The Sunday Girls

by Maureen Reynolds

  Danny gave him a wave. ‘Aye, I’ve heard. Rosie was telling everybody at the Overgate.’

  Rosie’s mother was Alice, Granny’s next-door neighbour and adjoining window confidante. A year or two younger than my parents, Rosie was unmarried and a staunch member of the Salvation Army.

  ‘She was just back from the Citadel when I met her and she gave me the message.’

  He extricated a small bag of squashed-up, sticky sweets from his pocket and pushed it under my nose. Choosing one sweet from this gooey mass took all the expertise of a master demolition worker and the one I eventually picked was so large that it made speaking almost impossible.

  ‘It’s funny about your mum, Ann …’ He stopped when he saw my puzzled look but still chewed noisily on his sweet, wiping dribbles from his chin with a thin hand. ‘As I was saying, it’s funny about your mum having the baby early. Mrs Pringle – the woman Mum works for in the Perth Road – well, she was taken in to the Forthill nursing home this morning to have her baby and she’s early as well. In fact, the new nursery is not finished yet but Mum has been running around trying to put the finishing touches to it today.’

  He gave his sweet a final loud crunch and sat back with a sigh. ‘What a pity your mum doesn’t have a new nursery as well.’

  I nodded sadly as I visualised our tiny flat in my mind’s eye. My parents had the big double bed in the corner of the room while I had the tiny recessed bed in the closet with its flowery cotton curtained screen. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine where the newcomer could possibly sleep.

  ‘Mrs Pringle has an older daughter – is that right?’ I asked, trying to block out the depressing image of our cramped living conditions.

  Danny nodded. ‘That’s right. Her name is Maddie and, although she’s the same age as us, she’s still at the school. She’s a pupil at the Harris Academy – not one of the tuppenny-ha’penny schools like we went to.’

  I wondered aloud if Maddie was perhaps sitting in the sun like us, waiting for news of the forthcoming birth.

  Danny said no. She was on holiday with her aunt in Tayport. His mention of school brought the problems I’d had since leaving a few months ago to the surface.

  ‘I’ve been looking for a job for weeks but there’s nothing. With Dad not working and now another mouth to feed, things are getting harder. Still maybe something will turn up.’ I sounded doubtful and I suddenly realised that my hopeless tone matched exactly the desolate conversation of the men.

  They were normally hard-working men but now young and old alike had been thrown on to the scrapheap of high unemployment and they were angrily discussing the plans for the forthcoming means test. The test was said to be like an inquisition and even those with very little money were to be subjected to investigation. An obvious lack of money didn’t stop officials from poking their noses into people’s lives. Those sent round to people’s homes to examine their circumstances often didn’t believe them when they claimed to be penniless and would assume they must be hiding a secret source of income – often supposing they were not declaring wages brought into the household by a son or daughter.

  ‘You’ll not get any money from the dole office,’ said Joe, who seemed to know quite a lot about the coming legislation. ‘If you’ve any money saved up or maybe have a member of your family working or even a lodger, then you’ll get sweet Fanny Adams.’

  The men laughed bitterly. ‘Well, that lets us off the hook then. None of us have any savings.’

  ‘There’s no money in our socks or under the bed,’ said Dad, ‘but I wish we had.’

  I turned to Danny. ‘What kind of a job would you like?’ I made it sound as if jobs were ten a penny.

  He hesitated. ‘I don’t really care as long as I was earning a wage but I would like to see other parts of the world. Still, I suppose I never will. What would you like to do, Ann?’

  Being such a lover of books, there was no doubt in my mind. ‘A job in the library – now that would be a dream come true but, like you, Danny, I don’t suppose it’ll ever happen.’

  Suddenly Granny appeared, her face flushed deep red with beads of perspiration visible on her upper lip. She quickly wiped her face with a cloth as she walked towards the men.

  ‘You’ve got another wee lass, Johnny. Lily’s fine and she wants to see you.’ Her flustered glance swept over Danny and me. ‘You can see your mum as well, Ann.’ And, with these dramatic words, she waddled back up the close.

  Dad threw down the butt of his cigarette and stamped it out with the heel of his tackety boot.

