by Maggie Craig
How could she leave Jessie? How could she not go and look for Robbie? Aside from relieving his mother’s distress, it was Kate’s fault that he’d been in a real funny mood on Saturday. He had enormous stores of love and respect for his mother. If he’d been driven to shouting at her, that could only have been because of the quarrel he’d had with Kate - and her rejection of his proposal. What if he did do something stupid? A hundred times that morning, swimming in a river of tea as neighbours called past to offer sympathy, Kate ached to get up and go to him. Then she would look at Jessie’s face again, and stay where she was.
When young Dr MacMillan, calling by in the early afternoon to express his condolences, supplied the information that Robbie had apparently gone back to the hospital in the early hours, but had left the building about seven o’clock in the morning, Kate could stand the look on Agnes Baxter’s face no longer. Firmly pulling her hand out of Jessie’s grasp, she stood up and spoke quietly but decisively.
‘I’ll go and look for him, Mrs B,’ she said. ‘I think I might know where to find him.’
Jessie was looking up at her, a mute appeal in her eyes. Don’t leave me, Kate. Kate caught her father’s eye. He gave her a nod. Crossing the kitchen, he scooped Jessie up in his arms and sat down with her in the big armchair, cradling her with his work-roughened hands as he had done all of his children when they had been babies and toddlers.
‘Coorie doon, lass, coorie doon,’ he whispered. One large hand rested lightly on Jessie’s hair, drawing her head down onto his shoulder. ‘I’ll look after you. There’s someone else needing our Kate the now.’
She found him, as she’d expected, down by the river. He was standing just beyond the rowan tree, leaning on the rail, staring down into the murky waters of the Clyde. The afternoon sunshine struck a gleam of brown from his bowed head. Funny, she always thought of his hair as being black.
His shoulders were hunched, his head bent, his back curved and vulnerable. For the first time in her life, Kate understood exactly what people meant when they said ‘my heart went out to him’. Hers did then, reaching him several minutes before her feet did.
A couple, chatting away to each other and walking a few yards in front of Kate passed behind Robbie. He took no notice. Kate, her heart overflowing with sympathy, paused. Was she intruding on his own private grief for Barbara? Had she any right to be here? Would he want any comfort she could offer him - especially after the bitter words they had flung at each other a few days ago?
He evidently recognised her light step, or perhaps it was her quietness and stillness as she stood, hesitating and uncertain, a few feet behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her and turned, giving her a smile so brave and sad it made Kate’s heart turn over in her breast.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she said softly. ‘Your Ma was worried about you being away so long. I’ll go and tell her that you’re fine, shall I?’
‘Don’t run away. Stay for a wee while.’ He extended a hand towards her. Kate managed to avoid taking it, but she came forward and stood beside him, glancing up at him.
‘You’re sure you wouldn’t rather be on your own?’
Robbie shook his unruly head. ‘No. I’m glad you came looking for me.’
His chin was dark with stubble, his eyes bloodshot. He must be exhausted, she thought. He had probably walked all night and then ended up here, as she had known he would.
‘How’s Jessie taking it?’
Kate shrugged. ‘Well, she’s terribly upset. You know ...’ How like him to think of Jessie in the midst of his own grief. She felt a lump grow in her throat. It wasn’t fair. Robbie of all people didn’t deserve this. She looked at his hand lying on the rail which separated them from the river. Impulsively, she covered it with her own.
‘I’m sorry, Robbie. I’m really so sorry.’
‘Aye,’ he said, exhaling his breath on a long sigh. His hand moved under hers. He turned it palm upwards and interlaced his fingers through Kate’s. She wondered if he was remembering when they had last held hands. Could it just be a few days ago? Since then, the world had turned topsy-turvy. Barbara Baxter was dead and Kate Cameron was a fallen woman. That didn’t seem to matter very much now.
Robbie’s eyes were downcast, his eyelashes resting on his cheekbones as he studied their entwined hands.
