The Tangling of the Web (19 page)

‘As a matter of fact, the thought of you coming back into my life fills me with dread!’

‘Are you mad? I’m offering to come back to you. Be your loving husband and partner again.’

‘And I’m saying could you please leave right now. You see, you’re making my nice saloon look cheap and gaudy. What I am saying is, I wish you to get out of my sight. You’re a loser, a sponger, a no user, a yesterday’s man, and as far as I’m concerned you can go forth and multiply!’

‘And that goes for me too,’ Rita added with gusto before she skipped across the floor and opened the door wide for Harry to pass through. ‘And,’ Rita, who had not been introduced to Harry, called out to his retreating form, ‘I would like to have said it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t and I wouldn’t have been as polite as Sally and told you to go forth and multiply, I would simply have said, “Why don’t you fu—"’

‘Rita!’ Sally’s voice reverberated towards her. ‘Language, language.’

‘Know something, Rita?’

‘No till you tell me, Sally.’

‘It’s just that I didnae realise how much of a load Josie takes off my shoulders,’ Sally confided as she looked about the pristine part of the saloon bar.

‘Hope you’re no grudging her a holiday?’

‘No! I’m just saying that she’s fair settled in here and done a good, very good, job.

‘Right enough, she’s taken to running the Four Marys like a duck takes to water.’

‘Aye, and you’ve done your bit too.’ Sally nodded before adding, ‘And as you know, I like to give credit where credit’s due, and between the two of you not only have you got this place on the map but you’ve also added a bit of class.’

‘Here, talking of getting this place on the map, what do you think of this?’ Rita paused, pursed her lips and nodded before continuing. ‘Your Josie had just left yesterday for her holiday when this young lassie came in. Foreigner she is.’

‘What nationality?’

‘Dinnae ken, because I just couldnae place her accent. She does speak English, but it has a sort of drawl to it. Anyway, she said to me as she nursed a gin and tonic, “The woman who runs this place: what’s her name?” I answered Mrs Stuart and quickly added but she’s no looking for any staff at the moment. Got quite agitated about that she did, but then she blurted out, “That’s okay. I’m no looking for a job, but I was wondering if Mrs Stuart’s maiden name was Mack?” And I was just about to answer her when in comes your brother in full uniform. “It’s three o’clock, Rita,” he shouted so that all the customers could hear him. “Drink up,” I said, “this officious bobby here is telling me it’s time to put the shutters up.” Anyway, as I was walking the lassie to the door, which your brother, without my permission, had locked, I told her your maiden name was Mack and you would be on duty tonight.’

‘Can’t think of who that might be?’ Sally mused while searching her memory. ‘An old classmate?’ she absently speculated. ‘Naw, it couldn’t be someone I was at school with, because I was hardly ever there. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I won’t have to wait long to find out – hope she’s no expecting free hospitality.’

Rita didn’t reply. Firstly, she had bad feelings about this lassie and she hoped she wouldn’t end up being bad news. Secondly, she conceded that Sally was very generous to family, friends and staff, but she could be quite tight where strangers were concerned.

Josie, who had never been out of Britain, was bowled over by the beauty of Menorca. The travel agent in Queensferry Street had gone out of his way to promote the island. He’d told Josie he had been there himself last year and he was going again this year. He recommended the resort of Santo Tomas as a place that was still not, and he thought never would be, spoilt by over-development and tourism.

Leaning back at the beach bar, Josie allowed the sun to warm her face and her sangria to relax her.
This is sheer heaven,
she thought, and was so unlike the life she had had. She grew pensive. Here she was at thirty-seven still single. True, she had really enjoyed her life in the last three years. Running the Four Marys had boosted her confidence, and because Sally valued her efforts, she was paid a good wage. If it had not been the case, she would never have been able to afford this holiday and to stay in the four-star Santo Tomas hotel.

She had been picked up at the airport by a limousine: no tourist bus for the clients of the posh Santo Tomas Hotel. A porter had taken care of her luggage and the next time she saw it it was sitting in her room. All the splendour made her feel as if she was at last recognised in her own right as a successful lady.

Glancing along the beach, she saw in the distance there were cranes. She worked out that building was going on there and she decided that tomorrow, if she felt like it, she would go and see what was going on.

