The Sunday Girls

by Maureen Reynolds

  Kit and Lizzie were standing beside Maddie but there was no sign of the rest of their families and Ma Ryan was also missing.

  ‘It could have been worse, I suppose,’ whispered Hattie to Granny. ‘At least the husbands and snottery-nosed kids are all left behind in Lochee and Belle is seemingly under the weather – more like under the influence, if you ask me.’

  I had a mental picture of Ma Ryan sitting on the lawn with her clay pipe, blowing putrid smoke into the faces of the sherry drinkers who were all decked out in their expensive Sunday best.

  Mr Pringle, ever the gentleman, greeted us like long-lost but cherished friends, even making sure Bella got a good seat – a gesture which warranted her beaming gratitude and she eloquently expressed this to Hattie. ‘Your boss is a real toff and, if I ever need a solicitor, then he’ll get my business.’ She smacked her lips as the drinks tray was carried towards her.

  Hattie visibly winced as Bella frowned at the tiny glasses. ‘Have you got a bigger glass, Maddie? For my medicine, you know,’ she added in a stage whisper.

  As Maddie hurried away, no doubt in search of a pint glass, Hattie still looked annoyed as she served the dainty sandwiches. She reserved a special glare for her sisters-in-law.

  ‘You’ve got a braw cushy number here, Hattie,’ said Kit. ‘It must be great working in a grand house like this.’

  Hattie gave her a look that suggested the silver was well counted before she passed on towards a couple of Maddie’s relations. Her body posture immediately changed, becoming more deferential.

  ‘That bloody woman’s going to topple over one of these days with all the crawling she does,’ said Kit to her sister.

  Although it was a whispered comment, it was loud enough to reach Hattie’s ears. She turned with a glare, twin red spots visible on her cheeks. She started to walk towards Kit and Lizzie but fortunately two things happened almost at once to take the unpleasantness out of the situation. Lily started to pull at a small string of beads around Joy’s neck. Taking umbrage at this, Joy started to howl with a series of high-pitched shrieks. At the same time, the doorbell pealed.

  As Mrs Pringle and Granny separated the two squabbling toddlers, Maddie made a beeline for the door, overtaking Hattie in the process. Which was perhaps just as well because Dad was standing on the doorstep.

  Hattie jumped out the door like a jack-in-the-box, looking up and down the street.

  Dad grinned. ‘It’s all right, Hattie, Marlene’s not here.’

  When I saw him, I ran over. ‘Dad, I’ve been looking for you every week but you’re never at the Hilltown.’ I knew I was chastising him again but he made me so angry at times. Still I was grateful to see he was reasonably tidy and had taken the time to shave. His blue knitted pullover looked new until I noticed the small patch on the elbow which had been darned in a slightly different shade.

  Mr Pringle came over. ‘Johnny, how nice to see you. Come over and see the birthday girls before you meet my brother John. I’m hoping he’ll find you a job in his warehouse.’

  With Dad now whisked away, I felt at a loose end. Granny was sitting beside one of Maddie’s aunts and, judging by their animated conversation, it was clear they were hitting it off.

  Maddie was helping Hattie with the food while Danny was talking to an old man who had the bushiest set of whiskers I had ever seen. I moved towards them.

  ‘I’m telling you, young Danny, at your age I was at sea, sailing right round the world,’ said the old man. ‘I’ve been in all kinds of storms – I was almost shipwrecked by a typhoon in the China Seas and I almost drowned in the Atlantic Ocean but shall I tell you the worst sight I ever saw?’

  He stopped as Danny nodded wordlessly.

  ‘Well, one night in a house not very far from here, where I lived at the time, I saw the Tay Bridge collapse.’

  We both gasped and he looked pleased.

  ‘Aye, it was in December 1879 and my father and I were outside in one of the worst storms we could ever remember. We saw the lights of the train as it started to cross the bridge and my father remarked that he was glad he wasn’t a passenger on it on a night like this. Suddenly the lights disappeared and we didn’t know what had happened. At least not until the following morning when the full tragedy unfolded.’ He shook his head as if still experiencing that sad moment.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ said Danny.

  ‘Aye, it was and I’ll tell you something – I’ve seen storms all over the world but the storm that night on the River Tay was one of the worst I’ve ever encountered. The middle of the bridge and an entire train with passengers all disappeared under the cold waves – poor souls.’

