Waters of the Heart Page 21

  When Elma went out after bringing in their night-time cocoa, Bertram hoped that his wife hadn’t noticed the rather inviting look the girl gave him. ‘You look a bit tired,’ he said to Cissie. ‘You should go to bed once you’ve finished your cocoa. I’ve got some paperwork to do, so it might be a while till I come up.’

  He waited hopefully for some minutes after she left the room. Elma was untried ground, and that was always worth exploring. If everything went as planned tonight, she might even agree to sleep with him while Cissie was in hospital.

  As he had hoped, the door opened again and the girl came in to collect the dirty cups, feigning surprise at finding him alone, although she must have heard Cissie go upstairs. There was no time for niceties – his wife might come down if he was too long – and, by the look of her, Elma was as ready for it as he was. Jumping up, he grabbed her round the waist and pushed her down on the sofa.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As men often do, Tommy McGregor started talking to the stranger standing beside him at the bar, and was surprised to find that he was another Aberdonian, who said he had been working in Edinburgh for nearly four years.

  ‘I’m in the Merchant Navy,’ Tommy told him, ‘and Leith’s my home port, but I used to live in Schoolhill.’

  ‘I used to go with a girl from Schoolhill,’ the other man said, sadly. ‘Cissie McGregor – do you know her?’

  ‘She’s my sister,’ Tommy cried in astonishment. ‘How long did you go with her?’

  ‘We went steady for a good few months, then she . . . told me she’d found somebody else.’

  Tommy sighed. ‘I suppose she’ll be married by this time. It’s eleven years since my father threw me out, and I’ve only seen Cissie once since, just after the war started.’

  ‘She was married, but . . .’ The stranger toyed with his glass. ‘You’ll not have heard about your father?’

  ‘Heard about him? What d’you mean?’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ The man looked away uncomfortably. ‘You’re in for a shock, you’d better sit down.’ As they made their way to a table, he added, ‘My name’s Hugh Phimister.’

  ‘Tommy McGregor.’

  When they were seated, Hugh cleared his throat. ‘Cissie married the man downstairs from her, Robertson, I think.’

  ‘Jim Robertson?’ Tommy’s mouth had dropped open. ‘No, it couldn’t be him. He’d a humphy back, and he must have been – oh, he was going on for fifty when I left.’

  ‘That’s him. Anyway, it turned out she was expecting his baby when she finished with me.’

  Tommy’s chin was practically resting on his chest now, his eyes wide with amazement. ‘Cissie let the Humphy . . . God no, man, I can’t believe that.’

  ‘Neither could I when I learned about it, for I know she wasn’t a girl like that. But it’s true, and your father must have been that mad at Robertson, he got drunk one night and went to their house – I don’t know the whole story, for it was my mother that told me when I came out of the army – but he accidentally killed Robertson and the baby, and now he’s doing time in Peterhead for manslaughter. Hey, I’d better get you a whisky.’

  Feeling as though a mule had given him a series of kicks in the stomach, Tommy watched Hugh making his way to the bar. Cissie and Jim Robertson? How could his little sister ever have got herself involved with the Humphy? He must have raped her – yet Jim had never struck him as a man who would harm a fly, let alone an innocent young girl. If it had been Big Tam, now, that would be a different thing. He would have raped his own grandmother and thought nothing about it. He’d been like a bull among cows when he got near women.

  Tommy gave his head a shake. His father had always had a vile temper, especially when he was drunk, but what had made him kill the Humphy and the baby? Hugh Phimister had said it was an accident, but how could any man accidentally kill two other human beings? Maybe he’d gone downstairs to thrash Jim Robertson for landing Cissie in the family way, and he’d gone mad with rage and throttled him – but that didn’t explain the baby’s death. And it was nearly impossible to believe he’d waited till after the child was born before he took his anger out on the man who had fathered it.

  ‘Here, drink this.’ Hugh set a double whisky in front of him. ‘I shouldn’t have come out with it like that.’

  After one good mouthful of the spirits, Tommy regained a little of his colour. ‘Thank God you did, man, or else I’d never have known about it. Poor Cissie.’

