by Millie Gray
Kirsten looked at Bea and beamed. ‘Yes, dear, anything at all.’
‘Then how about letting my dad back into my life?’
Again, Kirsten was wrong-footed by the sharpness of her daughter’s response. ‘What do you mean? Your dad left us; we did not leave him. As to why he did a runner, your guess is as good as mine.’
Bea huffed. ‘We won’t quarrel about why he went. But he now wants to come back into our lives and Granny says that you are the one who is stopping him!’
Hearing Jane being sick again saved Kirsten having to answer Bea. To be truthful, she really didn’t wish to respond. What was there to say or do? Bea had always believed that if Kirsten had handled things differently Duncan would not have left. That stubbornness meant that Kirsten had to accept that Bea’s attitude to her was never going to change, and the passing of time didn’t seem to make that any less hurtful.
*
Unlike her classmates, Jane’s sickness did not last for a day or two or three. No, the virus appeared to have grown in its duration and ferocity, so four days passed before she was up on her feet again. Bea, during this time, decided not to sleep in the same room as Jane as she did not wish to also become ill. However, what we hope for and what we get sometimes are two different things. So, as Jane got up on to her feet again, Bea was in the bathroom encircling the lavatory as she threw up.
Bea seemed to be affected more seriously than Jane. Like Jane, she was four days into her ordeal, as she saw it, before she stopped being sick. However, she was into her sixth day before she could be persuaded to get out of bed. Naturally, when she tried to take a few steps, she was very wobbly on her legs.
‘This is all down to you, Jane, that I am dying,’ she wailed, before catching a glimpse of herself in the dressing-table mirror. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she continued, before sinking down onto a chair. ‘I look like a survivor of the Great Potato Famine. What is Patrick going to say when he sees me?’
‘Talking of Patrick,’ Jane said, ‘he called to see you, but Mum told him you were infectious and that he should stay away until you were feeling better.’
‘Mum did what? And where is Mum, by the way?’
‘Think Mum now has the bug . . . Close your eyes, that’s her being sick now.’
Unlike her daughters, Kirsten’s sickness did not abate. She felt so wretched that on the seventh day she consulted her doctor. The physician was sympathetic and her advice was that Kirsten should go home and make sure she took in as many fluids as she could. Kirsten then asked if there was anything the doctor could prescribe that would allow her to go to work. The doctor shook her head. Kirsten, however, was determined to get some sort of medication to help her, so she then explained that she had a hotel to run and it was the festive season, so she just had to be there to supervise. On hearing this further plea the doctor explained that, as the bug was highly contagious, it would be deeply irresponsible for Kirsten to go to work and put her customers at risk.
Kirsten tried again to argue her case, but the doctor was adamant. She pointed out that a few, a very few, like herself seemed to be taking that little bit longer to recover from this particular virus, so it was in everybody’s interest that Kirsten should go home and go to bed.
Kirsten now began to feel sick again. All she wished to do was get home and crawl into bed. This being so, all she could do was admit defeat with a nod of her head. The doctor advised Kirsten that if she didn’t feel a hundred per cent by the following week to contact her again.
For the next ten days Kirsten’s sickness continued. Eddie, who called in to see her every day, became so concerned that he suggested that, as he was on annual leave for seven days, he would take her down to Longniddry, where he would look after her.
Kirsten, of course, said no. To go down with him to Longniddry for a stolen afternoon was one thing, but to stay for a week was something else. She explained to him that the girls were not fools. If she left to stay with him for a week, they would soon cotton on that they were lovers. Her lips quivered as she went on to say that she just couldn’t have that.
‘Scared to death, I am,’ she said, ‘that Bea would use my affair with you as an excuse to invite Patrick to stay the night here at Balfour Street!’
