The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘I’m going to say something to you now. I should not be saying it. Not now. Not so soon after Tom’s death and on the very day we’ve held a service for him. I’ll probably be condemned to eternal damnation for it.’ She gave a wry smile and hurried on. ‘And I don’t want you to say – or do anything – when I’ve said it. I just want you to go. But it has to be said. I – I can’t let you go back without you knowing – how – how I feel about you.’

  She saw him start physically, saw the flame of hope leap into his eyes. He breathed her name, ‘Jeannie.’ Just that. Just her name. ‘Jeannie.’

  ‘I was very fond of Tom,’ she went on. ‘He was a good man. A good husband and father and I – I thought I could love him.’

  She thought back now in her own mind, but not saying the words aloud, how she had believed that Tom Lawrence would be like his father who had reminded her so much of her own beloved father. She had been disillusioned and yet she was still able to say quite truthfully that Tom had been a good man.

  ‘I loved him but I was never in love with him. I never knew what it was to fall in love until . . .’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘Until I met you.’

  ‘Jeannie . . .’ He was up and out of his chair and taking the two strides that it took to reach her.

  ‘No, no,’ she cried and held up her hands, palms outwards, to fend him off. ‘Please, don’t. Don’t say or do anything. It wouldn’t – wouldn’t be right. It’s bad enough that – that I’m even saying this at all. Please . . . don’t.’

  Reluctantly he sank back into the chair.

  Flatly now, she said, ‘I just had to say something. I couldn’t let you go back without – without telling you. I mean, Havelock could be bombed or you could . . .’ The words stuck in her throat.

  His face was serious but there was more life and hope in his eyes than she could ever remember seeing. ‘I’ll come back to you, Jeannie. I promise you. And you – you take care of yourself.’

  He rose from his chair. ‘And now I must go or I shall be guilty of an action that I might well feel ashamed of.’ They looked at each other, their eyes meeting as they both remembered. He smiled and said softly, ‘And I wouldn’t want that to happen. Not again.’

  As he passed close to her on his way to the door, he touched her shoulder gently. ‘Remember I love you, Jeannie, as I have never loved another woman in my life. It feels as if I have loved you for ever.’

  And then he was gone, closing the door behind him. As she heard the back-door close too, Jeannie picked up a cushion from the sofa and buried her face against it to stifle the sobs that would no longer be held in check.

  Robert felt guilty at feeling so happy. It didn’t seem right that he should be so full of hope and actually, for the first time for as long as he could remember, looking forward to the future. Not when that future was only going to happen because of the death of two people: his wife Louise and Tom Lawrence. And yet, he couldn’t help it. But for a while he must keep his happiness in check. He was still supposed to be mourning his wife and paying respectful tribute to a man who had been his employee and a shipmate in wartime.

  But privately Robert dreamt of a future with Jeannie and he couldn’t stop himself from making plans. After the war was over – and it must be soon – he would return home. He would pay court to Jeannie properly and openly and after a decent interval they would be married. He would sell the house Louise had furnished and decorated with her own individual taste. It had never, for a moment, been his and he would buy Jeannie another home. No, no, he corrected himself, this time they would buy one together.

  So it was with a happy heart and bounce in his step that Robert strode up the gangway of the minesweeper with an air of ‘Let’s get this damned war finished and get home again’.

  Thirty-Seven

  Now why, Jeannie questioned over the following days, had Aggie attended Tom’s funeral? She was deliberately trying to keep her thoughts from straying to Robert and at least the puzzle gave her something else to concentrate her mind on. The boys had returned to sea and the house, with just her and Nell in it, was lonely. Nell was no company now for she spent her days lost in a little world of her own. Jeannie wondered if she even realized that she had now lost every member of her family except her grandsons.

  So, with the figure of the black-clad woman still in her thoughts, the day Jeannie opened the back-door to find Aggie standing there was no surprise.

  ‘May I come in?’

  Jeannie hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. Nell was in the front room, asleep on the couch. There could be no harm, Jeannie thought, in Aggie stepping into their kitchen. Just for a moment.

  She nodded and held the door open.

