Fortunes of the Heart

by Jenny Telfer Chaplin

  The man turned away from Pearce with such force that he crashed into the table, which in turn ricocheted off the wall with a splintering sound as if one of the already not too stable legs had given way under the strain. As all the while the man’s progress was watched in open-mouthed horror by Kate and the children, they heard Pearce muttering dire threats about sending for the police who would soon sort out a wild Irish Paddy like that. But nothing would stop the man in his determination to leave the scene with all possible speed. However, when he reached the end of the close, the carter did take time to turn and with a strange, almost pitying look on his face, say: “Listen, Kinnon, if ye find yoursel’ in a mess noo, then ye’ve only yersel’ tae blame. A wee bit o’ common courtesy, not to mention an extra couple o’ bob in ma haun’, an Ah’d hae been glad fur to help ye upstairs with yer stuff. But, see ye, ye’re that bloody high-and-mighty – twisted, in fact. Weel, ye’ve made yer bed, so now ye can just lie in it ... that is when ye finally get it hauled up aw thay stairs.”

  At his own witticism, the carter let out a great belly laugh which shook all eighteen stone of him.

  For his part Pearce was turning away to assemble his brood and his worldly goods, and work out his strategy, when he again heard the coarse voice from the still-chuckling carter.

  “One thing Ah will dae and that’s tae lift yer stuff off my coal-cart. Ah’ll leave it on the pavement here, to await yer lordship’s convenience. And just one last thing; Ah must say it’s yer poor wee wife, a real decent wee woman, that I’m sorry for. God help her. Lumbered with a bloody milksop like ye. And as to how ye ever got up enough gumption for to father aw those poor wee weans, weel, it fair beats me, so it does.”

  At this point Kate had to lay a restraining hand on Pearce’s arm as he made to race after the man. Even so, the carter had not yet finished with him. He pointed a beefy hand at a by-now trembling Kate and in a voice of doom, said: “Aye, that poor wee God-fearin’ woman. Heaven alone kens what she ever done to deserve a man ... humph ... man, did Ah say ...more like a bairn ... like ye. And anyway, maybe ye’d better think on a bit, Mister Kinnon, sir ... just how the hell is that wee woman supposed to manage to struggle up and doon aw thae stairs day and daily with that poor handicapped bairn and her go-chair. Seems to me, ye’d hae been far better aff staying where ye were in yer single-end. At least there, ye were on the ground floor. And noo Ah’ll bid good-day to ye, sir, and let ye get on with yer flittin’ before the rain and dark sets in. Good-day, Mister Kinnon, sir, and good luck to yer wee wife ... she’s gonnae be needin’ aw the luck she can get.”

  With that, the man was gone, leaving not only a sour taste d defeat in Pearce’s mouth, but also a very clear echo of his words in Kate’s already overtaxed brain.

  “How will she manage up and down all those stairs with a handicapped bairn and her go-chair?”

  How indeed? wondered Kate, to whom the thought had already occurred that life four flights up with Hannah, her go-chair, buckets of washing for the steamie, and bags of shopping to be carried in every day to feed her growing family, was going to be no picnic. Even worse, suppose the unthinkable happened and she ever became pregnant again with another child, how on earth could she possibly cope?

  Then, with a deep sigh, Kate turned towards the stairs. She knew in her heart of hearts that somehow – as yet she had no idea as to how she would achieve the miracle – but somehow, with God’s help she would cope. After all, she had no alternative. As the carter had said, they had made their bed, or rather, they would make it, once Pearce and little Daniel managed to struggle upstairs with their burden. Kate gave her own burden – weeping, tired, and irritable Hannah – a playful tweek of her tartan ribbon, which she always wore as some sort of talisman, gathering the child into her arms for the next stage of their journey.

  Chapter 13

  With her family eagerly gathered about her skirts, and a now somewhat mollified Pearce at her elbow, they made the grand tour of their new abode. As Kate already knew, there were definite and very real disadvantages to living in such an eyrie high above the City streets. Even so, she was generous-spirited enough to acknowledge to Pearce that, ‘yes’ she could already see the good points about their new situation. First, of course, as she had already surmised, was the more pleasant aroma at being thus far removed from the stinks and appalling messes to be found in almost any Glasgow close. Not only that, but with its being a room-and-kitchen this meant that the best front room overlooked the street, and given the height of their window, they had an excellent view of the surrounding district, even with what Kate was sure was a patch of green in the far distance.

