Sign of the Times

by Susan Buchanan

  “Yes, not a bad day, thanks. Sorry I’m a bit late. Traffic.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. It was a good two hours drive from St Andrews to Newton Mearns. He wasn’t lying, just stretching the truth. He declined to mention his shandy with Oscar. He’d wanted to talk about the business proposal he’d contemplated last time.

  “I’m just going to put some jeans on,” Jack kissed Antonia, took her face in his hands and said, “You’re a good wife, you know.”

  She rested her hands on his chest and said, “No dear. I’m a great wife. You need to work on your compliments, especially when you’ve been in the Nineteenth with Oscar.” The shandy, she’d obviously smelled it on his breath. Damn. A few tic tacs would have sorted that out.

  “OK, you win, great wife,” he mocked.

  “Go and get changed,” she ordered.

  “Any chance of a glass of wine?” Jack asked, when he reappeared, wearing faded Levis and a khaki shirt.

  “It’s in the bottle,” Antonia informed him.

  “Where’s the bottle?” Jack asked.

  “In the garage and whilst you’re there, bring six bottles of red in for tonight. The white’s already in the fridge.”

  “OK, got it.”

  Antonia was already dressed and applying her makeup when Jack finally headed upstairs to get showered and changed for dinner. Shortly afterwards, the doorbell rang. Antonia beat Jack to the door, but as their friends entered, he passed their coats to Felix who took them upstairs. It wasn’t long before the bell rang again and soon they were all in situ, glasses of fizz in hand for the non-drivers.

  Dinner was magnificent. Antonia had excelled herself. When Jack had first met her, she was dreadful. He cooked everything or they’d have subsisted on tinned tomato soup, but over the years, it had become a shared passion. Even if he said so himself, he was the better cook, when he got the opportunity. He was starving. The beef was done to a tee. Antonia had just risen to clear away the plates and bring out dessert, when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other, surprised at the doorbell ringing at this late hour.

  “Can you take the plates through, Jack? I’ll get the door.”

  Jack gathered up the plates and retreated to the kitchen. He was just going to chase up Antonia, get her to come in and help him take the dessert plates through, when she came into the kitchen.

  “Great, you can help me carry these. I’ve dished up,” Jack said, eager for some brownie points. He grinned at her, his face falling, as he saw her ashen one.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She opened the door wide and said, “Come in and sit down.”

  Jack watched as a pale young girl and a policeman entered the kitchen and proceeded to sit at the breakfast bar.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked his wife.

  “This is Archie Furnival and his daughter, Jessica. Jessica’s made an allegation against Felix,” she said staccato-like.

  “What sort of allegation?” asked Jack, setting the bowls on the worktop.

  “I don’t know yet. I just asked them in.”

  Jack was trying to think on his feet, but failing miserably.

  “We have dinner guests, Officer. It’s not really a good time.”

  “I’m not here in an official capacity. Yet,” said the policeman.

  This is surreal, thought Jack. His thoughts were interrupted by the policeman saying, “This can’t wait.”

  “OK, OK,” Jack’s mind was swirling.

  He turned to his wife and said, “Antonia, can you please take dessert through and I’ll handle this.”

  “I want to know what’s going on too,” his wife insisted.

  “Well, can you go and tell the others we’re having a problem with dessert and we’ll be in shortly.”

  “OK, I’ll offer them more wine in the meantime, but don’t discuss anything until I get back.”

  The policeman and Jack stared at each other for what seemed an age, before Antonia returned. The girl’s eyes had remained downcast.

  “Right, what’s going on?” Antonia asked, before Jack could say anything.

  “Jessica tells me your son raped her,” the officer said matter-of-factly.

  “What!” cried Antonia, horrified. “That’s not possible!”

  “Antonia. Keep your voice down,” Jack was quick to think of their guests.

  Restraining herself, Antonia said, “Why are you saying this?” to the girl. She remained silent.

  “That’s not all,” the officer said.

