Anne Douglas (5 page)

‘Hello, Lindy!’ Jemima Kerry cried, standing in the doorway of number nineteen. ‘Where’ve you been then to look so excited? Come away in and tell me all about it.’

Though a little older than Lindy, Jemima had become her very close friend as soon as she’d left school, acting as something of a mentor as well as fascinating her with all her tales of upper-class life.

‘Oh, my!’ Lindy would say, always willing to hear more of the world that was so far away from Scott Street, thinking what a grand time the folk had who lived in it. But what was it like for Jemima? Always on the hop, stitching, pressing, brushing and curling hair, sitting up late to see her lady to bed. Lindy asked her once – how did she do it?

‘Why, I love it,’ Jemima told her. ‘It’s a hundred times better than being in service. And I get my perks – material here, bottle of scent there, beautiful hand-me-downs hardly worn – I’d never complain!’

Small and slender – some said thin – Jemima was a bundle of energy that could sweep through the tenement on her days off like a whirlwind, leaving her quiet mother quite bewildered. But Lindy was grateful to her for bringing so much colour into her life and for being so much more of a confidante than her stepmother, for it was always Jemima she turned to, rather than Myra. For instance, on her return from her afternoon out with Rod, she was desperate to talk to Jemima, not only about Rod but also about Neil.

‘Oh, I’ve had such a nice time!’ she cried, hugging Jemima, who was looking very smart in a little green costume she’d made herself with a cream silk blouse, a gift from Mrs Dalrymple, altered to her own size.

‘I’ve met such a nice guy, Jemima, you’d never believe. He came into the shop, then asked me out, and today we went up Arthur’s Seat and afterwards had tea at the Herald Café. We’re going out next week, too – so, what d’you think?’

‘What do I think?’ Jemima’s eyes were studying Lindy’s flushed face and sparkling eyes. ‘I think you must have had a very good time, eh? To be so full of it. Who is this fellow, then?’

‘His name’s Roderick Connor – Rod, he’s always called. He works for the council, sort of on the social side, and he’s really nice. I think he’s been well educated, talks well, but he doesn’t put on any style or anything. I’m sure he’s very sincere.’

‘H’m. Maybe.’ Jemima was still considering Lindy’s face. ‘But you don’t really know what he’s like, do you? Better no’ get carried away, I’d say.’

‘Oh, it’s all right, I know we’ve just met. But the thing is – all I’m worried about is—’

‘So you’re back!’ came Myra’s voice, as the front door of number nineteen opened and she strode in, burdened with carriers, her eyes fixed on Lindy. ‘Now, I was wondering what time you’d come in. Hello, Jemima. Home from the nobs, eh? Lindy, open our door for me, will you, I’ve got ma hands full – and then you can help me with the tea. ’Bye for now, Jemima.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ Lindy called as she opened the door for her stepmother.

‘Aye, come up after your tea,’ said Jemima, turning for the stairs. ‘We’ll have a nice chat.’

‘As though you’ve no’ been chatting your heads off already,’ commented Myra, bustling into the flat to set down her bags and shoo Gingerboy out of her way. ‘I’ll just get the range fired up while you set the table. Then you can tell me all about your afternoon out.’

‘It was grand,’ Lindy answered reluctantly, aware that her stepmother was probably about to express opinions she didn’t want to hear. She took a cloth from a drawer in her grandmother’s old sideboard and spread it over the deal table, pretending she didn’t think she needed to say any more.

‘Grand, grand – aye, but what did you do?’ Myra asked impatiently as she finished rattling away at the range and closed the door on the fire. ‘Walking, was it, or what? You were out a fair time.’

‘We went up Arthur’s Seat and then had tea at the Herald Café.’ Lindy stooped to scratch the ears of Gingerboy, who was weaving round her legs. ‘Just the usual sort of thing.’

‘So now you won’t want anything to eat here? And I’ve got some nice gammon pieces, too. Cheap offer at the butcher’s.’

‘’Course I will want tea here. I only had one buttered scone.’

‘Let’s get on with things, then. If you start peeling the tatties, I’ll put a pan on.’

For some moments there was silence as the usual preparations for the evening meal went ahead, until Myra said shortly, ‘I think I should tell you, Lindy, that your dad and me’s no’ happy about you going out with this Mr Connor. Nothing against him, except we don’t know him. He’s just appeared out o’ the blue and looks like turning your head, because here you are, going out with him and seemingly forgetting Neil. I mean, what’s he going to say about all this?’

