Primrose Square (15 page)

‘Got a headache. Think I might just run out to the chemist's before I come down for dinner. See if they've got anything.'

‘I've some wee cashews might help.'

‘Thanks, but I'll just check first what they've got. Will you tell Mrs Petrie where I am if she asks?'

‘Sure, I'll tell her. And she's sure to ask.'

Sensible Barry, Elinor thought, as she slipped out at twelve o'clock. He knew they would not be so easily seen at the far gate as at the one nearest to the club, and now all she had to hope was that he'd be there, at the far gate, for she hadn't much time.

He was there, dressed in his painter's white overalls, a cap on the back of his head, as he'd worn it when she saw him in the Wynd that time, and she gave a sigh of relief. Until she saw a large van parked quite close, with the name of a painting and decorating firm on its side, and immediately thought his painting colleagues must be about, watching them. Not that they would know her, of course, but she felt so strung up, so uneasy, anyway, it was upsetting.

‘Is that your firm's van?' she asked without preamble. ‘Are there people you know in there?'

‘Ashamed of being seen with me?' he asked, smiling.

‘No, of course not, just wondered if they might be watching.'

‘There's nobody there, they're all at the back o' the house, having their piece. Thanks for coming, anyway. You got the wee note?'

‘Yes, I was so surprised. Why ever did you write to me?'

‘Wanted to see you again.'

She gave a little laugh. ‘You've taken your time about that.'

‘I've thought about you ever since Boxing Day,' he said seriously. ‘But I wasn't sure you'd be interested. Then I got taken on to help in this big job here, doing up a house, and it seemed too good to miss the chance of seeing you. So I wrote you that letter.'

‘Spelled ma name wrong.'

‘Oh, glory, did I? What should it've been?'

When she told him, he shook his head.

‘That's me, eh? Trying to cut a dash, and I get your name wrong. But it's grand to see you again.' His bright eyes were searching her face. ‘I was wondering – maybe you'd like to go out with me? There's a Mary Pickford picture on this week. Thought we might go.'

For a moment, her eyes met his, then fell. When she spoke, her lips were dry.

‘I'm very sorry, Barry, I'll have to say no.'

‘No?'

‘I  . . . well, I have  . . . someone.'

‘Suppose I'm no' surprised. A girl like you, there'd have to be  . . . someone.'

She was silent, still not letting her eyes meet his.

‘On the other hand, why come out to meet me today?'

As she said nothing, he moved closer to her.

‘Must've wanted to see me,' he said softly.

‘I think I just wondered  . . . what it was about.'

‘Now you know, would it matter so much? Just going to the pictures?'

‘You know it would matter.'

‘Aye, I guess so. I was just being hopeful.'

‘I couldn't meet you, anyway, Barry. I only get one evening off and that's when I go to evening class.'

‘Evening class?' He raised his eyebrows. ‘You doing handicrafts, or something?'

‘Office management. I want to get a better job.'

‘Ah.' He grinned. ‘And you've probably got the brains for it. No' like me. All my brains are in my feet. But, look, maybe we could meet after this class, then?'

At the expression on her face, a look of understanding swam into his eyes. ‘That's where he is, eh? This someone? Looks like I've really missed the boat.'

But Elinor was becoming preoccupied with time again.

‘I'm sorry, I have to go. I shouldn't really be here, anyway.'

‘I'll walk back with you.'

‘Better not.' She gave a hasty smile. ‘Thanks for asking me out. It was nice to see you.'

‘Do you never get an afternoon free? A Saturday, maybe? You could come and see me play again. The team often plays on a Saturday.'

‘I do get a Saturday sometimes, but I usually see my folks at home then.'

‘Bring 'em with you. Why not? Look, tell me when your next Saturday is and we'll work something out.'

She was beginning to turn away, shaking her head, when he took her hand, pressing it in his own, and she stopped and stood very still. His touch. His hand in hers. She'd never before experienced such a sudden a rush of feeling. It was ridiculous. Crazy. He was only Barry Howat, somebody she'd known at school and who'd never meant a thing. Why, even when she'd seen him playing kick the can in the Wynd that time, she'd felt nothing for him. How had it come about that she felt so much now? Just when she shouldn't be feeling anything at all?

