Fortunes of the Heart (34 page)

When Kate looked into his face and still could see no sign
of ready agreement to her simple yet well thought-out plan, she felt a spurt of
anger rising in her chest.

Either the man’s uncommonly stupid or else he’s even more
drunk than I had imagined.

The old trader started to laugh and went on laughing
heartily until his entire body shook with the effort of it. When at last it
seemed that he was again in control and would be able to speak coherently, his
words were lost to her in a fresh outburst of merriment.

All this while, Kate’s Irish temper was struggling for
expression in either angry words or perhaps even a hefty and no doubt
satisfying thump across the stupid man’s jaw. It was as well for both parties
that, despite the fact that Kate had opened her mouth to speak, it was actually
old
Shuggie
who got his word in first.

“Mistress Kinnon, do you still not realise? When you paid me
that beautiful, golden sovereign – alas, now only of blessed memory–when you
paid that, you bought not only the two items you’ve mentioned, but all the
other bits and baubles on my barrow.

Kate drew in a sharp breath of utter amazement. “What?
Shuggie
, I just don’t believe this. You’re drunk, you’re
making sport of me. It cannot be true.”

The old trader, now with a delighted grin on his face, and
invoking the testimony of all the Holy Angels above, affirmed that what he
spoke was nothing short of God’s Honest Truth. All the while that
Shuggie
had been crossing himself, appealing to the Angelic
Holy Band above and even swearing on his dear-departed Mother’s grave, Kate had
been stock-taking, with delighted amazement, the contents of the barrow, of
which bits and baubles she was now the sole and very proud owner. When she
finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper, so emotionally drained
was she at the shock of her sudden amazing good fortune.

“
Shuggie
. Oh,
Shuggie
.
God bless you. You’re a man in a million. Indeed that, you are. Here, let me
give you a wee kiss.”

Shuggie
, now shuffling his feet in
total embarrassment not only at the unexpected kiss planted on his withered
cheek, but at the unlooked-for praise being heaped on his balding head, then
did what he always did at such times of social unease. He withdrew from his
trouser-pocket a red-spotted handkerchief, no doubt one of his own
treasure-trove finds from Paddy’s Market, gave a hefty trumpet into its crushed
depths, and finished the face-saving operation by inspecting the resultant
contents of the handkerchief.

Kate smiled and restrained a wild urge not only to bestow a
further kiss on his bearded face, but also to give her kind-hearted saviour a
hug. That she, in effect did neither, was due to her being afraid as to what an
even more-embarrassed
Shuggie
might do for an encore
to his nose-blowing efforts.

Instead, she again smiled at him.

“Just one thing,
Shuggie
. If all
this lovely stuff now belongs to me, what exactly might be the wee problem you
mentioned earlier’?”

Shuggie
sighed.

“Well, Mistress Kinnon, although I promised when we sealed
our bargain with the sovereign that I would carry everything up to the top-flat
for you, I had not the drink taken at that point, if you get my meaning. The
thing is, you’re such a decent wee body, paying me on the nose and all, the
last thing I want to do is let you down.”

Kate grinned with relief that this was the only problem on
her immediate horizon. She grabbed the old man by his jacket.

“Listen,
Shuggie
. When all is said
and done, you’re not such a bad fellow yourself. Aye, you’re a pretty decent
wee body. So, worry not, my good old friend. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll run
upstairs and have a wee word with Mistress Docherty and –”

“Mistress Docherty? Is that yon, wee shilpit,
pardon-me-for-living woman with her own squad of Irish
nawies
–what is it, thirteen big strapping sons she has? God kens how she managed to
bring in that Baker’s Dozen of big bruisers into the world.”

Kate grinned an impish smile, already feeling greatly daring
and light-headed with the excitement of it all.

“I expect she managed it in exactly the same way as all we other
poor, down-trodden wives. I don’t suppose she had much choice in the matter–
just had to get on with the job, whether she liked it or not.”

Shuggie
cackled in delighted
appreciation, at the same time slapping his mole-skinned trouser-leg in his
mirth.

