The Girl with the Creel (30 page)

When Jenny had finished tidying up she went into the bedroom. ‘How do you feel now?' she asked, solicitously.

‘Like a washed-out clout,' Lizann sighed.

‘Did Peter tire you?'

‘A wee bit.'

‘It'll take you a while to get over things.'

‘I'll never get over them.'

‘Aye will you, it just takes time.'

‘I've plenty of that, then,' Lizann muttered despondently.

Next day she felt the desperate need to talk. ‘If only I'd had George longer, it wouldn't be so bad. I thought we'd grow old together and have sons and daughters to look after us, and now … I can understand why my mother turned funny after Father …'

‘You're made of different stuff from Hannah,' Jenny declared. ‘She depended on Willie Alec for everything, but you've always had a mind of your own. You had to fight to marry George, and then you were tied down seeing to her.'

‘George and me were never free to enjoy our marriage,' Lizann agreed. ‘I used to wish she was dead, sometimes, so we could do what we liked. You'll be thinking I'm terrible, saying that, but I couldn't help it. I pictured us going for walks with our children, a wee George and another Lizann, watching them growing up …' Her voice broke.

‘Don't upset yourself, Lizann. It's better not to think on what might have been and concentrate on what's going to be.' Jenny stopped and gave a little smile. ‘Ach, I sound like one of yon old wives.'

‘No, you're a true friend, Jenny,' Lizann said, earnestly. ‘And it's true, I can't turn the clock back.'

Noticing the increasing pallor in her cheeks, Jenny stood up. ‘I've made you speak too much.'

The following morning Lizann said she felt like getting up, and so, relieved that she was improving, Jenny let her sit in the kitchen for half an hour, but the recovery did not last. She was moody all the next day, and wouldn't move when Jenny told her she should try being up for a little longer.

Determined not to let her relapse, Jenny sat down by her bed after supper. ‘Lizann,' she began firmly, ‘I think the time's come for a bit of straight talking. The longer you lie in that bed, the worse you'll get, till you'll be like your mother, with legs that weak you'll not be able to walk at all.' Noticing that Lizann's eyes had filled with tears of self-pity, she hardened her heart and continued, ‘I'm telling you for your own good, so you'll dress yourself tomorrow and come through for your breakfast, and if you feel tired you can have a rest in the afternoon. You're not an invalid now.'

The ‘straight talking' worked; in another week Lizann was staying up all day and, although she was rather shaky on her legs and exhausted by bedtime, she had her mind set on being left on her own. ‘I'll manage to look after myself,' she told Jenny, ‘so you'd better go back to your own house. It must be inches thick with dust by this time.'

Not very happy about it, Jenny went home to Main Street, but asked Lou Flett to call in on Lizann every night on the pretext of reporting on Hannah, as she had done while mother and daughter were estranged.

On her first day alone, Lizann was still in bed when she heard someone knocking on the outside door and walking straight in. Supposing it was Jenny come to check on her, she wished she'd remembered to turn the key in the lock the night before, and turned round to defend herself for not being up at half past nine. But it wasn't her ex-nurse/housekeeper.

‘Mrs Buchan!' she gasped, her already white face blanching even more, her hand flying to her mouth in guilt, for she hadn't given George's mother a single thought.

‘Aye,' the woman said grimly. ‘It's a good thing I've got friends, or I wouldna have ken't my son was lost.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry, but I …'

‘I'd have thought it was the first thing you'd have done, but … ach, I ken't the minute I set eyes on you, you was bad luck. Well, are you to be lying there a' day, or will I have to make myself a cup o' tea?'

So distressed that she hardly knew what she was doing, Lizann threw back the bedcovers and swung her feet to the floor, and it was only when she saw the expression on her mother-in-law's face that she remembered how transparent her well-worn nightdress was. Along with that awful thought came the realization that she didn't have a coat to cover it. ‘Oh, Mrs Buchan,' she wailed, unable to call her anything else, ‘I don't know what you must think, but I …'

‘I'll tell you what I think,' Ina Buchan sneered. ‘If I'd ever wore a goon like that, my man woulda thought I was a whore. He wouldna have had nothing to do wi' me, but the young men nowadays are different, and I can see how you trapped George into leaving his wife.'

