The Girl with the Creel (21 page)

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At his side, Bella Jeannie was also thinking. As a mother, she wished her son had chosen a better wife, a lassie she would be proud to be seen with in the street, but it was done and she'd have to make the best of it. She wouldn't let Elsie dictate to her in her own house, that was one thing sure, though it was her own fault they'd be biding here. Peter had been all for buying a house, but she hadn't wanted Elsie to have him all to herself. ‘What's the sense in spending out money when there's plenty room here?' she had said.

‘We wouldn't have any privacy here,' he had argued.

‘You'll get all the privacy you need in your bed.'

He had flushed at that, and though she had been nearly sure he'd been at it with Elsie before the wedding, she had learned different today. He was as innocent as a bairn … but not his wife. It wouldn't be that one's first time with a man! Not even a hundred-and-first!

Bella Jeannie recalled the shock she'd had on her own wedding night. She had no brothers, no idea of how different a man's body was from a woman's, and when she saw the huge thing that sprang out of her groom's trousers she had nearly fainted. She gave a tiny smirk in the darkness. She'd soon found out what it was for, and once she got used to it, she'd quite liked it. Of course, she'd been nice and slim in those days, but even after Peter was born and she'd put on weight, his father had still needed his nightly ration. But she'd grown fatter and fatter, and sometimes couldn't be bothered with him, and now she couldn't remember the last time he'd done it, even the last time he'd tried. At her age, she needed her sleep – and so did he!

The trouble was, he barked like a Great Dane off and on all night, and though she knew he couldn't help it, she often felt like telling him to shut up. There he was again, hawking and hawking, and gasping as if his last minute had come. Giving him a thump in the ribs with her elbow to show her displeasure, she heaved herself round with her back to him, and turned her mind to the earlier part of the evening. His bad cough hadn't stopped him from dancing with every lassie in the hall, and coming back after his dance with Elsie all flushed. And he'd sat for ages with his hands over the bulge she'd seen when he was walking to his seat, stupid old devil. He'd hardly taken his eyes off the little bitch for the rest of the evening, and little wonder, for she'd flaunted herself in front of all the men. Peter would have to watch her. If she stuck her tits in Bowfer's face every day, what would it drive him to?

With something of a struggle, for it wasn't easy to shift her sixteen stones, Bella Jeannie turned round again. ‘Are you sleeping?'

Bowfer's erotic dreams were rudely shattered. ‘Eh? What's that?'

‘I asked if you was sleeping.'

‘I was, but nae now.'

‘I was thinking …' Bella Jeannie began, slowly, for she hadn't quite worked out what to say, ‘… about Elsie.'

‘Oh, aye?' he said, cautious now.

His wife jumped right in; he had to be told. ‘I could see she got you going, and I'm warning you now, Bowfer Tait, keep your hands off her.'

‘Me?' he exclaimed, incredulously. ‘For God's sake, woman, I've never laid a finger on her.'

‘And you never will! Have you got that?'

‘Aye, I've got it, but I dinna ken what you take me for. A man doesna interfere wi' his son's wife. Now, if you're finished, would you let me get some sleep?'

She closed her eyes, clicking her tongue as he began another bout of coughing which went on and on, as though he couldn't get to the bottom of it. She was about to ask how he expected her to sleep when he gave a peculiar grunt, and she wondered if the exertion of dancing had been too much for him. After all, he was past sixty and he was like a washed-out clout when he came home from his work, though it never stopped him from going out for a few pints once he'd had his supper. She waited for him to make a move of some kind … and waited … and waited.

A rough shove still producing no response, a cold alarm gripped her, and, unable to see anything in the dark, she hoisted herself out of bed to light the gas mantle. Hoping she could do something to help she went back to her husband, but one look was enough. His eyes – the eyes that had twinkled roguishly for Elsie and the other young girls – stared back at her with no spark of life. Stretching over to close them, she said, ‘Silly old bugger, see what you've done to yourself wi' your nonsense.' There was a catch in her voice, and her legs giving way, she sat down on the chair to think what to do.

