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  Anne sighed. ‘I suppose so. We’d never be able to sell them, anyway, but it’s such a waste. Surely there’s somebody . . .’

  ‘The Salvation Army!’ Renee congratulated herself on her brainwave. ‘They always need beds and bedclothes. You won’t need the single sheets and blankets any longer, either.’

  ‘That’s a good idea!’ Anne sat up, refreshed by the thought of helping someone in need. ‘I’ll ask them to collect everything when Glynn and you are on your honeymoon.’

  ‘Some honeymoon.’ The girl screwed up her face. ‘Still, it’s better than Mike and Babs had, remember? They just had one night, but we’ll have three. It’s a pity Glynn couldn’t have got the weekend off as well, then we could’ve had a week altogether, but it can’t be helped.’

  She carried through the tray and placed it on the card table, then flopped down on the settee. She hadn’t realised how tired she was until she sat down, and said regretfully, ‘I think we’d better finish for the day, after all. We’ll be as stiff as boards in the morning.’

  Anne sliced the top off one of her eggs. ‘I’ll wash the curtains tomorrow.’

  ‘Leave the blankets and sheets till another day, then. I don’t want you laying yourself up before the wedding. You and Fred are our witnesses, remember.’

  On Wednesday morning, Anne started upstairs, having finished the back bedroom completely the day before. The curtains were back at the sparkling window, the bedclothes, smelling fragrantly of fresh air, were folded neatly on a chair, ready for collection.

  She set about this second room cheerfully, pulling over a chair to stand on until she unhooked the chintz curtains. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a man striding purposefully along the pavement towards her house, and her heart jumped with alarm when she recognised Mr Paterson, who shared the same landing as her mother and father in the Woodside tenement. Jumping off the chair, she ran down the stairs to open the door.

  The man’s face was grim, and he wasted no time in beating about the bush. ‘I’ve got bad news, Mrs Gordon, I’m afraid. Your father collapsed this morning, as soon as he rose, and he died before the doctor came.’

  She felt numb. ‘Oh, God! I knew he wasn’t well when we saw him on Saturday. I should have done something.’ The full horror of the situation struck her then. ‘Now there’s nobody to look after my mother, and she can’t do anything for herself.’

  She was trembling violently, so Mr Paterson took hold of her arm. ‘Don’t upset yourself about him, for the doctor said he wouldn’t have felt a thing, but I promised your mother I’d take you back with me.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but I’ll have to leave a note to let Renee know what’s happened.’ As if in a dream, she took out the writing pad and a pencil, and wrote a few lines to explain her absence. She added a postscript asking her daughter to go to Woodside when she finished work at five thirty, then she went upstairs for her coat. When she went outside, her senses were too frozen to notice the beautiful sunshine.

  As they walked quickly along, the man said, ‘I’ll arrange things with the undertaker for you, if you like?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t remember about that,’ she whispered.

  ‘Thank you. It’s very kind of you and I’m very grateful.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have your hands full with your mother,’ he said, sadly. ‘She’s with my wife just now.’

  A new thought occurred to Anne. ‘How did you find out about my father?’

  ‘Mrs McIntosh managed to struggle out of bed and on to the landing before she fell. My wife and I heard the sound and went out to see what it was, so we took her into our house.’

  Mrs Paterson was consoling Maggie when they went in.

  ‘Oh, Annie!’ the old lady sobbed. ‘I aye thought I’d be the one to go first, but here’s me still livin’, a helpless cripple, an’ a decent God-fearin’ man ta’en awa’. What am I goin’ to dae withoot him?’

  ‘You’ll have to give up your house and come to live with me,’ Anne said decisively. ‘There’s room now.’

  ‘We’d been thegither for near fifty year, Annie, an’ I’m goin’ to miss him. You’ve nae idea how much I’ll miss him.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, I have.’ Anne gripped the old lady’s hand.

  ‘I’ve been through it myself, remember?’

  ‘So ye have, so ye have, but ye’d only been wed for aboot twelve year. Fifty year’s a lang time to bide wi’ a man. Ye get to ken what he’ll da’e and what he’s thinkin’ even, an’ it’s like bein’ one person, really.’

