by Millie Gray
“Just this – can you dance?”
“You crazy or something?”
Will, who had now caught up with Carrie, shook his head. “No. It’s just that I need a pretty girl, with or without glasses, to go with me to the Highland Ball next Friday night.”
“You want me,” Carrie had to gulp before she could go on, “to go with you to the Highland Ball on Friday?”
Will vigorously nodded his assent.
Carrie smiled but then bit her lip.
“You do have a ball gown, don’t you?” asked Will, worried that Carrie was going to renege.
“One?” Carrie retorted nonchantly. “Don’t be silly! I’ve got two. Which one d’you want me to wear – the pink or the blue?”
Rachel was seated at the table deep in thought. She’d been there for ages, having had yet another row with Paul and Alice. Paul had been cleaning Sam’s footballs boots to earn a couple of bob, but that morning he’d decided not to clean them in the entry but to do his chore on the floor in the scullery – on the very floor that Rachel had just finished scrubbing. Paul had thought it was far too cold to be cleaning boots outside and was surprised when his mother picked them up and tossed the offending objects into the stairwell. Having got rid of the boots, she turned her attention to Paul. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, she indicated by a curt nod that he should follow the boots – and out he stumbled.
Rachel banged the door shut with a sigh of despair, hoping she’d not been too hard. Her Paul was just so thrawn. How often had she told him he was not to have the nerve to take after his father. But that had made no difference. Oh, no. Of all her children it was only Paul who mirrored Johnny – the same jet-black hair, slate-grey eyes, olive skin and tall lean figure. The only things Paul had taken from his mother’s side of the family were his intelligence and his vaulting ambition.
Rachel was still thinking about Paul when the door was opened – this time by Alice, who waltzed in looking as if she’d stuck her fingers in an electric socket. Her normally straight blonde hair (one of Alice’s best assets, in Rachel’s opinion) was now a mass of reeking corkscrew curls. Her mother could only look on in horror as Alice gazed admiringly in the mirror, preening herself all the while.
“Mam,” she said ecstatically. “Now, be honest: What do you think of my new bubble-cut? You know bubble-cuts are all the rage right now.”
Rachel could guess pretty accurately who was responsible for Alice now looking like some Rose Street tart. Carrie! Carrie, who seemed to have nothing better to do with her money than indulge Alice’s lunatic whims. What Rachel had never been able to understand was why Alice couldn’t accept that her hair was not curly – or how lucky she was to have straight blonde hair that was classy, just like Hannah’s and Veronica Lake’s.
Once Alice realised that Rachel was not going to fall head over heels for her new hair-do, she stormed out of the house to go and see her pal, Florrie. Alone again, Rachel wondered if everybody who had to bring up bairns had the same problems that she seemed to be having. She had just settled down to ponder the question further when a loud knock came to the outside door. It was the police sergeant again.
“Och, don’t tell me you’re back to talk to Sam about blooming football again?”
The sergeant shook his head and Rachel indicated that he should come in. “Wish I was here aboot yer braw laddie,” he said gravely. “But naw, it’s aboot yer Dad.”
“Has he had a relapse?”
“Naw. Mair than that – he’s deid.”
Rachel sank down on her chair again. “But yesterday he was on the mend,” she protested.
“Aye,” the sergeant nodded. “So much so that early this morning he decided to mak a run for it. Only thing was he hadnae realised he’d been moved to an upstairs ward and then when he leapt oot the windae …” The sergeant grimaced before adding, “Well, it’s a fifteen–fit drap into the hospital gairdens frae Ward Three.”
“Are you saying he broke his neck?”
“Naw. Naw. To tell the truth, he micht hae got ower his faw, but when they got him back inside and the Sister insisted on dumping him back in the bath – well – he just gave up the ghost, didn’t he?”
CHAPTER 14
BURNING ISSUES
Sam was at the bunker sorting through Gabby’s things when he came across an old battered photograph of three well-dressed, cherub-like children standing on a highly polished wooden staircase in a large house.
“Who are they?” he asked Rachel, who was busy rolling out scones.
Rachel paused and dusted her hands on her pinny before taking the photograph from Sam. “That’s your Granddad and his two brothers at their home in South Queensferry.”