If Peter had been here … but Peter wouldn't be till tomorrow sometime. Wondering what time it was, she looked at the alarm clock on the chest of drawers. Quarter to two. She couldn't knock on anybody's door at this time of night, but she couldn't sit here and do nothing. Nevertheless, she made no move until she recovered a little, then she stood up to put on her clothes, her trembling hands fumbling with each fastening. Fully dressed, she went down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, and when her frozen heart thawed out, she decided to go and fetch Peter. She needed him, and he had to be told about his father.

Still satisfying his bride's insatiable demands, Peter halted at a sharp knock on their door. ‘What the …?' he muttered, deciding to ignore it, but it came again, more insistent this time. ‘Mr Tait! Mr Tait!'

Stark naked, he rose to find out who was there, and when he put his head round the door, he was astonished to see the hotel manager, muffled up in a fleecy dressing-gown. ‘Yes?' he asked.

The man looked embarrassed. ‘I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr Tait, but a policeman's asking for you.'

‘A policeman? What's it about?'

‘He wouldn't tell me. You'll have to come down.'

Closing the door, Peter switched on the light, at which Elsie eyed him suspiciously. ‘A bobby? What've you been up to?'

‘You should know,' he grinned, then shook his head. ‘There must be a mistake. It can't be me he wants, but I'd better go down and see.'

‘Be quick, then, or I'll go off the boil.'

Wondering, in amusement, if she ever went off the boil, he pulled on his underpants, trousers and shirt, then went down to the hotel lobby. ‘Not guilty,' he joked, holding both hands up in mock surrender. ‘You've got the wrong man, officer.'

The policeman did not smile. ‘Your mother wants you home.'

‘What?' Peter gasped. ‘This is my wedding night.'

‘Aye, she told me. But I'm afraid it's bad news. Your father died.'

Peter clutched at the reception desk. ‘But he was dancing here earlier on …' He looked pathetically at the uniformed man.

‘It happens like that sometimes – no warning. I'll walk back with you, but you'll need a coat or something. It's devilish cold outside.'

‘I don't have a coat here, but I'll get my jacket. I'll have to tell … my wife, anyway, and she'll likely want to come with me.'

Elsie was not at all pleased to leave the warm bed in the middle of the night. ‘It'll make no odds to your father if we wait till a decent time,' she pouted.

‘My mother sent for me. You'd better hurry, the bobby's waiting.'

‘Trust your family to spoil our first night.'

But she rose and took out the bag containing her ordinary clothes. ‘Put my wedding gown in there,' she muttered as she dressed, quickly because she was cold, not because somebody was waiting, ‘and watch and nae crush it.'

The policeman tipped his hat when they went downstairs, and held the outside door open for them. ‘Your mother was on her way here when I met her,' he said, as they hurried along the road, ‘and when she told me about your father, I said I'd come and let you know, but I went for the doctor first, in case … well, in case she'd made a mistake.'

Dr Mathieson was still in the house when Peter and Elsie went in, having stayed with Bella Jeannie who was suffering from delayed shock. She was sitting in the kitchen and looked so pitiful that Peter crossed the room to put an arm round her shoulder.

The doctor lifted his bag. ‘You'll not need me now you've got your son,' he said and, putting on his hat, he went out.

‘She needs something to steady her nerves,' Peter whispered to Elsie. ‘There's a bottle of whisky in the foot of the dresser, give her a good shot of it.'

The spirits brought some colour back into Bella Jeannie's cheeks, and he said gently, ‘Do you feel like telling us what happened?'

‘Oh, m'loon,' she said, mournfully, ‘I dinna really ken what happened. We went straight to our bed when we come in, and your father's chest was bothering him for ages, and he coughed and coughed – you ken how he is – and then he made a funny kind of noise. He didna move after that, and I got up and lighted the gas, and …' The horror too fresh, she broke off and put her hand to her eyes.

‘Don't upset yourself any more,' Peter soothed.

‘I didna ken what to do, and I couldna stand being here myself wi' him so … I'm sorry, Peter.'

‘No, no, it's all right. You needed me, I understand.'

‘But it was your wedding night …' She looked across him at Elsie. ‘I hope you're nae annoyed at me?'

