Under the Bridges (8 page)

‘No, lass, you sit there. I'll away and have a wash before we have our tea. Are the lassies not in yet?'

‘They'll not be long,' Agnes said.

* * *

Lorna turned to Pete. He was sitting at the table, flicking over the pages of the newspaper. She could tell he was embarrassed and a little apprehensive about how the visit would go.

Lorna wished he would talk, but he sat silently scanning the sports pages. She hoped this wasn't going to turn out to be a long and difficult evening.

The outside door banged, and there were shrieks from outside. Pete's mother looked up, unperturbed.

‘That'll be the girls,' she said. ‘They make an awful racket.'

The door burst open and Pete's two sisters stood in the entrance.

‘Well, come away in,' their mother said, ‘and say hello to Pete's young lady.'

‘Hello, I'm Lana.'

‘And I'm Irene.'

They stood gazing at Lorna, and then burst into fits of giggles.

‘Oh,
be quiet, the pair of you,' Pete said, looking up from the paper.

Lorna found she was hungry, and she did justice to the tasty fish pie, and didn't need a second invitation to heap her plate with vegetables.

She tried not to notice that the two girls were staring at her. And from time to time they would dissolve into giggles.

‘So what's your job, Lorna?' Pete's father said.

‘I'm a secretary, in an insurance office,' said Lorna.

‘Oh!' Lana was impressed by this. ‘You've a good job, then.'

‘I suppose I have, ' Lorna, who was actually a typist, said.

The two girls were silent for a bit, and then they started giggling again.

Pete helped his mother to clear the plates.

‘Have a cigarette, Lorna?' Pete's father held out the packet.

‘I don't smoke, thanks.'

‘Pete?'

‘I've stopped, Dad.'

‘Have you now?' Tommy was surprised.

Pete looked uncomfortable.

‘I was never going to save enough coupons—five thousand for a record player. Besides,' he added, ‘I'm saving up.'

‘Ooh . . .' Lana said, looking from under her eyelashes at Pete. ‘What for, I'd like to know.'

Pete
coloured.

‘None of your business.'

‘Leave the lad alone,' their mother said, coming back into the room.

Lana laughed and turned to Lorna.

‘Are you saving up, too, Lorna?' Both girls dissolved into laughter as they left the room, looking back and winking at their brother.

‘Silly girls,' Agnes tutted.

‘Can I help you to wash up?' Lorna asked politely.

‘You really shouldn't, you're a guest here . . .'

‘Not at all,' Lorna replied with a smile.

When they'd finished and went through to the living-room, Pete and his father were discussing the Pars' chances in the next home game.

Agnes shook her head.

‘It's all the latest fashion with Lana and Irene. Stiletto heels! I tell them they're bad for your feet, but they won't listen. Now you sit down and tell us all about yourself. Your dad's on the ferries, Pete said?'

* * *

It was easy after that. Pete's mother was comfortable to be with. And Lorna could sense that Pete was more relaxed, laughing and teasing his mother.

She dotes on him, thought Lorna, noticing how Agnes's eyes glowed as she looked at her
son.

She stretched and thought of the long uncomfortable journey home, the damp chill inside the bus, waiting at Dunfermline bus station, probably stamping her feet to keep warm. She was glad of the loden duffle coat her mother had bought her in the sales It was warm and waterproof.

Pete's mother stood up and drew back the net curtains.

‘It's been snowing again,' she said.

Without a word, Tommy rose and went to the door.

‘It's deep,' he said when he came back. ‘The buses won't be getting through.'

‘Never mind,' Agnes said. ‘You can stay the night here, Lorna. You can have Lana's bed and she'll sleep on the sofa bed.'

‘But . . .' Lorna began.

‘It's no bother, dear,' Pete's mother reassured her. ‘I'll away and see to clean sheets for you. And you can phone your mother, tell her you're safe here. Then she'll not worry. We've got the phone now—it's in the hall.'

Lorna wondered what on earth she could say. Trembling a little, she lifted the receiver and asked to be put through to her home number.

