The Sunday Girls (20 page)

‘No, Dad,’ I said quietly, ‘it wasn’t Rosie. She never said a word. It was your pals and your neighbours who are worried about you.’

He looked surprised. ‘So it wasn’t Rosie?’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Granny says that Rosie wishes you the best of luck with Mrs Davidson.’ I stopped. I’d almost said ‘the Merry Widow’. ‘Rosie says if she makes you happy, then good luck and she’ll not bother you again about getting Lily christened.’ I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Is it true you’re getting married again, Dad?’

Once again the amused glint appeared. ‘Och, Ann, you’re not to listen to old women’s gossip and neither has your granny. I just like Marlene’s company and we have a good laugh together.’

I doubted that because he looked as if the last good laugh he had was over a year ago – when Mum was still alive.

As if he read my mind, the amused glint vanished to be replaced by a terrible sad look. ‘I can’t go back to the house, as I’ve told you, because of all the memories. Maybe if I had a job it would be better but hanging about day in and day out without your mother is terrible.’

I suddenly knew how he felt and there was nothing I could do about the situation. We all missed Mum terribly but we had Lily to look after so maybe we were coping better with it. As for Dad, well, as Granny said, he had to come to terms with his own private grief and made his own life for himself.

‘So there’s to be no wedding, then?’ I said.

He looked over his shoulder towards the door, placing a finger to his lips. ‘Not so loud. Don’t let Marlene hear that – she thinks there is but there’s many a slip ‘tween the cup and the lip,’ he said, giving me a huge wink.

I had to laugh in spite of my earlier anger. ‘Oh, Dad, you’re a right charmer. First Rosie and now Marlene.’

As I made my way out of the snug bar, he called after me, ‘Tell Rosie I’m asking for her.’

‘No, Dad, that’s something you’ll have to do for yourself.’

I gave him a final sad wave just as Marlene’s head appeared from the door of the main bar. She was patting her curls and she had an odd, anxious look on her face. Another thing I noticed as I quickly left was the fact that she had put on her make-up. Her face had a curious orange tint and, as Bella had succinctly put it, cherry-red lipstick right up to her nose in an exaggerated Cupid’s bow.

Joe was waiting for me at the foot of the Hilltown. When he saw me, he detached himself from the large group of men. I saw Jamie amongst the group but fortunately he was too busy trying to extract the last few puffs from a half-inch cigarette stub. His thin cheeks were sucked in with the effort and I wondered if he was using the old ploy of holding the cigarette with a Kirby grip in order to get a few more puffs. As it was I was just grateful that our Hogmanay encounter had obviously been forgotten. Joe didn’t speak. He merely lifted an eyebrow but I knew he was worried about Dad.

‘I’ve seen Dad, Joe. He looks terrible but there’s nothing anybody can do for him. He’ll sort himself out in time, I hope.’

Rita wasn’t alone when I knocked and entered. She was standing by the side of the playpen, her arms crossed as if she was feeling the cold through her thin, shabby cardigan. She also looked annoyed. A small plump man was standing in front of the cupboard which was wide open, exposing the wooden shelves which had faded paper on their surface. In one corner lay a few items of food. It wasn’t exactly Mother Hubbard’s cupboard but it was a close cousin. The man had round grey eyes and rosy cheeks and looked well nourished. He looked like an overgrown gnome but, when he spoke, all the chubby cheerfulness of an elf disappeared.

He squinted at me as I bent over the playpen to pick up Lily, his saucer-shaped eyes now like steel slits. ‘Right, then, you’ll be the daughter of this house,’ he yapped. For such a small man, he had a deep gruff voice – one more suited to a giant in a fairy tale than a gnome. He gave us a ‘holier than thou’ look, licked his pencil and proceeded to write in his notebook. ‘Now, let’s see. What’s your name and the bairn’s name so I can put it in my book?’

Rita launched herself across the room. Placing her thin body directly in front of him, she turned to face me. ‘This is the man from the means test. He’s come to check if we’ve any caviar in the press. He seems to think he’s got the almighty right to come barging into the house and rake through our cupboards like we’re common criminals.’

The man stood silent, letting this tirade pass over his chubby head. He poised the pencil over his book and said, ‘I think I asked for your name and the name of the bairn?’ He snapped at me like I was some deaf mute and hadn’t heard his request the first time.