“Awa!” exclaimed Sam. “Are ye tellin’ me he really did come frae a posh backgroond like that and ended up like this?” Sam pushed Gabby’s few belongings along the bunker before picking them up distastefully and throwing the lot into the bucket.
“Aye,” his mother answered. “And not only do you have his good looks, but he’s the one you got your athletic prowess from.”
“Whit d’ye mean?”
“Just that in his youth he was a star, Sam.”
“A fitbawer?”
“No. But he could run and sprint like a cheetah,” Rachel replied wistfully. “Oh aye, he could even have won the Powderhall Sprint.”
Sam was looking at his mother as if she were mad. “Ye mean the big race they run every New Year’s Day doon at the dug stadium?”
Rachel nodded as she looked longingly down at the photograph again.
“But if he was that guid, whae beat him?”
“Oh, he wasn’t beaten, Sam. He took a bribe – sold out.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. He was speechless, but noted that Rachel ran her hand gently over the photograph before placing it carefully behind the gas meter beside all her other unredeemed pledges.
She began to roll the scones again when the outside door was flung open and Carrie bounced in.
“Oh, Mam,” she cried, “I can’t get it out of my mind.”
“Well, Carrie, these things happen,” Rachel murmured.
“Is there nothing we can do about it?”
Rachel looked perplexed. Carrie had some strange notions, but imagining they could somehow resurrect Gabby was going just a bit too far, even for her, so all Rachel said was, “Well, to be truthful I’m not sure that I want to.”
“So you’d rather see me end up an old maid?” Carrie continued.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Rachel asked, more puzzled than ever, as she got out the girdle to begin baking the scones.
“Will Fraser fancying me, of course.”
“Fancyin’ ye? But is that no what ye’ve ayeways wanted?” sniggered Sam. “Efter aw, ye’ve been daeing five-mile detours just to get him to notice ye.”
Carrie’s eyes misted over. “And he has, at last, Mam. He’s even asked me to go with him to the Highland Ball in Mackies on Princes Street next Friday.”
“What’s the problem then?”
“Just that he asked me if I had a ball gown and I told him –” Carrie hesitated and carefully distanced herself from her mother, “- that I had two.”
“And where the hell are you going to get one, let alone two?” fumed Rachel.
Carrie sidled over towards Rachel again. “Well, Mam, if you could lend me a fiver there’s a lilac one in the Store sale that would do.”
“A fiver for a frock that you’ll no be able to wash and wear again?”
Carrie nodded. Sam giggled. Rachel took a deep breath, suddenly realising that Carrie didn’t know about Gabby.
“Look, Carrie,” she whispered. “Come and sit down. I’ve something to tell you.”
“Like what?”
“Do you know who’s dead?”
“Aye! The King.”
“Not just the King, Carrie, but your Granddad too.”
Carrie began to sob. “Oh no!”
Before Rachel could comfort her, Sam
butted in. “And ken whit? He bocht it tryin’ to get yin last dram.”
“That’s enough, Sam!” Rachel retorted sharply. ‘“Don’t you realise that we’re going to have to come up with the wherewithall to bury him?”
Before Sam could speak there came a loud knock at the door. “Right, Sam. Go and see who it is and try to come back with some good news for us.”
Sam cautiously opened the door and found Bella, who pushed straight past him and was in the scullery before Rachel knew she was there.
“Whit a beezer o a day!” Bella exclaimed, rubbing her hands together enthusiastically.
Rachel didn’t respond. Instead she glared at Sam and hissed, “D’you ever listen to a word I say?”
Sam repressed a giggle with difficulty.
“And hoo are ye, Rachel hen?” Bella went on. “Ye ken, as soon as I heard, I just kent ye would be needin’ me. Mind ye, did I no tell ye last week, when I saw that auld craw sittin’ on tap o yer roof, that there would be a passin’ for sure.”
“You did?” said Carrie hysterically.
Ignoring her, Bella carried on. “And, Rachel hen, yer Mammy came through to me last nicht and asked me to be on haun to comfort ye. An’ here was I just comin’ alang the street, there the noo, when she came through again just to say ye’ve nae tae worry as yer Dad’s arrived safe and sound.”
