His eyes were so anxious that Elspeth capitulated. ‘No, I don’t mind, really. It is the same tram, and I’d be glad of your company.’
Left alone, David started to tremble. He should never have asked her, for he knew he couldn’t sustain a conversation with her on the long journey to the terminus. He couldn’t talk to anyone ... but he’d already told her his name and a few other things. Bewildered, he nearly rose to leave, but something held him back. He was going to be killed soon – but this Elspeth was so ... she was the kind of girl he could have fallen in love with if he had been normal.
At two minutes past three, she appeared with her coat on. ‘Are you ready, David?’
A tramcar came almost as soon as they stood up at the stop in Union Street. Elspeth plumped down on the wooden seat with a sigh of relief, and he sat beside her, trying not to let any part of his body come in contact with hers. ‘It’s good to get off my feet,’ she observed. ‘Working in a cafe can be real tiring.’
‘Aye, it must be,’ he murmured, shyly.
‘Where were you wounded?’
The question was natural, but unexpected, and he didn’t want to talk about it, so he misunderstood deliberately. ‘It was at Wipers, and there was a shell, and ... ’
His agitation made the girl change the subject. ‘You’ve an Aberdeen tongue. Do you belong here?’
He relaxed, very slightly. ‘Aye, I was born and brought up in Holburn Street.’
‘Is your mother and father still there?’
He looked away. ‘My mother ... died just before the war, but my father’s still there.’
‘Does he bide on his own?’
He took a deep breath. This girl could really find his weak spots. ‘No, he ... took another wife.’
Elspeth stopped probing – it was none of her business – and kept up a steady recital of anecdotes about the cafe and its customers until they reached the terminus.
As they walked towards the quarry lane, David said, ‘I’m not going to see my father and his wife.’
‘Oh, do you not like her?’ Elspeth sounded surprised.
‘I’ve never met her.’
‘Well, why ...?’
‘I couldn’t face seeing another woman in my mother’s place, sitting on her chair ...’
‘But, David, if your father’s happy, that’s what counts. You should do the right thing and go to see them. I’m sure he’d be pleased.’
He fell silent. Elspeth had a way with her, and she’d have helped him to sort himself out if only he’d met her before. It was too late now, but maybe he should do this one thing to please her? ‘You really think I should go?’
‘Go the morrow, and let me ken on Monday how you got on.’
‘Aye, I will.’ His troubled brain cleared, but he was glad when Elspeth started telling him a little about herself.
‘I come from Auchlonie, a wee place about twenty-five mile from Aberdeen – you’ll likely not have heard of it. I’d a row wi’ my folk near two year ago, and come to the town to work, and ... I got lodgings in Quarry Street.’
‘I’ve heard that lodgings can be real bad, sometimes.’
‘Maybe, but I was lucky. The Watsons are good folk. I was in service wi’ a doctor and his wife for a while, before I got the waitress job.’
‘Meeting a lot o’ folk must be interesting for you.’
‘Aye, the time just flies past.’ They had reached the quarry lane by this time, and she said, ‘Well, here’s where I’ll have to leave you.’ His disappointed expression made her eye him anxiously. ‘Will you manage the rest yourself, David? It’s not very far, but I can come right to Oldmill wi’ you, if you want.’
‘No, I’ll manage. I’ll see you on Monday ... Elspeth.’
Standing for a moment, she watched him walking away, then ran along the lane. She didn’t tell Helen anything when she went into the house – she needed time to think. Why had she agreed to come on the tram with him? She had always vowed not to give any man the chance to get too friendly with her, but it had been the lost look of him – something in his eyes. Poor lad, she hoped that he could cope tomorrow at his father’s house.
She held young John in her arms for a while, then laid him back in his pram and took out the iron, becoming aware that Helen was regarding her thoughtfully. ‘You’re awful quiet the day, Elspeth. Did something happen at the cafe?’
‘Nothing much.’ She smoothed out the old blanket they used to protect the kitchen table, and laid one of her aprons on it, then her natural need to describe what she’d been doing made her say, ‘Nothing bad, any road.’
