by Anne Douglas
‘To be fair, some do,’ Ellie remarked. ‘At least, until the strike stops ’em getting the trains they want, and such like.’
‘Might have done better not to have had a general strike,’ Kitty said brightly. ‘Maybe there’d have been more sympathy if the miners had just come out on their own.’
‘They need more than sympathy,’ said Sheana. ‘They need the owners to pay ’em their proper wages. I bet that never happens, strike or no strike.’
Though not forgetting the miners and their woes, on the evening she was to meet Mark, Isla was preoccupied with what she should wear. It was a perennial problem for women, of course, but hers was special for she was determined not to wear anything when seeing Mark that she’d worn when seeing Grant. Which meant, of course, that she didn’t have much choice, for after she’d cleared out all the clothes that reminded her of Grant, there wasn’t much left. Oh, Lord, what should she do?
‘Och, just wear a summer dress and a cardigan,’ Sheana advised. ‘It’s a lovely evening – where’s the problem?’
‘You think this one will do?’ asked Isla, holding up a dark blue dress she’d worn several times. ‘Just with my white cardigan?’
‘Perfect. Now get yourself away, or you’ll be late. Don’t want the poor chap sitting in his car in the drive and everyone wondering what he’s up to, eh?’
‘Oh, don’t!’ cried Isla, Dressing in haste, she dabbed on some lipstick, combed her hair and ran through the hydro to the front door, just in time to see Mark pulling in on the dot of half past six.
How had it happened, she wondered, that when she’d wanted to look her best, she’d ended up in such a scramble that she must look as though she’d been pulled through a hedge backwards? But as Mark ran round to open the passenger door for her and she took her seat, she quite suddenly relaxed, for she’d seen the welcoming look in those brown eyes of his and knew that he hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing. He just wanted to be with her – that was plain – and as she wanted to be with him, on this first date they were together, she was truly content.
‘I thought we’d take the Galashiels road,’ he told her as they drove away. ‘There’s a nice little restaurant I know where we can have a meal, and then maybe walk a bit. That all right?’
‘Sounds wonderful. And we’re so lucky – it’s such a lovely evening.’
Driving through the countryside, decked out in fine May colours, with all the trees and hedges freshly green and spilling blossom, Isla felt buoyed up with a serenity that was almost joy. Until she sensed that Mark was not with her, not feeling quite as much as she was feeling, and was instantly brought down to earth.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Fine. It’s just that – well, have you not heard the news?’
‘What news?’
‘The TUC have called off the strike.’
A shadow seemed to fall over the radiant colours around them, and for a moment Isla closed her eyes. When she opened them, the shadow was still there.
‘Oh, no,’ she said quietly. ‘No, Mark, it’s too soon. They haven’t given it time.’
‘They’ve done it, anyway.’
‘When? When was it called off? We haven’t heard anything.’
‘Only happened today. A client came into the office; someone had telephoned him from London.’ Mark shrugged. ‘It’ll be all over the papers tomorrow.’
‘What about the miners? Are they going back to work?’
‘No, they’re staying out. They’re not giving up.’
‘“Not a penny off the pay, not a minute off the day”,’ Isla said sadly. ‘Who will listen to them now?’
For some time, Mark drove in silence, then he gave Isla a quick glance and shook his head.
‘Look, I’m sorry, Isla, I shouldn’t have told you – not yet. I knew you’d be upset.’
‘Of course you should have told me, Mark! I am upset, thinking about the families, the poor wives and bairns, wondering how they’ll manage, but I don’t want to pretend nothing’s happened. Where would be the point in that?’
‘I know, I suppose I was just thinking – I didn’t want to spoil our evening. Being selfish, you see.’
‘It needn’t spoil our evening.’ She waited a moment, then said quietly, ‘I like being with you, anyway.’
‘Do you, Isla?’
‘I always have. Even when you were a patient, I always looked forward to seeing you.’ She laughed gently. ‘Seem to remember crying on your shoulder once or twice.’