  The men slapped him on the back. ‘Well, you’ll be glad that’s it over now and another wee lass as a sister to Ann.’ Their faces all turned towards me and although their voices were cheerful, each man had a shadow of sadness in his eyes. Yes and another mouth to feed, they said silently.

  Bunty Grey was busy with her bag when I entered. To my immense relief, whatever paraphernalia involved in childbirth was now all out of sight – except for the kettle which was still simmering on the stove.

  Mum’s face was as white as the sheet but she was propped up against the ugly wooden headboard, two thin pillows at her back and a cup of tea in her thin hands. A mewing sound came from the small bundle that lay in the drawer on the floor – my new sister.

  Dad went straight over to the bed and sat gingerly on the bright crocheted cover that was now placed over the sheet. Bunty pulled aside the small blanket to let me see the baby’s face. As if she knew she had an audience, the wailing sound stopped and I saw her lovely little face with such a pretty rosebud mouth.

  ‘We’re going to call her Lily, after her mum,’ said Dad proudly. Moving from the bed to gaze at his new daughter, he added, ‘She’s just like a wee flower – like her mother.’

  Bunty Grey snapped her bag shut. ‘She’s no’ that wee – she’s a strapping eight pounds and a Sunday girl.’ She bent over the baby and crooned in a soothing, sing-song kind of intonation. ‘The baby that’s born on the Sabbath day, is blithe and bonny and good and gay.’

  Mum smiled weakly but Dad laughed. ‘Well, that makes it two Sunday girls because Ann was a Sabbath day baby too.’

  Meanwhile, Rita and Nellie had heard the good news and they stood outside on the landing, chatting to Danny who obviously felt ill at ease in this women-orientated world.

  As soon as the midwife left they came in. I was sent to make another pot of tea while they gathered around the bed. ‘Imagine such a big baby, Lily,’ they said in unison as they flitted between the bed and the baby. ‘And you almost a month early. Heavens, what size would she have been if you had gone the full term?’

  After I’d done my hostess turn with the teapot, Danny and I sat on the stairs as the tiny room was cramped and overflowing with the grown-ups.

  Granny’s voice wafted out to us as she bustled around the room like a clucking hen. ‘Ann can sleep at the Overgate tonight – just to give you two a bit of time to yourselves.’

  Danny chuckled. ‘Looks like a tight squash because I’m supposed to be staying with Granny tonight as well. Mum wasn’t sure when she would get back from the Perth Road. In fact, Granny was saying that she spends more time there than she does in the house but I don’t mind.’

  Although Hattie had a nice flat in the Westport, it was a well-known fact that she spent so little time in it.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Danny, with a grin, ‘I’ve got loads of relations in Lochee. I can aye stay there.’

  Danny’s father, the late Pat Ryan, had three sisters who were all married and, as well as them, there were Dad and Ma Ryan, his grandparents. They all lived in Atholl Street – an Irish community in Lochee. Nicknamed Tipperary, it housed hundreds of families. The people were descended from the influx of immigrants who had left Ireland at the turn of the century to work in the city’s many jute mills. These families were housed in similar conditions to ourselves and a thousand light years away from people like Mr and Mrs Pringle.

  By now, Danny and I had m
oved out into the street. Lengthening shadows, heralding the approach of night, patterned the dusty pavements but it was still hot and golden. Groups of children still played noisily, scampering around in the pursuit of their many games. Muffled voices from people still sitting in the sun washed over us like waves on the shore. Cooking smells wafted down from the multitude of open doors, making us both feel very hungry.

  Danny gave an impish grin. ‘Stovies for our tea tonight, I think.’

  I grinned back at him. Granny Neill’s stovies were a legend and the mainstay of her family’s nourishment. This dish, made with large slices of potatoes and onions cooked in a large dollop of dripping, was usually served with thick slices of bread.

  Suddenly Hattie appeared on the opposite side of the road and all my culinary thoughts disappeared. We watched as she weaved her way through the crowds of noisy children. Never one to hurry or even get harassed, she glided gracefully upwards. She was smartly dressed in her Sunday best outfit – a long-sleeved crêpe-de-Chine frock almost the same grey shade as the string of pearls around her neck.

