The Back of Beyond Page 18

  When he went into his own home again, Alistair’s spirits dropped. ‘Home sweet home and the fire black out,’ as Len Crocker had said on the day he and Dougal arrived in London. But that had been a joke. This was reality. There was no cheer in any of the rooms as he wandered through them, and he decided he’d be as well going to bed. He would make a cup of tea, then he’d fill a hot water bottle, and then oblivion … hopefully.

  He filled the kettle, lit the gas ring then sat down at the kitchen table. And now, with nothing else to take up his attention, his thoughts turned to Manny again. Manny, his employer, his friend, his confidante, his mentor. But Manny had been more than all of those. He’d been like a father. In fact, Alistair decided, he’d been much closer to Manny than he’d ever been to his real father. There had been a bond between them, a steel-cabled bond which could never be broken, not even by German bombs.

  How patiently he’d explained the business of pawnbroking to his raw helper, how well he’d schooled his apprentice on human nature, how much interest he’d shown in all the teenage boy had to say, sorting out his trivial troubles, never telling him what to do but guiding him towards the right solutions. Later, when he discussed world events, he hadn’t shoved his opinions down an impressionable young man’s throat, but had deftly let him come to his own conclusions and shown no disappointment if they were not in agreement with his own.

  But Manny had also done what he could to help him materially. He had made it possible for both him and Dougal to give their future wives decent engagement rings. He had given Leila and David valuable christening gifts, gifts they would treasure for ever. He had been like one of the family, yet he never took advantage of it. He had never wanted to intrude, no matter how fervently Gwen or Rosie assured him that they would never look on him as an intruder. It seemed that he preferred his own company out of business hours – no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t preference, it was reserve, an inborn reserve, that held him back from mixing freely with other people. That was why he’d been on his own when … his life came to such an abrupt end.

  This last thought was too much for Alistair. Laying his head on his arms on the table, he let the tears flood from him, tears that held guilt that he hadn’t forced the old man to come and live with them, gratitude for all he had done for the Ritchies, but more than anything, deep sorrow at his passing. After God made Emanuel David Isaacson, He had broken the mould. It was an old saying, a trite saying, but how true in Manny’s case.

  The piercing whistle of the boiling kettle broke into his troubled thoughts, and mopping his tears with a somewhat damp handkerchief, Alistair got to his feet, filled his hot water bottle and went to bed without bothering with tea. Two hours later, he was roused from a deep sleep by the banshee-howling of the sirens, but he didn’t move. If the Jerries wanted to kill him, let them. He was far too tired to care.

  Alice Guthrie looked up in alarm at her sister-in-law’s loud gasp. ‘What’s wrong? Has your house been damaged?’ She knew nothing could have happened to Alistair, because it was his writing on the envelope.

  ‘No, it’s Manny. He’s been killed.’

  ‘What?’ cried both Alice and Marge.

  They were still sitting at the kitchen table. The children had gone off to school on the old bicycles Alice had managed to summon up from families in the village, and all three women had been reading the letters they had just received from their husbands. ‘His shop got a direct hit,’ Gwen went on with a catch in her voice.

  ‘We’ll have to go down for the funeral,’ Marge declared.

  ‘Yes, you can leave the kids with me,’ offered Alice.

  There was a moment’s silence as Gwen read more of the letter. ‘It’s too late. The funeral’s past.’

  ‘Why didn’t Alistair tell us sooner? Why on earth did he wait so long?’

  ‘He says he was too upset, and he didn’t want us to go charging down there.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Marge muttered. ‘We couldn’t really have afforded the fares.’

  Gwen’s hand shot out suddenly to stop further remarks as she came to another item of news. ‘Listen to this.’

  In a few moments her listeners were demanding to see the letter for themselves and scanning the neat writing while they each held a side of the pages. ‘My God!’ exclaimed Marge at last. ‘You lucky blighters!’

  ‘He does say they won’t get any of it till after the war,’ Alice pointed out. ‘Still, it must be nice to know there’s a nest egg waiting at the end of the tunnel.’

