The New Breadmakers (17 page)

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She withdrew, flushing bright scarlet with embarrassment. It was unlike her to be so demonstrative or indeed to show her feelings at all.

Sammy laughed. ‘Never mind the dishes. You’re welcome to hug me again if you like!’

‘It’s all right, dear.’ Mrs Hunter retrieved the cup and saucer from the floor. ‘Nothing’s broken.’

‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been an awful nuisance. Coming so late. Bothering you like this.’

Sammy got to his feet. ‘Nonsense. You’re welcome any time. Isn’t she, Ma?’

‘Of course, dear. Of course.’

‘Come on. I’ll see you home.’

‘No, no, Sammy. I can’t allow you to go all the way to the Gorbals and back.’

‘Just do as you’re told and get your coat on. I’m not letting you trail away down to the Gorbals by yourself.’

‘It’s really very kind of you.’

‘Here you are.’ He helped her into her coat.

‘Thank you.’ Then, remembering Mrs Hunter, she turned to the old woman, hesitated and then went over to kiss the loose parchment cheek. ‘You’ve been very kind. Thank you.’

Mrs Hunter looked pleased. ‘Come again, dear. Any time. I’d be glad of the company.’

On the way home with Sammy by her side, Julie was desperately trying to swim through a stormy sea of emotion. Excitement frothed to the surface. She was going to be reunited with her daughter. Despite Sammy’s doubts, she felt sure it was going to happen. It
must
happen. And, if anyone could make it happen, it would be Sammy. Everyone knew what a determined character he was and always had been. Once he made up his mind to do something – from refusing to put on an army uniform to helping the Quakers in their work with violent prisoners in Barlinnie Prison – he never gave up. Never accepted defeat. He kept doggedly on. That’s what he’d do until he found Nurse Webster. Julie felt sure of it.

They chatted about this and that on the way to Gorbals Cross. His work at McHendry’s. Her work at Copeland & Lye’s. Their friendship with Madge and Alec Jackson. How the Jackson offspring were doing. The twins were at the Glasgow Art School and shocking Madge but delighting Alec with their nude drawings.

Sammy laughed. ‘They wanted me to volunteer to be a male model in my spare time. Apparently they’re short of men in the Art School. I turned them down. I’m not the right shape, I told them.’

It occurred to Julie then that, in fact, he was in very good shape.

‘Didn’t Catriona tell me that her Andrew had seen you at karate?’

‘Sitting in an office all day can make you stiffen up if you’re not careful. One of the clerks persuaded me to go along for a few lessons. He’s a bit of a keep-fit fanatic.’

‘I was quite surprised.’

‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s not the kind of sport I’d expect you to take up.’

‘What did you think I’d be more likely to take up? Tiddlywinks?’

She laughed. ‘Not exactly. But you being a pacifist and a Quaker and all that …’

‘Being a pacifist doesn’t mean I have to be gutless. In the First World War, they shot conscientious objectors. They knew they were going to be killed but it didn’t frighten them into changing their beliefs. It was the same with the Quakers in the old days. They were persecuted for having the courage to uphold their beliefs. They suffered worse deaths than anyone in any war. It would make your hair stand on end if I told you some of the terrible things they had to suffer. And just for speaking out against the injustices of the time. Not being violent about anything. Just for speaking the truth as they saw it. Man’s inhumanity to man, as Burns said, makes countless thousands mourn!’

Julie didn’t know what to say to that and so didn’t say anything. In silence they reached her close.

‘Here you are.’ Sammy smiled down at her. ‘Delivered safe and sound.’

‘Thank you, Sammy. I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.’

‘I haven’t done anything yet – except see you home.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Impulsively she reached up to kiss his cheek but somehow their lips met. She was astonished at the floodgates of passion that immediately opened up. The shock of it made her turn and run through the shadowy close and up the stairs. Once safely in the house, she leaned against the door, breathless, heart racing. After all the excitement of what Alec had said to raise her hopes and then of Sammy agreeing to help, this new and unexpected emotion was too much.

It brought back painful memories long since locked away and forgotten. Or so she’d thought. She remembered the sexual passion she’d felt with her husband. It was so long ago now. She’d thought she’d never feel anything like it again. She didn’t want to. She belonged to Reggie and always would. That’s what she’d believed.

