The House on Rosebank Lane

by Millie Gray

  ‘Prefer Eddie, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘We will take the booking,’ Jessie stated. ‘Now, you do know we have a fully equipped function suite?’

  ‘Yes, I trust they will have dinner here, except the team on the nights they are playing in Fife, Aberdeen and Inverness. Also . . .’ He seemed to ponder. ‘Would you be able to do the official welcome dinner?’

  ‘For how many?’

  He started to count on his fingers. ‘Well, between their team, our teams, wives and partners, invited guests . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Even all of them won’t add up to more than a hundred.’

  ‘A hundred!’ exclaimed Kirsten.

  ‘Don’t see why we cannae do it,’ enthused Jessie.

  Stunned, Kirsten interjected, ‘Please don’t tell me you are agreeing that we do a full dinner for one hundred!’

  ‘Aye, I am.’ Jessie playfully nudged Kirsten before adding, ‘Look, I know one hundred to dish up for is frightening you.’

  ‘Yes it is, because remember the chaos when you and I did a couple of weddings for seventy-five.’

  ‘That was when it was just you and me and we didnae ken what we were daeing.’ Jessie drew herself up to her full height. ‘But we are the management now and have experienced staff to do the kitchen and dining room duties, so it’ll be a doddle for them.’

  Kirsten was still shaking her head.

  ‘Look,’ Jessie insisted, ‘I promise you that you and I will be mingling with the guests. I can see it now, both of us all dressed up to the nines and we won’t have to wash as much as a cup all night.’

  And so it was that the Norwegian footballers – and their female companions – were booked to stay at Armstrong’s.

  *

  After the frenzy of August’s festival season, November came all too soon. Both Kirsten and Jessie were in the foyer to greet everyone when they arrived for the official Saturday night welcome dinner.

  Eddie was there a little early. ‘Just making sure everything is going to plan.’

  Kirsten nodded. ‘No worries on our part,’ she said, giving Eddie her warmest smile. Indeed, there were no concerns on Kirsten’s part until a rather stylish, good-looking lady arrived. Eddie immediately went up to her and kissed her on both cheeks. He then turned to Kirsten. ‘Kirsten, I would like to introduce Sylvia Sanderson. She and I have been colleagues since we joined the force. We accompany each other on all our official, and indeed private, outings when we require a partner!’

  Kirsten’s smile remained fixed on her face, however her insides felt as if they had been invaded by a bag of squirming ferrets. Up until now she had no idea about the role Sylvia played in Eddie’s life. What she took from Sylvia’s stance was that she saw herself as the next Mrs Carmichael.

  Kirsten was abruptly snapped back to the present when Sylvia extended her hand to her. ‘I have heard so much about you,’ Sylvia said, her eyes locked on Kirsten’s. Then with a stilted smile, she stared long and hard. In that moment Kirsten knew Sylvia was wary of her. She then thought that perhaps Sylvia had guessed there was chemistry between herself and Eddie. Whatever it was, Kirsten thought, without a doubt, Sylvia would put up a fight, a tough fight, to stake her claim to Eddie.

  The Norwegians who had arrived three days earlier and had two games behind them were now starting to assemble in the foyer. Up until then everything had gone according to plan. The lady-loves, as Jessie called them, were all very nice, polite Norwegian ladies. The only problem was Olav, a very large man, who had a voice that matched his stature. It literally boomed and echoed. In addition to this he had obviously been taught English by someone to whom the F-word was an acceptable adjective. Loudly he would laugh and slap Eddie on the back as he shouted, ‘You are a good f**king friend. So pleased I am that I was lucky enough to f**king find you, Mr Football.’

  Still unsettled by meeting Sylvia, Kirsten got through the dinner duties as if she was on autopilot. She, like Jessie, was just so pleased that there had been no hitches and now it was time for the speeches. The depute chief constable, who was the most senior officer in attendance, was first to speak. He welcomed the Norwegians and said that he hoped it was the beginning of a long-lasting friendship between the Oslo and Edinburgh City police. Olav then stood to respond. He first thanked the depute and then he went on to say how wonderful the tour had been so far. Yes, problems had popped up but thanks to capable Chief Inspector Eddie being on hand they hadn’t become no f**king problems.