  But surely the greatest benefit of all lay in the fact of their now having their very own tiny water-closet which was wedged into a corner of the minute hallway. This edifice was as the seventh wonder of the world to Kate and her family, for it meant that never again would they have to creep out in the dead of night – nor at any other time, come to that – to a freezing cold, stinking lavatory on the stair-head. In her joy that never again you’d she need to keep a chamber-pot under the bed, far less carry the disgusting object down to the stair-head cludgie, Kate chuckled to herself: Cludgie, indeed. No wonder the Glasgow folk call the communal outside lavatory such an expressive, ugly name. It somehow describes it more accurately than a whole dictionary of words.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Pearce, with a hand at her elbow, said: “Well, we’ve seen the best front room and having now duly marvelled at the glory of our very own water closet, shall we now take a look at the kitchen?”

  Kate, by now, already sold heart and mind on the new home, allowed herself to be led into the back kitchen. As Pearce threw back the dark, wood-grained door with a certain panache, she stopped in the doorway with a cry of delight.

  “Oh, no, Pearce. I don’t believe it. It’s ... why it’s all truly wonderful. Wonderful. And quite beyond my wildest dreams.”

  As she gazed through a blur of tears at the gleaming, well-polished kitchen-range, a bigger, better and altogether much more up-to-date model than the one she had left behind in the single-end, she found that coherent speech was almost beyond her. But even so, the thought went racing through her over-excited brain: Oh, Pearce, Pearce, you stupid man. If only you had gone about it all differently ... treated us as a united, caring family with rights, ideas and even wishes of our own, how very different things would have been. If only ... if only you had thought of me as a person in my own right, just for once. If you had let us– or at the very least, let me – come to see the place first, rather than taking the law into your own hands, then we would never have had that awful row. You would never have had cause to hit me. I would have realised at once, the very moment I’d seen this, this mansion, I’d have known you had our best interests at heart. Oh, Pearce, I can hardly bear to think of it ... that terrible row ... and in front of our young, impressionable children.

  Kate wiped away with her sleeve the tears which were then coursing down her cheeks, as she squared her shoulders and took comfort from the thought: Yes, young, impressionable minds. But never worry, I’m sure that no lasting harm was done. Couldn’t possibly be, for children soon forget and move on to the next bit of excitement in their lives. Still, it is indeed terrible to think that that ugly scene could have been avoided altogether. For one thing’s sure ... although the children may forget, I never shall, not if I live to be a hundred.

  While these thoughts had been coursing through her mind, unbeknown to herself, Kate had been absently touching at the area of her face which still wore the bruises and healing scar of their fight. Seeing this, Pearce, for once in a rare outward demonstration of affection, threw his arm around her shoulder, and pulled his wife close.

  “Katie, we’ve had our troubles, our differences ...” he whispered. “Do you think, my dear ... could we possibly look on this as a new start? After all, I don’t suppose anybody’s marriage is perfect, is it? It’s something which has to be worked at day and daily.
So ... what do you say, Katie, lass, can we start again?”

  At these words, not least the look in his eyes and his use of the pet name Katie which she had not heard him call her in many a long day, Kate blushed and like a newly-wedded girl. With stars in her eyes, she allowed herself to sink into the deep well of love and affection which she could read in Pearce’s eyes.

  She nodded her assent and, as she reached up to plant a light kiss on his bearded cheek, she was surprised to find the eyes of young Daniel watching her every move. A momentary shiver of fear went through her body, but she at once dismissed it with the positive thought:

  No, it can’t be I must just have imagined that look of hate in Danny’s eyes. No. The children have already forgotten that terrible row. Of course they have. And that’s a God’s Blessing, if ever there was one.

