Marge had been torn between the need to have her sister next door for company and relief that she wouldn’t be there to criticize the way she was bringing up Nicky. Dougal, as Alistair’s close friend, had no inhibitions about voicing his opinion, and had urged him to jump at the opportunity and not be so bloody stupid.
As for the younger members of Rosie’s flock, two-year-old Nicky’s unnatural silences let everyone know how much he would miss his two ‘cousins’, especially David, who had been teaching him all kinds of boys’ games. David himself was keen to go back to Forvit, where he had left many friends and where there was space to roam around and act out the stories they read. Leila, however, was the one who astonished them. They had all expected her to prefer living in London because of the cinemas, dance halls and all manner of places where a young girl could meet the opposite sex, but when she was asked what she wanted, she said, ‘I’d like to go back to Forvit.’
Her grandmother had reminded her that she would be leaving school at summer – she would be fourteen in May – and that Forvit would have little to offer in the way of employment.
Dougal had got round that. ‘She can keep her father’s books,’ he crowed, then turning to Alistair, he went on, ‘Your best bet’s to look for a place in Aberdeen. More chance of succeeding there, and it’s only twenty-eight, twenty-nine miles. You could do it in under an hour if you bought a decent car.’
That Saturday evening, the day after he got Alice’s letter, Alistair had replied that they would take up the offer of the house, and in two days, she wrote back to say how pleased she was and not to worry about anything.
‘We’ll leave everything as it is,’ she had continued, ‘furniture, dishes, the lot, so all you’ll need to bring, apart from your wife and kids (ha-ha) is clothes and any personal things you feel you need.’
‘That’s a blessing,’ Alistair had grinned, ‘seeing we’ve never had any household goods of our own, anyway.’ Then he had looked at Alf somewhat apologetically. ‘I nearly forgot. There’s all the stuff you and your friend stored for us.’
Alf was an understanding man. ‘That’s all right. The Salvation Army’s always looking for things for the needy, so I’ll ask them to collect it … unless you want to have a look through it first, in case there’s something you want to keep?’
Rosie had given a sarcastic laugh. ‘There’s nothing there worth a brass farthing. The furniture was second-hand when Tiny bought it.’
Three months later – the time it took for the Guthries’ documents to come through from Australia House – the Ritchies had returned to Benview. The first three days were a sort of ‘handing-over’ period, with Gwen helping Alice to turn out her cupboards. The men made a bonfire of the useless items from the outhouses and also burned what Alice was throwing out.
The final leave-taking had not been as emotional as Gwen had feared, though she should have remembered that the Scots were not as demonstrative as the English. The brother and sister hadn’t even kissed each other’s cheeks, yet they must have known it was most unlikely that they would ever see each other again.
And now, only two days on, it was as if she had never been away, except that there was no Marge to keep her from getting depressed. Being on her own every day from morning until David came bouncing in from school around five was like a punishment – likely was a punishment, and she shouldn’t complain. After what she had done, she had got off lightly.
She couldn’t get over how attitudes had changed in the village, however. Only one or two of the village women had ever spoken to Marge and her in any sort of friendly way before, and now they all smiled and commented on the weather, or said how glad they were to see them back as a complete family.
When she mentioned this to Alistair, he had said, ‘It’s because you’re here for good this time. They’d been timid of you and Marge before because you didn’t belong and they couldn’t understand what you were saying. When I went to London first, it sounded to me like they all spoke with a marble in their mouths and thought they were better than Dougal and me. So that’s what the folk here had thought about you and Marge. No,’ he added hastily, ‘I know you wouldn’t have looked down on them, but …’ He shrugged off the prejudices of the country folk.
Gwen sighed – she would never understand. It was Lexie Fraser, who had always been quite friendly, who now seemed to give her the cold shoulder. She had never asked about Alistair, yet during the war, her first question had always been, ‘How’s Alistair? I saw you had a letter from him this morning,’ or whenever. She looked much older, too, as if something dreadful was preying on her mind. It was a pity she couldn’t meet a nice man. Marriage would do her the world of good.