By the time Kirsten had endured the virus for what felt like weeks on end, she was so weak that she could barely stand unaided. No matter what she did to alleviate her symptoms it seemed there was no let-up. Indeed, to her dismay, she continued to be plagued by persistent vomiting. This being so, it had brought on the added problems of dehydration and weight loss. It was not until she began to experience raging headaches and rapid heartbeats that she not only allowed but welcomed Molly calling in the doctor.
The same doctor she had already consulted was now very thorough in her examination of Kirsten. Before taking blood and urine samples she confirmed that, however smitten Kirsten had been by the sickness virus, that was not the problem now. This revelation caused Kirsten to sit bolt upright. ‘And what do you think is wrong with me now?’
‘Almost sure, I am, that you have hyperemesis gravidarum. These tests I have just taken will confirm that one way or another. I will call back later in the week.’ Then, with a confirming nod, she added that she was almost positive the tests would confirm her diagnosis.
The doctor’s words terrified Kirsten. ‘It can’t be that,’ she found herself saying. ‘I am thirty-seven years old.’
‘So,’ the doctor said as she prepared to take her leave, ‘there is nothing to worry about. The sickness will settle and, did you know, some are of the opinion it is a good sign.’ Kirsten wearily shook her head. Exhaustion was overtaking her. She was not convinced when the doctor went on to say, ‘I know you feel bad, rotten in fact, but believe me in a few weeks you will be feeling so much better.’ The doctor stopped to smile before adding, ‘In fact, positively glowing!’
The doctor’s prediction was spot on. However, it was the beginning of February before Kirsten, though not looking at her best because of her weight loss and dehydration, felt well enough to return to work.
She was, of course, amazed that Jessie had managed the whole of the festive season, not exactly on her own but with the assistance of Bea. And, to Kirsten’s disbelief, they had coped so well that the profits of the previous year were not only matched but exceeded.
Another bonus was that at long last Bea seemed to display some concern for Kirsten. Kirsten, if she had had the strength, would have been gobsmacked and delighted when Bea said, ‘Look Mum, I am worried about you. You are so ill, so please, please just lie in bed and get better. Now, I know you will be worried about Armstrong’s, but don’t.’
Kirsten had protested. ‘But I must go up and help Granny. She can’t do it all on her own.’
‘No, Mum, you can’t go, but I can. Yes, I will go up to York Place and do all I can to help Granny. And to really be of assistance there, I will leave Jane here to look after you and I will move in at the hotel.’
Kirsten was still thinking about how wonderful it was that at last, despite the odd circumstances, she and Bea were friends, when Eddie arrived for his daily visit.
‘Oh, so you are up, hair washed and dressed,’ he said before going over and taking her in his arms.
‘Yes. Today it is Wednesday, and on Sunday I intend to go up to the hotel and start to pull my weight again.’
‘Well done you. And wait until I tell you, I don’t know what it means, but I have been invited by the depute chief constable to have an off-duty drink with him in Valentine’s on the High Street.’
‘Is that the hostelry just round from Police Head-quarters?’
‘Yeah. Mind you, I hear on the grapevine that the new HQ they’re building at Fettes will be ready next year and it is to be opened by the Queen.’
‘Oh, so I won’t be required to do the honours,’ Kirsten quipped.
‘No,’ Eddie replied with a chuckle. He was just so pleased that Kirsten was feeling well enough to start wisecracking again. ‘But the following
year when we, that is Edinburgh City, Berwick, Roxburgh and Selkirk, Lothians and Peebles constabularies become the one force of Lothian and Borders, you might get a guided tour of those grand new Headquarters.’
Kirsten grew pensive. ‘Here, darling, with the depute asking for a meet, do you think there is a promotion for you on the horizon?’
‘No. Promotions are decided by the chief, and right enough others are consulted, but the depute would not be saying anything to anyone on that score. Prerogative of the chief, promotion is.’
‘Why the meet then?’
‘The depute is a football man and the chief favours rugby, so I suppose it has something to do with what we will do with the football teams when we become the one force.’
*
Eddie had been nursing a half-pint for ten minutes when the depute, Bert Stock, dressed in a civilian jacket, entered.