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ wailed Gwen. ‘I can hardly believe it, and will you please give me my letter back? I haven’t finished reading it.’

  Her head bent over it again, and Marge said, accusingly, to Alice, ‘I can’t understand your brother. He’s been writing every day and this happened nearly a week ago and he never mentioned it.’

  ‘Like he said, he didn’t want you to go charging down there.’

  ‘But he must have known we’d have wanted to go?’

  ‘He hadn’t wanted Gwen to see how upset he was.’

  Marge nodded now. ‘That’s more like it. He must be absolutely devastated – he loved that old man … we all did.’ Both women jumped as Gwen let out another wail.

  ‘Oh, no! I should have known he’d do that! But why couldn’t he have waited?’

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ Marge sounded testy.

  ‘The day Manny was killed, Alistair volunteered for the army.’

  ‘You knew it was only because of Manny he didn’t go before.’

  ‘Yes, but … oh, Marge! He should have told me as soon as …’

  Marge shook her head sadly. ‘Think how he must have felt, Gwennie – as if his life had come to an end, as well … his life as he’d known it, I mean. No Manny, no job …’

  ‘No wife and kids, either,’ Gwen said, bitterly, ‘but he didn’t care about us, did he?’

  ‘Of course he did! He sent you away from London because he loved you and didn’t want anything to happen to any of you.’

  Alice, keeping out of it until now, said, rather sharply, ‘You should be proud of him, Gwen. At least he didn’t go to pieces at what had happened. He took a decision to do what he could to pay the Germans back for …’

  ‘Yes, that’s what it had been.’ Gwen sounded quite relieved. ‘It was a shock, that’s all, after reading about Manny …’

  ‘Not forgetting the windfall,’ Marge reminded her. ‘Are you sure he didn’t have any more surprises up his sleeve?’

  Her sister looked down at the letter again. ‘No, he just says how pleased he was at Peg and Alf getting engaged, and we already knew that.’

  They had been told in a letter from Peggy five days earlier, which had been the subject for much discussion at the time.

  ‘I’m glad I had time to get over that,’ Gwen said now. ‘I had enough to take in today. Poor Manny! He used to come to see me once a week before his legs gave up.’ She paused, her brows coming down in puzzlement. ‘You know, I think he did try to give me a hint once that he was leaving everything to Alistair, but he didn’t come right out with it and it didn’t dawn on me what he was meaning.’ Her face clearing, she went on, ‘Alistair must have been heartbroken. He worshipped that old man, and he always said he’d have joined up long ago if it hadn’t been for him. Yes, I can understand now why his first thought was to have a go at the Germans.’

  She paused, then smiled. ‘Anything interesting in any of your letters, girls?’

  Marge shrugged. ‘Nothing much in Dougal’s, just how much he’s missing me. He’s bored stiff in Wales, and wishing he could get back into the fray, but I’m just thankful he’s in a place where he’s safe.’ She turned to Alice. ‘What’s Sam saying?’

  ‘I was waiting to tell you. He’s been told he’ll be at Turnhouse for the foreseeable future, so he’s rented what had once been a farm worker’s cottage on the outskirts of Edinburgh, not far from the drome. He’s expecting us down the day after tomorrow, so af
ter we go, you two can have a bedroom each, and …’

  ‘That means …’ Marge hesitated, then grinned wickedly. ‘You know what I mean. Good show!’

  ‘Did I hear you saying we could have a bedroom each?’ Gwen inquired, returning her letter to its envelope. ‘That’s good. Alistair says he might manage a visit before he has to report at Catterick, and I was wondering where he would sleep.’

  When the children came home, Gwen told them first, quietly and patiently, about Manny, and then, to save them dwelling on it too much, she gave them the good news. ‘Daddy might be coming to see us soon, before he goes into the army.’

  ‘Oh, great!’ shouted David. ‘I can’t wait to see him in his uniform.’

  ‘He won’t be in uniform, not yet. Next time he comes, though.’

  It was Marge who noticed the boy’s hand slipping into his pocket occasionally, then transferring something to his mouth. ‘What’s that you’re eating?’ she demanded.

