The Tin-Kin (15 page)

Is Linda in?

She’s away for her lunch, the girl said. I’ll tell her you came in, though. Are you wanting a sunbed? You’re pale, eh?

The girl was giving the tatty black cardigan a funny look.

Aren’t you boiling in that? She bit down on her Biro and reached for a clipboard.

Four’s free, if you like?

Dawn looked round the shop. There was a yellowing tropical plant, a table with magazines on it and one chair with a hard back. The local paper had been folded open and left on the seat. There was a photo of the 121-year-old woman behind a huge cake covered in candles. Her face was an empty bag.

Can I just sit for a few minutes?

The girl nodded.

Dawn picked up the paper and sat. She looked again at the photograph of the ancient woman. She couldn’t tell if the face behind the cake was really smiling. Ma Batchie’s eyelids had
drooped heavily, like leaves about to fall. Her hair still had life in it, though, a dandelion-soft fuzz that sprung out round her head.

121 years young, Ma Batchie — Elgin’s longest ever resident and possibly the oldest person in the world — celebrated her birthday in style last Tuesday. Children from East End Primary School were invited to join her at Abbeyside Nursing Home where they asked questions about her life and Moray’s past.

Ma Batchie was born in Findochty in 1877. As a young girl she worked for a fishmonger that had a premises in High Street, Elgin. She married Thomas Batchie, her childhood sweetheart, in 1898. Thomas passed away in 1935. Their only child, Margaret, died in childbirth ten years earlier. For most of her life Ma Batchie lived alone, but she kept animals and worked as a fortune-teller from her Elgin residence.

Ma Batchie says she always knew she’d live a long life. ‘I read it in my tea-leaves,’ she laughs.

Children of local families who attended the party were fascinated that Ma Batchie remembered their great-grandparents, and in one case even great-great-grandparents.

‘She remembers everyone she’s ever met,’ a spokesperson at the nursing home commented. ‘It’s amazing!’

Dawn looked up from the paper.

Can I lie down in there? In those machines?

The girl nodded.

That seemed like a good idea.

You look dead scared! the girl laughed. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.

Dawn stripped off in the cabin. There was a white plastic garden chair and she hung her clothes over the back of it and
kicked her shoes underneath. She wondered if she should take her underwear off and stuff it into her pockets next to the matches and the photos. She didn’t.

Her skin felt clammy and she had to wipe sweat from her thighs and forehead, from above her top lip. She thought of herself all white and sticky, that mini dough-man on the adverts. The shop girl was right about the cardigan. She’d worn too many layers. It was meant to be summer, for Christssake. No wonder she was pale, that’s what Linda would say. Spend your life in a sack if you could!

Her chest was pounding fast and hollow now, like the music in cars that drove along with the windows down. She found an elastic band in her handbag and pulled her hair away from her face, then took the goggles the girl had given her, stretched the strap over her head and tried to wear them. They were useless. Light snuck in round the edges and the rims dug in. She snapped them onto her forehead. Christssake. She felt ridiculous. A cigarette would have been magic, but there was a ‘no smoking’ sticker on the door. She wondered if there was an alarm. How could Linda get through the day without a smoke?

The sunbed was a giant baguette with a split down the side, and as she lay down Dawn imagined herself becoming a sandwich filling. The thought made her laugh, and for the first time that day she felt pleased to have a moment to herself.

The machine whirred and flickered when the lights turned on inside and the whole cubicle jumped with ghostly electric blue and dull grey. It was like being back in the silvery dark of the disco, slow dancing, flashes of light, the outline of Warren’s face imprinted behind her eyelids. That was 1974. Jesus. She’d known him all through school and they’d never said a word to each other and suddenly they were pressed up against each other. She went every week after that. ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ and ‘Tiger Feet’ and ‘Waterloo’. It was a good year. She’d had pals and a good man and she was lucky. Everyone said so.

She still felt Warren’s fist in her ribs. The blow stayed with her like a ball stuck in a fence.

Beneath her the plastic started to feel warm. She pulled the lid closed and the light intensified. Glacier blue. She closed her eyes. It would be easy to fall asleep here, inside the humming. She took deep breaths. That’s what you were told to do when you needed to relax. Like during labour. Breathe and count. In and out. She was surprised how good it felt.

December 1977. They were in Aberdeen doing their Christmas shopping and he asked her to marry him right in the middle of a conversation about something else, as if the ring were just another item to tick off the list. Outside a choir was singing ‘Silent Night’, and inside the girl behind the counter polished the ring and pushed it into a velvety box. It came with a Free Gift! A silk neck scarf in emerald green that Dawn knew she’d tuck away as a keepsake but never wear. She wasn’t a scarfy sort of person. The girl handed Dawn the bag while Warren stood aside shuffling his feet. He’d been too shy to say what the occasion was but he was happy, smiling down at his running shoes.

The woman wished them a merry Christmas.

   LEAD KINDLY LIGHT   

Wee Betsy, 1954

‘It says so here,’ Mammy says, pointing at leaflet she can’t read. ‘The light’s good fer all sorts ae ailments.’

‘Aye. Well?’

Daddy’s setting his boots by the fire to melt the ice off them and he pats me on the back and flips the cover of the book I’m reading to see the picture on front.

‘Well, whit, Duncan? Do ye nae think the kinchins have missed enough school already? A month it’s been! They’re still crawlin wi nits. Just get Jock up here tae read the rest ae this leaflet tae us. Ah cannae make heid or tail ae it.’

Daddy crashes down onto a chair.

‘Jingies! I’ll hae my bloody tea first, that all right wi you?’

