Primrose Square (14 page)

‘To Friar's Wynd?' She gave a little smile. ‘Better not. Too many people know me there.'

‘I could just come on the tram with you, then.'

‘And they all know me on the tram, too. Stephen, they'd put their eyes through you.'

‘At least I could see you to the tram? I mean, it's Christmas!'

‘All right, as it's Christmas,' she agreed, laughing, and together they made their way to yet another tram stop, where her tram arrived all too soon, and he had to stand, waving, his eyes on her lovely face beneath her large hat, until she was borne away. After a moment, he too turned away, to make his own way home, feeling desolation that his Christmas was in fact already over.

Twenty-Six

Boxing Day arrived, the dreariest day in the year, some thought, and Elinor was one of them. All presents had been exchanged, the Christmas food eaten, the card games played, so what was there to do? Go for a walk round Friar's Wynd in the wintry weather?

Washing up the dishes after their dinner of cold beef and pickles, Elinor sighed and wished again that she might have seen Stephen, but she'd been unable to think of an excuse to leave her family, and he was in the same boat. Now, if they had had a real future all mapped out, if they'd been engaged, for instance, no one would have expected them to stay in all day with their families, but glancing at her father, frowning over an old newspaper, she felt only relief that she wasn't going to have to introduce Stephen to him just yet.

True, her dad had been pretty good over Christmas so far. There'd only been a couple of nervous moments when he'd looked as though he might blow up – one when Corrie had refused to go to the pub with him on Christmas Eve, the other when Hessie hadn't made enough gravy for the Christmas dinner – but he'd simmered down earlier than expected, even enjoying a game of Rummy and not complaining when he lost. Now, though, he was missing his pub outings and his family was treading carefully.

‘Just wish there was something to do,' Elinor sighed, seeing Corrie come in wearing his outdoor coat and scarf. ‘Where are you off to, then?'

‘Football match. Want to come?'

‘Football? Me? When have I ever gone to football?'

‘Come on, it's only a friendly – couple of local teams. Won't cost anything and you'll get the fresh air.'

‘Aye, it's no' a bad idea,' Walter said with sudden interest. ‘I might go, eh?' He threw aside his paper. ‘Come on, we'll all go.'

‘No' me,' Hessie said hastily. ‘I'll have your tea ready for when you get back. But you go, Elinor – Corrie's right, you'll get the fresh air and Lord knows you don't get much of that.'

‘All right,' Elinor agreed, suddenly deciding that anything would be better than staying in. ‘Wait, I'll get my coat and hat.'

Outside, the air was not only fresh but icy cold, with the promise of more sleet, and they had to walk fast to try to keep warm. Luckily, the field at the back of the local school where the match was to be played was not far away, or Elinor might have turned back and even Walter was having doubts.

‘I'm no' so sure this was a good idea,' he muttered, pulling his cap down over his brow as they finally took their places in the small crowd of spectators. ‘We're likely to freeze to death here, eh?'

‘Come on, we've got to support our lads,' Corrie told him. ‘Western Athletic, eh? The others are Bernard's Academy – it's their field they're playing on.' Screwing up his eyes in the wintry air, he pointed to the players coming on to the pitch. ‘I know a couple of chaps there – you might know 'em too, Elinor.'

‘Who are they?' asked Elinor, covering her cold nose with her gloved hands and watching the footballers without much interest. ‘Why should I know 'em, anyway?'

‘They were at school with us. Georgie Howat was in the same class as me, his brother would've been in yours.'

‘Barry Howat? Oh, yes, I do remember him. Where is he?'

‘He's the one with the curly brown hair, the key man, the centre forward.' Corrie grinned. ‘I call him Twinkle-Toes. Just watch his footwork.'

‘And what does he do?'

‘Scores goals!' her father said, with a laugh. ‘Ah, they're off. Now, pay attention, Elinor, try to work out what's happening.'

‘Wish I could join in – it'd be warmer running about than standing here.'

Without knowing much of what was going on, Elinor felt she was quite simply being chilled to the bone. She had almost decided to go back when the curly-headed centre forward scored two goals in rapid succession to so much cheering she decided to stay where she was. At least clapping might get her circulation going, she murmured to Corrie, who grinned and said it was now half time. Not so long to go now.

