His great collaborator in the shop was Ida Stewart, a woman in her late fifties who had worked at Wilson’s for many years, and Kathy was sure that she wasn’t the only one who caught the little sarcastic, amused ‘what can you do with him?’ looks concerning Mr Liddell that passed between them. Though Ida was on her feet all day she wore stiletto heels, if not the kind Jessie wore with such aplomb, and her girlishly golden hair was piled high on her head in an impossible confection of curls, framing a too perfectly made-up face. She was forever nipping to the loo to refurbish the overall effect, and seemed to spend most of her wages, albeit with her staff discount, on the latest cream guaranteeing to reduce wrinkles, or make-up claiming to disguise them. She was clearly enamoured of the much younger Mr Dewar in an oddly coquettish kind of way, forever smiling overmuch when she spoke to him, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushing with pleasure when he spoke to her. Kathy could imagine her going home and mentally replaying her conversations with the bearded one over and over again till they were permanently committed to memory. It wasn’t so much a sexual attraction to the man as to his lofty position as pharmacist, an expression of Ida’s lack of self-esteem. She was flattered by being on close terms with someone she saw as an educated, important man, even if she had to call him Mr Dewar while he called her Ida, and she protected her association with him, deliberately placing herself between him and any of the other women he had cause to speak to. But mostly he spoke to Ida, and Kathy formed the opinion that Ida kept Mr Dewar fully informed of everything that happened in the shop, and she felt also that Ida’s opinions were sure to be those expressed first by Mr Dewar. And Mr Dewar, who hadn’t interviewed Kathy for the job, she felt equally sure, didn’t like her, whereas Mr Liddell did, which in turn meant she wasn’t Ida’s favourite person either, though there was no telling which came first. Nothing was said, but there was a slight atmosphere, and she was always glad when her shifts with Mr Dewar were over, whereas she liked working with Mr Liddell. It seemed that Nigel Dewar always had some niggly thing to say, and always with a slight, patient smile that she instinctively distrusted. He would comment on how she wrote out prescription labels – ‘It’s clearer if you do it this way, Miss Kelly’ – or how she lifted the gallon glass containers of the common cough linctuses – ‘If you drop it, you see, we lose that much profit’, whereas Mr Liddell rarely found fault, and when he did there was no feeling that he enjoyed it. Their shifts together passed easily, either in companionable silence, or with him giving her details of the conditions the prescriptions were supposed to cure, and she never felt on probation with him in the way that she felt sure Wee Nigel wanted her to feel with him.
The other thing she liked was that the shifts, from 9 a.m. till 5 p.m., or from 2 p.m. till 9 p.m., kept her away from ordinary life in Moncur Street, and from her relatives, for longer than the hours alone suggested. Working shifts involved different living arrangements from other people, so it was possible to avoid Con for weeks on end. She would hear him go out or come in, but as they were inhabiting different time scales there was no necessity to actually meet. At nine o’clock, when the pubs closed, he would make his way unsteadily homewards as she was leaving the shop, and by the time she got home around 11 p.m. he would be in bed, sprawled in an armchair or, depending on how drunk he was, lying on the floor fast asleep. There were no arguments, no fights and no sobbing, well, none that she was present to hear, and she had decided long ago that her days of lifting his dead, sodden weight off the floor and into bed were over. So she locked the door behind her, stepped over the deeply snoring heap on the floor and went to bed. Even without her shifts their lives had gradually separated, but they certainly helped to confirm the arrangement. From her meagre wages as a trainee dispenser, plus whatever she found going through Con’s pockets, she made sure the rent and electricity were paid, and what was left over after she had fed and clothed herself and paid her fares, was carefully hoarded away for come the day. She had no idea what the day was, maybe it was just a habit she had learned from her mother, but either way, she somehow believed that the day would come when her hoard would be needed.
