The New Breadmakers (26 page)

Melvin wanted her to go with him to live in Aberdeen to be near Fergus. It was almost enough to make Fergus move to Timbuktu. But she didn’t believe Melvin really meant what he said about that. He wouldn’t fit in with Fergus and his crowd of hippy friends any more than she would. Nor did she believe he’d go ahead with selling the house. He was too proud of it. He had always needed something to boast about. All that happened was that he kept knocking on Mrs Hunter’s door. Catriona was still staying with Sammy’s mother until a suitable flat became available near her shop.

Melvin started by trying to bully her to come back to him. Then he tried making a fool of her. ‘You’ll never manage on your own. You think you’re OK now but that’s just because you’ve got a substitute mother, with Mrs Hunter looking after you. You couldn’t run a house, never mind a business.’

He’d retire from the bakery by now and would get a good price for it, he assured her. They’d never be short of ‘a bob or two’ and he’d always been good to her. ‘You know that. So stop all this nonsense.’

He wouldn’t listen. That didn’t surprise her. It didn’t matter how often she told him she was perfectly capable of managing on her own, and that she had already proved she could run a successful business. He refused to believe her.

He wouldn’t leave her alone. Every night after work he was on the Hunter doorstep. If she was out when he knocked, Mrs Hunter would be persuaded to let him in and he’d be sitting waiting on Catriona when she arrived back at the house. It was almost worse than living with him. In desperation, she went to a lawyer and began divorce proceedings.

Then he tried to play on her sympathies by making her feel guilty. Except she didn’t feel sympathy for him. Nor did she feel guilty about him.

Mrs Hunter became upset though. ‘Och, he’s a poor soul, Catriona. Yesterday he was so breathless with climbing the stairs, he could hardly say a word to me. He sat there for ages coughing. He’s your man, remember, Catriona, and he needs you.’

That was rich coming from her, Catriona thought. She felt bitter at Mrs Hunter’s attitude. She wanted to say, ‘What about your man? Last I heard he was coughing his lungs out.’ But of course, she didn’t.

Melvin then tried speaking to Andrew and not just speaking, apparently, but weeping. Andrew was terribly upset and came to plead with her to ‘have some decency’. He was still living with Melvin in Botanic Crescent and he couldn’t even concentrate on his studies for worrying about his dad.

Now Catriona did feel guilty. But it was about Andrew not Melvin. She didn’t even feel guilty about her mother who now seemed settled and happy in the old folks’ home. She’d already got the Band of Jesus involved, with regular services and hymn singing being held in the sitting room of the home. Being amongst so many people, and no doubt bossing them mercilessly, was the best thing that had happened to her mother since Catriona’s father had died. She had plenty of company day and night now. She never had to be alone.

When Catriona thought of the years she’d wasted living in misery with Melvin, she felt only anger, at herself as well as Melvin. There was no way she could go back to him and his mausoleum of a house. She had to make that clear to Andrew.

‘I’m sorry, son, that you’ve been worried and upset, but I’ll never go back to your dad. Never.’

‘But he’s ill. He could die. How can you be so selfish and cruel?’

Catriona felt like dying with wretchedness and hurt herself, when Andrew looked at and spoke to her with such lack of love.

‘You don’t understand, Andrew. Your dad and I haven’t been getting on for years. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems but I’ve been so unhappy for so long with him and I just can’t bear it any more. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll never go back to him.’

‘Dad says you left because he’s not making a lot of money to spend on you any more, and so you’ve found a way to make money for yourself and don’t care what happens to him.’

The devious, lying bastard, Catriona thought. But she just said, ‘No, that’s not true, Andrew.’

‘
Are
you making a lot of money for yourself?’

‘My business is successful, yes. But whatever money I have made or will make in the future will be used to help you and Fergus in every way I can.’

‘I don’t want your help. Dad’s helping me. And, even if he wasn’t, I’d not take a penny from you. I don’t want your help.’

He left after that and Catriona felt so completely devastated, she was beyond weeping.

Mrs Hunter had been out doing shopping and when she came back, she found Catriona sitting ashen-faced, staring wide-eyed at the sunken embers of the fire.

‘I saw your nice big son on Springburn Road, Catriona. He’s awful upset, dear. Can you not go back to your man for his sake? For your boy’s sake?’

