The New Breadmakers (10 page)

‘I should be so lucky,’ Ailish laughed. ‘There’s been one or two at work but they weren’t interested in me.’

‘I can’t believe that. Especially with your lovely blonde hair.

‘Hardly blonde, Chrissie. Mousy more like.’

‘Never! Honey-coloured maybe. And so curly.’

‘I hate my hair being curly. I can’t even have a pony tail. Your hair’s lovely and straight and glossy and you’ve a lovely pony tail.’

‘Sometimes I think of dyeing my hair blonde, but my mother would have a fit.’

‘Once you went blonde, there’s nothing your mother could do about it. But you’re fine as a brunette.’

‘You don’t know my mother! Nobody’ll ever fancy me like this.’

‘Don’t be daft! And we’ll both meet somebody eventually. But I’m in no hurry. Are you?’

‘No, I want to enjoy my job and my independence. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was OK to work after you were married. But no man would want that. They have to be your boss and get all your attention.’

‘I know. And if you don’t get married, you are branded a “spinster”.’

‘Makes me mad.’

‘Me too.’

They linked arms to return back up past the red sandstone tenements on the Wellfield hill, both pretending they were ignoring the local talent.

Of course he blamed her. Years had passed since Melvin had been able to make love to her. He had become impotent. She remembered the last time he’d tried.

‘I’ve gone right off you,’ he’d said, before turning away from her. She had believed him at first. She had been conditioned for years, long before she’d met him, to believe that she was at fault, wicked, a target for God’s wrath. A target not only on the day of judgement but here on earth. Retribution and punishment would be her lot. Her mother had promised all this. Her mother had always been God’s right-hand man – or, rather, woman.

For some time afterwards, he’d tried to make her do revolting things for him to watch. At least she’d had enough courage to refuse to have anything to do with this perversion. Then he kept telling her filthy jokes that degraded women. She’d eventually managed to stop him doing that as well, mostly by just getting up and walking away. She knew it was all because of his own sexual inadequacy.

Melvin was impotent. As often as not, she felt sorry for him but she hadn’t the nerve to suggest he seek help from a doctor. She knew him only too well. For a man to see a doctor about anything at all was ‘soft’ and ‘unmanly’. He would have gone berserk if she had made such a suggestion. He had always been tough. Or so he believed. It was pathetic and she was glad that she no longer had to submit to his rough, insensitive, selfish so-called love-making.

She wanted no more of it. Yet at times, strange feelings of need came unbidden to secretly torment her. She kept remembering her brief sexual encounter with Alec Jackson. It had taught her what love-making could be like. It could be exciting and thrilling and tender and gentle.

Sometimes she could hardly look Madge in the eye in case her friend could read her thoughts. She fought to banish Alec from her mind. But it was difficult when she saw him so often – with Madge or with the boys. Sometimes she’d be visiting Madge and, while she was there, Alec would come in from a football match with the boys. Or with Sammy Hunter. Tall, slim and handsome, with the usual twinkle in his eyes and his jaunty sailor’s roll, Alec seemed to immediately bring the whole place to mischievous, good-humoured life.

Catriona was even beginning to feel there was something about Sammy too. He had the craggy, broken-nosed face of a fighter, rather similar to Dermot O’Donnel who lived on the top floor. Dermot had a dark, cropped head and a bitter mouth. Sammy had red hair, thoughtful grey eyes and a kindly smile. But mostly the difference between the two men was something about the eyes. Dermot’s eyes were hard like marbles and, most of the time, he stared out at the world and everybody in it as if he hated what he saw. Sammy seemed to actually
like
people.

She wondered what Sammy’s body would look like naked and then felt terribly ashamed of herself. ‘You’re having unclean thoughts,’ her mother would have said, reminding her of God’s wrath and exactly how He would be sure to punish her. When she’d been a very young child, she had been warned of being flung into the ‘black burning fire’, a somewhat confusing image but a frightening one nevertheless.

Her mother had grown too old and lethargic now for such passionate warnings. She was more or less content to pick on Catriona’s father. Hannah and Rab niggled almost constantly at each other. It wouldn’t have surprised Catriona, however, if Hannah came out fighting with a dig at Melvin or a message from God if she got the chance.

