The Nickum Read online

  One night, however, as they sat in a small café just off Union Street, Sally said, ‘There’s a man over there hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he came in. Don’t look round, he’s coming over.’

  Becky froze, hoping that whoever he was had mistaken her for somebody else. She didn’t want to get involved with anybody – not yet, anyway.

  ‘Hello, Becky, I thought it was you.’

  Recognising the voice, she looked up in astonishment. ‘Jackie!’

  ‘I’m called Jack these days. I heard you were home, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me.’

  Sensing an atmosphere now, Sally got to her feet. ‘Look, Beck, I’ll leave you two to talk. I meant to go home early at any rate.’

  ‘It’s OK, don’t go,’ Becky began, but her ex-husband said, ‘Thanks, I’m very grateful, but we’ll have to find a better place to talk, Becky. This is too public.’

  ‘I’ve lodgings in the Spital, if you want to see me home. I don’t think my landlady will object.’

  He said nothing for some time as they walked along, and then, finally, ‘You didn’t get married again?’

  ‘No, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  That was it, but Becky knew that it wouldn’t stop there. He would want to know what she had been doing, and she couldn’t tell him that. Or maybe she should. It would be best to be perfectly honest … but not at first.

  When she let herself into the house, she told him to wait there for a minute, and went to ask for permission to take someone into her room. ‘A man friend?’ Sophie asked, eyebrows raised in slight disapproval. She hadn’t really taken to Becky, who was nothing like her brother.

  ‘Yes, but he’s my ex-husband and he only wants to talk. I left him in kind of a hurry, you see, and I think he wants to find out why I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘And why didn’t you?’

  ‘It was his father who told me to leave, and … oh, it’s a long story.’

  ‘Righto, then, as long as that’s all there is to it.’ Yet the elderly woman still came out to take a look at the young man in question, before nodding amicably and retreating into her sitting room.

  ‘You’ve obviously made a good impression on her,’ Becky smiled, somewhat nervously.

  ‘I can do – on some women.’ The meaning was quite clear.

  She sat down on the edge of her bed, but pointed to the only chair available, in case he thought of joining her. ‘Now, you wanted to talk?’

  ‘I wanted to know why? You left me without a word, and I want to know what I did wrong?’

  She inhaled deeply. ‘You did nothing wrong. Really, Jackie – Jack – it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I was a spoilt brat, always wanting my own way, and I loved living the good life – getting lots of new clothes, spending as much as I could and getting away with it.’

  ‘I was happy for you to have everything you wanted.’

  ‘I know, but I took advantage of you. I knew you wanted a family, and when I did fall, I didn’t want to have to through all the growing fat and the pain of gving birth, so … I had an abortion.’

  ‘What? I never knew that. I thought you had miscarried.’

  ‘Your father tumbled to it, though, and told me to get out, that I wasn’t a proper wfe for you.’ Pausing for only a moment, she added, ‘And I wasn’t, Jack. I wasn’t.’

  ‘It was up to me to decide that,’ he murmured quietly.

  ‘Yes, I can see that now.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘Wouldn’t you have felt the same?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. I loved you, Becky, still do, with all my heart, and I’d rather have you back than have a dozen kids.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t. Not after you hear what I did in New York.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear what you did in New York. I don’t care.’

  ‘Please, Jack, I have to tell you. We can’t have any kind of relationship unless you know.’

  Giving a vague nod, he settled back in the chair and let her go ahead. She left nothing out, not even excusing herself for the downward spiral in which she had been forced to travel, noticing that he dropped his eyes after she introduced the word ‘prostitute’, but jerking his head up again when she called herself a ‘whore’. ‘No, Becky,’ he protested, ‘I’ll not let you say that about yourself. You were forced into it by circumstances, and nobody could blame you for that.’

  ‘Not many people would see it that way.’

  ‘Not many people love you like I do. Oh, Becky, can’t you see I don’t care what you did over there? It’s what you did while you were still here that puzzled me, but now I know there was no other man involved, everything else is forgotten. I want you back, and if you don’t want a family, that’s fine by me.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that to you,’ she protested.