I was angry – not only at this intrusion into the lives of decent people whose only crime was to be jobless but also at his assumption of my marital status, as if he had been sent ahead from heaven in preparation for the judgement day.

I glared at him as I hugged Lily. ‘I don’t have to answer any of your questions, mister, but I’ll tell you this – not only am I not married but this isn’t my bairn.’

His face lit up and I was suddenly reminded of Miss Hood. Perhaps it was the same malicious pleasure in other people’s misfortunes. Like Miss Hood, this was another person who obviously relished their job.

Although now near to tears at this heavy handed and needless treatment, I put on Lily’s pixie hood in preparation for leaving but not before the last defiant parting shot. ‘You can just score out all your writing because I happen to have a job. I’m a housemaid at Broughty Ferry and I not only support myself but my baby sister here. I’m not on the dole so I don’t get paid a pittance from them.’

The man jumped forward and, for a split second, I thought he was going to bar the door. ‘Now, just a minute, I think you belong to this house. That you’re supporting the occupants here and I don’t want any messing around.’

It was at this point that Rita’s son, who had been asleep after his initial bout of temper in the playpen, awoke with a loud wailing cry. He was hungry but the man glanced at him with extreme annoyance. ‘Just be quiet, sonny, till I fill in my forms.’

This plea fell on deaf ears and he cried even louder. Rita, desperate to get him fed, said quietly, ‘Just tell him where you live, Ann.’

Much against my will I told him, not mentioning the house next door to Rita’s in case Dad got questioned as well.

He glowered at me, shaking his head slightly as if it was all a pack of lies. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, his officious manner now more pronounced. ‘I think you’re the lassie of this house and, if you’re not, then you’re the lodger and your landlady here is also a childminder.’ The thought of the two misdemeanours seemed to fill him with joy and he turned to Rita. ‘You know what the penalties are if you keep a lodger. Your money will be reduced in lieu of it and, if you’re also taking in bairns to look after, then there will be another reduction.’

Rita had had enough. ‘Look here, you slimy wee toerag, you officious wee swine, my man fought in the war as a sixteen-year-old laddie to keep folk like you from living under the Kaiser. And another thing – he went for a job last week and do you know what? When he got there, two hundred other men were ahead of him in the queue.’ Although her stance was defiant, I could see she was close to tears. The child was still howling as she marched over to the bed to pick him up.

‘I’ll see you to the door, Ann,’ she said striding ahead of me with a determined air.

The man took the hint as well but not before issuing a final warning. ‘I’ll be back to check on this close, mark my words.’

As he glanced along the passageway towards our house, I held my breath. ‘I never seem to find that occupant in but I’ll be making enquiries about them so you’d better tell them.’

We stood in silence as he swaggered off down the stairs. When he was out of sight, tears ran down Rita’s cheeks. ‘What a life, Ann, isn’t it? No money and no work and now we’re being hounded like we had robbed a bank or something equally dramatic.’ A weak smile flitted across her mouth. ‘Mind you, not that I haven’t thought about robbing a bank.’

I knew she was joking because she was an honest woman but I felt sorry for her. She had all this worry on her shoulders but we were all in the same boat. I at least was lucky to have my job and once again I was grateful for Mrs Pringle’s help.

‘What job did your man go for, Rita?’

‘Well, he heard a whisper that a foundry in Dock Street was looking for a labourer but half the bloody town must have heard the same whisper. There was a huge queue of men already waiting but nobody seems to know who got the job. That’s the worst of it.’

I nodded sympathetically.

‘Never mind,’ she said, wiping the tears away. ‘How did you get on with your dad?’

I told her about his reluctance to return to the house but I didn’t mention that I had met him in the pub – that would have really riled her.

‘Is he getting married to Marlene Davidson?’ she asked.

I remember the amused look and the huge wink. Maybe during a weak or lonely moment the Merry Widow would succeed but I hoped not. Instead I replied truthfully, not wanting to deceive a good neighbour. ‘Well, he said not to listen to gossip, Rita.’

‘Well, we’ll keep our fingers crossed that it doesn’t happen,’ she said as she turned to go back into the house. ‘I’d better get the bairn’s dinner ready or he’ll bring the house down with his girning. The worst thing is, there’s another bairn on the way.’ She patted her stomach, an unhappy look on her face. ‘Tell your granny we’re both delighted.’

