Towards a Dark Horizon (3 page)

Hattie’s voice brought me back from my reverie. ‘All I’m saying is this – it’s a disgrace and the funeral will be an even bigger booze-up.’

‘Still, you said you would go,’ I said.

Hattie glared at me. ‘What else could I say with them all looking at me like I was some kind of freak?’

Granny was annoyed. ‘I wish you would stop all this moaning about wakes and funerals. After all, this sitting up all night with a dead body is just a custom and it’s probably a tradition with the Ryans.’

Hattie wasn’t giving up her anger without a fight. She snapped, ‘Well, thank goodness Danny has been kept away from all these so-called traditions and customs. Another thing – I know Pat wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with this because he was too good and much too sensible.’

‘That’s the truth,’ said Granny, ‘but don’t forget that the only perfect husbands in the world are the ones who are dead.’ She glanced fondly at Grandad whose Richter scale had now dropped to zero.

I felt I had to say something. ‘I don’t think you can blame Ma Ryan or Kit and her sisters for this. I noticed Ma jumped out of her chair and told Kit not to let Danny go. No, in my opinion, it is those awful Malloys’ and Martin Murphy’s fault.’

Sammy Malloy’s face swam into my mind. I hadn’t liked the leering look he gave Kathleen and I hoped the little sod didn’t have any ambitions in her direction.

Hattie rubbed her eyes. She looked so weary that I almost felt sorry for her until I remembered that Danny was grown up and in full control of his own life. He was engaged to be married to Maddie and they had already planned the wedding. It would take place after Maddie’s final exams at the end of her nursing training. No, Hattie had to realise she couldn’t rule his life forever.

Granny made tea – strong and sweet for me and her, weak and sugarless for Hattie. Living like a lady in the Pringle house had given her a taste for tea with lemon but lemons were the last thing Granny would keep in her cupboard.

Hattie conceded I was right. ‘Yes, I did notice that Ma Ryan and Kit did their best but it was useless against those awful men. Those Malloys and that Murphy man can smell drink from a mile off.’

She turned to me, now all sweetness and light. ‘Will you come to the funeral with me, Ann? I feel I need another woman from my own family to back me up. After all, I haven’t seen the Ryan family for a while.’

Granny told me later that she almost told Hattie that she hadn’t visited the Ryans since Pat’s funeral in 1917 but she decided to remain quiet.

I had to give this request some thought. I started work at seven in the morning in time for the early morning trade and I finished at one o’clock. Sometimes, if needed, I did an evening shift from four till six o’clock but I got every Sunday off.

‘I’ll speak to Miss Boyd in the morning, Hattie. Maybe if I offer to work some extra hours she’ll let me off.’

On that uncertain note, she stood up and smoothed her leather gloves over her white hands. Hands that were still pretty in spite of her age and not red and raw like Granny’s or the Ryan women’s – or, for that matter, like my own. She was growing old gracefully it would seem.

She was almost out the door when Granny called after her. ‘You’ll be thinking I’m terrible but I forgot to ask what Dad Ryan died with?’

She looked annoyed but then she quickly put on a sorry face. ‘Oh, it was his heart I think. Ma did say that he was quite ill with bronchitis a few weeks ago but she thought he was feeling better. According to Danny, he’s always been bothered with his chest and his lungs. Coughing and spluttering but would he give up his cigarettes? Not him. Puffing away on his “Wild Woodbines” every day. He even called them “Coffin Nails” and that’s what they’ve become – nails in his coffin.’

The room became quiet after she departed and we sipped our tea in hushed harmony.

I was forever grateful to my grandparents for looking after Lily while I worked. Our routine hardly ever varied. After work, I would pick Lily up from the Overgate and we would have our tea when Dad got in from his work. Then, in the evening, I would return to the Overgate with her. One problem loomed on the horizon. She would be starting the school after the summer holidays and I wasn’t sure how we would manage then.

As if reading my thoughts, Granny said, ‘Maybe Miss Boyd can give you different hours when Lily goes to the school. Something will turn up, Ann. It aye does.’

I smiled at her. Dear Granny – forever the eternal optimist.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I’ve got Dad’s pieces to make yet, for his work in the morning.’

