The New Breadmakers

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Inside the flat now. Mrs Vincent’s grateful embrace. Reggie’s photos all around. Reggie on the mantelpiece, looking handsome in his RAF pilot’s uniform. Reggie on the coffee table as a university student in his cricket whites. Reggie on the sideboard as a schoolboy in his blue school blazer and cap and as a toddler, clutching his teddy. Reggie as an infant, held in his mother’s loving arms.

  Mrs Vincent looked as elegant as always and the table was beautifully set, as usual, with lace-edged cloth and napkins to match. The gold-edged china looked too delicate to hold hot tea. The silver cake stand, and the silver cream jug and sugar bowl, gleamed. Julie suddenly felt too sick and tired to eat. But she made an effort for Mrs Vincent’s sake. She’d gone to so much trouble.

  After the meal, they settled down for a chat in which, as usual, Reggie was never far away.

  ‘You look so tired, my dear. You know, Reggie wouldn’t want you to be overworking like this.’

  ‘Do you remember that time when Reggie …’

  ‘I said to Reggie …’

  ‘Reggie said to me … I’ll never forget it … “I love her, Mother,” he said. “Look after her for me.” That’s why I keep asking you to come and live with me, Julie. I want to look after you. For Reggie’s sake.’

  Julie couldn’t bear it any longer. Not for one more day. Not for one more moment.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve met someone else,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘What?’ Mrs Vincent looked confused.

  ‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else. You must have known it was bound to happen sometime. Reggie has been dead for years and I’m still a young woman.’

  Horror mixed with terror in Mrs Vincent’s eyes. Then she glanced away, straightened her back and said very politely, ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ Julie said, rising and picking up her handbag. ‘Perhaps after this, we could meet in town for tea. All you need to do is drop me a note or ring me at work.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Mrs Vincent repeated, also rising, then following Julie to the door.

  ‘All the best,’ Julie said once outside on the landing. ‘And thanks for everything.’

  She couldn’t get away quick enough, she felt so awful. Remembering to turn in the Crescent and wave up at the window, she wasn’t surprised to find that Mrs Vincent was not there as usual to wave back.

  21

  Hullo! Hullo! We are the Billy Boys.

  Hullo! Hullo! We are the Billy Boys.

  Up tae the knees in Fenian blood, surrender or ye’ll die,

  For we are the Balornock Billy Boys!

  The fiery-faced leader of the Balornock Lodge was well out in front and thoroughly enjoying himself – elbows out, four prancing steps forward, four prancing steps back, as if he was doing a barn dance. Big white gauntlet gloves swallowed up the sleeves of his jacket and the long pole of the standard he carried was secured in a white leather holster strapped round his waist. Other people were waving flags and banners. One orange silk banner stretched the whole width of the parade and was held aloft by a man at either end.

  The Balornock Lodge had massed together with all the other lodges from all over the city who were making a huge, riotous, drum-beating, flute-tooting, accordion-squeezing, bagpipe-screaming, high-stepping, swaggering parade to Springburn Park.

  Every time they passed a chapel – and they made a point of passing as many chapels as possible, even if it meant taking a long and convoluted detour – the beating of the drums became louder, more strident and menacing.

  Wee Jimmy Stoddard, resplendent in his bowler hat and Sunday suit draped with an orange sash, belted heavenwards,

  I’m a loyal Ulster Orange Man just come across the sea,

  For dancing sure I know I will please thee.

  I can sing and dance like any man,

  As I did in the days of yore.

  And it’s on the Twelfth I love to wear

  The sash my father wore.

  For it’s old but it’s beautiful

  And its colours they are fine.

  It was worn at Derry Okrim,

  Enniskillen and the Boyne.

  My father wore it as a youth

  And the bygone days of yore.

  For it’s on the Twelfth I love to wear

  The sash my father wore!

  Big Aggie, walking behind with the women, all wearing their orange sashes, joined in with great gusto. Children followed silently at a slower pace. It had been a long walk and although they had started off with as much bounce as their parents, if not more, and they’d enjoyed the noise and excitement, exhaustion was now dragging at their feet.

