The Back of Beyond Page 3

  Stumped, Dougal looked at Alistair then said, uncertainly, ‘I suppose he’d have to get help … from Huntly, that’s ten mile away, and they’d likely send a squad from Aberdeen if it was a murder, but … that’s twenty mile the other way.’

  Ivy gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘Stop speaking about murder, you’re giving me the collywobbles.’

  Laughing, Len pushed back his chair with a satisfied sigh. ‘I’ll soon sort you out, love. I’m off to me Uncle Ned now, so don’t be long. See you in the morning, boys.’

  It was only a little after nine o’clock, and Ivy giggled at the surprise on the two young faces when she explained the rhyming slang. ‘My Len loves his bed, though he likes it best when I’m in there with him.’ She gave a lewd cackle and dug Alistair playfully in the ribs as she stood up to clear the table.

  Embarrassed, he said, ‘Dougal and me’ll do the dishes for you if you want to go up …’

  She found this highly amusing. ‘He can wait for it, the randy blighter.’

  ‘We don’t mind helping, honest.’

  ‘Tell you what, then. If Dougal puts a few lumps of coal on the fire, and lays the cork mats in the left-hand drawer of the sideboard and the tablecloth, neatly folded, in the right-hand drawer, you can come and dry for me. How does that sound?’

  ‘Suits me!’ Dougal smirked wickedly, ignoring his friend’s look of desperate appeal.

  Trapped, Alistair helped to load the tray with dirty dishes, and carried it through to the small scullery where Ivy turned on one of the taps in the slightly chipped earthenware sink and left it running until steam billowed up from the enamelled basin nestling inside. Then she rolled up her sleeves, turned on the other tap and let the cold water run in until she could comfortably hold her hand in it.

  Watching her, Alistair said, admiringly, ‘You’re lucky having a tap with hot water. My mother has to boil kettles on the range for everything.’

  ‘She should get in a back-burner. That heats the tank, and in winter, when the fire’s on all day, the water’s still hot enough to wash next day’s breakfast dishes, and once the fire’s going proper, the water heats again to near boiling. In summer, of course, I don’t light it at all, except on Mondays and Fridays, that’s wash-day and bath night for Len and me, and I light the gas boiler for the dishes and washing faces and hands and so on.’ She pointed vaguely in its direction, then picked up the bar of yellow soap sitting in a dish between the taps and swished it around in the water to get a lather.

  ‘You’re a good-looking boy,’ she observed, as she wielded her dish mop. ‘Do you have a steady girl back home?’

  He shook his head, thankful that he could answer honestly. ‘Not now.’

  ‘I bet she didn’t know the best ways to please a man, like I do.’

  The colour raced up Alistair’s neck. ‘I wouldn’t know about that … we never did …’

  Ivy’s smile broadened. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, Al? I can’t believe it.’

  He wanted to throw the dish towel at her painted face and run out. She was being far too suggestive for his liking, and she was calling him Al, the hated name Lexie had used.

  Patently enjoying his discomfiture, Ivy went on, ‘I’d like to get you on your own, some time, to show you what I can do.’ She fell silent, quite possibly picturing in her mind exactly what she would show him, and when she finished washing up, she squeezed past him to dry her hands on the roller towel fixed to the wall beside the pantry.

  Her next move terrified him. He could feel her breasts pressing into his back, her pelvis rubbing against his backside, but he endured the unwanted, and unsettling, contact until he had dried the last plate and could sidestep away from her. At a safe distance, he turned to look at her and was disconcerted to see her eyes going straight to his crotch.

  ‘Yes, you’ll do me,’ she murmured seductively, ‘and you won’t be shy with me for long, I swear.’

  ‘I’m not shy,’ he protested, ‘but I don’t think …’

  ‘No, deaire, you’re right. We’ve plenty time ahead of us and we’d better leave it for now and get back to Dougal before he starts imagining things.’

  He followed her into the sitting room where Dougal looked up from the well-worn, moquette-covered armchair where he was reading the newspaper. ‘All done?’ he leered.

  Hoping that his pal hadn’t heard anything, Alistair sat down on the other easy chair, avoiding the settee where their landlady had placed herself. She embarrassed him no further, however, but kept them laughing over the next hour with stories about her neighbours and the people she met when she went shopping.

