The Girl Who Made Good in America (8 page)

When they arrived, Alex said, “You go in first with Marty. I’ll give you some time to make your peace. When you’re ready, I’ll drive you home to your wife. She’ll be wondering where you are.”

Marty ran inside. “Mammy, Mammy, I’ve found my gran’pa.”

Theresa looked up as her father came through the door. She was speechless with mixed emotions. Martin stammered, “Theresa, I don’t know how to start …”

Theresa threw her arms about him. “Daddy, oh Daddy, there’s no need to say anything. Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Young Marty was distressed. “What are you crying about, Mammy? Gran’pa’s not lost now. I found him.”

Martin scooped the boy into his arms. “It’s all right, son. Your mammy’s fine. She’s just crying because she’s happy.”

Alex came in after eavesdropping on the veranda. “It’ll be dark soon, Martin. I’d better take you home. Mary will be worried about you.”

“That’s right, Alex.” He turned to Theresa. “You know you’ll never get rid of me now. I want to see young Marty every day.”

“Come to the yard tomorrow, Father. You can take him for a walk.”

As they left, Alex said, “Well, that was easy now, wasn’t it?”

“Thanks to Theresa – she made it easy for me. I tell you, I’m going to make it up to her for all my cruelty – yes, that’s what it was. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”

As the car wound through the long valley and turned into Lochside Road, Martin said, “Pull over here for a moment, Alex.”

“Something wrong, Martin?”

“No, but just look at that sunset – isn’t that something?

The peak o’ Ben Lomond is girdled with fire,
as the evening falls gently on St Patrick’s spire.”

“I didn’t know you were so poetic, Martin. Where did that spring from?”

“Oh, it must be from something I read once. I just changed the second line.”

“Well, it was real nice, although I have to point out that the evening falls gently on St Andrew’s steeple as well.”

“Let the Prods write their own poetry,” said Martin, chuckling softly.

As they resumed their short journey, the entire scene before them turned pastel pink, all the way down to, and including the water in the loch.

“How could you be an atheist, Alex, when you see the wonder of God’s world like this?”

“I’m not an atheist, Martin. I just had doubts for a while.”

“But you don’t go to church, man.”

“I’m working on that at the moment, Martin. I’ll be talking to Gags soon about it.”

“Who’s Gags?”

“Father Gallagher. I’ve always known him as Gags Gallagher.”

Theresa started attending Sunday morning mass with the rest of the family. Martin took great pride in showing off his grandson to such an extent that his mates started to take evasive action when he approached. He was blissfully unaware of this, so besotted was he with the boy. He made paper and string footballs which were kicked to shreds daily on their parkland walks. Alex remarked to Theresa that his role as honorary daddy had been stolen. He suggested that the only way he could spend time with young Marty would be to marry his mother. Theresa smiled coyly but refrained from comment.

“Gags, I want to come back to the Church. How would you feel about that?”

“I didn’t realise you had been excommunicated, Alex.”

“Well, I sort of excommunicated myself.”

“Technically, you can’t do that, Alex. You have to be chucked out. Maybe you’d better explain.”

“Right! – here goes,” said Alex. “When Franco and his gang of fascists overthrew the elected Spanish government, civil war broke out. What angered me was the fact that the Catholic Church backed the anti-government forces. It seemed that a communist government could not be tolerated even though it was the people’s choice. I stopped attending church from then on.”

“Believe me, Alex, many of us were concerned at that time, even in Catholic Ireland. I’ve heard that a number of Lochside coal miners felt strongly enough about the situation to go and fight with the International Brigade. They weren’t all reds, either. There were good Catholics in their number. Why have you changed your mind over time?”

“Well, I’ve come to realise that the Church is made up of people who are not responsible for the political manoeuvres of the hierarchy. We’ve had popes who were poisoners. There was even a time when we had 3 popes simultaneously, each claiming to be God’s representative on earth. Still the Church survived. Why should I deny myself the right to worship in the faith of our fathers because of human errors or weaknesses at the top?”

“Your argument is undeniably logical. You remind me of the Jesuit friends of my youth, but is there any other reason for your change of heart, Alex?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Stop smiling, Gags. I want to marry Theresa with the full blessing of Mother Church. Now, when you’ve finished making fun of me, what do I have to do?”