  “What do you mean? Isn’t her allegation bad enough? Felix wouldn’t do such a thing.” Jack said vehemently. “His only interest is his band.”

  “All I know is my daughter has been acting very strangely since last Saturday night, closeting herself in her room, not eating and then today, she told her mother, who couldn’t even bear to come here, for fear of what she might do to your son, that she was raped. She named your son as her attacker. She’s pregnant.”

  Jack felt sick. He couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it of Felix. “My son’s upstairs. I’m going to get him.”

  “The girl looked alarmed. She shook her head vigorously.

  “I don’t think she can cope with that. It took everything she had to come here tonight. I just wanted to speak to you first, before we press charges.”

  Dazed, Jack said, “I’m a prosecutor. I know how the system works.”

  Numb, he said to the girl, “This isn’t right. You know this isn’t right.” She wouldn’t look at him.

  “I’m going to speak to Felix and we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Do you think you can stay here whilst I do that? I’m happy for you to see him after I’ve let him know what you’re alleging, but since your daughter doesn’t want to see him, I can’t bring him downstairs.”

  The policeman agreed.

  “Antonia, go and speak to the guests. Do what you think is best.”

  Antonia had frozen, struck by disbelief.

  Jack climbed the stairs with legs of lead. He hesitated outside Felix’s door and then knocked loudly. No sound came from within. He turned the doorknob and saw him lying on his bed, headphones on, lost in his own world. As he walked towards the bed, Felix finally noticed him and removed his earphones.

  “What is it, Dad?” Felix asked him, peering at him curiously. His dad didn’t look too good, he thought. Maybe the dinner party wasn’t going so well.

  “Felix. Does the name Jessica mean anything to you?”

  “Jessica who?”

  “Do you know a Jessica?”

  “Sure. There’s one in my class at school, Jessica Adams.”

  “Any other Jessicas?”

  Frowning and wondering where this was leading, Felix said, “No, I don’t think so, why?”

  “Because there’s a Jessica Furnival and her father Archie, a policeman incidentally, downstairs in our kitchen.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with me?” Felix was clearly puzzled.

  “She says you raped her.”

  “I what?” Felix had turned white.

  Chapter Fifty Six

  Czeslawa - SCORPIO

  Energetic, deep, passionate, intuitive. Wilful and stubborn. Keen observers of people. Sensitive. Strong leadership qualities. Good analytical skills, incisive. Very career motivated.

  Czeslawa helped her daughter into the van. Her husband started the engine and they were on their way. They had only lived in Livingston a few months, but it felt longer. The two bedroom flat in a depressing block in the Craigshill area was not a great place to live and they were anxious to get out of it.

  Many windows were boarded up. Gangs of youths hung around on street corners. She didn’t want Angelika growing up in that. She was glad when Wojciech was offered the new job. They could get out of this place. The area was beyond deprived. There were burnt out cars and shady characters peddling drugs in the corridors.

  As they left the flats behind, Czeslawa felt herself relax and exhaled noisily, realising that s
he’d been holding her breath. Her husband looked at her questioningly.

  She took his hand as Angelika chattered away to them in Polish. She was six years old and quite the little chatterbox. Her English was better than her mother’s. Czeslawa hadn’t been able to bring herself to look for a job in this area. She’d be scared to work in a corner shop in case she was held at knifepoint. She was relieved when Wojciech was promoted to foreman. He’d proven an accomplished worker, trustworthy and hard-working, more than could be said of the workshy youths he worked alongside. Over dinner he entertained her with tales of his workmates. It annoyed her that talk was often of the Poles taking jobs away from UK workers, when many of them didn’t want to work, instead preferring to claim benefits and milk the system.

  As they drove along the M9, passing lush green fields and rolling hills on one side and a sprinkling of villages on the other, Czeslawa caught sight of the towering chimneys of the Grangemouth refinery. A necessary blot on the landscape. Soon it was in the distance and the vista gave way to the undulating hills once more. Wojciech took the cut off for the M80 and before long they were trundling over the country lanes to Kings River, their new home.