  Aggie stood in the centre of the homely kitchen and looked about her, as if drinking in the scene and committing it to memory. Slowly she pulled her gloves from her hands and moved towards the wooden chair near the fireplace and ran her fingers over its smooth high back.

  ‘Was this George’s chair?’ she asked and as she turned to look at her, Jeannie was shocked to see tears shimmering in her eyes.

  Jeannie nodded and then said, ‘Won’t you sit down? Would you like a cup of tea?’

  But Aggie seemed not to be listening. She was still standing looking down at the time-worn chair and then, very slowly, she moved round and sat down in it.

  Jeannie set the kettle to boil and a few moments later she held out a cup of tea to the woman without even asking further if she would like it.

  Taking it, Aggie said, ‘You must be wondering why I’ve come?’

  ‘Aye, well. I suppose I am.’

  Jeannie sat down in the chair opposite and waited.

  ‘Where’s Nell? I don’t want to upset her.’

  Jeannie gestured with her head towards the next room. ‘Asleep. Besides, I shouldna worry. Her mind’s . . . Well, let’s just say she might not even remember who you are.’

  ‘Poor Nell,’ Aggie murmured. ‘To come to this. I wouldn’t have wished this on her, not even though I’ve detested her for years.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Though not, I suspect, as much as she has hated me.’

  Once more, as she had been on the few occasions she had come into contact with Aggie Turnbull, Jeannie was surprised at the cultured tones of this woman.

  ‘And I don’t hate her now. Not any more,’ Aggie was saying. ‘She hasn’t deserved all the tragedy that has befallen her. To lose her husband . . .’ the voice quavered a little, ‘and both her children.’

  Jeannie said nothing but she was thinking, the nerve of this woman! To sit here in Nell’s kitchen and talk of her loss as if they had been bosom friends, when in fact Aggie had played a part in Grace’s downfall. The very nerve . . .

  The blue eyes were now regarding Jeannie steadily. ‘I’m not as black as I’m painted, you know. I loved Grace like my own daughter.’ The smile on her mouth was wistful now. ‘If things had been different, she might well have been my daughter. She should have been my daughter. Not Nell McDonald’s.’

  ‘What – what do you mean?’

  Aggie leant her head back against the chair. ‘George Lawrence and me. We were walking out together. We’d talked about getting engaged to be married. A proper engagement, you know. For a year or so. Not like now when they’re rushing to the altar. Living for today because they don’t know if there’s even going to be a tomorrow.’

  Jeannie stiffened and gripped the arms of her chair. But she did not interrupt Aggie.

  ‘Yes, we were going to be married. Me and George.’ There was a pause and then a bitter note crept into her tone as she said, ‘And then the herring girls came and with them, Nell McDonald.’

  For a long moment there was silence and as Jeannie opened her mouth to prompt Aggie in her story, there was a sudden noise and both women in the kitchen jumped as the door opened and Nell stood there, as if on cue.

  Nell glanced from one to the other and then her gaze rested on Aggie. Jeannie watched in amazement as recognition flared in Nell’s
eyes. Gone, in an instant, was the vacant look of the past months. Nell’s eyes flashed and her mouth tightened.

  ‘What is she doing in my kitchen?’ she asked and her tone spat venom. Already Aggie was rising from the chair, setting her cup on the table and reaching for her gloves. ‘I’ll be going, Jeannie. I don’t want to upset her.’

  ‘Her? Her? I have a name.’

  ‘I know your name. Only too well.’ Now Jeannie could see that Aggie’s patience was at an end. ‘Oh yes, I know your name all right, Nell McDonald.’

  ‘Lawrence,’ Nell screeched. ‘And dinna you be forgetting it.’

  ‘I’m not likely to do that, Nell. Since you’re the one who wrecked my life.’

  ‘Oho, so it’s ma fault you became a whore, is it? But you took revenge right enough, didn’t you? Taking my daughter down the way you did.’

  Softly now and sadly, Aggie said, ‘I would never have harmed a hair of her head. Grace was the daughter I never had. The daughter I should have had. His daughter.’