She was surprised when she arrived at the site to find that they were building luxury flats and that the sales office was not only close by but also open for business.

She would never know why she decided to enquire of the saleswoman as to when the flats would be finished and how much they would cost. But she did.

In broken English, the lady was pleased to furnish Josie with the details. ‘The date for the completion of the flats,’ she began, ‘is only three months away. And it was hoped to have them furnished and ready for habitation by the buyers three months later, which would be in time for the next year’s holiday periods.’

‘Hmmm,’ was all Josie could manage to say.

The woman, who appeared not to notice Josie’s reluctance, continued, ‘One-bedroom flats will cost around five thou …’

With a disarming smile that belied her panic, Josie interrupted, ‘No use going on about the other flats. It’s a one-bedroom flat on the third floor – preferably the end one – that I am interested in.’

‘But,’ the saleswoman retaliated, ‘the penthouse flats have three bedrooms and three bathrooms and when you stand on the balcony you are able to see over to Majorca.’

‘Granted,’ was Josie’s quick reply, ‘but the one-bedroom flat is what my sister and I can afford and the view of the Mediterranean Sea will suit us just fine. So what’s the deposit on the one-bedroom flat that is situated on the third floor, and if that’s not available, the second? I also require to be advised on when the capital sum will be due.’

Josie had intended to ring Sally at least once during her holiday, but when she got back to the hotel after haggling with the saleswoman she experienced dual emotions. First she felt elated that within Sally’s and her grasp was a holiday flat on the Med – and wouldn’t she be the envy of all her pals in the launderette? Second was the sheer panic that had arisen in her when she really considered how much of a shock it would be to Sally and, indeed, would canny Sally be prepared to come up with most of the money?

The Four Marys bar was busier than usual for a Friday night, and Sally had coerced Margo, who was capable of pulling a pint, into helping out.

Just after nine, when things were quietening down, as revellers made their way to the Assembly Rooms dance hall, Sally went over to speak to David, who had popped in for a double malt.

‘You were very busy tonight,’ David observed.

Chuckling, Sally replied, ‘Aye. And here was me thinking that as beer has gone up to ten pence a pint that nobody would have a thirst.’

Their conversation continued, and they spoke about this and that and everything and nothing. She was so engrossed in the banter that she didn’t notice a distraught Helen rushing into the bar.

‘My mother,’ Helen sniffing and choking cried. ‘Margo, where is Mammy? I just have to get hold of her.’

‘Just stop the hysterics, Helen. Our mum is over there,’ replied Margo, who had always thought that her sister was an overindulged prima donna.

Without another word being spoken, Helen turned and rushed towards Sally. ‘Oh Mum, you’ve got to come. Our Bobby has had an accident – a bad accident.’

Sally’s hand flew to her mouth. Rising to flee, she asked, ‘Where is he? What happened?’

‘Oh Mum, you see Bobby and I went over to Leith Hospital to wait for Daisy finishing. We intended …’

‘For heaven’s sake, will you hurry up and get to what’s happened,’ Sally yelled.

‘I am getting there. Be patient,’ was a tearful Helen’s reply. ‘It was like this: we were all going to the dancing, and while we were waiting for …’

Helen could see her mother was getting very agitated, so she just blurted, ‘Look, a wee boy on a guider came hurtling down the pavement on Mill Lane and knocked Bobby over … Mum … His bad leg is broken!’

‘Helen, for God’s sake, where is my son?’

‘In Leith Hospital. Did you not hear me say we were standing waiting for Daisy to finish her shift?’

Sally did not reply. But as she was just five minutes away from her son, who she knew would be requiring her support, she started for the door.

‘Mum,’ hollered Margo, ‘you can’t leave me to run the shop. I don’t know what to do.’

Drawing up abruptly, Sally turned towards the bar. ‘Margo,’ she bellowed, ‘it’s quarter past nine. The busy time is over. Clear up and at ten o’clock throw any customers still in here out on their backsides and then lock the door! Honestly, Margo, can’t you ever think for yourself?’

‘That’s unfair, Mum. And do you think I should come up to the hospital after I close up here … ? Mum, I really don’t know what to do,’ Margo called out to the retreating form of her mother.

