The Breadmakers Saga

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  But there were the children. Her stomach contracted with immediate fear at the thought, no matter how fleeting, of leaving them.

  Melvin’s lovemaking touched a need inside her, let at the same time it flared up a disgust of herself. She turned away afterwards and tried to blot herself out in sleep but Melvin kept his hand between her legs and refused to stop fondling her. For hours she lay unable to sleep, fatigue and the invasion of her privacy irking her beyond measure. The thought that even if she did sleep, he would still be ‘using’ her seemed to take away any last vestige of pretence that she had ever been or would ever be a free human being with dignity or rights of her own.

  Resentment and anger simmered in a cauldron of repressed emotion. But he had suffered years in a prison camp, she kept reminding herself, and because of this she kept forcing herself to be patient and to please him.

  She had baked the chocolate cake to please him and he had taken one half-hearted nibble at it and then put it down.

  Fergus and Andrew were at the table, too, waiting eagerly, eyes on the cake, mouths drooling. Then Fergus kicked Andrew under the table and Andrew reacted obediently to cue.

  ‘Can I have a bit then?’

  Melvin’s reaction was so violent it startled all of them, including old Duncan who had been chomping noisily at a crust of bread with his too-loose dentures.

  ‘Leave that cake alone, you ugly fat little bastard!’ His voice was not loud yet it shook the air with venom. ‘You’ve enough fat on you to keep you going for years. Mummy’s spoiled brat, aren’t you? Mummy’s plump wee cuddles?’

  Andrew’s eyes stretched enormous in a face gone white. His lips trembled but he did not utter a sound.

  Catriona was outraged.

  ‘What are you picking on him for? Fergus wants a bit too. He’s too fly to ask, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, Fatso’s always been your favourite. I wonder why?’

  ‘Have you gone mad or something?’ Catriona got up from the table, ready to bodily protect Andrew if necessary. ‘What does it matter about the stupid chocolate cake. You said you didn’t want it.’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want it but, oh, let him have it. Let him have it. All of you have a bit. Eat it all. Don’t worry about me!’

  Catriona sat down again. Lack of sleep plus the new irritations of the day had started pain pressing in at her temples. ‘You mean you might eat it afterwards? Well, that’s all right then. I’ m sorry, boys, but I made the cake for Daddy and he might …’

  ‘No … no!’ Melvin interrupted, pushing the cake into the centre of the table with a grand gesture. ‘Eat it! Eat it! Don’t worry about me!’

  ‘But, Melvin …’

  ‘Eat it!

  In miserable silence the children pushed pieces of chocolate cake into their mouths.

  Eventually Melvin said:

  ‘We’re getting out of this place for a start.’

  ‘It’s nice here,’ Catriona muttered resentfully. ‘In a nice close, in a nice district. The children play across in the Botanic Gardens.’

  She wished he had never come back. She had been content pottering about on her own as if she were a little girl again playing at houses. There was a cosiness about the new place and it gave her a sense of achievement to look at it and realise that she had found it, paid the deposit and negotiated everything herself.

  It was a bit cramped with her father-in-law in the room and Fergus kept harassing her with objections about having to sleep with the old man. Still, at night once they were settled and Andrew tucked in the kitchen bed and the fire was flickering, a glow of security and real pleasure warmed her. There was a kind of happiness in busying herself doing odd jobs, or gazing out the window at life ebbing back and forth in Byres Road.

  Sometimes she curled up beside the fire and read a book. Sometimes she crept in beside Andrew and enjoyed a read in bed. Every now and again she stole a thrill by gently touching the little boy as he slept, caressing his hair with her fingertips, or the childish contours of his face. Or she would lie for a long time holding his hand.

  ‘This kitchen’s not much bigger than the bedspace I had to live in in the prison camp and not nearly so tidy or well organised. I never could stand poky disorganised places. I always had a house to be proud of and that’s what I’m going to have again.’