Lexie watched Gwen Ritchie as she went out of the shop and cycled off. She didn’t look as happy as she used to, but no doubt she hadn’t wanted to come back to Forvit. What was there here for her, for goodness’ sake? She, herself, would leave like a shot if she thought she could survive out in the big world, but she had a sense of security here, of being safe, as if something terrible would happen if she ventured out of her cocoon.
She had vowed, time and time again, never to think back, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop herself. It would haunt her for the rest of her life … or until her father came back and admitted what he had done. She had this other worry as well, now. Every time the doctor came into the shop, she could hardly bring herself to look at him, and he had done nothing wrong – that had been all in her mind. She had come perilously near to losing her sanity altogether at that time, and even if she was relatively calmer now, it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge.
Two other people she thought about sometimes were Nancy Lawrie and Margaret Birnie. She was sure that what Doodie Tough said about Mrs Birnie and another man couldn’t be right, although Doctor Tom had told a few folk that she had never been totally happy in Forvit, and he had given in to her pleas to find a practice somewhere near Stirling so that she could look after her mother. She had gone on ahead of him, leaving him to attend to the sale of the house and the removal of their belongings. It had been a blow to the local community when he left, about three months after her father, and he’d been presented with a lovely gold watch in appreciation of his seven years’ dedicated service.
It was a shame, really, because Mrs Birnie had been a lovely woman, a bit reserved maybe, but she’d likely just been shy. She’d been quite well-liked, had sung in the kirk choir and was president of the Guild, so folk couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been happy. Still, nobody knew what went on behind closed doors, did they? How a person behaved in private could be completely at odds with his or her public image.
Replacing the lid on a tin of the mixed biscuits she had been weighing out for Alistair’s wife, Lexie’s thoughts turned to Nancy Lawrie. She’d been so different from Margaret Birnie, a go-ahead girl, full of fun and always flirting with the boys. She wasn’t the type of person Alec Fraser would be drawn to. He had been reserved and quiet … it was really just as unlikely that he had taken up with Nancy as that he had raped his daughter. An iciness clutching at the pit of her stomach, Lexie took a deep breath. If she carried on like this, they would haul her off to the nearest asylum and put her in a straightjacket …
Picking up her duster, she made a desultory attack on a side shelf. Gwen Ritchie didn’t know when she was well off, that was her trouble. She didn’t have a dark secret that ate at her very innards while she had to smile and pretend that nothing was wrong. Not only that, she had a lovely husband, two lovely children … everything that Lexie Fraser had ever wanted.
Leila Ritchie had walked past the house three times, hoping to catch a glimpse of Barry Mearns. She had always had a crush on him, from the first day he’d come to help with the garden, back in 1941 when she was just a little kid.
She wouldn’t be a kid much longer, though she’d have to stay on another year at school because the leaving age had been raised to fifteen. The year after that, she would be old e
nough to get married in Scotland, so she had heard.
‘Well, well! It’s young Leila, isn’t it?’
She looked round in surprise to find the postman, Barry’s father, regarding her with an expression she was just beginning to recognize. Since she’d started wearing nylons, the latest in stockings, and putting a touch of make-up on, men as well as boys had begun to look at her like she was good enough to eat, and she couldn’t help flirting a little. ‘Yes, Mr Mearns, we’re back. Dad’s looking for a place in Aberdeen to open a jeweller’s.’
‘So he was saying when I handed in his letters the other day. Barry was asking if I’d seen you, so. I’ll need to tell him you’re bonnier than ever. He’s nearly finished his apprenticeship at Bill Rettie’s garage in Bankside, but he still does a bit o’ gardening in his spare time, so if your Dad needs some help …’
‘I’ll tell him. I’d better be going, Mr Mearns, else Mum’ll wonder where I’ve got to.’
‘She’ll need to keep her eye on you, or the lads’ll all be after you. Cheeribye, lass.’ Sandy gave her a laughing salute as he turned away.