‘Something, though?’
The prompting was all Elspeth needed, so she told Helen about her conversation with David Fullerton. ‘Something terrible must have happened to him in Wipers,’ she added. ‘I could see the terrified look about him when he spoke, like it was something that would haunt him for the rest o’ his days, but he couldna come out wi’ it. I’m pleased he’s going to see his father and his step-mother, though.’
‘You’ve fair surprised me, Elspeth. Making up to a soldier? You’ll maybe fall in love wi’ him, if he’s a nice laddie.’ Laughing at the girl’s vehement denials, Helen changed the subject. ‘I wish I ken’t how my Donald really is. He never comes home, though he must get leave sometime, and he never tells me much in his letters, just that he’s well and hopes me and Jimmy are the same. Still, I suppose I should be thankful he writes at all, and I suppose I’d hear quick enough if anything happened to him.’
Elspeth, trying to analyse her feelings for David, nodded abstractedly. She wouldn’t fall in love with him – she could never fall in love again. She was just sorry for him. He was like a wounded animal, his sad eyes pleading for him not to be hurt any more, and there was no harm in just speaking to him. After he went back to Belgium, she would never see him again. ‘That’s me finished.’ She picked up the pile of aprons, caps and baby clothes and turned to take them through to her room.
Having some ironing of her own to do, Helen lifted the iron from the upturned enamel plate the girl had been using as a stand. ‘You should ask David to come for his supper some night, Elspeth. It would be a fine change for him.’
Elspeth turned the suggestion over in her mind. It would be a friendly gesture, but he might think she was encouraging him, and he’d be hurt if she built up his hopes then let him down. She would hate to cause him any more distress. Besides, the last time she had invited a young man to supper, she had been left waiting, and she couldn’t face that again. ‘No, Helen,’ she said, at last. ‘I’m not wanting to get too friendly wi’ another lad that might never come back from the war.’
On Monday, Elspeth had begun to think that David wouldn’t be coming when he walked in at ten to three, with a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before, and she went to him as soon as she was free. ‘How did you get on? Did you like her?’
He screwed up his nose. ‘She wouldn’t be my choice.’
‘She was your father’s. Are you going back to see them?’
‘I don’t know. I felt real awkward wi’ them, but I’m glad you made me go, Elspeth.’
‘And I’m glad I made you.’ She giggled as she walked away, but when she brought his tea she had to serve someone else.
They went out together when she finished work, and Elspeth looked up at him shyly when they sat down in the tram. ‘Tell me more about your visit, David.’
‘My father got a right shock when he saw me.’ ‘He’d been pleased, though?’
‘Aye, he was, but his wife glowered at me like I’d no business being there. She doesna like me, and I don’t like her, for she’s nothing like my mother. Oh, Elspeth, can you understand how I feel?’
‘Aye, it must be terrible to lose your mother.’ She had lost both her mother and her father, but only through her own folly. No, not folly. She didn’t regret what she’d done.
‘It wasn’t my home any more, for she’s changed everything, but I made the effort.’ He paused
briefly. ‘You’re a good friend, Elspeth, for telling me I should go.’
‘You just needed a wee push,’ she laughed.
‘Maybe, but now you’ve sorted me out, what about you? Will you not go home and make things up wi’ your folk?’
‘No, David.’ Her face clouded over. ‘I can never go home – it was a different thing altogether.’
‘What was your row about? Was it over a lad?’
‘Aye, it was, and I can’t go back ... ever again.’ She was too ashamed to tell him why she’d had to leave home. Having an illegitimate child was something to keep quiet about.
The next few days followed the same pattern, with David arriving at the People’s Cafe in time to go back in the tram with Elspeth. She kept this from Helen, of course, as she did not want to fire her landlady’s imagination any further. She liked David Fullerton, but that was all. It was good to have somebody of her own age to talk to, somebody who didn’t try to pressurize her into going out at nights with him like so many of the other servicemen did. It was a comfortable relationship, friendly but not too friendly.