  ‘Some sweets we got from the shop lady.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been in the shop!’ Gwen snapped.

  ‘We weren’t.’ David was at his most indignant. ‘She came out and gave them to us – a bag each. She said she used to know our Dad.’

  Alice laughed. ‘That’s Lexie Fraser. She was … um … at school with your Dad and your Uncle Dougal.’

  ‘You mustn’t take sweets from her again, though,’ Gwen warned. ‘They’re rationed.’

  ‘She said she never eats her ration,’ Leila defended her brother. ‘She said she knew Dad really well when they were young.’

  ‘And she winked,’ David added.

  Once again, it was Marge who picked up the underlying meaning to the seemingly open gift to two children, but she said nothing until she and Gwen were in bed. ‘What did you make of that shop person?’

  ‘Giving them sweets? It was good of her, but she shouldn’t, they might come to expect it, and it’s not good for their teeth.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. David said she winked when she said she knew Alistair really well when they were young. She could have been a girlfriend.’

  ‘She was. He did tell me, and it was long before he met me. Anyway, she could have been winking about the sweets. Maybe they weren’t off her ration. Maybe she just helped herself from the jars, or boxes, or whatever.’

  ‘I’d watch her, if I was you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. She knew who they were and she was just being friendly with them.’

  ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Alice packed two suitcases and an old valise with her own and her small daughter’s clothes. ‘Sam says we don’t need anything else,’ she told Gwen and Marge while she waited – the doctor had promised to take her to the railway station in Aberdeen. ‘The house is fully furnished, even chamber pots under the beds. Just as well, for the lavatory’s outside.’ Giggling, she added, ‘It’ll be back to using a chanty in the middle of the night, or getting my bum frozen in a privy. I thought I’d seen the last of that.’

  ‘Never mind,’ consoled Marge, grinning, ‘Sam’ll soon heat it up again.’

  Gwen ignored her sister’s ribaldry. ‘Are you sure you’ll manage all that, Alice?’

  ‘Sam’s going to meet us at Waverley Station. Their camp isn’t all that far out of Edinburgh. Here’s the doctor, thank goodness. I was worried that he’d been called out and couldn’t take us.’

  A quick flurry of good wishes and they were gone.

  ‘And that’s us left on our own,’ Marge declared, sitting down with a bump. ‘We don’t know a soul, we can’t speak the lingo if the postman’s anything to go by. I can hardly understand a word he says.’

  Alistair arrived the next morning, and having travelled overnight after two days of intensive clearing out his rented house, he did not look at his best, but it didn’t matter to Gwen who rushed at him as if she hadn’t seen him for years not just two weeks.

  ‘You won’t want me hanging around,’ announced Marge, ‘so I think I’ll get out Alice’s bike and take a trip to the village shop. I’ll get a loaf of bread, shall I, and we’ll need some butter, so I’ll need the ration books.’

  Gwen made a face. ‘It’s a good thing you remembered, I’d have forgotten, but get some bacon as well, if you can.’

  ‘Sorry, Marge,’ laughed Alistair. ‘I haven’t had time to speak to you yet.’

  ‘No, you’ve been too busy kissing your wife, but it’s OK. I can take a hint.’

  She hadn’t been on a bicycle since she was a little girl living in army quarters in Aldershot, and she was quite wobbly until she got the hang of it again and set off along the track. Never having cycled more than the length of a short street before, she was amazed at how far a mile seemed to be … one rough, rutted mile before she reached the road, with another two miles to go.

  She took more notice of her surroundings now than she had done when she was here with Dougal a few months after they were married. She had thought it was hardly fit to be called a village then, but she had supposed that there must be another few streets tucked in behind the houses fronting on to the main road. There didn’t seem to be any hidden streets or lanes, nothing. Passing two low cottages on her left, with gardens given over to vegetables as at Benview, she was surprised that there was only a field of turnips or something to her right. After the second little dwelling, there was the opening which Dougal had told her led through to the Frasers’ house, only Lexie would live there now, of course, and then the shop itself.