Today something really good happened. Miss Webster came to the house! There was a knock and Mammy went down the stairs saying, ‘Who in the name ae the wee man can that be?’ It was her! There was a nurse with her too, and Mammy seemed a bit worried when she followed the two of them back up the stairs and into the room.

‘So dark already, isn’t it?’ the nurse said. ‘Can you get the place warm enough?’

‘Ach, we manage. Aye. Aye, we manage.’

Mammy looked at her feet. She had no shoes on, just stockings which were baggy and dusty round her toes like worms that have been trodden on and have all dried up. She didn’t know what to do. Later she said she was sure me and Rachel were going to be taken away right then and there.

There was a long silence, but eventually Mammy asked would they have some tea? I was really hoping Miss Webster would say yes, cause then maybe she’d still have been there when Jock came home all smart in his work suit. But the nurse and Miss Webster both said no and Mammy looked relieved. She didn’t want to serve tea out of jam jars to country hantle. Daddy smashed all the mugs in a temper and we haven’t got new ones yet.

The nurse held out a leaflet and Mammy said thank you. She took it and let it fall on the table behind her without even taking a look. But it had something to do with the sun.

‘Mrs Whyte, I think your girls would really benefit from the treatment.’

When the nurse talked about ‘the treatment’, she smiled like it was the most wonderful treat in the world, a very special present. She had a kind voice, but she didn’t say another word, just stood there like a smiling statue, all the way through another long silence, till Miss Webster cleared her throat and reached down into her tatty leather case, the one I usually see at the foot of her desk.

‘I’ve brought some books for Betsy from the school library. I thought she might want new ones.’

A stack of books appeared from the mouth of the case, all with bright pictures on the covers, and Miss Webster brought them over to me. She’s not even feart of getting the heid beasties, even though she knows I’m crawling with them.

‘She reads that much we worry she’ll get bad eyes,’ Mammy was saying.

I’ve not moved from the cosy spot by the fire since the nurse and Miss Webster left, and I’ve nearly finished one of the books already. Mammy’s been making the dinner and taking a peek at the leaflet on the table every time she walks past.

‘Betsy, go and get them fae doun the dancers,’ she goes. ‘We’re eatin.’

‘COME ON, WE’RE GONNAE EAT!’ I shout from the top of the stairs.

‘GRANNY’S EATIN DOWNSTAIRS,’ Rachel bellows.

Mammy rolls her eyes and we hear Rachel’s footsteps coming.

‘Come and sit yersels here and buckle that howlin. Yer like a pack ae wolves,’ goes Mammy.

We all slurp our soup, not speaking, while the leaflet lies in the middle of the table, eyeing us. I get a good look now. The picture’s of a naked baby, about the same age as Nancy. It’s got its arse in the air, lying on a bed next to a wifey in swimming togs. Beside them a man in a white coat has a machine that’s pouring out light, and written in the rays it says:

For sturdy body. For sound teeth. For strong bones. For straight limbs.

I don’t know the last word, ‘limbs’, but I think it might be another word for hair. For straight hair. Granny wouldn’t like that. She prefers curls. The strangest thing of all is that the three people in the picture are wearing flying goggles, just like you see in the war films. Daft grins are plastered on their faces and they’ve got gleaming gnashers, except the baby of course, and its wee gums are shiny in the glare of the light.

‘Look like they’re haein a good time, eh? Silly tatties!’ Daddy says, prodding the leaflet with the end of his spoon.

When our bowls are clean Daddy picks the leaflet up. I bet he’s looking at the wifey in her togs. Eventually he goes ‘hmf’, thumps it under his fist and goes to the top of the stairs. Mammy shakes her head as he roars, ‘JOCKY, GIE US A HAUND WI SOMETHIN HERE, WOULD YE?’

‘Duncan,’ she mutters, ‘it’s you gies them that habit, shoutin doun the dancers like thon Tarzan ae the bloody jungle.’

Uncle Jock takes a seat at the head of the table and holds the leaflet up to read. Mammy stands on his left, Daddy on his right,
and me and Rachel tuck our heads in over his shoulders. Uncle Jock’s the cleverest man in the house, maybe in the whole of the Lane.

‘Well? Mammy goes. Can ye read whit it says?’

Uncle Jock takes a deep breath. ‘Well’, he goes,
‘Ultraviolet radiation is recommended by the world’s best medical men.’

‘Whit the bloody jingie’s that?’ Daddy goes.

‘Duncan, shhh! Gie him a chance tae read the thing, would ye?’

‘Your local hospital can now offer your children tonic sun lamps.
I’ve nae idea what that is, Curly. Shall I go on?’

‘Aye,’ says Mammy and gives him a nudge.

‘A quarter of a century ago the remarkable benefits of true ultra-violet rays were discovered. By sun lamps, by exposure, by any means possible, we should obtain as much sunshine as we can. And here’s why: in the rays of sun there exists a force, which acting upon the body produces that precious element: vitamin D. Sun lamps provide the necessary ultra-violet rays to help give children a good start.
Are any ae you gettin this?’

‘Whit, are you no?’

‘How about askin Ma?’

‘Are ye wise? Whit the jingies’ll Ma ken about ultra-violent radio whitevertheyweres?’ Daddy bellows.

‘Ye’ve got a better idea, then?’ says Jock.

‘Fine, suit yersel, but she’ll nae ken, ah’m tellin ye.’

Granny climbs the stairs slowly. You hear her skirts dragging along the narrow walls and she’s got Nancy gargling in her arms.

‘Whit’s aw this aboot? Whit hae ye got me up here fer? Ah’m too auld fer thon bloody dancers. They’re affae steep,’ she goes.
Oh! Let me sit there, Jock. Aye, that’s it, tak the weight aff ma tramplers. Good. Now, you lot, moociach roun aboot me.’