  She didn’t see us as she glided like a grey wraith into the close but we quickly followed her retreating figure, watching in amusement as she skilfully avoided the grimy children.

  It was only because we were hot on her heels that we witnessed her complete surprise at the new arrival. In fact, she was almost speechless when faced with the crying baby in the makeshift bed which was a drawer from the wardrobe. Danny and I coming up behind her also added to her discomfort and she looked nonplussed at the scene.

  ‘When did this happen?’ she asked, when she had recovered her voice. She nodded towards the baby. ‘I thought you had another month to go, Lily?’

  ‘Well, babies come when they’re ready,’ snapped her mother. ‘We couldn’t let you know because you were working as usual.’ Nan Neill sometimes mimicked her daughter’s posh tones.

  Hattie disregarded this sarcasm. ‘Well, what a coincidence,’ she said, glancing at the assembled company of relatives and neighbours alike. ‘Mrs Pringle had a daughter today as well – in the nursing home, of course.’ There was a slight peevishness in her tone, almost as if Mum had gone ahead and had Lily early to keep up with Mrs Pringle.

  Although I didn’t think she meant to be unkind, this comparison wasn’t lost on Mum who lay back on her threadbare pillows with a look of exasperation on her tired face.

  Dad leapt up from the bed and led Hattie over to the baby. ‘Come and meet Lily. She wasn’t born in a posh nursing home but we love her very much.’

  Hattie stuttered. Dropping her pseudo-posh accent in her confusion. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest anything else. She’s a right bonny wee baby and I’m glad you’re over it, Lily.’ She stopped and seemed to recover some of her earlier poise. ‘Now, you must get your strength back because you look all washed out.’

  She stopped again when Dad glared at her.

  ‘But that’s only natural, isn’t it? I mean having a baby at your …’

  Dad glared once more and Hattie became silent.

  She fiddled with her gloves and turned her attention to her son. ‘Now, Danny, are you coming home with me or are you staying with Granny?’

  ‘I’ll just come with you because Ann is staying with Granny tonight.’ He gave me a large grin. He didn’t help matters when he added, ‘I’ll not be coming just now as I haven’t been to Lochee yet to see Ma and Dad Ryan.’

  A strange expression flitted over Hattie’s face but whether it was because of the mention of the Ryan family it was difficult to say. She turned away, her posh manner now back firmly in place.

  ‘Well, I’ll be off.’

  In the Neill household, everyone knew that Hattie had become a right lady since her move to the Pringle family – ‘right gentrified’, as Granny called it.

  Granny now turned with a look of undisguised glee on her face but not before the exit of Danny with his mother. ‘Good for you, Lily. You fairly upstaged our Hattie with your unexpected arrival. Did you see her face? Put out of joint it was and her mouth was so wide open that she could have swallowed one of Horatio Leslie’s fish fillets whole.’

  We all laughed at the memory of her comical face and we were still laughing when she reappeared. Poking her head around the door, her cheeks red from the exertion of climbing the stairs again, she said, ‘I forgot to say, because of all this kerfuffle. Mrs Pringle’s wee lass is to be called Joy because, after all these years, they had given up hope of ever having another child.’ She darted back out.

  Because of her quick departure, she didn’t hear my parents murmur to each other. ‘No, neither did we think we’d have another baby.’

  As usual, Granny had the last word. ‘That Hattie makes me so mad. Wee Lily’s birth is looked on as a kerfuffle while Mrs Pringle’s Joy is treated by her as the birth of the blinking century.

  Dad merely smiled tenderly at Mum and held her hand. I thought it was so romantic.

  2

  I was fast asleep when the knock came to the door but the whispered voices echoing in the lobby wakened me. At first I thought the commotion was some sort of dream – a fantasy of muffled and anxious voices that somehow were distorted and amplified in my head. They weren’t loud – more like stage whispers – which I think made the conversation more sinister to my ears. I certainly felt there was something malevolent in the hoarseness of the voice. Something, I’m not sure what, filled me with a dreadful fear. There was a nagging feeling of foreboding even before the words penetrated my brain.