  ‘You could, and you will. Please, my darling, give us one more try. Marry me again, and we’ll—’

  ‘Live happily ever after?’ She smiled sadly. ‘It won’t happen, Jack. You’d soon come to resent me for not giving you children, and start remembering what I did.’ She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment or so, the clearcut features, the neat wavy hair, and suddenly, as she looked into the dark brown eyes that were showing the full depth of his feelings for her, she felt a surge of affection for him; more than affection, she realised in some surprise. She had never felt this way before, about him or anyone else, and it was nice – very nice. Most enjoyable. But would it last?

  Having obviously sensed a change in her, he asked, ‘Do you want to think about it, my dear?’

  ‘I probably should, but you know me. I make up my mind quickly.’

  ‘And live to regret it sometimes, no doubt, so I’ll leave you to consider everything properly, and then I’ll ask you again. I’d rather wait a while and be sure of you than grab you now and chance losing you again some time later.’

  ‘All right, then, but you know something? I think I just grew up.’

  He grinned then, the same boyish grin she remembered, and after he had gone, she lay back on the eiderdown and recalled the way he had made love to her when she was his wife. The first few weeks had been a bit wild, but nothing like as bad as she’d had to put up with in New York, but after that Jackie had been gentle, considerate, respectful even, and she knew for sure that they had a future together.

  It was a week before she saw him again, ambling in some embarrassment up to the beauty counter in Boots. ‘Outside, at six tonight?’ he asked, turning away relieved when she nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  October 1946

  Emily Fowlie was really exhausted as she sat down on the Sunday afternoon after little Billy had been collected by his mother and other grandfather. As she remarked to Jake, ‘I’m really feeling my age these days. I’m turned fifty-seven, soon be sixty, and I’m just not fit to look after a boisterous three-year-old for a whole week at a time.’

  ‘Aye he’s a bit of a handful, right enough, but I’d say his other gramma looks sixty-five at the least, an’ you dinna look a day over forty.’

  ‘Get away with you, Jake Fowlie.’ But she was pleased, just the same.

  On the following Sunday afternoon, when Billy was taken back for Emily’s stint of having him, Margaret Meldrum turned up with her husband, because Millie hadn’t come home that weekend.

  ‘She’s busy marking exam papers,’ Margaret explained to the other grandmother. But she waited until the two men had taken the little boy out for a walk, as they had taken to doing every week, before unburdening herself. ‘I’m feeling it a real strain looking after him now he’s bigger. He’s into everything, touching things he shouldn’t be touching.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me,’ Emily smiled. ‘He’s the same here, just like his father used to be.’

  ‘Of course, I’ve never had anything to do with boys before,’ Margaret excused herself, ‘but it’s one thing after another. He’s a right wee …’

  ‘Nickum,’ Emily ended for her.

 
; ‘How did you know that was what I was going to say?’ Margaret was completely taken aback.

  ‘That’s what Jake’s mother used to call Willie, but I thought he was the devil himself. I always did, and I’m ashamed of myself for it now.’

  ‘And so you should be. Your Willie turned out to be a true hero. I always knew he was the salt of the earth. So did Herbert, that’s why he took such an interest in him. He’d have been the happiest man on earth if Willie had been our son-in-law.’

  Emily swallowed hard. She would never get over losing her son without ever having told him she loved him. ‘Ah well, it wasn’t to be.’

  During that week, when little Billy came rushing in crying and covered in what she recognised as muck out of the midden, she hugged the chubby little body before stripping and scrubbing him, recalling sadly that she had been furious with Willie when he had done exactly the same.

  Nothing of any real consequence happened for a few weeks, but about ten days before Christmas, when much preparation was going on in the schoolhouse kitchen, Margaret was busily tying up little gifts she had bought for various tradespeople and for her little maid, Fanny, who had replaced Janet some time ago. Billy had been playing with the cat on the heathrug in front of the large fireguard that protected him from the fire, and as long as he was happy, and quiet, she wasn’t really bothered about how he was amusing himself. He had asked her once what she was doing and she had answered him honestly, ‘I’m wrapping up Christmas presents.’

