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  Renee was outraged. ‘I never thought Uncle George would do a thing like that. He was always so thoughtful and kind.’

  Anne pursed her lips briefly, then shook her head. ‘I suppose we can hardly blame him, really. His life hasn’t been up to much for a long time, but he hasn’t thought about anybody but himself now. He’ll likely not even support Jenny and Peggy, and, with the shop finished, there’ll be nothing for them, or for us, either. I don’t know how I’m going to manage.’

  ‘We’ll manage. I’m sure we’ll manage. We’ve come through all right so far, haven’t we, and you thought we couldn’t, when Dad died, remember?’ Renee looked hopefully at her mother. ‘What about asking Granny and Granda if they’d help you to pay off the . . . ?’

  ‘They haven’t got that kind of money, and besides, I couldn’t tell them how bad things really are, they’d worry themselves sick. They never thought much of George Gordon, anyway.’

  At teatime, when Jack and Fergus were told what had happened, they showed totally different reactions. Jack was horrified at Anne’s plight. ‘The selfish bugger! Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Gordon, but I couldn’t help swearing. You’ll have to put up our board, and I’ll ask at the yard if anybody’s needing good digs. If you got another single bed, you could take in two.’

  ‘Well, I admire him.’ Fergus chuckled lightly. ‘It takes a lot of guts to walk out on everything like that, and what had he here, in any case? He wasn’t really married, but he wasn’t free. It was the best thing he could do – chuck the lot.’ Renee was disappointed in her heart-throb, but, when he turned and winked to her, she would have forgiven him anything.

  The following afternoon Anne’s spirits, already at a very low ebb, slumped even further when she was visited by her sister-in-law, who barged past her when she opened the door.

  ‘I went to the shop to find out why I didn’t get any money last week.’ Jenny’s voice held more than the usual complaining tone. ‘It knocked the feet from me when Frank Leslie told me what had happened, for I’ve been using what I’d laid past for the rent. Mind you, I’m not surprised that George just disappeared like that – he never considered me at all – but what’s going to happen to me now? You’ll have to give me my share of whatever you get when everything’s sold up.’

  ‘There won’t be anything left to share.’ Anne had never liked this woman, but could feel sorry for the way things had turned out for her. ‘I don’t even know if we’ll get enough to pay what we owe to the meat market.’

  Jenny frowned. ‘It’s all right for you. You’ve a fine, big house, and can take in lodgers, so you weren’t really depending on the shop.’ Her sneering expression made it evident that this was something which rankled in her mind.

  Feeling her hackles rising Anne snapped. ‘My house has still to be paid up, and what I get from the lodgers has to feed Renee and me as well as them. I’ve had a bloody hard struggle to keep things going since Jim died, and it’ll be a lot worse without the money from the shop.’

  Jenny brooded over her own trouble for a few minutes, then said, plaintively, ‘My sister in Chicago often says in her letters that she’d be willing for Peggy and me to go and live with her, but I can’t afford the fares. Could you . . . ?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jenny,’ Anne said, hastily, ‘but I hardly make enough to cover my own expenses, never mind give any away.’

  ‘Nobody cares about me.’ Jenny sounded mournfully accusing. ‘Peggy and me could starve and nobody would worry.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jenny. That’s not true.’ Anne’s sympathy, already sorely stretched, was fighting a losing battle against her impatience at her sister-in-law’s attitude. ‘I do worry, but I’m not any better off than you, you know. I’d help you if I could, but . . .’ Her hands rose in a gesture of hopelessness.

  Jenny sighed. ‘That’s it, then. There’s nothing left for me to do but go on the Parish, like all the other destitute women.’ Going on the Parish was considered a disgrace, a last resort, so Anne knew that the other woman was attempting moral blackmail, trying to force her to do something, but she was in no position to help. Her own circumstances were every bit as bad, if not worse, because she’d taken on the responsibility of paying off the debt which Jenny was conveniently ignoring.

  ‘You could look for a job,’ she said, after a slight pause.