In spite of the rain, the Overgate was still busy with people. From a distant church steeple a clock chimed nine o’clock and a cold penetrating wind swirled around my legs. Like some mini typhoon, it whirled into doorways and the narrow closes, catching discarded litter and sweeping it into miniature mountains of debris. People hurried by, their bodies shivering in thin coats and jackets and their heads bent against the weather. It was clear they weren’t out for a nocturnal stroll as they hurried towards tiny shops that were still open or, in the case of the men, emerged from one of the many bars that lined the street.

On reaching home I climbed the stairs realising for the first time how weary I was. Because of the urgent summons to Lochee, I hadn’t lit the fire and the flat was cold. There was no sense in lighting it now so I put a match to the gas jets of the oven and left the door ajar. The room soon became cosy and I was grateful for its warmth as I still had some chores to finish as well as having to make Dad’s sandwiches for his dinner break at work.

I also wanted to write to Greg. I had known him for over a year now after Maddie arranged for me to visit him while he was a patient in her ward. I remembered how against the idea I had been at the time but it had turned into a wonderful friendship. I smiled at the memory. Although his parents lived near Trinafour in Perthshire, where his father was a shepherd, Greg was a librarian in the public library in Dundee.

For the umpteenth time over the last few weeks, I wished that I could speak to him but he had been sent to Glasgow on a temporary transfer. A few weeks ago, he had given up his lodgings in Victoria Road on the advice of his boss at work and the future didn’t look very rosy from my point of view.

I got out my notepad and began to write down all my news, including the death at Lochee. I wrote, ‘He died at the same time as the King.’ After I wrote it I wasn’t sure why I thought this dubious claim to fame was somehow important.

I tried hard not to think about all the good-looking girls Greg would constantly be coming across – wonderfully smart and vivacious girls with nothing on their minds except clothes and having fun. Still, this wouldn’t do, I thought – this feeling of self-pity – so I ended my letter cheerfully.

In spite of thinking about Greg, my mind kept returning to Lochee. I had the strangest feeling that something was wrong but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Even as I addressed my letter to his new lodgings in Renfrew Street, I still couldn’t shake off this niggly feeling and it lasted until I went to bed.

I thought back to Ma Ryan’s and Kit’s reaction when Mick Malloy pulled Danny into the back room. Had they looked frightened? I thought they had but surely I was wrong. After all, it was just a custom amongst the Irish community – this sitting up all night with the deceased. A shiver of fear made me tremble and I hugged my hot-water bottle. ‘Don’t let Dad drink too much,’ I prayed out loud as I snuggled down beneath the blankets.

I don’t know what time Dad came home as he had the alarm clock in his room but I do know it was in the still, quiet hours of the morning. I heard him moving around quietly before he headed to his bedroom.

Thank goodness he’s home, I thought. Then I fell asleep into a deep place, still feeling afraid of some unknown thing.

Something was definitely wrong. I saw it in Dad’s eyes as he ate his breakfast. Gulping down strong sweet tea before dashing off to the warehouse. He had that evasive look I well remembered from the old days when he was hiding something from me.

My sleep had been full of horrible dreams and I didn’t feel rested. Because of this sluggishness I was now struggling to get to my work. Dad sat hunched at the table while I washed my face using water from the cold-water tap at the sink.

I still had the strong feeling of impending doom. ‘Dad, how did the wake go last night?’ I caught the startled expression on his face as I lowered the towel from my eyes but he replaced this look with a charming smile – a smile which didn’t quite reach his troubled eyes, I noticed.

‘Och, it was fine but we didn’t stay long. We both left about four o’clock.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’d better dash or I’ll be late for work.’ On that note he rushed out of the room and I heard his tacketty boots clattering down the stone stairs.

Of course, by now, I was well and truly worried but I didn’t have time to think about it. Miss Boyd would now be surrounded by piles of newspapers and in dire need of my help. I turned out the gas lamp and headed out the door, determined to tackle Dad in the evening. Something had happened last night and I wanted to know what it was.