“That right?” Rachel said with some contempt. “Oh, what wouldn’t I have given to be a fly on the wall when my mother got her hands on him again?”
Carrie felt it was time for her to speak, but all she could think of was, “Auntie Bella, you don’t happen to know anybody that has a ball gown I could borrow?”
Aghast, Bella stared at Carrie. “Oh, hen,” she gasped, “ye dinnae wear a ball goon to a funeral. Naw. Naw. A wee black frock is whit ye gang in.”
Sam and Carrie had better things to do than cope with Auntie Bella and her ravings, so both went out – Sam to meet some mysterious man who wanted to discuss a wee business proposal, and Carrie to cry on Bernie’s shoulder about the ball gown. That left Rachel and Bella to do what they were both best at: sitting down with a cup of tea and having a good crack.
Today, however, they were lost for words and Bella, who seemed deep in thought, was idly stirring her tea when she noted that Rachel’s tightly clenched fists were constantly rubbing her eyes.
“Ye can greet aw ye want, Rachel, noo the bairns are oot o the road. I ken, as well as ony, that it’s a sad day when ye lose yer faither,” Bella reassured her, surreptitiously adding a large spoonful of sugar to her tea.
Within seconds Rachel’s eyes blazed and she fired back at Bella, “You really think so, do you?”
Bella shifted uneasily in her seat and took yet another spoonful of sugar. “Well, maybe no in your case.” And when Rachel made no response other than to offer Bella another warning glower, she continued. “Just to please ye, I went ower to the hospital mortuary and laid him oot. And efter I washed and shrouded him I even pinned a wee bunch of blue violets to his chest.”
“That so?” mocked Rachel. “Well, all I’ve got to say is that they’ll be a fine match for his big purple nose.”
“Aw, Rachel, dinnae be so sarcastic. The man’s deid an’ there was some guid in him.”
“Like what?”
Bella shrugged. “Like er … Like, just gie me a meenit to think!”
“Oh, Bella, be fair. He died as he lived, a disorganised bloody burden that I’ve had to take care of.”
Bella sniffed and looked away from Rachel, who promptly moved the sugar bowl out of reach.
“And anither thing,” said Bella, turning back to face Rachel again. “Ye’ll hae to tell Johnny.”
“Tell Johnny?” cried Rachel so shrilly that her voice reverberated round the scullery. “And why the hell should I tell Johnny that my father’s dead? He wouldn’t even give a shit if it was me that was dead.”
Bella stretched out an arm in attempt to retrieve the sugar bowl. “Ye’re wrang there, Rachel. When I telt Johnny aboot Gabby being sae ill that he was likely to dee, he said he’d gae to his funeral. Though – if he was strictly honest – he’d rather gang to yours!”
Rachel shook her head. Why, she wondered, did she put up with Bella? Then she confessed to herself that she knew why. She was truly indebted to this woman, who had shared a bed with her when they were just bits of bairns. Indebted to her, moreover, for her loyalty in always putting out a hand to help, even though she usually ended up making things worse.
“Look, Bella,” she said at last, “I’ve more to worry me the day than Johnny. Don’t you realise I don’t know what I’m going to do about Gabby?”
“Aw, Rachel, wi’ aw that’s been goin’ on, I forgot to tell ye Sandy’s comin’ up.”
At that very moment a loud knock at the door startled both women but within seconds Bella relaxed and announced, “That’ll be him noo. Gonnae tak ower aw the arrangements, he is.” And she rose to go to the front door.
“But why?” demanded Rachel.
“Weel, wi’ me workin’ there and oor Auntie Anna haein’ trained him,” Bella shouted back, “he’s as guid as faimily.”
Bella returned followed by Sandy, a tall, gaunt man with sunken cheeks, wearing a long mourning coat and tall lum hat. Rachel knew that Alice would be terrified if he was still in the house when she came in because folks rightly said that Sandy’s dead customers looked healthier than he did.
“Sad day, Rachel. Sad day when you lose yer farther,” he said mournfully into Rachel’s ear as took a seat at the table. Then he added comfortingly, “Well … sometimes death comes as a freend, ye ken.”
“Like a wee fly-cup, Sandy?” Bella offered on Rachel’s behalf.
