Eighteen Couper Street

by Millie Gray

  “Right enough, it’s one of the Wilson family boats he was on and always their skipper is related by blood.”

  Anna nodded. “And the young buck thinks he knows it all and no way was he having Gus getting all the credit.”

  “So he sacked him,” gasped Rye. “What a stupid, blinking laddie. But here, what’s his granny, Daisy Wilson, saying about all this?”

  Anna shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised she’s done nothing – especially when her kinfolk could be riding out a gale-force ten with a naïve hothead at the helm.”

  “Right enough.”

  “Aye, and here was my Bella going to give up the job with Sandy and I was quite happy about that because – och, my eyes Rye.” Anna vigorously rubbed her forehead. “I just cannae see to do the intricate small sewing any more and so I could do with working full-time for Sandy.”

  “And for sure,” chortled Rye, “the dead’ll no notice if you’ve stitched them up with ower big tacking stitches.”

  “Naw. They never give you any grief, the dead don’t,” was Anna’s despondent reply.

  Sipping slowly from her cup, Rye pondered. She was trying to think of something that was going right for Anna just now. But she conceded there was nothing really except … Rachel. “Here, is there no sign of your Rachel getting engaged to that Bud guy? They’ve been going steady for a while now and he’s nuts about her.”

  “We know that. And if Bella is to be believed, she says the spirits know that too and they’ve told her a big surprise is coming our way.”

  A rustling of paper followed by a soft knock on the door caused both women to shudder and look expectantly at each other.

  “It cannae be the rent man – I paid him yesterday,” whispered Anna, drawing the sugar bowl nearer to her. “And I hope it’s no some poor cratur needing a sugar poultice put on a carbuncle,” she went on as she shoogled the bowl, “because there’s nowt but a couple of spoonfuls in there.”

  Rye rose and before crossing the floor she asked, “But is this no the night Sandy pays you your wages?” Anna nodded. “Then if it’s a poultice that’s needed they’ll need to come back the morn.”

  When the door opened Anna could see that Rye was perplexed. “Problem, Rye?” she asked.

  “Naw. It’s some old fishwife and I think she wants to sell you some fish but as you’re skint …”

  Before Rye could continue the woman brushed past her and Anna was surprised to see Daisy Wilson sling a pauchle of fish on the table.

  Anna being at least a foot shorter than Daisy attempted to add to her stature by pulling herself up. “If that’s a peace offering,” began Anna, pushing the parcel back towards Daisy, “then it’s no here you need to deliver it.”

  “No. This fish is …” Daisy paused. She knew she was not what anyone would call diplomatic and she would need to walk a tightrope here so she warmly smiled before adding, “For you. Because I ken how you’ve always had a sair time making ends meet and feeding awbody that’s starving.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t need charity,” was Anna’s hostile retort.

  “Och, woman, it’s no charity. If you dinnae want a couple o’ haddies and a few herring then toss them out the window to the gulls.”

  Grabbing hold of the pauchle Rye lifted the fish to safety. “That’ll be right. And thanks, Daisy. And believe me. Nae bird’ll stuff its gob with this fish as long as yin bairn in Couper Street needs a feed.”

  Anna considered putting Daisy in her place but hadn’t Rye become Daisy’s unlikely ally. This meant Anna could be at a disadvantage and was not sure to come out on top. In fact, any confrontation could result in her falling out with one or maybe both of them. And that wouldn’t do. So graciously she indicated for Daisy to sit down. “Will you wet your thrapple with us?” she asked, pouring a cup a tea for Daisy.

  Rye’s raucous laughter echoed. “And if we had any scones we could have offered you one on jam,” she was now laughing bawdier, “that would be if we had any jam – but we’ve nane of that either.”

  “Daisy,” began Anna, lifting her cup to sip from it, “my head doesnae button up the back. So, thanks for the fish, but if the real reason you’re here is to get me to mediate in the row between your laddie and my Bella’s man – well you’ve backed a loser.”

