The Gourlay Girls

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Arms encircling each other’s waists, they made their way back to the car. On the way home, Virginia leaned her head against Nicholas’s shoulder.

  ‘Oh, Nicholas, I’m so thankful we’ve still got each other.’

  ‘Don’t go all maudlin on me now.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I mean it.’

  ‘I know, darling. I feel the same. I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.’

  As they drove along, she said, ‘I want you to make love to me.’

  He glanced round at her with laughing eyes. ‘I know I’m a genius but my talents don’t include making love and driving at the same time.’

  She punched his arm. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, as soon as I get you into the park …’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  They were the young couple again that they once had been, laughing and teasing, loving and passionate. Back at home, he carried her to the bedroom and they undressed one another and caressed one another, as if for the first time. They made deep, passionate love, and afterwards she lay in his arms and he said, ‘I thought I’d lost you, Virginia, and it was my own fault.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t, Nicholas,’ she told him firmly. ‘It wasn’t anybody’s fault. We were both just struggling to cope with the loss of our child. And we were both feeling guilty. But I’ve come to see that people always feel guilty to some degree after a loved one’s death. I remember my mother saying things like “If only I’d said this”, “If only I’d done that” after my brothers died. And my father was the same after my mother’s death.’

  It was the first time Virginia had accepted, and openly admitted, that Wincey was dead. She knew Nicholas had never truly accepted the truth either.

  ‘Oh, Virginia.’

  ‘Shh … Shh … ‘

  She put her arm around his neck and pulled his head down and nursed it against her breast.

  28

  The next time they had a drive out to the Campsies, Wincey took a picnic basket. They spread a travelling rug on the grass and Wincey poured homemade soup from a flask into cups. There was a plate of salmon sandwiches and a crisp apple tart baked by Teresa. A flask of coffee finished the meal.

  Houston said, ‘That was a feast. I really enjoyed it. And look at that view. That’s a feast for the eyes.’

  Wincey gazed into the distance, where Glasgow was out in the valley below. She remembered a short poem called ‘Glasgow’. It must have been the same view, only in the evening, that had inspired the poet,

  A huge town

  Lying in a plain

  With a valley

  Atwinkle with lights

  Defies time

  And radiates warmth from a million hearts

  Back to the skies.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, would you?’

  Houston shook his head. ‘And I’ve been around and seen a few places. The thing that annoys me, though, is what a bad reputation Glasgow seems to have, especially down in London.’

  ‘I know. I could hardly credit it recently when I invited one of our English customers to visit us in Glasgow. He seemed quite shocked. “Oh no,” he said, “I’d be too frightened to go up there.” Wincey laughed, remembering. Houston laughed too.

  ‘A Glasgow accent stands you in good stead in an English pub, though. As soon as any thug looking for a fight hears it, they give you a wide berth.’

  After they finished their coffee and Wincey had packed everything back in the basket, Houston said, ‘Wincey, have you given any thought to what I said the other day?’

  ‘About contacting my family?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It hasn’t made any difference, Robert. They would be liable to die of shock if I suddenly appeared. You told me I’d been given up for dead.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you suddenly turn up on their doorstep. You could write them a letter.’

  ‘But what would I say? After all this time. It would seem wicked of me to have let them suffer for so long. It was wicked.’

  ‘No, it was not,’ Houston said firmly. ‘How often have I to spell it out to you? Your grandfather had been abusing you for years, and you’d only begun to realise what he’d been doing to you. You felt confused and betrayed. But you also thought it was somehow your fault. You didn’t know what to do. When he had his heart attack, you were still confused, Wincey, and you were in shock. Then you felt horrified and guilty, and afraid, and you ran away. The longer you stayed away, the more afraid you became, especially to go back and face your family. Now that’s the truth, Wincey, and that is exactly what you must write and tell your mother and father.’

  ‘What if they don’t believe me about what he did to me? What if they think I’m just making up lies to try to excuse my behaviour?’

  ‘What behaviour?’

  Her expression strained with anxiety. ‘He was such a successful and respectable businessman, Robert. I suppose you could call him a pillar of the church, and the community. He was an elder in the church, and he donated a lot of money to the restoration of the building. Oh Robert, who would believe me? It makes me sick to my soul just to think of how people would revile me.’

