Roses of Winter (20 page)

“Are ye feeling a wee bit better then, Nessie?” Mary asked.

Nessie paused in the act of raising her teacup then placed it back down. “Ye know, Mary, ah think ah do. Ah really appreciate the kindness you and Ida have shown me. Ah willnae forget it.”
 
Nessie held up a hand to silence her protest. “Naw, naw, Mary ye baith hae families o’ your ain. Ah’ll be all right now.”

Mary’s wish to believe pushed aside the small voice of doubt that nagged somewhere deep in her mind. “Are ye sure, Nessie?” Nessie nodded her head firmly in the manner of one who has made up her mind and there is nothing more to be said.

Mary finished her tea and got up. “Well, if you’re sure Nessie. Remember, we’re jist doon the stair if ye need us.”
 

She stopped in to see Ida with the news of Nessie’s apparent recovery. Ida shook her head doubtfully. “Well, if she says she’s all right ah don’t see whit else we can dae. But mark mah words, we better keep an eye on her jist the same.”

Mary nodded. “Well ah better get tae mah ain hoose and see whit state the place is in.”

“Ah’ll look in on her the night afore ah go tae mah bed,” Ida reassured her.

“Aye, an’ let me know if there’s anything else ah can dae, Ida.”

“Ah will that, Mary.”

The next morning, Mary awoke to the sound of quiet careful movement in the kitchen and the aroma of hot porridge. She stuck her head through the bed curtains to find Ellen already up. She was stirring a pot on the range. Ellen looked around and caught her mother’s eye. “Ah’ve jist telt the weans tae get oot o’ bed and get themselves ready for church. The porridge is ready. Ah’ll set out a bowl for ye Ma.”
 

Mary sat down at the table in her dressing gown. She carefully tasted the hot porridge.

“Is it all right?” Ellen asked.

“Aye, it’s very good, pet. It’s just a wee bit hot still. Thanks for looking after everything for me.”

“It’s nae bother, Ma.”

Elspeth appeared in the kitchen door. She ran to her mother and placed her arms around her neck. Alastair stood by her side, shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. Mary looked at him. “Alastair whit did ye dae tae yoursel’,” she said, laughing. “Turn aroon an’ let me look at ye.”

“Ach Ma,” he muttered, “dae ah’ have tae?”

“Never mind then,” she said. “Ye look grand so ye dae. Whit did ye dae Ellen tae get him sae well turned oot?”

“Pit the fear o’ Goad intae him,” Ellen muttered. Alastair looked at the floor.

Betty, appeared bleary-eyed and still in her dressing gown. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose.

“Whit’s the matter wi’ you?” Mary asked.

“I jist got a haud o’ a cold, Ma. Wid ye mind if ah stay hame the day?”
 

Mary would far rather have gone back to her bed herself than to the church that morning. Seeing Ellen willing to go without a fuss for a change, she could hardly refuse. During the long service Mary fought off the impulse to sleep. She had been awake several times through the night, feeling a terrible sense of foreboding and anxiety. While McKenzie led them in prayer, Mary had her own conversation with God.
 
She sought help for Nessie and Charlie and all those who were suffering in the war. McKenzie’s lengthy sermon and droning voice were a particular trial.
He loves tae hear himself talk that man
, she thought. For once she understood Charlie’s point of view. At last the minister gave the blessing, and they were at the Kirk door and heading for home.
 

Mary’s passage up Maryhill Road was unsteady. Exhaustion made the pavement beneath her feet slide and slip away. She found herself constantly correcting her gait to accommodate a movement that was only in her mind.
People will think I’m drunk
, she thought, and looked at Ellen.

Sensing her stare, Ellen asked, “Are you all right, Ma? Ye haven’t said a word since we left the church.”

“Ah’m jist tired, Ellen. Ah didnae get much sleep last night.”

“When we get hame, just you go off tae your bed, and ah’ll see tae everything.” Mary nodded thankfully.
 

“Ma, there’s an ambulance outside oor close,” Elspeth said. A small crowd of neighbors stood around the close mouth.