  By half past nine that very same evening, all the bits and pieces of furniture had been not only transported upstairs, but also arranged to Kate’s satisfaction, although even she, optimist that she was, had to admit that scattered over a room-and-kitchen, not to mention a razor-thin strip of hallway, her belongings now looked even more sparse than had been the case in the humble single-end. Transport was thanks to a friendly neighbour, Buddy Robertson, into whose door Pearce had at one point inadvertently crashed with the brass bedstead. Buddy, who had obviously drink taken, came out on to the landing in the first instance prepared to do battle with whoever it was who was banging at his bloody door. However, on seeing Kate, he at once demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing in dragging an end of a heavy bedstead, when there were plenty strong, willing and able men around, ready to do her bidding. With the exaggerated mannerisms and supreme gallantry of the gloriously drunk, nothing would do Buddy but that he would at once relieve her of her burden. And in effect, fleein’ drunk with booze or not, her knight in a greasy boiler suit and ragged neckerchief soon proved his worth. When all the furniture, or what passed for such, was all finally installed, her saviour left with a courtly, if somewhat unsteady, bow and again navigated his way back down to his own flat.

  Daniel was not impressed with their spacious new eyrie. He had not forgotten – nor indeed, he vowed, would he ever forget – that black Saturday. In that moment as he saw his Mammy again apparently being won over by the ‘Beast of Candleriggs’ he made a solemn oath to himself ...

  His own dear, lovely Mammy might have lowered her guard. But, he, Daniel Robert Kinnon, never. Never would he do likewise. From that day on, each Saturday in life as the anniversary day came around, he would deliberately relive the ghastly scene in his mind.

  That would be his role in life. And, one day, it was sure, one day Pearce Claude Kinnon would rue the day he ever lifted his hand to his long-suffering wife, Kate.

  That day would surely come, as certainly as night followed day, as surely as the dark days of winter burst into spring. Yes, indeed, that day of reckoning would come.

  Chapter 14

  Hardly had they completed the final adjustment of their furniture, than there was a strident ringing of the doorbell. Kate and Pearce looked at each other in amazement, but it was Kate who found her voice first: “Now, who on earth can that be? Surely not our first visitor before we’ve even got the kettle on the hob.”

  Pearce shrugged his elegant shoulders.

  “One person I know it won’t be, and that’s Spud Murphy round to apologise for his boorish behaviour. Not an ounce of good manners in him, that fellow.”

  Kate smoothed down the front of her dress.

  “Well, only one way to find out. And that’s to open the door.”

  Since neither one of the children nor even Pearce himself made the slightest move to do so, it was left to Kate to pick her way past the now-empty tea-chests which still cluttered the kitchen and the tiny hallway.

  On opening the door, she was taken aback to be confronted by a wizened old woman, dressed from head to toe in sombre black. Even more amazing, the crone carried somewhat precariously, on account of its burden, a heavy wooden tray. Set out on this, on top of a snow-white cloth with crocheted edges, was a selection of enamel mugs, a china teapot, a tin of Nestle’s milk and an assortment of scones and pancakes. As the tray wobbled and came perilously close to falling at Kate’s feet, she instinctively put out both hands to grab hold of it. With the tray now steadied and held safely between them, Kate was at a loss to know how to greet this stranger standing uninvited on her new doorstep.

  The problem was solved for Kate when the other woman opened her mouth and, in a soft Irish brogue with only a hint of Glaswegian in it, said: “Hello, Missus. Sorry, but I don’t know your name yet. Anyway, I’m your next-door neighbour. I live in the wee single-end, just through the wall from your front room. I’m Mrs Abigail McGarrity, but most folk here call me Granny Gorbals.

  Kate, whose own arms were beginning to wilt under the weight of the heavily laden tray, quickly introduced herself.

  “Well, my dear Mistress Kinnon,” the old lady said, “I just wanted to welcome you to your new home here in Garth Street. And this wee cup of tea and plate of sweet bites is my way of saying, welcome. I hope that we’ll be good neighbours to each other in the years to come.”

  At this kind and totally unexpected gesture, Kate could feel a lump in her throat, and she had to gulp a couple of times before she could trust herself to speak.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mistress ... Mistress McGarrity and –”

  Her visitor shook her head and the movement of her body caused further danger to the tray.

