The Breadmakers Saga

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘Be like me, Dad, get happy!’

  She decided to leave the dishes and see to her hair and the washing first. Then while her hair and the washing were drying she could clear the table. Tomorrow morning would be time enough to tidy the room.

  On Saturdays, with helping Mrs Goldberg, she never had time to do anything in her own place and although her dad always bought the Saturday fish suppers, infused the tea and emptied the suppers from their newspaper wrappings on to the plates, that, and seeing that the fire did not go out during the day, was his sole contribution to the domestic scene.

  The newspaper wrappings were still crushed in a heap on the table where he had discarded them and as usual he had put the milk bottle out instead of using a jug and the sugar bag instead of emptying the sugar into a bowl and he had cut the bread in thick ragged hunks.

  As she rolled her hair up in curlers she sighed at the mess. He was an awful man. He had not even emptied the ashpan and it overflowed on to the tin sheet with the painted artificial tiles on the floor in front of the fire until the ashes reached the fender. Not that she blamed him. There was something terribly humiliating in the predicament of a man who had done a man’s job for so many years, having to stay at home and do women’s work while the woman of the house went out to earn the money.

  It was pathetic how pleased he was when he won a few shillings on a horse. No matter how much she protested, he insisted on going halfers with her.

  ‘Here you are, hen!’ He would present the money with a nonchalant flourish. ‘You deserve it. Go and treat yersel tae something. Have a treat on your auld dad.’

  He and Reggie had got on like a house on fire. Her father had been such an eager enthusiastic listener that Reggie had become quite flattered and carried away with himself. He had recounted all his exploits in the air with gesticulations and noisy sound effects like a little boy swooping about the room with a toy aeroplane.

  ‘By God!’ Her father could not contain his delight and admiration. ‘You’re a rerr lad, Reggie. Ah’ll be damnt proud tae huv you fur a son!’

  She was determined that she would be as big a hit with Reggie’s folk. Why not, after all? She knew how to behave and how to dress. She had good taste. She was neither ignorant nor common. To talk with a posh accent was easy too. She talked posh in the shop every day. She would not overdo anything, of course. A lady never went to extremes.

  Tomorrow when she went to Kelvinside she would be well groomed but discreet in her black suit, and white gloves and blouse and her mother’s fine gold locket, and her manners would be impeccable.

  She lit a cigarette, lay back on the chair by the fire and put her feet up on the side of the old black range.

  Through the cloud of tobacco smoke she dreamed her dreams.

  She heard the knock on the door and automatically bawled, ‘Come on in, it’s no’ locked.’

  Her mind was still in Kelvinside watching herself being a hit with Reggie’s mother. Then, suddenly, Reggie’s mother was standing in front of her.

  There could be no mistaking the dainty woman in the pink suit that made her own best black costume look like something out of Woolworth’s.

  Julie stared at the confection of pink hat and the exquisite pink and white face underneath it. She was too stunned to drop her feet down or stub out her cigarette.

  At last she forced herself to rise. Apologies lumped in her throat. Apologies for her sweaty feet, swollen with standing in the shop all day, apologies for her head, an ugly mass of steel curlers, apologies for the bottle of beer that she had been using for a hair rinse, apologies for the shameful state of the house. She swallowed down the lump and it left a bitter taste.

  Her stare hardened, became impudent. She plumped her hands on her hips and arched her brows.

  ‘Well?’

  The other woman glanced around with only a suspicion of distaste before enquiring in reasonable moderate, ladylike tones.

  ‘May I sit down?’

  Chapter 6

  Muriel prayed for calmness as she lowered herself gracefully into a chair and eased off her gloves. Never in her whole life had she been in such a sordid place. Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined such a monstrous partner for Reggie. The girl was as common as dirt. There was a brazen impudent look about her. Hard emerald eyes glittered with venom and made Muriel feel afraid. With fast-fluttering heart she managed to speak:

  ‘I take it you are Julie Gemmell.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’m Mrs Vincent, Reggie’s mother.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I thought we could have a little talk.’

