Time Shall Reap (26 page)

In the spacious hallway, her grandfather clock bestowed an air of grandeur on their modest ‘castle’; it was the last thing Elspeth saw when she went out, and the first thing to welcome her when she returned. Her marriage to David was happy and satisfying, but the clock was a reminder of the ecstasy – and sorrow – of her association with John Forrest, who, by his untimely death, was glorified for ever in her mind.

In order to earn higher wages, David had moved to the men’s department of a rather elite store in Union Street, which closed on Saturdays instead of Wednesdays like the ordinary shops, and now that they lived nearer it became the custom for the Fullertons to visit the Watsons every Saturday afternoon. While the two men went for a walk, the women exchanged recipes and discussed husbands and children. Laura, who had always looked up to the tall, curly-haired boy as a kind of hero, was delighted when she was allowed to go out to play with John and his pals, but the six-year-gap between them manifested itself from the start.

‘Why do I have to take her with me,’ John complained. ‘She’s too little to play our kind of games.’

‘I am not, John Watson.’ Laura tossed her auburn tresses, her face pink with indignation.

‘John, take her with you and stop arguing.’ Helen laughed at the boy’s outraged expression, and making a face, he pushed the small girl out in front of him.

About an hour later, Laura came back with her knees scraped and her dress ripped, and John, slinking in behind her, tried to absolve himself from any blame. ‘We told her not to climb the tree, but you know what she’s like, she never takes a telling, and she fell off a branch.’

Helen sponged the raw knees and daubed on Germolene, while Elspeth deftly stitched the torn cotton dress. John stood miserably in the background, well aware that he would receive his chastisement after the visitors left. He was twelve now and growing daily – or so it seemed to Helen, who constantly had to let down the legs of his shorts.

On another visit, some weeks later, the little girl came home wailing and bedraggled, and John explained sheepishly, ‘She fell in the burn. We were fishing for bandies and we told her to keep away but she didn’t, and she slipped off the bank.’ He watched the dripping clothes being whipped off and replaced by a large towel.

‘Hush, my little pet,’ Helen crooned, rubbing vigorously to dry the still howling Laura.

Elspeth felt angry with her daughter. ‘You’ve been told time and time again not to go near that burn.’

‘Don’t blame the bairn.’ Helen turned to John. ‘It’s your fault, you should have been watching her.’

Laura sprang to his defence, forgetting to cry in her concern for him. ‘It was my own fault for not listening.’

John continued to protest vehemently every Saturday. ‘Not again! She’s just a pest.’

‘I am not! I am not!’ Laura would shout.

John’s treatment did not diminish Laura’s hero-worship, and she loved going to Quarry Street, although the other boys took their lead from him and did everything they could to put her off joining them in their exploits. She wasn’t so happy on the occasional visits to King’s Gate with her mother. Her namesake allowed her to play with the beautiful dolls in the playroom, and all the other expensive toys, but the eight years between them prevented them from being true companions. Moreover, Laura Robb attended a private girls’ school, while Laura Fullerton went to Mile End, where John had gone before he passed the qualifying examination and moved to Rosemount Intermediate.

Elspeth and Ann laughed every time they heard the plaintive, piping cry floating downstairs, ‘I want to be the teacher this time,’ because the more modulated voice always answered, ‘You’re too small to be the teacher.’ Of course, Laura Fullerton always had the final retort. ‘Well, I’m not playing schools at all, then.’

The girl’s enjoyment at Quarry Street was marred only when Donald and his family came for a week’s holiday, Helen having bought a bed settee for the best room to accommodate them, and making James share the single bed in the small room which had been his father’s before it had been Elspeth’s and was now John’s. Only a little over two years younger than John, he was welcomed by the other children, and enjoyed the novelty of the burn at the foot of the street, with the mature, graceful trees on its banks. He and his ‘uncle’ became inseparable, and both ordered Laura around, and she was annoyed that her beloved John devoted all his time to showing James the best trees to climb. She was always glad when Donald took his family back to Hull.