  The leader’s standard was of royal-blue velvet fringed with gold and he sported a fancy purple and orange sash. In the middle of the standard, an orange-cheeked picture of King William curled and furled and flapped about in the breeze. The flute band was giving a high-pitched, tinny rendition of ‘Marching through Georgia’.

  The drummers followed, giving their drums big licks as they passed the Chapel of St Teresa. Teeth gritted with the effort, muscles ached and sweat poured faster. Tum-tari-tum-tari-tum-tum-tum-tum, louder and louder until heads reeled and swelled with the noise. Tum-tari-tum-tari-tuma-tum-tum!

  Wee Michael sang,

  King Billy slew the Fenian crew,

  At the Battle o’ Boyne Watter;

  A pail o’ tripe came over the dyke

  An’ hit the Pope on the napper.

  Someone bawled, ‘The Twelfth of July, the Papes’ll die!’

  Afterwards, enjoying the picnic and innumerable bottles of beer in the park, Michael said, ‘The Paters weren’t on the walk. At least I haven’t seen them. Have you?’

  ‘They never came.’ Aggie flung him a disgusted look. ‘Always some excuse. If it’s no’ his bad heart, it’s her varicose veins. And them in their prime as well.’

  ‘What’s to stop their boys?’

  ‘That’s what I said and she said they’re shy fellas. Shy, my arse, I said. I’ve seen John Pater in the back close.’

  ‘Is John winchin’?’ Maimie asked, with some concern. She fancied him herself.

  ‘Well, he must be in his twenties now an’ he’s no’ a monk.’

  Feeling somewhat in the huff now, Maimie muttered, ‘Our Chrissie didn’t come.’

  ‘Well, you know where she is. Why she sticks that place, I’ll never know. The hours are diabolical. Worse than yer daddy’s. That’s nae life for a lassie. Here, huv one of them sandwiches. They’re salmon. I’m no’ wantin’ tae humph them aw back. There’s chocolate digestives and a Victoria sponge as well.’

  Maimie was thinking that either John Pater or his younger brother Brian would have suited her fine. They both attended the Springburn karate club and it gave her a terrific thrill to see them occasionally practise sparring with each other in the back green. She loved to watch how their loose white tops could hang open to reveal naked, muscly chests and the way their legs could twist into fierce high kicks. Sometimes she was glued to the living-room or scullery window for an hour or more. Sometimes she’d pretend she had to go and put something into the bin. She’d backcomb her hair and plump it up high. She’d put on her best and widest skirt with the stiff petticoats that made it rustle and stick out, wear high heels, mascara and bright red lipstick. All in the hope that one or other of the boys would notice her. They never did. At least not while they were doing their karate.

  Her mother would say, ‘What the hell are you playin’ at? Goin’ out tae empty the bucket dressed like something aff the top o’ a Christmas tree.’

  Maimie had been hoping and praying that the Paters would be at the Orange Walk. The only time she’d seen anything much of them was when they’d all attended the Albert School. Even there it hadn’t been easy because they were both in classes above her. Now, John was at Glasgow University and she’d heard that Brian had recently got a place at Edinburgh University.

  So, after September or October, she would probably never see
him at all. Except maybe at Christmas and summer holidays. Although students seemed to be travelling all over the place these days, Mr Pater said they never did that in his young day. Not that he’d been to university. Nor his father before him. But, nowadays, people you’d never think of were going. Working-class people, he meant. And why not, he said. Parents now wanted their offspring to have the best possible chance in life and that meant a good education. University used to be just for the middle classes or the toffs. But not any more, he said.

  Mr Pater had talked to her far more than his sons ever had. The boys had even talked to Chrissie more than her. Apparently they did some studying in the Mitchell and had spoken to her there. Probably they were snobs. Chrissie was all right, of course, because she’d stayed on and got a lot of Highers and then passed library exams and knew about books. Someone who just worked in the Co-op wasn’t good enough for them. Well, to hell with them. She couldn’t care less about them.