Too weak to deny the accusation, Lizann lifted her skirt off the chair and stepped into it, wondering if her legs would take her through to the kitchen, and if she'd have the strength to light the fire if they did. Ina handed her her blouse. ‘Here, cover your breists, and all!' she ordered, then her obvious repugnance was replaced by perplexity as her brain registered what her eyes had seen. ‘The last time George came to see me, he said you was expectin'. Did you get rid o' it, or what?'

An unexpected and totally uncharacteristic wave of anger swept through Lizann. How dare this woman speak to her like that? ‘I lost the baby when I heard about George,' she said quietly, with all the dignity she could muster.

This did knock Ina Buchan out of her stride. ‘Oh … oh … well,' she stammered, ‘I'm sorry about that.'

‘And I'm sorry you've lost your son,' Lizann went on. ‘I should have asked my brother to tell you, but I was in such a state …' She paused to regain control of herself. ‘I did love George, you know, with all my heart, and I don't think I'll ever get over losing him.'

‘I lost my man to the sea, and all,' Ina said, ruminatively, ‘but I never thought I'd lose George the same road.' Her hand shot out to steady Lizann, who had taken a shaky step forward. ‘Look, I'd better leave you. You're ower upset, and … so am I. You likely think I'm nae grieving like I should, but I grat for near two whole days after I heard, though I kept thinking it couldna be George that had gone overboard, for you'd surely have had the decency to …' Her voice hardened again. ‘Then I made up my mind to come and tell you what I thought of you. You never come wi' George the few times he visited me … oh, I ken he said you'd to look after your mother, but surely you coulda …?'

Recognizing that nothing she said would change her mother-in-law's opinion of her, Lizann chose to ignore this last complaint. ‘I think you'd be as well leaving, Mrs Buchan,' she said firmly. ‘Thank you for coming, but there's no point in us seeing each other again, for we've nothing in common now.'

Clearly not accustomed to being brushed off by anyone, Ina glowered at her. ‘Some women get decent daughter-in-laws,' she muttered, ‘but I havena been so lucky, though my son had two wives. Katie uptailed and left Cullen, and you …' Clicking her tongue in offended exasperation, she swept across the kitchen and stalked out.

It took several seconds for the reaction to set in. When it did, Lizann collapsed back on her bed, hot tears scalding her cheeks, her throat closing in sorrow and self-pity, and it was over half an hour before she resolved to tell nobody that George's mother had been there and to forget the horrible things the woman had said.

‘I canna believe it,' Lou remarked to her niece, some evenings later. ‘It's like there was never nothing wrong wi' your ma, and her mind's a lot clearer than mine, for I'd forget where my head was if it wasna fixed on.' Lizann giving a wan smile, Lou went on, ‘You're still looking peaky, are you sure you're eating enough?'

‘Yes, Mary Droppie next door gets butcher meat for me, and anything else I need.' The old woman's nickname had been bestowed on her years before for her habit of saying, ‘I think we'll get a droppie rain,' which sometimes changed to, ‘I'm sure we're in for a droppie snow,' or, as Lizann had lately found out, ‘Will I get a droppie mince for you?'

Lou smiled. ‘I'll nae need to worry about you, then.'

With a cheery wave she walked away, and Lizann closed the door and went inside. If Lou only knew how things really were, she thought. She was having to watch every penny she spent. The ‘compensation' Heck Lindsay had handed over was nearly all gone already, and what would she do when there was nothing left … and nothing coming in? Maybe it was just as well the baby hadn't lived, for how could she have bought clothes for it? Or a pram?

Her throat tightened with remorse as she was struck by something else. She'd blamed George's death for making her lose the baby, but it must have been dead before. That was why she had felt no movements. George had pleaded with her to stop doing so much and she hadn't listened to him. She had gone on cleaning the two houses, climbing up on chairs to scrub high shelves, going down on her knees to polish floors … it was all her fault! But she hadn't wanted to harm the child – she had felt so well she hadn't thought that what she was doing could be bad for it. If she hadn't been so headstrong, she would have a son to compensate for her husband. She would have managed somehow. She would have worked for fingers to the bone for him.

