The Girl with the Creel (56 page)

At this, Mrs Melville, who had been watching in silent amusement, let out a loud roar of laughter. ‘What you lassies'll go through to look beautiful!'

‘I'll never be beautiful with my nose,' Gladys said, ruefully, ‘but that's not to say I shouldn't try.'

‘That's it, then.' Lizann laid down the tongs: ‘Should we paint our legs, as well? All my stockings have ladders in them.'

‘We might as well. I'll do yours and you can do mine.'

When Mrs Melville saw the tan going on her lodger's legs, she shook her head. ‘I hope that stuff doesn't come off on the sheets.'

Gladys pointed to the instructions. ‘It says there it won't.'

The older woman gave a sigh of resignation. ‘If it does, you can wash them yourself, Lizann.'

The task completed, Gladys dived into her handbag and brought out the pencil she used on her plucked eye-brows, a fad Lizann had always refused to follow. ‘I'll use this to mark a seam down the back.'

‘What next?' Mrs Melville exclaimed, but she followed the procedure with interest.

‘Now then,' Gladys said, when her legs were done. ‘We look like we've got fully-fashioned silk stockings on, don't we?'

‘And we can't get rips in them,' Lizann added.

‘I don't know why you bother. You've been wearing slacks to your work for months now.' The trousers had shocked the elderly woman when Lizann bought them, but she had come round – nearly every girl she saw going to work was wearing them nowadays.

‘We put skirts on to go out,' Gladys reminded her, ‘and we're going to see
Gone With the Wind
tonight. It's the third time I'll have seen it, but I just love Clark Gable.'

‘He'll not be there to see your legs,' Mrs Melville said, dryly. ‘Now, if you two are finished making yourselves into something you're not, are you ready for your tea?'

At first Jenny thought nothing of Peter sitting in the kitchen all day. She knew it must be difficult for him to walk much, and did her best to spare a little time to talk to him every morning and afternoon. It was when she noticed how much brighter he was when Georgie came home from school that the answer dawned on her. He was missing his sons. He had gone to North Pringle Street once and was quiet and withdrawn for hours after he came back; she had thought his stump was hurting him, but it hadn't been just that. A day or two later she had what she thought was a brilliant idea, but she waited until her children were in bed before mentioning it.

‘I was thinking, Peter. Why don't you ask Pattie and Tommy and Norma here for their dinner and supper every Sunday? Just on their own, so you wouldn't have Mr and Mrs Slater breathing down your neck.'

‘That's very thoughtful of you, Jenny, but would you not mind having so many kids in the house?'

‘My two would be glad to have somebody else to play with.'

‘Well, if you're sure, I'll see what the Slaters say tomorrow.'

His face was etched with pain when he returned the following day, and Jenny's heart ached for him. It must be agony for him to walk so far, and it was no wonder he hardly ever went out. When her children were in bed that night, they sat comfortably by the fire as usual, she doing a bit of make-do-and-mend (adding false hems to her son's shorts and her daughter's skirts), he reading. They never said much, but Mick hadn't been one for saying much either, and it showed that Peter felt at home. Her sewing finished, she laid it down and rose to fill the kettle.

He looked up now. ‘That time already?'

‘Peter,' she said timidly, ‘is your leg very sore?'

‘It's throbbing like the devil,' he admitted. ‘But I'm used to it.'

‘Would you let me take a look at it? Maybe it needs bathing …'

‘I couldn't let you do it, Jenny.'

‘I wouldn't mind. I used to give my father and mother all-over washes every day. Come on, take your artificial leg off and let me see.'

He pulled up his trousers and his hands fumbled so much at the straps that she knelt down to help him. When she saw that the puckered skin of his stump was raw, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, why didn't you tell me, Peter?'

‘I didn't like.'

‘I don't know how you could bear to wear that thing.' She stood up and poured some warm water into a basin, carried it over to the fireside and went to get cotton wool, disinfectant and the tin of ointment from the press. She dabbed slowly and gently, looking up into his face now and then to make sure that she wasn't hurting him too much, and patted the area dry with a soft towel.