In deference Eddie got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’
Warmly shaking Eddie’s hand, Bert replied, ‘Good you could make it today. Oh, you have a drink,’ he chuckled before opening his jacket to display his white police shirt and black tie. ‘I am still on duty.’ He turned then to call over to the barman, ‘Just a coffee, milk with no sugar for me, Billy.’
While they were waiting for Bert to be served his coffee, the chat was light about this and that. His coffee had just been laid before him when Bert consulted his watch. ‘Now, I have half an hour, so let us get down to business.’
Now it was Eddie’s turn to laugh. ‘So, it is official now.’
‘What is?’
‘That you are here today to talk to me about what we will be doing with the football teams when we become the one force of Lothian and Borders Police?’
‘Wish it was that, but no.’ He paused. He strummed his fingers on the table before saying, ‘Friendly chat is what I am here for.’
Eddie, taken aback, looked questioningly at Bert.
‘Look, Eddie, you and I have been colleagues, mates really, for so long that you know I do have your interests at heart. So I was asked – no, it was suggested to me – that I acquaint you with a few facts.’
Eddie, suspecting that he was about to be told off for some misdemeanour or twisting of the rules, suppressed his anger.
Bert, unaware of Eddie’s growing concern continued. ‘Now, in two years, when we amalgamate with the other forces, there will a large number of changes. Some of these changes will happen before the official date.’
Eddie held up his hand. ‘Just a minute, sir, as my hat won’t be in the ring for chief constable, depute or assistant chief constables, what has all this got to do with me?’
‘True, you will not be at that point in your career, ready for promotion to these senior ranks, but you will be in a good position before that to be promoted to chief superintendent.’
‘Yes, but that will be up to the chief to decide.’ He smiled. ‘I know things are changing, but I do not think that they have changed so much that you are able to offer me a promotion in your coffee break.’
‘True. But as I have said, there are promotion appointments to be made before the amalgamation. Oh yes, chiefs will be looking to have the best officers they can in their promoted positions.’
Eddie shrugged and nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.
‘Look, let’s talk hypothetically, say our chief decided to make some small changes now like . . .’ He paused. ‘Let’s say he has . . . has decided to take one of the present chief supers into HQ to supervise the changes. That would leave a division ready for a promotion. Now he looks at the superintendents that could fill the vacated post of chief superintendent. Perhaps he thinks that one stands out as being ready to take over his own division. Again, let’s just suppose that the one whom he would like to promote, a certain officer who is, let’s say a . . . a widower, and is therefore free to marry but he chooses to have a . . . mistress. In addition, the mistress has her working establishment in the division where the promotion is.’
Eddie didn’t require Bert to elaborate further; he’d got the message. He could be considered for promotion, but not if he still had Kirsten as a mistress. He shuddered at the suggestion. Kirsten wasn’t his mistress. She meant more to him than that.
Bert brought him back from his thoughts when he leaned over towards Eddie and spoke quietly and forcefully. ‘This is me as your buddy. Either marry the woman or forget going further in your career.’ Bert mused, then added, ‘An even better option, why not wed Sylvia Sanderson? You’ve been dating her on and off for years. She’s probably our best female officer and will go far in the force.’
Eddie simply nodded.
‘So back to where we were . . . I can’t make you give this Kirsten Armstrong up, but it is crunch time if you wish to go further in your career.’
Eddie could do nothing more than nod again.
Bert consulted his watch. ‘Oh, we have ten minutes left and since all the chief wishes to discuss is rugby, how about you and I talk over how the new football teams will be arranged? Know whatever we do we will never match the wonderful team who won the British Football Cup. Now, what year was that?’
‘That was 1955, sir, as I am told so very often . . . In fact, on a weekly basis. The opposing team was Cambridge and the match was played at Cambridge United football grounds. Constable Sandy Jack was the overjoyed manager of that glorious team, and our chief at the time, Sir William Morren, was so proud that his Edinburgh City Police football team got to the final that he journeyed all the way to Cambridge to watch the match.’
