She stopped and looked at her son. ‘I do hope you’re not becoming one of those communists that’s been organising all the riots.’
Danny loved his mother but, unlike her, he had a social conscience. He gazed at her with surprise. ‘Well, I’m not a communist but, if I thought they could help the poor and unemployed, then I would gladly join.’
Hattie’s face turned purple. For a moment she was speechless but then she suddenly laughed nervously. ‘Oh, you’re kidding me on, you cheeky devil!’
Danny gave me a wordless look but I just shrugged my shoulders. Hattie was just Hattie and nothing would ever change that.
‘Danny, Mrs Pringle has offered me a job in a big house in Broughty Ferry. You heard me mention it to Maddie at the door?’
He shook his head. ‘I did hear you but this is the first I’ve heard of it.’
I then remembered how surprised he had looked and Maddie went up another notch in my estimation. I would have hated it if she had discussed it with him or Hattie before me.
‘It means working away from the house for most of the week and it all depends if Granny can cope on her own.’
He was pleased. ‘It’s a great chance for you, Ann, but you’ll have to talk it over with them. The main thing is the money which will be a great help every week.’
‘I’ve got to go and see Mrs Barrie this week so keep your fingers crossed for me. With a bit of luck, I’ll get the job and still be able to look after Lily. Still it all rests with Granny. If she could cope with the baby, then I would be able to take this live-in job.’
Alice was in the house when we arrived home. Now that the weather was too cold for a chat at the open windows, the two women resorted to an indoor gossip. Alice was worried about the new rules regarding wages coming in to the house. Once again the conversation was all about the means test. ‘I’m really flummoxed over this, Nan. With Rosie still lucky to have her job as a weaver in the mill, do you think my wee pension will be affected by her wage?’
Granny, although not one hundred percent sure, was doubtful. ‘Well, I did read in the paper last week that old age pensions and widowed pensions were not to be regarded as a wage coming into the house but you never can tell with these officials. Their rules are as long as their arms.’
These words seemed to help Alice and she stood up, ready to leave. She placed the thick earthenware cup on the coal bunker lid. This teacup was a million miles away from the thin delicate china at Perth Road.
‘I’ll get away then, Nan. Now that Ann’s back.’ She looked fondly at Lily who was now fast asleep. ‘Just look at the wee soul – out for the count after her party.’ She turned to me. ‘Did you have a good time as well, Ann?’
I nodded eagerly, not mentioning how different it was to our Overgate flat.
Granny said, ‘Is Hattie still there?’
‘No, she went home with Danny.’
As we put Lily to bed, I brought up the subject of my new job, fearful Granny would be upset.
To my surprise she was pleased. ‘It sounds like a good job, Ann, and the money will be a real blessing – not just for us but for your dad as well. It’ll maybe give him a wee lift because he’s really depressed at the moment.’ She looked sadly at me. ‘Still that’s to be expected, I suppose.’
She gave a loud sigh and I felt so sorry for all her worry and hardships – and now she had the added burden of grandchildren. Also it was the first time I had heard of Dad being ill. I knew he wasn’t looking after himself but it was news to me – his depression. Depression was a well-known condition on the Hilltown as well as many other areas in the city. I had often heard the neighbours gossiping about Mr or Mrs So-and-So. I especially remembered Lizzie Hogg, who had been a bright, middle-aged woman when her husband had died suddenly. Over the following months, Lizzie had become mentally ill through grief and destitution. She was a sad figure who regularly walked the streets, speaking to herself. Sadly she was usually followed by a group of grubby-faced children who called out, ‘Daft Lizzie, daft Lizzie.’
As Granny tucked Lily up in her ugly old pram – no pretty wicker bassinet for her – I prayed Dad wouldn’t come to that and I said so.
‘No, no, your dad’s not ill, Ann. It’s just his way of coping with your mum’s death. He blames himself but, if he could get a job, then it would help with his problems. But maybe now that you’ve got the chance of a job then the extra money will perk him up. At least I hope so.’
