Cousins at War (11 page)

‘Aye, she’s a bit too toffee-nosed.’

‘I bet she’s a virgin.’

‘She’s not my type.’ Grinning, Alf gave him a push, ‘Move over, you lazy bugger. You’re taking up all the bed.’

Alf went home to Elgin the following afternoon, and when she had her son on his own, Gracie took him to task for not writing as often as he had done before, but he looked at her unrepentantly,
‘I’ve been going out quite a lot lately, and I didn’t have time to write.’

‘Was it a girl you were out with? Are you going steady?’

‘It wasn’t always the same girl. Connie, she’s the current one, well, she’s quite a good sort, but I’m not ready for anything serious yet.’

‘I should hope not. You’re still only eighteen.’

Considering it wise to change the subject, Neil said, ‘You and Dad both look well. Is the shop still doing OK?’

‘It’s doing fine. Your Dad’s pleased with himself, though he girns on about the rationing.’ Gracie would have liked to know more about this Connie he had been going out
with but didn’t ask.

At lunchtime, Neil said, ‘I think I’ll take a dander up to Rubislaw Den this afternoon.’

‘Hetty’ll be pleased to see you. I’m glad Olive went out with Alf. She could do a lot worse than him.’

Recalling his friend’s amorous adventures both at Larkhill and Cricklewood, Neil grinned. ‘I doubt it. I’d like to have a natter with Martin as well, so I likely won’t be
home at teatime.’

He left the house with his father and, as they walked up the street, Joe looked sideways at him. ‘What’s this your mother was telling me about . . . Connie, was it?’

Neil laughed. ‘She’s one of many. Let’s say I’m sowing my wild oats, the same as you, likely, when you were my age.’

‘No, I didn’t go with any girls before I asked your mother out, and that took me all my time. I’m right surprised that you’re going back to see Olive, though. I thought
you didn’t like her.’

‘I don’t.’ He considered telling his father about the plan Alf had thought up, but decided that it was too risky. ‘I just wondered what she thought of Alf.’

‘What did he think of her?’

‘Oh . . . I don’t think he was too struck with her.’

‘But he went out with her twice?’

Neil smiled, a little nervously. ‘That’s Alf all over. He can’t leave the girls alone.’

Stopping at the door of his shop, Joe said, slowly, ‘She’s one girl I’d advise both of you to leave alone. I sometimes think she’d never let go if she fell in
love.’

His father’s words had made Neil think, and by the time he rang Hetty’s bell, he was wondering if Alf’s idea had been such a good one, after all. His aunt welcomed him warmly
and took him into the sitting room, where they chatted until her son and daughter came home. ‘Look who’s here,’ she cried to them, skittishly.

Raymond rushed over, but Olive hung back until her mother said, ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to Neil?’

She came forward shyly, which was so unusual that Neil did not like to ask her any questions, and when Martin appeared he monopolised the young serviceman until Hetty told them to go through to
the dining room. To Neil’s relief, Olive took her seat at the opposite side of the table, and because his uncle talked to him all through the meal, he did not have to look at her. Back in the
sitting room, however, their eyes did meet occasionally, but he couldn’t place what he saw in hers . . . it surely couldn’t be pity? Whatever it was made him look away uneasily, and he
prayed that when Alf eventually gave her the cold shoulder she wouldn’t decide to latch on to him again.

Queenie, sixteen now, was beginning to think about boys. She had quite liked Alf Melville while he had been there, but he had been too smitten with Olive to notice her. Good
luck to him, Queenie mused, grinning as she reflected that he would need all the luck he could get if he were serious about her cousin. She hoped that he was, and that Olive felt the same way about
him, because she’d stop being so possessive about Neil. Queenie’s heart gave a tiny leap. She didn’t think of Neil as a brother now, and wondered if it was very wrong of her to
dream about him as a sweetheart. It was a vain dream, in any case – he was still treating her like a sister – and she had better put it out of her mind. There were other boys around;
boys who seemed to find her attractive and whistled at her when she passed. She enjoyed that, especially when it was Callum Birnie, who had gone even further and asked her out twice . . . though
she had refused him both times. Maybe she should accept if he asked again. If Neil knew she was going with a boy, he would realise that she was no longer a child, that she was actually a desirable
young woman.

Spotting Callum standing near the door when she arrived at school, Queenie gave him her sweetest smile – he was quite nice, really, just a bit too young for her liking – and his glum
face cleared. ‘You’re later than usual. I was wondering if you were sick, or something.’

