Time Shall Reap (34 page)

Meg frowned. ‘Take your time and get something a bit more suitable than that. You trained as a dressmaker, and you’ve been a waitress – look for that kind o’ thing.’

There were no vacancies in the Leston Road shops, Elspeth discovered, so she carried on to Princes Street and into the first large store she came to, but her courage failed her at the sight of all the efficient sales ladies in their smart black dresses. What chance would a dowdy, middle-aged woman have of getting a job here? Walking back dejectedly, she bought a newspaper before she went into the tenement.

‘How did you get on?’

Meg’s cheery voice annoyed her. ‘I didna!’ she said, a little too sharply, and instantly regretted it, for the old lady was only trying to be kind. ‘I’ve bought a paper, so I’ll look and see if there’s any jobs in it.’

She sat down with a pencil and skimmed over the Situations Vacant section, marking three items which she thought might be worth a try – two shops in Princes Street and one in Shandwick Place. The others were mainly for clerkesses and domestics. If she couldn’t get in as a shop assistant, she thought, it would be no disgrace if she had to go back into service.

‘I met an awful nice woman when you were out, Elspeth,’ Meg said as she set the tea. ‘I went down to see which was our coal cellar, and she spoke to me out of her window. She’s on the ground floor, and she’s a widow like me.’

‘Oh aye?’ Elspeth wasn’t really interested.

‘Her name’s Milne, and she asked if I’d like to go to the pictures wi’ her for company the night. I haven’t been to the pictures for years, being so far from the town at Blairton, but I thought it would be a fine change for us. It would pass the time, and it would maybe cheer you up.’

‘Me?’ Elspeth looked surprised. ‘I’m not going – the woman didn’t ask me. Besides, I’m tired wi’ trailing about, and I’d rather bide in and listen to the wireless. You go, though, she’ll be better company than me.’

‘I think I will.’ Meg regarded her anxiously. ‘Are you sure you’ll not mind being left on your own?’

‘No, I’ll be glad o’ a rest – honest.’

When Meg left the house at half past six, Elspeth turned on the large, wet-battery wireless, but after she had been listening to some pleasant, light music for about five minutes, the news came on. When the announcer gave the sad information that the British naval tanker
Darkdale
had been sunk by a U-boat in the Atlantic, she switched off. She did not want to be reminded of how badly the war was going. She had enough to contend with without that. She couldn’t let Meg subsidize her for ever, and the money she’d got from Mr Reid wouldn’t last long, even if she was only paying ten shillings a week for her keep. And if today was anything to go by, the two of them would get on each other’s nerves stuck up here day in, day out.

Her agonized mind wandering, she wondered what had happened between Laura and John. Would her son hate her now, like her husband and daughter? It wouldn’t be surprising if he did. What a mess she had made of her own life, and of so many others. She was no good to anyone – she’d be better off dead. It wouldn’t take long, and it would be all over by the time Meg came back from the pictures.

She stood up, laid the cushions behind the door, checked that the window was closed then took Meg’s writing pad and pen from the dresser and sat down at the table to write.

Dear Meg,

I’m sorry, but I can’t go on. Tell David and Laura I love them, and try to make them understand. John and Helen, as well. Thank you for what you tried to do for me, but it wouldn’t work.

Your friend,
Elspeth

Having propped the note against the clock, she walked over to the gas cooker, turned on the oven and lay down on the mat with her head inside.

A sandwich would do him, David thought, with the bit of corned beef left over from yesterday. He couldn’t be bothered cooking and he’d have to clean the bathroom later because he’d taken a bath that morning. Lifting the lid of the bread bin, he was dismayed to find only two heels of bread. It would have to be a ‘doorstep’ sandwich, and he’d have to remember to buy a loaf tomorrow. In three weeks, he still hadn’t learned to plan ahead, but when he forgot to buy something for his supper, there was always a packet of dried eggs to fall back on, though he did get fed up of them.

He never bothered with breakfasts, but he wasn’t starving himself; he went to the cafe in the Market at lunchtimes for a decent meal – the new one at the top of the steps to the fish market, not the People’s Cafe where he had first met Elspeth, which was no longer there. His heart turned over as he remembered those distant happy days. She had been so bonnie, so kind to him, and he’d never suspected that she ... if she had told him, he would happily have taken the child along with the girl he loved so much.