Connie Boyd’s shop was situated a few yards from our close which was ideal for me. It was a tiny shop made even smaller by the large amount of stock she kept. She had a small lending library in the back of the shop. A cupboard-sized space with wooden shelves that were filled with books she had collected over the years – mostly crime novels, romantic stories and Wild West cowboy sagas. She also carried a small selection of classics like
Treasure Island
and
Jane Eyre
. The books were in reasonable condition but some of the covers had seen better days. They weren’t in the same league as my legacy of books from the late Mrs Barrie which were being kept by the Pringle family until I had space to keep them myself.

One of my duties was to inspect a book when a customer returned it. To make sure any turned down pages were placed back or else to remove the bookmarks which ranged from the disgusting to the comical.

Miss Boyd still retold the story of one find almost twenty years earlier when a compromising letter was returned with a book. The lady had almost certainly hidden it from her husband and had forgotten about it. Although Connie knew who she was, nothing was ever said and the woman never appeared in the shop again.

I loved my job. There was a magical mixture of smells from the newspapers, snuff, cigarettes and the aroma of boiled sweets. The paperboy was already in the shop when I darted in – a thin gangly-looking lad of thirteen with a thin white pinched face and red-raw knees. He didn’t quite fall over with the weight of his bag but it was touch-and-go some mornings when he staggered out with this heavy satchel over his shoulder. I felt sorry for him. He lived with his widowed mother and his paper-round pittance helped her eke out the measly wage she earned by washing stairs.

Connie called out after him, ‘You’ll soon be needing long trousers, Davie.’

He muttered something about saving up for them. Poor soul, I thought.

The shop soon filled up with customers – a lucky few on their way to work and the unlucky jobless majority just popping in for a paper or some other essential.

I heard laughter and I turned around. It was Edith, Amy and Sylvia. Three young friends on their way to the spinning sheds at Hillside Jute Mills further down the Hilltown. I liked them. Barely fifteen years old, they were full of life and laughter in spite of their long hard day in the mill.

‘Hurry up and serve us, Ann, or we’ll be late again. We don’t want to get quartered again as this will be our second time this week,’ said Sylvia, laughing. ‘At this rate, we’ll not have any wages to pick up. Give me five Woodbines and two ounces of clove balls for Edith. She doesn’t smoke like Amy and me and it’ll be the death of her. Everybody knows that smoking is good for you.’ She gave Edith a pitying look. ‘I mean you’re not grown-up unless you smoke.’

Edith was unabashed – she just liked her sweeties. I could hear their laughter as they ran off down the hill and I smiled at their pure pleasure in life.

I was kept busy until dinner-time but, during one quiet spell, my thoughts returned to my earlier uneasiness.

‘Half an ounce of Kendal Brown snuff, Ann.’

I blinked at old Mrs Halliday who was standing waiting patiently at the counter. ‘Eh was a weaver in my young days and you needed snuff to clear out your nasal passages.’

I smiled to myself as I weighed out the snuff on the tiny scales. It was a story she told me every time she came into the shop. It was the same with her choice of book from the lending library.

‘Now, let’s see what you’ve got for me this time.’ She put on a pair of tiny, wire-framed spectacles and scanned the shelves. ‘Now, let’s see.’

After a few minutes she pulled a volume from the shelf. ‘Right then, Ann, I’ll have another detective story. I just love a good murder mystery. It makes you appreciate the fact that you’re still alive and kicking.’

For a brief moment, I recalled how dear Mrs Barrie had also loved a good murder mystery in spite of owning a super library of leather-bound books.

I was writing Mrs Halliday’s name in the ledger when the doorbell gave a loud metallic ping and Maddie burst in, almost taking the door off its hinges. Her face was red with the cold and she had tears in her eyes.

Mrs Halliday didn’t seem to notice as she went out but I had the most awful feeling of foreboding that had nothing to do with Dad Ryan’s death.

‘Oh, Ann, I got Danny’s letter about his grandad and I’m so sorry to hear it.’ She stopped and wiped her eyes. ‘I went down to Lipton’s shop this morning because I have a few hours off and Danny told me the engagement was off.’ Tears were now rolling down her cheeks. ‘He says it’s better we don’t get married. What happened at Lochee last night? He won’t tell me.’

I gasped so loud that Connie popped her head around the door of the back shop – a tiny space only big enough to house a chair and a gas ring. When she saw Maddie, she nodded and ducked back again behind the door to finish her cup of tea.