“Ah wonder whit that’s daein’ here?” Ellen asked.
 
She looked around to find her mother open-mouthed and pale.

Mary started up the street with a cry that reverberated off the tenements. “Nessie!”

Ellen grabbed Elspeth and Alastair by the hand and hurried after her. A few feet from the close Mary stopped. Two ambulance men carrying a stretcher came out of the entrance. Mary’s eyes dropped to the still form that lay wrapped in a blanket.
 

Behind the men came Ida. She was talking to McKechnie the local bobby. Seeing Mary, Ida came over with McKechnie in tow.

“Is it…is she?” Ida nodded. The door of the ambulance slammed shut and it went off down Maryhill Road.

“We shouldnae have left her, Ida.”

Ida nodded her head, too grief-stricken at the truth of this to reply.

“There’s nae point in blaming yoursel’s,” P.C. McKechnie told them. He turned to Ida. “You telt me yoursel’ that she was looking better an’ said she would be fine by hersel’. Ah think she wanted to mak’ ye think that so ye wid leave her alane. Ye both did the best ye could for her.”

“Aye but we should have known,” Mary insisted.

McKechnie shook his head sadly and headed back to the station on Gairbraid Avenue.

“He’s a kind herted man that,” Mary said.

“Aye, he’s no’ bad for a polisman,” Ida agreed. They went up the stairs and into Mary’s kitchen.

“Away and play through there, and mind ye don’t disturb your sister” Ellen told Elspeth and Alastair.
 

“Aye well, McKechnie’s right aboot Nessie,” Ida said. “She had her mind made up.”

“How did they find her?” Mary asked.

“It was Betty McCallum. She was out sweeping the stairs when she thought she smelled gas. She banged on the door but there was nae sign o’ Nessie.
 
Betty ran in tae get her man an’ he tried tae stove in the door. He couldnae get it open so he ran doon tae the polis box tae ‘phone. The polis came up an’ got it open.”

“So was she already deid?”

“Oh aye. McKechnie didnae want tae go intae details but he did say she had tae have been gone for hours.”

“It seems like she knew whit she was daeing, right enough,” Mary agreed.

Ida nodded. “Ah went up tae see her last night and she said she was fine and no’ tae bother worrying aboot her. So ah went back tae ma ain hoose. She waited until she knew we wid aw be in for the night and jist turned on the gas mantle and went tae her bed.” They took up the tea put on the table by Ellen and sat in silence looking into the fire, thinking of the poor woman who had finally been given more sorrow than she could bear.

There was no news of Charlie the next day or the day after that. Mary’s grasp on the renewed hope brought by the newspaper report had slipped to the point that she was more certain than ever that she would never see him again. The insistent thought,
what will ah tell the weans?
came so often and so obsessively as to become a nagging ache in her head. It was hard to think of anything else. Mary found it easier to ignore during the busy daylight hours but the sleepless nights were a torment. She would get up carefully to avoid waking Elspeth and Alastair who shared the box bed in the kitchen and creep softly to sit by the fire.
 

Ida’s attempts to cheer up her friend had faded, and her manner was subdued during her morning visits. They searched the paper hoping for news. With Charlie’s continued absence there were few words of optimism between them, and the house took on the atmosphere of one where there had been a death in the family.
 

On Saturday morning, Mary watched the early morning light on the blind grow brighter while she had her tea. She had looked at the calendar, unsure of the date. Saturday, June 8
^th,
1940. The door opened slowly and Ellen’s face appeared at its edge. When she saw her mother she came in and sat opposite her at the table.

“You're up early again. Wid it no’ be better tae gie yoursel’ a lie in?”

Mary looked into her cup. “Ah canny sleep, Ellen. Besides, ah like the quiet in the morning.”

“Aye, but its no’ good for ye, Ma. You look worn out.”