  ‘Darling!’ He gathered her into his arms. ‘Did I revile you when you told me?’

  ‘You’re a doctor. That makes you different. And …’ She flushed and gazed up at his face, her expression still uncertain. ‘You love me.’

  ‘Yes, I love you. I love you very much. And I’m sure your parents love you as well, in a different way, of course. I want to make love to you, and don’t look so anxious, darling. I’ve every intention of waiting until you want it too. Although …’ His tone became teasing. ‘You’re really testing my curative skills as a doctor, as well as my will-power, to the limits. I hope you realise that.’

  ‘I do love you, Robert, and I do want to make love to you, but it’s just … it’s just … this awful feeling comes over me. It’s disgust as well as fear. Not disgust at you,’ she hastily added. ‘Oh, I know I’m being stupid.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Wincey. You just need time, darling. And you need to get all this out in the open. You must get all aspects of your life, and your guilty feelings, sorted out. I know you think you love me but—’

  ‘Oh, I do, Robert, I do,’ she cried out in distress.

  ‘Wincey,’ he continued firmly, ‘you’ve got to learn to love yourself before you can really love someone else.’

  ‘Love myself?’

  ‘Yes, and accept yourself. Now, to get back to what I was saying—are you going to write that letter?’

  Worriedly, she hesitated. ‘It’s the terrible shock it would give them. I’ve left it too long, Robert.’

  ‘It might have given them a shock if you suddenly appeared before them without any warning, but if you wrote them a letter, Wincey … You’re just making excuses. It’s far more likely they’d be absolutely overjoyed.’

  ‘I’ll … I’ll think about it.’

  ‘What good will it do to allow more time to pass?’

  ‘I need more time to adjust to the idea, and to pluck up enough courage, I suppose.’

  ‘You’ve got me now, remember.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Yes, you’re my rock.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been called many a thing, but never a rock. Is that meant to be a compliment?’

  ‘Of course.’ She thought he was going to kiss her but it was as if he suddenly changed his mind. He turned away and got to his feet.

  ‘Do you fancy a walk, or are you ready to go back home?’

  She rose too. ‘It’s getting a bit late, and we’ve both early starts in the morning.’

  ‘Right.’ He lifted up the picnic basket. ‘Let’s walk back to the car. Then we’ll be on our way.’

  The closeness that had existed between them earlier was now gone. On the way home they still spoke pleasantly to each other, but there was an edge of politeness that made Wincey feel sad. She suspected that if she didn’t pull herself
together soon, she was going to lose him. She couldn’t expect him to be patient for ever. He would have no difficulty in getting any woman—for sex, or whatever he wanted. He didn’t need to put up with a guilt-ridden neurotic.

  He didn’t come into the house with her but just carried the picnic basket into the close and deposited it on the Gourlays’ doormat.

  ‘See you again soon.’ A brief wave and he was gone.

  Wincey stood listening to the car start up and then the sound of it fade away. Then she put her key in the door.

  ‘Ah’m tellin’ ye,’ Granny was bawling at Teresa, ‘there’s gonnae be another war. Ah huvnae lived aw this time no’ tae know aw the signs.’

  Teresa didn’t seem in the least perturbed. ‘Och, you’re always such a pessimist, Granny.’

  ‘Whit dae ye think they’re conscriptin’ fellas o’ twenty for? Tae send them tae Rothesay for their holidays?’

  ‘Oh, there you are, Wincey.’ Teresa greeted Wincey with some relief. ‘Did you have a lovely time, dear?’

  ‘Yes. That’s the rain coming on now, but we got it dry for the picnic. Robert thought your soup was delicious, by the way. And your apple tart. He sends his compliments.’

  Teresa flushed with pleasure. ‘Such a nice man. And he’ll make you a wonderful husband.’

  Wincey forced a laugh. ‘He hasn’t even asked me yet.’

  ‘He will, dear. He will.’

  Wincey wished she could feel half as confident as Teresa sounded. Suddenly Erchie said, ‘Ma’s right, ye know, hen.’ He had been sitting reading his Daily Record. ‘First there’s the conscription plans. An’ now they’re even havin’ wee weans practice wearin’ gas masks.’

