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  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he muttered, ‘I’ve just been a silly fool.’

  He told her what had happened, then added, ‘I should have realized …’

  ‘It’s easy to say that afterwards,’ she said, softly, ‘but not when you’re enjoying the company. Anyway, you’ll know not to do that again.’

  ‘I’ll never do it again, that’s one thing sure, and … thank you, Lexie, for helping me. Marge wouldn’t have been pleased if she’d seen me like that.’

  ‘I like your wife,’ she smiled. ‘I don’t know her very well, of course, but I’ve got the feeling she doesn’t like me very much.’

  ‘Marge isn’t like that …’ he began, and then he remembered. ‘She knows Alistair used to go with you, and she’s scared you’ll try to get him back.’

  Lexie looked down at the fire, still with a little glow in it. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Dougal. At one time, I’d my mind set on getting him back, even when I knew he had a wife and two kids, but that was before I met them.’ She lifted her eyes to meet his. ‘I couldn’t take him away from them now, suppose he wanted me to, which is the last thing he’d want. So tell your Marge, and her sister, to stop worrying. I still look on him as an old friend, but that’s all.’

  ‘You’ve never married, though.’

  ‘I’ve never met a man I want to marry.’

  ‘You will, one day. You’re only twenty-seven. Time yet to find a husband.’

  She stifled a yawn and laughed. ‘I need my beauty sleep, though. I’ve to get up for the papers in the morning.’

  He jumped to his feet, astonished to find that the sick, dizzy feeling had abated. ‘I’m sorry, Lexie. I never thought … I shouldn’t have bothered you.’

  ‘I was glad to help, but don’t get drunk again. Think of your wife.’

  Continuing on his way home with a quicker and steadier step, Dougal couldn’t help admiring her. She’d had her share of troubles, she’d been left to run that shop and post office single-handed, and, reading between the lines, Alistair hadn’t been the only man to let her down, yet the years had definitely matured her outlook on life.

  He was a bit rattled to find the ground floor of Benview in darkness when he arrived back, and Marge pounced as soon as he went up to their room. ‘Where have you been, Dougal? You said you were only going to see a few old pals, so I expected you back about half past eight, and it’s after half past ten.’

  Deciding that honesty was the best policy, he told her everything, but when he had finished, Marge regarded him icily. ‘You’re disgusting, and Lexie wound you round her little finger like she did with Alistair.’

  ‘She got me more or less sober. Marge, you’ve got her all wrong. She’s changed! She doesn’t want Alistair back. If you’d been there, you’d know she really meant it.’

  ‘Well, thank heaven for that. Are you coming to bed or not?’

  He undressed as quickly as he could, but he was relieved when his wife just kissed him goodnight and turned her back. His constitution wasn’t up to what he’d been doing for the past few nights.

  At the beginning of December 1941, Marge spotted a poster in the shop and stopped on her way out to see what it said. ‘What’s a Hogmanay Do?’ she asked in a minute.

  ‘It’s being put on by the men at Ardley,’ Lexie told her. ‘They’d one at Hallowe’en. A wee concert first, singing and would-be comedians and magicians and turns like that, all soldiers of course, and even if they weren’t professionals, some of them were really good. Then, about nine o’clock, they treated all us civilians to a slap-up meal better than any of us had seen for a long, long time, and then the fun began.’

  Marge was intrigued. She hadn’t known that any kind of entertainment was ever on offer in this backwater of a place, but she did wonder what these country people classed as fun. ‘What happened?’

  ‘The dancing started! And the drinking, of course.’ Lexie regarded her with open curiosity now. ‘Would you and your sister like to come? You’ll have to put your names down for the bus. It picks up the Forvit folk outside the shop at half seven.’

  Marge pulled a face. ‘I’d love to come. I’m desperate for something to brighten my life, but I know for a fact that Gwen won’t even consider it.’

  ‘If she’s worried about leaving the bairns, I’m sure I could …’

  No longer harbouring any suspicions about the shopkeeper, Marge said, ‘I’ll tell her, but I still don’t think she’ll come. She’s always been a home bird, not like me. I hate being stuck in the house night after night listening to the wireless with the wind howling down the chimney and my legs getting mottled with the fire.’