  I looked at the river which was calm and peaceful on this sunny Sunday but I could well imagine the scene of over fifty years ago when the magnificent iron bridge collapsed – the high girders falling into the foaming river with the appalling loss of life. Shaking off the morbid thought, I now noticed that Lily and Joy were the best of friends again but I was surprised to see Kit and Lizzie preparing to leave.

  ‘Och, we just came to see Lily and yourselves, Ann,’ said Kit as I walked to the front door with them. ‘Not to mention putting Hattie’s nose in a sling – the snotty besom.’

  As I watched them hurrying away, I was once again struck by the open hostility between them. The reason must lie in the past, I thought, because Hattie hardly ever visited Lochee and she didn’t have enough contact with them to warrant this hatred. Perhaps it was Hattie’s high-and-mighty nature. I knew it annoyed a lot of people and maybe, during the early days of her marriage, she had flaunted herself at Lochee. Still, this thought, along with the Tay Bridge disaster, was banished from my mind when I noticed Dad was also on the verge of leaving – much to Hattie’s relief. It would appear she was getting rid of all her embarrassments at one fell swoop.

  Mr Pringle stood at the door with him as I hurried over. Dad wasn’t going to escape from me this time as we had a lot of talking to do.

  ‘Well, the job will be yours when Willie retires,’ said the man standing next to them. He was obviously John Pringle. I thought Dad would seem pleased at this news but John went on, ‘Unfortunately, Willie doesn’t retire for a while yet but, if something else comes up, I’ll let you know, Johnny.’

  Dad smiled, a smile which, as usual, enhanced his handsome face. ‘You’ve all been so good to me and my family, Mr Pringle, and I really appreciate it. I’ll hang on till the man retires. After all, I’ve been without a job for years.’

  Hattie appeared at my shoulder, her mood now brighter with the disappearance of her tiresome relations. In the second it took me to turn at her appearance, Dad was gone. I was vexed but Hattie needed help with the dirty dishes and glasses. I sighed, fully expecting another row over the coat.

  Instead, she said quietly, ‘Do you know your dad hasn’t paid the rent for weeks and now the landlord is evicting him from the house?’

  I almost burst into tears. ‘Oh, no, Hattie. How could Dad have been so stupid? Where is he going to live?’

  I rushed from the kitchen but he was gone. Mr Pringle passed on Dad’s message to say cheerio to us all.

  I tackled Hattie. ‘When did you hear about this?’

  She looked at her hands. ‘Well, I expect he mentioned it to me today because he wanted a loan of money to pay the back rent but I’m not giving him a penny while he’s still seeing that Marlene woman.’

  Her face was set firmly and I realised Dad must have been desperate even to ask his sister.

  Hattie continued, ‘And he’s drinking, Ann. The money would have ended up in the pub. I just know it. The factor would never get a sniff of it.’

  I gazed at her with dismay. Although I knew she was right, it would seem that Dad’s famous charm with women was lost on one – his sister.

  10

  There was little sleep in the Overgate house that night. As I lay awake in my tiny room, afraid and full of apprehension at Dad’s downhill lifestyle, I heard Granny pottering around in t
he kitchen. The distinctive plopping sound from the gas cooker was a sign that she was also worried. Drinking tea in the middle of the night, in this house at least, was a sure sign of a crisis.

  I padded through the lobby in my bare feet. In spite of the earlier hot sunshine, the lino felt cold under my feet. The kitchen felt warmer but it was very dim. Granny had lit the gas lamp but she had turned it right down.

  When she saw me, she put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush, now – I don’t want your grandad worried.’ She looked over to the large bed in the corner where he lay blissfully asleep. He was snoring – not loudly but just gentle grunts that escaped from his open mouth to ripple like waves along the surface of the home-made patchwork quilt where it seemed to rise and fall like waves on the ocean. I was reminded of the sea at the Ferry, which either pounded or lapped against the shore, depending on its mood.

  Granny motioned to me as she placed the two cups of tea on the coal bunker. ‘Come over here. I don’t want to waken your grandad.’ Through the half-lit gloom, I saw her tired lined face and once again I was very angry at Dad. Along with this anger was the knowledge that Hattie would no doubt be fast asleep and not worrying one jot about her brother. She had said as much at the party.