Spreading margarine on the two ends of bread, he reminded himself that she hadn’t been the kind of girl he thought she was and she’d probably laughed at him for being so gullible. Yet, they’d been happy. Yes, they had been happy, and Laura was the outcome of their love.

He lifted the saucer covering the plate in front of him and placed the small piece of meat nestling on it between the crusts of bread, wondering, as he gaped his mouth to eat, if his daughter had overcome the outrage and anger he’d seen on her face on that last, terrible night. And why had Laura stayed away?
He
hadn’t caused her heartbreak; his heartache was every bit as deep as hers could have been. He had lost his wife and daughter at one fell swoop, and she had only lost that man’s son. Her mother, too, of course, and himself, her father, but that was only because she chose not to come home. If anything happened to him, she would be sorry she had ignored him.

He wished now that he had been closer to his own father. They had kept in touch until his death, but they hadn’t seen each other very often. Isabel had never let her husband go out on his own, and she had refused to visit Woodlands Avenue – she’d likely been jealous of the bungalow. But he and his father had met occasionally after work, and had a quick drink together – maybe once every six months or so. He had gone to the funeral, two years ago, but he hadn’t told Elspeth that he’d wept at the graveside. He’d been afraid that she might think he was going off his head altogether.

David’s wandering thoughts returned to Laura. He supposed he could contact her by writing to Turnhouse, but it was she who had walked out, and it was up to her to make the first move. He wouldn’t demean himself by pleading with her. Sitting up, he took another bite of his sandwich. It was stupid to brood. Once upon a time, he’d had a wife and daughter, and now he was completely alone. That was the sum and substance of it, and he would have to face up to it.

Oh, God! How could he face up to losing Elspeth? At the time he had told her to get out, he was so angry that he could have killed her, but the weeks had blunted that anger, and it was his wife who filled his dreams in the little sleep he had – there had been no nightmares about the trenches since she went. What had happened to his comrades was as nothing compared to the agony he had inflicted on her. Poor Elspeth, he could understand why she had guarded her secret so closely; she had been so ashamed of what she had done that she would have died rather than tell anybody. But exactly what had she done? Loving John Forrest was no sin; having a child out of wedlock was no sin when the father had promised to marry her. Her sin lay in not telling her husband about her child before they married, but in view of all the circumstances, he could even excuse her for that.

She must have been in torment when she gave up her son. It must have gnawed at her soul each time she saw him, watching him grow to manhood without knowing he was her son, worrying herself sick about him after he joined the air force, and he, David, had tortured her further by carrying on about the grandfather clock. He’d been a brute to her – how had she borne it all?

It was some weeks after John was told about his parentage before Helen saw him. He had written, stressing that he still thought of her as his mother, but his subsequent letters had not referred to it at all.

‘I’ll make a cup of tea when the kettle boils,’ she said, the questions crowding her mind making her awkward with him for the very first time, ‘and we’ll have our supper when your father comes in.’

Dreading having to think about that horrendous after-noon, he was acutely conscious of her anxious curiosity. ‘I know you want to find out,’ he muttered, ‘so I’ll tell you now and get it over.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Laura was very upset when she told me, babbling things I couldn’t take in, and when I did, I couldn’t believe it. It was terrible, learning that the only girl I’ve ever loved was my sister.’

‘Half sister,’ Helen corrected automatically.

‘It’s just as bad. I was demented at first and I even hoped our kite would be shot down that night, so I’d be killed.’

‘Oh, John, it surely wasn’t as bad as that, was it?’

He regarded her sadly. ‘You’ll never know how bad it was, Mum. Luckily, our squadron was sent back to Scampton the next week, so I haven’t had much time to brood about it.’ Only when he was trying to snatch some sleep, he thought, wryly, then it returned vividly and painfully – Laura’s strained face, more concerned for him than for herself.

Helen’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, John, I’m sorry for what I did to you, and I wish I’d the time over again. I’d make sure everybody knew you weren’t my son.’

