Private Sorrow, A (15 page)

By now, Molly was angry with this woman who had stormed in and tried to slander one of her staff. ‘Let me put the record straight, Miss Simpson. Mr Knox entered into a contract with Mrs McGill to come and work for him on three days a week. The agreement stated that should he wish to terminate his contract, he could do so at any time by coming here or writing a letter signed by him. He can’t send you. He must come personally or, as I said, write a letter confirming the termination.’

Sonia was outraged. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life and John won’t be sending another penny here to keep that upstart of a secretary in a job.’

‘That is where you are wrong. Until we hear personally from Mr Knox, we will continue to expect payment as agreed in the contract.’ By now, Jean had arrived and she stood inside the door in silence.

Sonia glared at them both and pushed Jean out of the way as she made for the door. ‘John is out of town just now but I assure you, he will be in touch after I tell him about this ridiculous, so-called contract.’

After she was gone, Molly let out a deep breath. ‘Well, she’s got the message I hope.’

‘I wonder what Edna has let herself in for this time. She always seems to have man trouble.’

Molly sighed again. ‘I really don’t know what’s behind all this drama, Jean, but it’s not Edna’s fault. John Knox wouldn’t behave like this even if he has fallen madly in love with the obnoxious Miss Simpson. No, he would tell Edna face to face and not do this disappearing act.’

She stopped and suddenly saw the irony of this. Surely one disappearance was enough. Life was hard enough trying to find the obnoxious Etta without a client doing a vanishing act. It was only 9:30 a.m. and already Molly felt drained. She had sat up till one o’clock that morning, going through her notes, trying to find hidden meanings behind the answers she had been given, but there was nothing. Edna had said that Etta could be living anywhere, maybe as a happily married woman with a family, and if she had wanted to contact her mother, to give her the good news about her happiness and let the woman know she was a grandmother, then she had had ample time over the past twenty-four years.

Molly decided to go and see Mrs Pert again, even if it did mean running the gauntlet past Moira’s blockade. To her surprise, when she got there, the door was answered by Mrs Pert. ‘Are you not worried I was the bogus antique dealer?’ said Molly with a smile.

‘No, I was at the window and I saw you coming into the close. Moira and Isa have gone to the shops and I promised them I wouldn’t answer the door, but I like living dangerously,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Now, what can I do for you this time?’

Molly didn’t know where to start. ‘On the Sunday Mr Barton disappeared, he went to Arbroath. Do you think he took Etta with him?’

‘That I don’t know,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I’m normally up early every morning but on that particular weekend I had a bad cold, so I stayed in bed until the middle of the morning and didn’t see either of them. I did see Etta in the early evening, but she was on her own and going towards the house.’

‘Do you think she went out again?’

‘Well, unless I was out with the ash bucket, I wouldn’t know. The curtains were drawn because it was dark and I would probably have settled down to listen to the wireless.’

‘And you didn’t see Mr Barton at all that day?’

Mrs Pert shook her head. ‘No, sorry, I didn’t. I wish now I had gone outside, but I knew Mrs Barton was in hospital and I just assumed they were visiting her.’

‘What about the police, did you see them?’

‘Yes, they came to see me the next day. It was in the morning and they were questioning all the neighbours but, like me, they hadn’t seen anything. The policeman told me that they had arrived at the house late on the Sunday night but there was no sign of the daughter and they were anxious to see her. Then, of course, they had to go to the infirmary and give Mrs Barton the bad news. It must have been a terrible shock.

‘I mentioned that I had seen Etta on the Sunday evening. About six o’clock it was, but the police told me the house was locked up. Mrs Barton had to stay in the hospital until she recovered but when she got back there, the house was just as she’d left it. Then she noticed some of Etta’s clothes had gone, along with her post office savings book. Well, I don’t need to tell you what a state the woman was in, I offered to stay with her but her young neighbour from next door went in and helped.’

Molly said, ‘It must have been a great talking point in the close. Did anyone have their own ideas about what had happened?’