“Alex, Alex, all you have to do is make confession. You remember that bit? You’ve been entertaining evil thoughts, or should I say, they’ve been entertaining you?”

“Gags, stop it. Are you sure you’re a real priest and not one of those comics at the workers’ club?”

“I’m sorry, Alex. Look, I think you should go down to Balloch to make your confession. I couldn’t possibly hear it. I wouldn’t be able to stop laughing! You are a close friend, but if you told me something real juicy in the box, I might be tempted to remind you about it when you’re sweating over a 3-foot putt to win the money on Thursday. By the way, Gavin and I have been wondering how long it was going to take you to pop the question.”

“Well, for your information, I haven’t asked her yet. I just wanted to make sure that I’d prepared the way first.”

Two months later, Alexander Duff and Theresa were married in St Pat’s. Alex was delighted to adopt young Martin and said, at the reception at Silvertrees, that he hoped to provide him with some playmates.

Gags asked the guests to give a warm welcome to the Reverend Gavin Hamilton. “Would you care to say a few words, Gavin – perhaps a suitable quotation from your friend Will Shakespeare?”

“Let joy be unconfined,” said Gavin sitting down at the piano.

“He means, let’s have a good old knees-up,” said Father Gallagher, leading the way in a chorus of Roll out the Barrel’’

Later, Gavin provided Theresa with a draft copy of Forbidden Love. She read it avidly but questioned the bit about throwing the fight for money. “Callum would never have done that, Mr Hamilton!”

“Theresa, we’re not talking about Callum. It’s the character Mickey Ford who took a dive. I told you I was going to change a few things. It’s called dramatic licence. Similarly, your character is Terry Ford.”

“Oh, I get it. OK, go ahead and publish it and I hope it makes some money for your cause.”

“Theresa, it’s your story too. Any profits will be put into a trust account and you and I together will administer the funds.”

“Mr Hamilton, I really should tell Alex about this book. He’s my husband now. I shouldn’t have any secrets. Do you mind?”

“That’s fine, Theresa. This one, I’ve written under my own name, so my little secret about the other books and my nom de plume is safe.”

Two months on, Theresa informed Alex that he was a man of his word. “In what way?” said Alex.

“You remember what you said at our wedding reception about providing a playmate for young Marty? Well, it’s come to pass. I’m pregnant.”

“Alex was speechless for a moment, then followed a torrent of questions. “Are you sure? Do you feel OK? Have you seen the doctor? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes. This time I won’t be rushing off to America, though, but I do want to go somewhere.”

“What do you mean?” said Alex, looking worried.

“I think we should move from Silvertrees to your house in the town. If we’re going to have a big family, this place is too small.”

“I think it’s a great idea. So are you going to sell Silvertrees?”

“No, I thought I’d ask my parents if they would like to live there. Mother loves the place and it would be good for father’s health, away from that smoky estate.”

“Would that be convenient for young Megan? It’s a fair walk to school from there.”

“Megan will be starting as a trainee nurse shortly. She’s been accepted by Glasgow Royal Infirmary and she’ll be living there in the nurses’ quarters.”

“Well, lassie, you seem to have everything worked out. I’m delighted. You’ve made me a very happy man. Me – a father! I just can’t get my head round that.”

“Alex, you’ve been a terrific father to young Martin for a while now. He’s your boy in every way that matters, and I know you’ll always love him.”

“Thanks, lass – that’s true. Now, are there any more surprises?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. I went to see old Mr Pottinger last week to tell him about my plans for Silvertrees, a courtesy I felt was his due. He has now retired to tend his garden and I’ve bought his Rover 75 car. Will Mowbray has been giving me driving lessons on the quiet and I’ve already got my licence. I’ll be too big to walk everywhere soon but with the car I can visit mother everyday if I want. Are you pleased?”

“Goodness, Theresa, is there no end to your talent? I’m pleased and very proud of you.”

Six months passed. Martin and Mary enjoyed the vast change in their environment but the onset of a harsh winter took a toll on Martin’s health. He wasn’t able to go to see the big New Year’s Day clash between Celtic and Rangers. He wouldn’t have enjoyed it much as Rangers won. However, Mr Kelly told him later that Joe had played well and had consolidated his place in the team. Martin was taken to hospital with pleurisy on the same day that Theresa went into labour. He died just hours before Theresa gave birth to a baby girl.

