The Girl with the Creel (24 page)

Lizann had been having second thoughts about leaving her mother, but she had no option but to agree when George presented her with the fait accompli, and said she would start packing their belongings in the morning while he was taking in the furniture. Hannah had listened to everything and said nothing, but Mick went to get some boxes from the grocer. While he was out he slipped along to tell Jenny he would be busy all Saturday helping Lizann and George to flit. He came back with three tea chests and said he would get the loan of a hand-cart to take them to Freuchny Road when they were packed.

Lizann was inclined to be weepy next day. She hadn't had time to think properly, and she would be in a house up the town by nightfall, a house she hadn't even seen yet and didn't know anything about except that it just had two little rooms. She felt no guilt now at leaving the Yardie, however, for her mother had made it clear that she didn't want her here. When she packed the last of the wedding presents, she took a look around her room to make sure that nothing belonging to her had been overlooked. All that was left, apart from the furniture, was the picture on the wall and that wasn't hers either. She would have to give it back, much as it went against the grain.

She took it down and studied it. There was something in it that got to her, an atmosphere of … the only way she could describe it was … love. Whatever Hannah had felt about the artist, it was quite obvious how he had felt about her – as though there was a bond of some kind between him and this girl who was gazing forlornly out to sea. The creel slung over the shoulders made the figure seem more waif-like, emphasized a sadness that might not have been there in real life, although Hannah had hated selling fish from it. It would be sacrilege if the picture was hidden away again.

Lizann carried it down to the kitchen, where her mother, as usual, was huddled over the fire. ‘Will I put this back in the lobby press, or will I leave it in the bedroom?'

Hannah turned round slowly, her eyes darkening when she saw what her daughter was holding. ‘You're taking all the rest of your things,' she said harshly, ‘so you'd be as well taking that and all.'

‘But it's yours. Father had it done for you.'

‘I didna encourage Robbie! I didna!'

This totally unexpected statement took Lizanna's breath away. So there had been something between artist and model, but she would have to tread warily. ‘Robbie? Was it him that drew …?'

Hannah glanced desperately around her. ‘Willie Alec didna notice at first, then he said onybody could see from this that Robbie loved me.'

And that was true enough, Lizann reflected; she had seen it herself. It seemed that her father had accused his wife of encouraging Robbie, so that was why the picture had been hidden away, but everybody had always said that Hannah never had eyes for any man except Willie Alec. Surely she wouldn't have …

Another detail came back to Lizann's mind. ‘When I found the picture, you told me you were married to Father when you were posing for it?'

Hannah's hands fidgeted madly, and her eyes scanned the room as if for some source of delivery from this inquisition. ‘Willie Alec told him he wanted me all to himself when he was home at the weekends.'

‘So you were alone with Robbie on the other nights?' Lizann prompted.

‘David wasna his! I never let him … I never!'

Astonished by the vehemence of her mother's outburst as much as by what she inferred, Lizann waited for further enlightenment, and sure enough, it came after a moment. ‘Willie Alec thought … that's why I hid the picture away.'

Hannah's hands were now clutching wildly at her chest as if the memory of what had happened was too much for her to bear, and although Lizann was aching to know the whole story, she realized that, for the sake of her mother's sanity, she would be best to leave the matter alone. ‘If you don't want it, can I have it?'

‘Aye, take it away wi'you, for I want nothing to remind me of you.'

Deeply hurt, Lizann went back upstairs, but she couldn't stop wondering about the circumstances surrounding the making of the picture. Who was Robbie? Who was David? What had happened to them? Her mother had said David wasn't Robbie's, which would suggest that she'd had a baby that Willie Alec thought wasn't his. But where had that child gone?

Laying the picture on top of one of the crates, her heart lightened. It did belong to her now, really and truly, and because of the mystery behind its creation – she was sure love had flourished on both sides – she would treasure it as though it had been drawn by the best artist in the world. It would be a token of good luck, of enduring love, in her own home, and she would never, ever part with it … not for any reason!