‘I keep seeing her, Kate. Wherever I look. I look at the river and I look up at the sky and all I can see is her. It’s as if I’m at the pictures - only the film’s stuck and all I can see is her, lying there in that hospital bed - but it’s not her. It’s only a doll that looks like her. And I think - how can that be? She was so lively and full of fun.’ He lifted his gaze. ‘She was, Kate, wasn’t she?’
Kate choked back the tears and forced a smile. ‘Aye, Robbie, she was that. Full of mischief, too. Mind yon time she and our Jessie gave Mr Asquith a bath?’ She squeezed his hand, trying to get him to give her a smile in response. He did his best, but it was a dismal effort, fading from his tired features as quickly as he struggled to put it there.
‘I went back to the hospital last night - this morning, I mean. It didn’t seem right to leave her there, all alone.’ His grip tightened painfully on Kate’s fingers. If he exerted any more pressure her knuckles were going to crack. Not for all the tea in China would she have uttered a protest.
‘The nurses had clasped her hands on her chest and put some white lilies under them, as though she was holding them... but she was dead, Kate, she wasn’t able to hold anything.’ He sighed and lifted his shoulders and the pressure on Kate’s fingers eased - not a moment too soon.
‘So I left the hospital and I’ve been walking all night. To tell you the truth I’ve no idea where I’ve been, but somehow I ended up back here. By the river.’
‘Where the two of us always end up.’
‘Aye. Where the two of us always end up.’ A smile was there, faint, but genuine. She lifted her free hand to his face, feeling the smoothness of his cheek and the roughness of his chin under her fingertips.
‘You’re cold, Robbie,’ she said gently. ‘Come on home with me and get some tea, and something to eat. You must be tired, too.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t feel tired, Kate, nor hungry either. I’ve been standing here for ages, trying to think of her alive, trying to see different pictures of her - skipping, or playing at beddies, or washing Mr Asquith - or driving me nuts when I was trying to concentrate on something, cheeky wee bisom that she was ...’ His voice trailed off to a raw whisper.
‘Och, Robbie,’ Kate breathed. Wincing, she extracted her fingers from his grasp and slid her arms around his waist, and as her father had done with Jessie, she lifted a hand to the back of his head and pulled it down onto her shoulder.
‘I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to have a good greet,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘There’s nobody about.’ She glanced around to check and saw that was true enough. The path was deserted and there were no boats within sight. ‘Maybe it would help you a wee bit.’
Loosely held in her embrace, his shaggy head jerked up. ‘Don’t be daft, Kate. Men don’t cry.’
‘Don’t they?’
The grey eyes and the green eyes met. He looked down at her for a long moment. When, at last, she saw the tears well up and slide down his face, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Once more lifting a hand to the back of his head, she laced her fingers through his hair and drew his head down onto her shoulder. Her arms tightened about his waist. His came about her.
‘Cry for her,’ Kate commanded softly. ‘She was worth it, wasn’t she?’
The heavy head on her shoulder nodded. Then she felt her neck grow wet with his tears.
She could not take his pain away. She wasn’t able to draw a curtain over the pictures in his mind’s eye. He had to bear it all himself, but she could try to share it with him, give him comfort, offer him what strength she had.
‘I’m glad we’re friends again, Robbie,’ she whispered soundlessly int
o his hair.
Chapter 16
‘You’re two weeks late.’
‘Nearly three, actually,’ said Kate calmly. She was aware of mild surprise that her mother should have noticed. Then again, living in such close quarters as they did, it perhaps wasn’t surprising, even with three daughters to keep an eye on.
Lily wasn’t in the mood to beat about any bushes.
‘Whose is it? Robbie Baxter’s?’
Kate didn’t answer. Was she relieved that her mother knew? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure about anything at the moment. Normally as regular as clockwork, she had nevertheless tried hard to convince herself there was some other reason for her period being late. Unhappiness at breaking up with Jack, perhaps; worry itself. She’d stopped believing that a week ago.