  ‘You worked in an office before you were married, didn’t you? Your wages would be enough to keep Peggy and you, I’d think.’

  ‘Oh Anne, I couldn’t go out to work again. My God, it’s been sixteen years.’

  ‘You could, if you wanted to . . . Anyway, I’ll let you know what happens about the shop.’ Anne stood up and opened the living-room door, so Jenny took the hint, and stalked out.

  Everything was sold within a few days, even the errand bicycle and the van, both long past their prime. The other butchers in the city, who had known and respected Jim Gordon, had made a point of paying more for the items they bought than they were really worth, and the man who would be leasing the premises had even agreed to accept responsibility for the gas and electricity consumed since the last bills had been paid – fortunately, only a few weeks previously.

  Frank Leslie was elated when he came to inform Anne of this. ‘The sausage machine, the mincer and the slicer all sold for about half as much again as I thought we’d get. And I was surprised when Jock Reid paid fifteen pounds for the van – it’s just fit for scrap, really.’

  When everything was totalled up, they were only five pounds, two shillings and ten pence short of the amount due to the abbatoir, but Anne could see no way of finding the rest of the debt.

  ‘I can’t even buy a threepenny raffle ticket at the door nowadays,’ she observed ruefully, ‘so God knows where I’ll get five pounds odd.’

  Frank looked at her sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry I can’t afford to give you anything, Mrs Gordon.’

  ‘No, no.’ She was appalled at the very idea of it. ‘It shouldn’t be your worry. If the meat market would let me pay up the rest a little bit every week, I might manage if I took in another two lodgers, though it’d be hard going.’

  Anne was very grateful to all her benefactors, but that was nothing compared with the deep relief she felt when Frank Leslie returned that evening to tell her that the meat market had accepted the amount of money he had taken in, and had agreed to write off the balance. ‘As a mark of respect to your husband, the manager said.’

  ‘Frank, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you, and I hope you find another job soon.’

  ‘I was glad to be able to help you, Mrs Gordon, and I’m starting on Monday with Kenny Wilson in the market. He offered me the job when he was in looking at the things, and it’s five shillings a week more than I was getting.’

  ‘Oh, Frank!’ Anne’s expression showed exactly how upset she was. ‘Wages! I’d forgotten about paying you, and I’ve nothing to . . .’

  ‘Look, Mrs Gordon, it was no bother, and I’m not needing paid for anything.’

  ‘But you haven’t . . . did George leave wages for you?’

  ‘Don’t you worry your head about that,’ he laughed.

  ‘He didn’t. I can tell by your face. Oh, Frank . . .’

  ‘It’s just one of these things.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I’d a wee bit laid by, and we managed. I took a bit beef home to the wife sometimes, out of the shop.’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘I hope you won’t think I was stealing.’

  ‘No, no. I’m glad you did. Oh, I’m so mad, I would kill that George if I could get my hands on him.’

  Frank smiled wryly. ‘Just forget about it, Mrs Gordon. There’s nothing we can do about it now, and everything’s settled, so you’ll have no more worries.’

  ‘No more worries,’ Anne said bitterly, when she came back from seeing him out. ‘There’ll be no m
ore money from the shop, and I’ll have to find another bed before I can take in two more lodgers.’

  ‘You’d manage once you had four, though, wouldn’t you?’ Renee asked, hopefully. Her mother heaved a huge sigh. ‘I’ll have to, and maybe you’ll be allowed to leave school at summer if I apply, under the circumstances. The deadline is 31st August, but your fourteenth birthday’s just days after that.’

  ‘Oh, great! That’s just a few months, then I can take a job. That’ll help, won’t it, Mum?’ The girl had visions of being the mainstay of the household with her wages.

  ‘For all you’ll get . . .’ began Anne, then saw the naked disappointment on her daughter’s face. ‘Yes, Renee, it will help. Every single shilling makes a difference.’

  Jenny Gordon’s expression darkened when Anne went to tell her the outcome of the sale. ‘There’s George away with another woman, and he’s left me nothing except the furniture.’