  Curious about other habitation and/or amenities, she cycled on, past about six houses of varying styles and sizes and in different degrees of repair, but each with its fenced garden. Then came a much bigger house, with correspondingly bigger garden. Then she came to the Royal Hotel, where according to Dougal, all the local men took refuge from their wives when they were on the warpath. She had asked him to take her in, but he had explained that no ‘nice’ women went drinking in Forvit. It wouldn’t worry her, Marge decided. She liked a drop of sherry now and then, but wouldn’t be too upset if she never saw the stuff.

  The next house had a Great Dane in residence, barking at her until she was clear of his ‘space’. Then she came to the church, not very imposing, but big enough, she supposed, for all the congregation it could have, with its graveyard at one side and the vicarage – or whatever the Scots called it – at the other. There was a long gap now, suggesting that two, or perhaps three, houses had been knocked down to make way for more modern housing, which would be a pity. The appeal of Forvit lay in its quaint old cottages and lack of any kind of symmetry.

  And that was the end of it, a bridge over what was little more than a stream, and moorland from then on. In fact, the village could be described as an oasis set in the midst of miles of heath. Dismounting, she turned her cycle round and started back.

  The last house on that side – the first coming this way – was a more up-to-date, three-storeyed building with a long walled garden. A brass plaque on the gate said, Dr Christopher Geddes, Surgery Hours 3–4, 6–7. Well, Marge thought, she knew where to find the doctor if any of them were ill.

  Next came the little school, with its tarred playground at the side farthest from the doctor, followed by the Jubilee Hall, with 1897 engraved in the lintel stone, which, of course, was the date of Queen Victoria’s jubilee year.

  Proud of remembering this, and having come to the field of turnips once more, she came off the bicycle and wheeled it across the street, glad to have a break. Her legs were aching, her rear end was practically numb and she was frozen to the marrow … and she still had three miles to go before she reached ‘home’.

  She was glad to see two women in the shop. It gave her a chance to stand at the side of the open door for a few moments and have a good look at Lexie Fraser. She was actually quite a pretty woman, with rosy cheeks and hair that was as fair as Gwen’s, eyes a lighter shade of blue, and roughly the same height. Marge could more or less understand what she was saying, bu
t the other two women were speaking in a kind of rapid-fire gibberish. Marge did manage to make out a few words here and there, but it wasn’t until Alice’s name was mentioned that she took an interest and concentrated as hard as she could.

  ‘Did you ken Alice Ritchie’s awa’ to Edinburgh to be wi’ Sam?’ the waiting customer observed. ‘The doctor was to be takin’ her an’ Morag to Aberdeen.’

  ‘Alistair’s wife an’ her sister’ll be left to look after the place,’ commented the one being served. ‘Have you come across ony o’ them yet, Lexie?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the bairns, Doodie, nice wee souls they are. The girl’s real shy, but the boy’s more friendly.’

  ‘Weel, we’re nae wantin’ their kind here. Up fae London and likely lookin’ doon their noses at us. What do you say, Aggie?’

  Her friend nodded. ‘No, Doodie, we’d enough o’ English folk when yon minister and his wife was here … I canna mind his name, but you’d have thocht he was God himsel’, the wey he swaggered aboot, and as for his wife and her short skirties … she was a stuck-up besom.’

  ‘They werena Cockneys, o’ coorse,’ Doodie pointed out. ‘It was … Liverpool they belonged, and what a queer wey they spoke. Thank goodness he only bade five month.’

  Aggie looked archly at Lexie now. ‘You an’ Alistair was affa close at one time, wasn’t you? We a’ thocht you an’ him would get wed some day.’

  Lexie’s face darkened. ‘And so we would, if Dougal Finnie hadn’t dragged him away down to London with him.’

  Marge’s involuntary gasp at this made them aware of her presence, so she walked inside. Lexie obviously recognized her as Dougal’s wife, but just as obviously had decided to brazen it out. ‘I’ll be with you in a jiffy, Mrs …?’

  ‘Mrs Finnie,’ Marge said icily. ‘Mrs Dougal Finnie.’