  ‘Today.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought it would be better to have a chat on our own.’

  ‘Why?’

  Muriel longed for help and protection. Daggers of hurt tormented her. How could Reggie do this to her? she wondered.

  ‘I’m worried about Reggie. He hasn’t been himself recently. Oh, I know it’s this awful war. It’s upsetting everyone’s lives. But I can’t allow it to ruin Reggie’s future as well as his present.’

  Julie lit a cigarette.

  ‘I’m not with you, pal.’

  ‘What I’m trying to say is …’ The older woman’s desperate gaze retreated for a moment. With trembling fingers she opened her handbag and plucked out a lace-edged hanky. ‘Poor Reggie is risking his life every day just now so that a decent future can be secured not only for himself but for everyone.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Reggie deserves a decent future.’

  ‘Sure!’

  ‘But with the strain and pressures of the war, with everything mixed up, people are making hasty and foolish decisions in their private lives, decisions they will later regret most bitterly.’

  Julie guffawed with laughter and flopped into a chair. Even the way she sprawled out had a defiant impudence.

  ‘Look, Mrs Vincent, if you’ve come here to tell me I’m not good enough for you, why don’t you just spit it out?’

  ‘Not for me.’ Muriel’s heart made a tight drum of her chest. ‘For Reggie.’

  ‘Reggie thinks I’m fine.’

  ‘At the moment he does.’

  ‘We’re getting married on Monday. Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I wouldn’t have bothered if he had just had an affair and left it at that. It’s perfectly understandable that men under such terrible tensions and dangers should want to indulge themselves when they can.’

  ‘You mean, sex?’

  ‘But under normal circumstances they would never dream of marrying the person.’

  ‘You’re a dirty-minded wee bitch.’

  Muriel felt ill. She prayed for Reggie or even Norman to come and carry her safely away from this claustrophobic, filthy beer-smelling slum. She longed to flee from the place. Only her love and concern for her son gave her enough courage to remain sitting.

  ‘Reggie was going to marry a girl from Bearsden and I was very happy for him. It’s not that I object to Reggie getting married.’

  ‘So long as it’s a girl from la-de-da Bearsden and not from common old Gorbals.’

  Julie’s mimicry of her Kelvinside accent made Muriel flush.

  ‘You are a most impertinent girl. I cannot imagine what my son sees in you.’

  ‘Too bad.’

  Muriel made to rise. Then forced herself down again. Her delicate pink face had gone an unhealthy white. She looked like a wax doll.

  ‘I love Reggie. He’s my only son. I cannot allow you to ruin his whole life.’

  ‘Look, pal, you can do what you like. You can talk yourself red, white and blue in the face. But nothing’s going to change my mind about marrying Reggie on Monday.’

  ‘Why are you doing this to him? Is it for money? Is that it? I’ll give you every penny I have if only you’ll leave Reggie alone.’

  Julie sprang to her feet like a cat, green eyes sparkling.

  ‘
How dare you come here and insult me! First of all you insinuate that I’m little better than a prostitute.’

  Clutching her handbag and gloves, Muriel rose too.

  ‘You’re putting words into my mouth.’

  ‘Then you try to buy me off with money.’

  ‘I’d sacrifice anything for my son’s happiness.’

  ‘I don’t want your lousy money. I don’t want anything from you.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Want! Want! That’s the only way you can think. I know your type. I’m serving women like you every bloody day in Morton’s. Spoiled, selfish little Modoms just like you! You don’t care about Reggie or Reggie’s happiness. All you’re worried about is yourself. Your ideas, your wants, your plans.’

  ‘That’s not true. You don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not daft. I understand all right. You’ve been spoiled rotten all your life. You’ve had it soft. You’ve had it all your own way. Well, not with me, pal. Not with me!’