At a quarter to ten, the pub had two customers left in it. Then the door opened and in breezed a young woman who Margo judged to be in her late teens or very early twenties.

‘What can I get you?’ Margo asked as she ran a wet cloth over the bar.

‘Well, if I have to have a drink I’ll have a … Pimm’s No. 1.’

Margo, while making up the exotic drink, was able to eye the lassie up. She didn’t know why, but she thought the young woman was somewhat familiar and reminded her of someone – but try as she might she wasn’t able to put a finger on whom. Laying down the drink and receiving payment, Margo smiled before asking, ‘You a stranger in these parts?’

‘Yes. I’m just trying to catch up with Mrs Stuart. I was told she’d be on duty tonight.’

‘She was, but a pressing family problem had her leave in a hurry – and unfortunately that meant I was left in charge here,’ Margo informed the young woman, waving her hand about to indicate the mess that Sally had left her in.

‘Oh,’ exclaimed the young woman, ‘not only is she a traitor but a coward as well.’

Margo’s mouth fell open and she pondered as to who this pretty, young, vivacious woman, who obviously hated her mother so much, could be. Deciding that she had to come quickly to her mother’s defence, she replied, ‘Let me tell you – now what is your name?’

‘Angela.’

‘Then, Angela, let me tell you that my mother is a hardworking woman and she has raised my brother, sister and me very well. Very well indeed.’

Angela’s spontaneous laugh echoed around the saloon. ‘Did she now? Know something? I’m really pleased for you that over the years she managed to find a sense of responsibility.’

The clock loudly chiming ten reminded Margo that she must lock up now. Turning to Angela, she said, ‘You will have to leave now, but come back – let’s say in three days’ time. My mum should have everything under control by then.’

Slipping graciously from the stool, Angela smiled broadly. However, wide as the smile was, it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘That’s a date then,’ she drawled, pausing to wickedly lick her lips. ‘And would you tell your
beloved mother
it doesn’t matter how much she tries to avoid me, I have every intention of confronting her.’

Sally, lost in her own private thoughts, did not acknowledge the greeting from the hospital porter, Mr Malone.

Striding past him and taking the steps on her right two at a time, she arrived in the casualty department. Immediately she enquired of a staff nurse where her son Bobby was, quickly correcting his name to Robert Stuart.

‘At the present moment your son’s condition is being assessed by the consultant surgeon, who will speak to you as soon as he has completed his examination.’

‘How much longer will that take?’ an impatient Sally demanded.

The nurse had now been joined by the officious sister in charge, who made it evident she was the one Sally should be speaking to. Before replying to Sally, the sister said, ‘Thank you, Nurse Smith, I will attend to Mrs Stuart.’

Once the nurse had departed, the sister then turned to Sally. ‘Mrs Stuart,’ she began in clipped tones, ‘the examination of your son’s injuries will take as long as necessary. So could I suggest you sit down …’ she then pointed to the corridor, ‘… out there until I call you back.’

Cowed by the authority that rested within the woman, Sally immediately turned and found herself a seat.

Half turning the chair, so she could see the consulting-room door, Sally then sank down on it. Already her thoughts were fully consumed with the memories of Bobby’s childhood. Firstly she recalled how she had cried when she was told he had a deformity. It turned out it was only that one leg was slightly shorter than the other. Sniffing, she could in her mind’s eye see him learning to walk and stumbling and tumbling but never crying. She was broken-hearted for him, but he behaved as if everybody had a shortness of something. A few years later, Davidovich, a Polish refugee, had come into her life and he was able to expertly cobble Bobby’s shoes so he walked evenly. She had lost count of the number of attempts the Princess Margaret Rose Hospital had tried to fix his shoes and, okay, they were fine, but not as perfect as Davidovich’s attempts.

Her reverie had to cease, however, when Helen arrived at her side and asked, ‘How are things with our Bobby, Mum?’

Sally shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Just waiting to hear.’

‘Do you think it would help if he was told that I’m here?’

Glancing up at the young woman who had just spoken, Sally noted that she was a willowy redhead who oozed a sense of breeding and confidence. But who was she and what was she doing here? But as panic was still overwhelming her, all Sally could ask was, ‘And you are?’