  Nell seemed about to speak, but Aggie had control now and held up her hand. ‘No, Nell, you shall hear me out. After all these years, you shall know the truth. When George fell in love with you and left me, it broke my heart. And my heart never mended. Oh, I was foolish, I admit that. I went a little mad for a while. I thought I could fill my life with fun and laughter and – and other men. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late. All too late. My reputation was in shreds.’ She nodded towards Nell. ‘Aye and you did your share in spreading the gossip. So, I did become what everyone said I was. But there was no one, not any man, who could ever fill George’s shoes. And then Grace came into my life. A little piece of the man I loved. I had watched her grow, and Tom, too, from a distance, and then suddenly, she came to my house one day. She came for a little fun. To dress up and look pretty for while.’ She leant forward. ‘For a few hours she wanted to get away from the stink of fish and the net on the wall and the worry of wondering whether her father and her brother were going to come home again from the sea. She just wanted a little harmless fun, Nell. That was all.’

  ‘All? All, you say? To become a – a whore, like you? To – to . . .’ Nell spluttered, her mouth unable to form the dreadful words.

  Aggie was shaking her head. ‘Now that is where you’re wrong, Nell. Grace never lay with any other man than Francis Hayes-Gorton. And that only because she loved him and believed he loved her.’

  Nell advanced towards Aggie threateningly. ‘How dare you even speak of my daughter in that way!’

  ‘Oh I dare, Nell, because it’s the truth. I’ve only come here today because I wanted Jeannie to know the truth. I no longer hate you, Nell. I feel sorry for you . . .’

  ‘I’m no’ needin’ your pity,’ Nell spat, but Aggie carried on as if she had not spoken. ‘I feel sorry that you have lost them all now. You don’t deserve that. And no mother should go to her grave believing her daughter a bad woman. She wasn’t, Nell, truly she wasn’t.’

  For a moment Nell stared at the woman and then suddenly her features crumpled and she covered her face with her hands. Swiftly, Jeannie moved to her and put her arms about her, holding her close. Over her shoulder, she said, ‘I think you’d better leave,’ but the words of dismissal were not spoken harshly but with more understanding than Jeannie had ever thought she would be able to use towards Aggie Turnbull.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Aggie whispered and she made to leave. ‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’

  With head bowed, Aggie passed through the back door and closed it quietly behind her.

  Thirty-Eight

  They spent a restless night. Jeannie lay awake listening to Nell tossing and turning in the next room, anxious lest Aggie’s visit would tip the elderly woman completely into the realms of confusion. In the morning she was surprised to find that Nell was up early and downstairs in the kitchen, singing. When Jeannie descended the stairs, her head aching behind her eyes after only brief snatches of sleep throughout the night, she was startled to find Nell standing at the kitchen wall, braiding the net.

  For a moment, time took a tilt and she thought she was back in the early days when she had first come to this house.

  ‘The porridge is on the hob, hen,’ Nell said and glanced up briefly. She turned back to her work, but not before Jeannie had noticed that her eyes were unnaturally large and bright, though her fingers were working with the easy rhythm of old.

  ‘Right,’ Jeannie said, moving forward, glancing at Nell warily for she did not know quite what to make of this sudden change, this recapturing of her old vigour. Then Jeannie shrugged. Oh well, she told herself. Perhaps it had needed a shock to jolt Nell from her lethargy.

  Jeannie fervently hoped so.

  The day continued as it had begun. Nell even hummed softly to herself as she worked.

  ‘You should rest now,’ Jeannie said in the middle of the afternoon. ‘It’s lovely to see you back to your old self, but don’t try to overdo it.’

  Nell cast her a puzzled glance. ‘My old self? Why, haven’t I been?’

  ‘Well.’ Jeannie cast about in her mind for words that were not a lie, but would not tell the whole truth. ‘We’ve both been a bit under the weather recently, haven’t we?’

  Again, a quick glance and a smile, but Nell’s fingers never stopped.

  Jeannie longed to question Nell about Aggie’s visit and the meaning behind all that had been said. But she dared not take the risk.

  Maybe I’ll go and see Aggie myself sometime and find out, Jeannie promised herself. Maybe tomorrow, when I’ve seen Nell up and about, I can slip out. But today, I don’t want to leave her.

  Jeannie’s glance rested again upon the woman who was her mother-in-law, her son’s grandmother and Sammy’s too. How good it was to see her back to her old self.