“Aye, you’re probably right there, Missus. Mind you, I don’t
mind telling you this; I thank God every night of my born-days that I wasn’t
born a woman. I don’t think I could stomach all yon bloody carry-on.”

“
Shuggie
, listen; I can’t stand
here chewing the fat with you all night, much as I’d like to, mind you. I’m off
upstairs to have a wee word with Mrs Docherty. At least a couple of her sons
should be back by now from work.”

With that, a cheery wave to the patiently-waiting
Shuggie
and a muttered aside, The Docherty troops will soon
lend us a hand. After all that’s what neighbours are for,’ she was gone, and in
her excitement and haste, and with all previous tiredness forgotten, she raced
up the steps two at a time.

Chapter 27

Later still that same evening, when, with the help of many
willing hands, all the goods had been transferred to Kate’s best front room,
there was a celebration to wet the baby’s head such as put even the best
Hogmanay shindigs in the shade. Instead of getting the promised fag and a cup
of tea,
Shuggie
, who had instantly become the hero of
the hour, was treated to a
pipeful
of
best
Virginia Dark from father Docherty’s battered and
well-used tobacco pouch; and perhaps even better and even more to his taste,
several hefty measures from Granny’s medicinal bottle of whisky. By the time
good auld
Shuggie
, as he was now intimately and
affectionately known to Kate’s immediate neighbours, was leaving, he was in a
fine old state of inebriation. So much so, he would have been hard put to say
exactly what festivity it was he had been celebrating: Christmas, Easter, the
riotous wake of a dear-departed friend, the safe birthing of a new-born heir or
heiress, or even his own prowess as a canny man of business. As the party
guests waved off his somewhat staggering departure down the many stairs to the
close, several of the departing guests hung rather precariously over the spiral
stairway and, with loud shouts of encouragement, monitored his progress. That
done, and having seen he had safely negotiated the stairs and was now – albeit
slowly – taking the breadth of the close in his stride, then making his way out
into the gas-lit street beyond, some of the more responsible guests headed for
Kate’s front-room. From the great height and bird’s-eye view of this eyrie,
they could just make out the silhouette of man and now-empty barrow as together
they negotiated a somewhat unsteady course for the shadowed end of Garth Street
and distant points Eastwards.

As Kate later saw off her other guests, the Docherty clan,
she then turned to survey her best-front room, which now resembled nothing so
much as an Aladdin’s cave. She crossed her arms in front of her body, as if
hugging to herself the many delights and surprises of the wonderful day. Apart
from the disinfected satin-lined crib in which wee Rosebud was already sound
asleep by her mother’s side next door in Granny’s cosy single-end, the rest of
the treasure-trove lay in wait for the years ahead.

There was a high-chair, a baby’s bath, a smart go-chair in
addition to the carriage-built pram, a wicker-basket full of the most beautiful
baby clothes, not least of which was a magnificent Christening Robe grand
enough for a Royal Princess, and even a stout wooden-box crammed full of toys of
every description.

Where or how Auld
Shuggie
had come
by this assortment, Kate was not entirely sure. True, while in his cups, he had
muttered something about a woman in a posh house in
Monteith
Row whose baby had been stillborn and who just could not bear to look a minute
longer at the accoutrements of childhood. But the very mention of
Monteith
Row – far less the thought of its posh houses and
their upper-class tenants–was enough to set Kate trembling, so that she did not
pursue the matter further. Even at this distance in time the very name of those
handsome houses, overlooking Glasgow Green, the scene of her shame and
humiliation, was enough to upset her. With the drift of her thoughts to those
long-ago events, she suddenly gave a start, remembering with a rush of guilt
that it was some time since she had looked in on Pearce. She tip-toed through
the darkened hallway and into the back kitchen, where, as she opened the door,
she hoped against hope that for once it would not squeak in its usual fashion. But
her hope was in vain. Hannah on the
hurlie
bed
immediately stirred, opened her eyes and started crying. This in turn awoke
Pearce who sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and demanded to know: “What the hell
is going on now? Is there no peace to be had?”

