The Nickum (19 page)

To his immense relief, the Reverend Fyfe was as understanding as Mrs Meldrum. ‘I congratulate you on your sense of loyalty to your friend,’ he beamed. ‘Most people lose touch with the friends they had when they were children; one side or the other makes more of his life, creating resentment on the part of the one who has not done so well.’

Willie shook his head. ‘It was the opposite way round with Poopie and me,’ he said, ungrammatically, for, at present, that part of the learning he had striven so hard to master had vanished along with everything else he had learned. ‘I was lucky to have the brains, and luckier still that I was recognised to be worth two men paying for my further education. Poopie would never have been anything other than a hard worker, but he was never jealous of me. He never even hinted that life wasn’t fair, yet …’ He gulped but carried on, ‘… life hasn’t been fair to him, has it? He was a decent person, the very best.’

‘Yes, William, I quite agree with you. Life is never fair, as we see it. The old saying “Only the good die young” is very often true. It would seem that God takes pity on a person who considers others although he has not much to be grateful for himself. The gates of Heaven are opened for him to enter, to leave the cares and woes of the world behind. Look on it that way, my boy, and you will begin to feel better.’

‘I can see what you mean, Mr Fyfe, and I will try, but it’s not just Poopie’s death that I’ve to contend with. I feel I’ve let you and Mr Meldrum down, too, yet I know perfectly well that if I stayed on at the University my heart wouldn’t be in it.’

‘William,’ the old man leaned forward to pat his arm, ‘I do understand, and you must try to understand that you are under no obligation to me. I did what I thought was right, with no pressure from anyone, but you have not made me lose faith in the human race because you have not taken full advantage of it. You did what you believe is right, and I am sure Herbert Meldrum feels that way about it, too.’

‘Yes, he more or less said that.’

‘So forget about it, and enter your new life with vigour. Set your mind to it, and there is no doubt that you will do well. Remember that you go with my blessing.’

Overwhelmed by grief for his childhood pal, gratitude towards the two men who had gambled on him and lost and growing concern as to the outcome of his coming meeting with Millie, Willie had left himself no time to plan what to say. He would have to take things as they came, just as he had done so far.

The sun was still glowing red low in the sky as the bus from Aberdeen drew up outside the church. Millie Meldrum, the only passenger to alight, gave a glance around when she stepped down, her face lighting up when she saw Willie waiting. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to meet me.’

‘I thought I’d better,’ he replied, suspecting that this was going to be the hardest interview of the lot.

‘You don’t have to explain anything. Auntie Sophie told me.’

‘I’m sorry, Millie. As soon as Malcie Middleton told me about Poopie, I knew what I had to do, so I did it.’

‘Would you like to go for a little walk with me before I go home? I’d really like a little while with you on our own.’

His heart sank. He wasn’t prepared for this. Being alone with her for some time was a different thing from the five minutes he had visualised, but he supposed he owed it to her, though it would no doubt whip up his mangled emotions to fever heat and turn a knife in his heart.

As they passed the last gas lamp on the short street, he noticed the strain on her face for the first time, but he walked doggedly on without saying a word. He meant her to set the direction of their conversation, and at last, she murmured, ‘Can we sit down somewhere, Willie? It’s easier to talk, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t mind.’

She had obviously been giving this some thought earlier. ‘Up the Ellon road a bit?’

He knew the place she had in mind; they had often chosen this secluded spot when they were walking out together, and he began to wonder if he could remain logical, could fight against the passion he could already feel buiding up at the thought of being close to her. The dusk was gathering momentum, just a slight line of red on the horizon where the sun was fast disappearing altogether. It was the kind of evening that they used to like best, sitting on the springy grass, hidden from sight of the road or any peeping householder. Having no coat, he removed his jacket and spread it out for her to sit on.

‘Thanks, Willie. And before we say anything else, I’m not angry with you. I know how you’ve always felt about Poopie, and maybe you blame me for keeping you apart?’

‘I’ve never thought that, Millie. It was developing circumstances, that’s what did it.’

‘I don’t relish the idea of you leaving, but you must stick to your principles, I can see that. It’ll be a few weeks yet before you go, though?’