Chapter Thirteen

Standing hands on hips in the middle of their bedroom, Elsie said loudly, in what she imagined were the refined tones a draughtsman's wife should use, ‘I'm fed up of your mother going on at me. If she'd just let me be I'd get things done, but she's aye at my back criticizing.'

Peter shook his head. ‘I've tried telling her we'd be best to get a place of our own, but she makes me feel I'd be deserting her. I suppose I could look for a house without telling her – once we'd got it, she couldn't do anything about it.'

‘She'll be laughing on the other side of her face in a wee while, any road.'

He looked at her apprehensively. ‘How's that?'

‘Her darling son's going to be a Daddy, that's how!'

‘You mean you're … expecting?'

‘Aye, and I'm certain sure, for I'm near three month.'

His face not registering the joy she had hoped for, Peter muttered, ‘I suppose it was our first night?' Since his father's death he hadn't been quite so abandoned in his love-making.

‘Our first night as man and wife,' she smirked, ‘though we only got to enjoy the half of it. But we'll need more room when the bairn … the baby comes, so Bella Jeannie'll have to put that in her pipe and smoke it!'

‘Don't say anything to her, she'll take it better coming from me. But I'll wait till I've found a house.'

After a night of passion in which Peter wondered if his wife had told him another untruth and was doing her best to make it come true, Elsie said, ‘I think I'll have a long lie the day. Your mother never trusts me to make your breakfast.'

Bella Jeannie looked surprised when Peter went into the kitchen alone. ‘Is she nae coming down the day?'

Rather put out because his mother never gave his wife her name, Peter said, pointedly, ‘Elsie's staying in bed for a while. She's tired.'

The corners of his mother's mouth went down. ‘Who does she think she is, Lady Muck?'

It was after ten before Elsie rose, and when she went into the kitchen Bella Jeannie looked her up and down with a sarcastic sneer. ‘I'd better nae say good morning, for it's near afternoon. What was you up to last night? You look right washed out, and so did my Peter.'

‘Your Peter?' Elsie screeched, this possessiveness being what annoyed her most. ‘He's my Peter now, you old fleabag!'

She lifted her hand menacingly and, thinking her daughter-in-law was about to strike her, Bella Jeannie stepped back. ‘You impudent besom! Wait till I tell my Peter you was going to hit me.'

‘Shut your fat face!' Elsie shouted, no longer bothering to put on an act. ‘I wasna going to hit you, though you bloody well asked for it.'

‘You're man mad, that's what you are!' Bella Jeannie declared loudly, the old grudge resurfacing as she laid down the heavy ornament she had been dusting. ‘Walking about wi' your bum wiggling to get men to look at you, and ony man would have done you, so why did you pick on my Peter?'

Almost frothing at the mouth, Elsie shouted, ‘Peter couldna keep his hands off me before we was wed – it was only me having in a Dutch cap that stopped him bairning me.'

Apoplectic with rage, Bella Jeannie roared, ‘You'd needed a Dutch cap for all the other men you'd been wi'!'

Realizing that she was up against a much tougher opponent than she had bargained for, Elsie made herself scarce, but as she walked towards the town she realized that she had quite enjoyed crossing swords with her mother-in-law. It might be fun to needle her for a while yet before she flung her pregnancy in the old bitch's face. That would floor her!

Lizann looked round her tiny kitchen with satisfaction, smiling as she recalled George's compliment when he left the morning before. ‘You've worked a miracle on this place,' he had said, and it was true. Even with second-hand moquette armchairs that weren't a pair, and a table that didn't match the sideboard or the four chairs that were supposed to be part of the ‘dining suite', she had made it presentable. The well-worn mats weren't so cosy as the clootie rugs her father used to make, but they were better than the bare linoleum the previous tenants had left. It would have been nice to have a few cushions and more china ornaments – the two on the sideboard had been wedding presents – but she hoped to pick up some things cheap when the shops had their sales.

