by Millie Gray
‘Now, let’s get this clear. From here on out, walk on by is exactly what you will do. You promised, and you knew the price that had to be paid when you made that promise. All I am asking is that you keep to it.’
He looked at her from the chair he had sat himself down on. Motherhood had, in his opinion, enhanced her attraction. All he wanted was to be with the woman he loved and who had carried his child, yet here she was slamming the door shut on his dreams again.
‘Are you aware that Robin saw you in the hospital? Then, when he looked at Poppy and saw her little dimple, he immediately twigged that you were her father? Ewan, can’t you see that now we won’t even be able to meet up socially? That would be too cruel to Robin, who will always be wondering if I am about to run off with you.’
‘Okay, I concede, but surely you will let me hold her today. Freda, please. Let me hold her just once.’
Surging emotion was weakening her determination. ‘My mum has taken her out. I don’t expect them back for at least an hour.’
‘I could wait. I don’t mind doing that.’
‘But I mind.’ Watching Ewan’s face drop, Freda knew that not letting him hold his daughter was a step too far. Awash with guilt, she softened. ‘She’s going to be christened soon. I will invite you, along with Angela, to that occasion, and I will ensure then that you are able to hold her.’
She accepted that the arrangement that she had agreed to would be fraught with danger. For a moment, panic surged within her. Poppy looked so much like Ewan and she wondered just when others would see his features reflected in Poppy’s. It was as if Poppy was defying Freda and had deliberately chosen to have the same light, soft, curly hair as her father. And why did she also have to have his dancing, bewitching eyes? Whenever those eyes looked at her, Freda was filled with so much love and emotion. However, the biggest giveaway of Poppy’s true paternity, the one that Freda was sure people would notice, was the tantalising dimple in the centre of Poppy’s chin.
Thirteen
June 1975
From the day that Poppy arrived home from the maternity unit, Harry was besotted with her. Up until then, he had wanted to be a vet and to look after sick animals, but when he held Poppy in his arms for the first time, he announced that he was now going to be a baby doctor and hand out babies to all who wished for one. This being the case, Poppy’s first birthday was a big event for him.
He asked everybody he knew personally to the party. Much to the disquiet of Robin, he even invited a smelly old tramp that seemed keen to start up a friendship with him. When Robin heard about this, he decided that he would go and speak to the man and, in the nicest possible way, withdraw the invitation.
Gathering up the children, Robin said, ‘Right, kids – and you too, Jet – let’s go and feed the ducks.’
When they got to the park, Harry allowed Jet off the lead and she bounded towards the seat where the old man was sitting. However, when the tramp saw that Harry was not on his own, as he usually was when he was walking Jet after school, he hurriedly got up from the bench and started to hobble away.
‘Wait a minute, I want to talk to you!’ Robin called out. The man looked furtively about and continued to attempt to put space between Robin and himself.
As luck would have it, the old man was not very steady on his feet and as he tried to speedily escape, he toppled over. Robin called out to Jackie to come and take charge of Poppy, who was strapped into her go car. He was then in a position to go over and assist the prostrate man. As he bent over to haul the vagrant to his feet, the man turned to face him. Robin reeled back and, without even thinking, rolled his right fist into a ball. Fortunately, before he could lash out at the man, he heard himself stutter, ‘What in the name of heavens are you doing here? I thought you were long gone.’
The man, although tattered, still had some spirit. ‘Aye, you hoped that when you dumped me bleeding and barely conscious on the Restalrig Circus allotment rubbish heap that would be the end of me. Aye, I bet that you thought that I had died there or, more likely, you hoped I had. But, sonny boy, I’m no’ deid yet and I won’t be for four months. Four months I hae to get even wi’ you aw.’
‘Is this the reason you have made friends with my boy?’
‘Aye, and after I met him and he told me how old he was I put two and two the gether – I reckon he’s no’ your boy but mine!’
‘No, he’s not,’ Robin said sharply, ‘Do you hear me? He is not.’
‘That right? Well, tell you what, how about I put my hand up to smashing and battering your wife?’ The man hesitated.