The other welcome spin-off from working in Wilson the Chemist’s was that she had a legitimate excuse for seeing less of Jamie Crawford, her childhood companion. He had achieved his first ambition in life and was an engineering apprentice at the Albion Motor Works in Scotstoun, now he had only to settle down into married life and produce a couple of children and his dream existence would be complete. She had no idea how it had happened, but without being asked she somehow found herself eased into the frame as his future wife. It was so taken for granted, not just by Jamie himself, but by everyone in the neighbourhood, that she would wonder if there had been a discussion that had been erased from her memory by some kind of blackout. She hadn’t entered their marriage into whatever internal plan she held in her mind for her future, but even so, she didn’t tell Jamie this either; something would evolve, she thought, it would all work out without hurting him, though she had no idea what or how. She’d been a coward, she knew that. She should’ve told him right at the start, nipped it in the bud, but the start had been so insidious that she didn’t know when it had occurred, and besides, he was Jamie, he’d been there all her life, stalwart, loyal; how could she deliberately hurt him? The thought of causing him any kind of pain made her feel physically sick, so she played for time, while waiting for the something that would help her to escape the future Jamie had mapped out for them both, something painless. She lied to him, that was how she had handled it, and she knew she was doing it at the time too, it wasn’t just in 20–20 hindsight; all she could think of was buying time and lying was the easiest way of doing it. Working different hours across the Clyde from each other meant that inevitably they saw less of each other, so feeling insecure, or perhaps sensing her increasing distance, even if she thought she had it contained within her own mind, he kept pushing for some sort of commitment. It wouldn’t be for ever, she told him, and the money she was making was going into the bank. She had a tendency to blush when she told a barefaced lie to a decent person, so she trained herself to completely empty her mind during these conversations, and Jamie’s face beamed with delight, believing, she knew perfectly well, that the money was going towards their future together. She didn’t actually say that, but she phrased it in such a way that he would take that meaning; it was a deliberate lie, she couldn’t pretend otherwise. But after reassuring him in this dishonest way, his demands would stop, though not for long. Soon he would be back with the same complaints, that she was never there, not even on Saturday nights, that they never saw each other. It was as though she was administering a verbal painkiller that wore off after a while, and so she force-fed him another, higher dose, then another. He wanted to get engaged, a measure of his desperation, she sensed, he needed her to wear his ring, his brand, to be sure he had her. It was a simple, blameless enough request, but instinctively she fended him off. They were saving, weren’t they? Why spend hard-earned cash on something they didn’t need? They didn’t really need a ring, did they? And reluctantly he gave way. It was only because he wanted everyone to know that they would end up married, he said, and all the time she knew it was because Jamie wanted to know, yet she refused him even that. And she didn’t know why, that was the odd thing. He was a good man, he didn’t drink or smoke, he was reliable, devoted, and once his apprenticeship was over he would earn good money and be able to provide for his family. Looking at the families she had grown up around and still lived among, Jamie was a catch, everyone told her so. ‘That Jamie o’ yours is a good man,’ that was the general opinion. ‘He’ll no’ gie ye ony trouble,’ and knowing female looks would be exchanged; every woman knew what was meant by ‘trouble’. And it was true, all true, and yet, well she didn’t know, but thinking ahead to their projected life together one question kept repeating in her head no matter how much she reminded herself of her luck: ‘Is that all there is?’
‘That Crawford boy willnae wait
for ever!’ Aggie would tell her with glee whenever she saw her granddaughter. ‘Ye don’t know when ye’re well aff, that’s your trouble!’
‘Aye, well, Aggie,’ Kathy would reply coolly, ‘it’s no’ as if we’re bad at attractin’ men in this family, is it? Ah mean, a’ Ah havtae dae is follow ma Auntie Jessie’s lead, she has merr through her hands than she can cope wi’, hasn’t she?’
Aggie spluttered with rage from her chair beside the fire.
