The New Breadmakers (28 page)

They had been having a cup of tea together in Copeland’s in Ailish’s lunch break. They had already tried to decide what to wear at the wedding, without success. Again it was a question of money. Chrissie brought up the subject once more and Ailish said, ‘Well, mini skirts are out. I haven’t the legs for them. Anyway, midi length is more fashionable now.’

‘Yes, I think I’ll settle for my navy wool suit. I’ll brighten it up with a new blouse and a pretty matching ribbon for my hat. Or a wee posy of flowers, maybe.’

‘We’re both lucky we still have a hat. Hardly anyone wears them now, except on special occasions.’

‘I know. You’ll be wearing yours then?’

‘Of course. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.’

Chrissie felt a rush of affection for her friend.

‘I know you’d never do that, Ailish.’

It was true what she’d told Ailish about their desperation to get away from Aunty Mary’s flat or at least to be able to share a bed there after they were married. Aunty Mary had made it clear that she would not, could not, recognise any marriage other than the one blessed by God at a proper, holy ceremony led by the priest in the chapel. They were welcome to stay on with her after the registry office wedding but only if they were willing to continue with the same sleeping arrangements as before. Aunty Mary still avidly read her romance novels but they were obviously completely devoid of anything of a sexual nature. In Aunty Mary’s novels, the story of the happy couple always ended on the outside of the bedroom door.

Now they were afraid that Aunty Mary would accidentally let slip to the family the date of the wedding. She might even, with the best of intentions of course, tell Teresa and Michael so that they could talk them out of it, as she had tried to do.

As Sean kept saying, ‘She doesn’t mean any harm.’

But a great deal of harm could be caused if the family found out the exact date. They might turn up at the registry office and cause the ceremony to become a nightmare event or even stop it happening altogether. It didn’t bear thinking about. Sean worried about it as well.

‘Is it just a Glasgow thing, I wonder?’ he said one day, thinking aloud.

‘Is what a Glasgow thing?’ Chrissie asked.

‘All this religious stuff. Especially at football matches.’

‘I don’t know. But now you mention it, I haven’t ever read about anything like that happening in London, for instance.’

‘All the chanting and bawling out sectarian songs.’ He shrugged. ‘It might be the same in Wembley Stadium but I doubt it.’

‘Well, maybe we should be looking for a flat in London.’ Chrissie laughed. ‘Near Wembley Stadium, of course.’

Sean took her seriously.

‘Maybe we should,’ he said.

Sammy and Alec had been sitting in the Boundary Bar talking over a pint about how so much of old Glasgow was divided into predominantly Catholic or Protestant areas. The new housing schemes built by the Glasgow Corporation were an attempt to eradicate this problem. Up Alec’s close, for instance, and in Balornock in general, there was now more of a mixture of different religions.

‘But take a Protestant place like Larkhall,’ Alec said. ‘One of the fastest things on earth is a Catholic going through Larkhall on a bike.’

Sammy laughed. Being with Alec always cheered him up.

‘There doesn’t seem much, if any, of a problem in Bishopbriggs. Not as far as I’ve seen anyway. And one of the priests – Father Kelly – is well liked and respected by other flocks as well as his own.’

‘Well, good for the people of Bishopbriggs! Can you imagine the likes of Jimmy Stoddart respecting a priest or feeling anything towards him except hatred?’

It was then that Sammy remembered his own hatred.

‘What’s up?’ Alec immediately sensed his change of mood.

‘I was just thinking I’m not much better than Jimmy.’

‘What?’ Alec’s voice careered up to squeaking point with incredulity. ‘You’ve never had a bigoted, sectarian or discriminating thought in your life, Sammy.’

‘I’ve felt hatred. I feel hatred. The worst kind – against my own flesh and blood.’

Alec rolled his eyes. ‘You mean your old man? For God’s sake, Sammy, no one knowing what your father’s put you through could blame you for that.’

‘I wonder what the Friends with a capital F would say – try to separate the doer from the deed, I expect.’

‘How are you supposed to do that?’

Sammy shrugged and couldn’t think of any answer. Then, after a few thoughtful moments, Alec said,

‘I wonder what on earth made your father into such an awful old devil. After all, he was once a wee baby and a wee toddler, like the rest of us. I mean, even my lot seemed angelic when they were that age. I wonder where things go wrong? What kind of background did your father have? What were his parents like?’