  Lexie reached under the counter and produced a sheet of paper with quite a number of names on it already. ‘I tell you what. I’ll put you both down, just in case.’

  Watching Marge’s retreating back, Lexie couldn’t get over the difference in the two sisters. Marge was such a friendly person and seemed to be full of fun, and Gwen was so quiet, so reserved. It was just as well they married the men they did. Dougal had always been go-ahead, the same type as Marge, and Alistair had always stayed in his shadow, much more quiet, more serious about everything. She was glad he’d found the right girl.

  The entrance of a customer made Lexie look up with a welcoming smile, although Doodie Tough wasn’t exactly one of her favourites, poking her long nose in where it wasn’t wanted and spreading her gossip to the four winds. ‘That was Dougal Finnie’s wife, wasn’t it?’ Doodie asked.

  Not wanting to encourage her, Lexie ignored the question. ‘What can I do for you today, then, Doodie?’

  ‘Is that the list for the bus at Hogmanay?’ The woman swivelled the paper round so that she could read it. ‘Oh, well, would you look at that?’ she exclaimed, as Mattie Wilkie came in. ‘The twa Cockneys are to be honourin’ us wi’ their presence at the Do. I just canna tak’ to them, me.’

  ‘Me either,’ nodded her friend. ‘There’s something about them, you ken, like they look doon on us country fowk.’

  Lexie tried to stop them. ‘What was it you wanted, Doodie?’

  ‘A plain loaf, a pound o’ rice, a bag o’ sugar, and …’ She broke off and delved into her shopping bag. ‘See, I’ve wrote it doon.’ She handed over a crumpled piece of paper and turned to her companion again. ‘It’s the posh wey they spik that annoys me – puttin’ it on, of coorse, makin’ oot they’re better than us, though I can mind on Alistair Ritchie when he hadna a backside to his breeks.’

  ‘Na, na, Doodie,’ Mattie protested, ‘Bella Ritchie wouldna have let him go aboot wi’ his bare erse showin’. She’d have putten in a patch.’

  ‘You ken fine what I meant!’ Doodie did not like to be corrected. ‘Will you be at the Do, Lexie?’ she enquired now.

  ‘I hope so. If it’s anything like the last one, it should be a big success.’

  ‘My Lizzie canna spik aboot naething else. If she doesna get a lad this time, she’ll be right disappointed.’

  ‘I thocht she got a lad last time,’ Doodie put in. ‘I mind on seein’ her wi’ a lang streak o’ misery …’

  Mattie managed a wan smile. ‘Oh, him? He … tried it on wi’ her, but she tell’t him to get lost.’

  ‘A lot o’ the sodjers was like that, though,’ Doodie remarked. ‘You ken Mina Robbie at Milton o’ Crombie? Well, her lassie’s expectin’, an’ her father’ll kill her when he finds oot.’

  Mattie’s eyes had clouded. ‘There was a lot o’ that went on in the last war, as weel. A gey puckle bairns come into the world without[??224] a father, poor things.’

  ‘That’ll be one pound, seven shillings and thruppence, Doodie!’ Lexie said loudly, thumping a box of yellow soap, the last item, down on the counter.

  ‘As much as that? Wait or I get my purse oot.’ Her eyes were glittering with what could only be triumph as she tendered a pound note and a ten shilling note.

  While Lexie counted out the change, she recalled having heard somewhere that Ricky, Mattie’s tw
enty-five-year-old son, had been illegitimate. He had been born in 1916, then, so the father could have been a serviceman. But it was nobody else’s business, she thought, turning to Mattie, who only wanted a Press and Journal. ‘Jock likes to read it when he’s takin’ his denner,’ she explained.

  Lexie heaved a sigh of relief when the two women went out, tearing some other poor soul to pieces, probably. This was the one thing she didn’t like about village life; there were always people ready to think the worst of everybody else. Not that she would care what any of them said about her, but she should maybe warn the two Londoners not to give the likes of Doodie Tough any chance to spread scandal about them.

  Gwen wasn’t sure about Marge going to the Hogmanay Do. ‘What will people say?’