‘An’ no’ just her hands either, eh?’ she winked theatrically at her grandmother for effect. ‘In fact, wi’ they scabby mitts she darenae touch them withoot rubber gloves, an’ that’s no’ awfy erotic, is it? Ah must see if we’ve no’ got somethin’ in the shop that would help her, mibbe Ah could get her usual double dose o’ penicillin, or bulk orders o’ rubber gloves, oan ma staff discount!’
‘Ah’ll tell ye this!’ Aggie yelled, rising from her chair and crossing herself. ‘Ah’ll tell ye this!’
‘Aw for Godsake get oan wi’ it an’ tell me, Aggie! Ma shift starts in four hours!’
‘That Crawford boy is too damn good for ye! There y’are! Whit dae ye thinka that then? Ah’ve a good mind tae have a serious talk tae him an’ tell him whit ye’re like, so Ah have, ya black-hearted wee swine that ye are!’
‘Aye, you dae that, Aggie. Tell ye whit. If ye really want tae put him aff, take alang exhibit A, your scabby Jessie, show him whit he’ll be marryin’ intae. If that doesnae put him aff, nothin’ will!’
She could still hear Aggie screaming as she walked down the stairs and made for Govan.
But the Jamie dilemma remained and deepened, until the evening of her nineteenth birthday, when he presented her with a small, mock-leather box bearing the name of H. Samuel’s the jeweller’s. They were sitting in Dino’s café in Sauchiehall Street, a place Jamie had decided was sophisticated, when he presented his gift. Taking the little box in her hands and opening the lid she truly knew what it meant to have her heart in her mouth, or her throat to be exact. She knew what was inside, and she didn’t want it, but she knew with equal certainty that she would have to accept it; she had been trapped. Sitting in a slot in the velvet interior of the box was a solitaire diamond ring, the very one that Jamie had pointed out to her on past missions to persuade her into an official engagement. It wasn’t a big diamond, in fact it was hard to distinguish where the setting finished and the diamond began, and she knew exactly how much it had cost, because she had been forced to look at it so often in H. Samuel’s window in Argyle Street: £66. It wasn’t the size of the stone that she disliked, and she knew how hard Jamie must have saved to afford £66, the problem was that she wouldn’t have wanted even a ten carat diamond from him. That was it. The truth was that she didn’t want Jamie. She could feel a rush of tears to her eyes and knew they were born of shame; this was Jamie, who had been by her side all her life, who had been loyal and loving, and she neither loved him nor wanted him. The impulse to throw the box on the floor and run away was hard to resist, her legs actually trembled with the urge, and her face muscles seemed frozen when she desperately needed to compose them into a smile. Her mind was racing though, before she had even uttered a word her mind was thinking forward to how she could get out of this. She would have to feign surprise and delight of course, but a plan of escape was already being formulated. Thus reassured that she could ultimately escape the trap, she allowed the beaming Jamie to put the ring on her engagement finger. For now, a voice in her mind said.
‘There!’ he said. ‘That’s it official!’
‘For now,’ the voice repeated.
‘There’s nae escapin’ noo!’
