The Tin-Kin (20 page)

They were across the other side of the lake now.

Imagine being with someone that long, Linda said.

Dawn shrugged. She wanted to drink her coffee but it was too hot, so instead she fiddled with the finger shape packet of sugar. It had Italian writing on it.
Zucchero
.

You seen Warren yet?

Dawn shook her head and they sat in silence for a while.

I’ve seen him, Linda said. Quite a bit. He’s with someone.

Is he?

Linda offered a cigarette.

I thought I should let you know. So you’re prepared.

No wonder he hadn’t shown his face. Dawn felt a bulge in her throat like the packet of sugar she was nipping at both ends. A young couple was walking round the lake arm in arm. They looked happy. The girl was tall and thin with a strangely large head, a short skirt with knee-high boots and a white knitted hat that made her look like a cotton bud. They stopped for a second and the girl put her cheek near to the boy’s as if she was asking a question, thinking about kissing. Dawn noticed a wee hole in the girl’s black tights, just behind the right knee, a hole the size
of a cigarette end with a white circle underneath. When the couple walked away the wee hole behind the girl’s knee winked back at Dawn, disappearing and reappearing with each step. ‘Bye-bye!’ it seemed to say, its numb ‘blink-blink’ becoming Dawn’s for the rest of the day.

She put the lid on her coffee. It was still too hot. Shall we get going?

Suppose so.

Dawn imagined the boy with the girl later on, stroking his fingertip through the hole in her tights. Warren would do a thing like that. He could be gentle in small ways.

What’s she like? Dawn said. Who?

His new woman.

But Linda said she’d never seen them together.

Dawn hated the name she’d ended up with. Double ‘D’. A letter that always stood for horrible things. She should have stuck to Hendry. Someone had made a joke of the new name for the wedding speeches.

Hasn’t it Dawn Dunn ye yet?

Ha ha ha.

What about you? Linda said.

What do you mean?

Anyone on the scene?

Dawn laughed, but she was thinking of Ally.

No gossip here, she said. Sorry.

Dad and Mother were coming back round the water. Each held one of Maeve’s hands and they were swinging her between them. They were chanting together, making her swing higher each time.

A-one-and-a-two-and-a-one-and-a-two!

They set her back on her feet and she kept saying it. A-oneand-a-two-and-a-one-and-a-two!

You could get a job in that café there, Dad said.

Don’t think so, Dad.

Why not? You’ve had a job before, haven’t you?

She’d done loads of jobs, temping in offices (she’d enjoyed the feel of warm photocopies on her lap and the taste of envelopes), delivering leaflets (sneaking a look in people’s front windows), stocking supermarket shelves (the sound of the wee machine that stuck price labels on), cleaning (as long as the house was empty and she didn’t have to make small talk), and walking dogs (they didn’t answer back).

She’d never thought of what to do next.

Later, after tea, Dad read the paper and Mother did her knitting. Maeve had fallen asleep between them on the sofa.

You seen this, Dawn, eh?

Dad held up the article in the local paper about the old woman.

Dawn nodded.

They say she’s maybe the auldest person in the world. Fancy that, eh? She’s been auld for seventy years.

Poor lady, Mother said. They should leave her alone.

Dawn wanted to be alone herself, so she went up to have a look at the room she used to sleep in. It looked no different. The wallpaper had never changed and even the furniture was much the same. Linda had got her own place years ago so they just used the room for storage now. Dad’s uniform was in there, retired on a hanger. She stroked her hand over the black suit. It was still perfectly pressed. The silver insignia on the shoulders were gleaming bright as the day they were minted. She’d never asked him what the numbers and symbols meant. The tall black hat, the bit he’d always let her play with, was nowhere to be seen. Probably in a box somewhere. She remembered him coming home from the station and letting her wear it even though it was way too big. She used to make him laugh like the song, fooling round with the hat pulled over her nose. The laughing policeman. Her Dad.

The accordion was by the door.

Are you making a mess up there? Wilma shouted at the bottom of the stairs.

Dawn jumped. Down in a sec.

There were some old books piled in a corner. She sat on the floor, pulled a book from the pile and flipped back the cover. Notes were pencilled on the blank pages and there was a school certificate pasted in the front.

Shirley Hendry, Senior Prize for English, Elgin Academy 1953.

She flicked a few pages. More pencil notes in the margins. Doodles. Shirley had never done doodles. Dawn was just about to throw it back in the cupboard when a scribble caught her eye. Two names.

Lolly and Jock.

Dawn’s mouth went dry. She swallowed, closed the book and got to her feet, stepping over the accordion. She lifted it by the straps, felt the weight of it, like a child, and piggy-backed it over her shoulders. As she left the room she stopped to look at her reflection in the mirror by the door. She tidied her hair, pressed her lips together. She was sure there was something she was meant to see.

Downstairs she manhandled the accordion off her shoulders and onto Dad’s lap. Give it a squeeze. I’ve not heard you play in ten years. I’ll be in the garden.

She breathed in the cold evening air. Dad was getting ready to play in the house. It’s like riding a bicycle, he shouted. He started with a long chord, a great sigh on the bellows, breathing life back into the old thing. And then came a tune she remembered from a long time ago. Ooom pa pa, ooom pa pa.

She could still taste the dust from that book.

Dawn looked into the trees. The wind blew and some leaves fluttered to the ground, dancing to the music. Dad had taught Maeve a song that day he took her to the beach, and she’d been
singing it over and over ever since, a silly old number about lollipops. Shirley used to hum it sometimes, ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’. No, that was something else. It was starting to get on her nerves.