Seated with her elbows on the kitchen table, Kate let her head fall forward, threading her fingers through her hair. She’d washed it the day before. It felt smooth and shiny and cool, just like the crepe-de-chine frock... There were fingers on her chin, jerking her head upright.
‘I asked you a question, young lady.’
Kate had to moisten her lips before she could speak. ‘Not Robbie,’ she managed. ‘Just ... just someone I know...’ Her voice tailed off at the look on her mother’s face. Lily, her colour up, put both hands on her hips.
‘One o’ your fancy Art School friends then, is it?’ She spat the words out.
Kate nodded.
‘Does he know? About the bairn, I mean.’ Lily gestured towards Kate’s stomach. Kate felt panic flutter up from her abdomen to her throat. What was she going to do when she began to show? When the tongues started wagging? Oh God, what would her father say? He’d be so disappointed in her. She’d have to give up her apprenticeship, too - with less than two years of it to go.
‘Yes.’ Behind her back, she crossed her fingers so the lie wouldn’t count.
‘Will he do the decent thing - marry you?’
Kate laughed, but the sound had no mirth in it. ‘People like him don’t marry people like us.’ That made her think about Robbie. She wondered what he was going to think of her.
‘But he’ll support you? Give you some money? He’s had his pleasure with you. He’ll have to pay for that.’
Kate winced and the thought came, unbidden, that there had been very little pleasure in it, at least for her. Her voice, when she spoke, was dull and flat.
‘He offered to pay for ... for ...’ She couldn’t say the words. People who get rid of mistakes. A dreadful numbness was creeping over her, sliding up from her toes. It crawled past her knees, then it was at her waist. She couldn’t have moved from the chair if the King and Queen themselves had walked into the room.
‘For you to get rid o’ it? Well, maybe that would be the best thing.’ Lily nodded sagely.
Kate lifted stricken eyes to her mother’s face.
‘Mammy, I couldn’t do that, I just couldn’t!’ Unconsciously, her hand went to her stomach.
‘That’s all very well, my girl,’ said Lily, folding her arms over her chest, ‘but you’ve only got two choices. Either you get rid of it or you find someone else to marry you.’
‘Someone else? Who else would...’ Frowning in puzzlement, Kate stared up at her mother. Then the penny dropped. She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘You don’t mean...’
‘He asked you, didn’t he - before Barbara died? Agnes doesnae know for sure, but she thinks he did.’
The numbness had worn off. Kate leaped out of the chair and went to stand by the range, looking back across the kitchen at her mother with horrified eyes.
‘Ma, I couldn’t do that to Robbie, it wouldn’t be fair! It’s not his child!’
Lily snorted. ‘He wouldn’t be the first man that’s been fooled.’ She too moved, crossing the room to lift the kettle off the range before taking it to the sink to be filled. The cold water gushed noisily out of the tap.
‘I cannae do it, Ma. It wouldn’t be fair.’
Lily turned the tap off, lifted the kettle over to the range and reached to one side for the teapot.
‘You’ll have to get rid o’ it, then,’ she said implacably. ‘You cannae keep it and no’ be married.’
Kate opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. Lily, having made all the preparations possible before the kettle boiled, which was a long way off, turned and looked at her daughter. Miserably, Kate looked back at her. They were standing only a foot apart. She could see no sympathy for her in her mother’s blue eyes - blue like his, she thought.
‘You were supposed to be the brainy one,’ Lily reproached her daughter. A drop of water, falling from the spout of the kettle, hissed as it hit the hot surface of the range. ‘Not daft enough to let a man have his way wi’ you without a ring on your finger.’
Funny, thought Kate, with that part of her brain which was watching all this go on as though it were happening to someone else, she’s not worried about my morals. She’s just got contempt for my stupidity.
It’ll kill your father, you know. You’ve aye been his favourite. Out of all of us.’ ‘Two choices, my girl. And make them quick. Men might be stupid, but they can usually count. You havenae got much time to make up your mind.’