  But she still kept glued to the living-room or the scullery window if the Pater boys were practising their karate. And she sighed with admiration and desire, exactly the same as she always had.

  Chrissie had laughed at her. This made her feel bitter. What right had she to laugh? Chrissie thought she was clever because she’d got a few Highers and had read a few books. Well, she wasn’t so clever. She had a thing about Sean O’Donnel. Sean O’Donnel of all people! Chrissie thought no one knew but Maimie had seen the way she’d been ogling Sean and trying to bump into him ‘by accident’. She’d seen the way Chrissie blushed scarlet any time Sean spoke to her or even just looked at her. Her mother and father would have a fit if they knew. Talk about a battering? They’d soon knock the stuffing out of Chrissie.

  Maimie toyed with the idea of telling them but thought it best to give Chrissie enough rope to hang herself with. At the moment, she’d no proof. They’d never been out together. They didn’t have any intimate, telltale looks. She decided to keep a watchful eye peeled. If Chrissie got the chance, she would go out with him, Pape or no. And Maimie could bet her last halfpenny that, one of these days, Chrissie and Sean would go out together. It was just a matter of time. Chrissie wasn’t that smart. Even without any Highers, Maimie knew that marriage was difficult enough without complicating it with different religions. Her mother always said, ‘Even if the Protestant one doesn’t “turn”, the Papes make sure they get the children. The children are always brought up as Papes.’

  What a sensation it would cause once her parents found out that Chrissie was serious about Sean. They’d never forgive Chrissie. And quite right too. Miss High and Mighty needed taken down a peg or two. She’d even criticised Maimie’s eating habits.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Maimie, stop stuffing food into your mouth like that. It’s a repulsive habit and it’s not good for your digestion. No wonder you’re overweight and have spots.’

  Damn cheek! Who did she think she was? Lady Muck? Chrissie wouldn’t feel so superior once she was flung out on her ear. That’s what would happen if she started courting with Sean O’Donnel. She’d be chucked out on the street. Maimie bet her last halfpenny she would. And what then, m’lady?

  22

  Sammy tried his best. He asked around as many people and places as he could. Even in other hospitals. All to no avail. At last he discovered a nurse who vaguely remembered a Nurse Webster and told him that she had married a GI she’d met during the war and gone to the States to live. The nurse didn’t know where in the States, or even what Nurse Webster’s married name was.

  However, during his enquiries, he did find out the name of the people who had temporarily fostered Julie’s baby and where they lived now. It turned out they’d only moved to a bigger house along the same road they’d always lived on. He had gone to see them in his Red Cross uniform and, probably because of that, the Cliffords thought it was an official request when he asked about the adoptive parents and their whereabouts. Mrs Clifford was a well-organised person and had kept records of all the children she had fostered. After some careful checking, she found the answers to his questions.

  He was in two minds about telling Julie. He felt acutely worried about what he might be unleashing. Julie had assured him more than once that all she wanted was a glimpse of the girl, just to see how she had turned out, what she looked like and to reassure herself that she was all right. Sammy couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t imagine her skulking about, then, after managing to get a glimpse of her daughter, just leaving it at that. Maybe at the moment that was her genuine intention but, once she saw her daughter, she would want to go further. She’d want to get to know her. She might even introduce herself. There could be no end of complication, trouble and heartache for all concerned.

  He tried to tell Julie this. But she immediately sensed that he’d found something out and became almost hysterical. Ignoring his warnings, she gripped her hands together and shouted, ‘Sammy! You’ve found out where she is. You have, haven’t you?’

  ‘You haven’t been paying a bit of attention to what I’ve been saying.’

  ‘Tell me, Sammy. For pity’s sake.’

  ‘Julie, I’m sorry, but I regret having anything to do with this. It’s not a good idea. You’ll just end up with more heartache and you’re liable to cause unhappiness to the couple and the girl.’

  ‘Sammy, for God’s sake! I keep telling you …’

  ‘I know but, once you saw her, Julie, it wouldn’t stop there.’

