Monday Girl (19 page)

Renee, however, thought it best to let the remark pass without argument. ‘Jack’s a nice boy,’ was all she said.

He
was
a nice boy – a very nice boy – and, given time, she might indeed come to feel more than liking for him now that Fergus was out of her life. Not a deep, devouring passion, perhaps, but a comfortable, loving relationship.

When Renee’s thoughts turned to Fergus she pushed them resolutely from her mind. There was no point in dreaming of the unattainable, nor in dwelling on the past. That chapter of her life was over, and she was free to love anyone else if she felt like it. The trouble was that she didn’t
feel
free yet.

It was only just over six weeks since Fergus went away. She’d gone out twice with Jack since Tim deserted them, and had skilfully diverted him any time he seemed to be getting serious. Her mother had made no more references to them as a couple, and Renee was quite content to let things jog along as they were. Tonight, Thursday again, Jack was taking her to the Palais, and she went home at teatime quite looking forward to being on the dance floor with him again.

Her heart lurched almost out of control when she saw the tall dark-haired figure in khaki talking to Jack and Tim in the dining room. ‘F . . . F . . . Fergus!’ she stammered.

‘In the flesh,’ he laughed. ‘You won’t forget to close your mouth, will you? You look like a fish gasping for water.’

She was so glad to see him that she didn’t feel a bit annoyed at him for making fun of her, but just then, Anne carried in a large ashet. ‘He’s looking well, isn’t he, Renee?’

He was looking divine, the girl thought, her legs trembling. ‘What . . . ? How . . . ?’

Fergus grinned. ‘I wrote asking your mother if I could come here when my square-bashing was finished – I’ve nowhere else to go – and she wrote back saying it was OK.’ Annoyance, and anger, flooded up inside Renee now. Her mother hadn’t said anything about it. How could she have been so underhand? And why had he never written to
her
, when he’d sworn, on his last night in Aberdeen, that he loved her and not her mother? He could have sent it to the office after all. The bile rising in her throat threatened to choke her, and she had to swallow repeatedly before she could speak. ‘That’s good,’ she muttered at last.

Jack was studying her with an expression of resignation, and it crossed her mind that here was a way to pay Fergus back. Smiling sweetly at Jack, she said, ‘It’s still all right for our date tonight, isn’t it, Jack? I’m really looking forward to going to the Palais again.’ She was inwardly ashamed at using Jack for her own ends, but the wry smile which crossed briefly over his face told her that he understood why she was doing it.

‘Oh, aye, it’s still on.’ He turned to Fergus. ‘Renee and me are going to be tripping the light fantastic the night,’ he said brightly, then he glanced at Tim. ‘Are you and Moira coming as well?’

Before Tim had a chance to reply, Fergus pounced on the unfamiliar name. ‘Moira? Who’s Moira? A girlfriend at last, eh, Tim?’

‘Aye, we’re going steady. She was the bridesmaid at Mike’s wedding – Babs’s sister – and I was the best man. We kind of hit it off the first time we met.’

‘So-o-o.’ The word was drawn out, and the sarcasm was aimed at Renee. ‘There’s a lot of new romances starting up, I can see.’ The contempt in his eyes matched his sneering voice.

‘Why shouldn’t there be?’ Renee was defiant, in spite of the sickness still deep down inside her. Was he trying to tell her that he’d be glad to get her out of his life? Was he pleased he’d got rid of one complication? By writing to her mother and not to her, had he been trying to prove his love to Anne? And how many times had he written? Renee forced herself to eat what was set in front of her, but her heart was as heavy as lead, and everything was tasteless.

‘I’ll give you a hand with the dishes, Anne.’ Fergus stood up when they were all finished eating, his use of the Christian name tormenting the girl even more. ‘So off you go, Renee, and make yourself look pretty for Jack.’

She would willingly have killed him, then, for being so hateful, and for openly saying ‘Anne’ again. He was just an unfeeling brute, and she shouldn’t let his behaviour hurt her. She went to wash and dress, still seething at his treatment of her, and took extra care with her hair and her make-up simply to spite him.

Before she went downstairs again, she checked her appearance in the mirror, because she wanted to look her very best, to make Fergus jealous. The new, pale blue dress which she’d saved up for, and had bought last week, was quite stunning, she thought, and the small puff sleeves were sitting just right. The deep-blue embroidery on the bodice matched her eyes, and she felt she couldn’t look any more attractive.