‘All this?’ cried Lindy. ‘I’ve had one walk and a cup of tea with Rod Connor. Why should Neil mind? We’re just good friends, anyway.’

‘Now look me in the eye and say you mean that, Lindy! It’s a piece o’ nonsense, and you know it. Whenever is a young man going out with a lassie just a good friend? Maybe Neil’s just a bit shy, hasn’t got round to saying what he wants, but I bet he’ll be upset over you and this Rod Connor. Haven’t told him yet, have you?’

‘I’m going to tell him.’

‘When, I’d like to know?’

‘He’s out at his evening class tonight, some literary course he’s joined. But we’ll be going out tomorrow. I’ll tell him then.’

‘Well, be prepared is all I can say,’ Myra said with a certain gloomy satisfaction. ‘Now, the men’ll be in any minute – I’ll make a start with the gammon.’

Needless to say, George Gillan said nothing to Lindy about Rod Connor. She’d known he wouldn’t; he always left anything the least bit difficult to Myra, and that suited her, for she didn’t want any arguments with her father. Couldn’t imagine them, really, though Struan could stir things up when he liked and it was just as well he didn’t know anything about Rod yet. He was another who’d be sure to ask, ‘What about Neil?’ Lindy was just hoping that when she saw Jemima again she’d be different. She’d understand.

Running up the stairs to Jemima’s brought welcome relief for Lindy from her stepmother’s critical gaze. At least Myra hadn’t yet told Struan about Rod, which meant he couldn’t make any comments. What a relief! And as he was now out with his mates, Lindy could relax. For the time being, anyway.

‘Come in, come in, dear,’ Mrs Kerry cried, opening the door to Lindy’s knock. ‘How nice to see you. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No, thanks, Mrs Kerry, I’ve just had one.’

Lindy’s eyes were moving round the living room. Always so well-kept and pleasant, it seemed to her like an oasis in the desert of dreariness elsewhere in the tenement, where very little comfort was expected or provided.

Even her own home, though better than some, never looked like Mrs Kerry’s, and sometimes Lindy wondered why that should be. It was not as though Jemima’s mother had any more money than anybody else, or had inherited anything special. No, it must be due to the sort of gift some women had when they could make themselves look smart in a cheap little outfit simply by adding a wee scarf or a belt, or something that was different. In the same way, Mrs Kerry and Jemima, both excellent needlewomen, could brighten up their flat with curtains, cushions and colourful mats, so that sometimes you’d never think you were in number nineteen at all.

She would aim to be as clever as that, Lindy decided, not so much in home-making – that was too far off to think about – but in what she wore and how she wore it. One day, yes, she would be in the sort of world where that sort of talent counted, and was cheered to find herself even thinking about it.

Not that she could stay cheered for long, when she still had to see Neil, but here was Mrs Kerry, small and neat, solemnly putting on her hat just to go up the stairs, it seemed, so that the two lassies could have their chat while she visited Mrs MacLauren.

‘So nice and hard-working, Vi MacLauren, eh?’ she asked from the door. ‘Always appreciates a wee blether, while her boys are out, Arthur MacLauren as well, all down the pub.’

‘If you want to see Mrs MacLauren, Ma, that’s fine,’ said Jemima, ‘but we don’t want to chase you away, do we, Lindy?’

‘No, no,’ Lindy agreed. ‘You know I like to see you, Mrs Kerry.’

‘Very nicely said, dear, but it’s all arranged, nae bother.’ Mrs Kerry gave her a pleasant smile. ‘Jemima, mind you give Lindy some tea later – now, I’ll away.’

‘Your ma’s so sweet-natured,’ Lindy commented when she and Jemima were sitting together on the sofa. ‘Sometimes I think my mother might’ve been the same. Dad never talks about her so I don’t know what she was like.’

‘Why, Ma remembers her, Lindy! She’ll tell you about her. And I think she did once say your mother was a lovely girl in every way, and what a shame it was she was taken so young.’ Jemima’s look on Lindy was long and considering. ‘Mind if I ask, has what happened to your ma put you off getting married yourself?’

Lindy coloured a little and was silent for some moments. ‘I suppose I don’t want to rush into it,’ she said at last. ‘Neil feels the same. He’s got his reasons, I’ve got mine.’

‘Now we’re getting to Neil, eh? First, though, I think I should state the obvious – no’ everyone dies having a baby. You needn’t be put off marrying if you meet Mr Right.’

‘I’m sure Neil doesn’t want to be my Mr Right,’ Lindy said earnestly. ‘Why, he said only the other night, “if we’re going places, we need to be free”. That’s why I think he won’t mind if I see someone else. We can still be what we are now, and that’s good friends.’