  ‘There was gas in the last war, wasn’t there, Erchie?’ Granny said. ‘It did terrible things tae poor fellas in the trenches. See if they gas us over here, we’re aw done for, gas masks or no. Anyway, where’s oor gas masks?’

  ‘Will you be quiet, the pair of you!’ Teresa said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Erchie, ignoring Teresa’s command, ‘an’ it’ll no’ stop in this war. There’s aye another generation comin’ up, aye ready tae be fooled an’ indoctrinated an’ encouraged tae hate their fellow men. Now German weans have been recruited by thae Nazis. Could ye beat it? Wee fellas o’ thirteen, an’ even younger, are marchin’ intae a Jewish neighbourhood wi’ brushes an’ buckets o’ white paint. They’re daubin’ the star o’ David on Jewish premises pointed out tae them by the grown-ups.’

  ‘Is that no’ wicked? Wee weans,’ Granny said.

  ‘Aye,’ Erchie agreed, ‘an’ it’s forbidden tae play wi’ or even speak tae Jewish weans.’

  Teresa sighed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what it’s all coming to.’

  ‘Ah telt ye,’ Granny raised her voice again, ‘it’s comin’ tae another war, that’s what it’s comin’ tae.’

  Wincey had been emptying the picnic basket and washing the cups and plates and she spoke up in an effort to change the subject. ‘Does anyone fancy going to the Empire Exhibition. Some of the machinists have been and they were raving about it. Some of them have been two or three times.’

  ‘Yes.’ Teresa brightened. ‘I was talking to Mrs McDougall just this morning, and she was telling me she had gone with her man and the family and she thought it was marvellous. And it was packed, she said. She’d never seen so many folk packed together before.’

  ‘Whit? An’ her wi’ such a mob packed intae her room an’ kitchen. She must have aboot a hunner by noo.’

  ‘Now, now, Granny, don’t exaggerate. Yes, I’d love to go, Wincey. How about you, Erchie? And do you think we could manage Granny’s wheelchair if there’s such a crowd?’

  ‘Whit?’ Granny said. ‘Ah’ll soon clear a path wi’ ma brolly. Don’t you worry.’

  Wincey laughed. ‘We’ll probably all need umbrellas. I don’t remember such a wet summer before, do you?’

  ‘Maybe Robert will want to take you on his own. I think you should go with him, dear. We’ll be fine with Erchie.’

  ‘Yes, I am going with him, but I could go with you as well. We could go in the morning. That way Granny wouldn’t get too tired. It’s easier for Robert to get off at night after his surgery, and he was saying that in the evenings, everything’s illuminated and looks extra beautiful.’

  ‘Ah widnae get too tired. Ah’d just be sittin’ in ma chair.’

  ‘Now, now, dear. You know fine you fall asleep in your chair if we don’t get you to bed before nine. And you need your wee nap in the aftemoon as well.’

  ‘Dae you want tae deafen everybody in the exhibition wi’ yer snores, Ma?’ Erchie said.

  Granny drew down her brows and sucked in her gums. ‘Ye’ll be auld yerself wan day.’

  ‘Right,’ Wincey said. ‘I’ll organise it, shall I? And we’ll have a nice meal in one of the restaurants. My treat.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, dear. I’ll really look forward to that.’

  Wincey looked forward to it as well, especially the evening when she was going with Robert. For one thing, she felt safer in the darkness. And for another, maybe that would be the moment that Robert would propose. As his wife, surely she would feel more secure, more safe, less frigid and neurotic. She would gladly give up the factory to concentrate on being a good wife to him, assisting him in his work, making him happy. Although in fact Robert wasn’t in favour of women just staying at home. He said, ‘Outpatient Departments are full of what you might call suburban neurosis—lonely women who are left at home all day with not enough to do and too much time on their hands, which they spend worrying about their troubles.’ There had been several suicides and attempted suicides brought in when he had worked in the Royal.

  ‘Even in this area,’ he said, ‘I have my share. It’s become a grave social problem.’