Suddenly, it all came back to her now and she wept. All the claustrophobic years with Reggie’s mother weighed unbearably down on her. She and Reggie’s mother had never let Reggie go. They shared him in a secret, private world they’d created. They kept him as a real but invisible presence between them, carefully cherishing his memory.

Now she didn’t know what to think. She went to the front-room window and stood half-hidden by the curtains, staring out at the street below. At first she didn’t see Sammy. Then she caught sight of the stocky figure striding away into the distance.

She’d known Sammy Hunter for years. Why should she suddenly feel like this about him? She could only think that, with one thing and another today, she’d just got herself into an emotional state. She began to feel acutely embarrassed. How could she face him again? What must he think of her? But then, he probably hadn’t thought or felt anything unusual about the kissing incident. As for her racing away from him, what of that? It was late and she had reached home. He wouldn’t have expected her to hang about in the draughty close chatting to him. They had been chatting all the way from Springburn. No, it was perfectly all right. She dried the tears from her face, went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She made a cup of Horlick’s and took two aspirins to help her to go to sleep.

She was all right the next day. Copeland’s was busier than usual, so busy, in fact, that she was run off her feet. She was quite glad in a way that she had promised to visit Mrs Vincent after work. Her mother-in-law would have a delicious tea ready for her. Better that than having to go back to the Gorbals and start cooking a meal for herself. Then having to do the washing up. Even the thought exhausted her.

It was only when she reached Botanic Crescent and saw Mrs Vincent glued eagerly to the window as usual and giving her usual delighted wave of expectancy that the depression and the claustrophobia returned.

Inside the flat now. Mrs Vincent’s grateful embrace. Reggie’s photos all around. Reggie on the mantelpiece, looking handsome in his RAF pilot’s uniform. Reggie on the coffee table as a university student in his cricket whites. Reggie on the sideboard as a schoolboy in his blue school blazer and cap and as a toddler, clutching his teddy. Reggie as an infant, held in his mother’s loving arms.

Mrs Vincent looked as elegant as always and the table was beautifully set, as usual, with lace-edged cloth and napkins to match. The gold-edged china looked too delicate to hold hot tea. The silver cake stand, and the silver cream jug and sugar bowl, gleamed. Julie suddenly felt too sick and tired to eat. But she made an effort for Mrs Vincent’s sake. She’d gone to so much trouble.

After the meal, they settled down for a chat in which, as usual, Reggie was never far away.

‘You look so tired, my dear. You know, Reggie wouldn’t want you to be overworking like this.’

‘Do you remember that time when Reggie …’

‘I said to Reggie …’

‘Reggie said to me … I’ll never forget it … “I love her, Mother,” he said. “Look after her for me.” That’s why I keep asking you to come and live with me, Julie. I want to look after you. For Reggie’s sake.’

Julie couldn’t bear it any longer. Not for one more day. Not for one more moment.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve met someone else,’ she said abruptly.

‘What?’ Mrs Vincent looked confused.

‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else. You must have known it was bound to happen sometime. Reggie has been dead for years and I’m still a young woman.’

Horror mixed with terror in Mrs Vincent’s eyes. Then she glanced away, straightened her back and said very politely, ‘Yes, of course.’

‘I’d better go,’ Julie said, rising and picking up her handbag. ‘Perhaps after this, we could meet in town for tea. All you need to do is drop me a note or ring me at work.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Mrs Vincent repeated, also rising, then following Julie to the door.

‘All the best,’ Julie said once outside on the landing. ‘And thanks for everything.’

She couldn’t get away quick enough, she felt so awful. Remembering to turn in the Crescent and wave up at the window, she wasn’t surprised to find that Mrs Vincent was not there as usual to wave back.

Hullo! Hullo! We are the Billy Boys.

Hullo! Hullo! We are the Billy Boys.

Up tae the knees in Fenian blood, surrender or ye’ll die,

For we are the Balornock Billy Boys!

The fiery-faced leader of the Balornock Lodge was well out in front and thoroughly enjoying himself – elbows out, four prancing steps forward, four prancing steps back, as if he was doing a barn dance. Big white gauntlet gloves swallowed up the sleeves of his jacket and the long pole of the standard he carried was secured in a white leather holster strapped round his waist. Other people were waving flags and banners. One orange silk banner stretched the whole width of the parade and was held aloft by a man at either end.