  Czeslawa had only seen the house in a picture, trusting Wojciech to get it right. She’d researched the village on the internet and found it pleasing. She had a good feeling about this. Once they were settled, she would start looking for a job. The larger towns of Kilburn and Cumbernauld were nearby. She wanted to meet people. It was lonely on her own. Wojciech was at work all day. She loved her daughter dearly, but there was only so much she could offer her.

  When they arrived in Kings River, it was the annual gala day, a festival for the whole community which also encompassed a local teenage schoolgirl becoming queen for a year, attending charity events and judging competitions. A feast of events was planned throughout the year, starting today. Angelika was excited when she saw the red and yellow flags strung from one house to the next and the banners on some doorways heralding the Gala Queen’s home and those of her pageboy and flower girl. Czeslawa looked at Wojciech. They would unpack later.

  The gala day was in full swing. The queen’s coronation would be at one o’clock after running events, as well as tug o’ war and an egg and spoon race. A large queue streamed from an ice-cream van at one end of the football field. When Angelika saw children slurping 99 cones, she wanted one too.

  Czeslawa slipped her hand into her husband’s and they followed their daughter through the thronging crowds. There were stalls selling local produce, bring and buy stands, a tombola and face painting. Everything she’d expected a village fair to offer. Angelika ran ahead shouting “look Mummy, look Daddy, they are painting their faces. Look Mummy, there are carts.” Wojciech and Czeslawa smiled and made all the appropriate noises to Angelika’s exclamations.

  “Daddy, I want one of those teddies,” Angelika said, pointing to prizes at a hoopla stall.

  “We’re going to have to start talking to her in English,” Czeslawa said.

  “Then you’re going to have to learn English and I’m going to have to improve,” said her husband, putting his arm around her.

  “Mummy, can I run in the race?”

  Wojciech and Czeslawa exchanged a glance, then Czeslawa said, “Go on.”

  “On your marks, se-e-et,” the starter blew his whistle, “Go!” and the race was off.

  “C’mon Lika, you can do it!” her parents shouted in Polish, attracting a few stares. She finished second. Two minutes later, she took part in her first awards ceremony. They hadn’t entered their house yet, but their daughter had already won a medal.

  Angelika stared open-mouthed at the young girl, with the golden curls, wearing the pretty dress, looking like a bridesmaid at a wedding. The official slipped the sash reading Kings River Gala Queen over her head. An important looking man, perhaps the mayor or councillor, then placed a sparkly tiara on her head and then placed a bouquet of mixed blooms in her hands. The crowd cheered, then the marching band played a few numbers before the crowd dispersed, some parents being dragged to the face-painting stand, others trawling their children to the ever popular raffle. After a pleasant two hours wandering around, they decided it was time to go and greet their new home.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Czeslawa. It was a four in a block, terraced house, with a UPVC door, red tiled roof and pebbled walls. The long hall led to a kitchen on the left hand side after an adequate bathroom, with new-looking three piece suite. The lounge was straight ahead from the hall and very spacious, although no real room for a dining table. The two bedrooms were on the right and she was pleasantly surprised at their size. She would be able to set up a little desk in the corner over there, with a computer. She hugged her husband. Angelika barrelled into her, as she returned from racing around the house, eager to explore her new surroundings

  “Thank you Wojciech. It’s perfect.” They’d been lucky to hear about it. His friend’s sister had previously rented it.

  “Glad you like it. Shall we unpack?”

  “Yes,” she answered him in Polish. She remembered they should be speaking English. But it was hard and they were proud and didn’t want Angelika to forget her roots. Sighing, she followed her husband’s footsteps outside to the van.

  “Hello. I’m your neighbour, George Kelso,” an elderly man came out to meet them, as they manoeuvred a chest of drawers up the path. Czeslawa wiped her hands on her jeans and said, “Nice to meet you. Czeslawa,” and she held out her hand to shake his. He looked at her confused,

  “Ches-what?”