She pictured the girl in the photos, the long hair and glossy smile. Lolly and Jock. Jock and Lolly. She lit a cigarette, and as she smoked she tried to blow that song out of her head, but it didn’t work. What she needed was the oldest fortune-teller in the world.

   LINES   

Jock, 1954

I wait for her at the bus station, opposite the hydro-electric and the wee shop, leaning on the rough wall, pressing the heel ae my shoe against it. I tilt my head back, blow smoke intae the sky. Today there’s the first hint ae sun we’ve had in a month, nae that it’ll last. But as long as it doesnae start pouring down like Ma promised when she saw me getting my coat on, I’ll no complain. What was it that health leaflet said about the sun’s rays? Something about super-vitamins, turn you intae a superhero? Well, anyway, I left them tae it, Saturday in the Lane, my brothers all lazing about the yard, the kinchins being fussed over by Curly, the wireless on, a kettle boiling. ‘Are ye nae after a cup ae tea afore yer awa?’ Ma shouted. I was already out the door and halfway down the Lane, my mind set on Lolly.

I wish I had that cup ae tea in my hands now. It might be sunny, but there fairly is a nip in the air. Here she is, though. Hair tied up. She’s in a brown skirt, same one she had on the first time I clapped eyes on her. Folds ae it dance below the bottom ae her blue coat, the hem stroking her stockings as she runs. I pretend I’ve nae seen her till she’s across the road, and when she reaches me she puts her arms round my waist, looks up, kisses me. Just a peck on the lips and a wee smile.

‘Told them I was at the library,’ she whispers. She pinches my cigarette out my fingers, takes a quick puff, and sticks it in my mouth. I take a long sook on it and put my arm round her, pulling her close tae warm me up. The old trout beside us tut-tuts. You’d think she’d just seen Burt Lancaster and Deborah
Kerr canoodling half naked in the waves in thon picture. Lolly furrows her brow like the old woman and gives me one ae her smiles that says they can shush and tut all they like, she’s no listening tae them.

The Lossie bus pulls up by the wooden shelter and we form a line with the other passengers, ready with change for the tickets. When I go tae the beach with the family we walk there and take the bus hame, but I made sure I kept back enough of the week’s wages tae get the bus in both directions today. We dinnae say anything. Naebody ever says a word in the bus queue. It’s like the ticket queue at the station.

I’ve never been on a train before. Working in a station and the closest I’ve been is the edge ae the platform! I’d like tae. I suppose if I had been on a train I’d have been too excited tae think ae much else, so maybe that’s where it comes from, this nae talking business.

Flying would be ten times better, though. If I was going in a plane I wouldnae be able tae breathe or eat for days just thinking about it, let alone talk about the weather with folk.

I gie Lolly the eye as she squeezes past me in the narrow aisle ae the bus. I want tae grab her. ‘What a dish!’ I think, and laugh, watching her cheeks go hot cause she kens what’s on my mind. My Lolo’s a peach! I take the bag with the sandwiches and the blanket, and follow her up tae the top floor, where usually you can hae it tae yourself cause the auld wifeys willnae climb the dancers. She turns round at the top and smiles back at me over the rail. There’s a group ae kids climbing up behind me with pokes ae chips. They’ll go tae the back seat, they aie do.

‘Nah,’ I go tae Lolly. ‘Other way. Let’s sit up front.’

Lolly’s been on loads ae trains. That’s where we met, at the station, even though we never spoke tae each other there. But I saw her keeking at me over her ma’s shoulder. When I saw her at the Two Red Shoes that time, I just went straight up and asked
her tae dance. It was easy and she said yes. After, she told me she’d liked me for ages.

Once the driver gets the engine going, folk start tae feel more at ease. I put my arm round Lolly’s shoulder and she puts her hand on my knee. We sit touching. It’ll be a half hour or so till we get tae the beach, and the best bit ae the journey’s when we go past the base with the big aircraft hangars. You get a good view from the bus.

‘I ken all the planes, Lolly. I can tell them apart just tae hear them.’ She doesnae say anything so I go on. ‘I could fly planes one day. What do you think? Would you nae fancy me in thon uniform?’

She laughs. ‘You’ve been watching too many films, Jock Terns. Anyway, my da hates the planes flying overhead. He preferred the beach before, you ken, when it was all peaceful.’

‘I suppose,’ I go. I’m disappointed she’s nae more keen on the idea ae me bein a pilot. I love the sound ae that word. Pilot. I thought even Lolly’s father could be proud ae a job like that. Lolly doesnae take me seriously, though. ‘Must be a great view from up there,’ I add, ‘the sea and the beach and the hills. Do you nae think?’

‘Aye, till you crash. My uncle was shot down in the war. Did I nae tell you about that? You’re lucky you’ve nae got your letter yet.’

My letter. The lie I told her, them forgetting tae call me up for National Service, rises in my throat. It was a stupid thing tae make up, cause of course Lolly believed me. Now she keeps mentioning it, aie worried the damn thing’s in the next post. I dinnae want tae tell her there’ll no be a letter. I’d have to say I failed the medical cause ae my feet, but anyone can see my feet are nae gammy. Nothing wrong with my tramplers! And even if there was, you dinnae need feet tae fly a plane.

It was my bloody cousins’ fault I couldnae go, the twins, Benny and Isaac McPhee. They turned up drunk and started a
fight outside the office, made it look like I was one ae the gang, one ae The Desperates. The whole town cries them that cause each ae them looks like Desperate Dan, big, hairy and stupid. I dinnae want Lolly thinking I’m one ae that lot. Anyway, all three ae us were exempted, me for my feet, them for what they said was ‘educational failure’. I suppose the services just dinnae want tae deal with too many from our background, never mind that we fought in the war like everyone else. My uncles were pipers. They were brave.