The Sunday Girls (27 page)

The man was still talking, still running his eye over it. For a minute, he looked surprised by the tears in my eyes but sensibly said nothing. ‘I’ll give you nine and a tanner for it. No, wait a minute – because you didn’t want to part with the bedclothes, I’ll throw in another half crown. What do you think of that offer?’

Dad looked at me but I said, ‘It’s up to you, Dad. It’s your furniture.’

Dad turned to the man who now stood on the sidelines of our small domestic discussion and said, ‘Right then, we’ll take it.’

The man whipped out a small pencil from a waistcoat pocket and proceeded to write on the palm of his hand. ‘Now let’s see. That’s five shillings for the bed, three shillings for the press and nine shillings and sixpence for the sideboard.’ He did a quick calculation.

I reminded him, ‘Don’t forget the extra half crown.’

He looked up but didn’t look directly at me. ‘That’s five bob, three bob, nine and a tanner plus two and six. That makes a grand total of two pounds.’

Now that the deal was completed, Dad cheered up. ‘That’s fine then, Mr Bell. You can take the stuff away anytime you like.’

So that was his name – Mr Bell. Although he had traded on the Hilltown for a good few years, I had always known his shop as the ‘Rake and Rummage’. This name was due to the large notice in his window which cordially invited the general populace to ‘Come in for a closer inspection. No objection to browsers. You are welcome to rake and rummage.’ This was all very well but Mrs Bell also worked in the shop. She had the stern disapproving countenance of one who would strongly object to anyone turning the stock upside down. But the notice had been in the window so long that it had turned yellow with age and I doubt if anyone ever read it now.

Mr Bell was speaking again and Dad looked unhappy. ‘I’m afraid I never carry money on me,’ he said. ‘You never know who you’re going to bump into these days with so many folk out of work and I wouldn’t want to be robbed.’

This statement made Dad even more unhappy. ‘I thought we could get everything settled today. There’s two men next door ready to help and I know they’re planning on going on the Hunger March next week so they might not be available then.’

Mr Bell pondered on this predicament. ‘Well, I have my horse and cart downstairs but I’ve no money on my person or in the house. I don’t believe in keeping cash around me in these hard times.’

Because he was in danger of repeating himself over and over again and we didn’t need reminding how hard the times were, I butted in, ‘Can Mr Bell not take the furniture now, Dad, then you can collect the money at his shop tomorrow.’

Dad looked doubtful. ‘I really wanted the money for you and Lily – to take back to Granny.’

I was taken aback but also touched. ‘Oh, Dad, what a nice thought! Well, let Mr Bell take everything away now and I’ll collect the money next Monday.’

Mr Bell beamed. If he was lucky then maybe the furniture would be sold by then and he wouldn’t have to open his cashbox which was hidden in the chimney of his bedroom or wherever it was he kept it. ‘That suits me fine, lassie,’ he said.

He turned to Dad who nodded reluctantly. ‘Well, we’ll shift the stuff now and the money will be waiting for you next Monday.’

Apart from Rita, who stood in her doorway, keeping an eye on her little boy, we all mucked in and helped Mr Bell with the furniture. Getting it all down the narrow stairwell was difficult but, with a bit of manoeuvring from Dad and the two neighbours, everything was soon out on the sun-splashed pavement

The horse, as Mr Bell called it, was no more than a pony, mangy looking but with a sweet placid expression. The pony stood patiently while the first item was loaded on to the flat-based cart. Mr Bell, knowing the capabilities of his little pony, made the suggestion of one item at a time. ‘It’s a long haul up the Hilltown and I don’t want to tax my horse so we’ll take the bed first then the press and finally the sideboard.’

At that moment, a noisy band of children went running past, following one of the urchins who was on a rickety wooden scooter. Mr Bell looked shaken as they narrowly missed the furniture.

‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take the sideboard first then the bed. The press can go last.’

Nellie’s man, who was growing more agitated by the minute, growled, ‘For heaven’s sake, will you make up your mind? We’re standing here in this bloody heat and sweating like pigs while you’re dithering like a gibbering idiot.’

Dad looked embarrassed but Mr Bell didn’t bat an eye. ‘Right, then, men, it’s the sideboard first.’

I watched as the small pony struggled uphill with its load and I felt sorry for it. Still, within ten minutes, it was back, looking as placid and unworried as before.