‘I'll put on some of this Germolene,' she smiled then. ‘Georgie says it makes his scraped knees better.'

When she had emptied the basin and was laying past the other items, Peter said sadly, ‘I came here to help you, and I've ended up giving you a lot of extra work. You're the strong one. My life's not worth a damn any more.'

She felt like throwing her arms round him and cuddling him like she cuddled her son when he hurt himself, but she busied herself making a pot of tea and said without looking round, ‘That's not true, Peter. You used to be a draughtsman, and I'm sure Jones would take you back if you asked. If you'd a job, you'd feel different.'

‘Jones wouldn't employ a cripple, and besides, I'm not fit to walk so far every day. I'm not fit to work. I'm not fit for anything.'

Longing to dispel his misery, she knew that sympathy would only make him worse, so she laid the teapot down and stood in front of him. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Peter Tait. You can do anything if you set your mind to it. Give your stump a few days to heal, then go to the yard. With so many men away, they'll be glad of somebody experienced. And if they don't want you, try Herd and McKenzie.'

She could tell that he was wavering, although his face bore deep hurt at her reprimand. At last he muttered, ‘You're just trying to get me out from under your feet.'

She bent over and grasped his hands. ‘You know I'm not. I hate seeing you like this, that's all. Now, we'll drink our tea and get to bed.'

Lying alongside her daughter, Jenny wondered if she had been too harsh with him. Maybe she was the cause of his depression. He had arrived here primed with the idea of helping her to get over Mick's death and she had made him believe she didn't need his help, when her so-called bravery was really bravado. Her heart was crying out for Mick, and she couldn't count the nights she had lain awake since she got the telegram, sobbing until her head was pounding and her pillow was soaking. If she admitted that, it might let Peter see she wasn't as strong as he thought. She was as weak as any other woman, and would have given way altogether if she hadn't kept a tight grip on herself.

The next day being Sunday, Chae Slater arrived just after twelve with his three grandchildren – his own idea, to save Peter the walk. ‘I'll come back for them at seven,' he said.

To give Peter a few minutes alone with his family, she went out to see Mr Slater off. ‘He looks a bit better now,' Chae remarked. ‘You've taken on more than I'd like to have tackled, so how do you get on with him? Is he still as moody?'

‘It's sitting about feeling useless that gets him down,' she smiled, ‘so I've told him to go to Jones and ask for his old job back.'

‘D'you think he's up to it, lass? He'd be a lot worse if he'd to give it up after he started.'

‘He'll manage the job, it's the walking he'll have to get used to. But I'm sure he will.'

‘Ach well, they'll maybe nae take him back.'

‘We'll have to wait and see.'

‘Aye, so we will. Well, see you at seven, lass, and I hope the nickums behave themselves.'

When Jenny went back to her kitchen, she was delighted to see Peter's eyes shining. Norma had climbed on to his knee, and Pattie and Tommy were engrossed in the comics Georgie had left on the table before going to Sunday school with his sister. Occasionally, however, they flung a question at their father, which told that they accepted him as a friend, if nothing else.

The dinner was quite hectic, with three shrill voices wanting to speak at once, and Jenny was thankful that at least the two little girls were quiet and got on together. In the afternoon the boys wanted to hear about the corvette and Peter willingly obliged, glossing over how he had lost his leg, which was really what they wanted to know.

Supper was a repeat of the earlier meal, and before they knew it, Chae Slater was back. When Peter went out with his children, Georgie turned a puzzled face to his mother. ‘Peter's Pattie and Tommy's dad, isn't he? Why doesn't he live with them?'

‘Do you not like him being here?' she countered.

‘I don't mind, he's all right.'

Relieved, she shooed him and his sister up to bed, but when Peter came in the looked so tired that she said, ‘Was it too much for you?'

‘I enjoyed having them, but you're right, I am tired.'

‘So'm I,' she smiled.

‘Should I tell Chae to stop bringing them?'

‘No, no. We'll get used to all the commotion. A body can get used to anything …' Hesitating, she added, ‘I haven't got used to not seeing Mick, though. I still miss him.'