He looked away. This was the devastating bit, for her as well as for him. ‘I’ve to report at Woolmanhill at 10 a.m. tomorrow.’

Her shocked gasp was so loud that he turned to face her again, and even in the gloom he could see that her face had blanched. ‘I’m not all that happy about it, either.’

‘But I thought …’ She stared into his eyes, her tears threatening to overflow. ‘I thought you’d have at least this weekend – till Monday anyway. Oh,Willie, I can’t bear to think … Is this the last time I’ll see you till you get leave?’

It was hard to bear his own agony now, but trying to bear hers too was far worse, and his arms went out automatically to hold her, to comfort her, to let her see that he still loved her as much as ever. ‘Oh, my darling, darling, Millie,’ he groaned ‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you like this.’ He held her tightly, her deep sobs shaking his body as well as hers.

In spite of the resolution he had made not to kiss her, in case it led to more serious actions, he soon discovered that her lips trembled against his, but calmed after a few seconds. By this time, of course, it was too late to stop their youthful emotions taking over, youthful perhaps, but even more fierce than if they had been a mature man and woman.

They lay for over two hours, affirming and reaffirming their love for each other, that they would remain faithful for ever, that nothing would drive them apart. ‘You’ll marry me when you come home on leave?’ she asked, pride lost in this all-consuming love.

Sighing, he sat up. He had not foreseen this, but even in his present state of euphoria, he could see the pitfalls of such a marriage. ‘No, Millie, I can’t tie you down like that. I might be killed.’

‘You won’t!’ she cried. ‘I won’t let you be killed. I’ll be praying for you every minute of every day, and God has never denied me anything, ever.’

He did not point out to her that it was her father’s position as a headmaster which had given her everything she had ever wanted; that was the main reason for his decision to wait. If he were killed, she would believe that God had forsaken her, and that would be worse than anything. ‘I promise we’ll be married as soon as the war is over,’ he vowed, ‘and I won’t change my mind about that. It surely won’t be very long now, anyway.’ He got to his feet and held out a hand to her. ‘I felt you shivering just then, it’s time to go. It’s getting chilly.’

‘I’m not cold,’ she protested, but stood up obediently, casting a quick look at her watch. ‘My God, Willie, it’s nearly midnight! I’ll get hi-mi-nanny when I go in.’

Willie grimaced. ‘Your father’ll likely tear me to shreds; a bad influence on his darling daughter.’

They hurried as quickly as they could, but heard the kirk clock striking the witching hour as they were practically at her door. He sighed resignedly. ‘I’d better wait and get what’s coming to me.’

No one appeared, however, and when Millie turned the door handle, she found it unlocked. ‘They trust us,’ she whispered, giving Willie a loving kiss before she went in. ‘You’ll write?’

‘Every day,’ he promised.

‘So’ll I, once I get your address.’

No one had waited up for him, either, he found, and guilt swept over him as Millie’s words came back. ‘They trust us.’ They hadn’t been worthy of such trust, though. He felt thoroughly ashamed but he had no time to dwell on it. He had to get up in the morning and catch a train back to Aberdeen.

Neither of the lovers slept well. Willie was worried about what he had let himself it for, both as a result of volunteering and of his behaviour that evening. Millie was thinking of how she could get Willie to change his mind about marriage. If the war lasted for years, like some of the old folk thought it would, he could fall in love with another girl, someone he might meet wherever he was sent to.

During his initial training in the fairly new Bridge of Don Barracks, on the outskirts of Aberdeen, Willie decided not to give Millie his address, telling her that they had been instructed just to write ‘Somewhere in Scotland’. If she knew where he was, she was liable to come to see him, and there was no time for visitors; no time for anything but route marches, drills, eating and sleeping. He hardly had time to write to her once a week – just once in two weeks to his mother.

Realising that Willie’s time would be fully occupied, Millie made no complaints. She was excited about what she planned to tell him when he came home on leave. At first, she had hoped that it would be the truth, but it hadn’t worked out that way. She still intended telling him she was pregnant, and hoped that the miracle would take place during the next time he was home. If she had anything to do with it, they would be coupling every night, so saying she was pregnant beforehand would merely be jumping the gun a little bit. Willie, being the honourable, decent person he was, would have to marry her. Then, if it happened the way she wanted, she could easily tell him, when the infant was born, that it was late. Nobody would ever know otherwise. It was all so simple, and no harm would be done.