Bert got to his feet and offered his hand to Eddie again. ‘This meeting was a friendly chat about football and nothing else.’
Without another word Eddie indicated with a deferent nod that he got the message loud and clear. Bert then smiled at Eddie before giving him a friendly pat on the back. The meeting was over.
The door had just closed on Bert when Eddie sank down into his seat again. Nothing else for it, he thought, than to nurse what is left of my beer and contemplate. He acknowledged that if he had never met Kirsten he would in all probability now be safely married to a female officer. But he did meet Kirsten, and from when he first set eyes on her he was smitten. She was the only person for whom he could move on from Anna. All that had really mattered to him since Anna had passed away was ‘the job’. Policing for him was more than earning a crust; it was a vocation. Rising through the ranks was the only thing, before Kirsten, that ever gave him a sense of satisfaction. Bert had now given him a glimpse of what the future could hold – commander of his own division – B Division. Working in that division had in reality given him such satisfaction, but there was a price to be paid for dreams coming true. Now, what was the price here? Kirsten. He wished to marry her, but would she ever be free? Just now it was her daughters who were putting a hold on them getting together, but would Kirsten ever be ready to move on? He shook his head, wearily: Kirsten’s family would always be more important than their happiness. Time, he thought, to do what was best for himself.
What he really wished for was both his career and Kirsten – but could he have both?
Eddie swallowed the last of his beer.
Time to bite the bullet, to make a decision.
TWENTY-SIX
Not only was Kirsten up bright and early on Sunday morning, so was the shining February sun. A promise, Kirsten thought, that spring was only a month or two away. Today she decided, as there was no frost or snow on the ground, that she would walk up to the hotel.
Strolling up Leith Walk gave her the opportunity to think. She had decisions that she had to make. No matter what she did it was going to be a revelation for some and a shock for others. She had just reached Elm Row, the part in her journey that led her past Gayfield Square Gardens, when she noticed some snowdrops that had pushed their brave little heads above the ground. Proof, she thought, that no matter what, when it was necessary, you had to put your head above the parapet.
S
trolling on, she reached the bank in Picardy Place, which was nearly opposite Armstrong’s. She stopped then to lean against the wall and have a necessary breather: she didn’t wish to arrive out of breath and buckling at the knees. While she rested, she glanced over at the hotel. As she admired it, she breathed in a long breath of satisfaction. That smart little hotel, she thought, was now such a success that it did not matter what she decided – she and hers would never want.
Pulling herself together, when it was safe to do so, she lightly skipped across the road. Then with willed agility she ascended the five hotel steps. Resting her hand on the door, she felt full of a deep sense of harmony in herself and achievement. Eight weeks it had been since she had been here; two months, during which she had been so ill at times that she did not care whether she lived or died. But that was then; today she was back, not quite fully fit but on her way to being so.
Making sure there was a genuine, warm smile on her face, she pushed open the door. Her eyes went immediately to reception and she called out to the male receptionist who had his back to her. ‘Good morning.’
When the man turned towards her, he replied, ‘Good morning to you too, and what may I do to assist you?’
Kirsten’s smile switched immediately to an open-mouthed gape. ‘What in the name of heavens are you doing in my hotel? And what idiot employed you?’
‘Oh, it’s you, Kirsten,’ Duncan replied, coolly. ‘I hardly recognised you. You look so done in. Frankly I am not sure you should be out of bed.’
Strength she did not know she had surged into her. ‘Never mind your opinion of what I look like. I asked you what the hell you think you are doing in my hotel!’
‘Not just your hotel, Kirsten. I think since my mother bankrolled this place that she is the senior partner.’ Duncan now surreptitiously pressed the under-counter buzzer, which would summon his mum. ‘And might I add, because of your absence, my mum asked – no, begged – me to come in and help her keep things afloat over the festive season. Taken to it like a duck takes to water, so I have.’