‘Good friends?’ From her bag on the sofa Jemima took out a packet of Craven A cigarettes and a box of matches. ‘Mind if I smoke, Lindy? I know you don’t yourself, but I find it very soothing.’

‘Smoke, then. I don’t mind if your ma doesn’t.’

‘Never says a word.’ Jemima cheerfully lit a cigarette and returned to studying Lindy.

‘How about this other chap, then? The one you’ve just met? Is he going to be Mr Right?’

‘Heavens, how can I say? I’ve only been out with him once!’

‘You like him, though, don’t you? He’s the first one you’ve wanted to see, out of plenty that have asked – am I right?’

‘He’s very nice,’ Lindy answered carefully. ‘I mean, his job shows that. He works for the council, running a hostel for homeless men, and he looks after the workhouses as well. That shows he cares about folk.’

Jemima gave a mock shudder as she drew on her cigarette.

‘He’d have to care a lot to do that sort o’ work, Lindy! Be a saint, I’d say. I couldn’t do it if it was the last job going.’

‘Nor me. Well, all I’m saying is that he’s nice, I do like him, and I want to see him again. I just want Neil to understand and I think he will. Don’t you agree?’

Lindy was leaning forward, her fine eyes intent on Jemima’s face, her lips parted, waiting so keenly for the reply she wanted she was even ignoring the smoke from Jemima’s cigarette.

But Jemima was shaking her head. ‘No point asking, Lindy. I can’t answer you. I just don’t know what Neil will say. Might ask, though, if he happened to want to go out with some other girl, would you mind?’

‘Me?’ For a moment Lindy was taken aback. ‘Why, I couldn’t imagine it. He doesn’t know any other girls.’

‘But if he did meet someone, would you mind?’

‘No. No, I wouldn’t. I’d be surprised, that’s all, but I’d still want to be his friend. I wouldn’t let someone else come between us.’

Jemima shrugged. ‘OK, that’s you. But about Neil, I can only say again, I don’t know what he’ll say.’

‘Oh, Jemima!’ Lindy sat back, her clouded face showing her feelings. ‘I’ve explained there’s just friendship between us. I’ve said what I’d do. Why should he mind about Rod if he only feels friendship for me?’

‘I don’t think you can be sure of what he feels. He mightn’t be sure himself. My advice would be, don’t try to guess what he will say. Just be prepared in case it isn’t what you want.’

‘I think it might be.’

‘Well, it might. Who am I to say?’ Jemima laughed. ‘What would I know about young men, anyway? I haven’t got any!’

‘Oh, that’s a piece of nonsense!’ Lindy cried. ‘You’re so attractive you could find a young man tomorrow if you wanted one!’

‘Tell me where. The only men I ever see are Mrs Dalrymple’s ancient butler and our cheeky footman who’s all o’ seventeen! Och, no’ to worry. How about some tea? I’ve had my orders from Ma, you know.’

‘I don’t think I feel like any tea,’ said Lindy, sighing. ‘Thanks all the same.’

Lindy and Neil were due to go dancing the following evening, though she was feeling so apprehensive she wondered if they should. Would the dance hall be the place to begin talking about Rod? Maybe they should just have a fish supper somewhere? It wouldn’t cost more than the entrance fee to the hall. But then Neil would be wondering why she didn’t want to go dancing, when she loved it so much . . .

In the end they did go dancing, and its familiar fascination for Lindy actually made her forget for a while what she had on her mind. In the pale pink dress Jemima had helped her make which fitted her perfectly, showing off her slender figure, she felt as near to Ginger Rogers as she possibly could, even if Ginger’s fairy-tale dresses were beyond her dreams.

As for Neil, though he had no taste for dancing, he wasn’t bad at it. He had mastered the art of leading and even a few variations in the steps for the quickstep and foxtrot, which always meant praise from Lindy and brought smiles to his earnest face.

When the band took its break, however, and Lindy and Neil were sitting on small chairs at the back of the hall, all of Lindy’s fears returned.

‘Like an ice cream?’ asked Neil, mopping his brow, for the hall, filled with so many couples, was hot, but Lindy shook her head. Oddly enough, she felt cold and put a thin wrap round her bare shoulders. Even her hands were chilled as she clasped them together and finally raised her eyes to Neil’s.

‘Just want to talk to you about something,’ she said huskily. ‘While the band’s away.’

‘Something? What something?’ Neil asked with a smile. ‘You’re looking very serious. Now, why would you be serious in a dance hall?’