Robin’s anger was growing out of control and he had the desire to finish off the job that Ellen had started when she stuck a knife in Drew’s back. That awful night, when Ellen had arrived home and found Drew attacking Freda, she had lifted the knife and tried to stop him from harming her daughter. It was true that when Freda’s grandfather had arrived at the house, he had decided that Drew deserved no compassion or treatment; instead, he should be dumped on the rubbish heap and left to sort himself out, or at least left for nature to decide what his fate should be. Robin remembered all too well how Grandad Jack, Stuart and himself had been outraged at what they found when they arrived at the house. They were all so sorry that they were too late . . . too late to rescue Freda.
Robin was brought back to the present by Drew’s voice, which was full of amusement. ‘I think the kid is definitely mine. If you want to keep my mouth shut about that, you’ll need to pay me, and pay me handsomely.’
‘Pay you? Are you saying that after what you did to my wife, you want me to pay you? You know what, get lost.’
‘Well, if you want me to do that, I could. You see, I only have four months left and I think I should have a wee bit of luxury. Now, if you cannae see your way to providing that luxury, then maybe I could start to be a storyteller.’
‘Do you think you can blackmail me?’
‘Naw. Just wanting what is my due. You unfeeling sods dumped me like a piece of shit and you thought – no, you bloody hoped – that I would die, but I didnae. And either my beloved wife or bloody stepdaughter stuck a knife in me.’ Drew stopped to inhale some deep breaths. ‘Bloody agony I suffered with that. Think they call it attempted murder. But, Mr Big Shot, the real reason that I’ve come is that I want to see my Susan again.’ He sniffed before roughly wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘My Susan is the one good thing that I did in my life . . . At least, that was what I believed until I saw Harry and his sister. So, I need dosh to get myself cleaned up so I can approach my lassie. I also need it because I want to die in a bed wi’ clean sheets.’
Robin took time to answer Drew. He knew he must do what was best. Drew was saying that he only had four months to live, so it wouldn’t take long to pay him off. But Drew had always been a liar. Robin shook his head then took a long, hard look at Drew. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘the money you will get. I will see to that. You can see Susan, but you will not say who you are. She thinks that you went to Amsterdam and got lost, so let her go on thinking that.’ He paused to silently contemplate how he would pass the money over. His quick thinking came into play and he said, ‘I will meet you on Thursday evening in the Golf Tavern on Duke Street.’ He looked at Drew’s ragged, filthy clothes before fishing for his wallet. He took out some notes, which he then pushed into Drew’s hand. ‘Get yourself tidied up or the barman at the Golf won’t let you in. Now, after you have been paid off, you get yourself sorted out. Then, and only then, will I allow you to see Susan.’ Wagging his finger and speaking through gritted teeth, Robin hissed, ‘Finally, don’t ever, ever come into this park again. If you dare to speak to Harry again, I will finish the job that Ellen managed to botch. Believe me, that is not a threat . . . it’s a promise.’
*
Poppy’s birthday party was a joyous affair. Harry helped her blow out the big solitary candle on her cake. Jackie, who loved Poppy when she had her to herself but was a bit put out when everybody’s attention was on P
oppy and not her, hoped that Poppy would blow herself away too.
Once Angela had started to organise the children’s games, Robin took the opportunity to get Ewan to himself. As soon as he felt that he had distanced himself and Ewan from earshot, he placed his arm on Ewan’s arm. ‘Ewan, I need to talk to you about something. Something I require your help with.’
Alarmed, Ewan quickly placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me there’s something wrong with Poppy or Freda?’
‘No. Calm yourself and hear me out.’ Robin then relayed in detail his meeting with Drew. At the end of the story, he looked at Ewan imploringly. ‘Ewan, what I am wondering is this: how do I find out whether he is actually at death’s door, or just pulling a fast one?’