When he appeared on the second Thursday, she was surprised to see that he was in uniform, the kilt swinging as he went purposefully to the corner table, the flat Balmoral bonnet set at a jaunty angle on his head. He looked better than she had ever seen him, and she hurried across to him as soon as she could, exclaiming, ‘Oh, David, you really suit the kilt. You’ve got the right build for it.’
He didn’t even smile. ‘It’s good to feel the wind about my knees again, they get soft wearing trousers. The English lads used to torment us about our skirts, but we were proud to wear them.’
‘And so you should be.’ Becoming aware that there was a tension about him, she asked, ‘What’s wrong?’ The strain on his face made her pity him after the cheerful mood he had been in for the past week. It made her more certain than ever that there was something he hadn’t told her about the reason for his being in hospital.
‘Nothing’s wrong exactly,’ he told her. ‘It’s just ... this is the last time I’ll see you, for I’ve to go back the day.’
‘To Belgium, you mean?’ She felt an unexpected pang of ... regret? She had thought he didn’t mean a thing to her, only a passing acquaintance, yet she didn’t want him to leave.
‘I’ve just got time to see you on to the tram before I go to the station. I’ve been to the Barracks this morning, to get kitted out, and I’ve got all the papers I’ll need to take me over there.’ His eyes held hers for a moment. ‘Will you write to me, Elspeth? My father was the only one that sent me letters before, and the other lads aye spoke about their lasses. Oh!’ He reddened. ‘I didn’t mean you were to be my lass, just a friend – a letter now and then. Please?’
His look was so beseeching that her resolve not to be too friendly began to waver, but she gathered up his dirty dishes before she said, ‘Well, you write to me first, and I’ll think about it.’
His face lit up as she walked away, and she was glad that there was no great farewell scene when he saw her on to the tramcar later. Gripping her hand, he said, ‘I’ll write, Elspeth, and I’ll keep hoping I get an answer.’
Feeling strangely empty when she sat down, she admitted to herself that she would miss David. Something obviously preyed on his mind, and she wished he had confided in her. She would have helped him to get over it, whatever it was, for she was drawn to him, as she’d never thought to be drawn to any man again. But she didn’t love him.
Helen Watson was at a loss to understand why the girl was so wary of writing. ‘He just wants a friendly letter.’
The next time Elspeth took young John down to King’s Gate, Ann Robb couldn’t understand it, either. ‘Some young friends of mine write to dozens of soldiers and sailors, and there’s nothing serious in any of it. The boys need something to keep their spirits up, you know.’
‘I suppose so.’ Elspeth sighed deeply. ‘There’s nothing binding in just a few letters, is there? I’m just worried about what he’ll expect when he comes back ... if he ever comes back.’
She was rather put out when Ann laughed at her pessimism.
Chapter Sixteen
When the all-too-well remembered buff envelope arrived a few weeks later, Elspeth was almost afraid to open it. ‘It’ll not bite you,’ Helen teased.
Smiling, the girl tore it open then drew out a double sheet of paper covered with neat writing, the first page more than half taken up with his rank, name and number.
‘Dear Elspeth,’ she read aloud, ‘Here is my letter to you as promised. The channel crossing was bad but we arrived safe and sound. I am in a different place with the same battalion. I think of you often, and I hope you are not too busy. We have a mascot, a scruffy little terrier that wandered in one day, half starved, and we washed him and fed him, and now he will not leave us. Some of the lads called him Pierre, just for fun, but he answers to it now. There is nothing more to write about, but I am looking forward to you answering this. From your friend, David Fullerton.’
‘You see?’ Helen cried, triumphantly. ‘Just your friend, so you will write to him, surely?’
‘Aye, I think I will.’ Elspeth had been relieved by the general tone of the letter. ‘He’s a nice lad, and I still feel kind o’ sorry for him.’
Although David did not write regularly, Elspeth wrote to him every Sunday. One morning, a few months after he had gone back, she was on the point of opening an envelope when she noticed that it was addressed to Mrs James Watson. Knowing that Helen was worried about not hearing from Donald for some time, she hurried into the kitchen and handed it over, anxiously watching the changing expressions flitting across her landlady’s face.