  At half past ten, she suddenly said, ‘Oh my Gawd, look at the time.’ She stood up and stretched her arms. ‘You must’ve been wondering if I was ever going to shut up. Len says I forget to stop once I get started, but I’m sorry for keeping you up so late, I expect you’re tired out. By the way, Al, dearie, make sure all the lights are off down here when you come up. Nightie night, both.’

  ‘Good night,’ they chorused, and when the door closed behind her, Dougal looked slyly at Alistair then burst out laughing. ‘I told you she fancied you.’

  ‘Stop being so daft!’

  ‘The walls here are paper thin, so I heard what she was saying ben there. You’re in for some good times with Ivy Dearie, Ally boy.’

  ‘Not me!’ Alistair snapped. ‘If you want her, you can have her with pleasure.’

  ‘It likely would be a pleasure, and all, for I’d say she’s all set for a fling, but it’s not me she wants, worse luck. Now, would you say she was out of the lavvy yet?’

  The two boys spent most of the following day looking for work, and returned to Victoria Park at ten past five exhausted, ravenous, and very despondent. Luckily, Ivy had a huge hotpot waiting for them, and while they ate, Len regaled them with humorous anecdotes about his time in the Royal Navy during the war. Afterwards, Dougal volunteered to help with the dishes this time, but it was Len who replied, ‘Thanks, it’s my turn tonight, mate, and I could do with an ’and.’

  Alistair’s heart sank at the prospect of being left alone with Ivy, but she said nothing outrageous, probably because Len was within earshot. Nevertheless, he still felt really uncomfortable with her.

  The dishwashers completed their task in record time, and the next two hours passed with the youths answering more questions about their homes and families. Both said they had a sister, but whereas Flora Finnie, six years older than Dougal, had gone to-America the year before, Alice Ritchie, three years younger than Alistair, was still at school. The evening ended with them discussing the kind of jobs they had hoped to find, but after that day’s fruitless search, were far less confident of ever finding now.

  Ivy commiserated profusely with them over this, but Len said, as he got to his feet, ‘Ne’er mind, boys, I put word about you round the pub at lunch time, so something’s bound to turn up. Me mates are a good bunch.’

  In bed, ten minutes later, Dougal observed, ‘We’re going to be all right here, Ally. Ivy’s a great cook, and that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’

  Convinced that he had nothing more to fear from her, that she had just been testing him before, Alistair agreed. ‘I just wish we could be bringing in a wage, though. She mightn’t feed us so well if we can’t pay our way.’

  As luck would have it, he was in the lavatory the following evening when one of Len’s ‘mates’ came to say there was a job going in the factory where he worked as an electrician. ‘They’re looking for a youngster to train as a clerk in the Counting House,’ he told Dougal, ‘and when I said I knew of a couple of sixteen-year-old Scots boys looking for work, they said to tell one of you to call first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Dougal exclaimed. ‘I’ve never worked in an office, but I always got top marks for handwriting at school.’

  ‘There you are then,’ beamed Ivy, ‘it’s just the job for you.’

  When he came back, Alistair was honestly pleased for his friend,
but found himself wishing that his bowels hadn’t needed emptying at the crucial time.

  Sensing his disappointment, Ivy gave his head a motherly pat. ‘Don’t you fret, Al, dearie, your turn’ll come.’

  Having to report for work the next morning, Len was up well before dawn, and Dougal also left early to find the factory and make sure he wasn’t late for his interview, leaving Alistair hurrying to get out in order not to be left on his own with Ivy. She, however, had other ideas. ‘There’s no rush, dearie,’ she purred, her hand fixing on his sleeve as he tried to take his jacket down from the peg on the hallstand in the narrow hallway. ‘It’s time we got better acquainted, ain’t it?’

  ‘I have to go out,’ he protested. ‘If I don’t find work, I’ll not be able to pay anything for my board.’ This wasn’t strictly true, but she wasn’t to know that.

  Her plucked eyebrows lifted. ‘Haven’t you never heard of payment in kind?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, puzzled. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You see me all right and I’ll see you all right, savvy?’ She came closer and put her hands up his pullover. ‘I’m going to be ever so lonely till Len comes home again.’