  Anne gulped. She was definitely going to have her hands full with her mother. She looked beseechingly at Mrs Paterson, who came to her rescue.

  ‘You will go to live with your daughter, won’t you, Mrs McIntosh? She’ll take good care of you.’

  Maggie lifted her head pathetically, the tears still streaming down her face. ‘Aye, I ken that, an’ I’ll go, right enough. Thank ye, Annie, it’s very good o’ ye, though I wouldna come if I could look after mysel’. Oh, I wish it had been me that was ta’en.’

  Anne fought back her own tears. ‘Don’t be silly, Mother. I know it’ll be a big upheaval for you, but you’ll soon settle down after a few days at Cattofield. We’ll all get along fine, you and Renee and me.’ And Glynn Williams, she remembered, with a sinking heart. It was less than four weeks to the wedding. How on earth was she going to cope?

  Maggie’s voice, a little more composed now, cut into her thoughts. ‘I suppose ye’ll ha’e to clear oot my hoose afore I gi’e it up, Annie? Ye’ll nae ha’e room for ony o’ my stuff.’

  ‘You can take whatever you want with you, Mother. I’ll make room for it somehow.’

  ‘I’ll tak’ some o’ that little ornaments I’m fond o’, then. It would mak’ me feel I had somethin’ o’ my ain beside me.’

  ‘If you’re sure that’s all you want, I’d better make a start to sorting things out as soon as I can. If I did a little bit every day, it shouldn’t be so bad.’

  Anne knew that it would be distressing for her mother, but it would have to be done. There wasn’t space in her house for all the furniture and the other things Maggie had amassed over the years.

  The old lady remained with Mrs Paterson until after the undertakers had taken the coffin, with Peter in it, through to the bedroom, and Anne had changed all the bedclothes on the kitchen bed. Then Maggie was helped back into it, her daughter only having to remove the blanket which Mrs Paterson had wrapped round her when they found her lying on the landing in her nightdress.

  When Renee came running in, just before six o’clock, she wasn’t surprised that her grandmother was heartbroken, but she was shocked to see that the old lady looked on the point of death herself.

  ‘What’s happening about Granny?’ she whispered to her mother, after expressing her deep sorrow at her grandfather’s sudden call.

  ‘I’ll have to stay with her just now,’ Anne told her. ‘Will you manage to fend for yourself for a few days? The funeral’s on Saturday. Mr Paterson next door arranged everything.’

  ‘I’ll cope, don’t worry, but who’s going to look after her when the funeral’s past?’

  ‘She’s coming to stay with us, it’s all I could do.’ She looked at her daughter sadly. ‘I’m afraid Glynn and you can just have one room. I’ll keep sleeping in the loft, so you can have the other upstairs bedroom. I’ll have to clear out this house before I take Granny over to Cattofield, though.’

  ‘Oh.’ Renee’s eyes filled with tears and she hastily blew her nose. ‘That really knocks it home, doesn’t it? I’ll come over to give you a hand in the evenings.’

  ‘Thanks. It’ll take a while, I suppose. Do you want to see your granda now? He looks very peaceful.’

  Renee hesitated, remembering her vow on the day of her own father’s funeral that she would never look at another corpse. ‘Would you mind very
much if I didn’t, Mum?’ she said at last, feeling guilty and wondering if her grandfather would know.

  ‘It’s all right, if you don’t feel up to it.’

  The funeral on Saturday was a gruelling ordeal for Anne and Renee. Maggie was inconsolable, and determined not to be taken out of the bed to be dressed. Maggie’s sister, Teenie, and her other daughter, Anne’s sister Bella, demanded various things out of the house as ‘keepsakes’, and Anne let them take whatever they wanted because there seemed to be no point in quarrelling and causing her mother further distress.

  Renee hadn’t seen Auntie Teenie and Uncle Jimmy since Jim Gordon’s funeral, almost nine years before, although Maggie had passed on any information she’d received in her sister’s infrequent letters. She was shocked at how old they looked – much older than Maggie had looked before this tragedy, although the girl knew that both Teenie and Jimmy Durno were younger than her grandmother. Apart from her legs, Maggie had been a young seventy-year-old.