I explained about the two days off every week and she promised to leave all the heavy work till then – jobs like humping the weekly washing basket to the wash-house. Also, Danny had offered to deliver her messages or take Lily’s pram down the stairs for Grandad – jobs that, up till then, had been my responsibility.
A couple of days later I was on my way to Broughty Ferry. Still dressed in my frumpish trench coat, I caught the bus. Sitting nervously on the hard seat, I gazed out of the window as the bus made its way past tall, dismal and crowded tenements and streets full of noisy children.
Within a short distance, the scenery changed to a more prosperous landscape as we headed towards my destination. I couldn’t help thinking that our poverty-stricken streets seemed to be encircled by wealth – this Broughty Ferry Road, for instance, to the east and Perth Road to the west.
I gazed once more at the diagram given to me by Hattie. Mrs Barrie lived on the edge of the town, on the Monifieth road, and I had asked the conductor to let me know when the bus reached the stop nearest to her house, Whitegate Lodge.
He had rubbed his chin and rattled his moneybag at my request. ‘Whitegate Lodge … now let me think a minute.’ His minute was barely twenty seconds. ‘That’s the big house just past the last stop at the Ferry. Right, lass, I’ll give you a shout when we reach it.’
The bus was very quiet and he sat down on the empty seat opposite me. ‘You ken something?’ he said. ‘This was a far better run in the days of the tramcar but they took them off this route and replaced them with buses. Damn disgrace if you ask me but that’s progress, I suppose.’
Actually I hadn’t asked him but he seemed eager to have a chat. As I said, the bus was almost empty. Apart from me, there were only two more passengers – two young women who were very fashionably dressed in similar smart woollen suits with fur necklines and elegant cloche hats. I had noticed earlier that the conductor had tried to make conversation with them but they had merely held out the fare of a few coppers with identical snooty and disdainful expressions. This was probably the reason I had his full attention and he chattered on about tramcar tales remembered.
I would rather have had the opportunity to sit and view the unfamiliar scenery. In spite of it being intensely cold, the sun shone from a clear blue sky. The elegant houses all had gardens with their winter mantle of stark trees and dark, frosty flowerbeds. Still, I was willing to bet they all looked splendid and beautiful in the summer.
The two women stood up and waited patiently as the bus shuddered to a halt, stepping down with a panache that matched their fashionable clothes.
The conductor snorted. ‘Acting like they’re blooming ladies or something instead of being housemaids in that big house across the road. Come on the bus every week with their snooty faces as if they owned the blinking Ferry and the bus company as well.’
I was taken aback. Housemaids dressed in the height of fashion and with money to spend as well? The parcels clutched in their gloved hands hadn’t gone unnoticed by me – parcels wrapped in paper from D. M. Brown’s and Smith Brothers department stores. My mood cheered up considerably and, before long, my stop was in sight.
‘Here you are, then,’ said the conductor, looking morose at the thought of being alone. ‘This is the stop nearest to Whitegate Lodge. It’s that house over there. You can see its roof.’
I thanked him and made my way nervously towards two stone pillars holding a large forbidding gate made from thick iron bars. Beyond the gate lay a curved gravel path that meandered through a well-kept garden
before sweeping up to a large house that resembled a relic from a Gothic novel.
The Lodge had two round towers, one on either corner of the stone facade. There was an immensely dark and ugly door and large lifeless looking windows that lay under a grey slated roof which held a multitude of stone chimneys.
As for the white gate, well I couldn’t see one. Being an avid reader of all kinds of books I could almost imagine this house harbouring an Edward Rochester or even, heaven forbid, a Count Dracula.
I rang the bell and wasn’t disappointed when it made a deep booming sound inside the interior. It was just as I expected and in keeping with this creepy house. That was why I was so surprised to find the door opened by a chubby and cheery woman who stood on the threshold, wiping her floury hands on a bright floral apron. I was half expecting, if not Quasimodo, then a hunchback at least.
‘It’s Ann, isn’t it?’ she smiled and moved aside to let me enter. ‘Come in out of the cold.’
The house was much bigger than the Pringles’ house but not so bright or cheerful.
