The Sunday Girls (8 page)

Granny had tried to hush her up but Bella was the kind of person who spoke first and thought about it later. ‘Now just keep quiet, Bella. Don’t rake it all up again – especially in front of Danny. Hattie has done a good job bringing him up and she’s aye had to work hard.’

Bella was unabashed. ‘Still, she aye seems to land on her feet. She got a few quid from her man’s insurance policy and she has the money to make her house bonny – it’s real palace, her flat in Westport. And now she’s got another cushy job in another fancy big house.’

Bella sounded jealous of the fact that Hattie was getting on in her life. Granny suspected that Bella would have liked to see Hattie descend the social scale rapidly but, instead, Hattie was climbing the ladder slowly, rung by rung.

Even at Mum’s funeral, Bella had been harping on about Hattie. ‘I see Mrs Hoity-Toity has landed herself another fancy job – no dole money for her or even working in a dirty jute mill.’

Actually this statement was untrue because her job as housekeeper to an old lady in Forfar Road had been terminated due to her employer’s death. That had been over a year ago and Hattie had been doing odd jobs here and there. Then, with her special brand of luck, fate and providence had stepped in – or, to be more accurate, had fallen in.

While out for a walk one cold winter’s day in Perth Road, when the pavements were a lethal mixture of ice and snow, she came across a woman in distress. Mrs Pringle had slipped on the ice and was in considerable pain with a sprained ankle. Hattie had escorted the woman home and called a doctor. This was all done with a combination of skill and cheerfulness, assets that hadn’t gone unnoticed at the time, and the rest was history. Hattie had landed on her feet again with a job as housekeeper–companion to the Pringle family.

The strange thing was that, like Mum, Mrs Pringle was also in her forties and expecting another baby. Having Hattie around was a blessing for her as they didn’t employ any servants.

Hattie did a few light household chores, made a meal for Maddie on her return from school and generally kept Mrs Pringle company until her husband returned home from his solicitors’ firm in the early evening. Another important fact was that she was treated as a member of the family instead of the hired help and that, in Hattie’s estimation, was worth much more than money.

‘I get a good wage but what I like best is they never have a snobby attitude or take sides,’ she said.

This statement incensed Bella even more. ‘I sometimes see her when I’m carrying my messages up the street.’ She gave Granny a ferocious scowl. ‘She swaggers towards me, dressed like the lady of the manor, but does she offer to help me? Does she thump.’

Granny was fed up hearing Bella’s moans. ‘Well, Bella, you should get your messages delivered from Lipton’s and Danny will bring them on his message bike. And another thing, Hattie is my lassie and I’ll not have you running her down. We think she keeps herself really smart. Especially when she wears her bonny blue frock with the dropped waistline. It goes really well her dark Eton crop hairstyle. She looks like Ann.’

I was appalled. I hated my short dark hair, longing instead to have lovely long golden ringlets. But I had to admit silently that my hair was the least of my worries just now. I was still without a job and another thorn in my flesh was the non-appearance of Dad. Every time I called at the flat in the Hilltown, he was out and I was even beginning to suspect that Rita and Nellie were just as evasive. But maybe I was just being daft.

The flat kept slipping back to its original untidiness and, although I did make attempts to keep some sort of order, I finally gave up. As it was, we had enough worries to think about. Lily was teething and every night was a trial with her noisy bouts of crying. Twin red spots appeared on her smooth cheeks and she looked distressed and wet-eyed.

One morning, after a particularly fractious night, I was sent to the chemist. ‘Get a packet of Seidlitz powders for the baby’s sore gums,’ said Granny.

These powders helped slightly but we started to take it in turn to get up through the night with her. All through this demanding time, I was thankful not to be working because I doubt if I could have got up in time for work in the morning after such disturbed nights. It was lovely to lie in bed in my tiny cupboard after a spell of night duty and listen to Granny as she stirred the large pot of porridge, its aroma wafting through the cracks in the door.

Although the year was almost over and the weather was bitterly cold, Grandad still took Lily for her daily walk in the old dilapidated pram. She loved those trips and Grandad never stopped telling us how much she adored her pram. Not like Hattie – on seeing the pram for the first time, she had threatened to boycott the entire family such was her humiliation at being associated with it, albeit at a distance. In fact, she had almost fainted at the time. This was followed by a strangled cry when she was told where it had been bought. She had stepped smartly backwards as if it would contaminate her, a look of disgust on her handsome, refined face. Still, she had come round in time. Not that she was reconciled to it – no, it was more the solemn promise extracted from Grandad that he would keep well away from the Perth Road with it.

