The Sunday Girls (35 page)

Dad continued, ‘As I was saying, being a fair man, John Pringle has decided to employ me as well but instead of a full-time job, I’m afraid it’ll be part time for the moment.’

‘Will we be able to keep the house, Dad?’ My voice sounded ragged with worry. The future had looked so bright a few weeks ago and now … well, I wasn’t so sure.

‘Of course we will. It’ll just mean trimming our costs for the time being. The winter will be the hardest but we’ll face that when it comes.’ He gave me an enquiring look. ‘I don’t suppose your employer would maybe give you a raise in wages?’

‘Oh, no, Dad. She gives me an extra half crown as it is. I couldn’t possibly ask her.’

He held his hand up. ‘It was just a suggestion. Anyway, maybe Willie will finish before the winter. After all, he’s on part-time wages as well and he doesn’t seem very happy with this. Still, it’s an awful world when people are chasing others out of their jobs. I feel terrible about this but it’s a dog-eat-dog world we live in now.’

I was still worried. ‘Dad, you can give me the rent money every week and I’ll pay it to the office on the Monday.’

He laughed loudly. ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’

I shook my head but he laughed even louder. ‘Anyway the rent man comes every Friday night for the rent and you’re at the Ferry then.’

There was nothing I could do but trust him and, although I had the gut feeling I could, I hoped that temptation didn’t appear within two miles of him.

Meanwhile, if I was worried, then Maddie was radiant. She was now going out every week with Danny to the pictures and, although I was pleased for them both, a tiny bit of me longed for the old days when the three of us went everywhere together.

Granny noticed this one night. ‘You miss being with Maddie and Danny, don’t you, Ann?’

I tried to deny it but she was a wise old woman. ‘Never mind, you’ll soon have a lad of your own one of these days.’

I doubted that. For one thing, when would I have time to see him, let alone going out gallivanting with him?

Granny was still chatting. ‘I see Minnie McFarlane is getting married next month.’

Minnehaha, I thought, good for you.

‘Aye,’ said Granny, ‘she’s marrying the under-manager of Lipton’s. He’s in the branch where Danny works. Danny told me she always liked this chap and, when he showed some interest in her, she was over the moon. At least Minnie’s not sly like her mother but you wait and see, Ann. A bairn will be born in about seven months’ time and Mrs McFarlane will be telling all and sundry that it’s a premature birth.’

‘Is she expecting a baby?’ I asked, wondering about this great wide world that lay beyond my life of work at the Ferry and at home.

Granny grinned and winked. ‘Well, not officially, that is, but you wait and see. The wee bundle will pop out around March next year.’

‘Does Danny know about the wedding?’

‘Oh, aye, and he says he’s very pleased for them both but I’ve heard he was glad to escape from her clutches.’ She roared with laughter. ‘And Hattie is even more delirious with joy that he’s seeing more of Maddie.’ She became serious. ‘Mind you, I don’t believe a word of it myself.’

I knew Danny and Minnie had been good friends but I also knew they weren’t serious about one another. Minnie had been upfront with Danny about Peter, her intended groom, and Danny had told her about Maddie. But that didn’t matter with the gossips – they only wanted to believe in a bit of scandal and chitchat.

On the third of September, Minnie walked down the aisle with her under-manager. He was a thin-faced gangly-looking man, a bit older than Minnie, and he looked decidedly nervous.

She wore a long white frock and carried a small bunch of flowers and she had a happy, satisfied expression on her pretty face.

Some of the neighbours said later that her slight bulge was noticeable and, although the rumour was sweeping the Hawkhill where she lived, her house-proud and sharp-tongued mother was denying it with strongly worded sentences at every turn. That part of the story was related to us by Bella who was enjoying every minute of this matrimonial drama, even going as far as saying the poor groom had tried for an exchange to another branch in Glasgow but had been unsuccessful in his quest to escape from his formidable mother-in-law. Poor Minnie, I thought.

Bella also knew the entire menu of the wedding breakfast. The bride and groom’s family and a few friends had gathered in a tiny church hall in Hunter Street, a street which branched off the Hawkhill. According to Bella, they had a choice of sandwiches and a slice of wedding cake.

‘Aye,’ said Bella, smacking her lips at being the bearer of all this gossip, ‘Mrs McFarlane put on a choice of fish paste and boiled ham sandwiches. There was a one-tiered cake which was supposed to be baked in yon wee home bakery at the foot of the Hawkhill but it was cancelled.’