  Rocking her head from side to side Daisy chuckled. “Naw. Like you I fight my ain battles. All I want is his address. I ken he bides in Lochend Road but I can hardly walk the length of it shouting, ‘Caller herring’, in the hope that he’ll recognise my dulcet tones and come out.”

  All three women were now laughing. “He bides in the main door just next to the store,” a relieved Anna advised.

  “The Leith Provident shops on the corner of Lochend Road and Hermitage Park?”

  Anna looked quizzically at Daisy. “You’ve already been up there searching for him.” Daisy said nothing so Anna continued with her theory. “I just knew leaving that unholy mess for a month just wasnae you. Aye, Daisy, there’s no many up afore you in the morning.”

  Daisy nodded. “But rest assured. Settled this day the mess will be, or my name’s no Daisy Wilson.”

  “Hope you’re right, Daisy,” a pensive Anna replied. “But like you he can be quite cussed. Even I have to walk round about him as if I was walking on egg shells.”

  Anna was surprised when Daisy winked and confided, “Aye, but when you go into battle with the likes of – what’s your son-in-law’s name again?”

  “You losing it, Daisy? Ye ken fine his name’s Gus Cochrane, or on a Sunday Angus Cochrane, and he hails from the far-flung Hebrides.”

  Rising Daisy nodded but Anna was not convinced Daisy wasn’t on a fishing trip of her own. She was just about to try and find out what she was up to when another rap came to the door.

  Putting on her shawl Rye said, “I have to get going.” She turned to speak direct to Daisy. “No offence, but an hour ago I’ve left my eldest lassie to care for my baby. She’s good with him but my wee Duncan likes his mammy best.” Turning back to Anna she continued, “I’ll get the door on my way out.”

  Throwing the door open wide so Anna could see who was standing there, Rye shouted, “Oh, it’s yourself, Mrs Rankin. Come away in. I think Anna’s just dying to have a wee word with you.”

  Before Anna could say a proper goodbye to Daisy she’d taken her cue from Rye and left. She didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to realise Mrs Rankin had serious confidential business she required to sort out with Anna.

  The minute the door closed Mrs Rankin, wringing her hands, whined, “I’m real sorry, Miss Campbell, about the trouble that’s been brought to your door. I mean it must be very hard for you, a Salvationist, holding your head up after what your Robert’s done.”

  “No,” replied Anna, clearing the table. “And Mrs Rankin, it’s your daughter that’s in trouble, not my chosen son.”

  Humiliated, Mrs Rankin was suddenly filled with rage and she quickly spat back, “Aye, but my Bunty didnae go into your Robert’s trousers and help herself!”

  “She didn’t?”

  Mrs Rankin was now on her feet and heading for the door. “My Bunty,” she screamed, “was an innocent until your Robert took a loan of her. Without question she does everything he tells her to.”

  The door firstly was flung open and Mrs Rankin disappeared into the lobby before it was forcibly banged shut. Within minutes the door creaked open again and Mrs Rankin’s head peered sheepishly round it. “Look, Miss Campbell,” she whimpered. “I didnae come to argue about who was to blame. I just wanted to know how many of you will be at the church next Saturday for the wedding and if you all like Dickson’s mince pies?”

  Anna was grateful for the peace that had settled in the house since they’d all left. Remembering the happenings of last night and this morning she felt as if she had been put through a wringer.

  Allowing herself the luxury of a mischievous titter she remembered Daisy and the fish. It was true she’d not been down to Newha
ven to do battle with the seagulls for two years now. At the start it had been because Gus, or to be correct Bella, always made sure she got more than a fair share of his pauchle. But now Gus was no longer trawling that meant she did need to be standing waiting for trawlers landing their fish and hoping some would fall off. Sadly she looked down at her hands and flexed them. The truth was there to see. Her fingers were so rickety and twisted now she couldn’t even fight a sparrow and win, never mind a seagull. She tittered again and rubbed her lower back and thought, And if I did fall down there’s no guarantee I’d ever get up again.

  Squinting up at the clock she sighed, thinking, Is that the time? Och, I cannae believe I should be up on my feet and out to Sandy’s. Thank goodness the dead make allowances for you being slow and clumsy.