As I went downstairs, I knew she was being flippant. No doubt delight was the last word Rita and her man would use to describe having another mouth to feed in a few months.

Granny was full of pity for her when I relayed this news to her. ‘What a shame – as if Rita doesn’t have enough to put up with.’

She was a bit more annoyed about Dad. ‘What a devil he is and has always been. I remember when he was a laddie, the amount of lassies he knew was enormous. Then he met your mother and he settled down but now it looks like it’s all starting up again with Rosie crying every night and now Marlene with her high hopes.’ She shook her head in wonder.

I saw, in my mind’s eye, Marlene’s white pinched face with its anxious look and Dad’s unkempt and unshaven look and I wondered where the attraction lay. I said so.

Granny gave me a knowing look and laughed. ‘Never mind, young Ann. Wait till you’re older and you’ll know all about it.’

Oh, I hope not, I thought. Dealing with Miss Hood was troublesome enough.

Later, as I pushed Lily along the Esplanade, I was worried about going back to the Ferry and the tyrannical housekeeper. Being at home with my family and friends made me realise what kindly people they were – not like the horrible Lottie.

Then I saw with dismay that Lily was fast outgrowing everything, including her pram. Although it was still rickety and squeaking with every push, it had been a boon for her and Grandad. He had picked up a pair of dilapidated-looking reins with a faded rabbit embossed on the front and I secretly hoped they hadn’t been purchased from Jumping Jeemy but they kept her securely in the pram which was a blessing because she was now able to lean out and study the wheels or the pavements, both of which seemed to fascinate her.

The air was fresh and salty as we walked along beside the river. A group of men with home-made, crude-looking fishing rods were hanging over the seawall. They looked as if they were almost willing any passing fish to take the worm bait.

Beyond them, through the tracery of the Tay Bridge, white puffs of smoke from a south-bound train soared into the air. I turned the pram so that Lily could see the train, hoping that maybe some of the passengers heading out of the city would wave to her. She was such a pretty little girl and I made up my mind, there and then, that, come what may, I would try to like Miss Hood – after all, Lily’s future depended on it.

The next morning, when I turned up at Whitegate Lodge, my resolve faltered when I saw the housekeeper was as sour-faced as usual. I knew it was going to be an uphill struggle either to like her or ignore her.

I inwardly dreaded another hefty shove from her and I tried hard not to cringe every time she passed by. But, thankfully, for some unknown reason, she ignored me and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I gathered up my housemaid’s box and began my morning chores. Later, I was sitting down to lunch with Mrs Peters, who said I was to call her by her first name, Jean. As we were eating, Miss Hood skulked in and lifted a tray without her usual snide or sarcastic remarks.

‘What’s the matter with old sourpuss?’ Jean asked, astonishment written all over her face. ‘I know – you’ve threatened her with yon big bread knife, Ann!’

I laughed although I was a bit shocked. ‘Oh, I’d never do that.’

Jean laughed. ‘Och, I’m just kidding you. But I will say this – I bet she’s had an earful from Mrs Barrie about how to treat you.’

Just prior to Miss Hood’s appearance, Jean had been telling me how she arrived at the Ferry. ‘Well, it was like this. Three or four of us young lassies used to come here to the beach every Sunday during the summer months to have a wee paddle in the water but mainly to find a click.’ She saw my puzzlement and explained. ‘A click – you know, a young man. In those days I was quite bonny and slender even though I say it myself. I didn’t have this.’ She patted her ample stomach and I was reminded of Rita and wondered how her pregnancy would go.

The cook continued, ‘Well, one Sunday we got in with this group of folk on the beach and, after a lot of sand throwing and general banter, Will and I started to go steady. His father had a wee joiner’s business in Long Lane and they lived above the workshop. The business wasn’t big enough for two families so we stayed in Dundee at Dallfield Walk. We got a house right next door to my mother and Will landed a good job at the docks as a stevedore – at least it was a good job if the boss picked you to unload one of the ships but it wasn’t so good if you didn’t get picked. Of course, we were never blessed with bairns …’ Her face clouded briefly but then she became her usual cheery self again. ‘Oh, well, that was a long time ago so there’s no use lamenting over it. Then, twelve years ago, Will’s father died and his mother followed a couple of months later. So Will inherited the business and the house – him being the only child – so here we are.’