Not so long? The second half seemed interminable, with no more goals, though ‘Twinkle-Toes', as Corrie called him, earned his reputation, racing up and down the pitch, doing his best, until the final whistle went with a win for Western Athletic. As their supporters began cheering again, even Elinor joined in, because now they could go home.

‘Hang on a minute,' said Corrie, ‘let's wait to say a word to the lads, eh? They played well.'

‘You mean stay on?' Elinor cried. ‘No, I'm frozen, Corrie, I'm going home.'

‘We can wait inside the school. They've opened it specially, just for the game. It'll no' take long – Dad, you'll come?'

‘Aye, might as well. Be glad to get out o' this cold for a few minutes, anyway.'

Sighing aloud, Elinor watched her breath float in a cloud before her, but resignedly followed Corrie and her father into the lobby of the school, where it was, if not warm, at least not icy. Shouts and laughter from some distance away signalled that the teams were in a changing room, from where, Elinor gave thanks, they soon emerged, looking scrubbed and fresh in their outdoor clothes. Very pleased with themselves, too, in the case of the Western Athletic team, but as people went forward to congratulate them again, Elinor stayed in the background. All she wanted to do was go back home to warmth and tea, but then someone called her name.

‘Elinor?'

She turned to see Barry Howat, the hero of the day, smiling at her.

‘Remember me?'

Oh, yes, she remembered him, not just from school, but from that time she'd seen him in Friar's Wynd, kicking a can for two young laddies. No wonder he'd sent it so far.

‘Saw you no' long ago,' she told him. ‘Never knew you were such a star.'

‘Never knew you were interested in football.'

‘Don't know that I am.'

‘Don't know if I'm a star.'

He stood watching her and laughing, a slim young man of medium height, not handsome, but with the open, sunny sort of face people found attractive and provided no threat. His hazel eyes were clear, his brow untroubled, and even if she couldn't be sure it was true, it seemed to Elinor that he would be one never to have a care in the world, which she found comforting.

‘You just came with Corrie, then?' he asked her.

‘And Dad.'

‘Oh, yes, from the cobbler's shop, eh? Well, I'm glad you did. What's happening to you these days, then? You got a job?'

‘Oh, yes, I'm in service – at the Primrose Club.'

‘Posh, eh?'

‘It's a fine place. How about you? Still doing house-painting?'

‘Afraid so.'

‘You'd rather be playing football?'

‘You bet.' His eyes were dancing. ‘Well, it's been good to see you. Maybe we can meet again, some time?'

At the casually said, friendly words, without warning, a tide of colour swept up Elinor's face to her brow and she had to look away, making no answer. It was with immense relief that she heard hoarse voices calling Barry back to his fans, and when he said he must go, she only nodded, still too embarrassed to speak.

Why had she reacted in the way she had? There had been no need for her to colour up like that when he hadn't actually asked to meet her, was just being polite, the way people were. And there had certainly been no need to think of Stephen, and yet there he was, in her mind.

It was further relief when her father came up and said they should be going, that it would soon be dark, and why all the chit-chat with Barry Howat, then?

‘We were at school together, Dad. I remembered him.'

‘Oh, yes? Well, he seems a good lad, eh? A very talented footballer.'

‘Good at playing the piano, too,' said Corrie, joining them, as they left the school. ‘According to Georgie, he can play anything. All by ear, never from music.'

‘They've got a piano?' Elinor asked with interest.

‘Aye, seemingly they're a musical family. Parents are dead now, though.'

‘I never heard that. How sad!'

‘Aye, Bettina – that's the lads' sister – keeps house for 'em.'

Elinor was looking thoughtful. ‘You know, I never would have taken Barry to be musical. Just shows how wrong you can be.'

‘Och, he's no Beethoven!' Corrie cried. ‘Plays in pubs, mainly, sets all the feet tapping.'

‘Now you mention it, I've heard him,' Walter remarked. ‘Funny thing is, he's no drinker, either. The pints line up and he just hands 'em on.'