‘And you told me I wasn’t supposed to hold you, didn’t you?’ Mark was laughing a little, too. ‘Well, maybe now’s the time to tell you that I always liked being with you. If anyone came instead of you, I always felt badly done to, nice though they were. Just weren’t Isla, you see.’
But Isla was thinking, trying to come to terms with the news, searching for a way to do something …
‘You know, Mark, I can’t help feeling guilty about it – I mean, having a nice evening with you, while the miners must be feeling terrible – but maybe we needn’t have a special dinner? Maybe we could just go into Galashiels and have a light meal, or something?’
At that, Mark shook his head. ‘You think that would help? We never have a restaurant meal again? I told you once I always felt bad, thinking of what I spend compared with what the miners can afford, but I don’t know what the answer is. Except give to their funds.’
‘But tonight, couldn’t we find somewhere cheaper?’
‘Would it make you happier?’
‘I think it would.’
‘Right, we’ll make for Galashiels. Let’s hope we can find somewhere.’
‘If we don’t, we can always go back to Ma’s and I could make us omelettes. Without mushrooms, I’m afraid.’
‘Ah, Isla, I don’t give a damn about food!’ Mark exclaimed, beginning to speed up his driving. ‘We’ve said we like being with each other – that’s what matters.’
Yes, that was the truth of it, Isla thought, for though this was the first time they’d gone out together, they already knew each other quite well. Already knew they liked being in each other’s company, sharing that affinity she’d noticed from the very early days, and however they spent this evening, those were, as Mark had said, the things that mattered.
Fifty-Eight
As it happened, when they reached Galashiels, a busy Borders town, specially known for its textiles, they soon found a small café which was exactly what they were looking for. There were things on toast, sausages, fish pie or macaroni cheese, with jam tart or apple crumble to follow, tea or coffee, but no alcohol.
‘Sorry, folks, we don’t have a licence,’ the waitress told them cheerfully. ‘We reckon we’re cheerful enough without.’
‘Too right,’ Mark commented when they’d ordered fish pie and apple crumble. ‘This menu makes me think I’m a schoolboy again – all my favourites are here! How about you, Isla?’
‘Well, we’re not giving up much, are we?’ she asked ruefully. ‘I mean, these things are my favourites, too.’
‘It is cheaper, though. As I said, we could put all we’ve saved on wine and such into the funds for the families.’
As she still looked dubious, Mark caught her hand.
‘It was a good idea, Isla, and shows you’re a caring person – which I knew, anyway. Maybe it wasn’t practical, but it’s worth something, to know we wanted to make a difference.’
‘I suppose so.’ Her brow cleared. ‘Yes, you’re right.’
Their meal came, and for some time they ate in silence, until Mark said, ‘Penny for them, Isla. You seem far away.’
‘No, I’m not.’ She blushed a little. ‘I was just thinking about something you said once. About having had your share of disappointments?’
‘Oh, yes?’ He smiled at that. ‘Fancy your remembering.’
‘It’s not so strange. I was wondering – seems awful, asking you – who’d been disappointing you.’
; She put her knife and fork together and sat back, her face still pink as her eyes slid away from his. ‘You needn’t say if you don’t want to.’
‘Isla, I don’t in the least mind talking about them – that’s if I can remember who they were! But here comes the waitress with our puddings. Hang on till she’s gone.’
When they were alone, eating their crumbles, Mark said he’d have to take a trip down Memory Lane if Isla really wanted to know about his old loves.
‘I do, Mark, just out of interest.’
‘Can’t see the interest now; it’s all so long ago. But there were three heartbreakers, if I remember rightly. One worked in the admin department of the university where I was a student. She emigrated to Australia with a rugby player. Another was Dad’s receptionist, about five years older than me – said she was too old and got engaged to a wealthy patient who used to come to the surgery. Last one – now, who was she? Ah, yes, Joanna, I think she was called – she seemed ideal. Met her at a dance a friend dragged me to – only in the end, she preferred the friend.’