  Her sister tossed her dark curly head. ‘They can say anything they bally well want, but I’m not backing out now. It’s only a concert, a meal and maybe an hour of dancing, for heaven’s sake, and you know I’m bored stiff here. You can come and watch I don’t step out of line. Lexie Fraser offered to sit with Leila and David to let us both go.’

  Gwen shook her head. ‘I never cared much for dancing, nor for meeting new people. Besides, we’re both married women.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it? It’s not an orgy, just an evening’s innocent fun.’

  ‘But you said last night there’ll be drinking as well as dancing,’ Gwen reminded her. ‘That’s a lethal combination.’

  ‘I won’t be drinking much.’

  ‘The men will, though, and a drunk man can overpower any woman. No, Marge, I don’t think you should go, either.’

  Marge looked at her sister now with a touch of anger in her eyes. ‘I know you don’t want to go, and you’re older than me, but you can’t boss me around like you did when we were kids. I’m going whatever you say.’ Her expression softened. ‘I don’t mean to be nasty, but I’ve been pining for something to brighten my life, and this Do’s just what I need. It’ll set me up for months.’

  Gwen gave a resigned sigh. ‘How far’s this Ardley Camp, anyway?’

  ‘About ten miles, Lexie said.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! How are you going to get there? You’re not thinking of cycling as far as that, are you?’

  ‘God no! I’d have corns on my bum for weeks if I did. They’re laying on a bus, pick up point outside the shop. I’ll leave the bike there, and I’ll only take one drink so I’ll be all right for coming home. Say it’s OK … please, Gwennie?’

  ‘I suppose … oh, just don’t forget you’ve got a husband.’

  Marge’s spirits were effervescent now. ‘It’ll be great to get the feel of a dance floor beneath my feet again, and a man’s arm round my waist.’

  ‘But …’ Gwen began, but her sister’s ecstatic, yet determined, face stopped her from going on. Marge clearly didn’t mean to let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

  ‘Nobody’s got coupons to buy anything new,’ Lexie had told Marge when she asked what she should wear to the Do. ‘Just a smart summer frock.’

  ‘I’ve put on a bit of weight since we came up here,’ Marge moaned to her sister on New Year’s Eve, when she was putting the finishing touches to her make-up. ‘I’ve had to wear this old dirndl dress, it’s the only one I feel comfortable in.’

  ‘You look nice, Auntie Marge.’ Leila had been watching all the proceedings with interest. ‘I wish I was old enough to go dancing.’

  ‘Another few years and you will be. Gwen, are you sure this hairstyle suits me?’ Marge poked her finger into the upswept roll of hair at her temple.

  ‘Stop fussing,’ Gwen ordered. ‘It’s perfect.’

  David, who had been looking on with a jaundiced expression, suddenly observed, ‘What a bloody fuss for a nicht oot!’

  Gwen turned on him angrily. ‘David! Who did you hear saying that word?’

  He knew immediately which word she meant. ‘The loons at school say it.’

  She decided to let it go meantime and have a quiet word with him tomorrow about swearing and using the rough Scottish words he heard in the playground. Her mind was too taken up tonight with worrying about what the evening ahead held for her younger sister. Could Marge be trusted to behave like a married woman?

  ‘Be careful now,’ she warned, when they all went outside to see Marge off. ‘Don’t drink too much, and don’t give any of the men any encouragement.’

  ‘No, Miss.’ Marge grinned cheekily as she tucked the skirt of her tweed coat – which she hadn’t wanted to wear but had been too cold not to – round her knees to keep it clear of the oily chain. Then she flung up her left hand in a wave and laughed, ‘Now, as I take off on my trusty steed …’ She burst into song. ‘Goodbye, Goodbye, I wish you all a last goodbye.’

  It was a song they loved to hear on the wireless, but Gwen said, sharply, ‘Don’t say that, even in fun. You never know what could happen.’

  With the light streaming out through the open door, they watched her until she disappeared round the bend in the track, her flowered headsquare flapping, then Leila took her mother’s hand and drew her inside. ‘Don’t worry about Auntie Marge, Mum. She can look after herself.’