The cheery woman introduced herself. ‘I’m Mrs Peters, the cook. I don’t normally open the door to visitors but it’s Miss Hood’s day off.’ She showed me into a dark, wood-lined room and smiled. ‘When you’ve finished chatting to Mrs Barrie, come into the kitchen for something to eat.’ She gave a small wave before departing down an equally dim corridor.
I glanced around the room and at first thought I was alone because it was so dark and quiet. Then a voice coming from the direction of the fireplace startled me. Mrs Barrie was sitting in an enormous wingback armchair that almost totally enveloped her.
‘Come and sit beside me, Ann,’ she said.
I was surprised by her voice – it was surprisingly deep and resonant and not in keeping with her fragile look. ‘You’ll have to excuse me sitting in the dark but I like to keep the light off till dusk. We get so little daylight at this time of year and I don’t like spoiling it with artificial light.’
I couldn’t understand why the room was so dark because the sun was still shining brightly when I entered the house. I then realised this room faced the back of the house and there were tall trees so close to the windows that the branches tapped gently against the windowpanes.
I sat down opposite Mrs Barrie, my hands clutched tightly in my lap. She was tiny and thin. Almost shrunken in stature, she had a deeply lined face and short white hair cut in a similar but softer version of Mrs Pringle’s.
Mrs Barrie placed thin, yellowed hands that showed raised blue veins on the arms of the chair. She wore four rings – all vying with each other to be the most beautiful in the diamonds and precious stones stakes.
‘Now, Ann, I’m sorry my housekeeper has the day off – it isn’t her normal one but she had unexpected business to attend to. But you’ve met Mrs Peters. The job consists of helping Miss Hood with the heavy housework because, like myself, she is getting on in years. Some days she will need specific jobs done but, apart from that, the work shouldn’t be too demanding.’
She fixed me with a gaze from her bright, bird-like eyes that suggested she liked to laugh a lot. ‘Is there anything you would like to know?’
I explained about the need to get two days off each week and she nodded. ‘Yes, Jane Pringle has told me about the tragic loss of your mother, Ann, and the fact you bring up your baby sister. Well, if you decide to take the job here, the wage is ten shillings a week. Plus, of course, your bed and board will be free.’
I clutched my hands together even more tightly, trying hard not to shout for joy at the mention of this wonderful sum of money, and I must have given the impression of a statue.
Still she didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ll let Mrs Peters show you your room and, if you can start on the second of January, that will be fine. She rang a small bell that was positioned on the wall by the side of her chair. ‘Now remember to have something to eat before you leave and you can let me know if you want the job.’ She retreated back into the depths of the huge chair.
Mrs Peters led me down the dim corridor then up two flights of stairs and along another corridor before opening a door at the far end. Stepping into the room was a delight when I realised it was in one of the towers I had seen on my arrival. The window faced an expanse of sand dunes that swept down to the sea. I gazed in rapture at it. It seemed as if the sea stretched forever before disappearing on the far grey horizon.
I was mystified as to why Mrs Barrie liked to sit in her dark room while the humble housemaid had all the sunshine and a wonderful view. I said this to the cook but she said Mrs Barrie had a lovely view from her bedroom as well.
Later, when I joined her in the lovely cosy kitchen, I was amazed by the unusual cooking range.
‘It’s an Aga cooker,’ she explained. ‘Put in this house at great expense but everything in this house is the best. All except …’ She stopped. ‘Oh never mind me – I’m chatting here while you’re dying for a cup of tea.’
She pottered around the kitchen, opening great cavernous cupboards and still chatting. ‘Do you think you’ll take the job, Ann?’
She handed me my tea in a nice thick cup and then produced a variety of scones, cakes and biscuits from a selection of large tins. I had never seen anything like it. It was a palatial feast and I wished Granny could have seen it. A fancy treat in our house meant the occasional tin of syrup or jar of strawberry jam – not this wonderful array of goodies.
After I had munched a thick, floury scone, I said, ‘Aye, Mrs Peters, I’ll be taking the job.’