Sandy’s eyes searched around the room. “Ony embalming fluid to gang in it?”
Rachel reached up behind the soap powder and brought out a bottle of whisky, which she laid on the table. Bella picked it up instantly and poured a good dram into each of the three cups of tea before lifting one cup to her own mouth and greedily sucking in the warm pungent liquid.
“My, but that’s real guid,” she said, smacking her lips with satisfaction.
“And so it should be! It’s the real Mackay,” Rachel responded as she also took a long slug of the medicinal restorative.
Bella set her cup down, lifted up the whisky bottle and squinted at the label. “Naw, naw. It’s no the real Mackay. See, here it says, Glenfiiddich Twelve Year Old.” She then turned the bottle around, stared at the back label, and gasped, “Oh, here. Whit’s this?”
Rachel bent over and grabbed the bottle out of Bella’s hand. “So if it was on its way to Venezuela and got lost in the docks, so what?”
Then she switched her attention to Sandy. “Sandy,” she asked plantively, “what am I to do about Gabby?”
“Cremate him. I mean, whit else would ye dae wi’ him?”
“All I want is to have him put away nice and tidy.”
Sandy smiled graciously and patted Rachel’s hand. “Nae problem. Ye ken fine I’ll dae aw that for ye.”
“No problem is it? And will it still no be a problem when you know I cannae afford it?”
Sandy sucked in his lips thoughtfully as he took out a notepad and pencil from his pocket and started to scribble furiously on the pad. Once finished he gave a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, but ye can afford it. See!” He pushed the notepad under Rachel’s nose. “Wi’ a wee bit o faimily discount, it’s only gonnae set ye back thirty-five quid.”
“Thirty-five quid!” squealed Rachel in dismay, sending her chair toppling as she jumped up. “But I’ve only got eighteen pounds coming from the Pearl.”
“Gabby left nae siller?”
Rachel shook her head. “Silver? He didn’t even leave any brass.” She paused before adding in a voice thick with sarcasm, “Unless, of course, you count his brass neck.”
“In that case,” said Sandy brusquely, tucking his notebook away in his pocket, “just bung him in the paupers.”
Rachel spun round and her head shot up defiantly. “Cannae do that. You know fine he did that to my mother and I’ve lived with the disgrace of it ever since.”
While Rachel and Sandy were arguing, Bella had begun to replenish her cup with tea and whisky. “What a state ye’re gettin’ yersel’ intae ower nothin’, Rachel,” she said benignly. “Ye’re forgettin’ aboot the death grant, so ye are. And that alang wi’ whit ye’ve got coming …”
“Death grant?” Rachel interrupted. “What death grant? Don’t you realise he’s too auld to qualify.”
“Richt enough,” Bella reluctantly conceded, before looking up over her shoulder and nodding to some unseen presence. “That was him just comin’ through to say he was ayeways too everythin’ for onythin’.”
Rachel and Sandy both shook their heads and sat in stunned silence. Bella, however, took no notice of their bewilderment and went on to looking over her shoulder. “Oh here, wait a meenit though! Auntie Anna’s just come through an aw; an’ she says, Rachel, ye’ve to ask Sandy hoo aboot payin’ up the difference at five bob a week.”
This unexpected advice from the other world restored Sandy’s voice. “B–b–but Anna kens fine I dinnae dae funerals on the never-never.” He gulped three times before turning his attention to Rachel and confiding in professional tones, “Ye see, there’s nae comeback frae the deid. So it’s a waste of time tryin’ to sue them.”
“That right?” And Rachel gave Sandy a covert wink. “Well, it just might be that my Auntie Anna – who taught you all you know about the funeral business and sorted out all your wee …” Rachel deliberately hesitated and winked again at Sandy. “Your wee problems – that she’ll think it’ll be in everybody’s interest for you to make a small concession in my case.”
Sandy swallowed hard, put two of his fingers inside his collar and stretched his scrawny neck. Rachel knew he was wondering how many of the rumours she’d heard about what he and that wee nurse in Casualty had been up to in the mortuary? And if she thought it explained why the beauty spot under the nurse’s bairn’s right eye was identical to the dirty wee black mole under his.