Ewan pondered. ‘Medical records are highly confidential, so no one is going to give you the information you require. But all is not lost. Here is what I propose: I will go into the Golf Tavern at the back of six, and try and engage . . .’ He stopped to exhale a few short breaths before saying, ‘I will try and engage the . . . whatever-he-is in conversation, whilst I also attempt to assess him clinically. It won’t be easy, as I can hardly ask him to show me his X-rays or let me sound his chest, but I should be able to judge if he is as bad as he claims.’
Relief seeped into Robin. He knew that Ewan was asking him to delay his arrival so that he would have time not only to appraise Drew, but also to gain his confidence. Then, when Drew became fretful and agitated by Robin’s late arrival, Ewan hoped that he would be more likely to blurt out his anxieties and concerns.
*
It was always a mystery to Robin that when he wished to draw large sums of money out of the bank and it was not payday, the cashier always had the temerity to ask what he was going to do with the money. Normally, he would just smile and say, ‘Got to keep my lovers in the style they have become accustomed to!’ but today he felt anxious and annoyed so he quipped, ‘No problem about this three thousand pounds; it is to pay a hit man to bump off a nosy bank teller.’
Whilst it was easy to retort to a cashier’s question, Robin knew that it would be harder to convince Freda, who meticulously checked the bank accounts, that there was an acceptable reason for such a large withdrawal – he would have to come up with some kind of cock-and-bull story. After all, Freda knew that three thousand pounds per annum was the average wage that they paid their fully-qualified hairdressers. Additionally, it was more than enough for a deposit on a house. Yes, there was no way he would get it past Freda, but he knew it was a risk he must take.
Later on in the day, on that important Thursday, Robin made his way to the Golf Tavern, acutely aware of the envelopes of cash he was carrying. The Golf Tavern was situated on busy Duke Street in Leith – nowhere near a golf course. It was, however, named the Golf Tavern in memory of ‘gowff’ being played on a five-hole course on Leith Links in the sixteenth century.
When Robin chose the Golf Tavern for his meeting with Drew he was aware of the history of golf in Leith but it was of no importance to him. No, Robin had decided on this particular hostelry for his meeting with Drew because it was comfortable and well managed.
When the meeting was finally over, Robin felt as tight as a drum. He had just watched Drew stuff two large envelopes containing three thousand pounds into his second-hand Burberry coat and slink out of the Golf Tavern. The door had just closed behind him when Ewan rose up from an adjoining table and plonked himself down opposite Robin.
‘Right,’ Robin began, rubbing his hands together in an effort to appear completely in control. ‘What did you manage to find out?’
‘Hmm,’ Ewan replied, as he tried to work out just what he should impart to Robin. ‘He is a very sick man. I would not expect him to live another two months, never mind—’
‘Two months?’ Robin expostulated. At the sound of this loud outburst, the pub’s other customers fell silent and turned to stare at Robin and Ewan. Robin, undeterred by the unwanted attention, continued in a subdued tone, ‘But you knew I was going to pay him off, so why didn’t you signal to me to just hand over one envelope?’
‘How much did you give him?’
Gulping, Robin played with a beer mat and whispered, ‘Three thousand pounds!’
‘Tell me you didn’t?’
‘Ewan, you are supposed to be cleverer than me – or so I thought! – but right now you are being a ninny. Firstly, you didn’t give me a signal about Drew meeting his maker sooner than he had said, and now you are laughing at me! You can sneer, but in good faith I gave him what I thought he would need to get himself looked after for four months or so.’
‘He’s an alcoholic. You should have arranged to pay him a little each week.’
Looking up at the ceiling, Robin muttered, ‘Dear Lord, give me patience.’
‘What’s done is done. Now, from what I understand, he has pancreatic cancer and needs palliative care.’
‘What exactly does that mean?’
‘I have told him that I will try to get him admitted to Corstorphine Hospital.’ Ewan stopped to purse his lips. ‘Unfortunately, that is the best I will be able to arrange for him. Pity he needs care now. If only he could have hung on until next year . . .’
‘Why?’ exclaimed Robin.
‘I’ve heard that next year there are plans to build a hospice called St Columba’s, similar to the ones down in London.
‘Ewan, save me your compassion for him and just get down to brass tacks.’