He looked at her sadly. ‘Aye, you're bound to, I miss him myself. It doesn't seem right for me to be here with you …'

Tears were prickling her eyes now. ‘I'm sorry, I don't like letting anybody see me crying,' she gulped.

‘Jenny, whenever you feel like crying for Mick, don't let me stop you. I know how much you loved him, and losing him must feel like losing a part of yourself … like me losing my leg.'

‘Oh, Peter.' She was sobbing now, deep shuddering sobs that shook her whole body, and in a moment she jumped to her feet and ran upstairs. She hadn't meant this to happen. She had only mentioned missing Mick to let Peter see that she wasn't made of iron, and now he must think she was a proper weakling.

He gave her an anxious look in the morning, but said, ‘I think I'll go to Jones's after breakfast.'

‘Good.' But she couldn't leave things like that. ‘I'm sorry about last night, Peter. I don't know what came over me.'

‘My grannie used to say a good greet's the best way to get over what's bothering you. I just wish I could have been some comfort to you.'

‘You were a comfort just being here. Seeing you, I can remember Mick better and how the two of you were always together when you were boys.'

Peter smiled. ‘Aye, we were always good pals.' He changed the subject in case she got upset again. ‘I'm a bit scared of going to the yard. If they do take me back, I just hope I haven't forgotten …'

‘It'll soon come back to you.'

Her two children appearing just then, she concentrated on seeing they had enough to eat. When Georgie was ready to go out, Peter said, ‘I suppose I'd better get going as well.'

‘I'll keep my fingers crossed for you,' she assured him.

It was over an hour before he returned, his gaunt face wreathed in smiles. ‘The manager said they were falling behind with orders for the Navy, and he nearly flung his arms round me.'

‘I told you,' she grinned.

‘I've to start tomorrow, how's that for speed? Oh Jenny, I feel like I've been born again. I'm floating on air.'

‘Anchor yourself to that chair,' she laughed, ‘and we'll have a cup of tea … with a wee drop of Mick's whisky in it to celebrate.'

At first the walk to and from the yard made Peter's metal leg chafe against his stump, and Jenny had to attend to it every evening after her children were in bed. ‘I don't know how you can walk at all,' she said, one night.

‘It's not as bad as it looks. It is sore, but I can put up with it.'

When she thought of applying a soft pad between metal and flesh, it did reduce the rubbing, so this became another daily task. Jenny didn't mind the extra work, although there were times, lying beside her daughter, when she wished that it had been Mick who came home. But after a little weep she felt deeply ashamed. Peter's marriage had been nothing like hers. He deserved peace now, contentment, and maybe some day, when he got over what had happened to him, he would meet a nice girl and find true happiness at last.

Robbie Chapman's letter arrived when Jenny thought he had forgotten his promise to keep in touch. ‘He's sold up his house in London and he'll be arriving in Buckie the day after tomorrow,' she told Peter when she was carrying out her nursing duty that night. ‘That's why he's been so long in writing, and he says he'll come and see me once he's settled in with his sister. You'll like him, he's …'

‘But who is he?' Peter asked. ‘Is he a relation? I never heard Mick speaking about him.'

She couldn't help laughing at his astonished expression when she gave him Robbie's story. ‘Hannah?' he gasped. ‘Oh, no, I can't believe that!'

‘I know how you feel,' Jenny giggled, ‘and he swore Hannah thought his kisses made her pregnant. He said he had never … you know, but he was awful anxious to find out about a baby he thinks was born between Mick and Lizann.'

‘Mick never said anything about that, either.'

‘He'd have been too young to know.'

Robbie appeared after dinnertime just five days later, and laughed at her embarrassment when he kissed her on the cheek. ‘It's the normal greeting down south, my dear, and I forgot people were less outgoing up here. My, but you're looking well, much better than last time I saw you. Is there any particular reason for that?'

His roguish eyes told her what he was thinking, and she hurriedly told him why she had offered Peter Tait a home.

‘Peter Tait?' Robbie said, reflectively. ‘Yes, I remember you telling me about him.'

‘He lost a leg when …'

‘Ah, so you feel he needs you … as much as you need his support?'