  ‘I suppose that means I’m going to be a slave to the polishing cloth like I was before. I don’t understand you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know a good polish if you saw it. You should have seen the shine on my floors when my Betty was alive.’

  Catriona rose and began to gather up the dirty dishes.

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, we’re not going to go over all that again. I had enough of your marvellous Betty years ago.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that.’ His voice never rose but the menace in it was unmistakable. Duncan shuffled to his feet.

  ‘I’m away to the room, son. Maybe there’s something good on the wireless.’

  ‘I’ll come through and talk to you later. We’ll have to get another business.’

  Old MacNair scratched his beard.

  ‘Aye, I know, but it’s easier said than done. There’s businesses to be bought, oh, aye. There’s old Russell. I meet him often across in the Gardens and we have a blether and a smoke on one of the seats. He was telling me he’s thinking of retiring. He’s got a place just down the road. Been here for years. But there’s all the bother about allocations. You’ve got to have allocations in the district. Our allocations were for Clydend.’

  ‘We could soon swing the allocations. What’s to stop us paying a few hundred extra for “goodwill”?’

  ‘Not having a few extra hundred,’ Duncan replied tartly. ‘That’s what could stop us. I’m away through to the room.’

  ‘He’s got it all right and plenty to spare,’ Melvin growled after the old man had left. ‘He’s made thousands. I’ve done his books and I know. For years I worked for that old skinflint for no more than pocket money. He took me out of school and paid me a few bob for working like a slave. It was like drawing blood out of a stone to eventually get a decent wage off him and for that I ran his business. He’s been no bloody use for years. This time I’m going to see that I get a partnership.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll get him to agree? It is his money.’

  Melvin’s eyes bulged.

  ‘Are you deaf as well as stupid? I’ve just been telling you how I earned that money. I slaved for it for him and I took him into my home so that he didn’t need to pay for his house and all his expenses. He’s going to be fed and looked after for the rest of his life, thanks to what I’ve done.’

  ‘Yes, and you never as much as mentioned it to me.’

  ‘What do you mean, mentioned it to you?’

  ‘You never said a word to me until after it was all settled and I’m the one who’s got all the work and worry.’

  ‘You!’ he sneered. ‘What work have you ever done? What worry have you ever had?’

  She turned away and put the dishes in the sink. She could not bear the pain of saying - my baby is dead.

  ‘Nothing! Nothing! My life’s been just dandy since I met you!’

  ‘Yes, well remember that,’ he warned, taking her seriously. ‘What’s the top-notch houses round about here? The really best ones you’ve set eyes on?’

  ‘Houses?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just answer my question.’

  The children began to argue in the background and she recognised the pattern of sound. Fergus was tormenting Andrew about something and at any minute Andrew was either going to erupt into violence and pitch himself bodily at Fergus or burst into noisy tears of frustration.

  ‘Away out and play, boys. Fergus, here’s money for sweets.’ She smiled, hoping to bribe him into a better humour. ‘And there’s some coupons in this book. Share them with Andrew and take his hand crossing the road. He’s only a wee boy
and I’m depending on you to look after him.’

  Immediately the words were out she worried about whether she ought to have mentioned about taking Andrew’s hand and looking after him in case it revealed any preference for Andrew and incurred any further jealousy or displeasure.

  She tried to console herself by thinking that surely it was natural for every mother to feel a special kind of love for her youngest, her baby. Then pain so terrible that nothing in the world could ever soothe it away took possession of her. She could feel the milky-smelling softness of Robert in her arms, see his round eyes drugged with sleep and adoration as she nursed him and sang to him.

  I left my baby lying there,

  Oh, lying there, oh, lying there,

  I left my baby lying there,

  When I returned my baby was gone …

  She pressed her hand against her mouth.

  ‘The houses! The houses!’ Melvin insisted.

  ‘What houses?’

  ‘Jumpin’ Jesus, wake up!’

  ‘Och, there’s lots of nice places round about here. The West End’s full of nice places. Where Julie’s in-laws lie is nice. Julie’s a girl I used to work with. She took me round there one day.’