  The following morning Jeannie was first down to the kitchen, half an ear listening for signs of Nell moving about upstairs. When eight thirty came and she had not appeared, Jeannie went up the stairs and tapped on the bedroom door. ‘May I come in?’

  There was no reply, so Jeannie opened the door. ‘Gran?’

  In the half light shining through the drawn curtains, it seemed as if Nell was still asleep, lying on her back, her arms resting above the covers. Jeannie moved across the room, opened the curtains and then came back to stand beside the bed. She touched Nell’s shoulder and bent over her. ‘Gran?’ she said again, but already she knew.

  Nell had died, quite peacefully, in her sleep.

  The boys got compassionate leave once more only a few weeks after Tom’s death.

  ‘I got a bit of flak from my skipper.’ Joe grimaced. ‘Asked me how many more relatives I’d got who were likely to pop off so that I could wangle more leave. I told him, there’s only me mam and even Hitler wouldn’t dare to bomb her.’ He tried to grin, but it was an effort. Both boys had been very fond of their grandmother and she had never been a cause of animosity between them.

  ‘I’ve only got forty-eight hours,’ Sammy said quietly. ‘Mine was quite good about it, surprisingly, ’cos he can be a right bastard about everything else.’ They were serving on different ships now and saw little of each other.

  ‘Sammy . . .’ Jeannie said warningly.

  ‘Sorry, Mam, but he is. Anyway, I explained about Dad and told him I thought probably the shock had affected Gran worse than we knew. I mean, when we came home for his funeral service, I thought it was all sort of – well – passing her by.’

  Jeannie smiled sadly. ‘I wish you could have seen her that last day. She was just like her old self. Giving Aggie Turnbull a piece of her mind . . .’

  ‘Aggie Turnbull?’ Both young men spoke at once. Then Joe said, ‘She was here? In this house?’ and Sammy asked, ‘Why?’

  Jeannie shrugged and said slowly, ‘There’s a mystery somewhere. Something to do with years ago and George – your grandfather. But whatever it was, it certainly roused Nell out of her – well – whatever it was she was in.’

&nb
sp; Joe glowered. ‘More than likely that’s what killed her.’

  Jeannie stared at him. ‘Oh no, dinna say that. It’s no’ fair. She died of a stroke.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Joe said grimly. ‘Brought on by the likes of Aggie Turnbull daring to set foot in this house. I’m surprised at you, Mam, even letting her across the threshold.’

  Jeannie stared at him. Standing there, a scowl on his handsome features, she had never seen Joe look so very like his father. It was almost as if Tom had come back to life.

  And then Sammy spoke in his gentle voice in a tone so reminiscent of his Uncle Robert, that Jeannie was forced to reach out to the nearest chair for support. ‘Aggie’s not so bad. She . . .’

  Joe turned on him viciously. ‘Oh aye. Know her well, do ya? Been visiting her whorehouse?’ Then he turned and slammed out of the room, leaving Jeannie and a red-faced Sammy staring at each other.

  ‘I’ve come to see Sammy, really,’ Robert said, as he removed his hat and stepped into the house by the front door. His voice dropped to a whisper as he added, ‘But it’s a good excuse to see you.’

  ‘Ssh, they’ll hear you,’ Jeannie said and felt herself blushing.

  She led him through the front room and into the kitchen, raising her voice to say, ‘They’re both in here. You’ve only just caught them. They’re away in an hour.’

  Both young men rose to their feet as Jeannie said, ‘Mr Robert’s come to see you, Sammy.’

  Jeannie beckoned Joe to follow her from the room, leaving Robert and Sammy alone, but Robert held up his hand. ‘No, no, please don’t go. That is unless Sammy has any objections?’

  He looked towards the young man whose face was set in mutiny. ‘I’ve nowt to say that they don’t know already, mister.’

  ‘I see,’ Robert said slowly and cast a look at Jeannie, raising his eyebrows slightly in a question. But Jeannie lowered her gaze.

  There was a tension in the room already as Robert sat himself at the table opposite Sammy. ‘It seems I’ve left it a little late if you’re leaving shortly, but Edwin and I would like you to come to the office to discuss the future of the company. As you know . . .’