When she came to the end, Helen looked at Elspeth, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘Donald says he was angry when I tell’t him I’d let you have his room, that’s why he never come home when he got leave. He’d been going to Hull wi’ another laddie, and he’d met this lassie, and the last time he was there, he wed her.’ She stopped, swallowing before she burst out, ‘My Donald a married man! You ken, I aye kind o’ hoped he would take a fancy to you once he was home.’
Elspeth was taken aback at this. ‘Oh, I never thought ...’
‘It wasn’t meant to be, and I’m pleased he’s got himself a wife – even if she is English.’ Helen grinned impishly.
‘You should never have given me his room – it’s little wonder he was angry.’
‘I thought he’d understand, but that’s men for you. Any road, it’s water under the brig. He says he understands now why I did it, seeing you’d no place else to go, though I never tell’t him you were expecting ... and I didna say I was, either, in case it upset him. He’s bringing his wife here on his next leave, and he says not to worry about a bed, for they’ll take a room in a hotel.’
Elspeth frowned. ‘I should leave and let them get the room. It was Donald’s, and it’s only right ...’
‘It’s only a single bed, lassie. No, it’s best the way he says. Well, well! Who’d have thought it!’ Helen clearly couldn’t get over the shock.
Elspeth was on the evening shift that week and did not see Jimmy’s reaction to the news, but Helen told her next day that he’d been very pleased. ‘He said he hoped the English lassie would make our Donald as happy as I’ve made him, and that near made me break down, Elspeth, for he’s never been a great one for flowery words, my Jimmy, though he’s a good man, for all that.’
Over the next few weeks, the two women cleaned the small flat from top to bottom so that Donald’s English wife would have nothing to criticize, and at last the great Saturday arrived, the tears and recriminations being over by the time Elspeth went home at half past three.
‘This is Donald,’ Helen said, proudly, ‘and this is his wife, Margaret.’
Elspeth had her hand almost shaken off by the broad, round-cheeked young man in the kilt, and by the cheery, dark-haired girl who came forward smiling, and Helen laughed in delight. ‘Me and Margaret’s having a jo
b under-standing each other, but Donald’s translating for us.’
‘Margaret’s beginning to know most of what I’m saying now, aren’t you, dear?’ Donald spoke slowly and deliberately for his wife’s benefit, his eyes revealing his love for her.
‘Oh, yes. It was very difficult at first – I thought he was a foreigner.’ Margaret had a silvery laugh which didn’t stop at her lips, but spread all over her face and crinkled her eyes and nose. She was a reasonably pretty girl, but there was an indefinable beauty about her when she laughed, as if she were illuminated from within.
Elspeth could see that both Helen and Jimmy were besotted with her, and felt a small twinge of jealousy – Margaret was a real part of the Watson family and it was Elspeth who was the outsider – but she quickly stifled it.
‘It’s you that’s the foreigner here,’ Donald teased his wife, making her gurgle with laughter again.
‘No, no, don’t mind him, Margaret,’ Helen smiled. ‘We’re very pleased to have you as our daughter-in-law.’
‘I wasn’t the only one to be keeping secrets, though,’ Donald remarked, rather more seriously. ‘I got a right shock when I saw wee John here. You never told me, Mother, but it’s great to have a new brother at my age. He’s a real bonnie wee thing, isn’t he, Elspeth?’
Elspeth shot a pleading glance at Helen in the hope that her landlady would tell her son the truth, but she was dismayed to see the woman smiling proudly. ‘Aye,’ the girl said, very carefully, ‘he’s a bonnie bairn.’ She was afraid that by not correcting Donald she had irrevocably condoned a ghastly deception, but what else could she have done? She was dependent on Helen to look after John, and she would be for ever grateful to her for her kindness before and after the time of his birth. Surely it could all be put right at some time in the future couldn’t it?
The young couple were blissfully unaware of Elspeth’s quandary. ‘Donald wanted to wait until after the war before we were married,’ Margaret told them, tucking her arm through her husband’s, ‘but I persuaded him to change his mind. You’ve got to grab your happiness while you can in wartime, haven’t you?’
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