  ‘Aye, I was sick thinking what it must have done to her. Her father should have been strung up – oh . . .’ He stopped, flustered. ‘He’s your father, and all, of course.’

  Tommy gave a harsh laugh. ‘He’s not been my father since he threw me out, and I feel the same as you – worse. They should have hacked off his privates and then strung him up. Oh, I wish to God I’d known about it before. I’d have gone home at the double, for Cissie’s sake.’

  ‘Ma said she left Schoolhill right after the trial. I did go to the house, though, for I wanted to speak to her, but your other sister didn’t know where she was. She’d gone away with your father’s wife, so she’s not on her own.’

  This was another shock for Tommy. ‘My father’s wife? One of his bidie-ins, more like.’ He took another swig of his whisky. ‘How long is it since you spoke to Marie?’

  ‘As soon as my mother told me what had happened – August 1919. I’d come home from the war determined to get Cissie back, for I was sure she loved me, and when I learned she was a widow I thought I was in luck, but I was too late. I hung around for a couple of months, but I didn’t know where to start looking, and I came here to try to forget her.’

  Finishing his drink in one gulp, Tommy stood up. ‘I’ve to get back to the ship, I’m on watch in an hour, but thank God I met you.’

  As he made his way down Leith Walk, he was so concerned about Cissie that he resolved to go to Schoolhill in the morning to see if Marie had heard from her since she left. He had to find her to make sure she was all right. He was walking up the gangway before he remembered that Hugh Phimister would likely want to know if he found her, and he’d forgotten to ask where he lived.

  Walking out of Aberdeen’s Joint Station the following day, Tommy wondered what had happened to his other sister and his two brothers in the time he had been away. No doubt Marie would be married by now, likely Joe as well, though Pat would still be a bit young for that. He’d had a few girls himself, but he had never taken a wife; a sailor needed to be free.

  It struck him suddenly that he might be on a wild goose chase. His old home could be occupied by complete strangers now, people who would look at him with contempt for being Tam McGregor’s son. His step faltered, then, squaring his shoulders resolutely, he carried on up Market Street. He’d come this far, and nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  Crossing Union Street, he skidded on the icy tram rails and grinned as he steadied himself. He was nothing like as sure-footed on land as he was on deck. St Nicholas Street was even busier than he remembered, even a few motor cars now. There were still as many folk hurrying along the pavements, heads down against the blinding snow brought by the nor’easter, coat collars turned up. He never felt cold when he was ashore. He was accustomed to hundred-mile-an-hour gales at sea, howling round him as he clung to the rail making his way for’ard to the bridge in his oilskins. They had a constant battle with the elements in northern waters, it was easier round Gibraltar and the Mediterranean, then it was heat they had to contend with going through the Suez Canal on the way to India, but he wouldn’t want to be anything other than a seaman.

  Coming to the ladies’ shop on the corner, he turned into Schoolhill and crossed to the far side, his heart beating a little quicker when he neared the tenement where he had been born. Neither of the names on the brass plates on the first floor was familiar to him, and he wished that he had looked at the nameplates in the street. One more flight. Damn! It was people called Lewis that were in his old home now, but he would be as well knocking
since he was here.

  While he waited for an answer, he glanced at the other door on the landing. Coull! So Cleekie was still living. He would try there if he had no luck at his first port of call. Turning hopefully as someone opened the door beside him, he began, ‘Mrs Lewis?’ then burst out, ‘It’s you, Marie? Thank the Lord for that.’

  His sister, quite stout now, and with a toddler at each side, gaped at him for a moment, then her eyes filled with recognition. ‘Tommy! It’s never you, after all this time?’

  ‘The bad penny always turns up again,’ he laughed.

  He followed her into the kitchen, still much the same as he remembered, though there was a sideboard in the recess instead of a bed, and some of the old ornaments were missing from the mantelpiece – broken, likely. Sitting down in what had once been his father’s armchair gave him a weird sense of satisfaction, for he’d never been allowed to put his backside on it before. ‘I might as well come straight to the point, Marie. What happened to Cissie?’