  Wiping sleep from my eyes, I slipped out of bed and opened the door of the small bedroom. My rough, flannelette nightgown flapped around my ankles, impeding my progress, and I felt the coolness from the linoleum floor against my feet. I could make out Granny’s voice but the other person’s whispers sounded strange – probably because they were punctuated with harsh sobs. Because the voice sounded unfamiliar, it came as a great surprise to see Rita, our neighbour, standing at the open door.

  Granny was putting on her thick coat. I could see her silhouette outlined by the gas lamp on the stair.

  ‘What’s wrong, Granny?’ I asked, aware of a cold feeling in my stomach.

  The two women stopped whispering and swung around to face me. Rita’s hand swept up to her face as if to shield herself from some dreaded thing but I could see she had been crying.

  Granny put a hand on my shoulder and tried to lead me back to my tiny bedroom. ‘Just go back to bed, Ann. I’ll not be long and Grandad is here to look after you.’ Although she sounded calm, the look of distress on her face was evident.

  ‘There’s something wrong with Mum, isn’t there?’ I shouted, trying to keep the awful fear at bay – a fear that was threatening to erupt any moment. ‘I want to come with you.’

  I ran back to my tiny room. Tugging the scratchy nightgown over my head, I searched in the darkness for my frock and sandals. I then darted out beside the two women who immediately exchanged a wary glance. I could well imagine Granny putting a finger to her lips and saying, ‘Not a word to Ann, Rita.’ But instead she busied herself by taking my tatty old trench coat down from the hook behind the door. ‘Here, you’d better take your coat – the night air will be really cold.’

  With that she pushed me gently through the door, leaving Grandad behind looking bewildered and dishevelled in his hastily-donned clothes. He also looked extremely sad.

  Rita was quiet as we slipped down the dimly lit stairs and into the deserted Overgate. A full moon glowed in the clear sky that already had the hint of dawn at its edges. The tall grey tenements that appeared decrepit under a bright sun now looked magical in the moonlight. From somewhere in the distance, a clock struck three chimes, gentle peals that floated over this shadowy, slumbering landscape.

  I turned to Granny. ‘What’s wrong with Mum? Is she not well?’ I spoke in a breathless anxious whisper, frightened of what the answer would be and also frightened to talk too loud in case I disturbed a peacefully sleeping populati
on.

  ‘Well your mum has been taken to the Royal Infirmary. She took bad about an hour ago but we’re sure she’ll be as right as rain soon. Your dad is with her and we’ll have good news soon.’ She sounded reassuring.

  Rita nodded. ‘Aye, just give her a day or two and she’ll be as good as new.’

  We were passing a row of darkened windows when the sharp whimpering wails of a baby stabbed the quiet air. I suddenly remembered Lily.

  Almost as if she read my thoughts, Rita turned with a hoarse whisper, ‘Nellie has got her and between us we’ll look after her till your mum gets better.’

  These words, meant as a comforter, didn’t soothe me. I felt a dull grip of fear and also felt quite sick. Still, by the time we reached the house, I was feeling grateful because the cold night air had penetrated my coat’s thin fabric and my bare legs were chilled.

  The house had strange unlived-in look. The fire was still out and the ashes lay in a grey dead mass in the grate. There was also a feeling of desolation which matched my mood exactly.

  To my surprise, I noticed that the bedclothes had been stripped from the big double bed. My own closet bed was untouched but the other one lay with its blue and white-striped mattress exposed.

  A large wet patch was visible, as if someone had recently scrubbed the ticking. I couldn’t fathom it out. I knew that some small children wet their beds but surely Mum wouldn’t have been carted off to hospital for something as simple as that. I had started to hunt for sheets and blankets, a puzzled frown on my face, when Rita appeared.

  ‘Come on out of there,’ she said. ‘We’re all in Nellie’s house and she’s making a cup of tea.’ She bustled ahead of me but then waited to firmly close the door behind me.

  ‘Rita, what’s the matter with Mum? I saw the bed …’ Before I could finish, she butted in. ‘Now just be quiet and behave yourself like a good lassie. After all, you’re not supposed to be here, are you?’ Her fleshy cheeks wobbled. ‘Your mum’s in good hands at the DRI and no doubt she’ll be on her feet before long.’