She knew she must go and walked away fast, skirting the railings of the gardens, not looking back, until she reached the area entrance to the club. On the steps down, she paused to straighten her hat and jacket before facing the staff at dinner, but Mrs Petrie's sharp eyes still saw something awry.

‘My word, Elinor, what's up with you? You look as though you've got the furies after you – whatever they are.'

As Elinor, taking off her hat, made no reply, Mattie asked sympathetically if she'd found something for her headache.

‘They said they had this aspirin stuff, but it's really silly – I forgot my purse.'

‘All that rush for nothing!' the cook cried. ‘And now you've to be quick with your dinner, time's getting on.'

‘It's all right,' Elinor sighed. ‘I'm no' very hungry, I'll just have a cup of tea.'

‘Hope you're no' sickening for something,' Mattie said, rising to put the kettle on. ‘You were that flushed before and now you've lost all your colour.'

‘It's to do with that silly class you're going to,' Mrs Petrie declared. ‘No wonder you're getting headaches, studying and that. What's it all for, anyway?'

As the maids at the table looked at one another, Elinor knew they were thinking of her ‘young man', the one she'd met through the class. And so was she. At least – she hugged the thought to her – she hadn't told Barry when she had the next Saturday afternoon free. He wouldn't come to her home; he wouldn't know when she'd be there.

Twenty-Eight

‘Guess who was here last week?' her father asked from his shop counter, when Elinor arrived home on Saturday two weeks later.

‘Who?' she asked, turning cold.

‘Why, that footballer laddie, Barry Howat. Said he was playing football again, asked if we'd like to go.' Walter gave a grin. ‘Think he was more interested in you going than us, mind.'

‘You told him I wasn't here?'

‘What else? I told him I was working and Corrie was out, and your ma wouldn't be going anyway. She came down and had a word with him, though. Said what a nice laddie he was.'

‘I certainly don't want to go to another football match,' Elinor announced, as she began to climb the stairs. ‘So he needn't come here again.'

‘Now, there's no need to be unfriendly. He means no harm. When you see him, try to be nice, eh?'

‘When I see him?'

‘Aye, I told him you'd be here today. Said he'd be along.'

There was nothing for it but to go on into the flat, where Hessie sprang up, and said she'd put the kettle on.

‘Think you might have an admirer calling today, Elinor! Did your dad tell you about Barry Howat coming round? He said he'd come back – wants you to go to the football.'

‘Where's Corrie?' Elinor asked, frowning. ‘He could go.'

‘Gone to the swimming baths with a pal from work. Look, Barry's a good lad. Why'd you no' want to see him play?'

‘I've just got no interest in football.'

‘You don't have to be interested in football to be interested in the players, Elinor. Or one player in particular.'

‘Anybody home?'

Barry Howat was standing in the doorway, Walter behind him, smiling as though he was personally responsible for this appearance, while Barry himself was looking straight at Elinor, his eyes full of appeal.

‘Hope you don't mind me barging in, Mrs Rae,' he murmured, turning to Hessie after a moment. ‘Mr Rae said it was all right.'

‘Of course it is,' Walter said breezily. ‘Now you just have a cup of tea while I get back to the shop.'

As he clattered out, Hessie, thrilled, began setting out cups, but Elinor made no move.

‘Shouldn't you be going to your match?' she asked, noticing that Barry was wearing a jacket and flannels. He didn't look as though he was on his way anywhere.

‘No match today,' he replied cheerfully. ‘Other side had to cancel. Messed up their dates, seemingly.'

‘What a shame!' cried Hessie. ‘Well, you sit yourself down, Mr Howat  . . .'

‘Barry, please.'

‘Barry, then. You sit down and have some tea – it's freshly made  . . .'

‘Thanks very much, Mrs Rae, but if it's all right with you, I was wondering if Elinor and me could go for a walk. It's a grand day.'

‘You might ask me, I'm standing right here,' Elinor said coldly.