One day, she produced some of Joy’s cast-off clothes but, because of the difference in size, nothing fitted Lily except for a lovely knitted yellow pram suit with a matching pixie hood. This had been a present from a relative who had obviously never set eyes on the dainty Joy – hence the fact that it fitted our Lily. Sitting propped up against a thick cushion, she looked like a bright sunbeam in her pram and lots of people stopped to comment on her prettiness – compliments with pleased Grandad immensely. ‘Folk aye stop me when I’m out with the baby and nobody ever mentions the scruffy pram.’ This was obviously aimed at Granny. He remembered her initial response and Hattie’s look of horror.

A few days before Hogmanay, Hattie appeared at the house, a deep frown on her face. ‘Mrs Pringle wants me to bring Ann and Lily out to her house for a visit.’ She made it sound like a royal command. ‘She wants to have a chat with Ann.’ The frown deepened as she gazed at me with her dark eyes that were seemingly so like my own.

I was alarmed. ‘What does she want me for?’

Hattie screwed up her face. ‘I don’t know, do I? She gave me this lovely little frock for Lily.’ She held up a lovely confection of a dress, all ribbons, rosettes and frills but far too small for our bouncing baby.

Granny looked doubtful. ‘It’ll not fit her, Hattie. We’ve told you before that Lily is far bigger than Joy.’ She sounded as if my sister was some gigantic wrestler. She held the frothy garment in her gnarled, callused hands. ‘Still it’s really bonny and maybe I can let it out a bit.’

Hattie turned a haughty eye on Grandad. ‘Another thing – I’m not pushing Lily in that monstrosity.’ She pointed to his pride and joy.

‘What? Not take the pram?’ He was affronted. ‘Lily loves her pram and she’ll cry if she doesn’t get her hurl in it.’ He retreated to his chair in the corner and sat down with his back to Hattie.

‘Well, that may be so but she’s not going in it with me,’ said Hattie, a steely determined note in her voice, ‘even if it means that I have to carry her.’

She turned to me. ‘Now, Ann, make sure your hands and face are washed. Oh and make extra sure that there’s no dirt under your fingernails. I always think that looks common.’

Up till this point, Granny had stayed silent but now she was highly annoyed at Hattie and set about her in a fierce voice. ‘Now you look here, Hattie. You come marching in here with your commands and your dos and don’ts – well, let me remind you that we keep a clean house here and Ann’s hands, nails and face are aye spotless.’ She stormed over to the sink. ‘We maybe live in the Overgate and not the Perth Road but we’re no’ tinks.’

Grandad nodded in approval as Hattie’s cheeks burned bright red but she had the grace to apologise. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she stuttered before dashing out through the door.

I thought that, if she had a tail, it would have slunk between her legs as she departed. Granny, as usual, had brought her down to earth with a bump.

Meanwhile Grandad was still smarting from the slur on his pram. He muttered darkly, ‘I’m beginning to think that Bella is maybe right about that lassie being a snob.’ He added quickly, ‘Mind you I would never tell her that.’ We all knew that he never saw eye to eye with Bella.

By two o’clock the following day, we were ready and waiting for Hattie, both of us scrubbed to within an inch of our life and wearing our best clothes. Mainly because I wasn’t given any handouts from the Pringle family, I was wearing a white blouse, a dark woollen skirt and a cardigan in a rotten shade of olive green. I felt frumpish in this and I knew I resembled some middle-aged matron because the cardigan had come from Alice next door who, unfortunately, was my size.

But, if I looked terrible, at least Lily resembled a pink cherub in her frothy frock. Granny had managed to let out the seams and the only thing that wouldn’t fasten was the tiny pearl button at the neck. Lily had almost choked when we tried to fasten it.

Granny warned me, ‘Now never mind Hattie – mind and leave the neck open, Ann. Hattie is not to touch it and just never heed her if she starts moaning about it hanging open. She would sooner let the baby choke than show herself up in front of the Pringles.’