  ‘Sammy, you promised me. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t put me out of my misery right now.’

  Sammy sighed. ‘They live in Kirkintilloch Road in Bishopbriggs.’

  ‘Oh, Sammy, thank you. Thank you.’

  ‘Calm down, Julie.’

  He watched her make the effort. She tipped up her chin, her mouth firmed. Then she nodded.

  ‘You’re quite right, Sammy. I must be calm and sensible.’

  But her green eyes were still sparkling with excitement. Sammy had always regarded her as a good-looking woman, with her proud, perky features and glossy hair in a neat pageboy style. A subtle aura of sadness always clung to her, however. Not now. Flushed and happy, she looked beautiful. He remembered the time they had kissed. She, of course, had intended to give him a friendly goodnight peck on the cheek but he had not been able to resist the opportunity to kiss her properly. He had been overwhelmed by the passion it had aroused in him.

  He had gone out with a few women over the years, since his wife’s death, but the friendships had never lasted, never come to anything. When the women wanted more than friendship, he could not respond with any warmth or sincerity. They had all found someone else who could.

  Julie was different. He had always been fond of her and felt genuinely sympathetic towards her. She had lost her loving husband. He had lost his loving wife.

  Now he felt more than just friendship. Much more. That one kiss had unleashed a passion in him that he had forgotten he was capable of experiencing. Julie no doubt had been shocked. She had jerked away from him and run.

  He was afraid that would be the end of their friendship. He had momentarily forgotten that the most important thing in her life was to find her child. She needed him for that. Or thought she did. She would forgive his passionate kiss for her child’s sake. And she had. There was a passion shining from her but it wasn’t for him.

  They eventually went together to Bishopbriggs. It was on the north side of Glasgow, like Springburn, but further out. Now fast becoming known as ‘a highly desirable commuter town’, it was a place that had lost some of its former close-knit community spirit as a result. The village or central part had changed little, though, and was still recognisable as being much the same as it had been a hundred years ago. Quinn’s pub had been there at one corner and across the road at the opposite corner there had always been a bank. The countryside outside the village that had once been open fields, however, was fast becoming one big, sprawling housing scheme – like so many others around Glasgow.

  ‘I
’ll make some excuse,’ Julie said breathlessly. ‘I’ll go up and knock on the door and pretend I’m … a social work visitor, anything.’

  ‘I knew this would happen,’ Sammy said. ‘I knew it. You’re going to cause nothing but trouble.’

  ‘No, no …’

  ‘Yes, yes, Julie.’

  ‘Oh, Sammy, please try to understand.’

  ‘I understand only too well.’

  ‘I saw so little of her when she was a baby.’

  At least he managed in the end to stop her going into the close and knocking on the door. But they loitered about outside in the street for what seemed an eternity. Then suddenly the street filled with youngsters. The nearby school was emptying and crowds of uniformed girls and boys came chattering past.

  ‘Oh, Sammy,’ Julie whispered, ‘there she is.’ A tall leggy girl had entered the close nearby. They only caught a glimpse of her but it was enough for Sammy to see the unmistakable likeness to Julie. He had to drag Julie away. He knew, of course, that she had every intention of returning. She wouldn’t let things rest now. They caught the bus back to Springburn. It had previously been arranged that she would join Sammy and his mother for tea. Julie could hardly wait to describe her daughter to Mrs Hunter.

  ‘Oh, she was really lovely, Mrs Hunter. Wasn’t she, Sammy?’

  Sammy smiled. ‘The picture of her mother!’

  ‘Flatterer!’ Julie laughed. Then, ‘Oh, I can’t settle to just going home now and sitting on my own twiddling my thumbs.’

  ‘Do you fancy making a day of it and going to the pictures?’

  ‘I’d love to, Sammy.’

  ‘Fine. Finish up your tea and we’ll go.’

  ‘I’ll help your mum to wash up first.’

  ‘No, no, dear,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘I’ve nothing better to do. Away you go, the pair of you, and enjoy yourselves.’