The woman who got rid of mistakes lived in Dalmuir. There was a wee park opposite her house. After a moment’s hesitation Kate crossed the road to it and went in, carefully closing the heavy gate set into the railings behind her. Sliding onto a green-painted bench she studied the roses in the flower bed in front of her. They were beautiful, a mixture of white and yellow, beginning to bud.
There was a light breeze in the air. It made the rosebuds sway on their stems like impossibly graceful dancers.
The words were ringing round her head. It’ll kill your father. You were supposed to be the brainy one. Let a man have his way with you. Was that all it had meant to Jack Drummond? That he’d had his way with her? Wasn’t love supposed to come into it somewhere?
If she kept the baby ... But how could she? Jack didn’t want to know. Could she go away, start a new life somewhere else? Buy a cheap wedding ring in Woolies and pretend she was a widow? Use your loaf, Cameron, she upbraided herself. Where would you get the money to live on? She couldn’t go out to work, not with a wee baby in tow;
The door of the house opposite opened. A neat maid, in black dress, white cap and apron, waved a tablecloth free of crumbs. What time was it anyway? Kate had eaten nothing since breakfast that morning. There was a crisp banknote in her purse, enough to pay to get rid of her mistake.
‘You’ll get it back from him, mind!’ That had been Lily’s parting shot, her lips set in a firm line. Kate had miserably agreed, knowing she would rather be torn apart by wild horses than ask Jack Drummond for the money.
The maid had gone back in, the door was once more closed. It was painted a shiny black, like the railings around the little park. The door had a well-polished brass letter box and a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. All she had to do was get up, walk across the road and lift the lion’s head. That was all. She would hand over the money and the rest would be taken care of. Her mistake got rid of, she could get on with the rest of her life: finish her apprenticeship and continue with her art studies. She sighed and tilted her head back to look up at the sky. It was blue, filled with fluffy white clouds.
Kate’s eyes fell again on the roses. They were so beautiful. Yet they were so fragile. Someone could come along here and lop their heads off and they would never get the chance to burst forth into their full beauty and grace.
Slowly, as though she were walking in her sleep, Kate stood up and made her way to the park gate. She turned once, to look at the roses.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ came a quiet voice from behind her. Kate turned from her scrutiny of the oily surface of the river.
‘We must stop meeting like this.’
Robbie gave her the briefest of grins and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Aye.’
‘How are you?’ sh
e asked.
He shrugged and walked forward to join her at the handrail. ‘Och, you know.’
‘Aye, I know,’ said Kate softly, thinking how tired and pale he looked.
He grasped her hand and slid it through the crook of his arm. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.
She felt rather than saw Robbie’s sidelong glance at her and he took a step away, allowing her to pull her arm out of his. The air between them crackled with tension. With his usual perception, he had guessed that something was coming.
She had spent the previous night tossing and turning, eliciting numerous moans from Pearl. Her sister’s irritation was nothing compared to the torment going on inside her own head. She wasn’t at all sure that she could go through with this.
Yet she had made her decision yesterday, in the little park looking at the roses. Her life had taken a turn she hadn’t expected, but it had to be faced up to - and dealt with. There was a price to be paid, of course.
The feet that it was Robbie who, all unwitting, was going to have to pay most of that price was what made her hesitate. But he loved her; she knew that. He wanted to marry her... but it was deceiving him - in the worst way possible.
He was silent, waiting for her to speak. He loved her. She kept coming back to that. And she would try her best to be a good wife to him, to make him happy. She had two lives to think of now - her own, and her baby’s. And because of that other small life, so utterly dependent upon her, she turned at last to Robert Baxter and spoke.
‘Robbie,’ she said. ‘Mind you asked me a question, that day you took me out to lunch, three weeks ago?’ Three weeks! Was it so recent? So much had happened since then: Barbara’s death; her own small tragedy.