  Anne felt no sympathy for her this time. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame for him going off the rails, you and your nagging. George was happy enough with his hobbies, till you went on and on at him about them. And you’re lucky in a way. You’re only paying a few shillings a week rent for this house, but I’ve to find a pound a week for the mortgage on mine. I’ve taken in lodgers, and worked from morning to night to keep things going, but you’re just sitting back feeling sorry for yourself.’

  Not unexpectedly, the other woman’s eyes filled with tears. ‘My God, Anne, you’re hard, and I’ll never forget the awful things you’ve said.’ She began to snivel.

  ‘I’ve had to learn to be hard, and you’ll have to do the same if you want to get over this.’ Anne stamped out of the house and banged the door behind her. She walked to the bus stop, regretting her bluntness now, but hoping that Jenny would have the common sense to look for a job. When Peggy left school in June, her wages would help them out a little bit.

  Jack Thomson had kept his promise to ask his workmates if they knew of anyone requiring lodgings, but nothing had come of it, and he was just as worried as Anne.

  When Maggie eventually learned that George had left, she was very angry. ‘Did he owe ye onything when he took off? Had he paid his board?’

  Anne’s eyes dropped. ‘He didn’t pay me the week before he went away, so it’s only a week and a half he was due me.’ She pulled a face. ‘It could have been worse.’

  ‘It was still forty-five shillin’s.’ Her mother sounded most indignant. ‘It just shows ye. Ye canna trust onybody these days. But ye’ll easy get another lodger, Annie, an’ wi’ the money from the shop, ye’ll be . . .’ Maggie stopped in dismay when she saw Anne’s set expression.

  ‘There’ll be nothing from the shop, Mother, we’ve had to give it up.’

  ‘Gi’e it up? But that was jist plain daft. Why in the name o’ heaven did ye gi’e it up?’ Anne had to tell her the whole truth then, but hastened to explain that the debt was all settled.

  ‘Annie, ye shoulda tell’t me at the time – we’d ha’e tried to help ye. What a worry ye musta had.’

  ‘It was pretty bad,’ Anne admitted, ‘but it’s past now.’

  ‘How are ye goin’ to manage, lass? Ha’e ye got somebody else for his room?’

  ‘Not yet, but Jack’s still trying.’

  ‘Ye’ll ha’e to put an advert in the . . .’

  ‘I can’t afford it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maggie stared at her hands for a few seconds, wondering what she could do to help. ‘Look, I think I’ve got a pound in my purse.’ She opened the old black handbag which she’d carried around with her for years.

  ‘No, Mother. You can’t afford it, either.’

  ‘Ye could answer some adverts then, like the last time?’ The older woman closed her purse and replaced it in the bag.

  ‘I can’t think straight about it yet, and that’s a fact.’ Anne was near to tears now. ‘Something’ll turn up.’

  ‘Tak’ this, ony road, it’ll buy something for ye to eat.’ Maggie pressed into her daughter’s hand the pound note she’d slyly slipped out of her purse a minute before. ‘Nae arguin’, noo, me an’ yer father dinna need so muckle nooadays.’

  Knowing that her mother would be offended if she refused to take the money, Anne accepted it gratefully. It would enable her to stock up her store cupboard, which was almost empty, so they wouldn’t go hungry for a few days yet.

  At teatime, Jack Thomson blurted out his good news before he was properly inside the room. ‘The yard manager asked me this morning if my landlady could take in a new apprentice that’s starting a week on Monday. His mother had asked the yard to find digs for him.’

  Anne’s jaded eyes lit up with relief. ‘Oh, Jack, that’s good. Did you say it would be all right?’

  ‘I did that, and he gave me their address. You’ve to write and let the laddie’s mother know, and tell her your terms.’

  Anne’s letter was answered by return. The boy’s mother thanked Mrs Gordon for writing, and asked if she could possibly make room for her other son, who had been working with the same firm for a few months, but wasn’t too happy with his present lodgings and would prefer to be with his brother.