‘Imagine,’ said Granny, ‘having a cake – it must have cost a wee fortune.’

Bella poured cold water over this suggestion of extra-vagance. ‘No, no, it wasn’t a real fruitcake – just a few sultanas in the mixture and it was made by Minnie’s auntie Jeannie. Mind you,’ said Bella darkly, ‘she likes to think she’s a good baker but I wouldn’t eat anything she baked.’

Leaving the women to their gossiping, I decided to take Lily for a walk. We set off towards Dock Street and my plan was to saunter past the warehouse where Dad worked. He was still part-time but it was better than no job. I wanted Lily to see it and, if I was being truthful with myself, I was also curious.

The doors were wide open when we arrived and the interior was a buzz of activity. It was one of those lovely autumn days when the sun had a shimmering quality in its warmth and it shone brightly on our faces as we peeked inside. Yellow shafts of sunlight slanted downwards from the dusty skylights on the roof, showing up filmy cobwebs that clung like grey lace to the corners of the wooden walls.

Stacked up high against each wall were boxes of bananas, oranges and apples plus the more mundane selection of vegetables. Some of the fruit boxes displayed labels with exotic sounding names – labels that had been stuck on in far-distant lands. A few men toiled with their loads, their voices echoing in the warehouse and also on the street where the gaffer’s voice could be heard as he issued orders.

We spotted Dad. He was pushing a pile of boxes which were leaning precariously against a two-wheeled trolley. A large blue label marked ‘Fyffes bananas’ could clearly be seen.

As if feeling the intense scrutiny of Lily and me, he turned his head and smiled at us. A small, stout man in a grey overall counted the boxes and made a pencilled note in a ledger. Meanwhile, Dad returned for another load and he gave Lily a big wink in the passing but he didn’t come to the entrance.

Lily couldn’t understand this and she cried, ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Her thin, childish voice carried over the noise inside, causing Dad to turn with a worried frown but I made a sign that we were leaving. Lily waggled her chubby fingers at him and we set off for home.

If someone had asked me at that time to describe my happiness at our good fortune, I would have been unable to do so. A warm feeling of well-being wrapped itself around my heart and I felt truly that our lives were going to get better. Dad would soon be on full-time in his job and we would be a happy family again. With this happy frame of mind, I returned to the Ferry, full of plans for the future. Our load would ease and we would all live happily ever after. Our future looked as bright as a shiny red apple on Christmas morning.

Then, on the Thursday morning, Jean had her accident. One minute she was outside in the courtyard feeding the birds with some stale cake crumbs and the next she was lying on the flagstones, crying in agony. I heard her distressed cries through the open kitchen window and I ran out. I tried to lift her on to her feet but she roared with pain. ‘I think my leg is broken, Ann. Go fetch Miss Hood or Mrs Barrie.’

I raced back through the kitchen, almost knocking the housekeeper over. She opened her mouth to chastise me but I grabbed her hand. ‘It’s Mrs Peters.’ She didn’t seem to understand and I shouted at her. ‘It’s Mrs Peters. She’s broken her leg.’ I pushed her through the doorway towards the yard.

When we got there, Mr Potter was there. He had been working in the garden and had been curious about all the kerfuffle as he called it. Mrs Barrie had also heard the noise and she stood at her bedroom window but, because it faced the front of the house, she was unaware of the accident.

She called out, ‘Mr Potter, what is it?’

The gardener heard her and he detached himself from our little group and made his way to the front of the house. ‘It’s the cook, missus. Broken her leg by the look of it.’

This news upset Mrs Barrie. ‘Send Miss Hood in to telephone for Doctor Little.’ As he retreated back to the courtyard, she called after him, ‘Mr Potter, did you hear what I said?’

Mr Potter muttered to himself as he trotted back, ‘I heard you, missus, I’m not deaf.’

I brought a blanket from the linen cupboard and placed it over Jean and I also put a pillow under her head. Her leg lay at an unnatural-looking angle and she was shivering violently. In spite of it being a warm day, the flagstones in the yard were nearly always cold and damp because they lay in deep shadow.

Miss Hood had hurried indoors to telephone the doctor and she was on her way back out when we were joined by Mrs Barrie. She was pale-faced and frail looking as she stood in the courtyard, leaning heavily on her stick.

The housekeeper spoke for us all when she said, ‘Eva, I think you should be inside. When the doctor arrives I’ll let you know.’