Leila walked off feeling very pleased with herself, retrieved her bicycle from where she had set it against the gable wall of the Jubilee Hall and sped along the road. Barry had asked about her! And his father thought she was bonnie – it sounded even better than being pretty. Coming up for fourteen was a perfect age to be!
Leila was even more pleased with herself that evening. Her father had come home in a state of high excitement. ‘I’ve found a wee place off Union Street!’ he exulted. ‘It’s not ideal, a wee bit cramped, but it’s right in the heart of the city and it’ll do till I get on my feet.’
All through their evening meal, he told them his plans, so animated that Leila glanced at her mother who was looking happier than she had done for some years – even before Dad came home from the war, really. He’d been different then, not like he’d been before, and she’d been as upset as her mother about that. Of course, he must have had some bad experiences, and it would have taken him a long time to get over them, so they should be grateful that he was getting back to normal, though it had taken a long time.
They had just finished eating when someone knocked at the porch door, and Leila, being nearest, went to open it. ‘Barry!’ she gasped, her face flooding with colour.
The twenty-year-old was also embarrassed. ‘I’ve come to see if your father needs any help with the garden. Da said …’
Curiosity about the caller had brought Alistair into the porch, too, but the youth was a complete stranger to him. ‘You’re a gardener, are you?’
‘He’s Barry Mearns, the postman’s son,’ Leila explained.
‘I’m serving my time as a motor mechanic, Mr Ritchie.’
‘He helped Mum and Auntie Marge with this garden when we were here before,’ Leila said shyly, ‘and he’s really good, Dad.’
Feeling a sense of goodwill towards all men at that moment, Alistair smiled broadly. ‘A reference already? That’s good enough for me, and I shouldn’t think I’ll have much time myself to spare on the garden for a few years yet, so when can you come?’
Barry cast a grateful glance at Leila. ‘I’ve been helping the doctor for the past few Mondays. He’s wanting to change the whole layout of his garden, and we’re digging out everything so he can start from scratch. The trouble is, he’s often called away and I’m mostly on my own. Tuesdays, I tidy up at Mrs Wilkie’s, and do a quick job on Lexie Fraser’s wee square. Wednesdays …’ he paused, then said, bashfully, ‘it’s choir night. I don’t like to let the minister down.’
Alistair nodded appreciatively. ‘Good lad.’
‘Thursdays,’ Barry continued, ‘I’ve been giving my boss a hand to dig a foundation for a wash-bed he wants to put in, and a bigger area round the petrol pumps. That’ll take another couple of months, maybe. I could manage you Fridays, though, if that’s OK?’
‘Fine, but are you sure? You’re not leaving yourself much time for enjoyment.’
‘There’s not much to enjoy round here … up to now.’ Barry shot another glance at Leila, whose face went crimson at what he was implying.
This was not lost on her father, who, however, decided to ignore it. ‘So you’ll be here on Friday at …?’
‘I stop at five, so I can manage by six, if that’s not too early.’
‘I probably won’t be home, but you’ll manage?’
‘I know where everything is, Mr Ritchie.’
‘Right! Shall we say … a couple of hours till we see how it goes?’
Alistair took the overnight train to London on Wednesday, to close his bank account and collect the items he had deposited in Manny’s name but which were now his. He went to Lee Green after his business was over, to acquaint them with the progress he was making, and to find out how everyone was. Peggy and Dougal, of course, were both at work, but Marge, Rosie and Alf were delighted to see him, and interested in his plans. He resisted Marge’s pleadings for him to stay over. ‘Dougal’s going to be so disappointed if he doesn’t see you,’ she wailed.
‘I’m desperate to get home, Marge,’ he excused his hurry. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’
It wasn’t only his business that pulled him away, however. It was seeing young Nicky again. As he told himself after he settled into the window corner of the railway carriage, there wasn’t a chance in hell that that kid was Dougal’s. What was every bit as bad, as far as Alistair was concerned, Gwen must have known what Marge got up to. Pregnancy could be hidden up to a point, but not between two sisters who were living in an isolated cottage in the middle of a war.