When the last load went off, Dad thanked his neighbours. ‘I’ll have to give you both a couple of shillings for all your help.’

They shook their heads in protest. ‘Not at all – if we can’t help a neighbour out, who can we help?’

Dad accepted this graciously. ‘Right, then, I’ll stand you both a pint in the Windmill bar.’

Before they all set off, I cornered Dad. ‘I can’t accept the money. The furniture belonged to you and Mum.’

He stopped me. ‘I don’t want to hear another word. It’s for you and Lily – especially as you had to part with the bedclothes.’

I knew the money was badly needed. Lily was walking now and she needed a new pair of shoes. Also, Grandad’s shoes were in need of repair. He was using a thick piece of cardboard as an insole which was fine in the dry weather but, once the rain came, it would be another story.

As Dad hurried up the hill I called after him, ‘Thanks, Dad – we’ll use it well.’

I went back into the house. Now devoid of all the furniture, it looked sad and faded, without any character – just a small square room. Mum had been so fond of the wallpaper but the faded scuffed flowers were now an anaemic version of their former glory. I smiled when I saw the bare patch where the press stood. Dad had insisted that it didn’t need to be moved so he had papered around it. There were some markings beside this bare patch – just a few pencil lines. I bent down and saw my name and a date beside each line. My parents had recorded my height at various times during my childhood. Suddenly more warm memories came flooding back. Memories of a warm and loving home – like the smell of soup simmering on the stove and the aroma of wet washing as it dried around the fire.

I picked up the pillowcase with my small pile of treasures and turned to leave. Rita and Nellie stood outside, both looking sad. For a moment, I almost burst into tears but Mum wouldn’t have wanted all this sadness so I lifted my chin. ‘Cheerio, Rita and Nellie – mind and let us know when the bairn comes.’

Rita smiled. ‘Aye, I’ll do that, Ann. The bells of the auld steeple will be ringing out the glad tidings when it happens,’ she said as she wiped a tear away. ‘Cheerio, Ann, and mind and keep well – you and Lily.’

I turned to Nellie. ‘Thanks for all your help, You’ve both been so good to us all. I’ll never forget it.’

Nellie dabbed her eyes with a piece of cloth. ‘It’s for the best, Ann. The man from the means test is always asking questions and he was getting suspicious, wasn’t he, Rita?’

Rita nodded. ‘That’s right. We keep fobbing him off but he is aye prying and nosing around. Sooner or later he would have worked it all out.’

Outside in the street, I met Mr Bell. He was heading across the road to his shop. There was something bothering me. ‘Mr Bell, why did you not carry everything over to the shop instead of taking it up the Hill? It would have saved a journey for the wee pony.’

He gave me a suspicious look. ‘Oh, I don’t keep everything in my shop. I’ve got a wee shed up the road where I store the bigger items of furniture.’

Rita and Nellie had followed me downstairs and I bade them and the Hilltown a fond farewell. I tried not to think of the little house that had been my home for sixteen years. But, maybe with a bit of luck. Lily and I would return at some future date. I knew Mum would have liked that.

The following Monday morning, I made my way back to Mr Bell’s shop. He looked surprised to see me. ‘Oh, your dad collected the money last Tuesday morning. Look, here’s the receipt.’ He thrust a small book under my nose and I saw Dad’s signature. ‘Mind you, I did think it was strange at the time,’ he went on, ‘especially as he said you were to get the money. I did hear however through the grapevine that he had to pay his bill at the Windmill bar as he had quite a bit of drink on the slate. Still, I expect he’ll give it back to you when he’s flush again.’ His voice stammered into silence and his fingers gripped the edge of the receipt book. ‘I’m really … really sorry. Aye, really … sorry.’

I tried to look as dignified as possible. ‘Aye, that’s all right, Mr Bell. It was his furniture and the money was always his to spend as he thought fit.’

As I walked away with Mr Bell’s sympathetic eyes following me, I thought, ‘Damn you, Dad. How could you do this to your poor little girl? Poor Lily.’

Danny had good news. He burst into the house the following Sunday afternoon, his young face beaming with pride. Instead of being a lowly message boy, he was now a very junior assistant in the shop. ‘Actually, I’m not really an assistant yet,’ he explained, ‘I’m in the back shop, making up all the orders but Mr Burnett the manager says that I can work my way up if I stick in and work hard. Maybe this time next year I’ll be serving behind the counter.’ His eyes were sparkling and we were all pleased for him, especially Granny and Grandad. ‘Oh, I always knew you would go far, Danny,’ said Granny. ‘Aye, we always knew that.’