  Marie looked at the floor. ‘She went away with Phoebe, the woman Da married.’

  ‘We’ll come to that. What I want to know is why? I’ve been told a bit, but not enough.’

  Heaving a long sigh, Marie said, ‘I’d better make a pot of tea first, then I’ll tell you everything.’

  He was desperate to hear what she had to say, but knew she would be offended if he didn’t accept her hospitality. ‘Come to your Uncle Tommy,’ he coaxed the two little boys holding on to their mother’s skirts.

  They let him lift them onto his knee, looking up at him with their innocent, round eyes, and he wondered if he’d been wrong not to take a wife and have children of his own. He passed the next few minutes by singing nursery rhymes to them, laughing as the elder boy joined in.

  ‘How old are they?’ he asked Marie as she poured the tea.

  ‘Freddie’s nearly four, Joey’ll be two next month, and Isabel’s five. She’s at school.’

  ‘You’ve been busy,’ he smiled.

  ‘I’m not having any more, though. I’ve told Wilfie he’ll have to tie a knot in it. Come on, you two! Let your Uncle Tommy drink his tea.’

  When her sons jumped down to play on the hearth rug with their blocks, she turned to her brother. ‘I suppose you’ve heard Da’s in prison?’

  ‘Aye, I’ve been told that.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault, Tommy. He didn’t mean to kill Jim.’

  ‘What led up to it? Did Cissie really marry the Humphy?’

  ‘She had to. She was expecting his bairn.’ Marie did not tell her brother what she had overheard on the eve of the dreadful quarrel; she had long since convinced herself that it wasn’t true.

  ‘Cissie would never have let Jim Robertson . . .’

  ‘That’s why Da was angry. He come home drunk one night . . .’

  ‘When did he ever do anything else?’

  Ignoring the interruption, Marie carried on, ‘. . . and he went into Cissie’s house and fell out on Jim Robertson.’

  She went over all she knew of the events on that terrible night, and when she came to an end, there were still gaps that he would have liked filled in, but it was clear that Marie could not tell him. Just the same, he had a strange feeling that she was keeping something back. ‘So Cissie went away with Phoebe? Have you ever heard from her?’

  ‘I’ve not heard from Cissie, but Phoebe sent some money a while ago.’

  ‘You know where they are, then?’

  ‘The envelope had a Dundee postmark, but there wasn’t an address on the note. All she said was she hoped I could make use of the twenty pounds she was enclosing.’

  Tommy whistled. ‘Twenty pounds? She must have landed on her feet if she’d that much to give away.’

  ‘That was when I remembered hearing them speaking about going to Dundee to look for a job in the jute mills. They wouldn’t get big wages there.’

  Tommy sat forward eagerly. ‘The jute mills? Well, that’s a start, any road.’

  ‘But where would Phoebe get twenty pounds?’

  Glancing at the two boys, Tommy lowered his voice. ‘She was a whore, wasn’t she? It wouldn’t take her long to make twenty pounds. I’ve had to pay a couple of pounds a time in some of the places I’ve been.’

  ‘Oh, Tommy!’ Marie gave a shocked giggle. ‘You never!’

  ‘Mind, I don’t often pay that much, and they’re cleaner abroad than they are here.’ His smile faded. ‘I don’t give a tinker’s cuss about Phoebe, though. It’s Cissie I want to find, and I won’t have time to ask round the Dundee mills till after my next trip.’

  His mind made up on this, he said, ‘What about the rest of the family? Is Joe married?’

  Marie’s face fell. ‘I forgot you wouldn’t know. Joe was lost at sea in the war.’

  ‘Oh, no! Poor Joe, he wasn’t as lucky as me, then.’ He sat for some time with his head bowed, remembering his younger brother – Joe, with his serious face, his thoughtful brown eyes. He never had much to say for himself, though he hadn’t been as quiet as Rosie. Oh, God! Joe and Rosie. It was hard to think they were both gone.

  At last, he shook his head and shrugged himself out of his depressing thoughts. ‘What about Pat? How old’s he now?’