  “Ach, my dear, we might as well start as we mean to go on ... just call me Granny. Everybody else does.”

  Kate smiled her acknowledgement of this, and gathered the tray and the now-cooling tea into the safety of her own hands.

  “But what are we doing standing out here, talking on the doorstep? Come in ... Granny, come in.”

  Granny needed no second invitation, and once rid of her burden of the tea-tray, stepped with alacrity into the narrow hallway.

  Once Granny had been formally introduced to the children and to Pearce, Kate was amused to observe their different reactions. Hannah started to cry, the other children herded together as if against a common enemy, and Pearce, at his most haughty, looked down his patrician nose at the witch-like creature standing crouched before him.

  Not only seeing this, but also sensing their unspoken antipathy and indeed fear of the crone, Kate put herself out to be at her most charming to their visitor:

  “Just you sit yourself down, Granny. And you’ll stay and join us in this feast of goodies which you so generously, and so very thoughtfully, have provided.”

  Over tea, the atmosphere lightened somewhat, especially when the children and Pearce realised not only had Granny provided the tasty bites, she had also baked them herself, and especially for the Kinnons, no less, in honour of them and their removal to their new house.

  Conversation was flowing easily and well, up to the point where Kate suggested that Granny might care to be given the grand-tour of the Kinnon’s new abode.

  The old woman smiled over her one remaining tooth, which so exactly matched in colour the rest of her ensemble.

  “Thank you kindly, Mistress Kinnon ... Kate, but really, there’s no need for that. You see, I already know this house like the back of my hand.”

  Never one to miss a trick, Pearce was right there with the inevitable question.

  “Oh, indeed: And might I ask why that should be the case?”

  Granny cackled, so overcome with her own private joke she began to splutter and cough. It took a mug of cold water and a couple of hefty slaps on her back before she recovered sufficiently.

  “Well, Mr Kinnon, sir, it’s a wee bit delicate ... But the fact remains that the last tenants, real kindly souls they were from Ballygally, they allowed me the free run of their water-closet, be it day or night.”

  This astounding statement was greeted in stunned and total silence, Then, seeing the horrified look on
her husband’s face, Kate decided on a delaying action.

  “And how ... just how do you mean, Granny?”

  The old woman sighed, pushed back the stretched overlong sleeves of her ancient cardigan, then as if explaining matters to a not very-bright child, said: “Well, it came about like this. The Monaghans, the last tenants, and real decent Irish people, like ourselves, when they got on a bit on in the world, street-traders they were and making money hand over fist and –”

  At this point Pearce, with a frown on his face and a note of irritation in his voice which declared to the initiated that this was not how he had envisaged the first day in his grand new home, said: “Yes, yes, Mistress ... Mistress McGarity I rather think that we have now got the message about what splendid people the previous tenants were. But I still don’t follow, I’m afraid. What on earth has all this to do with us and with our water-closet?”

  Granny shook her head and tutted, and when she spoke, there was a matching note of asperity in her own voice.

  “Sure, and is that not just what I’m trying for to tell you, Mr Kinnon, sir. When the Monaghans made their pile of money, they got a plumber – ‘twas their cousin from Galway, if I remember right – anyway they had him fit up their very own water closet out in your hall there. ‘Twas the talk of the neighbourhood. The only one like it– a real nine days wonder, especially when all the rest of the commonality have to use the communal cludgie out on the stair-head.”

  Granny paused for breath and Pearce took the opportunity to slide in a word.

  “But even so, Mistress McGarrity, I still don’t see that you –”

  Granny smiled at Pearce, as at an errant schoolboy.

  “Bless you, sir. It’s no great mystery. With nobody ever locking a door hereabouts and with me getting on in age a wee bit ... the Monaghans – lovely people, the pride of the Irish – they insisted that I treat their water-closet as my very own. No need to stand on ceremony, no knocking at doors. ‘Come right in, anytime, day or night, Granny. ’Tis what they used to say. No, and begorrah, we’re not having a fine old Irish lady like your dear self standing out in a freezing cold close, waiting her turn for the cludgie. Our home is your home ... ‘twas what they used to say.”