‘As I’ve said, the man is dying. He will not have an easy death, which is why I am going to try to make things as comfortable for him as I possibly can.’
‘Well, pardon me if I don’t cry for him. You see, whatever he has to suffer will never be punishment enough for what he did to Freda.’
‘Robin, please tell me that you do not mean that.’
‘Oh but I bloody do. You see, you might have taken a Hippocratic oath to treat and feel sorrow for the likes of him, but you didn’t see what he did to Freda so don’t you dare try and make me feel guilty about how I feel about him.’
‘Point taken. But Robin, don’t forget that despite all that Freda suffered, she did give birth to the children. What would your life – and indeed Freda’s – be like without them? I hated him at first too, but my time as a doctor has taught me that we must try to show compassion and forgiveness to our fellow men.’
Robin fell forward. As his head slumped onto the table he muttered, ‘Dear God in heaven, I plead again for patience, because I don’t know what planet he’s from!’
Ignoring Robin’s show of frustration, Ewan continued, ‘Now, here is what I think should be done. I will look after Mr Black. By next week I should have him admitted to hospital. He wishes to see Susan, so I will approach her.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘Yes, I will. Then, when the end comes, I will make his funeral arrangements and try and retrieve as much of your money as I can. I will, of course, keep you up to date with what is happening.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Robin huffed. He looked at Ewan’s pint, which remained untouched because Ewan was not a beer drinker and had only ordered it so that he could socialise with Drew. ‘Would you like a double dram? Because I sure could use one!’
Ewan nodded. ‘Robin, try and understand how difficult it is for Drew Black to not be on good terms with Susan.’
Robin nodded, but said nothing. He knew that Ewan was reminding him how difficult it was for him not to hear Poppy say, ‘Daddy, Daddy, my Daddy.’
*
Five weeks later, Ewan entered the Golf Tavern to find that Robin was already seated at a table, with a half pint of McEwan’s Best and a double malt whisky in front of him.
As he sat down, Ewan lifted the whisky and sniffed. ‘Celebrating, are we? I think we must be because unless I’m mistaken, this wee goldie is a Glenmorangie.’
‘Aye, it is, and don’t drink it over in the one gulp, because it’s a double.’
‘A double?’
/>
‘Yes. I thought that I should buy you a dram of Scotland’s finest malt whisky as a thank you.’
Swirling the liquid around in the glass and inhaling again, Ewan said, ‘I suppose you mean for yesterday?’
‘Yes. I was tied up in Glasgow and I didn’t know until I arrived home that Freda had gone to the funeral.’
Ewan nodded. ‘Look, after I spoke to Susan – and, before you say anything, I only gave her the facts about Drew – I admit that I did suggest that she go and see him in hospital, and let him pass in peace. She decided that she wished to do that. I asked her not to tell her mother and, more importantly, Freda. How was I to know she would go and get them into a family circle? I didn’t think that Ellen would want to go with Susan, even to support her. It was also reasonable to expect that Freda wouldn’t go within a mile of Drew while he was still breathing. But, yesterday, Freda, Ellen and Susan huddled together in the cloister chapel and saw him off.’
Slurping from his half pint, Robin muttered, ‘Into hell’s fires, I hope.’
‘Robin, don’t scowl like that. He was Susan’s father. No matter what he was guilty of, nothing could change that, nor the fact that she loved him.’
Time passed and they both sipped from the glasses. ‘Tell you something though,’ Ewan mused, ‘I could not fathom why Freda seemed so happy when she found out that Drew had survived . . . it was as if a weight had been lifted from her.’
A wicked little smile came to Robin’s face. He was remembering a time when he and Freda had discussed Drew surfacing again. She had grabbed at her cheeks with both hands and muttered, ‘Oh Robin, since that night I have been so worried that his body would turn up – I was convinced that my mum or I had killed him! Oh, isn’t it just great that even though we wished him dead that night God let Drew live?’
‘Robin, there’s no hurry, but when you get down to earth again,’ Ewan said, breaking into Robin’s thoughts, ‘I have something else to tell you.’