  ‘They would be willing to sleep in a double bed, like they do at home,’ her letter finished up.

  Anne looked rueful when she folded up the sheets of paper. ‘I’d easily manage to take the two of them if I’d only got another single bed.’

  ‘You could get one on the instalment plan,’ Renee suggested.

  ‘I’ve never done anything like that in my life!’ Anne was outraged. ‘We weren’t brought up like that. Your granny never got anything unless she could pay cash for it.’

  The girl laughed derisively. ‘That’s old-fashioned. A lot of folk buy on tick nowadays. It’s no disgrace, and you’d be able to pay it up seeing you’ll have an extra lodger.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Anne sounded none to sure about it, but an even better plan had just occurred to her daughter.

  ‘If you got a double bed, like their mother says, I could have the single one – it was mine once anyway – and we could shift the furniture round in the loft to make room for it.’

  Anne’s troubled eyes softened. ‘Oh, I see what you’re getting at. You want a bed to yourself again?’

  ‘Please, Mum?’

  ‘But it would be dearer, and . . . well, all right. I’ll go and see about it tomorrow.’

  A brand new double bed was obtained on a deposit of half a crown, which Anne could ill afford off the board money she’d received from Jack and Fergus the night before, but she had twelve months to pay off the balance. Renee was delighted to have her old bed back, but the attic bedroom was really overcrowded now.

  The Donaldson brothers, from Turriff, took over George’s room the following Sunday. Tim, the sixteen-year-old apprentice, was very blond, his mischievous blue eyes danced between surprisingly dark lashes. He wasn’t much taller than Renee, but his outgoing personality and impish sense of humour made up for his lack of inches. Mike, nearly twenty-two, was a storeman, taller and much quieter than his brother, but his shy, serious eyes were transformed when he smiled. His hair was just as blond as Tim’s, but his eyelashes were lighter, and it seemed, at first glance, as if he’d none at all. They slipped quite easily into Anne Gordon’s household, Fergus Cooper being the only one who took some time to accept them. When he realised, however, that they were no challenge to him as the most handsome male in the house, he came round and treated them as friends.

  Renee and her mother were interested in the discussions the four young men carried on and were amused by their differences of opinion, and only very occasionally did Anne have to step in to prevent an argument getting out of hand. Their controversies ranged from football to films, current affairs to clothes, but Anne made a firm rule – ‘No politics or religion’. She had found that tempers were apt to get frayed when
these subjects were raised. Tim Donaldson, being nearest Renee’s age, teased her quite a lot, but she developed the knack of giving as good as she got, egged on by Jack and Fergus.

  A few weeks after her visit to Jenny, Anne received a short note from her.

  Dear Anne,

  I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that my sister has sent me the money to pay our fares to Chicago. We’re sailing to New York the day after Peggy leaves school, and apparently there’ll be no difficulty in both of us getting jobs when we arrive. So you see, I’m not feeling sorry for myself any longer, and I mean to make a decent life for us.

  I’m not going to ask you to keep in touch, because we were never that close, but I hope everything goes well for you.

  Yours,

  Jenny Gordon.

  P.S. I hope Renee gets a good job.

  Anne took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘Well . . . I’m glad about that. It’ll do Jenny the world of good.’

  Renee twisted her face to show what she thought of her aunt. ‘I’m sorry I’ll never see Peggy again, though, but I’m pleased for her, because she’ll have a chance of a better job over there. America’s supposed to be the Land of Opportunity.’ It crossed her mind, then, that she had lost several friends and relatives in this year of 1937 – first Bill Scroggie and Lena off to Canada on New Year’s Day, then Uncle George off not long after to who-knew-where, and now Auntie Jenny and Peggy off to Chicago – but finding a job, within a week or two, would be the highlight of the year for her. She studied the Situations Vacant columns in the evening paper every night, and, on a Saturday morning, called to see R. Mackay, Wholesale Confectioner, who had advertised for an office girl. ‘School leaver,’ he had stipulated, so she felt quite confident of the outcome when she set off.