Catriona struggled to control her wayward thoughts and feelings. She didn’t know what was happening to her. All the years before Melvin had become impotent, she’d hated sex. Now she could hardly look at a man – any man – without experiencing shameful arousal.

She wondered if there was some sort of herb or homeopathic potion she could take for her condition. She knew quite a lot about alternative therapies now. At least, she’d collected many books on the subject and had read most of them.

Melvin kept saying, ‘Is that more of that cranky stuff you’re reading? You’re getting to be a right hypochondriac.’

‘My arnica cream got rid of your bruising double quick, didn’t it?’ she’d reply. Arnica as a cream was magic for bruising, and taken internally as tablets was an excellent first- aid treatment for shock.

After Melvin had hit his finger whilst hammering a nail into something, she’d massaged on some of the cream for him and it had helped.

‘It would have cleared up double quick without your arnica,’ he insisted. ‘I’m a quick healer because I’ve a naturally tough constitution.’

Compared with Sammy or Alec, Melvin was a weakling. At one time, he’d had a tough, muscular physique but not any more. He still tried to do his ‘physical jerks’, as he called them, but he got sweaty and out of breath very quickly and had to give up. He’d never admit it but the war had ruined his health and strength.

She remembered – how long ago it seemed now – how he had gloried in beating people at arm wrestling. He’d sit opposite one of the other bakers or customers, elbows on the table or the counter, hands poised and locked, straining this way and that. When Melvin eventually managed to thump his opponent’s hand down, his face would light up with joyous triumph. He’d even beaten Baldy Fowler once.

He’d been a different man since he’d come back from the war. There was still much of his old bravado but he never carried anything through. If he had to take a turn of serving in the shop, however, he could be as rude to customers as his father had once been. Recently, she’d spoken to him about that.

‘Look, Melvin, it’s time you learned to be more businesslike and diplomatic if you want to keep the business afloat. The customer is always right, remember?’

‘Me? Unbusinesslike?’ he’d roared incredulously. ‘I’ve run a successful business all my life. What do you know about business or anything else?’

‘I’m only trying to help. We’ll have to start trying to keep up with the times. Have you not heard about how that Co-op in London – Royal Arsenal, it’s called – converted three shops into one and let customers help themselves, instead of needing to ask the shop assistants to fetch things for them;’

‘Help themselves?’ Melvin’s eyes bulged. ‘You’re mad. You’d ruin me and my business if you had your way.’

‘But it seems to be the coming thing, Melvin. You see, you stock up lots of shelves all around the place and the customers walk about with a basket or a …’

‘Aw, shut up!’

One of these days, she thought, I’m going to murder him. That’s the only thing that’ll shut him up.

Melvin seemed stuck in a time warp. It was as if it was still war time, with all the war-time restrictions and food rationing, when some shopkeepers behaved like little Hitlers. The weekly ration of bread had been two loaves for each adult and one for each child. Now, when anybody could buy what they liked, where they liked, he still acted as if he was doing the customers a favour selling them anything at all. Catriona felt sure that, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he employed excellent bakers – indeed that Melvin himself was still a good baker – the customers would have deserted the shop by now.

But, for now at least, despite everything, there was no disputing the fact that they were still the best breadmakers in Glasgow.

All the same, if this London Co-op idea spread, customers might find it more convenient just to pick up a loaf at the same time as they were going around helping themselves to other items off shelves. She also thought McNair’s should diversify. After all, they’d once been a grocery shop as well as a baker’s. In Dessie Street, the corner shop had, in fact, sold everything. She remembered the travellers’ monotone chants, echoing down through the years:

Aboline, Askits, blades, bleach, Brasso, bandages, castor oil, zinc, cough mixture, notepaper, pipe clay, sanitary towels, safety pins, Snowfire Cream …

Now it was just a baker’s shop with the bakehouse at the back. They made cakes and biscuits as well, of course, but they weren’t as good as the ones their last confectioner used to make. There had been a bit of genius about Jimmy the confectioner. Not only could he conjure up mouth-watering cakes but he was a wonderful pianist as well and such a handsome and sensitive young man. His death had been one of the worst tragedies of Dessie Street.