I promised, hoping and praying that the visit would be a short one. I just knew I would look out of place amongst a load of toffs. The only saving feature in the entire fiasco was the fact that Danny would be there as well. He always went to see his relations in Lochee every Sunday but he was coming along later in the afternoon – hopefully in time to rescue me.

Before leaving, I asked Granny what Mrs Pringle and Maddie were like but she just shook her head.

‘No idea, Ann. I just saw Mr Pringle at your mum’s funeral but I’ve never met any of the family. Still, to listen to Hattie, you would think they’re royalty so maybe they are snobby. You can tell me all about it when you get back.’

She then turned her attention to the large pile of ironing, a job I usually did when I wasn’t socialising with the rich and snobby. She heated the flat iron on the gas jet before tackling the wrinkled garments.

We set off on our visit with Hattie holding Lily in her arms. With her yellow coat over her pink frock and a multicoloured crochet blanket around her legs, Lily looked like a little rainbow. And me … well, I looked drab and shabby in my old school trench coat.

As we left the high tenements and grubby narrow streets behind us, the houses became more prosperous and spacious with their well-tended gardens and high, multi-paned and richly curtained windows. On a sunny day, these windows would no doubt gleam but on this cold drizzly day they reflected only greyness.

Even the river, which I could glimpse between the houses, echoed this dismal monotone. A chill wind rose from the water and moaned through the leafless trees that stood like silent sentinels guarding pavements and gardens alike. Everything looked dreary on this chilly dismal day except Lily in her bright outfit. She kept twisting her tiny face around as if the scenery was familiar to her – movements that Hattie had also noticed. She muttered darkly, ‘I just hope Dad hasn’t pushed that pram out here. Even though I warned him, I wouldn’t put anything past him.’

I tried hard not to smile and remained silent, knowing for a fact that Grandad regularly pushed Lily out this way. I thought Hattie was making a fuss over nothing. After the noise and bustle of the Overgate which even the Sabbath failed to quieten, the street here was quiet – so quiet, in fact, that the sound of Hattie’s tapping heels echoed against the pavement. A pungent smell of the sea lay in the dank, miserable air.

I was unsure about the cathedral-like hush of these lovely houses, each standing alone in their section of landscaped garden. I think I much preferred the Overgate. The Salvation Army had been playing at the end of Tay Street. Standing in a circle, they had been singing their rousing hymns. Rosie was there. She looked downright miserable as I passed by and I felt so sorry for her. Perhaps, like me, she had also been looking for Dad – obviously with the same joyless results as myself.

Children danced around the circle, dressed unsuitably for the cold weather. The small boys were in short trousers, their red raw and skinned knees contrasting sharply with thin white legs. Some of the girls wore thin shabby coats but the majority were dressed in well-darned jumpers pulled over tatty-looking skirts or, in a couple of cases, thin cotton dresses. But they all looked happy with their faces beaming at the music while a few of the girls joined in the singing. In fact, the only miserable face was Rosie’s. I couldn’t imagine this human tableau taking place in this hushed street with its smell of the river and stark trees. I should think the merest whisper would echo like a deafening bell in the church-like silence.

‘We’re almost there,’ said Hattie, a look of relief on her face. ‘I never realised Lily was as heavy as this.’ She shifted the child to her other arm.

When we reached the house I was struck dumb by its impressive appearance. There was a high stone wall guarding it from prying eyes and only the top windows were visible – lovely large shining windows under an expanse of red roof tiles.

We entered through a tall wrought-iron gate that led on to a wide, sweeping gravel drive that sloped downwards. Lights glowed in the downstairs windows, casting soft patches of golden light on to the drive. For a brief moment, I was mesmerised – it was the most beautiful house I had ever seen.

Hattie whispered loudly as we entered, ‘Make sure you wipe your feet properly – Mrs Pringle has lovely carpets and I don’t want mud all over them.’

With Hattie’s commands and my plain outfit, I felt like a six-year-old. We were all used to her enthusing over her job and how it had appeared like manna from heaven but I was quaking at the thought of the imminent meeting. I had no idea what to expect. In my mind, these Pringles were on the same plane as royalty. How well I recalled the picture of a fiercely frowning Queen Victoria in one of my school books. As for the present Queen Mary … well, she looked as approachable as a stone statue.