‘Now, now, Barry's just being polite,' Hessie said soothingly. ‘I'm sure that'd be lovely, eh, to get out in the sunshine. Elinor, you'd like to go, eh?'

For a moment, she met the appeal in Barry's eyes again, then looked down at the hat she'd just taken off.

‘Might as well.' Moving to the mirror, she replaced the hat, as he watched. ‘All right, I'm ready. Though I'll have to keep an eye on the time.'

‘You both come back here for your tea, eh?' Hessie urged. ‘Just like you usually do, Elinor.'

But there was nothing usual about this Saturday afternoon, Elinor knew, as she and Barry, nodding goodbye to her father, went out into the rare sunshine of Friar's Wynd.

‘Where shall we go?' Barry asked, putting a felt trilby hat over his thick hair. ‘Any ideas?'

‘Nowhere much to walk round here,' Elinor muttered.

‘Have to take a tram somewhere. Botanic Gardens? The Meadows? All be crowded, of course, on a fine afternoon like this.'

‘That's why I like the square. It's never crowded.'

‘Canna get in, though, can you? Need a key and I bet you haven't got one.'

She tightened her lips. ‘No, I haven't, but I can see the gardens very well.'

He shrugged. ‘Look, let's no' waste time, eh? I say we get the tram down Nicholson Street and go walking in the Meadows. Plenty of space there, even if there are folk about.'

‘And won't take too long. I have to be home for tea and then get back to the club for six.'

‘What a life! No wonder you're looking for another job.'

‘We're pretty well treated at the Primrose, to be honest.'

He smiled as they reached the tram stop. ‘If you say so.'

Sitting next to him on the tram, Elinor was afraid he would take her hand again but he didn't, just bent his head to hers and whispered that it was good of her to agree to come out with him. He'd had no great hopes.

‘I don't know why you still asked me, after what I told you.'

‘Thought it was worth a try. Seeing as you came over to meet me in the square.' He added, in a lower tone, ‘And you're here now, eh? You agreed to come.'

‘It was awkward for me, with Ma listening. I didn't know what to say.'

‘Your Ma and Dad know about this someone you've got?'

She stared out of the window at the shops and crowded pavements of Nicholson Street.

‘No, they don't.'

‘Thought they couldn't, the way they were welcoming me.'

The colour rushed to Elinor's face. ‘That's just their way. Doesn't mean anything.'

‘Our stop, I think,' he said blandly. ‘Melville Drive.'

From the lengthy road that was Melville Drive, they turned into the Meadows, a park made up of two large tracts of land, the east and west sites divided by a long walkway. As Barry had predicted, it was crowded with people, some playing ball games, others running around with children and dogs, or hurrying along the walk that was a short cut to the other side of town. Italian ice-cream men and balloon sellers were doing a good trade, and with the cries of the children, the barking of the dogs, and general atmosphere of holiday mood, Elinor turned to Barry and laughed.

‘See what I mean about the square being different?' she asked.

‘I see you laughing,' he replied. ‘That's the first time today.'

As she immediately grew serious, he took her arm.

‘There's an empty seat over there – let's grab it.'

‘We're supposed to be walking,' she said, conscious of his arm against hers.

‘No, we're just supposed to be together. When a man and a woman go for a walk, they're no' usually thinking of the walking.'

When they had had hastily reached the vacant seat, they sat down, taking off their hats and fanning themselves, smiling in triumph, until Barry's smile faded.

‘Now,' he said softly, leaning a little towards her, ‘tell me about this man in your life. The one that stops you seeing me. So you say.'

Twenty-Nine

Stephen. He wanted her to tell him about Stephen. How could she, when she felt so bad? For a moment, she closed her eyes, seeing Stephen's handsome face, picturing it twisting, questioning, and it seemed to her that she should go. Just go, without saying a word. End whatever was happening here without another moment of regret  . . .

But when she opened her eyes, she found Barry's gaze on her and made no move.

‘I – don't want to talk of him just now,' she said quietly.

‘I'd like to know about him.'

‘It seems wrong, though.'

‘You could say where you met him. I mean, is he in that class you go to?'