  Shortly after this, he had run out to fetch something, and when she saw him coming back with a towel, she thought nothing of it. It was only when the cat started yowling that she turned round to ask, impatiently, ‘What are you doing to that cat?’

  ‘Kissmapezzie,’ he replied.

  Understanding only the first syllable, she half-snapped, ‘Well, stop trying to kiss him and leave him alone.’

  There were a few minutes’ silence, but when the yowling began again she rounded on him. ‘I told you to stop trying to kiss him. Can’t you learn to do what you’re told?’

  The tears that sprang to his eyes made her pause in her task. ‘What’s wrong, my lamb?’

  ‘Kissmapezzie,’ he repeated, his piping voice wavering a little.

  ‘Kissmapezzie?’ she echoed, searching for the meaning, then, remembering that the cook she had employed some weeks ago seemed to understand his babblings, she opened the door to the kitchen and called for her.

  ‘Aye, was you wantin’ me?’ The stout woman, a result of repeatedly tasting what she was cooking, came through at once, her hands white with the flour she was using.

  ‘Yes, Mary. Can you understand what Billy’s saying?’ She turned to the woebegone figure on the rug. ‘Tell Cook what you’re doing.’

  ‘Kissmapezzie,’ he said, looking hopefully at the other woman.

  The cook looked back at her mistress. ‘Did you tell him what you were doin’?’

  ‘Wrapping Christmas presents.’

  The two women gazed at each other, then, in a flash, the answer occurred to both of them, and at last, with a grin at her own stupidity, Margaret exclaimed, ‘Christmas present. Is that what you’re saying? Are you trying to wrap the cat up as a Christmas present?’

  He beamed at her happily, and she whipped him into her arms to kiss him. ‘Oh, my lovie, what a silly Grandma you’ve got.’

  ‘Sillagamma,’ he agreed, turning to continue his impossible task, but the cat had taken advantage of his inattention and made good his escape.

  Billy continued his entry into sentence-making as the time went on, but never succeeded to any great extent. Emily, who could remember how fluent Willie had been at the same age, was a little worried about the boy’s lack of progress, but Millie assured her that each child was different, and some took much longer to do things than others. ‘Some can speak early, some can walk early. As long as they are making an attempt, it’s nothing serious.’

  But something serious did happen – or to be truthful, something that could have had a tragic outcome but, fortunately, didn’t. It started on another day when Margaret Meldrum was very busy and had asked Cook to look after Billy in the kitchen. Of course, she, too, was busy, and when the little boy managed to open the back door and went outside, she wasn’t worried. The garden was entirely enclosed by a tall wooden fence, and the child was quite safe. The only damage he could do, she told herself, was to pull the leaves off a few plants, and that was all right as long as it kept him out of other mischief.

  She didn’t see the escapee lever himself under one of the struts of the fence and find himself on the path to freedom. This path divided the grounds of the house from the field some cows were grazing in, and Billy had always been interested in the cows, which he could see from the kitchen window as well as from the garden. As he toddled up to the gate, the cows, as all cows do, came towards him curiously, watching as he fumbled with the catch and coming out obediently as the gate swung open. Some went up the path, some went down the path, some stood uncertainly, not knowing what was expected of them. This was not their usual milking time, their liberator was not the usual tow-headed boy who led them to the byre.

  For a few moments, Billy stood waiting for this small group to make up their minds, then he looked up the path at the five Freisians who were making their bulky way slowly towards the byre, and then, turning, he studied the four who were heading for the main road. Not that Billy knew where any of them were going. All that mattered to him was that he had freed them. Satisfied with himself, he went back to where he had himself escaped and finally to the kitchen, where Mary felt a little relieved that he had come to no harm in the garden.