  Comprehending now what she was up to, he said, hastily, ‘No … Mrs Crocker …’

  ‘You’ll like it, Al, I promise you.’ Her hands ran over his chest, but didn’t stop there, and as they continued down, he burst out, ‘No, no! I can’t let you …’

  ‘Yes, you can, you’re a big boy now.’ She made a grab at him and laughed with delight. ‘Yes, Al, a big boy and getting bigger by the minute.’

  He’d been praying that someone would come to the door, or that there would be some kind of interruption that would let him make his escape, but he could stand no more of her caressing. ‘That’s it!’ he shouted, shoving her away and almost knocking her off her feet. ‘I’m going to look for other digs, I can’t stay here! You’re man mad!’

  Clearly gathering that she had gone too far, Ivy stepped back. ‘OK, OK, dearie, I know when I’m beat. I thought you were the answer to this maiden’s prayer … but it seems I made a mistake. I’m ever so sorry for trying it on with you.’

  She pulled such a repentant face that he had to laugh. The only way he could see of dealing with a woman like this was to make fun of her. ‘A maiden?’ he gurgled. ‘You? It must be twenty years since you were a maiden.’

  He held his breath, but she wasn’t at all put out. ‘Cheeky beggar,’ she grinned, ‘but you’re right. I’d the first bite at my cherry when I was twelve … that’s twenty years ago almost to the day.’ His patent disbelief made her give a loud screech of laughter. ‘No fooling you, is there, Al? All right, I’ll come clean – twenty-four years ago, for I was thirty-six last month … and that’s the Gawd’s honest truth.’

  He felt a sudden rush of pity for her. At first sight, he had thought she was about forty, but looking at her in the cold light of this October morning he could see the crow’s feet round her eyes, the slackness of her mouth without its thick coating of lipstick, the dark roots of her bleached hair. She was fifty if she was a day, and she was likely trying to prove, to herself as much as to other people, that she wasn’t past it. ‘You’re still an attractive woman, Mrs Crocker,’ he smiled, wanting to soothe her, ‘but I don’t want to get involved with anybody. I want to concentrate on making a career for myself and then … well, I don’t want to come between any man and his wife, so I’ll look for a girl a bit nearer my own age. No offence intended,’ he put in, quickly.

  ‘None taken,’ she assured him, although there was a touch of wistfulness in her faded blue eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have done what I did. I was playing a silly game and you were right to let me know how things stand. I can forget if you can, so what say we start all over? Before we leave it, though, I must tell you I admire you for the way you handled it, Al. Like a ruddy diplomat you were, and you’ll make a damned good husband to some lucky gal one of these days.’

  The tension having gone, he felt easy enough with her to say, ‘Thank you for those kind words, Mrs Crocker.’

  ‘Make it Ivy, for Gawd’s sake, dearie, else you’ll make me feel my age. Now, shall I make you another cuppa before you go job-hunting?’

  ‘No thanks … Ivy, I’d best be moving.’

  By three o’clock that afternoon, Alistair was wishing that he had accepted Ivy’s offer of tea. His feet were throbbing from trudging through dozens of streets, each with a small scattering of shops to fulfil the needs of its denizens. In his anxiety for employment, he had even asked three butchers if they had a vacancy, though he’d have been better staying with Charlie Low in Bankside if he was going to stick to butchery, so it was just as well that there was nothing doing in any of them. He was so depressed that he was actually quite glad when it started to rain, and thankful that it was heavy enough to provide him with a good excuse for calling it a day.

  Ivy tutted at his dripping clothes when he went in. ‘I’m sorry I’m making such a mess of your clean floor,’ he muttered, but she waved away his apology.

  ‘It’s not the floor I’m worried about,’ she assured him, as she pulled off his jacket. ‘You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful. Go up and change into something dry and I’ll give you the good news when you come back.’

  He couldn’t for the life of him think what good news she could possibly give him, and pondered over it while he towelled his legs dry and draped his flannels over the hot tank in the cupboard at the top of the stairs. Presentable again, he ran down to hear what she had to say.