  ‘Round where?’

  ‘Her mother-in-law lives in a big red sandstone flat facing the river at the other side of the Botanic Gardens.’

  ‘Show me!’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now!’

  ‘I’m doing the dishes.’

  ‘Now, I said.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ he mimicked. ‘What do you know about goodness? I don’t believe that last brat was mine.’

  The unexpectedness of his words rocked her. She clutched on the sink for support.

  ‘Melvin, please, you don’t know how I feel.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about Fatso, either!’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘I could get rid of you, you know. You think yourself damned lucky. I’m doing you a big favour keeping you on. But just watch it. Watch it! What are you standing there for, then? You look as if you’re going to puke in the sink. Hurry up!’

  ‘Is this how it’s going to be?’

  ‘What do you mean, “Is this how it’s going to be?”’

  ‘Are you going to torment me all the time and make my life a misery?’

  He guffawed with laughter and shot big hands out to fondle her breasts and make her immediately shrink away from the window.

  ‘Somebody might see!’

  ‘You love it, don’t you!’

  Shrivelled miserably into a corner, her hands and arms twisting in an effort to protect herself, she said:

  ‘I thought you wanted to go out.’

  ‘Sure! Sure! Get your coat.’

  He tugged at his tie and buttoned the jacket of his demob suit, a crumpled navy-blue pin-stripe that nipped in at the waist.

  Outside, striding along Byres Road and across into Queen Margaret Drive the breeze flapped the trousers of the suit against his bones and sunlight made shadows hollow his face. Darting a look up at him she wondered what he was thinking as he marched along, his moustache puffing up and his thin hair feathering.

  Was he dreaming grand dreams of a house without cavity beds? Did he expect one in Mrs Vincent’s building to be empty, ready and waiting for him to command?

  She sighed and took his arm.

  ‘Was it terrible for you in the prison camp, Melvin?’

  ‘Och, I was hardly ever in a camp,’ he scoffed. ‘I was escaping all the time. Nobody could get the better of me. They couldn’t pin me down, not even the Gestapo. It’s a fine place here, right enough.’ He took big breaths as they went over the Queen Margaret bridge. ‘A lot different from Dessie Street. Remember all the dust and noise? The yards across the main road and the street all lumpy with cobbles?’

  She made no reply.

  ‘This is the place, all right.’ He gazed around, puffing out his chest. ‘For - for a king!’

  ‘Round to the left,’ she said, then after a minute or two: ‘This is Botanic Crescent.’

  He stopped and stared at the big three-storied terrace houses until she became embarrassed and tugged at his arm.

  ‘People will see us. Come on, Melvin. The tenements are at the other end but don’t hang about there either. Julie’s mother-in-law might notice.’

  He began marching along at such a cracking pace she was harassed into taking little running steps to keep up with him.

  On an impulse she nearly blurted out the news of how quite a few of the houses in the West End had been invaded by squatters and only the other day Madge and Alec had installed themselves in a place already occupied by a crowd of other families. She had since heard they had barricaded themselves in and the police and other officials were trying to evict them. However, fear of mentioning Alec’s name in case it might arouse Melvin’s suspicions held the words in check just in time.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Melvin eyed the tenement building with satisfaction when they reached the other end of the crescent. ‘Very nice! Very nice indeed! Come on, which close is hers?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If there’s any houses going around here, she’s the one to know, stupid. She’s on the spot, isn’t she?’

  ‘I’ve only met the woman once. Oh, I don’t like it. Come on home, Melvin please!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. My God, if I left everything to you, where would we be?’

  ‘I found a nice wee place.’

  ‘Look, it’s obvious from here that those are lovely big flats. There’s no comparison with the likes of this and that poky wee hole you call a house. Which close is hers?’

  She led him up Mrs Vincent’s close, her flaxen head lowered.

  ‘This is ridiculous!’

  ‘What do you mean - “This is ridiculous”?’