Mark laughed as he finished his crumble.
‘Isla, I was a broken man – for about a week. We’re not talking about real relationships here – just the sort of casual thing a young fellow could get involved in. Probably it was the same for you in the early days?’
His tone was light and Isla knew he wasn’t talking about Grant Revie; there’d been nothing casual about her feelings for him.
‘Oh, yes, I did go out with one or two people,’ she admitted. ‘It was before I started nursing and there was never anything serious.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘That came later. We needn’t say any more.’
‘You won’t mind if I ask … that is well and truly over?’
‘Oh, well and truly!’ she cried, looking up. ‘And I couldn’t be more relieved!’
‘Let’s have some coffee,’ Mark said, smiling.
The light was finally fading when they came out of the little café and took their seats in Mark’s car.
‘Time’s getting on,’ he observed. ‘I suppose you shouldn’t be too late back at the hydro? Eleven o’clock, is it?’
‘They prefer eleven,’ she agreed, unwillingly recalling that she had once given the same information to Grant Revie. Why did such memories haunt her? There was no doubt that she felt truly happy, truly relaxed with Mark, and if there were to be comparisons, he came off better than Grant every time. Which meant that if memories of Grant came into her mind, they meant nothing. It was only natural that she should remember being with him, even though she was with Mark, because … well, you couldn’t just cut out the past, could you? What you did was concentrate on the happier present, as she was doing now, as they drove through the darkening countryside on their way back to Edgemuir.
So far, Mark had not stopped in some secluded lane. Isla had been wondering if he would, but she somehow wasn’t really expecting that he would. This was their first real date, and although she was over her feelings for someone else, he might be thinking he should be cautious, should not rush her. Yet they’d already had their first kiss and it had seemed to promise … well, more.
But as her mind was crowding with these thoughts, Mark did in fact turn suddenly off the main road. They had been driving by the river, a chain of hills not clearly visible in deepening darkness rising on their right, and very soon, Isla knew, they would be on the outskirts of Edgemuir. Where there would be people and lights.
‘Shall we stop for a bit?’ asked Mark. ‘Just to say goodnight?’
Promise. If there had been promise in that first kiss outside her home, it was now certainly fulfilled, as they stepped out of the car and slid into each other’s arms, kissing gently, kissing strongly, until slowly, reluctantly, after an age they quietly drew apart and returned to the car.
‘Oh, Isla, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that,’ Mark murmured, his breath coming fast and for a moment worrying Isla that he was going to cough. But he didn’t, only continued to smile at her in the darkness, while she ran her hand down his face, then smoothed back his dark hair.
‘And I’ve wondered if you would.’
‘I never thought the time would come. But then we met again.’
‘You knew where I would be.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t think … I didn’t know if you were really – you know – free.’
‘I’m glad you know now.’
‘So am I!’
They were silent for a while, then Mark took a torch and looked at his watch.
‘Help! It’s getting on for eleven! I’ve got to get you back to the hydro, Isla.’
‘It won’t matter if I’m a bit late.’
‘It will be easier if you’re not.’
After his smooth, fast driving on the quiet roads, she wasn’t late at all, which she was in fact relieved about as there need then be no teasing from her room-mates. First, though, there was the real goodnight which they said at the gates, without kisses, of course, but with quick pressing of the hands and exchanges of long looks.
‘When can we meet again?’ Mark asked, and after she’d given him the date of her next free evening, it was arranged that now the trains would be back, she’d travel into Edinburgh and they’d meet at Haymarket station.
‘Should be in at six,’ she told him, preparing to leave him.
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Where shall we go?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll have something booked. Goodnight, Isla.’
‘Goodnight, Mark. Thanks for the lovely evening.’
‘My pleasure.’