  Ivy had the fire burning ‘half up the lum’, as his father would have said, and he stood with his back to the heat, his brows raised in question. ‘You’ll never believe this, Al,’ she began, her voice trembling with excitement, her mascara’d eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

  ‘Go on, then,’ he said, impatiently, ‘tell me.’

  ‘I went shopping as soon as you left – I put my face on first, of course – and I got speaking to old Ma Beaton five doors down on the opposite side, and the nosy so-and-so asked me who the handsome young men were she’d seen going in and out of my house. Not a thing happens in this street without her knowing, ’cos she sits behind her net curtains all day and watches everything that goes on.’

  Feeling rather let-down, Alistair muttered, ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No, it’s a long story and I have to tell you everything so you’ll understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry, carry on. You were speaking to old Ma something …?’

  ‘Ma Beaton, and I told her you and your pal had come from Scotland to look for jobs. I said Dougal was fixed up—he came back at twelve to say he starts on Monday and then went out again – but I said you were still looking and she said to try Ikey Mo. He’d been telling her he was thinking of taking a young boy on to help him. So I went and told him about you, and you’ve to see him tomorrow about ten.’

  ‘B … but …’ stammered Alistair, ‘who’s Ikey Mo, and what kind of shop is it?’

  Ivy spluttered with laughter. ‘That’s not his real name. I can’t remember what it is, but Ma Beaton calls him Ikey Mo because he’s a Jew.’

  ‘What kind of shop is it?’

  ‘A pawnshop. I started going there when Len came out of the Navy, for he was out of work for months and I used up all our savings, but when he got a start on the North boat, I didn’t need to pawn no more stuff. I used to go to Uncle – that’s what most people call him – every week, and he’s a nice old bloke.’ Noticing Alistair’s deepening perplexity, she said, ‘Don’t you know what a pawnshop is?’

  After hearing what was entailed in the pawnbroking business, Alistair said, ‘I’m sorry, Ivy, but I don’t think I’m fitted for that.’

  Her face darkened. ‘Ain’t a pawnbroker good enough for you?’ she snapped. ‘Is that all the thanks I get for going out of my way to ask about it for you? You think it’s beneath you?’

  He was quite shocked by her outburst; he had spoken without thinking and hadn’t m
eant to offend her. ‘Oh, please don’t think that! I’m really grateful to you … and the old lady, but it’s just … I’m worried because I don’t know anything about … what was it you called it? Pledging things. I wouldn’t know how much to give for them.’

  ‘You’ll soon learn,’ Ivy smiled, her spirits restored. ‘The customers’ll tell you if you don’t offer enough, and Uncle’ll walk into you if you give too much.’

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about.’

  E.D. Isaacson, as the sign under the three brass balls proclaimed the pawnbroker’s name to be, was like no man Alistair had ever seen before, and because he was busy attending to a tall, belligerent woman, the boy had a chance to study him fully. He was shaped rather like a tadpole, his head big in proportion to his short body and legs. His grizzled, curly hair was quite thick, yet his crown was covered by a small skull-cap, and his long nose protruded above a bushy moustache and rounded beard, reminding Alistair of a cow looking over a dyke. Whatever his failings in appearance, however, his attitude to his customer held all the patience of a saint.

  Alistair was so fascinated by the unfamiliarity of the man’s physical make-up that he was unaware of the woman going out, and was startled when the old man spoke to him. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, my boy. What do you think of my little emporium, hmm?’

  Having paid no attention to his surroundings, Alistair took a guilty glance round, but feeling it would be unwise to keep his prospective boss waiting for an answer, he hardly took anything in. ‘It’s very nice.’

  ‘You think you could work here?’ The old man’s eyes held an appealing twinkle now, despite the lines of fatigue above and below them.

  ‘I believe I could, but you’ll have to learn me …’

  ‘Not to worry, my boy. I shall teach you everything, but what do I call you, hmm?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, my name’s Alistair Ritchie, Mr Isaacson.’

  A deep menacing rumble came from the region of the man’s stomach. ‘And who is this Mister Isaacson, may I ask?’

  Alistair couldn’t think what he had done to anger the man. ‘It said … E.D. Isaacson on the sign,’ he ventured, ‘and I thought that was you.’ He heaved a sigh of relief when the rumbling erupted into a series of full-blooded belly laughs.