  Was she what he regarded as a suburban neurotic? Even though she had plenty to do. And she’d plenty to worry about. Charlotte was looking thin and pale and anxious. She had confessed to Wincey that Malcy was getting in deeper and deeper with the moneylender. Charlotte had paid Mrs O’Donnell off more than once and pleaded with Malcy to stop gambling. Often he did for a few days or weeks, and then he’d start again, worse than ever. He always believed that the next bet would be his lucky one and he’d be able to pay off everything he owed. Although it never worked out that way, he never lost his optimism and hope.

  It made Wincey so angry. ‘For goodness’ sake, why don’t you leave him, Charlotte?’

  ‘I don’t leave him, Wincey, and I’ll never leave him, because I love him. He’s not a bad man. He’s been nothing but kind and gentle and loving to me. He can’t help the gambling. It’s an illness. We’d be perfectly happy together if only he could be cured of that.’

  Wincey didn’t believe he’d ever be any different. Even Erchie had become disenchanted with Malcy and had stopped helping him out with money. Everybody had now stopped giving Malcy any cash, except Mrs O’Donnell, and Wincey feared a time of reckoning was likely to come with the moneylender. Charlotte had recently, in desperation, told Malcy that she was no longer going to bail him out with what he owed Mrs O’Donnell.

  ‘I had to tell him that I just couldn’t afford it any more, and it’s the truth,’ she admitted to Wincey. ‘I’m hoping that if he knows I’m definitely not paying off Mrs O’Donnell any more, he’ll realise he’ll just have to stop going to her. It just can’t go on, Wincey. I feel I’m only encouraging him. The interest that that woman charges is wicked, really criminal.’

  Wincey agreed and hoped and prayed that Charlotte’s new strategy would succeed. But when Erchie heard, he groaned. ‘If Malcy disnae pay up soon, O’Donnell’s men will put the frighteners on him. Ah hate tae say this, but maybe a right doin’ is the only thing that’ll bring Malcy tae his senses.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Teresa said. ‘I hate violence.’

  ‘It’s Charlotte I’m worried about,’ Wincey said. ‘I don’t care what happens to him.’ And the flame of hatred she ha
d felt for her grandfather now encompassed Malcy and burned stronger than ever.

  29

  Virginia spent the morning doing some shopping. Time hung heavy on her hands until Nicholas stopped work half way through the afternoon. After making a few purchases, she wandered along Sauchiehall Street, and then down West Nile Street. Trace horses were plodding up the cobbled road on their way to Buchanan Street Station and the factories in the north of the city. The carts’ wheels trundled along the two broad stone lines, especially formed to make the journey smoother for the carts. In each case, the huge Clydesdale horse in front was yoked to the horse at the back, helping one another to haul the heavy load up the steep hill. A carter sat on the cart, a clay pipe stuck in his mouth, his sleeves rolled up. Walking alongside the front horse was a trace boy, leading and urging the beast on with a rope attached to it. Then once the destination at the north of the city was reached, and the load delivered, the horses would be unyoked and the trace boy would mount astride the lead horse’s back. With a whoop and a clatter, he’d joyously make a headlong dash down the hill towards the River Clyde again, sparks spraying in all directions from the horse’s hooves. That is, if he was lucky and a policeman didn’t catch him.

  Virginia couldn’t help wondering if the police, for the most part, turned a blind eye, because she’d so often seen the wild descent of trace boys with their horses, manes and tails flying. It was one of the most familiar sights in Glasgow. So too was the sight of young lads with home-made barrows and shovels, with which to scoop up all the horses’ dung to sell to people with gardens or allotments.

  She glanced at her watch. Hours to go yet. She thought of visiting Mathieson and then remembered that he’d be at the college. Anyway, she had made up her mind not to see so much of Mathieson, at least not without Nicholas. It was one thing Nicholas being such close friends with Mathieson, but it had begun to occur to her that it wasn’t just Mrs Cartwright who thought her close association with Mathieson odd, to say the least. She had been helping Mathieson not long ago at one of his political meetings, and at one point another woman helper had said, ‘Your husband is such a courageous man. What a wonderful spirit he has. Despite his disabilities he teaches others and works tirelessly for the cause in so many ways.’