  She was buttoning her coat when another knock came to the door. Thankfully it was the postman with a letter from Freddie. She was pleased to read that they liked Canada and although things had been difficult at the start it looked now as if things would work out for them.

  Being one of the few in Leith who could afford a pram – and a Silver Cross coach-built one purchased from the Scott’s pram shop in Yardheads at that – Bella took every opportunity to show off the vehicle by proudly pushing it down Lochend Road. Today there was the baby at the top of the pram and two toddlers sitting in the bottom.

  She was just struggling out the front garden gate when she saw Daisy Wilson coming up the road, but before she could challenge her Daisy had disappeared. But to where? Bella shrugged. She had wanted to give Daisy a piece of her mind, and she would eventually, but as Rachel was with her she decided perhaps today was not the day, so she didn’t go in search of Daisy.

  Daisy, who had jumped into the store butcher’s shop, discreetly watched as Bella and Rachel crossed Hermitage Park and then sauntered down the street until they disappeared. Quickly declining the butcher’s offer of some fine sausages, she skipped from the shop in Hermitage Park, danced round the corner into Lochend Road and then up the pathway of Gus’s house.

  With Bella and the children gone Gus had settled down to read his paper when the front doorbell summoned him.

  Through the stained-glass panel he was able to make out that it was Daisy Wilson. Before opening the door he composed himself by inhaling deeply. He also counselled himself that his feeling of injustice was in no way due to her actions. Nonetheless, it did rankle that he’d been sacked by a green whipper-snapper who thought he was Neptune and could control the waves. The result of all this was he, with all his maritime experience, was labouring, like a coolie in the dust-laden hemp store of the notorious Roperie in Bath Street.

  Daisy was surprised to find Gus grinning from to ear to ear when he opened the door to her.

  “Looking for to sell me some fish?” he teased.

  Daisy shook her head. “No. Just think it’s time for you and me to talk about the fine kettle of fish we’re all in.”

  Gus blew out his lips in a contemptuous puff, hunched his shoulders and began to close the door. Daisy quickly prevented this by sticking her foot in and her warning stare told him not to jam the door any further on it. “As I’ve already said – we need to talk.”

  Opening the door further Gus, with a curt nod of his head, bade her enter and was surprised she hesitated before saying, “No. I won’t come in.”

  Daisy’s reluctance bewildered Gus who then asked, “So you won’t come in. Then why in the name of heavens are you … ?”

  Daisy, who appeared not to have heard Gus speak, slowly continued, “You see, I feel I would be at a disadvantage in your house – so definitely not here.” She again paused to think before saying, “Would be best for us to meet on neutral ground.” He nodded. “You know Mother Aitkin’s Roadhouse at the end of Leith Links? I’ll meet you there in half an hour,” she suggested with a knowing nod.

  Shaking his head Gus gave a series of half laughs. “And why would I run to your beck and call? Just go, eh.”

  “Oh, you’ll come. You see, I knew you might be stubborn so I wondered what would move you and … Murdo …”

  The colour drained from Gus’s face and she could see a look of exactly what? Terror, anger or was it even some sort of relief in his eyes before he nodded and closed the door?

  Mother Aitkin’s was an old-fashioned type of roadhouse where, in addition to selling good ale that the dockers and workmen drank greedily to quench their thirst, it also provided good wholesome food.

  By the time Gus arrived Daisy had ordered up two plates of soup along with chunks of home-baked bread. Bowing her head Daisy said, “Dear Father, for what we are about to receive we give you our grateful thanks.”

  Gus smiled to himself. He’d forgotten fisher-folk always thanked God before eating. Lifting his spoon he started to lazily stir his soup round and round. “And, Daisy,” he said, lifting his eyes to stare directly into hers, “what exactly are you dishing up? Perhaps something I might thank God for?”

  Daisy pushed her soup to the side and leaned forward on the table. The determination he knew she was capable of was clearly stamped on her face. “This is the deal. You come back to work on the Jeanie this Monday as assistant skipper.”

  “That’ll be right,” snapped Gus. “If you think I’m going to let your grandson tell me what to do.”