David had thought, when he bought the bungalow, that he would put his jealousy of John Forrest behind him when the clock was no longer standing at his elbow when he sat down at the fire, but it had only intensified. When he came home at nights, tired and resentful at being told by the manager that he could push sales further if he put his mind to it, what was the first thing he saw when he let himself into his own house? That damned grandfather clock! It galled him to think that Elspeth seemed to have made it a shrine to her first love, keeping it highly polished and flicking imaginary specks of dust off it each time she went past it. She paid more attention to it than she did to him. Although Elspeth was content to be a housewife, her marriage was not as peaceful as it had been. David seemed to be drawing farther and farther away from her, and she felt hurt that he had stopped kissing her before he went to work in the mornings.

‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked one evening, after he had been sitting silently reading for some time. ‘You hardly speak to me at all now.’

‘What is there to speak about?’

His abruptness dismayed her. He had never spoken to her like that before. ‘Is anything worrying you at your work?’ she persevered. ‘You’ll maybe feel better for telling me, though I’ll likely not be able to help you.’

‘Nothing’s worrying me, and I wish you’d stop harping on about things.’

Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean to nag at you.’

That night, she lay beside him worrying about the change in his manner, and when she did eventually fall asleep, she was soon catapulted out of it by his flailing arms. He’d had no nightmares for some time, and she was actually relieved that he was having one now. It must have been building up in him, which would explain his earlier brusque behaviour. As she usually did at such times, she stroked his brow and tried to soothe him, but he would not be pacified. It was fully thirty minutes before he quietened down, then he opened his eyes and looked at her accusingly.

‘You’re all right now, David,’ she crooned.

‘I’m not all right when I know my wife spends all her time thinking about another man,’ he snapped.

Recoiling in shock, she said, ‘I never think about another man. I’ve never thought about anybody else except you.’

‘You can’t tell me you don’t think about your precious John Forrest every time you look at that clock,’ he sneered.

‘Oh, David,’ she gasped, ‘I knew fine you’d be jealous.’

‘I’m not jealous, but no man wants to have his wife’s first lover’s gift to her staring him in the face every time he comes home.’

‘He wasn’t my ...’ The words stuck in her throat.

‘Ha! You can’t deny it, can you? He was your lover!’

Steeling herself, she muttered, ‘He wasn’t my lover, we were just ... friends, and it was long before I met you, David, so you can’t hold that against me, surely?’

Letting out a shuddering sigh, he gasped her hand. ‘No, you’re right, I can’t hold it against you. I’m sorry, Elspeth, it’s just the damned nightmares that get at me, so I can’t think straight.’

‘Do you want me to get rid of the clock?’

‘No, no! I just said the first thing that came into my head. Oh, Elspeth, Elspeth, I love you.’

Turning towards him, she submitted to his lovemaking but got no pleasure from it because of the hurtful things he had said ... and she had to admit they were true. She did think of John Forrest, not every time she looked at the clock, but every time she polished it or wound it up, and he had been her lover, but only for a brief moment in her life. How could David understand? Her love for him was not the same, perhaps not quite deep enough, but it was still a satisfying love, and he had no need to be jealous.

David’s nightmares became more frequent over the next few months, and were usually followed by veiled accusations, but Elspeth was prepared for them now and was glad that they were not as specific as the first time. The trouble was that they made her think more and more of John Forrest, and she was afraid that, if her husband asked her again if the dead soldier had been her lover, she wouldn’t be able to deny it.

On her visits, Lizzie did notice that her daughter seemed to be worrying about something, but Elspeth wouldn’t tell her what it was. She even denied that there was anything wrong, though her mother was positive that it had something to do with David, who seemed to have grown dour lately.

In October, 1927, David was promoted to manager, his tormentor having retired, and because he no longer had the aggravation, his mind eased. Elspeth believed that the fits of depression he had suffered before had been due to worry about his work, because he had fewer nightmares now, and he seemed to have got over his jealousy, too. Their love life was not as exciting as it had once been, but they had been married for over seven years now and the bloom would have worn off anybody’s marriage in that time.

Elspeth’s first purchase with her extra housekeeping allowance was heavier curtains for the living room, but she had set her sights on replacing all her furniture, which was beginning to look shabby. Her life was running smoothly again, her happiness being evident from the bloom on her cheeks and her ever-ready smile.

