, on her knee. It was not often he was so docile, usually only first thing in the morning when he had not quite emerged from sleep. By the time she took him through to the kitchen he was struggling to be put down. She gave him a rusk to keep him going until he had his porridge. She had weaned him a couple of weeks ago after he’d decided he’d had enough breast milk. He was a child who was going to want to take his own decisions.
Ina was sitting at the kitchen table. ‘The kettle’s on.’
‘I’ll make the tea.’
‘What time did you come in last night?’
‘Didn’t really notice. Will I put your porridge on?’
‘It was gone eleven before Malkie and I went to our bed.’
‘Must have been not long after that.’
‘And what about Madam Pauline?’
‘She’s still in bed.’
‘Shouldn’t she have been out delivering the morning papers for Bunty?’
�
�She wasn’t feeling too well first thing.’
‘And what’s Bunty meant to do? That girl’s bone lazy, if you ask me.’
Willa poured the boiling water into the teapot and stirred it round with the tea leaves. The pot was a big Brown Betty that Ina had had since she got married. One day, thought Willa, she would have a nice new china teapot of her own with roses on it and cups and a milk jug to match. She had wanted to buy a set when Tommy had been home on leave the last time but he’d said, ‘What’s the point? Mother’s cupboards are full of stuff.’ So they were. Her stuff. All the good china stayed in the cupboard to be admired behind the glass and was brought out only on high days. About four times a year, such as when the minister called. The rest of the time they used the old chipped cups and cracked plates. Tommy couldn’t understand why she was bothered. There was a lot about her that he didn’t understand and he wouldn’t ever try, she knew that.
‘Where did you go, the two of you?’ asked Ina.
‘We had a walk in the gardens. It was a nice night and there were lots of people out. There was a band too.’ Willa talked on.
‘I used to enjoy a walk in the gardens on a warm evening.’ Ina sounded wistful, which was not like her.
‘Did you used to go there with Tommy’s dad?’
Ina shrugged, her pensive mood quickly banished. ‘I might have done. How’s the porridge coming on?’
‘Nearly done.’ Willa gave it a stir. ‘We could go down to the gardens one evening if you’d like and take Malcolm in his pram.’
‘Depends on the weather.’
Willa lifted Malcolm into his high chair and tied a bib round his neck, ignoring his protests. She put out two platefuls of porridge, one for Baby Bear, the other for Grandma Bear.
‘You not having any?’ asked Ina.
‘I’m not hungry this morning.’
‘What’s that in your hair?’
Willa put a hand to it.
‘Lean over, let me see. Looks like a bit of stick.’ Ina extracted a piece of twig from the back of Willa’s hair. ‘Where in the name did you get that?’