She was thrilled that he had been waiting for her. ‘I was just dawdling.’

‘I wanted to ask you something. My dad gets complimentary tickets from His Majesty’s for displaying their playbills in his window. He can’t use them this week, so . . . would
you like to come with me?’

Queenie had never been to the theatre – she sometimes went to one of the cheaper cinemas with Patsy, but that was all – so this was too good a chance to miss. ‘I’d love
to.’

His blush, which had started when he asked her, grew much deeper at this. ‘Would you? Honestly?’

‘Honestly, and thanks for thinking about me.’

‘Tonight, ten past seven outside the door to the stalls?’

‘OK.’

Gracie wasn’t too happy about her niece going out with a boy, but Joe said, ‘Let her go. She needs some enjoyment.’

Patsy teased her a little, but not unkindly, then offered to make up her face, at which Gracie said, sharply, ‘I don’t want her looking like a tart. That would just be asking for
trouble. What kind of boy is this Callum, anyway?’

‘He’s nice, Auntie Gracie, he’s in my year at school.’

‘Oh, he’s the same age as you? I was a bit worried in case he was a lot older.’

Joe shook his head. ‘They’re just a couple of youngsters. They’ll not do anything wrong.’

‘I should hope not.’

Gracie’s mind would have been easy if she’d been a fly on the wall of His Majesty’s Theatre that night. Callum handed Queenie a small box of chocolates as they took their
seats, but she forgot about them until the interval. ‘I was carried away with the play,’ she apologised.

‘So was I,’ he laughed.

Over the next fifteen minutes, they discussed the plot and how it would end, commented on the scenery and had a look at the rest of the audience. The box of sweets was empty by the time the
lights dimmed, and they sat back in their seats to be enthralled all over again.

Out on the pavement afterwards, Queenie heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed anything so much. I’m glad you asked me.’

‘So’m I, though I didn’t really think you’d come. I can’t let you walk home on your own, though, so where d’you live?’

‘In King Street, and I’ll manage by myself. I’m not afraid of the dark.’

‘My dad said I had to see you home.’

Laughing, she said, ‘Then I can’t congratulate myself that it was your idea?’

‘Well . . . no, but I do want to. I couldn’t help noticing how . . . different you looked tonight.’

‘It’s my cousin’s make up,’ she chuckled, adding, a little apprehensively, ‘It’s not too much, is it?’

‘No, it makes you even prettier than you usually are.’

A warm glow spread through her. ‘Little grains of powder, little drops of paint, help to make a lady look like what she ain’t. That’s what my grandma used to say.’

‘You suit it, though. Um . . . Queenie, this won’t be the only time you’ll come out with me, will it?’

She was pleased by the uncertain pleading. ‘Maybe not.’

Callum slid his arm round her waist. ‘I think you’re the nicest girl I ever met.’

‘Only think?’ She had to tease him; she didn’t want him to get serious about her.

They had come to the foot of Schoolhill, and had to let a tramcar on St Nicholas Street pass before they could cross over to go up Upperkirkgate, so Callum took the opportunity to pull Queenie
round and kiss her. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that all evening,’ he whispered.

She was bitterly disappointed. She had sometimes wondered how it would feel to get her first kiss, but was that all it was? Two sets of dry lips touching for a moment? It had done nothing for
her . . . not even the hint of a thrill. They walked on silently, and she wondered if Callum felt as let down as she did. But her natural ebullience did not let her brood for long, and she was soon
telling him about Neil and Patsy, and how Auntie Gracie and Uncle Joe had accepted her into their family after her parents died. There was no self pity in it, not even when Callum murmured that he
was sorry about her mum and dad. ‘I was lucky,’ she assured him. ‘I couldn’t have a better home than I do now and a ready-made brother and sister, as well. Do you have any
brothers or sisters?’

He groaned. ‘A twelve-year-old sister, that’s all. She’s a proper pest at times.’

He went on to air his innumerable grievances at his sister until they arrived at King Street. His goodnight kiss did no more to Queenie than his first, and she climbed the tenement stairs
thoughtfully. Was something wrong with her, or was it Callum’s fault? Perhaps it was the first time for him, too, and he didn’t know how to kiss. Well, it didn’t matter, she
decided as she went into the house. Her first real kiss was still to come.

Her aunt gave her a critical stare then obviously relaxed. ‘Did you enjoy your night out?’

‘It was great. Callum gave me a box of chocolates, but I was so interested in the play that I forgot about them until the interval.’