Catriona gazed round at Mrs Hunter. ‘I’ve got the chance of a suitable flat,’ she said. ‘It’s furnished, but a bit old-fashioned looking. But I’ve made up my mind. I phoned and it’s all arranged. I’ll leave here right away. I can move in now and take my time getting it the way I want it.’

Mrs Hunter was taken aback. ‘Oh, but there’s surely no need …’

‘Yes, there is, Mrs Hunter. Thank you for all your kindness.’

‘I hope you don’t think … I mean, I didn’t mean to interfere. I was just thinking of your own good. I’m fond of you, dear. You’re like a daughter to me. I’ve just been trying to do my best for you.’

‘Yes, I appreciate that. Thank you. Now I’d better start my packing.’

‘Oh dear!’ Mrs Hunter stood wringing her hands. ‘What’ll I tell poor Melvin?’

Catriona nearly said, ‘Tell him to go to hell!’ but contained herself in time. She thought that maybe she
was
selfish and cruel. She certainly felt bitter and sad and hurt and unhappy.

But she could not live with Melvin again. She just couldn’t. The most selfish thing she had done – and of this she was certain – was marrying Melvin in the first place. She’d agreed to marry him to escape from her mother and her mother’s house. All right, she had been a timid wee girl and Melvin had bullied and rushed her into agreeing. All the same, she should have had enough guts to stand up to him. And to her mother.

She hadn’t, though. And there it was. Her stupid wasted life. But no! That was what he always said – that she was stupid, she was a waste of time. Well, not any more. She’d show him. A hard core of determination came to her rescue. She would show them all.

She was not stupid.

But at the same time, a river of tears coursed unchecked down her cheeks. She could believe anything, do anything, survive anything, bear anything. Except losing the love of her son.

‘Aunty Mary’s a kindly wee soul and she’ll probably let us have her front room no bother. Wait until you see her collection of Mills and Boon and Barbara Cartland romances. Her house is full of them.’

‘But she never married?’

‘The right man never came along, she says. I think she was looking for a Mills and Boon hero and found they’re a bit thin on the ground. Now it’s too late.’ He grinned. ‘Mind you, I don’t think she’s given up hope.’

They got off the tram at the foot of the High Street and crossed the road. Both Chrissie and Sean had read a great deal about Glasgow’s history and so they were well aware that this area and the adjoining streets that met at Glasgow Cross – the Trongate, the Saltmarket and the High Street – were the original part of the city. Chrissie could see in her mind’s eye how the very street she was now walking on had once had no street lamps. In the whole of the city, just a very few tallow candle lamps flickered, but these were at long intervals and only intensified the gloom. The only traffic would be the occasional sedan chair, the carriers struggling along unpaved, filthy, rutted roads. There was no police force in those days. Every male citizen between the ages of eighteen and sixty had to take a turn as a city guard. A man had to be at his post at ten o’clock at night and then had to stroll, yawning no doubt, along the Trongate and the High Street and up the pitch-dark lanes, even on winter nights, until three or four in the morning. After that, Glasgow was without any guard at all. It helped, Chrissie supposed, that male and female servants were forbidden to be out on the streets at night ‘in companies’. All strangers staying in either private or public houses had to give in their names by ten o’clock at night to the captain of the city guard. Thinking about the history of the area while actually walking through it gave Chrissie an eerie feeling. She’d always had a very vivid imagination.

She clung to Sean’s arm as they went into the shadowy close and climbed the stairs. Aunty Mary lived ‘one up’, a level always regarded as the best. That was because, in the old days, it was above the stench and filth of the street, yet conveniently reached without too steep a climb.

Aunty Mary was a small, slim woman with a surprisingly pretty face. Sean had told Chrissie that his aunt was in her sixties and now, seeing her, Chrissie could hardly believe it. The slim, shapely body, the neat little features and soft, almost unwrinkled skin indicated someone much, much younger. If Sean had told her that Aunty Mary was in her forties and if it hadn’t been for her white hair, Chrissie would have believed him.

‘Hello, son.’ Delight immediately sparkled in the woman’s eyes. ‘Come in. Come in. And who’s this?’ Her expression acquired a hint of coyness. ‘Do I sense romance in the air?’

Then, noticing Sean’s black eye, she went on, ‘Have you been in a fight? That’s not like you, son. Now, Dermot …’

Sean managed to cut in. ‘Chrissie and I are going to get married, Aunty Mary. But Dad and Ma don’t approve. Both our families have flung us out and we’ve nowhere to go.’

