The Sunday Girls (37 page)

I wondered if the library had the equivalent of Miss Hood but decided she was definitely a one-off person. Surely there couldn’t be another like her.

We talked about books and more books and we were both surprised when the bell sounded the end of visiting time. I couldn’t believe how quickly the time had flown in and I really enjoyed his company

As I was leaving, he said, ‘I’ll be out of here this week. Can we meet up next Sunday afternoon?’ I nodded and he smiled. ‘Right then, I’ll pick you up at your house. Nurse Pringle gave me your address.’

Oh, she did, did she? I thought. Clever Nurse Pringle. But I wasn’t annoyed because he was such good company. I mentally thanked her and then realised it had been a day for mental thoughts and images.

I passed her on my way out and she looked at me with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. I couldn’t resist it and I murmured in passing, ‘Greg isn’t old, Maddie. He isn’t thirty yet.’ But she just winked and scurried past the stern gaze of the ward sister.

I went back to work, full of well-being after my meeting with Greg. For some reason, he filled my thoughts all that week and I could hardly wait for the following Sunday to arrive.

Miss Hood appeared to be even stranger than normal but I put her terrible mood down to the presence of the new cook. Unlike Jean, she wasn’t averse to taking a few days off work without warning. On these days, all the cooking fell on the housekeeper’s shoulders and I got the brunt of her vile temper. I did offer to help out with the cooking but was brushed off rudely.

Sunday arrived in a blaze of crisply cold but dazzling sunshine. I stood at the end of the close that afternoon, waiting for Greg to arrive. I had almost called the whole thing off because of Lily. I didn’t see a lot of her and I always felt my time off should be spent with her but Rosie had stepped in. ‘Just you go away and have a nice afternoon with your young man and I’ll look after Lily.’

Dad gave her such a grateful look that I was beginning to harbour hopes about them. I had noticed that Rosie didn’t seem to attend the same number of Salvation Army meetings as she used to. I thought this was a great pity and hoped it hadn’t been Dad’s atheist views that were the reason for this. But maybe Rosie had her own reasons for this change in her Sundays.

As I stood waiting, I wondered where we would go. Sunday was such a quiet day so I thought we would maybe go for a walk. Then suddenly the quiet air was shattered by a metallic, roaring sound. Chugging up the Hilltown, in a cloud of dense grey smoke, was a motorbike and I was flabbergasted to see Greg was the driver.

I opened my mouth to speak but was immediately drowned out by the noisy revving sounds. He switched the bike off and called out. ‘Hop on, Ann. We’ll go for a spin.’

I hesitated for a moment then hopped on. We made our way noisily up the Hilltown, our progress witnessed by scores of open-mouthed pedestrians.

‘Where are we going?’ I shouted in his ear.

‘A wee spin in the country. I bought this bike from a pal and you’re the first pillion passenger on it.’

I felt honoured and snuggled up against his back. It felt comforting.

We got as far as Tullybaccart Brae when the metallic noise became more rasping. To make matters worse, this grating sound was accompanied by thick black smoke that belched from the exhaust. We ground to a halt.

Greg tinkered around with the bike’s innards before uttering in disgust, ‘I think we’ll have to leave it here. I’ll get the man who sold it to me to come and fix it this week. He’s a mechanic.’ He took my arm. ‘There should be a bus coming this way soon so we’ll get back to Dundee.’

The words were no sooner out of his mouth when a single-decker bus trundled into view.

‘You can’t leave the bike on the road, Greg,’ I said.

He thrust a half crown into my hand. ‘Quick, get two tickets while I push the bike into that garden over there.’ He pointed to a small cottage that was set back from the road. I saw Greg approach an old woman who nodded her head at the intrusion of a bike at the edge of her garden.

It was still a golden day with bright sunshine as the bus made its way through the leafy roads towards the city. Greg told me about himself. His parents lived in the country and his father was a shepherd on a small hill farm near Trinafour. He said it was about twelve miles from Pitlochry.

‘I stay in lodgings with an old woman in her house in Victoria Road. As a landlady she’s an old dragon but her cooking is wonderful and my stomach won the toss in my search for somewhere to stay.’

As I sat beside him, I felt I had known him forever and I was so happy I could have burst with wonderful emotion. I told him all about Lily and our family circumstances and he looked sad on hearing about Mum’s death.