Three loud raps on the door, followed closely by two more, shattered the silence of the kitchen. Mary cried out and jumped back in her chair. “Whit in God’s name is this?” They stared at each other for a moment, the light of understanding coming into Mary’s eyes. She rose from her chair, knocking it over in her hurry, and rushed to the door. Ellen, a few steps ahead of her mother, reached it first. She swung it open so fast it crashed into the wall, rebounding to hit her in the shoulder.

On the landing was a scruffy looking man. His face was covered in rough whiskers. The rough torn trousers at his waist were secured with a length of rope. His bizarre costume was topped off by a threadbare jacket that revealed a dirty vest underneath.
 

The women stared at this apparition for several long seconds until Mary said “Wid ye get in here ye scruffy wee man afore the neebors see ye looking like that.”

Ellen would never forgive her mother for the words with which she greeted Charlie. She had misunderstood their purpose, failing to hear the relief and self-mockery behind them. With a glaring look at her mother, she ran to her father and flung her arms around his neck.

“Aye we do look a wee bit the worse for wear,” Charlie said, grinning from ear to ear.
 
Harry appeared behind him. He had lingered to one side, not wishing to intrude into Charlie’s homecoming.

“Let your faither get in the door Ellen. He looks exhausted.”

With a petulant look at her mother, Ellen loosed her grip around his neck but held on to his arm. Charlie stopped and looked at Mary with a hesitant smile. Mary came over to him and took him in her arms.

Charlie felt the dampness of her tears on his cheek. He whispered in her ear, “There, there, Mary, dinnae get yoursel’ upset.” She pulled herself back and dabbed at her face with the end of her apron.

They brought the weary men into the kitchen and sat them down by the fire.
 
Mary and Ellen hurried around to bring them food and tea. Charlie sat back with his feet on the fender and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He looked up to see two heads poking through the curtain of the box bed. Elspeth and Alastair stared at him through sleepy eyes.

“Dae ye no’ know your ain faither?” Charlie called out. He held out his arms.

They scrambled out of the bed in such a hurry that Alastair got caught up in the curtains and landed on the floor. In an instant he was up again and the children were bouncing around their father screaming in delight. Then Betty was in the kitchen with her arms around him.
 

After a while Charlie patted Betty on the arm and disentangled himself. He came over behind Mary and put his arms around her waist. She turned around to face him. She kissed him full on the lips long enough to make the others uncomfortable. Ellen looked at Betty who smiled. They came apart at last, their eyes fixed firmly on each other.

Mary, realizing the public nature of their intimacy, brushed down her apron and said “Ah’ll away an’ look oot some clothes for the both of you.”

Much later in the day, when Harry and Charlie had slept for a few hours and put on fresh clothes, they attempted to answer the family’s curiosity about their adventures. Charlie would never be coaxed into telling more than the general outline of their experiences about Dunkirk. He kept back the many moments of horror that would remain etched in his memory. The story that remained was quite enough to remind the family, if they needed it, that they were lucky to be hearing it from Charlie himself.

Charlie reached the moment when they were leaving on the
Prague
. He paused a moment to drain his teacup. It seemed to Mary that they had been brewing tea and making food nonstop since the men’s arrival and still couldn’t fill them up. When he had a fresh cup in his hand, Charlie returned to his story. “Aye, we thought we were done for when those bombs came doon at the ship. Ah’ll tell ye there was naebody mair surprised than masel’ when they didnae hit us.
 
But they did came doon close enough tae gie us a good rattle an’ knock oot wan o’ the engines. So there we were slowed tae a crawl. That’s when we were taken off on a paddle steamer that brought us intae Margate.”
 

Alastair wanted to know every detail. “Whit was the ship's name?”

“Ye know son ah don’t know. Dae you mind the name o’ it, Harry?”

Harry thought a minute. “It was the Queen o’ something. Wait a minute noo, it was a strange name. Ah think it was the
Queen of Thanet
.”

“Aye, that’s it right enough,” Charlie remembered. They brought it up alongside and we had tae jump oan. Ye liked that part didn’t ye Harry?” Harry made a face but said nothing.

“So whit happened in Margate, Daddy?”