She shook her head. She wasn't fit to look after herself, let alone a baby. She was still weaker, physically and mentally, than she cared to admit, though she'd made Jenny go home. And Mary Droppie kept telling her she wasn't eating enough to keep a mouse going, but she couldn't afford to buy any more. If she was stronger she could take a job, but the only job she'd ever had was gutting fish in Yarmouth, which was how she'd met George. Maybe some folk would say she should be thankful to have been his wife for almost three years, but it wasn't nearly long enough. Could this be God's way of punishing them for what they had done there? Putting her hands to her face and making no attempt to control herself, she wept bitter tears for all the years they should have had together.

Peter had made up his mind not to see Lizann again, but on his way home from work one night he thought there was no reason why he shouldn't go to ask how she was. They were still friends, and friends were expected to be concerned for one another's well-being.

Having hoped she would be well on the way to recovery, he was saddened to see how haggard her face was when she opened the door. Her once shiny black curls were hanging lank, and the eyes that had sparkled brightly seemed to have no life left in them. He longed to take her in his arms and beg her to let him look after her.

‘It's you, Peter,' she said in a flat voice. ‘You'd better come in.'

It wasn't a warm welcome, and he wished now that he hadn't given in to his whim. ‘Jenny's not with you, then?' he asked.

‘I made her go home.'

‘You shouldn't have. You need company.'

‘I don't want company.'

‘You'll get over it, Lizann,' he told her, gently. ‘It takes time.'

‘That's what everybody says.'

An awkward silence fell, both staring into the barely-glowing embers in the fire, then Lizann murmured, ‘How's your wife? And your boys?'

‘They're fine. Pattie's a little devil, into everything, but Tommy's quieter. It's funny how brothers can be so different.'

‘Aye, I suppose so.'

Noticing tears glistening before she turned her head away, he guessed that she was thinking of her own son, the son she had lost on the same day as she lost her husband, and his heart went out to her. Not knowing what else to say, he murmured, ‘You shouldn't be on your own yet.'

Her lips lifted in a thin smile. ‘I'm better on my own.'

‘But you might … do something stupid.'

The smile faded. ‘I've thought about it. What have I got to live for?'

‘Everything! You're still young, you'll get your looks back and … I have to say it, no matter what you think, you'll find another man.'

‘I could never love anybody else, and you needn't worry, Peter. I'm not going to do away with myself. If I'd only myself to worry about, I might have done it, but another bad shock might turn my mother's brain again, and I couldn't do that to her.'

‘Thank God! You had me worried.'

‘I think you should go now, but don't tell Mick what I said.'

He got to his feet at once. ‘I won't tell anybody, but remember, if there's ever anything I can do for you, Lizann, you've only to let me know, whatever it is.'

Rising, too, she shook her head. ‘There's nothing anybody can do for me, Peter, for I've lost the only man I've ever loved.'

‘I know that,' he said, wryly.

When he went home, Elsie looked at him suspiciously. ‘You're late!'

‘I went to Freuchny Road to see Lizann, and before you start shouting, let me tell you something. If you'd seen her the night, you'd have been as sorry for her as I was. She's as far down as anybody could be, and I'll not stop seeing her, whatever you say.'

‘Did she turn her dark eyes on you and bewitch you again?'

‘She was like a skeleton, with her eyes sunk right into her head.'

‘Would you go running if she asked you?'

‘If she asked me for help, I'd go running,' he said, truthfully, ‘but she won't. As for what you're meaning, my place is here with my family.'

‘Aye well,' his wife smirked, ‘and don't you forget it.' She snuggled up to him in her usual seductive manner, but for once – maybe because he was so anxious about Lizann – it had no effect on him. ‘Get off, Elsie!' he exclaimed, shoving her away. ‘Can you not leave me in peace?'

The initial surprise in her eyes became anger. ‘I might have ken't!' she shouted. ‘You've laid your fancy woman the night! You've aye hoped you'd get her, that's why you've kept going there, and now you've had her, you dinna want me!'