This happy feeling lasted until Wednesday morning. I was singing softly as I tackled my chores at the Ferry. The one blot on my horizon was Miss Hood. Her manner had been becoming even stranger but, on this particular morning, it was bizarre. I had never seen her like this before. She was standing at the pantry window which overlooked the back garden. She was watching Mr Potter but there was a terrible gloating expression on her thin face. As far as I could see, there was no reason for her strange demeanour because the gardener was merely burning a huge pile of leaves and garden debris. Miss Hood rubbed her wrinkled hands together as if in glee before hurrying away with a queer little chuckle.

Mrs Barrie was sitting in her chair by the window. She looked so frail that I almost put my arms around her. She smiled brightly when I entered. ‘It’s so lovely to hear you sing, Ann. What a delight it is to have your young face around the house.’

I moved over to make the bed.

‘Will you open the window and let in some of this lovely autumn air?’ she said.

When I did as she’d asked, a thick belch of smoke, not unlike the cloud from Greg’s bike, wafted in. Mrs Barrie coughed in the acrid atmosphere. ‘Where is that smoke coming from?’

Voices from the front of the house also wafted up. They sounded annoyed. Outside, a young couple with a baby in pram had walked into the smoky cloud as the stiff breeze carried it towards the sea. It was quite thick and grey with small fragments of material mixed through it.

Mrs Barrie coughed again. ‘What on earth is Mr Potter burning, Ann?’ Then, as I closed the window again, she said, ‘Please go down and tell him to put out this bonfire.’

I ran into the garden but I couldn’t see the gardener at first. So thick was the smoke. Then I saw him, making his way through the acrid stench of burning fog. I made my way towards his ghostly figure. I then noticed Miss Hood had returned to the pantry window and she had such a strange look on her face, it made a shiver run down my spine. I really wished Jean was back in her kitchen but she was still in her ‘stookie plaster’ as she called her plaster cast.

‘Mr Potter,’ I called out but there was no answer. I could hear the loud complaints from another couple of irate walkers who were moaning about the choking smog. The breeze had now lifted this column of smoke over the roof of the house where it swept over the passing pedestrians.

I shouted again, ‘Mr Potter, Mrs Barrie says can you please put your bonfire out? It’s causing too much smoke.’

He came into view like some spirit arising from the mists of eternity. His watery eyes surveyed me for a brief moment. ‘I’m just doing my job, missus. Yon housekeeper tells me to burn this rubbish and that’s what I’m doing.’

The smoke was burning the back of my throat and I put my hand over my mouth. ‘Well, Mrs Barrie wants it put out, Mr Potter – please.’

He mumbled something under his breath but he did place a thick blanket over the flames and then he beat this with a huge spade. This made the smoke worse but it subsided after a few moments.

As he strolled away, he muttered loudly, ‘That’s the worst of working in a house full of women – they dinnae ken what they want.’

I decided to stay for a few minutes just to make sure the fire was indeed out. Mr Potter had removed the blanket and I beat the smouldering pile with the spade. I was puzzled. This fire seemed to be too large for a mere pile of leaves and twigs and garden rubbish. With the edge of the spade I moved the smoking twigs to one side. Under the embers was a thick, paper-wrapped parcel. With curiosity getting the better of me, I poked at the partially charred paper which burst open. Inside was a garment which was all black and sooty but, when I prodded it with the spade, a piece of fur flew into the air along with a spiral of smoke. I suddenly recognised it but, the last time I had seen it, it hadn’t been black and charred but a lovely russet colour. Then I saw Miss Hood’s gaze. She smirked at me through the window then laughed out loud.

Without stopping to think, I picked the parcel up with the spade. Stamping on it to make sure there were no more pockets of fire within its folds. Then I went inside. She was still in the pantry when I marched in and confronted her.The anger inside me was now on the brink of a gigantic eruption. I was furious but I was a bit surprised when I heard myself speak for my voice, although quiet, was controlled. ‘I found my coat, Miss Hood.’

She clapped her hands together as if applauding my words. ‘Well, good for you, madam. I thought it might disappear forever but that idiot Potter can’t be trusted to do anything properly.’

I was shocked. ‘Was Mr Potter in on this?’ I couldn’t believe it.