A requiem mass was held for Martin McCann in recognition of his years of devoted service to the Church and particularly to the youth of St Patrick’s School. Father Gallagher gave the eulogy and confirmed that Martin had been his right hand man since arriving in Lochside.

Theresa pulled Father Gallagher to one side at the first opportunity. I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time now, Father – what did you do with those hate mail letters?”

“You never received any more, did you, Theresa?”

“No, but I’m curious to know how you worked the miracle.”

“There’s no miracle, Theresa – I simply posted them back to Sean Coyle with a note signed, ‘A
real
defender of the faith’.”

One month later, the baby was baptised Patricia Mary. Theresa’s uncle, Kevin, was an enthusiastic godfather. A big party was held at Dawson’s Reception Rooms. No expense was spared. Theresa was determined that her baby daughter’s entry into society would be a memorable one. A cousin queried if such a splash was appropriate so soon after her father’s passing. Theresa firmly retorted that life is for the living.

Hector Thomson’s Bluebirds provided music for dancing but Gavin Hamilton had a spell on piano to belt out a few jazz classics. The Lochside Chronicle reporter and photographer were in attendance. There were no surprises in the next edition. As the caption in the time-honoured tradition stated, ‘a good time was had by all.’

Gavin Hamilton called into the Duff household the following evening. “The novel’s been selling like hot cakes. As Theresa’s told you, Alex, we have opened up a trust fund, which is now earning interest. There’s no hurry but, sometime in the future, we can put the money to good use. At the moment I have no idea what that might be. I’m open to suggestions.”

“Well,” said Theresa, “we could perhaps finance the local choir on their journeys to competitions. They are always running raffles for that.”

“Good one, Theresa. Lochside Thistle Pipe Band could do with new uniforms, but they are very expensive. Look, let’s leave it for a bit to see how much the trust will be worth in a few months.”

“Good idea, Mr Hamilton. In the meantime, I’ll just jot down suggestions as they come into my head.”

“Alex, can you convince her to stop addressing me as Mr Hamilton, especially as you always call me Gavin? After all, your wife and I are equal partners in this venture.”

“OK, Gavin it is from now on,” said Theresa, “but only in private.”

“Oh, by the way, I almost forgot,” said Gavin. “My publisher informed me that Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer could be interested in the film rights. They’ve already put some cash down on an option to buy. They’ve also asked me to write a screen play for them. That’s something I’ve never done before but I’ve got the rest of the winter to tackle it. They’ll pay me directly for the film script but, if they like it and take up their option on the film rights, a lot of money will flow into our trust fund.”

“My God, but you’re a cool customer, Gavin. That’s the second most exciting news I’ve ever heard and you almost forgot to tell us about it,” said Alex.

“Only the second most exciting?” said Gavin.

“When Theresa told me she was pregnant, that topped the bill.”

Theresa really got a big kick out of driving that classic old Rover. Will Mowbray said she was the best pupil he’d ever had and he’d taught mainly young men how to drive the company trucks. She was a natural. Every day, she would collect her mother, drop her at the Lochside shops on the main street, where her mother would meet old friends and neighbours and buy fresh food. When Theresa suggested that she move back into town to live, thinking she may be lonely, her mother made it quite clear she was perfectly happy at Silvertrees. Besides, it was now the family home, which her two sons visited when they got the chance. Theresa was relieved. She didn’t like the idea of the house being empty.

The long winter ended and spring arrived with a profusion of colour. Azaleas and rhododendrons abounded on both sides of the road to Balmaha in a riot of red, pink, and white. Gavin had sent his finished script to MGM. It had been hard work, fitting it in with his pastoral care, and he’d had to burn the midnight oil. Still, he’d enjoyed the new experience and thought he’d done a good job. He’d been paid in full so, even if he heard nothing further, it had been a worthwhile exercise.

On the 1st June, a letter from the publisher informed him that Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer had taken up the option on the film rights and the balance had been paid in full. A cheque for £10,000 was enclosed. On the 8th June, he received a telegram requesting him to meet two people from MGM at Prestwick Airport at 10am on the 11th June to take them to Lochside and book them into a decent hotel. It would be expedient to carry a placard with his name on it. Gavin hurried to tell Theresa and Alex the good news.