Catriona had felt a strong attraction to him and now she wished she’d succumbed to that attraction. She could vividly imagine what heaven it would have been to be made love to by him.

She thought a lot of being made love to these days – and nights. Especially sleepless nights lying beside a snoring Melvin. A recklessness was beginning to grow inside her. She wished she could confide in someone. She needed help. However, when she’d needed help before, when she’d been in a truly desperate situation, no one she’d turned to understood or offered the help she needed. Not even her GP. She had eventually collapsed and nearly died.

Thinking of dying reminded her of an experience she’d had in the hospital. She’d felt, during the hysterectomy operation, that she’d floated outside of her body, and hovered up near the ceiling looking down on herself. She remembered every detail of the scene, of her prone body, of the doctors and nurses in their masks and gowns. She had never told anyone about this, knowing that no one would believe her. She could just imagine Madge’s hoot of laughter. ‘I always knew you had a terrible imagination, hen,’ she’d say.

Sometimes Catriona wondered if she could mention it to Sammy. Probably he wouldn’t laugh. But he might take it as some sort of religious or spiritual experience. She couldn’t believe that, didn’t want to believe it. Something must have happened to her brain during the operation. She must have had a dream, that was all. Yet it was so real that every detail remained crystal clear in her mind’s eye, even now, years later.

She wanted to talk to somebody about the turmoil of her innermost thoughts and desires. But there was no one. Except perhaps Sammy. Some things she might be able to talk to him about, but how could she talk to any man about her sexual fantasies? No, no. She cringed with embarrassment at the thought.

She concentrated on other things. Making herbal creams and potions for friends and relatives took up time and attention. Even her mother had been grateful to be helped by her treatment for haemorrhoids. And a friend of her mother’s had been generous in her praise of how
carbo veg
alternating with
rhus tox
had successfully banished her exhaustion.

She’d offered some medicine to Sandra McKechnie but Sandra had refused, saying, ‘What’s the use?’ The poor girl was obviously depressed.

She began to treat herself with valerian, passiflower, hops and lemon balm for stress, tension and sleeplessness. The concoction did help but deep down she knew that only freeing herself of Melvin and finding someone else would cure her.

Her father had lied. More than that, he had actually looked hurt and offended. But he forgave her, he said. Her mother remained cold and hard-looking and, although Sandra heard no harsh words pass between her parents, she could see that any love her mother had ever had for her father was gone. It had been frozen away. Sometimes Sandra thought it would have been better, more bearable, if they had shouted at each other. But there was only coldness, bitterness and silence.

The journey to Kingdom Hall and the meeting with the elders had been like going to hell and back. Her mother had done all the talking. Sandra wished yet again that she had died in the hospital. Her poor mother, sitting so erect in an attempt to remain dignified, had been too painful to witness. Her greying hair was pinned back in its usual neat bun at the nape of her neck and topped by her black felt hat. Her long black coat had been neatly pressed and her black wool gloves were clasped tightly on her lap.

Her mother was suffering and it was only the first ordeal to be faced, she had warned Sandra. The brothers would want to do the right thing and inform the police. It had not come to that, however. The brothers had insisted that nothing more should be said or done. They must leave everything in the loving hands of Jehovah. Sandra had been relieved in a way but it had only increased her mother’s bitterness.

‘After this,’ she said, ‘I’ll sleep with you.’

‘Oh, but …’

‘No buts about it, Sandra. And another thing, you and I are never going to set foot in the Hall again.’

‘Oh, Mummy …’

She had not only been the cause of spoiling her mother’s love for her father, she’d taken away her faith. A nightmare was rampaging out of control. She wished she could disappear as if she’d never existed. She was still going to work and somehow getting through each day without knowing what she was doing. At home, the atmosphere, the lack of love, was unendurable. She felt isolated by her father and her brother. Even her mother seemed withdrawn and far away from her now.

Once her father had caught her on her own, after one of the many occasions when he’d tried to speak to her mother. As usual, she had ignored him and walked away. He had cornered her as soon as her mother had left the room.