  It was wearing on for three o’clock in the morning, however, before the wanderer returned, by which time Gwen was imagining all sorts of things – her sister running off with a man she had fallen instantly in love with, or so drunk that she was lying in a ditch somewhere between the village and Benview, or worse still, the bus skidding on the icy road and all the passengers either dead or seriously injured. She had got herself in such a state that she couldn’t stay in bed, and was sitting in the kitchen by the dying fire when Marge came bouncing in.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Gwen burst out, anger taking over from anxiety. ‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’

  ‘Oh, Lord, Gwen, I’m sorry! Nobody told me it would go on till two, and I’d to wait for the camp bus to take us back. Actually, I landed quite lucky, because when Ken, the driver, saw me getting my bike from the side of the shop, he came off the bus and said, “Hop back in and I’ll lift that thing aboard. There’s no sense in you having to cycle when I can drop you right at your door.” Of course, he couldn’t take a bus up the track, so he didn’t manage to take me right home, but it was a big help, just the same.’

  ‘He wasn’t … he didn’t …?’ Gwen couldn’t quite put her fear into words.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ Marge laughed. ‘He was too busy telling me about his wife and his two kids. Ho, hum!’ She rolled her eyes expressively, then carried on, ‘It was lovely, though, Gwennie. I really enjoyed myself. The concert wasn’t as bad as I expected, the meal was pretty good, and I never missed a dance. Oh, and I only had one port and lemon to start me off, and a few glasses of pop. Iron-Brew they called it, quite nice.’

  ‘I made a fresh pot of tea a minute ago. D’you want a cup?’

  ‘If you like. But d’you know what I found out? Going there on the bus, I was sitting beside one of the girls – most of them were much younger than me – and she said there’s going to be a dance laid on once a month in the church hall for servicemen. It’s the first I heard of it, so that’s something to look forward to.’

  Marge broke off long enough to accept the cup she was handed and to take one quick mouthful before she was off again, but her sister was so tired that she hardly took in the descriptions of the piper who played in the New Year, of the Highland Fling two of the squaddies had danced, of the singer who had been with a touring band before he was called up and the applause for whose rendering of ‘We’ll Meet Again’ had almost brought the roof down. ‘And at the finish,’ Marge went on, ‘the padre stood up and said a prayer for all the loved ones who were absent, and all who were missing them. It was so moving, Gwennie, there was hardly a dry eye to be seen, and it made people more aware of what they were doing. I think even those who had intended having a little fling before they went home, or had planned an illicit assignation, thought better of it. So you see, ther
e was absolutely nothing for you to worry about.’

  Not a thing, her sister silently agreed, except what might develop at the monthly dances in the church hall. Regular doses of temptation could prove too much for Marge. She got to her feet wearily. ‘I don’t know about you, but if I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be like a walking zombie tomorrow.’

  Chapter 16

  Nearing the end of March 1942, with Marge at her third dance in the church hall and the children asleep upstairs, Gwen Ritchie made a pot of tea and had just sat down to write to her husband when someone knocked at the door. With no near neighbours, this was so unusual that she wondered whether she should answer it or not, but whoever was out there would only have to turn the knob to get in, because she never locked up until her sister came home. Besides, she told herself sternly as she went to obey the summons, this place wasn’t like London. There were no burglars or bad people in Forvit.

  She was a little disconcerted to find a rather tall soldier on the doorstep. ‘Sorry to bother you at this time of night,’ he said apologetically, ‘but I need some water.’

  ‘Water?’ she echoed, hoping that he wasn’t ill … but he looked the picture of health.

  ‘The old bus is blowing off steam,’ he told her. ‘Somebody must have forgotten to check the radiator and it’s overheating.’

  An icy hand clutched at her stomach. There was no sign of any vehicle for as far as she could see, but of course, the track was too narrow for a bus, if that really was what he was driving. ‘How … how did you know there was a house up here?’

  ‘Well, I gave a young lady a lift home on New Year’s morning, and when she told me where to drop her off, she said she and her sister were living up the track in a house called Benview.’

  Light dawned. ‘Oh yes. I remember Marge telling me she’d got a lift with her bike. It was very kind of you.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m here to reap the benefit of my good deed.’

  His engaging grin convinced her that there was nothing sinister on his mind, no evil intentions. ‘What … um …?’