Trying to imagine what would look best on the mantel-piece, her eyes were caught by the picture which held pride of place on the fireplace wall. Everyone who came to see her admired it, but she had not told one single person who the fisher girl was, for she could still remember the rejection she had felt at the time she was told to take it. Until then she'd believed that there would come a day when her mother would forget all her imagined grievances, but that last sneering remark had shown that nothing would ever change. She had left the Yardie that Saturday afternoon with Mick pushing the hand-cart, her head held high, but, knowing she would never be welcomed back, her legs had felt like tubes of rubber with lead weights at the ends. Luckily there had been so much to do when they reached Freuchny Road that she had soon snapped out of her depression.

When George went back to sea on the Monday morning she had arranged her things on the shelves of the kitchen cupboard to her satisfaction, and Lou had called in the evening to tell her that Hannah was speaking about putting Willie Alec's clothes to the Seamen's Mission.

‘I see you've got her picture,' she observed then. ‘I'd forgot about it.'

Hopefully, Lizann asked, ‘D'you know who drew it?'

‘He was a great chum o'your father's … eh, what was his name again?'

‘Robbie something,' Lizann ventured.

‘That's it! Robbie Chapman!'

‘And who was David?'

‘David? I canna think on a …' Lou broke off suddenly. ‘How did you find out about that?'

‘Mother said David wasn't Robbie's, and I guessed …'

‘There was nothing in it, Lizann, I'm sure o' that. David come between Mick and you, but he didna live, poor thing, and your father took it in his head that the bairn was Robbie's. He tell't him never to come back, and as far as I ken, he left Buckie and never did come back. I thought Willie Alec made Hannah throw out the picture, but she musta kept it.'

Lou stopped to consider this, then said, ‘I canna get ower her telling you, though. It shows she's far from right. You'd be best to keep away for a while, and you're not to worry about her, for I'll go every day and give her a hand with her housework, and I'll tell you when I think she's ready to see you.'

Apparently that time hadn't come yet, Lizann reflected, for a visit had never been mentioned again.

Although Elsie and Bella Jeannie kept up a battle of words which neither ever won, they were extra polite to each other in front of Peter. He was lulled into assuming that they had accepted each other and were prepared to live in harmony, whereas they were happy to be living in disharmony, girding up their loins for another head-on attack. If he had been more observant he might have picked up the signs of a storm brewing, but, being a peaceful man, he was slow in recognizing aggression in others.

He encouraged his wife, who still showed no outward indication of being pregnant, to take things easy. ‘There's no need for you to get up,' he always told her when he left for work. ‘My mother's quite happy to make my breakfast.'

Elsie wallowed in his consideration for her. It was good to be treated like an invalid, though she had never felt better in her life. But time was getting short. If it wasn't for the firm corsets she had bought to keep her bulge under control, her delicate state (that was a laugh) would be common knowledge. She wouldn't manage to keep it hidden much longer, though, and today would be as good as any to ram it down her mother-in-law's throat – once she'd had a decent rest.

It was wearing on for half past eleven when she emerged from her bedroom in a clinging satin wrap that showed more than she realized, and Bella Jeannie, having just made her bed, appeared on the landing at the same time. She gave her son's wife her usual disapproving stare, then said triumphantly, ‘So I was right!'

Elsie moved a lock of bleached hair nonchalantly out of her eye. ‘You think you're right about everything, but what is it this time?'

‘I ken't fine you was wi' a bairn!'

‘So? I've the right, haven't I?'

Bella Jeannie fixed her with a glower that would have shrivelled up a lesser mortal. ‘Oh aye, you've the right, but there was nae need for you to hide it if it's my Peter's.'

‘Your Peter? Your Peter?' Elsie screeched, annoyed that she had lost the upper hand. ‘He's been my Peter for the past six month!'

‘I still say it's nae his. My Peter wouldna land his wife wi' a bairn so quick …' she broke off to assess the evidence. ‘By God! You're six month gone, ony road, by the look o' you! It is a wedding-night bairn!'

Elsie seized this opening to take her revenge. ‘Aye, just think on it, Bella Jeannie! Peter was putting it inside me when your man was drawing his last breath, and every time you think about Bowfer you'll picture that. And it was about the sixth time he was on me, for your precious son's nae only different from other men …'