‘I am your son,’ he said, vehemently. He paused for a moment, then went on thoughtfully. ‘I blamed Elspeth for a while, for I couldn’t understand how any mother could abandon her child.’

‘She didn’t abandon you. She knew you thought I was your mother, and she was doing what she considered was best for you ... and me. It was all my fault.’

‘I can understand about that since I’ve had time to think. I feel quite sorry for Elspeth now, especially after you wrote and told me David had put her out. Have you ever found out where she is?’

Helen shook her head. ‘No. Like I said in my letter, I went to see her the next forenoon, but the house was empty. I was that worried about her, I went back at teatime, and that’s when David said he’d made her leave. I went back in a week to see if he’d heard from her, but he said no and he didn’t want to. He was awful bitter, and he didn’t want to speak about it.’

‘I can understand that.’ John thought that David must have felt as badly as he himself had felt.

Falling silent, he slumped in his chair, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes hooded, but within minutes he straightened up.

‘That’s it,’ he said, firmly. ‘It’s like a knife twisting in my gut every time I think about it.’

Nodding sympathetically, Helen asked, ‘Would you like a wee dram, John, rather than a cup of tea?’ She would not normally have encouraged him to drink, but his agonized face told her that he needed it.

‘Thanks, I could do with one.’

Sipping the whisky slowly, he described the bombing raids over Antwerp and Kiel, the missions right into the heart of Germany itself to smash the war industries, ‘The flak’s pretty bad, but we always get back.’

Helen was fascinated, in spite of her horror at the thought of the poor people at the receiving end, in spite of knowing he was dicing with death every day. ‘I’ve worried about you. I’m near scared to answer the door, in case ...’

John gave a barking laugh. ‘It’ll take more than a few Jerries to kill me.’ The whisky was taking effect and making him feel alive again. ‘How’s Dad enjoying his retirement? I suppose he’s getting under your feet?’

Her face clearing, Helen laughed. ‘No, he joined the Home Guard, and he’s fair interested in the bowling he took up, and all. He’s hardly ever in ... oh, speak o’ the devil.’

John turned as Jimmy came in smiling.

‘How’s things, Dad? You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.’

‘Aye, I feel a lot better since I stopped working.’ Jimmy took his woods out of their bag and polished them reverently with a duster. ‘Helen, you’ll not believe this, but I beat Willie McIntyre the day.’

‘A real old hand now, eh, Dad?’ John teased.

‘You can come an’ watch me the morrow afternoon, if you like, for we’re playing in the Westburn Park.’

Setting the table, Helen listened to the men discussing the setbacks the Allies were facing at the hands of Rommel in Egypt, Jimmy expounding what his strategy would be if he were Montgomery, John winking at her every now and then. She hoped that Laura had survived as well as he had. David and Elspeth would have been worse affected, being older, though David had been managing quite well the last time she went to see him – bitter, of course, which was only natural. But what about poor Elspeth, God knows where? She would likely be accepting her lot as the retribution she’d always feared for her one fall from grace. Why hadn’t she come to Quarry Street, instead of just disappearing like that? There was no need for her to be suffering on her own.

When John went to bed that night, Helen knew why Jimmy looked at her expectantly. ‘He hasn’t got over Laura yet.’

Her husband nodded. ‘It’ll take a while.’

‘He tell’t me he wished his aeroplane would be shot down ... what a thing for a young man to be thinking, and what would Laura have been feeling ... and Elspeth?’

Meg Forrest left Mrs Milne in the lobby and went on up the stairs. She had thoroughly enjoyed the film, though it was an old one, and had laughed and cried all the way through it – mostly cried. Elspeth would have liked it if she’d only come with them, the old woman thought. That Clark Gable was a right lady’s man, but thank goodness he’d found Jeanette MacDonald after the earthquake. It must be terrible for the folk living in San Francisco, never knowing when another one would come. Her favourite was Spencer Tracy, though. He was her kind of man, not all that handsome, but kind of cuddly. He put her in mind of Blairton a bit.

Stopping for breath on the first floor landing, Meg detected a whiff of gas. A dangerous thing gas, if it was leaking, she thought, then a chilling fear gripped her. Elspeth had been in such a funny mood at teatime, surely she wouldn’t have ...?