  The depute’s wife, who had chosen to forget that she had been born and reared in Leith, fell back against her chair in dismay. The depute turned to Eddie. ‘Is there no way you can get Olav to understand that that word is very offensive?’ Eddie replied that he had tried, but he would try again.

  Later in the evening Eddie took Olav aside and explained once more about the F-word. Eddie suggested that Olav should just say, ‘When my friend Eddie gets involved there are NFP.’ Olav nodded enthusiastic agreement; ‘NFP’ it was from now on.

  The evening progressed to the dancing. Kirsten, who was still on duty, felt her heartstrings yanked when Eddie took Sylvia on to the floor. It was obvious from the way they glided so perfectly around the room that they were used to dancing together. They looked so at ease in each other’s arms that Kirsten thought in time they would marry. She knew she needed to put some distance between this heartbreaking scene and herself. Glancing at the clock, she was relieved to see that it was gone ten o’clock.

  Immediately she sought out Jessie. ‘Think everything went very well.’

  ‘It did that,’ Jessie replied with a giggle. ‘In fact, there were NFPs and isn’t that thanks to Chief Inspector Eddie and, of course, you and me.’

  Now it was Kirsten’s turn to laugh. ‘Right now I was thinking, as I have to relieve Molly from her child-minding activities, that I will just get myself off. And as tomorrow is Sunday it is my day off. Now, will you manage?’

  ‘You know fine that I always manage Sundays. Tomorrow will be no different. We have some really good and capable staff now.’

  Kirsten nodded. Once she was out into York Place itself she hailed a taxi.

  The taxi had just done a U-turn and was heading down Leith Walk when, back at the hotel, Eddie approached Jessie. ‘I’ve just been looking for Kirsten, but I can’t see her anywhere.’

  ‘You won’t, she is away home to look after her bairns. And she won’t be in tomorrow either.’

  Crestfallen, Eddie heard himself say, ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes, you see I was just going to ask her to dance.’

  ‘Well, you’re too late. And I think you should know that nothing or nobody would have stopped her getting home to her bairns. No’ not even a birl round the floor with you.’

  *

  The children were asleep and Molly had just left when Kirsten kicked off her shoes before throwing herself down on the settee. She was so tired that she was sure within seconds she would be fast asleep.

  However, exhausted as she was, slumber seemed to be eluding her. Her thoughts were on how handsome Eddie had looked as he guided Sylvia across the dance floor. She grudgingly acknowledged that, given the years that had passed since they first met, a lasting relationship between herself and Eddie Carmichael was a non-starter. This being so, why had she experienced such pangs of envy from the minute she was introduced to Sylvia? Eddie, after all, had been a widower for so long now, it was only natural that he would be courting or flirting with one, two or three ladies. Sylvia obviously had hopes where Eddie was concerned. She was extremely nice looking, respectable enough to enhance his career prospects and she didn’t come with baggage in the form of a divorce and three children.

  All the foregoing was true, but everyone, she conceded, has the right to dream. Her dream was that somehow Eddie and she would get together. But how?

  Her thoughts were disturbed by a tearful voice from the room next door. ‘Mummy, where are you? And why are you not with me?’ Rising, she t
hought not only would Eddie have to take on three children, but understand that Dixie would only sleep if she’d tucked him up in bed and stayed until he was sound asleep.

  *

  Once the Norwegians left for home Eddie rang Armstrong’s to say that he planned to call in and settle any unpaid bills. Kirsten told the receptionist to say that Olav had taken care of everything before he left, so there was no requirement for him to call.

  He then asked if he could speak to Kirsten.

  Reluctantly Kirsten accepted the receiver. ‘Good morning, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Why so formal?’

  ‘I understood this was a business call.’

  ‘It is, and it is not. I just wished to ask if I would be welcome to come into the hotel and have a coffee and chat with you.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Well, I think your function suite is just what I need to hold the after-match hospitality meals for visiting teams. And so I was wondering if we could come to some sort of arrangement. An arrangement that would be beneficial to all concerned.’