‘Oh!’ Aunty Mary’s delight immediately returned. ‘Fancy!’

Chrissie could see that, for Aunty Mary, a Mills and Boon plot had come to life at last.

‘Well, don’t worry, Sean. You’ve found a safe refuge here and we’ll work something out between us. True love always wins in the end. Make yourself at home, Chrissie, Put your case in the front room, son. I’ll go and make a pot of tea.’ With a spring in her step, she hastened into the kitchen.

Chrissie followed Sean into the front room and was taken aback by the number of religious pictures on the walls. There were pictures of Jesus gazing mournfully upwards and others of him surrounded by lambs or sitting with children kneeling at his feet. Yet another showed a woman washing his feet. There were pictures of the Virgin Mary, with a halo shining above her tragic-looking head, and crosses and rosary beads hanging on hooks.

‘Gosh!’

‘I did warn you,’ Sean said.

‘It’s all right,’ Chrissie assured him, quickly recovering. ‘I don’t mind really.’

Actually she thought it was not only pathetic and ridiculous but spooky as well. She didn’t like the way Jesus was staring at her from every corner. She didn’t look forward to undressing under his melancholy gaze. As it turned out, she never got the chance. First off all, they had tea and, encouraged by Aunty Mary who drank in every word with wide-eyed, rapturous attention, went into most of the details of their courtship – not the violence that had forced them to flee but the secret meetings, the furtive goodnights up a close at the top of Wellfield Street. Chrissie would walk the rest of the way to their close on her own. Sean would follow five minutes or so afterwards.

‘Oh!’ Aunty Mary looked as if she was teetering on the verge of doing a jig of joy. ‘How awful romantic.’

Eventually Sean began to yawn widely. Aunty Mary took the hint. But not quite in the way he and Chrissie expected.

‘You must be exhausted with all your excitement, son. And you too, Chrissie. I’ll fill a hot water bottle for you to take through to the room, Sean. You won’t need one, Chrissie. You’ll be able to cuddle into me in the nice cosy bed here.’

Chrissie gazed helplessly over at the high ‘hole-in-the-wall’ bed beside the kitchen range and then at Sean. Sean gazed helplessly back at her.

‘Right, son.’ Aunty Mary was already intent on filling the hot water bottle from the big black kettle that sat simmering on the grate. ‘Here you are. There’s a po under the bed if you need to perform in the middle of the night. And I’ve one under this bed that’ll do Chrissie and me.’ She shook her head in Chrissie’s direction. ‘That lavvy out there is like the North Pole. Especially in the middle of the night. And you can imagine what it’s like juggling with a torch.’

Chrissie could imagine. Nevertheless, she felt she’d rather do the juggling act than perform in Aunty Mary’s po. Sean accepted the hot water bottle with a look as tragic as one of the pictures of Jesus.

‘Well then …’ he said.

‘Uh huh.’ Aunty Mary was still hanging on his every word.

‘Eh, goodnight then.’

‘Goodnight, son.’

Chrissie was speechless. She had been looking forward so much to lying in Sean’s arms and being lovingly held and reassured.

‘Come on, dear.’ Aunty Mary was down to her knickers in a flash. She was a real quick mover for an old woman. ‘It’s long after my bedtime and I’m sure it’s the same for you. Get your nightie on and climb up. I’ll wait till you’re in before I turn off the gas.’

Chrissie began undressing while Aunty Mary donned a voluminous cream flannelette nightdress edged with lace. Then she energetically poked the fire into a cheery blaze.

‘Up you go, dear. Can you manage? It’s a high one, that.’

Chrissie was not used to high, hole-in-the-wall beds, indeed any kind of holes in the wall. In Balornock, she slept in a modern, free-standing single bed. She had quite an undignified struggle to clamber up, during which Aunty Mary helped by giving her backside a push. Chrissie was embarrassed and even more so when Aunty Mary cuddled in at her back and clutched her around the waist.

‘Isn’t this lovely? Goodnight, dear. Sleep tight and don’t let the bugs bite.’

It was a horrible image that kept Chrissie awake for some time, as well as longing for Sean. She did sleep eventually, only to be wakened by the tinkling sound of Aunty Mary using the po and then bouncing happily back into bed again. And cuddling her again.

As she told Sean next day while Aunty Mary hurried downstairs to get milk and rolls for their breakfast, ‘It was terrible, Sean. I hardly slept a wink.’