A flicker of emotion crossed her face then she smiled. ‘Good. It’ll be grand to have a young face about the place.’
I went and told Mrs Barrie and she seemed very pleased but afterwards, as I travelled back on the bus, I recalled that strange expression on the cook’s face. It had been a mere flicker so I decided I had imagined it. I sat back in my seat, my head buzzing with all the good news I had to give to Granny.
5
It was Hogmanay and I was excited. Danny and Maddie were meeting me later that evening and we planned to see the New Year in together at the city square.
One spot of worry was Dad. I could never find him at home on any of my many visits to the Hilltown and now, on this last day of the year, he suddenly appeared at the Overgate around teatime.
Granny, who had also been irritated by his thoughtless and strange behaviour, now looked with annoyance at him as he sat looking ill at ease in her kitchen. She spoke bluntly. ‘I thought you would want to see more of your family, Johnny, instead of less.’
I felt a bit sorry for him. Although never plump, he had now lost so much weight that his old trousers clung to his thin legs and a threadbare jacket hung limply from his shoulders. A thick woolly scarf covered his scrawny neck. Still, he had taken the time to shave which was a slight improvement on his gaunt, stubbled appearance at the funeral.
He looked at Granny, his eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I’ll be as right as rain in a wee while and then Ann and Lily can come back and live at home. I don’t expect you to look after them forever.’
Granny held up her hands and looked embarrassed. ‘It’s not that Johnny.’
He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. ‘As I said, it’s not that. It’s just that the lassies have lost their mother and they need you more than ever. We know you’re still grieving for Lily but we are as well. Ann has tried to see you lots of times but you’re never in the house.’
‘Aye, you’re right,’ he said sadly, putting his empty soup bowl by the side of the sink before pouring out a cup of strong black tea. Then he gazed at us with a cheerful expression. ‘Never mind, it’ll soon be a brand-new year and things will get better – I promise.’
In spite of his cheery remark I couldn’t help noticing a tinge of hopelessness in his voice. Still the good news about my job pleased him and his face became alive with eagerness at my good fortune. ‘As I said, Ann, things will be much better next year. You wait and see.’
>
Then suddenly, out of the blue, Rosie spoilt the moment by appearing from next door. She was one disgruntled lady. ‘Well, I’m glad to see you at last, Johnny. I’ve asked you over and over again about getting Lily christened and I can arrange it at the Citadel.’
This was news to me as I didn’t know she had been successful in even seeing Dad, let alone discussing Lily’s Christian upbringing with him.
His face turned a deep pink, the flush spreading up from the woolly scarf to his hairline. He stared at her. It was a look I misunderstood and what I though was guilt turned out to be anger.
‘Look, Rosie, I don’t want to discuss it. If I choose to have Lily christened, then it’ll be in my own good time and not before.’ His voice was hard and he made it clear the matter was now closed.
Rosie however was like a hungry mongrel dog with a juicy marrowbone. ‘Well, your mum thinks the baby should be christened. Isn’t that right, Nan?’ She looked at Granny with her soft brown-eyed gaze and Granny nodded slightly.
Dad’s cheeks now turned a bright dark red and his eyes were stormy. ‘Well, she’s not getting done and that’s final.’ He pointed an accusing finger at Rosie while inclining his head in Granny’s direction. ‘My mother doesn’t give a toss about a christening. It’s just you and your religious mania. What I would like to know is this – where was this ever-loving God of yours when my wife died? Tell me that. Just keep your views to yourself, Rosie, and don’t turn us into Salvationists.’
He grabbed his cap, jammed it on his head and hurried through the door. Meanwhile Rosie looked as if she was about to burst into tears and I was shocked by his outburst.
As usual, Granny saved the situation. ‘He didn’t mean it, Rosie. Grief has to come out in the open sometime – one way or another. His anger is just his way of coping with it. Let the issue of Lily drop for the time being and I’ll work on it.’
Rosie took off her glasses and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. ‘I was just trying to help, Nan, but it looks like I’m the last person he needs.’
The Sunday Girls Page 8