  Kirsten was about to say an emphatic no, but business was business, and if Jessie found out that she had turned a lucrative deal down, well . . .

  Truth was, such an arrangement meant she would get to see Eddie regularly. But, she promised herself, good as that would be, she would keep him at arm’s length.

  TWENTY-THREE

  1972

  February was cold and bleak. It was true that so far there had not been the usual snowfall in Edinburgh, but that month had been windy, changeable and dreich. As Kirsten dished up her children’s porridge one morning she shivered. Well, she mused, it is true that February is the coldest month of the year. Must be getting old. I honestly feel the chill is going right through my bones.

  ‘Mum!’ Jane, who had just come into the kitchen, began. ‘Are you remembering that Bea and I will be going to the St Valentine’s Youth Dance up in the church hall tonight?’

  ‘Gosh, I forgot it would be St Valentine’s Day soon.’

  It was just then that the sound of the letters dropping on to the floor through the letter box had Jane scamper out of the kitchen to collect them.

  ‘Oh, Mummy,’ she enthused when she returned with three envelopes in her hand. ‘I’ve got one Valentine already and Bea’s got two.’

  Kirsten’s heart sank. She knew that both girls would receive a card from their dad. Ever since he’d deserted the family he had, on St Valentine’s Day, sent his daughters a card to say how much he loved and missed them. To Kirsten’s vexation, he always had the cheek to add that he would come home to sweep them up into his arms very soon. It was also repugnant to Kirsten that Duncan never sent Dixie a card – not on his birthday, not at Christmas, never. This deliberate omission led Kirsten to accept that as far as he Duncan was concerned Dixie did not exist.

  ‘Mum, where’re my cards?’ Dixie asked through a mouthful of porridge.

  Bending over Dixie to wipe his mouth, Kirsten replied, ‘You will get yours, darling, on Monday, when it is St Valentine’s Day. These cards have arrived early.’

  ‘But no early one for me from Dad?’

  ‘No, on Monday you’ll get one from . . .’

  Kirsten was just about to say ‘me’ when Dixie shouted, ‘Rosie!’

  Seventeen-year-old Bea had now taken her place at the table. ‘You and that Rosie. Don’t you realise nothing will ever come of your obsession with her.’

  ‘What’s an obsession?’

  In response Bea rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  Dixie snorted. ‘Well, whatever it is, Rosie and I love each other.’ Dixie now turned his attention to Kirsten. ‘Mum,’ he said through a mouthful of food, ‘how old do I have to be to get married?’

  Kirsten was caught on the hop. ‘Married, Dixie? You are far too young to be thinking of that.’

  ‘Sixteen, you have to be,’ Bea advised, as she ripped open her second valentine. ‘And I am old enough.’ She then smiled and giggled.

  Kirsten reached forward and snatched the card from Bea’s hand. Scanning the card, she gasped. ‘This card is from Patrick Kelly . . . and in case you don’t know it, he’s the Port of Leith’s Casanova.’ Bea shrugged. ‘Shrug all you like, Bea, but in addition to running for Lover of the Year, his mother is convinced that he is going to be a priest . . . You know, a minister in the Catholic Church, and they are not allowed to marry, even if they father children with someone as gormless as you!’

  ‘I am far from gormless,’ Bea said with a smirk. ‘Which reminds me, how much longer do Jane and I have to slave up at your hotel at the weekends?’

  ‘As I’ve told you,’ Kirsten said, bristling. ‘Until you leave school next year and you have either got yourself a job that keeps you or you go to college.’

  ‘Well, as I don’t want to be a skivvy like you, or a doormat like Granny Aileen, I’ll be going to college. Social worker, I am going to be.’

  Kirsten could not contain her laughter. ‘Bea, to be a social worker you require a heart and a desire to help those less fortunate than yourself. You know, people who have problems, like no roof over their heads or insufficient sustenance . . .’