Kate sighed in frustration. However, she was determined that
nothing and no-one on earth – and most certainly not her irascible husband –
would spoil this memorable day nor even a fraction of the sheer delight which
she felt at the birth of her first grandchild.

As she bustled around getting Pearce and Hannah a hot cup of
tea with which to settle them yet again for the night, she smiled to herself at
the turn her thoughts had taken.

Bastard or not, that child is going to get the very best out
of life. And I for one, as her Granny, will see that she does. She will never
have to scrimp, save and work like a navvy in the way that I’ve had to do. I
don’t yet know how we’re going to manage it. And yet look how things have
turned out today. It’s all been like a miracle. Yes, that wee darling’s life is
going to be a whole lot different from mine and from her own Mammy’s. That wee
pet will never have to be a sweeper in a mill. No, nor a kitchen skivvy
neither.

And with these thoughts still uppermost in her mind, Kate reached
up on tiptoe, and turned down the gas to its night-time peep.

Chapter 28

On the last day of 1898 Kate made her way to Mrs Scott’s.
She hadn’t seen the old lady since their pre-Christmas party on the
twenty-third when Mrs Scott had given her the five guineas. Kate had some tasty
bites for her and presents from both Hannah and Jenny. Although Mrs Scott had
said not to bother coming to her until Kate’s regular day on Monday January
2nd, 1899, Kate had decided she would pay her employer a visit to tell her
about the baby’s unexpected early arrival and
Shuggie’s
barrow load of baby goods.

Kate tugged at the brass bell-pull on Mrs Scott’s door.
Despite having pulled the bell a number of times, there was still no answering
call from her employer.

For good measure, she gave the brass lion’s head a fierce
tattoo. But when even this brought no response, laid her basket down carefully
on the doormat, prised open the gleaming brass letter-box and put her mouth to
the opening.

“Yoo-hoo. Mrs Scott. It’s only me. Kate Kinnon. Only me.
Take your time in getting to the door. No hurry.”

When still she could hear neither movement nor reply from
inside the flat, despite listening intently, Kate sighed wearily.

Ah, well. So much for that bright idea.
Some
day
I’ll learn to do what people tell me. Mistress Scott said not to
bother coming till Monday. So, what do I do? Ignore her, go my own sweet way,
as usual.

Kate stooped down to retrieve her basket from where it sat
on the coarse-fibre door-mat. Then, hooking the basket over her left arm, she
started making her way out of the close.

Perhaps Mrs Scott has gone to a relative to bring in the New
Year tonight. After all, who wants to be alone on Hogmanay? It can be a sad
enough occasion at the best of times. Or perhaps she’s in visiting with a
neighbour.

By now out again in the rain-drenched street, Kate stopped.

Mrs Scott, in visiting with a neighbour? Wait a minute. She
hates the lot of them: stuck-up, self-important bitches, that’s what she’d called
hem. Not the same friendliness here as you have in your close, Kate. All right,
so she’s staying with a relative?

She wheeled round and started to run back to Mrs Scott’s
door.

Mrs Scott has no relatives. Oh, God. She must be there in
the flat. Something’s dreadfully wrong. I just know it.

This time she took the brass lion’s head in both hands and
gave it such a wallop that the door of the flat opposite opened, and a wizened
prune of a woman peered out. With lips pursed and nostrils flared, as if getting
the reek of stinking fish, this woman looked Kate up and down from head to toe.
Then, just as Kate opened her mouth to speak, the woman took a step back into
her own hallway and slammed the door with a clunk of finality.

Not much help to be had in that quarter, thought Kate
grimly.

Again Kate shouted through the letter box, but this time
instead of standing back to await admittance, she cocked her ear to the flap
which she held open with her trembling fingers. As she strained to hear
something, anything which might reassure her, she thought she detected a faint
movement of some sort.

Yes. I was right. There it is again.

Only this time the faint beating sound was followed by the
words: “Kate. Thank God. Let yourself in. The key’s on a string behind the letter
box.”