To be fair to his oldest friend, he should make his own wife admit the truth and not let the deception carry on any longer, but … he had other things to concentrate on. He had a shop to set up and get running, and he should really try to get some sleep tonight, to be fit to see the solicitor in Aberdeen in the morning. There were papers to sign, advice to ask for … and he’d be better to open a current account at the bank. It was more businesslike to hand over a cheque for any stock he had to buy than a bulky wad of notes.
Everything accomplished that he had set out to do, Alistair came off the bus outside the shop/post office, and decided to go in and have a few words with Lexie. He hadn’t seen her since he came back to Forvit, and … by God, yes! She would know if there had ever been any gossip about Marge. He was dismayed at how ill she looked when he went in, but it wasn’t policy to say that kind of thing to a woman. ‘Here’s me turning up again like a bad penny,’ he laughed.
‘I thought you might have come to see me before,’ she muttered, accusingly.
‘I’ve been looking for premises in Aberdeen. I’m opening a shop, jewellery, new and old, watches, clocks …’
‘You’d learned all that from your Jew, of course,’ she said, listlessly now.
‘Manny was the best teacher I could ever have had. I still miss him.’
For some moments, he asked about people he used to know, then he plucked up courage and came out with his question, the answer to which should settle the burning agonizing he’d done over the past months. ‘Did you ever hear any rumours about Dougal’s wife when she was here?’
Lexie’s eyebrows lifted briefly. ‘What d’you mean? What sort of rumours?’
‘About her … going out with any of the men from Ardley Camp?’
‘I never heard anything about her. It was Gwen I saw up at the tower one night with a soldier.’ She hesitated briefly, regretting having said anything, and conceded, ‘I could’ve sworn it was her voice, but I suppose it could have been Marge.’
He had fixed on one unsavoury sentence. ‘It couldn’t have been Gwen you saw, she wouldn’t have done anything wrong. Why did you think it was her? She’s blonde and Marge is dark. You’d have noticed which one it was, surely?’
‘I could only see from their waists down … caught them in the act, though I didn’t stand and watch. It was the voice that made me think it was Gwen, b
ut they’re both Cockneys, of course.’
‘They’re not Cockneys,’ Alistair began, but didn’t waste time explaining, ‘and it had been Marge. I knew it! Dougal and her are both dark, and Nicky’s bright red!’
‘I suppose that could happen.’
‘Not in this case, now I know what she’d been up to.’
‘You should ask Gwen,’ Lexie murmured. ‘She must have known what was what.’
Alistair felt obliged to cover up for his wife. ‘Marge wouldn’t have let her know. She’d always have met the man away from the house.’
‘But she couldn’t have hidden … no, Al. Marge grew so big, I wondered if she was having twins, and it was born nine months after Dougal had his embarkation leave.’
Alistair was glad when she fell silent. Had his suspicions been groundless? They must have been. His wife would never have agreed to anything underhand, and Nicky must be Dougal’s after all. Unless … he had never once heard Marge telling a lie, but she was far more capable of it than Gwen. She could have been carrying on with a soldier and been lucky that Dougal had been on leave about the right time, or near enough for her to swear it was his baby, and Gwen wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
Lexie cut into his deliberations. ‘I’ve just remembered. Gwen was quite ill at the time, as well. She’d to go to London for an operation.’
‘An operation?’ he gasped. ‘She never told me that in her letters – nobody did.’
‘They hadn’t wanted to worry you. You were in a prison camp, after all.’
‘But I’d have liked to know. Was it serious? What if she’d died?’
‘Marge said it was woman’s trouble, a cyst that turned out to be benign. I was a bit worried about Marge being there on her own while Gwen was away, but an auntie came up from England in time to take her to the hospital, and Gwen was home before she came back with the infant.’
The Back of Beyond Page 32