Sammy stared at Alec.

‘Do you know, Alec, I’ve never thought of it like that. Not once.’

‘Do you remember your granny and grandpa?’

There was another pause.

‘Funnily enough, when my grandfather visited us, that’s when I have some of my most vivid memories of my father. He was always worse when his father was there. I dreaded the visits because of that. And because of that my whole attention was on my father. I can hardly remember what my grandfather even looked like.’

‘What about your grandmother?’

‘She must have died earlier. I’ve no recollection of ever seeing her at all.’

‘That’s odd, isn’t it?’

‘What? Not ever seeing my grandmother?’

‘No, how your father was always at his worst when his father was there. I would have thought it more likely to be the other way around. You know, that he’d be on his best behaviour to make a good impression.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t remember it like that. It was almost as if he was showing off how he could terrorise the whole family, including my mother.’

‘Maybe he was.’

Another pause.

‘That’s a thought,’ Sammy said. ‘Maybe that’s the sort of behaviour that impressed his father.’

‘Sounds as if his own father could have been even worse.’

Sammy couldn’t quite get his head around that but the thought drifted about at the back of his mind like a dark shadow or an unwelcome ghost.

‘Enough about my family tree,’ he told Alec. ‘Julie wants to know what she should cook for your Sadie and Agnes. Are they still vegetarians?’

‘Och, if it’s not one fad, it’s another with them. Catriona doesn’t help either. Telling them all about herbs and stuff. She’ll be having them eating grass next.’

‘I suppose there’s worse things that they could get into.’

‘How’s Catriona bearing up, by the way? Julie sees more of her than anybody now.’

‘About Melvin being whipped off to the hospital, you mean? I think at first she thought it was just another ploy to get her back. So did I, to be honest. But, no, according to the hospital he’s suffering from pretty bad emphysema. Catriona says all those years of chain-smoking have finally got to him. I don’t think there’s much they can do for him now.’

‘Has she been in to see him?’

‘Yes. Julie says she forces herself for Andrew’s sake. He’s been so good and attentive to his father, that boy. Far better than Fergus. Yet Fergus was always Melvin’s favourite. Fergus is always coming up with some excuse or other about being too busy and not being able to manage to get down to Glasgow. You’d think he was on the other side of the world, instead of just up in Aberdeen.’

‘Funny that.’

‘Yes, it’s a funny old life,’ Sammy said, not thinking it was funny at all. He knew what Catriona must be feeling. She hated Melvin and, as far as Sammy knew, with good reason. He felt disturbed again as the shadows at the back of his mind threatened to slink forward.

‘Ask Sadie and Agnes if they’ve got a favourite veggie dish, will you?’

‘Oh, right. Fancy another pint?’

Sammy shook his head. ‘I’d better be getting home. I’ve promised to put the decorations up.’

‘There’s hardly enough room in our house for decorations. By the way, you know you and Julie would be more than welcome at our Boxing Day do but I doubt if you could squeeze in. Sadie and Agnes’s boyfriends are coming and Hector and Willie’s girlfriends. The place is going to be bursting at the seams and absolute bedlam. I don’t recommend it. Thank goodness they’ll all be away at New Year. There’s some big do in Edinburgh they’re all going to and they’ll be there for two or three days. Sadie and Hector have begun to talk about having a double wedding in the spring so they should both be moving out then. I’m going to race down to the housing office and put their names on the waiting list myself, before they get a chance to change their minds.’

‘Right enough, it’s time they were all married and in places of their own. They must feel too happy and content at home, Alec. You’re too good to them.’

‘Time I took a leaf out of your father’s book then.’

‘You couldn’t. It’s not in you. You’re far too good natured. Always have been.’

They had arrived out on the busy Springburn Road.

‘See you,’ Sammy added with a wave.

‘Aye, OK, pal.’

For a moment, Sammy watched Alec’s tall figure swagger away, hat on the back of his head, whistling jauntily. Then he went off to catch his bus back to Bishopbriggs. When he got in, Julie was ready to dish his meal up and afterwards, they enjoyed decorating the house with a riot of coloured paper chains and balloons. Already the mantelpiece and dresser were covered with early Christmas cards. It was a bit early for the decorations as well but Julie was so looking forward to the festive season.