Lizzie was pleased that her daughter was looking so well, because her own health was beginning to deteriorate, with rheumatics and pains in her chest, but she never mentioned them to anyone. She sometimes wished that she had accepted David’s offer of a home three years earlier, but she had known that two women in one kitchen always spelt trouble.

Even when she had let David persuade her to stay for a few days a year or so back, Elspeth had been kind of short with her. She was happiest in her own little house, which she kept clean and tidy, though she wasn’t able to do as much as she used to do.

One afternoon at the end of August, 1928, Elspeth was surprised by a visit from Mrs Wallace, who had occupied the cottar house next to Lizzie for the past four years.

‘Your mother’s had a heart attack,’ the woman said, as soon as the door was opened. ‘I come in the ambulance wi’ her, for they took her to Woolmanhill.’

Elspeth’s face had blanched. ‘Will she be all right?’

‘I waited will they said she was a wee bit better, but I think she’s real bad.’

‘Oh, God, I’ll have to go to her.’ Elspeth turned to get her coat from the bedroom, then hesitated and said, ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked you in and offered you a cup o’ tea. It was good o’ you to come and tell me.’

‘They gave me tea at the hospital the time I was waiting, thanks just the same, and I was pleased I could be doing something for Lizzie, she’s been a good neighbour to me.’

‘I’ll come back wi’ you on the bus, for I’m anxious to ken how she is.’ Elspeth disappeared and returned slipping her arms into her coat sleeves. ‘I’d best leave a note to let David ken where I am, in case I’m not back by teatime. Laura’ll go next door when she comes home from the school, for she kens Mrs Sangster’ll take her in if I’m not here.’

Elspeth was so worried that she hardly spoke on the journey into town, and ran along the streets to the Infirmary when she came off the bus, stopping in shock as she entered the ward and saw her mother. The effects of the passing years had not been evident before, but this frail figure in the bed looked very old – very old and very ill.

‘Mother, I’m here, and you’re going to be fine.’

Lizzie smiled weakly. ‘It’s good to see you, Eppie, but I’m feared I’ll not get better. My time has come.’

‘No, no! Don’t speak daft! You’ll be up and about in no time.’ Elspeth ruined her confident statement by starting to weep softly.

‘Don’t upset yourself, Eppie. I’ve lived my life, and I’m not sorry to be slipping away.’

A nurse motioning to Elspeth to leave then, she bent to kiss the bluish lips before she went, and did her best to hold back her feelings on the journey home, but when she let herself into the bungalow, she held on to the side of the grandfather clock and burst into noisy sobs. She had composed herself before her daughter came home from school, and was able to tell David quite calmly what had happened.

‘Let me go in to see her tonight,’ he said. ‘You’re too upset to go back so soon.’

‘No, I want to go myself, so you’ll have to stay with Laura.’

Having had time to think, Elspeth sought out the ward sister when she went to the hospital. ‘I’m Mrs Gray’s daughter. Is she going to get better?’

‘There’s always hope,’ the woman said, ‘but it was quite a bad attack, and another one may prove fatal ...’ Her manner became brisker. ‘You never know, she may fool us all and be back on her feet in a week or two.’

Lizzie’s dull eyes brightened a little when Elspeth went into the ward. ‘You were here the day already, there’s no need for you to come twice a day.’

‘I wanted to come, Mother, and I’m sure you’ll just be in here for a wee while, then I’ll take you to bide wi’ me.’

‘It’s good o’ you to offer, Eppie lass, but I can’t see my-self ever being happy in the town.’

‘You can’t bide on your own now, though, so just make up your mind you’re coming to me.’

Lizzie closed her eyes, and Elspeth prayed that she would indeed ‘fool them all’ and recover, and was relieved when her mother looked up at her. ‘I’m right pleased things have worked out wi’ you and David.’ She smoothed the counterpane with a transparent hand. ‘I often worried myself in case he found out about the bairn that died. You should have tell’t him, Eppie, for there shouldna be secrets between a woman and her man.’

Elspeth felt sick. Why did her mother have to bring that up? It was bad enough that she believed the child to be dead, but John, a gangling thirteen-year-old, was the living image of his father, as Lizzie would see the second she set eyes on him, and a meeting with the Watsons would be inevitable if she came to live at the bungalow. It was all bound to come out.