  ‘He’s nineteen and as cheeky as ever. He sleeps in the same room as my three. Freddie’s called after my man, Joey was after Joe, and Isabel’s after Mam. Me and Wilfie sleep in the other bedroom, but we’re thinking of shifting into the kitchen, to let Isabel get a room to herself.’

  ‘I suppose Pat’s working?’

  ‘Aye, he got a job in one of the fish houses, and you wouldn’t believe the smell on him when he comes home. Not that he’s bothered. He says it’s attar of roses to him.’

  Tommy laughed. ‘That sounds like Pat.’

  ‘He hasn’t changed a bit, and him and Wilfie get on fine. You’ll see them when they come home for their supper.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marie, but I’ll not have time to wait. I’ve to be back in Leith for five.’

  ‘Oh, Tommy.’ Marie looked crestfallen.

  ‘I’ll be back, but maybe not for a while. I’d like to find Cissie first. We’re sailing tomorrow for Calcutta, so I’ll not be able to look for her till we come back.’

  ‘Surely you’ll have time for some dinner?’ Marie pleaded. ‘It’s only second day’s tattie soup but there’s plenty, and I could make a tapioca pudding.’

  ‘Second day’s tattie soup was always best,’ he chuckled, ‘but I’ll not sup with you unless you promise to put some jam on the pudding.’

  ‘Jam on the pudding,’ Freddie said, from the floor, and Joey, knocking down the tower they had made, looked up at his mother and his uncle, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Dam on de pudden,’ he echoed.

  Tommy roared with laughter. ‘You’ve another Pat here.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Cissie Dickson felt that Ricky was her reward for all the agonies she had gone through in her previous lives. Her son was perfect, his tiny face round and healthy, his chubby body firm and straight. His fair hair and violet eyes were so like Bertram’s that she had to kiss him every time she picked him up. There had never been such a beautiful infant.

  The whole household revolved around him, even Mrs Gow drooled over him, and the two maids had argued over whose turn it was to take him out in the pram when the nurse had an afternoon off. Bertram had wanted to engage a nanny, but what would have been the point of that when his mother had plenty of time to attend to him? And she was quite fit now, though the doctor had said she should take things easy for a while. She’d had no choice but to take things easy, anyway, for Nurse Valentine had never let her do a thing except feed her child. But the nurse, a proper tartar, had been engaged for only six weeks and had left the day before, and Cissie was determined to look after Ricky herself from now on.

  She was pleased that Bertram hadn’t made a scene when his father brought Phoebe to see the new baby, and though he hadn’t exactly welcomed her with ope
n arms, he would come round when he got to know her better.

  He was in seventh heaven about having a son, and had been so overcome when he first held the child in his arms that Cissie had almost wept with joy. He hadn’t missed visiting time once, and Cissie considered herself lucky to have such a devoted husband. And Ricky was the most beautiful, most darling baby in the world. What more could any woman want?

  When she told Bertram that she was going to Huntingdon that afternoon with the pram, he looked at her anxiously. ‘Are you sure you’re fit enough to walk so far? I could drive you there before I go to work.’

  ‘I can’t go visiting so early in the morning. Besides, it’s not very far, and it’s quite a nice day for October.’

  ‘I don’t want you tiring yourself.’

  ‘I’ll take it easy,’ she assured him, loving him all the more for his concern.

  By the time she reached her destination, however, she was utterly exhausted, and was quite content to lie back in a chair and let Phoebe take the baby out of the pram to cuddle him. Richard stood behind his wife, looking down at the tiny face, but when she turned and put the infant in his arms, he seemed alarmed, though anyone with eyes could see how proud he was, Cissie thought. If only they could have a baby of their own, it would be the cherry on top of the icing on the cake for her.

  When she rose to leave, Richard said, ‘I think the walk here was a little too much for you, so I’ll drive you home, and I’m sure Phoebe won’t object to pushing the pram.’

  Phoebe didn’t object. ‘Just give me ten minutes’ start.’

  After she went out, Richard looked enquiringly at his daughter-in-law. ‘What does Bertram say about having a son?’

  ‘He couldn’t be happier,’ she smiled. ‘He wanted a son.’