  Renee smiled to Uncle Jimmy when he came over to speak to her.

  ‘Yer mother was tellin’ us ye’re getting wed, Renee. I could hardly believe ye were auld enough for that.’

  ‘I’m old enough. I’m nearly nineteen now. I had a lovely holiday at Gowanbrae in 1933. I don’t remember if I thanked you at the time, but I was only about ten, so I don’t suppose it had crossed my mind.’

  ‘We enjoyed ha’ein’ ye, lassie.’ He patted her head and moved away to speak to someone else.

  Before they left, Auntie Teenie also found time to have a few words. ‘I’m really sorry aboot yer grandfather, Renee, an’ yer grandmother doesna look very weel, either.’

  Renee swallowed quickly. ‘Yes, she’s taking it pretty hard. Mum’s going to take her to live at our house, once this place has been cleared out.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that.’ Teenie Durno’s face softened into a hint of a smile. ‘It’s terrible when ye’re auld an’ nae able to look after yersel’. It’s a good thing me an’ Jimmy’s got a’ oor faculties.’ She, too, moved on. Renee suddenly realised that this woman was no horrible old dragon, as she’d thought when she was holidaying at Gowanbrae. It was just her way, to present a forbidding face to the world.

  Glynn Williams and Fred Schaper had been standing in the background, not wanting to intrude on the family’s grief, but they followed the others into the bedroom when the minister spoke a few words over the coffin.

  Renee was left on her own in the kitchen, apart from her grandmother, who seemed to be in a daze, and had paid no attention to any of the people who had come to pay their last respects to her husband. The girl was on the point of going over to her, to try to get through to her somehow, when she realised that Glynn had come back. He took her hand and she turned to him thankfully. ‘I hate funerals, Glynn,’ she whispered.

  ‘No one likes them, my lovely.’

  ‘No, but I really hate them. I feel all tied up inside and my heart seems to be frozen solid.’

  ‘I’ll thaw it out for you later,’ he murmured.

  She frowned. ‘No, Glynn. Don’t joke about things just now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Renee.’ He was contrite. ‘I didn’t think. You must be very upset. Your grandfather was a real character, and I came to think very highly of him in the short time I knew him.’

  She shot him a grateful glance, then the coffin was carried out and Glynn followed the other men down the stairs. During the next half-hour or so, the usual funeral-tea activity took place in the small kitchen before the women sat down to await the return of the men who had followed the hearse to the Grove Cemetery.

  Maggie, propped up against the pillows, had watched all the preparations with an expression which suggested that she was completely unaware of the reason for them. When Renee glanced across, her grandmother reminded her of a shrunken, shrivelled skeleton, with fine parchment stretched over the bones, and her heart contracted as she moved towards the bed.

  ‘Are you all right, Granny?’ She laid her hand over the fragile one lying on the counterpane.

  Out of deep sockets, the faded old eyes met hers sadly, but with fond recognition. ‘I’ll never be a’ right again,’ Maggie whispered. ‘I loved Peter from the first day we started the school thegither, Renee. He’s been a fine, honourable man, an’ I hope, from the bottom o’ my he’rt, that you’ll be blessed the same as I was.’

  ‘I have been, Granny. Glynn’s a fine, honourable man, too, and I’m sure we’ll be as happy as Granda and you were.’

  ‘As lang as ye keep lovin’ an’ trustin’ each other, ye will be.’ Maggie closed her eyes, but Renee sat with her until the men came back.

  Mrs Paterson, who had been helping Anne, told her that she would also lend a hand on Sunday with the clearing out.

  ‘I’m going to miss your mother,’ she said, when they were washing up after everyone had gone. ‘She’s been a good neighbour to me for sixteen years, always cheery and willing to help, though we were never on first-name terms. It’s best not to be too familiar, though, it often leads to friction.’

  Anne nodded. ‘You’re welcome to come and see her any time.’

  By Sunday night, all Maggie’s ‘bits and pieces’ were packed into boxes, all, except one, to be taken to a saleroom along with the furniture. The carton containing her favourite little ornaments was to be transported with her to her new abode.