  Muriel closed her eyes and crushed her handkerchief against her mouth. At last she managed:

  ‘Maybe I’ve said all the wrong things. If I have I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘You haven’t hurt me, pal. You haven’t bothered me one bit.’

  ‘Or insult you. I swear to you I’m not thinking about myself. The only one I care about is Reggie.’

  She held up a restraining hand to Julie who looked ready to flare into speech again.

  ‘Oh, I admit I would have liked Reggie to marry Sandra Brodie and I had dreams of Reggie eventually having a partnership with Sandra’s father. But I don’t care about that any more. All I ask is that Reggie should not be rushed into a wartime marriage that he would later regret. That you might regret, too. My dear, I know it seems very exciting for things to happen suddenly. There’s a certain glamour about all this impulsive, reckless behaviour, but what about afterwards? Do you really think you could fit in and be happy as a professional man’s wife in middle-class suburbia?’

  ‘I’m as good as you any day, anywhere, pal - and I’ll make Reggie a good wife. One thing’s obviously never occurred to you. I love him!’

  ‘If you loved him you wouldn’t marry him. You couldn’t.’

  ‘That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’ll have to face up to the truth sometime. All I’m asking you, begging you, to do is face facts now before it’s too late. You and Reggie have nothing in common, absolutely nothing. What basis is that for a marriage? You come from such different backgrounds and levels of education it just couldn’t last. He’d end up hating you.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, yes, my dear, I do - I know my son. He’d feel worried, then embarrassed, then trapped, then he’d hate you.’

  ‘He’ll have no reason to feel any of these things. You’re the only one who’s likely to worry or embarrass Reggie. He’s not going to thank you for coming over here badgering me for a start. Now do you want a cup of tea before you leave?’

  ‘You know that I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘Mrs Vincent, Reggie and I are going to get on fine, just fine. Everything in the garden’s going to be lovely, believe me.’

  ‘How can I believe you? Look at you! Look at this place!’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of letting folk see me in my curlers.’ Julie’s voice iced up with anger. ‘I never asked you to come here. And I haven’t had all day to potter about the house like you. And I’ve been working hard in a shop from morning till night. Too bloody bad if I can’t have a breather for five minutes after I come home without a la-de-da like you floating in and peering down your toffee-nose at me as if I were dirt. I’m as good as you, pal, and I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Just then the door opened to reveal a skeleton of a man with hollow toothless cheeks and shabby clothes that flapped loosely over his bones.

  ‘Hey, whassup, eh? Is this toff upsettin’ you, hen?’ He staggered into the room belching beer and whisky fumes in Muriel’s direction.

  She looked away in disgust.

  ‘I think I’d better leave.’

  ‘Hey, jussa minute, missus.’

  ‘Shut up, Dad.’

  Muriel heard the crack in the girl’s voice and was moved to pity.

  Going down the draughty stairs and out through the dark tunnel to the street she felt harrowed by the whole encounter.

  She had never before seen people living in such conditions. A whole new, distressing world opened up and she felt in danger of being swallowed by it.

  She felt sick, claustrophobic, frightened. Her feet quickened towards home. If only she had never left Kelvinside. No good would come of her visit to the Gorbals. She knew that now.

  What could she say to Reggie? That she had nothing against the girl personally? That she wasn’t being snobbish or class-conscious?

  But she had something against the girl. She was as common as dirt. She was ignorant and impudent. She belonged to filthy, sordid surroundings and had a dreadful unemployed drunk for a father. How could such a person be suitable for Reggie? The very idea was preposterous.

  Reggie might think she was interfering or causing trouble for him just now, but later he would understand and he would thank her.

  She would do everything in her power to dissuade him from making a fool of himself. She would plead, weep, have hysterics, if necessary. She would become ill. She would tell him that she would rather die than see him go through with this ridiculous farce of a wedding.

  Yet all the time she knew the worst was going to happen. She thought of the little boy who had trotted beside her on his way to school and all the hopes she had always cherished for him.