‘Lorna! We've been worried sick about you,' Joe said, sounding irritable. ‘Where are you? I could come out and fetch you . . . Here's your mother. She's been worried, too.'

‘Don't
worry, Mum. I'm all right,' Lorna said before her mother could speak. ‘But I won't be coming home tonight. The buses aren't running.'

She took a deep breath.

‘I'm staying the night, with . . . Mandy.' She paused. ‘In Dunfermline.'

‘Oh, she's a nice girl.' Nancy sounded relieved. ‘And as long as you're safe. Well, goodnight, dear.'

‘Night, Mum.'

Lorna put the phone down, then realised that Pete was leaning against the door, watching her.

She tried to laugh it off.

‘Parents! You know what they're like.'

‘So you're staying the night with a girl friend, are you? In Dunfermline?'

She blushed.

‘Why not just tell them you're staying here, Lorna?'

She looked up, uncomfortable in his gaze.

‘It's . . . easier.' She shrugged. ‘My parents are . . .' She didn't quite know what to say.

She'd never seen Pete like this before. His face clouded and he looked at her coldly, as if she was a stranger.

‘Are you ashamed of me and my family? Is that it?'

* * *

It
wasn't a bit like Joe, Nancy thought. Her Joe was cheerful, good-natured, always ready with a funny story about something that had happened on the ferry. She looked forward to his return every evening, to the door opening and his voice calling, ‘Anyone at home?'

But these days, Joe was different, quieter, often short-tempered.

‘So, what happened today?' Nancy would ask, but usually he responded with a shrug.

‘Nothing much,' he'd grunt, and settle down in his chair with the day's paper.

She'd come to dread too, the rows he had with Lorna. It usually started when she was ready to go out. You could see she'd taken trouble with her appearance—the cottage-loaf hairdo that must have taken ages: the smart new duster coat she'd bought from Binns, on a day out in Edinburgh.

‘She looks like a panda with all that stuff round her eyes,' he'd say crossly. ‘Not like our Lorna at all . . .'

No, Nancy thought, he wasn't the kindly, even-tempered man she knew. Was there something wrong? Could he be feeling ill?

‘Are you sure you're all right, Joe?' she asked as she put a cup of tea on the little table beside him.

‘Me? Of course I'm all right.'

‘It's just . . . you don't seem yourself. I wondered if you were feeling a bit under the weather? Maybe you should see the doctor.'

‘I'm
perfectly well,' he snapped.

‘No . . . I can tell there's something wrong,' Nancy went on, ‘and I'm entitled to know what it is. Don't shut me out, Joe.'

She sat down on the low stool beside the fire and looked up at him.

‘I'm worried about you, that's all.'

Joe folded the paper carefully and sighed.

‘Well, if you must know . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘I keep wondering—when the new bridge opens, will there be a job for me?'

‘Of course there will,' Nancy said, relieved that this was all that was on his mind. ‘They've promised you a job on the tolls, haven't they?'

‘Well, they say I'll have a job, but you never know. There's younger men than me around. They could just pension me off, Nancy.'

He frowned and his wife reached out a hand.

‘They might give me a part-time job, but that wouldn't be enough.'

‘Oh, Joe.' Nancy understood. He was a proud man and would hate the thought of not being able to provide for his family.

Nancy didn't say anything more. But all that evening, and the next day, she kept asking herself what she could do to help.

What if I got a better job, she thought. She used to be a secretary before she'd married Joe and they'd started a family.

She decided not to talk to Joe about it—not
just
yet. But she scoured the Situations Vacant columns of the
Dunfermline Press
, and went back to practising her shorthand.

Not bad, she thought, after she'd taken down a politician's speech from the radio. She looked at the neat page of Pitman's with pride. Not bad at all . . .

* * *

A few weeks later, Nancy was making her way from the bus station to the High Street, dressed in her smart check suit, with its slimline skirt and boxy jacket.

Her friend Jenny had been understanding when she'd told her about the job interview. It meant she wouldn't be able to help out at the pub any more.