The Balornock Lodge had massed together with all the other lodges from all over the city who were making a huge, riotous, drum-beating, flute-tooting, accordion-squeezing, bagpipe-screaming, high-stepping, swaggering parade to Springburn Park.

Every time they passed a chapel – and they made a point of passing as many chapels as possible, even if it meant taking a long and convoluted detour – the beating of the drums became louder, more strident and menacing.

Wee Jimmy Stoddard, resplendent in his bowler hat and Sunday suit draped with an orange sash, belted heavenwards,

I’m a loyal Ulster Orange Man just come across the sea,

For dancing sure I know I will please thee.

I can sing and dance like any man,

As I did in the days of yore.

And it’s on the Twelfth I love to wear

The sash my father wore.

For it’s old but it’s beautiful

And its colours they are fine.

It was worn at Derry Okrim,

Enniskillen and the Boyne.

My father wore it as a youth

And the bygone days of yore.

For it’s on the Twelfth I love to wear

The sash my father wore!

Big Aggie, walking behind with the women, all wearing their orange sashes, joined in with great gusto. Children followed silently at a slower pace. It had been a long walk and although they had started off with as much bounce as their parents, if not more, and they’d enjoyed the noise and excitement, exhaustion was now dragging at their feet.

The leader’s standard was of royal-blue velvet fringed with gold and he sported a fancy purple and orange sash. In the middle of the standard, an orange-cheeked picture of King William curled and furled and flapped about in the breeze. The flute band was giving a high-pitched, tinny rendition of ‘Marching through Georgia’.

The drummers followed, giving their drums big licks as they passed the Chapel of St Teresa. Teeth gritted with the effort, muscles ached and sweat poured faster. Tum-tari-tum-tari-tum-tum-tum-tum, louder and louder until heads reeled and swelled with the noise. Tum-tari-tum-tari-tuma-tum-tum!

Wee Michael sang,

King Billy slew the Fenian crew,

At the Battle o’ Boyne Watter;

A pail o’ tripe came over the dyke

An’ hit the Pope on the napper.

Someone bawled, ‘The Twelfth of July, the Papes’ll die!’

Afterwards, enjoying the picnic and innumerable bottles of beer in the park, Michael said, ‘The Paters weren’t on the walk. At least I haven’t seen them. Have you?’

‘They never came.’ Aggie flung him a disgusted look. ‘Always some excuse. If it’s no’ his bad heart, it’s her varicose veins. And them in their prime as well.’

‘What’s to stop their boys?’

‘That’s what I said and she said they’re shy fellas. Shy, my arse, I said. I’ve seen John Pater in the back close.’

‘Is John winchin’?’ Maimie asked, with some concern. She fancied him herself.

‘Well, he must be in his twenties now an’ he’s no’ a monk.’

Feeling somewhat in the huff now, Maimie muttered, ‘Our Chrissie didn’t come.’

‘Well, you know where she is. Why she sticks that place, I’ll never know. The hours are diabolical. Worse than yer daddy’s. That’s nae life for a lassie. Here, huv one of them sandwiches. They’re salmon. I’m no’ wantin’ tae humph them aw back. There’s chocolate digestives and a Victoria sponge as well.’

Maimie was thinking that either John Pater or his younger brother Brian would have suited her fine. They both attended the Springburn karate club and it gave her a terrific thrill to see them occasionally practise sparring with each other in the back green. She loved to watch how their loose white tops could hang open to reveal naked, muscly chests and the way their legs could twist into fierce high kicks. Sometimes she was glued to the living-room or scullery window for an hour or more. Sometimes she’d pretend she had to go and put something into the bin. She’d backcomb her hair and plump it up high. She’d put on her best and widest skirt with the stiff petticoats that made it rustle and stick out, wear high heels, mascara and bright red lipstick. All in the hope that one or other of the boys would notice her. They never did. At least not while they were doing their karate.

Her mother would say, ‘What the hell are you playin’ at? Goin’ out tae empty the bucket dressed like something aff the top o’ a Christmas tree.’