  Granny shuddered slightly. ‘I’m just thinking about that scene at the party. What will Maddie and her parents think about us? And although Bella hasn’t said anything, you can rest assured that it’ll be the topic of conversation for ages. Did you notice her face? It was full of curiosity and I thought her eyes would pop out of her head.’

  Although I didn’t answer, the scene was also vividly etched on my mind. After Dad’s hurried departure, Granny had turned on Hattie. ‘Honestly, Hattie, could you not have arranged a family meeting at least? He turned to you for help and you let him down.’

  Granny was so incensed at her that Lily, perhaps picking up the angry feelings, began to cry. This distraction gave Hattie the chance to make her escape but not before throwing a parting shot at us. ‘Johnny has had all the help this family can give him. Look at him – living like a tink with a widow and not giving one jot of thought for the welfare of his kids.’ Her dark eyes blazed. ‘And I suppose he’s never as much as put one flower on his wife’s grave.’

  On that final note she then darted through the door, almost knocking over Maddie and Danny in her haste. If she was regretting anything this night then it would be that her actions were witnessed by the Pringle family.

  Granny had sat down, her face white. She looked as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her. I was alarmed but Mrs Pringle had come over with a cup of strong sweet tea. Meanwhile Maddie tried to soothe Lily while Danny stood beside her, utterly speechless.

  Granny gave a huge sigh. ‘She’s right of course. Hattie is the only one honest enough to tell the truth – it’s maybe because she’s a bit selfish herself but she certainly hit the nail on the head.’ She turned to me, wishing no doubt that Maddie and her mother weren’t there but they were, much to everyone’s embarrassment.

  Then, from across the grassy lawn, a voice called for Mrs Pringle. She patted Granny’s hand and said, ‘I’ll be back later.’

  Maddie blushed. ‘I’d better go as well and let you speak privately.’

  Granny said, ‘There’s no need, Maddie. Everything that’s been said has been overheard so just stay here with Danny and Ann. The whole truth is that Ann’s dad has never got over the death of his wife.’ She looked at me. ‘But Ann will go and see him tomorrow to get this mess sorted out.’

  I was suddenly filled with dread because I didn’t have a clue about his living arrangements and I certainly didn’t want to go to the Windmill bar again.

  Danny had come over and put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Wait till I finish work at night, Ann, and I’ll come with you.’

  I squared my shoulders. I knew Danny would help all he could and I also knew my grandparents were strong characters but they couldn’t be expected to shoulder all this burden and nor could Danny.

  ‘Thanks, Danny, but I’ll go to find him early in the morning. You know before he …’ Before he goes to the pub, I almost said.

  Maddie’s eyes were full of sympathy and I knew she was on the point of tears. I also felt hot tears sting my eyes – tears of helplessness at Dad’s incompetence, especially as the anniversary of Mum’s death was near.

  Granny’s voice brought me out of my reverie – back from the nightmare of the afternoon. ‘Another thing that Hattie was right about is the fact that your dad never goes near the grave.’

  Perhaps he couldn’t face it, I thought, but, on the other hand, Danny, Lily and I made regular visits to the Balgay cemetery. Sometimes we’d gone with just a handful of wild flowers but once or twice we’d had a large bunch of blooms from Mrs Barrie’s garden, placing them on the unmarked and desolate spot.

  Then the dreaded thought of hunting for Dad emerged again as an ugly image in my brain. I had said tomorrow but that had been yesterday and now the moment of reckoning was almost upon me.

  ‘Granny, have you any idea where Mrs Davidson lives?’

  ‘Well, Hattie did say it was somewhere in Ann Street, did she not?’ She sounded dubious. ‘But, there again, maybe that’s not right.’

  Grandad stirred in his bed. She moved over to the gas lamp and turned it off. ‘I don’t want your grandad to know about the stushie this afternoon, Ann.’

  I nodded. I didn’t want anyone to be worried about Dad – just myself. Granny rinsed the cups under the cold-water tap. ‘Time to off to bed, Ann. It’ll be a busy day later on.’