  Mr Paterson said that he would see to the selling up, and he also organised an ambulance to take Maggie to Cattofield on Monday afternoon. ‘When the house is empty,’ he said, ‘I’ll hand the keys to the factor, and that’ll be the end.’

  Anne sniffed. ‘Yes, that’ll be the end.’

  On Monday, the old lady was installed in a single bed in the back bedroom, but the upheaval and the journey, on top of the shock of Peter’s death, took their toll on her. Over the next few days, they could see her slowly deteriorating. What was worse, she had lost the will to live, now that her life partner was gone, and she joined him exactly a week after the move.

  Anne’s remorse was unbounded. ‘I should never have taken her away from her own home. I should have stayed with her for another week, until she was stronger. Once she got over her first grief, she’d have picked up again, I’m sure.’

  ‘Mum, don’t blame yourself. You were doing what you thought was best for Granny, and, quite honestly, I don’t think that whatever you did would have made any difference.’

  Renee knew that she had to keep strong, to make sure that her mother wouldn’t give in to the guilt she felt, to make sure that she kept her sanity.

  Providentially, it seemed to the girl, Fred Schaper turned up unexpectedly about half an hour after the doctor had called to certify the death. He took over all the arrangements, and was a tower of strength to Anne, who had been on the verge of a complete breakdown, and was reluctant to let him out of her sight for any length of time.

  Renee was extremely grateful for his presence, because she, too, would have been unable to cope had Glynn not been there to support her when her sorrow threatened to engulf her. It was he who had persuaded her to go through to the rearranged dining room – the ex-lounge where her father’s coffin had once lain – to look at what was left of her beloved granny.

  ‘Please go through,’ he had said quietly. ‘She looks so peaceful, it won’t upset you, I promise.’

  She’d had to force herself to enter the room, but Glynn had been right. Her grandmother did look peaceful, and she was smiling as if she were happy that her struggle was over, and that she was to be reunited with her husband, so Renee did not regret breaking her long-standing vow.

  On the day of Maggie’s funeral, a macabre pressure seemed to exert itself over the whole house – a malign influence – and residents and visitors alike were affected by it. There was no talk, only brief murmurs of sympathy to the bereaved. No smiles, only stiff nods of recognition when relat
ive met relative or friend met friend. No sign of real mourning, only a frozen acceptance of what seemed, now, to have been inevitable.

  It was with enormous relief that Anne saw the last of them departing. Her legs gave way and she sat down suddenly, burying her face in her hands.

  Fred sat on the arm of her chair and stroked her head. ‘Do you want me to stay, Anne, or will I leave you now to be on your own with Renee?’

  She stretched out her hand to him, without lifting her head. ‘Don’t leave me, Fred.’

  Glynn had left ten minutes earlier, because he had to go on duty, so Renee went upstairs to allow Fred to comfort her mother as much as he could. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling absolutely empty. Granny and Granda were both gone. There would be no more cosy little chats on Saturday afternoons. No more little snippets of loving counsel. No shoulder to cry on.

  She caught her morbid thoughts there. She would never need a shoulder to cry on again. She’d have Glynn to love, and to love her, and he would give her no cause for tears. She should really be happy that her grandparents were together again. It was what Granny had wanted. The girl felt easier in her mind now, so she picked up her library book and lay down to read.

  When she went downstairs, after almost an hour, she was alarmed to see that Anne’s face was drained of all colour, whiter even than it had been before, and that her sunken eyes were red-rimmed again. Renee glanced at the almost equally pale man, to find him looking at her apologetically.

  ‘I’ve just told your mother that we leave the Battery tomorrow morning.’ Fred carried on, despite Renee’s gasp of dismay. ‘We knew about it . . . we were told the day your granny died – that’s why I came here so early – but you’ll understand why I couldn’t bring myself to say anything about it before. This was my last chance. I don’t know where we’re going.’

  ‘Oh, Mum! It’s awful!’ Renee clasped her hands together in misery. How could her mother cope with it, at this time?

  ‘Everything’s happening together,’ Anne whispered.