  It was about fifteen minutes later when Mararet Meldrum had to answer the door to a caller. ‘I was passing in my car,’ the man explained, looking quite flustered, she thought, ‘and I nearly knocked down one of your cows when I came round the corner. There’s four of them on the road. They could cause a bad accident.’

  ‘My goodness, yes,’ she exclaimed, ‘but they’re not our cows. This is the schoolhouse; it’s Wester Burnton Farm that owns the cows. It’s all right, though. I’ll phone them and let them know. Thanks very much for telling us.’

  Johnny McIntyre was very grateful to be told, but completely at a loss to know how the beasts had got out, even warning the police to be on the lookout for some fool of a ‘townser’ that thought it was funny to open farm gates and let animals out. Herbert Meldrum couldn’t understand it either, when he came home at lunchtime and was told. ‘Did you not see anything from the kitchen?’ he asked Mary.

  ‘I was busy, Mr Meldrum,’ she said, a little guiltily, he thought.

  ‘But Billy was with you all forenoon,’ Margaret pointed out. ‘He usually watches the cows from the window, doesn’t he? He’d have told you if he’d seen anything different.’

  Billy himself came toddling through now, and the headmaster bent down to ask him, ‘Did you see anything over in the field this morning, Billy? Did anybody let the cows out?’

  He smiled at the man beatifically. ‘Moocoosootapay.’ The three adults looked at each other hopelessly, then Mary said, ‘Wait a mintie. He’s sayin’ “moo-cows”.’

  ‘He said “moo-coos”,’ corrected Herbert.

  ‘Well, that’s me,’ she admitted. ‘I often say, “Look at the moo-coos.” He likes to watch them.’

  ‘He is speaking about the cows, then. Right, Billy, what else did you say? Moo-coos what?’

  ‘Moocoosootapay.’

  ‘Ootapay? What the devil …?’

  Mary’s hand flew up to her face. ‘Oh, that’s likely me, an’ all. I usually ask him if he wants oot to play, if he’s standin’ at the door.’

  With a twitch at the corner of his mouth, Herbert said, ‘So he’s saying the cows were out to play? But, Billy, who let them out? Somebody must have opened the gate. Did you see?’

  He patted his chest. ‘Billy.’

  It was some time before they solved the whole mystery – the
sneaking under the fence, the opening of the latch. ‘By God, he’s quick, this lad,’ his grandfather said proudly, ‘but we’ll need to fix that fence so he can’t get out again. Anything could have happened. There could have been some bad accidents, with the amount of cars that go on that road, not only the cows, either. Billy himself might have gone on to the road with them. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Meldrum,’ Mary snivelled. ‘I didna ken he …’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Mary. Don’t upset yourself. It’s just this little …’

  ‘Nickum,’ his wife cut in, before he could say anything stronger.

  The last word, naturally, was Billy’s. Looking at one after the other he pronounced carefully but forcefully, ‘Nickum!’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  1947

  When Emily was told of her grandson’s latest escapade, she did not join in the Meldrums’ laughter, but it was only when the visitors had gone and the mischievous little boy was safely tucked up asleep that she mentioned her thoughts to her husband.

  ‘I can’t get over how much Billy is getting to be like Willie. He’s got the same eyes, dancing with devilment, the same cheeky grin that melts folks’ hearts.’

  ‘But not yours?’ Jake put it as a question, sure that he knew the answer, but he was wrong.

  ‘Yes, mine as well,’ she said, sounding as if she were sorry rather than pleased.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong in that. He’s a taking way aboot him. It’s like father, like son.’

  ‘That’s what’s bothering me, Jake. Can’t you see? He’s going the same way as Willie. He’ll be the same when he goes to school, he’ll be clever, he’ll deserve higher education, there’ll be a war and he’ll be killed – just like his father.’

  Jake showed shock at her pessimism. ‘My God, Em, you’re fairly lookin’ on the black side.’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’ll grow up a lovable rogue, as they say, and he’ll end up like most of them – killed through their own stupidity. No,’ she corrected herself, hastily. ‘Killed because of their own thoughtlessness. They don’t consider the consequences before they do anything.’