‘We'll miss you, Nancy,' she had said, ‘and I don't know who could take your place, but I understand. And I wish you all the luck in the world.'

* * *

It was the kind of day Nancy liked best. There was a slight breeze, with just enough warmth in the sun to make it pleasant strolling around looking at the shops. She glanced up at the clock—there was plenty of time to spare before her appointment—time to have a wander round the Glen.

Nancy
loved Pittencrieff Park: she remembered as a child how vast it had seemed. She had loved listening to band concerts, wandering through the hothouses, and she still enjoyed watching the peacocks and listening to their shrill cries.

‘It doesn't matter if I don't get the job,' she old herself. But she knew this was something she could do. ‘
Mature lady wanted as receptionist for small employment agency
,' the notice had read.

She climbed the stair to the first-floor office, trying to remember what Jenny had advised.

‘Just be yourself, Nancy, and remember to smile! Don't look anxious. Look as if you could do the job easily.'

The receptionist was a girl in her twenties—with thick pale make-up and her hair in a French roll.

‘Mrs Mackay, isn't it? Take a seat. Mr Hardy won't be long.'

* * *

Nancy sat down and picked up some magazines. She tried not to think about the coming interview, concentrating instead on the recipes and fashion spreads. There were instructions on how to make a Jackie Kennedy hat—the elegant wife of the American President was greatly admired for her style and
dress
sense.

She was so engrossed that she didn't immediately hear a voice say, ‘Mrs Mackay, will you come in, please?'

Quickly, she rose, dropping the magazines, and a young man helped to pick them up. Blushing with embarrassment, she looked at him for the first time. He had crinkly fair hair and a pleasant, though rather harassed, expression.

He led her into his office, and pulled out a chair.

‘Do sit down.'

From then on, it was straightforward and Nancy forgot to be nervous. She told him about her work at the pub, and how she had helped sometimes with bookkeeping. She said she hadn't worked full time since her marriage, but felt confident she could cope with the work—mainly reception and typing letters.

‘I'm sure you could manage it.' Mr Hardy smiled at her across the desk. ‘We're a small agency—there's just me and my partner, Miss Dodd. Our receptionist . . .' he paused. ‘Well, she's young, and willing enough, but she's decided to move to a bigger firm. More her style, really.'

‘I know. I have a daughter of eighteen,' Nancy said ruefully.

‘Then you'll understand.' He laughed. ‘Both Miss Dodd and I felt we wanted a—more
mature
receptionist,' he said, in a burst of honesty. ‘Miss Dodd's out of the office today but you'll meet her shortly. She was happy to leave the interview to me. Do you have shorthand, Mrs Mackay?'

‘Yes, Pitman. I've been brushing it up.'

‘Good for you.' He smiled at her.

Just then there was the sound of heels tapping outside, and an angry voice and then the door was flung open.

Nancy stared at the woman who stood in the doorway. She was dressed in a black skirt and neat jacket, and had red frizzy hair and large glasses. She was clearly very annoyed.

‘What do you think that silly girl has done?' she asked, looking at Mr Hardy. ‘Only put the wrong date in the book, so I missed the appointment at Hepburn's. I should have been there yesterday. She'll have to go.'

Mr Hardy took all this very calmly.

‘Andrea—this is Mrs Mackay who's applied for the receptionist's post.'

‘Can you take messages?' the woman said abruptly.

‘Of course.' Nancy wasn't about to be intimidated.

‘Type? Take shorthand? Keep the place in order?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good. Now where's the file?—that silly girl has misplaced it, I'll bet.' She frowned.

Mr Hardy rose. ‘Well, thank you for your
time,
Mrs Mackay. I'm sure you'll understand we have several more people to interview before we make a decision.'

Nancy nodded. She hadn't really expected anything else. But it would have been a real feather in her cap if she'd been taken on right away. Still . . .

‘We'll let you know in due course,' he said. ‘I want to appoint someone fairly soon.' He looked a little despairingly at the heap of files on the cabinet. ‘Yes,' he added, ‘as soon as we can.'