‘No' everyone's a drinker,' Corrie murmured.

‘Well, you certainly aren't!' his father muttered. ‘What a killjoy, eh?'

‘Barry's thinking of his football. Likes to keep fit.'

‘That makes sense,' said Elinor, but no more was said of Barry Howat as the Raes hurried home through the darkening afternoon, looking forward to the heat of the range and the taste of Hessie's Christmas cake.

Twenty-Seven

Slowly, the winter passed and March arrived, with the promise of spring. More than that for Elinor, for the end of March would bring the end of Stephen's course and probable changes to their relationship. Maybe even to her job, for nothing was certain.

She knew she had done well on the course, would be sure to be given a good reference, as Stephen had told her often enough, but whether or not she looked for a new job depended on more than a reference. With the end of the course, she would no longer be Stephen's student, and at their secret meetings, he often said he could hardly wait for that day to come. Nor could Elinor, of course, but for her there was always a little apprehension. How would it all work out? Could she really be so lucky? She tended to put the thought of decision time to the back of her mind.

So wrapped up was she in her own concerns, it came as a shock when Brenda admitted to her and the other girls in the WEA class that she and Tam MacLean were ‘walking out' together. Like the rest, Elinor had noticed nothing.

‘You and Tam?' she'd cried. ‘Why, I'd no idea! You two never got on!'

No one could believe it, but Brenda's rather sheepish expression said it all. Seemingly, they did now ‘get on'. Very much so, but Brenda said maybe they wouldn't tell Mr Muirhead. No doubt he wouldn't approve of his students going out together.

‘Oh, no doubt,' Elinor had agreed, her spirits sinking, wishing with all her heart that she could tell Brenda the truth about her own relationship with their tutor, but determined all the same not to say a word just yet. She couldn't help rather envying Brenda, though, that everything for her seemed so straightforward.

One morning after tea break, she was surprised to find Miss Denny calling to her from Reception as she passed by. Outside, as she had seen from the upstairs windows, the first daffodils were already flowering in the square and now through the open front door, she could see buds on the magnolias and forsythia and many shrubs she couldn't name. How she wished she could have just stepped out, unlocked the garden gate, smelled the air and walked on the strong fresh grass for a little while! But of course that wasn't possible.

‘You wanted me, Miss Denny?' she asked, approaching the desk.

‘Yes, there's a letter for you, Elinor. I have it here.'

‘A letter?' Elinor was astonished. She never received letters, for who would need to write to her? Something business, was it? To do with her job?

No, the envelope Miss Denny handed over was small and blue, quite cheap-looking, certainly nothing official, and whoever had written her name in large uneven capitals didn't know how to spell it. ‘Miss Eleanor Rae,' she read, ‘Care of the Primrose Club'.

Well, here was a mystery.

‘All right, dear?' Miss Denny asked, turning to attend to a club member who had just arrived.

‘Yes, thanks, Miss Denny.'

Elinor walked hurriedly on towards the back corridor she was due to clean, but as soon as she'd checked there was no one about, she opened the letter and took out the one sheet of paper it contained. As she read its signature and few lines of wavering handwriting, her eyes widened and two spots of colour burned on her cheekbones. Hurriedly, she looked round to see if anyone was about, but seeing no one, read the letter again.

‘Dear Eleanor,' it ran, following an address in a street in the South Bridge area, ‘hope you won't mind me writing to you, but I am doing some work for a firm in the square and I've been looking out for you but never seem to see you. Do you never get time out of that club? If you could come out in your dinner hour, say twelve o'clock, I will be at the far side gate to the gardens. We could have a nice wee chat. Yours ever, Barry.'

Her heart beating fast, Elinor stuffed the letter into her pocket, just as Mattie arrived, carrying a mop and feather dusters.

‘You've beaten me to it this morning,' she said breathlessly. ‘I've just seen Miss Ainslie and she said, could we be sure to do the picture rails this morning?'

‘We always do the picture rails,' Elinor answered absently.

‘Aye, but she doesn't know, eh? Just thinks on now and again what we should be doing.' Mattie glanced curiously at Elinor. ‘Are you all right, then? You're awful red in the face.'