  I stood by the window, dreading the thought of what lay ahead. The moon rode high in the sky, a pale imitation of the earlier golden sun but its subtle silvery light matched my mood. Outside on the street, closes and crannies lay in deep shadow which was a sharp contrast to the shimmering tenement roofs. The slates, bathed in the moon’s milky light, had an opaque sheen which lent enchantment.

  I sighed. My life was like this moonlit night – silvered parts in the shape of Lily, my grandparents, Mrs Barrie, Jean and Maddie. Then there was Danny. Until Lily’s birth, he had been the zenith of my heaven and, although the axis had slipped slightly, he was still my moon. Dad, on the other hand, was my shadow, his deep unhappiness casting a dark cloud over all our lives, and I was at a loss to know how to deal with it.

  But, in spite of my worries, within minutes of going back to bed, I was fast asleep. Dawn brought another golden day. It would be another scorcher by the feel of it although the sun’s breath was just pleasantly warm by the time I set off in search of my father.

  As usual, the Hilltown was crowded with people – a multitude of human beings either going about their daily chores or merely lounging in the sunshine. Hordes of children spilled out on to the pavements – thin, hungry-looking children in faded, patched clothes and white arms and legs. A boy, with a paper eyeshade that dominated his pinched, white face, was busy playing with another boy who had one leg shorter than the other, the difference in height being made up by an iron calliper which encased his leg and shoe. But these deprivations went unnoticed as they whooped and shouted and threw themselves into their game of cowboys and Indians.

  There was no sign of Rita or Nellie but I only gave them a fleeting thought as I hurried upwards. I had no plan of action as such. I suppose I was hoping that Dad would somehow materialise out of whatever abode he currently occupied. But, as I had long since discovered, life was not like a scene from my Arabian Nights book. Life did not have marvellous miracles or a genie in a bottle and nor did it have my father stepping out at my feet. There was no sign of Marlene either.

  I walked along both sides of Ann Street, right to the perimeter of Bonnybank Road but, in spite of it being busy, everyone I met was a stranger.

  It was too early for the Windmill bar to be open but that had been my intention – to arrive before opening time – and I now realised that this had been an unwise move. Mrs Davidson could live anywhere amongst this warren
of tenements and humanity.

  I paused outside a small shop that was obviously linked to St Mary’s Chapel in Forebank Road, a chapel that was situated about fifty feet from where I was standing. The window was adorned with crucifixes of every size. Religious pictures and rosary beads were also very much in evidence.

  I wondered if Marlene was a member of the chapel and then decided she was not. During our brief meeting, I got the impression she had long ago embraced Bacchus as her spirit instead of Jesus. The tiny ‘jenny-a’-things’ shop across the road seemed a better bet. I stepped inside the minuscule shop, noticing with amusement that the huge bell nailed to the door was well out of proportion to the size of the shop. The metal bell shivered in excitement, almost shifting the film of dust on its surface but not quite. A shaft of sunlight, filled with a million dancing particles, somehow managed to squeeze through a gap in the many posters that decorated the door, falling like a stage spotlight on the dusty wooden counter.

  At this point, the reason for the noisy bell became apparent. The owner was a bit deaf. I spoke in a loud voice, mouthing my words in an exaggerated manner, almost as if the old lady was daft as well as deaf. ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Davidson. Do you know where she lives?’

  The old woman looked puzzled for a moment before holding up a flimsy packet. ‘Is it jam pot covers you want, lassie?’ She put them away when I shook my head.

  I could see the danger of being here all day while she held up all her meagre stock. I then saw a well-chewed pencil on the counter and I had a brainwave. Searching in my message bag, I finally found an old paper bag. I wrote the name down and watched as the woman squinted at it.

  After a few seconds she ducked under the counter. Moving things around and opening a few drawers, she re-emerged with a pair of tiny round wire-framed spectacles which she carefully tucked behind her ears and adjusted them on the bridge of her thin, bony nose. She scrutinised the name ‘Mrs Davidson. Mrs Davidson.’ She drew a grimy hand over her mouth. ‘Is that the woman with the nine kids that lives in James Street?’ she pondered for a moment while I almost fainted. Hattie hadn’t mentioned children. The woman was talking again, ‘No, no, that’s Mrs Richardson. No, lass, I don’t know anybody called Davidson.’