  Over-awed by the dignified silence of the tiled close and church-like windows of the landing, both their voices lowered to hissing whispers.

  ‘I’ve only met the woman once. What’ll she think?’

  ‘What do you mean - “What’ll she think?”’

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’

  When they reached Mrs Vincent’s door which was half stained glass and half polished oak, Melvin immediately pulled the bell but he nudged Catriona and said:

  ‘You do the talking.’

  She glanced up at him, her irritation mixed with surprise. She thought she detected a tremble in his voice.

  The door opened to reveal a petite well-preserved woman with black hair, a flawless skin and a beautiful fragrance around her.

  ‘Yes?’ Her eyes were expressionless but the slight raising of her brow and tilting of her head indicated a polite interest, a willingness to listen.

  ‘I’m a friend of Julie’s,’ Catriona began and, once started, desperation forced her to race along in a performance of smiling confidence. ‘Catriona MacNair. We have met once but you probably won’t remember. This is my husband, Melvin. I hope you don’t mind us coming to your door like this but we wondered if you might be able to help us.’

  ‘Perhaps you had better come in.’ Mrs Vincent stood aside and allowed them to enter the hall. Then she led them to the sitting-room.

  ‘We have a very small room and kitchen flat in Byres Road.’ Catriona kept the smile stuck to her face. ‘And we’re looking for larger accommodation. Now that my husband’s home we’re rather overcrowded. Melvin’s been in a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany.’

  She saw the pain flit across the other woman’s eyes and she hated Melvin for bringing her here and making her hurt Mrs Vincent. She wished she could break through the invisible barriers that separated one human being from another. She longed to say, ‘I lost a son too. I know how you feel.’ Instead her soft voice kept lightly, breathlessly chattering.

  ‘This area is very nice and we were wondering if you might know of any flats here that are likely to become vacant in the
near future. My husband was just saying - someone on the spot is the best person to know about these things.’

  ‘Do sit down!’

  They accepted her invitation and perched themselves side by side on the edge of the settee and waited tensely in the silence that followed.

  ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs Vincent.’ Catriona’s words tickled the perfumed air again. ‘It’s not fair of us to be putting you to any trouble.’

  ‘Not at all. I’d like to help. But I’m afraid …’ Mrs Vincent lapsed into silence for another few minutes. ‘I simply cannot think of any flats around here that are liable to be for sale. I’m sorry. The only thing I can suggest is that you keep watching the Glasgow Herald. You might see something suitable advertised and I’ll certainly pass on anything I hear from any of the neighbours.’

  ‘That’s terribly kind of you. I’ll give you our address.’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Vincent said hastily. ‘Please don’t bother. I can always see Julie and tell her.’ She turned to Melvin. ‘Were you in the RAF, Mr MacNair?’

  ‘No,’ Melvin said. ‘The Army.’

  ‘My son was killed over France.’ She blinked across at the mantelpiece. ‘That’s his photograph.’

  ‘A fine-looking lad.’ Melvin bounced up to go over and take a closer look.

  ‘Yes, he was always very good-looking even as a child. I have some other photographs here.’ She reached for her handbag and lowered her head as she fingered through its contents.

  ‘That’s him when he was seen and here’s another taken when we were on holiday at Dunoon.’ She passed around one photograph after another and both Melvin and Catriona admired each in turn.

  All the time Catriona was telling herself she had no pictures of Robert, no clothes, no trace. One day the memory of his face she cherished in her mind might fade away and she would have nothing.

  At last they rose to go, politely refusing the cup of tea they were offered.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been of much help,’ Mrs Vincent murmured as she showed them out. ‘The only place I know of that’s going to be on the market soon is the big terrace house next to my mother’s at the other end of the crescent. The old lady who lived there fell and broke her hip. She’s been in hospital for a long time now. She’ll never be able to come back and look after herself again. They’ve moved her to a home and her solicitor is attending to the sale of the house. But I don’t suppose that would be of any interest to you. I must see Julie and tell her you called.’