I was also pleased for him. It was the first bit of good news in ages. I had spent a depressing week at the Ferry, worried about Dad’s drinking and the wasted loss of the hard-earned money from the furniture. I could have spent it so well but it now lay in the pub’s cash register.

Hattie was full of pride at her Danny’s promotion as she called it. However, she would have preferred it if he had been made an instant manager instead of slowly working his way up the Lipton’s ladder. ‘Well, even if I say it myself,’ she said smugly, ‘I’ve always turned you out well and now it’s paying off although it could have been a higher position you were offered, Danny.’

Granny screwed up her face. ‘Honestly, Hattie, what a back-handed compliment. Don’t give Danny any praise, will you?’ She turned to him and said, ‘Everyone has to start at the foot of the ladder, son. You’ll make it and we’re all proud of you.’

Danny turned to me. ‘I’m going to Lochee to tell them about my good luck. Would you like to come with me?’ He grinned, knowing full well that his mother had made a face behind his back. This was her usual response whenever the Lochee relations were mentioned. ‘We’ll take Lily with us and go on the tramcar.’

I needed no second invitation and I hurried to get my coat. Hattie glared at me because she hadn’t succeeded in prising my treasured coat away from me in spite of a great deal of bribery and wheedling. Now, because she realised it was a lost cause, she merely resorted to scowls and mutterings every time she saw it.

Lily loved the tramcar and we always took her up to the upper deck so she could stand on the wooden seat and look out the window. As we slowly made our way to Lochee, I told Danny about Dad and the now empty house.

As usual he was sympathetic. ‘Maddie says that her uncle John is hoping that the old man will retire soon but he’s staying on till the last moment. But who can blame him? He’ll miss his wage packet every week but, on the other hand, it would be great if your dad got the job.’

‘Well, one bit of good news is that it doesn’t look like there’s to be a wedding with Marlene.’ Her pale face loomed large in my mind. ‘But I still feel sorry for her.’

Danny laughed. ‘Well, Mum doesn’t – a painted hussy is the latest description being bandied about.’

‘Maybe she is,’ I replied truthfully, ‘but she’s also a very lonely woman. At least that’s the impression I got last Monday.’

We then spoke about his promotion. ‘They’ll all be pleased at Lochee, Danny. What’s the position on the job front for them?’

He shook his head. ‘No one’s got a job yet and, although I try and help out a bit, they’re all having a hard time. Do you remember the family that were all ill last New Year’s Day? Well they’re all dead and what’s this country doing about it? Nothing.’ He sounded bitter.

I realised we were lucky to have good health which was a blessing, even if we had little or no money.

When we alighted from the tramcar, the street was as busy with children as usual. Their swooping and screaming bodies swirled around us as we made our way to Kit’s house. Their thin legs and arms poked out of ragged skirts and trousers and their jumpers were full of holes.

We spotted Kathleen amongst this throng, her red hair shining like a beacon on a dark night. She saw us and came running over, followed by a score of children. ‘Danny, Mum says to go to her house as Granny is visiting a sick pal in Louis Square.’ She waved a grimy hand before departing with her mob.

We climbed the outside stair and entered the cave-like lobby. Kit had obviously heard our voices because she opened the door before we reached it. She looked more careworn and thinner than I remembered her but her spirit was as strong as ever. There was no sign of George or her sisters.

She looked pleased to see us and immediately put the kettle on. ‘Sit down,’ she said, pulling the chairs towards the meagre fire that burned fitfully in the grate. There was hardly any heat in the room and a chill swept under the gap in the front door. The sunny weather had disappeared a few days ago to be replaced by grey cloud and drizzle. The dampness seemed to seep into the house and into our bodies but I suppose we were all in the same boat. The walls at the Overgate were also damp on occasions as were those of the Hilltown house.

I sat facing the plaster crucifix on the far wall and I noticed three patches of bright wallpaper that contrasted with the pattern on the rest of the walls and I realised that pictures which had recently hung on the wall were now missing.

Kit saw my gaze and she flushed, her face turning almost as red as her hair. ‘I had to pawn the pictures to tide us over this week although what we’ll pawn next week is anybody’s guess.’