‘Any left?’ Patsy asked, smiling hopefully.

‘No, it wasn’t a big box, and we ate them all.’

‘That’s romance for you,’ Joe declared, winking at Gracie, who just said, ‘It’s time you were in bed, Queenie, and you too, Patsy. You’ve both to get up in
the morning, remember.’

As soon as they were in the bedroom, Queenie asked, ‘Have you ever been kissed?’

Shaking her head, Patsy smiled. ‘Did Callum kiss you?’

‘If you can call it a kiss. It was like a little peck you give a baby.’

‘So there isn’t any romance? Better luck next time.’

‘I think I’d prefer an older boy . . . a man with experience.’

Patsy frowned. ‘Some older men have too much experience.’

‘Have you been out with a man?’ Queenie said, eagerly.

‘I wouldn’t want to go out with an older man, I’ve enough of them at work. They come up behind us and before we know where we are, their hands are all over us. It’s
horrible.’

‘I wouldn’t mind letting a man do that once, to see how it feels. Why don’t you like it?’

‘I might like it if it was somebody nice, somebody a bit younger, but they’re all over forty, and I just smack their fingers. They’re a lot of creeps,’ Patsy shuddered.
‘One of the other typists went out with the manager once . . . she hoped he’d put her up for promotion . . . but she swore she wouldn’t go again.’

‘What did he do?’

‘She said he nearly tore the clothes off her. She managed to get away from him, but half the buttons were missing off her blouse and she’d to buy a new set and sew them on before her
mother washed it. He doesn’t look at her now, and she’s sure her promotion’s up the spout.’

Queenie got into bed. ‘Struggling with him must have been exciting while it lasted?’

‘She said she was terrified. She thought he’d go mad with lust and kill her. You’d better watch yourself, Queenie, you haven’t a clue what men are really like.’

‘But all men can’t be like that?’

Switching off the light, Patsy lay down beside her. ‘All the ones I know are. Now, you’d better stop asking questions or Mum’ll be through telling us to be quiet.’

Queenie closed her eyes, but could not still her curious brain. Why did older men behave like that? Had they been the same when they were young, or did lust develop with age? But Uncle Joe was
old, and he didn’t show any sign of it. No, it must be just some men and it would make no difference what age they were, so some young men must also be consumed with lust. This was more
disturbing. How could a girl tell? She couldn’t ask a boy if he was liable to attack her, she’d have to wait and see. Neil had never touched her . . . except to tickle her, and that was
in fun, as any brother might do to his sister, and Callum had done nothing out of place. He hadn’t excited her, and he hadn’t seemed excited either, but it might be safer not to go out
with him again.

When Alf said that he’d had a letter from Olive, Neil felt a surge of elation – she had stopped writing to him at last. ‘You’ve done it,’ he
crowed. ‘How long are you going to wait before you break off with her?’

Alf considered briefly, then said, ‘If I do it too early, she’ll just start on you again.’

‘Aye, I suppose you’re right. OK, you’d better carry on. I don’t want her turning to me on the rebound from you. She’d be even worse than she was before. Now, are
you coming with me to that dance tonight, or are you keeping your body pure for darling Olive? Every man to his own poison.’

‘Cut out the sarcasm! Of course I’m coming to the dance. You should know me by this time . . . always ready for a bite at a fresh cherry.’

‘Even at Olive’s cherry?’ Neil teased.

‘Hell’s bells! I just took her out as a favour to you, and if you don’t stop harping on about her, I’ll write and tell her everything.’

Neil looked aghast. ‘You wouldn’t?’

‘I would, so just watch your step, my fine lad. Will you help me to write to Olive tomorrow? I don’t know what to say to her. It can’t be too lovey-dovey, just enough to make
her think I care for her a little bit.’

‘You don’t, do you?’

‘Christ, no!’

Reading Alf’s letter again, Olive wished that he wasn’t so far away; if he was stationed somewhere near Aberdeen, they could see each other more often. He had begun
by writing ‘My Dear Olive’, but did he really mean it, or did he think that it wasn’t so formal as just putting ‘Dear Olive’? Anyway, he said that he had enjoyed her
company and looked forward to seeing her again, so he must like her. Her heart speeded up as she read the next sentence. ‘I live in hope that we can repeat our kisses and maybe even improve
on them.’ He could really worm his way into a girl’s heart. This was something else to tell Frankie Lamont and Polly Frayne, although they thought her boyfriend’s name was Neil,
and she would have to be careful not to make a slip.