‘It was just the usual gossip, that she had ran off with a boyfriend or else she had been kidnapped by some unknown gang. Most of us knew about Mr Barton’s moodiness and how he often went on long walks, not only at the weekends but often in the evenings as well. Sometimes he went with Etta, but not always.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘When he went to the pictures he often went alone.’

Molly sat silent for a moment. How could a girl of sixteen vanish off the face of the earth? Where would she go? Why would she leave her beloved father, unless she already knew he was dead? But surely if she had been with him that day she would be so overcome with grief and horror that the last thing she would want to do was disappear. Another thought – what if she didn’t know? Her father often went off on his own, and she would assume he was visiting the hospital. Vera had said that Etta hadn’t come to see her that day nor Dave, but Etta wouldn’t know that. Had she waited in the house until early evening then gone to look for him? Had she also seen the police at her door? If so, why hadn’t she answered it? Molly had the beginnings of a headache. ‘Did you ever hear of someone called Ruby who was friendly with the Barton family?’

Mabel Pert looked dubious. ‘No, I can’t say I have. There was a Ruby who used to live in the close but she was an old woman away back then and the poor soul was a bit wandered in her mind. She used to forget where she was at times and some relative took her to stay with them and she never came back.’

Molly had no more questions. Mabel saw her to the door. ‘I won’t have to tell my sister or Moira that I answered the door. It’ll save me getting a telling off from my niece, as she’s so protective of us.’

Molly walked briskly back to the Wellgate, hoping the fresh air would get rid of the headache. There was one small niggling worry that wouldn’t go away. Who was the woman with Frances Flynn? The one who hadn’t been introduced except as an ex-neighbour. Frances had said she had lived in Carnegie Street before moving to Kirkton and Carnegie Street was not far from 96 Hilltown. Perhaps this unnamed woman with the surly, unsmiling face would be able to help in her enquiries. Molly would have to go back and ask Frances for her name, but not today. Her plan was to go back to the agency and get Jean to make out an invoice for Edna’s wasted days at John Knox’s house. When he got in touch and explained the situation, then Molly would cancel these charges, but it would give her great pleasure to send this bill to Miss Sonia Simpson. She knew she was being childish but the woman had annoyed not only Edna, who had simply turned up for work as arranged, but also herself.

Alice was running late. Her last job in the afternoon should have finished at 4:30 p.m. but the client, who had three small children, had asked Alice to stay on for another thirty minutes because one of the children had spilled a bowl of rusks and warm milk all over the floor and had then promptly run through the mess, taking all the debris into the living room carpet. It had taken Alice some time to clean it up.

She was still desperate not to let Victor know that she was working full-time because she knew he would dock even more housekeeping money from her. Maisie was still looking after her small nest egg and Alice had bought new stockings and also a new skirt and jumper. She was careful not to splash the money about in case he sussed it out, but she got a great deal of pleasure from knowing she had some extra money at her fingertips. Maisie had also advised her to have her tea before he came home and that way she would get her fair share of the evening meal. She had been doing this for a while now but it looked as if it wasn’t going to happen today.

As luck would have it, the butcher’s shop was busy and one customer was dithering about buying a lamb chop or a half-pound of mince and taking an age to make up her mind. Then she had to go to the baker for bread and the grocer for butter, cheese and milk. She was on the verge of leaving the butcher’s shop when the woman made up her mind and bought half a pound of corned beef. Alice quickly asked for two pork chops and hurried out into the street.

The tramcar seemed to take ages to arrive, then it trundled up Princes Street and up past Arthurstone Terrace where she got off. By the time she reached her house, she was panting so hard she wondered if she was having a heart attack. Luckily, she had set the fire in the morning and it was soon alight. Shoving the chops into the frying pan, she set about cutting potatoes for chips. Suddenly, the frying pan caught fire and she realised she hadn’t turned the gas jet down. The chops looked black but she scraped away the burnt bits and decided to put an egg on the plate to disguise the charred edges.

The tea was just ready when Victor sauntered in. He sat down at the table without a word and began spreading his usual pile of bread and butter. Thankfully, he didn’t notice the charred chops because he had propped the evening paper up in front of him.