  ‘I do that up at your hotel,’ Bea replied. ‘Always I’m asking the guests if they have had enough to eat.’

  Kirsten flung her hands in the air. ‘I rest my case.’ Before she could continue Dixie interrupted.

  ‘Mum,’ he wheedled, ‘I do love Rosie, really. I have to get her a Valentine’s card and a box of Milk Tray . . . Could I have the money for them?’

  ‘Dixie, are you sure Rosie’s mummy would like that?’ Jane said as she stood up.

  ‘No,’ Dixie said with a grimace. ‘She will be angry. She told Rosie that we would have to wait until she dies before we can get married.’

  ‘She said what exactly?’ Jane questioned, before taking Dixie’s hand in hers.

  ‘That Rosie and I could only marry over her dead body.’

  A silence fell in the room. Kirsten slumped down on a chair. Dear heavens, she thought, where did I go wrong? I mean, here I am with a naive seventeen year old who thinks she is ready to marry Patrick Kelly. She was my firstborn, so like her dad that she will desert the guy if – no, when – the going gets rough. Then there is Jane. Dear Jane, who worries about everybody and tries to make everybody happy. Dixie is so special to her that I am afraid she will stay with us when she should be out making a life for herself. Then there is my Dixie, who was short-changed at birth, but is now a strapping twelve year old.

  But then, Kirsten conceded with a smile, Dixie loved everybody and everybody loved him. Of course he could have the few coins it would take to buy his Valentine a gift.

  Finally, she thought about her own life. There’d be no Valentines for her. It was true that in the two years that Eddie had used Armstrong’s for his after-match functions she had grown more in love with him. Often in her daydreams she would imagine that someday they would be together. Be husband and wife. But, in truth, she knew she had put that dream to rest.

  *

  St Valentine’s Day. The girls and Dixie had left for school, but Dixie turned back and dashed into the house.

  ‘Mum,’ he spluttered, ‘you let me forget the card and chocolates for Rosie!’ Picking them up, he turned to face his mum. His grin now went from ear to ear. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I have them both here now.’ He hesitated, then in a whisper added, ‘Mum, when I give them to her, do you think it will be all right if I kiss her?’

  ‘Don’t see why not.’ Kirsten smiled. But she thought to herself, Oh, it is a sad day for a mother when her boy loves someone more than he loves her.

  Dixie, who was now running from the house again, turned back towards Kirsten. ‘But I do still love you very much,’ he emphasised as he returned to fling his arms about her. ‘And I promise I always will. You’re the best mum in the world.’

  Kirsten stroked his hair before she bent to kiss the top of his head. ‘Yes, but one day you may go and live wi
th someone else like . . . Rosie.’

  Dixie nodded. ‘But I will come back every day to see you.’ He turned to leave, calling back, ‘Bye, Mum, see you tonight.’

  Kirsten moved over to the window. Full of pride, she watched her Dixie race to catch up with his pals.

  After Dixie left, Kirsten set about tidying up the house. She was singing away to herself when the doorbell rang. On opening the door, she gasped. All she could see was a large bouquet of red roses.

  Don’t tell me that that loser Patrick Kelly has sent these blooming flowers to Bea, she thought. But then the roses were lowered and a uniform-clad Eddie stood before her.

  ‘Court appearance today,’ he explained. ‘I am on my way there. But as I have time to spare before I am due I thought . . . Now, look, I know it’s St Valentine’s Day, but don’t get the wrong idea,’ he said. ‘I thought I would bring you these flowers as a thank you for all you have done for the football team.’

  ‘Come in,’ she managed to reply.

  To say that his statement was a disappointment to Kirsten was, well, an understatement. She cringed inside at her foolishness. She would have so loved to be his Valentine. To be truthful, the more she knew him the more she desired him. But with all the baggage she would bring with her, a relationship with Eddie was never going to be.

  Just then a picture of possessive Sylvia jumped into her head. This image had her throw caution to the wind. Standing on tiptoe in the hallway, she lightly kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you so very much,’ she murmured, her face close to his. ‘I do so love roses . . . especially red . . .’