Elsie shrugged. ‘Well, I wasna expecting it to be so short, but … ach, you couldna help it.'

‘The doctor said it was the strain o' the coughing on top of all the excitement of the dancing.'

Another five minutes passed before Peter said, ‘What happens now?'

His mother sighed. ‘You'll have to see the undertakers, but they'll nae be open on Sunday, so you'll have to go first thing on Monday.'

‘I'll do that. Now, it's still only after three, and we all need some sleep …' He stopped, his cheeks colouring.

She didn't notice his confusion. ‘Take Elsie up to your room, the bed was all ready for you, any road, and I'll just sit here.'

Elsie jumped to her feet, but Peter said, ‘No, Mam, I can't let you do that. You go to bed with Elsie and I'll sit here.'

To Elsie's relief, Bella Jeannie shook her head. ‘No, no. I'll be fine here. Away you go.'

When the house was quiet and she was sure that the newlyweds were asleep, Bella Jeannie crept upstairs to take another look at her dead husband. ‘I was maybe wrong in what I thought about you, Bowfer,' she whispered, stroking his brow, ‘but you're away from temptation now, and I'm pleased you enjoyed the last hours you had in this world.'

As she stepped back, she saw that his face had a peacefulness about it that hadn't been there when he died … more than peace, really, almost a smile … or was that just her imagination?

Chapter Twelve

That same night, Lizann was lying in bed worrying about her father. He had been a changed man since the
Hannah
went down, three weeks before, though he had been lucky to get a berth on the
Endeavour
. She didn't know if he was the same at sea, but he was moody and withdrawn at home … when he wasn't raging her mother for being extravagant.

‘You ken fine we canna afford to eat meat like this,' he had ranted a fortnight ago, when she served him a plate of boiled beef and carrots.

‘It was the cheapest Lizann could get,' Hannah wailed, ‘and I got a big pot o' soup out o' it.'

‘A bone would have done for soup,' he growled.

‘It was near closing time when I went to the butcher,' Lizann had put in, ‘and he was selling off what he'd left at less than half price.'

He was even worse now, she reflected. He hardly opened his mouth to any of them, his hair had turned white almost overnight and his face was greyer than ever. He had lost so much weight his clothes were hanging on him, and if he carried on like this he would make himself ill.

George and Mick were both on the
Dawn Rose
, and after buying new gear, they had given what was left of their savings to Willie Alec to help him recompense the other crew members of the ill-fated
Hannah
. Lizann didn't know how Jenny Cowie felt about it – she must have known why Mick had been saving – but she herself felt that there must be a jinx on her and George, that something would always happen to prevent them getting a house.

Lizann's mind returned to her father. The
Endeavour
had been late in landing, and when he came home he complained of pains in his chest and shoulders. ‘It's the weather,' he had moaned, as Hannah rubbed in some strong embrocation, working from his chin to his waist. ‘Driving rain, running down under the collar o' my oilskins. It's nae much wonder I've got rheumatics.'

Lizann suspected that it was more than rheumatics – he had been at sea since he was thirteen and should be accustomed to soakings – but she had kept her fears to herself. It would have been better, however, if she had voiced them to her mother; it might have prepared Hannah for what was to come.

On Sunday, Willie Alec hunched morosely in front of the fire all day. He had no appetite and took only a few cups of tea, but when Hannah said, after she and Lizann had eaten supper, that he should miss a trip to give his rheumatics a chance to get better, he growled, ‘You ken I canna afford to miss any trips.'

Willie Alec went to bed early. When he appeared on Monday morning Lizann was alarmed at the blueness in the grey of his face and at how deep his eyes were sunk in his cheeks. He sat down at the table, waving away the plate Hannah set in front of him. ‘I couldna eat anything. The top o' my stomach feels like there's a lump o' lead in it.'

‘It'll be indigestion,' she said, already on her way to get the baking soda out of the press. ‘Something you've ate on the boat hadna agreed wi' you.' She hadn't even opened the poke of soda when he said, ‘Och, I'm going to be sick.' His hand to his mouth, he scraped back his chair and hurried outside.