Mrs Barrie was having none of this and her voice, when she answered, was resolute. ‘Nonsense, Lottie, I’m fine and I want to speak to Mrs Peters.’ She walked slowly towards the prostrate figure on the ground.

I was kneeling at Jean’s side and I didn’t like the look of her grey, pain-filled face. A film of sweat was now noticeable on her brow and upper lip but, in spite of this perspiration, she was still shivering.

Although in considerable pain, Jean looked embarrassed. ‘I forgot about yon cracked flagstone, Mrs Barrie. Normally when I come out to feed the blackbirds I avoid it but not today.’ She sounded rueful and her face contorted with pain.

My mind went numb at the mention of the blackbirds. Was this what Ma Ryan had warned me about? But surely the danger was aimed at me and not poor Jean who didn’t even know Danny’s grandmother? Then I thought how I often went out to throw the crumbs but I always made a quick dash for the door. Was I meant to be out here today?

Fortunately the doctor arrived at that moment and put these unhappy thoughts out of my mind. His initial diagnosis was swift and it matched Jean’s own suspicion. ‘Your leg is broken, Mrs Peters.’ He looked at Mrs Barrie. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bad break so I’m going to send Mrs Peters to the casualty department in the infirmary in Dundee. But first of all I’ll put your leg in a splint, Mrs Peters.’

I held her hand as he worked on her leg and I was upset when she moaned in pain. Poor Jean – my friend and saviour in this house and now, because of feeding the blackbirds, she was suffering all this pain.

Mrs Barrie asked Miss Hood to phone for a taxi. ‘Go to Mr Roberts, Lottie. His limousine is more comfortable and roomier than the one from the other garage.’

Lottie ran inside and I felt sorry for her. She seemed genuinely upset about Jean and she was certainly quick on the uptake regarding the telephone. She also had the proper authoritative voice for dealing with an emergency. ‘We need your limousine, Mr Roberts. It’s urgent so can you come to Whitegate Lodge at once?’

When he arrived, he viewed the scene with a nonchalant air. According to the Ferry grapevine, nothing ever upset Mr Roberts. The doctor had asked Mr Potter to make a temporary stretcher and, with the doctor and me at one end and the gardener and Mr Roberts at the other end, we managed to transfer Jean to the waiting car. We slid the stretcher along the length of the leather-upholstered back seat.

Mrs Barrie then gave him his instructions. ‘Make sure you drive slowly and look out for potholes on the road.’ She looked through the open window. ‘You’ll soon have your leg fixed, Mrs Peters, and Ann will go with you.’

I was surprised but Mr Roberts calmly opened the passenger door for me. If the circumstances hadn’t been so tragic, I would have felt like a queen at such grand transport.

Mrs Barrie was speaking again, ‘The doctor is going to telephone the infirmary, Ann, and I want you to wait till Mrs Peters has had her treatment before you come back. Mr Roberts will wait for you.’ She glanced again at the back seat but the cook was quiet. ‘Good, I’m glad she has had something to make her sleep.’ Although I hadn’t noticed it, the doctor had obviously given her a sedative.

‘I can easily get the bus back, Mrs Barrie. There’s no need to keep the car waiting,’ I said. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I felt Jean’s treatment would be lengthy and I wanted to stay until she was safely over whatever lay ahead of her. If the car was waiting for me, I would be under pressure to maybe leave earlier. ‘Honestly, Mrs Barrie, I don’t mind coming back on the bus and that way I can stay as long as it takes to make sure she’s comfortable.’

Mrs Barrie looked dubious but she agreed to my request. ‘I would feel better if you were there with her, Ann,’ she admitted. She turned to Miss Hood. ‘Lottie, I’ve no money on me. Can you please lend me a half crown to give to Ann to see she gets back safely?’

Miss Hood darted back inside and within a moment was back, her purse in her hand. She gave me the coin but her expression was blank and her pale eyes unfathomable.

As the car purred away, I heard Mrs Barrie ask the housekeeper to inform Jean’s husband. ‘I don’t think they have a telephone so can you please go to Long Lane and tell him personally. I would be so grateful, Lottie.’

Lottie’s reaction to this request went unheard as the car slipped through the front gates and along the road that skimmed the sea.

Thankfully, Jean slept through the entire journey which didn’t take too long. When we reached the infirmary, the casualty department was busy but, because of the serious nature of Jean’s injury and the earlier telephone call from Doctor Little, she was whisked away immediately.