And mine, thought Isla. More than she’d anticipated, perhaps. For so long, Mark had been her patient – now, he seemed to have become her lover. Was she his? This man who had been her special friend? Friends need not be lovers. But as she returned to her room, preparing to be quite noncommittal about her evening if anyone asked, she felt she was walking on air. A sign of being in love, if ever there was one.
Fifty-Nine
After that first evening together, Isla and Mark began to see each other as often as Isla’s free time would allow, which wasn’t as often as they would have liked. Sometimes, although she still loved her work, Isla found herself wishing she had a nine-to-five job like Mark, with every evening off, but really she knew she shouldn’t complain; they still managed to meet regularly, and when they did – on long light evenings, or the occasional Sunday – she was totally happy, confident that Mark felt the same.
Sometimes, they’d meet in Edinburgh and go to a theatre or a cinema, sometimes stopping off at Mark’s home, where they might meet his father and be given tea by Mrs Fernie, the housekeeper. More often, though, Mark would collect Isla from the hydro and they’d drive into the country, where they’d walk, spend time passionately kissing, and eventually stop somewhere for a meal before returning to Edgemuir, for a prolonged goodnight.
Only two things marred this new relationship for Isla. One was concern for Mark’s health. She guessed that he kept from her any bad bouts he’d had, but there were times when he could not conceal his coughing, which he preferred her not to mention, and she could only feel frustration.
‘It’s difficult for me,’ she told him once, ‘I want to help.’
‘I’m fine,’ he answered. ‘This passes. I can cope – no need to worry.’
At least, the symptoms were intermittent, and their being together brought such joy that Isla learned not to make too much of Mark’s problems and tried to put them to the back of her mind.
But then there was the other thing that bothered her: why, when they were so obviously in love, had Mark never put his feelings into words? Well, of course, neither had she, but she was chary of being the first to speak, being well trained as a woman to believe that the man should make the first move.
It was simple enough, wasn’t it? All he had to say were the three little words – I love you. They would mean so much; for women they always did. Many men, everyone knew, were happy eno
ugh to make love and never give a thought to what women might want, but Isla was sure Mark was not like that. He was one who cared for others; he would know, surely, that Isla, who had once been so hurt, would appreciate commitment, would need to hear those words lovers down the ages had always been ready to say: I love you. But Mark never said them.
There was nothing she could do and sometimes, she had to admit, she felt a bit down, even wondering whether there was a divide between her and Mark. He was, after all, a professional and from a professional family, and she was not, but she quickly dismissed the thought from her mind. Not just because she truly believed she and her family were as good as anyone, but because she knew Mark wasn’t the sort to mind about such distinctions – and even to consider he might be was to do him an injustice.
But, then, there was his father. Maybe he did not approve of her? Parents’ views could matter. Whenever she’d met Mr Kinnaird, though, he’d been most friendly and courteous, no hint of disapproval in his welcome, and the more she reflected on him, the less she thought he could be the reason Mark seemed not to want their relationship to progress.
On one occasion, when they were having tea with Mr Kinnaird in his handsome drawing room, furnished with heavy mahogany furniture, loose-covered chairs and a chesterfield, her eyes fell again on a photograph of Mark’s mother, a sweet-faced woman with dark hair like Mark’s and large expressive eyes.
How would she have seen me? Isla wondered, deciding that if she’d thought Isla could make Mark happy, Mrs Kinnaird would have welcomed her. Just as her own mother had welcomed Mark. At the thought of Nan, Isla groaned inwardly. It was getting more and more difficult facing her mother’s bright questioning eyes when she had nothing to tell her, especially as the weeks were going by – soon it would be September – and Isla couldn’t really say she and Mark didn’t know each other well enough to be serious.
It didn’t help that both Sheana and Ellie had become engaged. Yes, there they were, sporting their rings and talking of wedding plans, with everyone congratulating them, and Larry and Barty, and sending sideways glances at Isla, who was truly as happy for her friends as everyone else. It was not that she wanted a ring herself, anyway; only that she envied the plans for the future that the others had.