‘For now, for now…’
She wore Jamie’s ring when she knew she would see him, but at all other times she left it in its box in her room, vaguely hoping in fact that Old Con would find it and pawn it for drinking money. Naturally, the one time when she needed his thieving ways they deserted him. Once she had forgotten to put the ring on before she saw Jamie and seeing the panic and hurt in his eyes, she came up with an instant explanation. ‘Ah forgot it!’ she said brightly. ‘Imagine that! Ah don’t wear it at work, ye see, because o’ the chemicals an’ things.’ She looked up at him and was relieved to see him nod in agreement. ‘An’ Ah was that late gettin’ here that Ah must’ve left it oan the chesta drawers! Oh, Ah feel that lost withoot it tae!’ ‘An’ a total fraud intae the bargain!’ she said to herself. And so the awkward moment had been salved, but though he seemed to accept the explanation, Jamie’s anxieties were activated once again by the incident. And that was why she had slept with him, or so she told herself. The truth was that she didn’t know why she had done it. At the time it had been like the next step in a long progression of pacifiers, a means of keeping at bay the day when she would have to tell him she wouldn’t marry him, she had simply been buying more time. She knew it was stupid and that she was doing something totally illogical. She wanted rid of this nice but boring man whom she didn’t love, so she became engaged to him, then started sleeping with him as a means of getting away? Where was the sense in that? What the hell was she doing, what was she thinking? Sex as a bargaining ploy, sex without love. Dear God, the older she got the more she resembled Auntie Jessie! Her mind was full of ‘maybes’. Maybe if her mother had been there it wouldn’t have reached this stage, maybe with Lily’s support she could’ve told Jamie much earlier that she didn’t want him, extricated herself with some dignity. But she couldn’t escape as easily as that, and she couldn’t blame anyone or any situation, it was down to her, the whole sorry mess. Maybe it was in the genes after all. Not that the latest concession worked long anyway; the supreme sacrifice had only heightened Jamie’s desire to be married. He was a deeply conventional man, he needed security, not some halfway measure, however enjoyable, for him at any rate. Mentally and verbally she ran from him, until the day came when he wanted to set a definite date and she couldn’t run any longer, she had to admit that she wasn’t ready to get married. It still wasn’t the truth, of course, the perfect opportunity had presented itself and she had messed it up. She didn’t want to marry Jamie, now or ever, and that was what she should’ve told him, but she used the ‘not quite ready’ excuse instead.
‘Look, Kathy,’ he said, looking so desperately hurt that she almost caved in and hugged him, ‘ye canny keep puttin’ it aff like this.’
‘Jamie, Ah’m no’ puttin’ it aff!’ she lied. ‘But we’re baith young, Ah’m no’ even twenty yet. Whit’s the hurry tae tie oorselves doon?’
‘Whit’s the pointa waitin’ when we know we’re gonny get married? Ah’ve finished ma apprenticeship, Ah’m earnin’ good money. It’s time tae get married.’ He shrugged his shoulders; for him the evidence was overwhelming and unarguable. For a long time there was silence. ‘Kathy, Ah know Ah’m no’ excitin’,’ he said sadly, ‘but we’ve known each other a’ oor lives, you knew it when we got engaged. Ah don’t see whit else you want, unless there’s somebody else, of course?’
‘There’s naebody else, Jamie.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Kathy, Ah just want tae settle doon. Ah’d rather dae it wi’ you, but if you don’t want that, Ah’ll find somebody else tae be ma wife.’
Looking back, she remembered feeling sorry for him at that moment, she had thought it was a kind of ultimatum born of Jamie’s desperation, and Jamie being a solid man without a rich imagination, it had been the best he could come up with at the time. And she’d been wrong, of course. They had continued seeing each other over the next six weeks or so, the subject of his need for marriage sooner rather than later lying in the air, but unspoken between them, while she scrupulously remembered to wear his ring. They were in a booth at Dino’s when he once again asked her to name a date, and when she hedged he told her about Angela. Angela was a nurse, she worked in the medical unit at the Albion, and Angela wanted him, apparently. Desperation again, Kathy thought. He wanted to marry Kathy, he always had, he said, but if she wouldn’t then he would se
ttle for Angela. Kathy, still trying to work out what was true and what was panic, didn’t reply. He got up and stood fidgeting beside the table. ‘She’s pregnant,’ he said quietly.
‘Yours?’ Kathy asked, sounding considerably calmer than she felt.
Jamie nodded, his head down.
‘So ye’ve been seein’ her while ye’ve been seein’ me?’ she asked incredulously.
Jamie nodded again.
‘Sleepin’ wi’ the baitha us?’ she demanded, her voice rising.
‘Shh!’ Jamie said, looking around the other diners. ‘Keep yer voice doon!’
Chasing Angels Page 9