Margaret Meldrum was keeping a strict eye on her daughter. It was all very well for Herbert to say that even if the young couple had been together that night until midnight, it could have been perfectly innocent. From what she knew of men – and she’d known a few before her marriage – none of them, including her husband, would have let such an opportunity pass without at least trying. It was only when the girl did not feel the same way that their efforts had not succeeded, and she was practically sure that Millie was as much in love with Willie Fowlie as he was with her. But the weeks had gone past and the girl had ovulated every month as usual, so she definitely was not in the family way, thank goodness. It wasn’t that, as a mother, she had anything against Willie as a son-in-law, but it would be preferable if the girl finished her University course and had her MA degree under her belt. That would always stand her in good stead if she ever had to earn a living – most unlikely, but you never knew.

Emily had also been suspecting that she might become a grandmother sooner than was practical, long before she felt like it. Her son had been in trouble of one kind or another throughout his childhood and into his teens and had only really calmed down since he got involved with the dominie’s daughter. It had been very obvious for some time now that they were in love, or it would perhaps be more correct to say they were besotted with each other, and being together in the dark, until after midnight, on the night before Willie left, there was nothing surer than they had taken full advantage of the situation.But nothing untoward appeared to be happening at the schoolhouse. Millie came home for the odd weekend, and there wasn’t the slightest sign that she was expecting.

Willie had found it fairly easy to get on with his comrades, some of them volunteers like himself, but mostly conscripts. It was simple to pick out which category each man belonged to; the cheery, eager-to-get-waded-into-the-enemy sort had enlisted voluntarily; the moaners, chip-on-the-shoulders kind had been taken against their wills. He did realise that there were exceptions to both categories, but as a general rule, this was the case.

It was natural, then, that they drifted together, like with like, and formed several small groups. Willie found himself making a sixth of one set, four lads from Inverness who, pals since schooldays, had been joined on the train by a boy from Elgin, all on their way to report in Aberdeen.

Gradually, as was also natural, the four original pals left the other two more and more often by themselves, and thus it was that Pat Michie and Willie Fowlie became inseparable. Through all the drills, the target practice and route marches, Willie looked after his friend, who reminded him very much of poor Poopie Grant. He, too, was shy and timid, afraid of asserting himself, and when any of the corporals or sergeants picked on Pat for not doing something correctly, it was Willie who stuck up for him. One sergeant, especially, seemed to find delight in holding Pat up for ridicule for his poor performances in the skills they were being taught, and constantly laughing at Willie for trying to defend him.

‘Who d’you think you are?’ he sneered one day. ‘A puffed-up Mammy’s boy? Little Lord Fauntleroy? A Nancy-boy student that thinks himself better than anybody else?’

Willie saw red at this, and without stopping to think of the consequences he lashed out with his fist, taking the sergeant completely by surprise. ‘I’ll soon show you who’s a puffed-up Mammy’s boy,’ he snarled, ‘and I’m not a Nancy-boy because I stick up for a pal. I can recognise a bully when I see one, and you can put me on a charge if you want to. It’s been worth it.’

To his astonishment, the sergeant spun round on his heel, rubbing the jaw that had suffered from Willie’s attack. The men who had stopped what they were doing to watch had all expected to see him being marched off to spend some time in the glasshouse, and ran up to slap him on the back.

‘Good for you, Fowlie.’

‘You showed him.’

‘What a beauty of a punch!’

‘You damn near KO’d him.’

When the clamour died down, and another sergeant came to finish the drill, he purposely avoided catching Willie’s eye. The expression on his weatherbeaten face, however, was almost as if he admired what the recruit had done but could not tell him so. Pat Michie’s gratitude went much further, and was so embarrassing that Willie had to laugh off his ‘heroism’. He felt much happier now than he had felt for some considerable time and couldn’t understand why until it dawned on him one night in bed, that he had defended another human being weaker than himself as he used to do with Poopie Grant. It didn’t quite make up for not saving his boyhood chum from his final ordeal, but it was certainly helping.