  Sticking her tongue in her cheek Daisy sniffed. “Oh, I think you will when you hear the rest of what I have to say.”

  “You think so?” he replied with a “huh”, before rising. “Well let me tell you,” he went on vehemently, “the day I work with your grandson again there’ll be two suns in the sky!”

  Daisy, emotions completely in control, just sat with a smug smile on her face. This complacent attitude only served to further infuriate Gus.

  Through gritted teeth he then hissed, “Don’t you realise, woman, it’s just a matter of time until your precious grandson is not only at sea but is also in it!”

  “And don’t you think I’m well aware of that and that’s why I’m here today? So sit down.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because Gus, it’s true what Bernard Shaw says in Pygmalion. There are those, like my Charlie, who can listen to a person’s accent and place them within a few miles of their place of birth. In Charlie’s case he only requires to hear another fisherman speak and he can pinpoint to within ten miles of where he hails from.” Daisy paused, stuck her tongue out and licked her lips before confidently going on. “And he says that you hail from around Peterhead!”

  “He’s mistaken. And if all you have is his notion that my accent tells him I come from the northeast and not the far northwest, well … good-day and goodbye.”

  “I’m no fool. We fisher-folk have a network and I made enquiries and it seems there’s a tale that’s regularly told up Peterhead way about a young lad called …”

  Gus didn’t let her finish. “Okay. So you think you can blackmail me?”

  “No. I’m just going to talk to you in a dialect you’ll understand.”

  “Dress it up as you like, Daisy, but in my book no matter how you say it – it’s nothing but stinking, sinister blackmail!”

  Daisy, in no way intimidated by Gus’s outburst, relaxed. “You will still get your fair and whole share of the profits, Gus,” she began. “But you must agree to take on my grandson and make him the best skipper to sail out of Newhaven.”

  “Huh,” responded Gus, without attempting to conceal his scepticism. “And who’s going to make him take heed of me?”

  “I’ve already counselled him and he knows the score. He respects you and he stays skipper of a happy trawler. If he doesn’t …” She inhaled deeply which heaved up her ample bosom and this action assisted her to summon the courage she required to say, “Then against all our traditions I’ll make you skipper and arrange a transfer for him to gut, day in and day out, in Croan’s fish house.” She allowed a long pause to hang between them before sagely adding, “Pity the young always have to be taking on the old stags
but, as you well know from experience, Gus, the rutting season does eventually pass.”

  Gus nodded. He’d forgotten that Daisy, wily old bird that she is, was well educated and he knew she wasn’t only talking of the grief her grandson’s impetuosity had caused – but also his.

  “I’m a fair woman, Gus,” she continued, patting her chest where she kept her money hidden, “so I promise you I’ll never mention Peterhead to anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

  They were both looking directly into each other’s eyes and she hoped he could read that she was a woman of her word. From what she’d said he knew she was guessing about his troubled past. Fortunately, the whole sordid story was only known to himself and Andy Campbell – and it was not in the interest of either of them to ever divulge it to another living soul. However, he would allow Daisy to think she had him in her pocket because he wanted back to the fishing where, in vibrant clean air, he could earn the good money he required to keep his family.

  “Look, I accept your assurances,” he drawled, “but please believe me, my wife and my family mean everything to me and anyone who would try to destroy that … well, now you’ve managed to contact the old wives in Peterhead …” He didn’t finish his menacing warning – he didn’t require to – all too well she understood the terms of their bargain.

  Before rising to leave she put her hand over Gus’s and further promised, “I will also give you, in cash,” again she patted her bosom, “a yearly bonus, on the understanding that it is a personal deal between you and me.”

  Gus was astounded. This was an indication of how far Daisy would go to make sure she didn’t lose her precious only grandson to the sea. “Give me your word,” Daisy further demanded, “that you won’t divulge our arrangement to anyone – even your wife.”

  Gus and Daisy both nodded their agreement. “And I also guarantee,” Daisy whispered, “if you keep your part of the bargain, that for as long as you wish I promise you’ll always have employment within my family businesses.”