  “Czes-lawa”, she emphasised for him “this is Angelika,” she said, proudly pushing her daughter forward and this is my husband, Wojciech.”

  “Watch ek? What kind of name is that?” asked George.

  “Polish.” Wojciech answered, smiling at the old man.

  “Ah, I thought it was foreign. Well,” he said, looking them up and down, “you look all right. I’m sure you won’t be any trouble.”

  Czeslawa was indignant, but didn’t want to upset her new neighbour so soon. Restraining herself, she said, “You are right. We are not any trouble. Perhaps we see you later, but now we have to take furniture inside,” and with that she turned on her heel.

  “Well, he was charming,” Wojciech said.

  “Oh, you know the type. Hopefully not everyone is like that. I like it here.”

  “I have a good feeling about this place. It will be fine.”

  Wojciech is always so optimistic, thought Czeslawa.

  A few hours later they slumped on the sofa, exhausted. At least their belongings were inside. It was dinner time. Czeslawa ached for bigos, the flavoursome Polish stew, but she’d have to wait until she had time to do some shopping. As Wojciech handed her a pan from one of the boxes marked Kitchen and searched for plates, Czeslawa made potato and cheese pierogi. She hoped the cottage cheese was OK. It had been in the van longer than intended.

  “This is lovely,” her husband said appreciatively. She was so happy. They would overcome the man next door. Contented, she tucked into her pierogi, savouring the bacon which accompanied them.

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  The next day Czeslawa woke up early. It was six twenty. Too early to get up. She listened to the birds twittering in the trees. Realising she wasn’t getting back to sleep, she sneaked out of bed and padded across the carpet to the door, which emitted only the slightest creak, before allowing her to pass, undetected into the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, Wojciech worked six days out of seven and needed his rest, she went through to the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

  Czeslawa sat in the living room, sipping her strong coffee slowly, watching the world go by, despite the torrential rain. Already there were signs of life. She watched a couple of villagers pass by her window. Maybe she’d go and explore, see what she could forage for breakfast.

  Czeslawa was wrapped up against the rain. She arrived at the store, face red from the wind and wet from the rain. The bell trille
d overhead when she entered and a man in his late forties smiled at her. “Morning.”

  She returned his greeting and glanced around the shop. She popped some flour, sugar and crusty bread into a basket, then added bacon, sausages and eggs. She’d make a Scottish breakfast. Finished, she headed for the counter.

  “Hello there,” the big man greeted her warmly. “I’m Ian McAndrew, the owner. Are you the lady who has moved into number 11, next to George.”

  Mutely, Czeslawa nodded.

  “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy here and if you need any information on the area, let me know.” Czeslawa understood most of what he said. Finally she found her tongue,

  “My name is Czeslawa. Nice to meet you,” she said in her thick accent.

  Mildly surprised, Ian repeated her name back to her. “Czeslawa? Is that Russian?”

  “No, Polish.”

  “Oh, I should have guessed,” he said, “There are a lot of Poles in Scotland now, but I think you might be the first in Kings River.”

  There was none of the condescending tone George had used to them the previous day.

  “So, how do you like your new home?” Ian enquired.

  “Very nice,” she said. “The weather could be better.”

  Ian laughed, “The weather could always be better.”

  Ian rang up Czeslawa’s purchases as he chatted away to her. He was quite easy to understand, although sometimes she didn’t know how to reply, but at least she was improving. She had been too scared to talk to anyone when they lived in Craigshill.

  “Sorry, I need newspaper.” She looked at the display in front of her, trying to figure out which would be the easiest.

  “I’d recommend the Sunday Mail. The sentences are short and it’s easy to read.”

  “OK, I will take that one. I go home and read now to improve my English.”

  “Good luck.”

  *

  Czeslawa lay on the sofa reading. Some of it was very odd, but Ian was right, the sentences were short. She struggled over many of the words, but understood more than she expected.