A very smart Jack was waiting for her, although his sandy hair, which he had plastered down with water, was already sticking up in what Anne called his ‘cow’s lick’. ‘You’re looking very sweet,’ he said, smiling at her reassuringly.

‘Love’s young dream,’ sneered Fergus, exactly as he had said when he’d seen her kissing Tim months before.

Stung into retaliation, Renee said sharply, ‘At least it’s all above-board,’ not caring that her mother, and Jack, would also know what she meant.

She had time to gather her shattered nerve ends together on the bus, because Jack seemed to understand that she wasn’t ready to talk yet, but before they went into the dance hall, he took her hand and said, ‘He’s not worth all your heartache, Renee. A two-timer like him? He’s not fit to wash your feet. Enjoy yourself, lass, you’re only young once.’

She knew that he was speaking the truth, and she was still furious at Fergus. All right. Let her mother have him! She, Renee, was going to have a good time tonight, even if it killed her. She held her head high as they went through the door. Jack, also determined to let her have no time to feel bitter or let-down, was very attentive, and kept her laughing with his silly jokes. Gallant was the only word to describe him, she thought, and felt her spirits lifting, so much that she welcomed Tim and Moira warmly when they appeared some fifteen minutes later.

‘Ooh, Renee, I like your dress,’ the other girl said. ‘I’ve to keep on wearing this old pink one. I’ve had it for ages, but I can’t afford a new one yet.’

‘That one suits you, Moira, with your blond hair, and I’d to save for months and months to buy this. I got it in a sale at the Mascot, or else I wouldn’t have had one at all. The lemon dress was an old one of my mother’s, though I altered it a bit.’ The two young men were looking at each other in amusement, but now Tim said, in a falsetto voice, ‘D’you like my suit, Jack? It’s a 1937 model, but it’s the latest style.’ Jack smiled gravely. ‘And the black buttons just match your fingernails.’

‘Oh, you two!’ Renee spluttered. ‘They’re always the same,’ she informed Moira.

When Tim took Renee up to a slow foxtrot, he said quietly,

‘Now, I’m not interfering . . .’ which made her heart sink again, because she suspected that he was about to deliver a lecture. ‘It’s just . . . Jack thinks an awful lot of you, Renee, so don’t lead him on if you’re set on Fergus. That’s all.’ He looked at her with his mouth screwed up, then added, ‘Uncle Tim’s advice for the day, free, gratis and for nothing.’

She gave a tight smile, and they danced in silence, apart from Tim’s unmelodious humming of the tune, until they joined the other two, who had also been dancing together. During the next dance, Jack said, ‘You’ve gone all quiet again. Did Tim say anything to upset you?’

‘No, not really. He was giving me some fatherly advice.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Uncle Tim, he said, so it would be uncly advice. I’m sorry. I promise I’m going to enjoy myself.’

‘That’s better. I don’t like to see you unhappy.’

Tim’s joking, with Jack’s assistance, made the rest of the evening fly past. Renee couldn’t brood because she was laughing so much at their antics, and she was honestly sorry when it was time to go home. While they walked, Jack kept up a steady chatter, to which she responded in a similar light vein, but when they had almost reached the house, he stopped and slid his arm round her. It was at the same place where Tim had stood with her, and she felt her muscles tightening at the thought of being caught by Fergus again. But why should she worry about him now? He’d shown that he didn’t want her any longer.

She received Jack’s kiss gladly then, as a balm for her inner wounds.

‘You’ve got guts, Renee, I’ll say that for you,’ he said softly. ‘Keep going. He’s only here for a few more days . . . I’m disappointed in your mother, though.’

He knows, about everything, she thought. He must have guessed what had been going on, and was pitying her all the more. ‘Thanks, Jack,’ she said, simply, and they walked on.

Once again, Anne was still sitting in the living room.

‘Fergus has gone to bed, he was tired after his long journey.’ She couldn’t meet Renee’s eyes, and the girl felt fleetingly sorry for her, until she remembered how deceitful her mother had been in writing to him, and, even worse, that she had been alone with him all evening.

‘We’d a really marvellous time, Mum. Tim and Moira were there, too, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we, Jack?’

‘Aye, it was great fun.’ He knew what this show of over-enthusiasm was costing her. ‘Where’s Fergus sleeping?’

Since Mike Donaldson had married, Tim had been sharing the downstairs bedroom with Jack, to save work for Anne, but Fergus might have gone to his old room.

‘He’s upstairs.’ Again, Anne avoided looking at her daughter, who now realised why that room had been left unoccupied. She had wondered why her mother had not taken in another two boarders, but she must have known all along that Fergus would be back.