  Bewildered and completely brokenhearted, she kept asking herself, ‘Reggie, how could you?’

  Chapter 7

  The taxi crawled across the River Clyde like a black beetle through a yellow flame. Then suddenly darkness sucked it under the Stockwell railway bridge. A fusty smell filled the cab and people’s feet echoed.

  Julie shivered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Catriona asked.

  ‘Of course! Why shouldn’t I be?’

  Sunshine again as they curved into Argyle Street, then up Hope Street to West George Street.

  ‘Maybe they’ll be there after all.’

  ‘His people? Not a chance. Not after Saturday.’

  ‘Fancy her turning up like that. What rotten bad luck.’

  Julie whirled round, her face softly shaded by her wide brimmed hat, her green eyes luminous.

  ‘She did it on purpose! That woman meant to humiliate me. I’ll never forgive her. I’ll never forgive that woman as long as I live.’

  Catriona mentally wrung her hands.

  ‘Maybe she just thought …’

  ‘She thought she could stop me marrying Reggie, but she’s had to think again, hasn’t she!’

  ‘It’s a pity though. I mean, with you not having a mother of your own …’

  ‘I’m a big girl now. I don’t need the likes of her.’ Julie rustled the skirt of her taffeta dress and tugged at its matching bolero jacket. ‘Are you sure I’m all right?’

  ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘Well, don’t say it as if I’m about to be executed. Let’s get one thing straight before we get out of this car. I don’t want you letting me down by howling and blubbering.’

  Catriona’s head nodded in silent abject agreement.

  ‘Come on, then!’ Rustling and flouncing, and keeping a good grip of her hat, Julie alighted from the taxi.

  A noisy navy-blue and white wedding group of WRNS and matelots were being bullied into position for a photograph on the pavement. Another party spilled from the building, the bride and bridesmaid in square-shouldered utility costumes on which the roses on their lapels looked as incongruous as the pink carnations pinned to the coarse khaki uniforms of their partners.

  Reggie and anot
her man in air-force blue were waiting inside. At the sight of Reggie, Julie flushed and her chin tilted in the air, but her attempt at nonchalance failed and she looked more in love and vulnerable than ever. Reggie linked arms with her and their eyes exchanged caresses as if they had already made some sort of holy communion.

  Catriona felt so distressed, so desperate for escape, it was as much as she could do not to turn tail and run.

  ‘You look wizard, Julie,’ Reggie said. ‘Doesn’t she, Jeff? Didn’t I tell you?’

  Jeff’s moustache vied in luxuriance with Reggie’s handlebar of blond hair, and his hearty guffaw made Catriona cringe.

  Yet another bride and groom and bridesmaid and best man exploded past them as they tried to squeeze into the room in which the marriage ceremony was to take place.

  It was bare, like a waiting-room only smaller, containing just a desk at which sat a dull-eyed, middle-aged man. He stared pityingly at Julie and Reggie. Then he rose with a sigh.

  ‘Will all of you please stand in front of the desk. Has the best man got the ring?’

  The ceremony consisted of identification, a brief explanation and finally an oral declaration by both parties.

  Reggie spoke in a clear polite voice.

  ‘I know of no legal impediment to my marrying this woman, Julie Gemmell, and I now accept her as my lawful wedded wife.’

  Gazing up at him Julie repeated:

  ‘I know of no legal impediment to my marrying this man, Reginald Vincent, and I now accept him as my lawful wedded husband.’

  Catriona began to weep.

  They were back out in the corridor in less than ten minutes.

  That’s all it takes to ruin your life, Catriona thought. In a few minutes, a mere snowflake of time, you can step over, change paths, start on a narrow road of suffering too private, too complex, too terrible for a free person to understand.

  The years of her marriage to Melvin weighed down, pressed in, choked her like the MacNair building on the night of the air-raid.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Catriona!’ Julie laughed. ‘This is the happiest day of my life, and look at you! I’ve heard about people crying at weddings, but this is ridiculous!’