She chuckled. It was a deep, fearsome sound. ‘Him, him,’ she snorted. ‘That fool can’t even burn a pile of leaves. Now it looks like he can’t burn “my lovely coat”.’ Her voice changed as she tried to mimic my voice. ‘I told him to use paraffin but not him. The stupid old fool should have been sacked years ago.’

Looking back years later, I realised it was her attempt at mimicry that was the final straw – that and her horrible gloating expression. I could no longer control my anger and I said, ‘I think you are the most loathsome person I have ever met.’

She opened her mouth in surprise but I silenced any statement from her. ‘Not only are you loathsome but you’re miserable as well.You even resented me having breakfast on my first morning and you’ve taken great delight in making me suffer at every turn. If it hadn’t been for Mrs Barrie’s and Jean’s kindness to me then this would have been the worst job ever.’

Her eyes glittered with a strange malevolent look. Her voice was now a barely concealed snarl. ‘I never wanted you in this house, reading aloud for Eva and trying to worm your way into her affections but you won’t succeed, madam – not if I can help it.’

‘You horrible old woman,’ I shouted, annoyed that my composure had vanished. But I wasn’t going to let her get away with another word even if it meant my job was over. She could sack me later but not before a few home truths were aimed in her direction. ‘You even kept my wages from me, you rotten old besom. You, who has never had any poverty in your life – not like my poor granny and little sister.’

She rubbed her hands together and smirked. To say she was acting strangely was an understatement. In fact, I thought she was going off her head.

‘My granny is a hundred times better a woman than you’ll ever be. She is always kind, even to total strangers – makes them tea and gives them a bite to eat even if it means going without herself while you’re a wicked, selfish woman. I did everything you asked me to do. Every bit of work without a grumble but did it please you? No, it didn’t.’

‘I’ve always considered you to be a common work-shy piece of trash,’ she shouted.

‘Oh, you did, did you? And what about yourself? What work did you ever do around here? Tell me, Miss Hood, just in case I missed it.’

By now, my anger was evaporating and I walked towards the hall but not before delivering my parting shot. ‘No, the only work you ever did was to knock me off the stairs and jump out of hidey-holes and accuse me of pinching Mrs Barrie’s books when I had permission to read them. But do you know the worst thing you’ve done? No? Well, I’ll tell you. It was burning my coat and the sad thing is I don’t know why you did it. Surely you didn’t begrudge me a nice coat. Mrs Barrie must have been good to you over all these years.’

Suddenly and without warning, she sprang at me. ‘Begrudge you a coat. If I had my way you would no longer be here. I didn’t shove you hard enough on the stairs. I see that now but I’ll not fail the next time. No, indeed.’

She walked over to the hall table and picked up one of the heavy candlesticks. She was speaking to herself while inspecting it. I thought she was looking to see if I had dusted it properly but she carried it over to where I was standing with my back to the stairs. As she raised it, I was suddenly aware how deranged she was. It was as if a mist was lifted from my eyes and all her strange habits fell into place. I couldn’t believe my eyes as she pranced towards me and I was transfixed to the spot. Her thin colourless mouth was crooning a tuneless melody. I didn’t feel afraid but I was perplexed. Surely she didn’t intend to hit me with the candlestick – not in broad daylight and in Mrs Barrie’s front hall?

‘Miss Hood, give me that candlestick.’ I held out my hand and looked her straight in the eye. I was now convinced she was ill and I wished I hadn’t tackled her – even though she deserved it. She was still an old woman and I was brought up always to respect my elders.

Without warning she brought it down with a loud crash. It missed my head by half an inch and smashed into the banister, splintering the wood with its force. She raised it again. ‘I won’t miss this time,’ she crooned.

‘Put it down,’ a firm voice called from over my shoulder. ‘Put it down, Lottie.’ It was Mrs Barrie.

The housekeeper’s eyes cleared slightly. ‘I’m just chastising this little madam. She can’t do her work so she deserves a beating.’ She cradled the candlestick in her hand.

I heard the clock chime twelve and I realised in dismay that this confrontation had lasted a good half hour. I was also sorry that my raised voice must have disturbed Mrs Barrie. She looked like a frail, pale-skinned porcelain doll as she stood at the top of the stairs, her blue-veined hands clutching the wooden banister. I rushed upwards to help her descend the stairs but Miss Hood barred my way, raising the candlestick as if to strike again.