‘I’ll leave you two to take your tea,’ Anne said. ‘Use the red flask, and leave the tartan one for Tim, it’s smaller.’ She rose and walked to the door. ‘Goodnight, Jack.’

He held the door open for her. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Gordon.’ He closed it softly behind her, then came back to sit down.

‘I’ll pour it out,’ Renee said, waiting for him to push his cup and saucer across. ‘Do you think Tim’s serious about Moira?’ She concentrated on unscrewing the cap of the thermos flask.

He understood that she was trying to prevent him from touching on a more painful subject. ‘He says he’s serious, and I think he means it. I thought at one time that you and him . . .’ He looked at her quizzically.

‘Oh, no.’ Renee smiled. ‘I told you before – I like him, but that’s all.’

‘The same as you like me.’ Jack grinned and shrugged.

‘You told me that as well.’ He looked down at the contents of his cup. ‘I know we can’t choose who we fall in love with, it just happens, but remember, Renee, I’ll always be available for you to turn to when . . . at any time.’

She stretched her hand out across the table and laid it over his. ‘I know, Jack, and I’m very grateful, but . . .’

‘Aye.’

They’d just finished the tea, when Tim came in, so Renee said, ‘Goodnight, boys,’ and left them talking.

The next few days passed without any awkward incidents

– without any incidents at all – and Renee was coming to terms with the plain, unvarnished truth that Fergus obviously did not want to revive their previous relationship, but, on the Monday morning, after Tim and Jack had left for work, and Anne was in the scullery, he whispered,

‘Tonight. Half past seven, inside the Graveyard.’ Anne came back, so he didn’t wait for any sign from the girl that she would be there. Renee was left to stare at the half-slice of toast still on her plate. Her mouth was dry, her heart was hammering, there was an insistent pounding in her ears, and she hoped that her mother wouldn’t notice her confusion. Luckily, Anne’s mind seemed to be elsewhere as she gathered up the dirty dishes.

One of their neighbours sat down beside Renee on the bus, making it impossible for her to concentrate on her own thoughts, and she was kept busy all forenoon, so it wasn’t until she was on her way home at lunchtime that she was able to consider the unexpected turn of events. What a cheek Fergus had! After sneering at her on Thursday, and ignoring her all over the weekend, he expected her to come running as soon as he snapped his fingers. Several times on the journey she decided not to meet him that night. Let him think what he liked. But she always changed her mind, and finally plumped for keeping the date, but only to listen to any explanations he could offer for his callous behaviour. She knew she was being stupid, that she was asking for trouble, that her heart would probably be broken again as it always was with Fergus Cooper, but she had to talk to him.

He wasn’t there when she arrived home, and she was relieved that she could act normally with her mother. She took her dinner quickly as usual, because the travelling took up most of her lunch hour.

‘I’ll be going out with Phyllis tonight,’ she told Anne before she left. That should set her mother thinking, but she could put two and two together if she liked. Renee avoided letting her thoughts touch on Fergus during the afternoon. She was meeting him at half past seven, and there was no point in dragging her bruised feelings through the mill more than she could help.

At teatime, only Jack and Tim were in the dining room, arguing about football until their landlady came through. Anne eyed her daughter speculatively. ‘Fergus came home in the afternoon, but he went out again.’ Her face was tight and her voice was cold. God, they must have had another quarrel, Renee thought. Her mother must have really put two and two together and realised that she was going out with Fergus, not Phyllis. Anne must have tackled him about it, and that’s why he hadn’t waited for tea. Good! Her mother could have the sore heart this time, for a change, and could imagine what they were doing while they were together. Renee noticed that Jack looked hurt. He had guessed, too, but it couldn’t be helped.

She came off the bus at the Graveyard, the affectionate name Aberdonians gave to the old kirkyard of St Nicholas’ Church, their city’s Mother Kirk, where the flat gravestones of long-dead citizens were used as a short cut from Union Street to George Street. The iron gates, although directly off the main thoroughfare, led into a quiet, calm oasis, far removed from the noise and bustle of Union Street. Fergus was waiting for her on a secluded bench, well away from curious eyes, and she would have walked right past him if he hadn’t seen her coming and stepped forward. She stiffened involuntarily as his arms went round her, and turned her head away from his kiss. ‘No, Fergus. You can’t expect to carry on as if nothing had happened. I want to know why you wrote to my mother and not to me. You swore it was me you loved, not her, but . . .’