Sammy’s enjoyment was slightly forced. He didn’t feel happy deep down. He hoped that going to church on Sunday would soothe his troubled spirit. It usually made him feel better and so did the cup of tea and chat to everyone afterwards. Julie had long since got into the habit of going with him and it seemed to help her too.

The following Sunday, although nobody openly gave him the reassurance he sought, they all sat in silence. A calmness washed over him and reached deep inside him and he knew, for the first time, without any hatred or bitterness, what he must do.

Julie was astonished when next day he announced to her that he was going to visit his father.

‘I don’t want to worry Mother. So don’t mention it to her. There’s no need for her to know. At least not right now.’

‘She’s so happy at the moment.’

‘I know.’

‘Why should you go, Sammy, after all this time?’

He shrugged. ‘He’s a very old man. He can’t do me any harm any more. And he is my father.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, no. This is something I have to do on my own.’

And so he made the journey that he’d thought he’d never make again. It was snowing and the air was a haze of white. His feet sunk deeper and deeper into the snow as he came nearer and nearer to the lonely back road and the isolated cottage. He could hardly see it until he was almost at the garden gate. After quite a long struggle to open the gate – the snow was piled so deeply on either side it just wouldn’t budge – he vaulted over it, sinking knee-deep into the snow on the other side. The gate obviously hadn’t moved for some time. He had a bad feeling about that.

Eventually he got to the cottage door. He knocked loudly at it and stood waiting. No sound. He turned the handle and the door opened. The first thing that met him was the smell. It was sickening, disgusting.

Rubbish, bits of paper, dirty clothes, even rotting food, lay about the hall floor. He picked his way into the sitting room and found his father sitting on his big chair but not filling it like he used to. Here was a bent, gaunt skeleton of a man, a mere shadow of what he had been. Sammy was shocked.

There was no fire in the grate and the old man looked blue with cold. God alone knew when he’d last eaten. He must have needed help but of course he’d been too proud and ‘thrawn’ to seek it.

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, Father.’

The old man’s rheumy eyes swivelled round at him.

‘Can ye no’ offer me something better than that? A wee half maybe?’

‘If I can find some.’ Sammy searched in the sideboard, found nothing but eventually dug a bottle out of a cupboard in the kitchen. He handed his father a glass of the amber liquid but had to hold it to the old man’s mouth.

‘Here, get this down you.’

Hodge smacked his lips. ‘By God, that was good.’

‘Is there anything in the house to eat?’

‘Can ye no’ eat in yer own house?’

‘I mean for you. I’ll cook you something.’

‘I don’t know. I can’t be bothered getting up off this chair any more.’

‘Have you had the doctor look at you?’

‘Are you deaf or something? I can’t get around the house, never mind get out to a doctor. Who are you, anyway?’

Sammy was taken aback.

‘I’m Sammy, Father.’

‘Sammy? Samuel? From the Old Testament?’

‘No, Sammy. Your youngest son.’

‘I don’t remember you. Where have you been?’

‘I’ll make you something to eat, Father.’

All he could find in the kitchen was a tin of Heinz tomato soup. He opened it and heated it. He felt so terrible, he hardly knew how he was going to be able to cope, what he should do next.

He had to spoon the soup into the old man’s mouth. He was obviously too weak to feed himself.

Eventually he said, ‘Now I’m going to carry you through to bed, Father, and fill a hot water bottle to keep you warm until I go and fetch the doctor. We’ll see what he says and then decide what to do for the best. All right?’

‘What was it you did in the Bible again?’

‘Never mind about that just now.’

The old man felt like a bag of bones and Sammy could have wept at the awfulness of it all. He got him settled in bed with the hot water bottle.

‘Now, you’re going to be all right, Father. I won’t be long. I’ll be back as soon as I can with the doctor.’

‘Aye, Hannah was your mother’s name. What was your father’s name again?’

Sammy escaped outside and stumbled as fast as he could through the snow.

‘God forgive me,’ he thought. ‘Please, God, forgive me.’