Alice sat down with a cup of tea and realised she had nothing in the house for herself except the bread and cheese, but she would need these for his work pieces. She wasn’t sure if he was going out tonight, as it was a Wednesday, but he began to get dressed after his meal and his three pals arrived a few minutes later. She was actually glad when he left. She had no illusions about her marriage and she longed to have a house and life of her own.

Maisie had said to save up as hard as she could and then make her escape. Maisie also said she had known Victor when he lived at home with his widowed mother. He had treated her the same way, handing over a pittance from his pay packet and expecting to eat and live like a lord, with his meals all on the table when he came in and his shirts all washed and ironed. Before he married Alice, his mother had put him out of the house and told him to get lodgings. That was when Alice had met him, when she was not long out of the orphanage where she had been brought up. Victor had seen in her someone who would be grateful for the small scraps of affection and money he doled out and they had married quietly in the Registry Office with just two of his workmates, a married couple who witnessed what she had then thought was a happy occasion.

After the men were gone, Alice went next door to see Maisie and told her the whole unhappy episode of her job. ‘That family are terrible for letting their children run riot. The mother shouldn’t leave a bairn with a bowl of rusks and hot milk. It’s just asking for an accident,’ said Maisie, who had worked a couple of shifts with the family.

Maisie was concerned about her neighbour. She was thin and gaunt looking and her face looked grey with worry and tiredness. ‘I’m just about to have my tea. Why don’t you join me? It’s soup and stovies, but it’ll be filling and tasty.’ Alice was about to say no when Maisie insisted. ‘As usual, I’ve made loads and there’s plenty for the two of us.’

While the two women were eating and having a great blether about the joys and tribulations of cleaning other people’s houses, Victor and his pals were making their way to the carnival. This was the last week and Victor was ready to face the opposition in the boxing booth. ‘Do you think you should take that guy on, Buffo?’ said one of his mates, a thin-faced, scrawny youth who looked as though a gentle breeze would blow him over.

Victor puffed out his chest. ‘Of course I’m taking him on. He’s past his best and it’s about time someone showed him the ropes. Aye, after tonight, the boxing promoter will be looking for a new boxer.’

Sandy, another one of his pals, said, ‘Aye, he might be getting on but he’s got a great punch and he’s had years of experience in the boxing ring. He hasn’t always worked in the carnival booths. He was once a heavyweight champion, I believe.’

Victor gave a humourless laugh. ‘When was that? Away back in the war?’

Although it was midweek the boxing booth was full and, as the evening wore on, it became busier. The action was all in the ring in the centre and Victor watched with satisfaction as one after another, unsuccessful challengers were led out of the ring. ‘When are you going to go in?’ asked one of the pals.

Victor didn’t answer. He was busy judging when he thought the boxer would be feeling his legs and arms tiring. Twenty minutes later, his moment of glory had arrived. With cheers from his pals and a loud round of applause from the onlookers, he stepped into the brightly lit ring and viewed the boxer with disdain. He really looked ready to be knocked out and Victor was the man to do it.

The referee shouted out the rules of the match then Victor was on his feet. He managed to put a couple of punches into the face of his opponent and he was feeling good about his chances. Suddenly and without Victor seeing it coming, the man threw a hefty punch that knocked Victor clean off his feet. He tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t let him and he sank back onto the canvas as the referee counted him out. His pals tried hard not to laugh, especially when it was clear he was hurt, but he staggered away from them into the night, leaving the jangle and noise of the carnival behind.

He ended up in a pub in Victoria Street, feeling so humiliated that he sat at a table on his own, even when a few regulars spoke to him. He was in a very bad temper and an hour later, after eight pints of beer, he staggered home.

Alice was reading a book by the dying embers of the fire when he almost fell through the door. She stayed silent as he barged into the room and she could tell his mood was ugly, so she decided to get ready for bed. As she stood up, he grabbed her and gave her a punch in the face that knocked her to the floor. ‘That’s all you’re good for, you lazy cow. Sitting burning coal that we can’t afford and buying books.’ He grabbed the book, tore pages out of it, then threw it in the fire.