The Incomers

by Moira McPartlin

  ‘Hello, how are you?’

  Ellie feels her mouth dry. Mary’s tone is as if nothing has happened.

  ‘Where are your parents?’ Ellie asks, chilling her words with her caution.

  ‘Mum wasn’t feeling well. Dad took her home before communion but I had to stay because it is my last chance to beat Carol. I will get a gold star for going to mass last night and coming today, but it doesn’t count if you don’t take communion. Carol’s mum has been ill and she hasn’t been able to go all week, so I’ve beat her in the school Lenten Table.’

  ‘And what is the prize for all this devotion?’ Ellie could not help herself asking. Mary’s brows furrow and her eyes worry.

  ‘I’m not sure, but it must be good because otherwise why would everyone do it?’

  ‘Maybe for the love of God?’

  It appears by the look on Mary’s face that this had not occurred to her.

  ‘I’ll come and let you know if you like. We are on Easter holidays now. I could come and visit you. I could take Nat out for a walk.’

  ‘I do not think that it would be a good idea. You should not come into the woods alone. You should not come to my house again. Your parents do not like it.’

  Mary’s brows wrinkle. Ellie senses the old lady move. She takes her chance and rises. ‘I must go now. Please do not come to my house again.’

  As Ellie leaves the church the old lady with the stick hands her two palm fronds fashioned into crosses. Ellie stares at these but can find no words.

  ‘It’s Palm Sunday, hen, these are blessed palms for you to hang up in your home.’

  Palms transported here from the forests of home, just like herself.

  When Ellie walks through her kitchen door, the smell of frying bacon rumbles her belly. Nat sits on his chair and beams a smile to water her legs. He looks so delicious she could eat him all up.

  James stands tall at the stove wearing Ellie’s apron tied twice round his girth. Ellie places the palms on the table, takes the spatula from James and waves him to a chair. She will not have her husband doing woman’s work.

  ‘You’ve been to mass?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, I wanted to thank God for my healthy family and to rid myself of my selfish feelings.’

  ‘What selfish feeling?’

  Ellie does not turn to face him when she says,

  ‘Sometimes I feel I want to go home.’

  But she hears her husband sigh. What did she expect? It had not been her intention to utter these words, but they slip out her mouth like a fish caught by her loose grip that tumbles back into the river.

  ‘And do you feel better now?’

  There it is. The dismissal.

  Ellie turns and smiles to her husband. ‘Yes,’ she says as she buries the stone that sits in her chest deeper into her soul.

  ‘Tell me about your mother? How is her health?’ Like a scab she must pick Ellie feels both the pain and satisfaction of this question.

  ‘She’s fine.’

  Ellie flips a fried egg over in the pan before sliding it onto the plate of bacon and placing it in front of James.

  ‘Tell me what she said – about us, about Nat, about coming to see him?’

  James drags his fingers through his hair.

  ‘It’s not easy for her, Ellie.’

  ‘It is not easy for her,’ Ellie repeats. Not easy for a woman to live where she has lived all her life, to breathe the air she was born into. ‘In what way not easy?’

  James dips bread and butter into the yolk but does not eat it. ‘There have been no black people in her life. She has never met a black person before. She doesn’t know what to do. We need to give her more time.’

  ‘Tell me what she said about us?’

  ‘Nothing, she said nothing, the subject didn’t come up.’ Her husband’s eyes lower to the plate and he begins to eat.

  ‘The subject did not come up.’ Ellie keeps her voice low, quiet; she wants to shout but she does not.

  ‘So we do not exist. Her son does not have a wife and a child.’

  He lifts his eyes to let her see his struggle there. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You do not need to.’

  Ellie begins to eat her food. She can live with this. She places a crisp piece of bacon into the outstretched hand of her chubby baby boy. Her bairn. The stupid narrow woman in Perth does not know the joy she is missing.

  James does not allow the silence to last long. When he finishes his meal he coughs and says, ‘I thought we could go out for a walk. A walk in the woods – you could show me all your haunts and then we could go and visit Dod on the way back, see if he has any spare seeds for your garden.

  ‘Can we go for a walk to the village?’

  ‘The village. Why do you want to go to the village? Nothing ever happens in the village on a Sunday, the shops are shut. It’s dead.’

  Ellie places her arms around her husband’s shoulder and kisses the top of his head, and swallows back the tears that pool behind her eyes. Coward.

  ‘I just want to show off my handsome family, is all. And the chip shop will be open, will it not? You could buy me my tea and we can sit in the park and watch the boys play football - green against blue, Catholic against Protestant.’

  James wants Ellie to tie Nat to his back.

  ‘Come on, Ellie, you always have him. He must get heavy for you. Let me have him.

  ‘’S not necessary. I am used to it, and I like to have him close to me.’ Ellie picks Nat out of his chair and kisses his curls. ‘You give my shoulders good rubs, do you not?’ She says, nodding her head. Nat, her parrot son, mirrors her nods. She ties him to her back and pats his bottom.

  ‘Let us go.’

  ‘Go,’ Nat says.

  James laughs, and Ellie thinks it is good to Sunday stroll with her family as she has read in the tatty British books of the mission.

  The damp morning air has dried in the spring sunlight leaving a bright warm day. James wears corduroys and a long-sleeved shirt, but Ellie still misses the warmth of her country and covers her dress with a heavy wool cardigan. She has tried to put a hat over Nat’s mop but he pulls it off and throws it to the floor so she leaves it on the kitchen table.

  That morning on her way to church she had walked through the estate’s main gates, but now she leads James to the track behind the house and through the gap in the wall, past the small hut and towards the nuns’ graveyard. The hut looks different. The sacks are tidied and some of the rubbish had been removed. Like the cuckoo, the bird has returned.

  James strides on ahead so she has no opportunity to show him. He does not seem interested. At the graves he stops and looks at the stones Ellie has previously cleared.

  ‘It is the nuns’ graves,’ she says.

  James looks at her. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘No one, but look.’ She points out the name of Sister Agnes.

  James kneels down and with his thumb and finger scrapes back the moss from the sunken stones. There is a date: 1704.

  ‘Well, I am afraid you’ve got that one wrong. This graveyard is on unconsecrated ground. It was used for the burial of witches and suicide victims. Sister Agnes was probably the village name for an old woman who dabbled with herbs. A curewife.’

  ‘I do not understand. What is “unconsecrated”?’

  ‘Didn’t your nuns tell you this? It is not blessed. People who do not deserve a Christian burial are here. I don’t think they do that now.’ He laughs. ‘And of course we don’t burn witches any more.’ He winks at her, but she turns away.

  ‘’S not funny.’

  ‘I know, but I still think that you are too sensitive to these things.’

  ‘It is sad that women were treated this way. It is the same in my country. I will bring flowers for these poor souls who do not have a Christian burial. They should know that it is not so important.’

  The path from the graves leads to the pipe across the burn. Two small boys aged about seven or eight are on the other sid
e throwing boulders into the burn, competing for the biggest splash. The water is high and fast flowing.

  ‘One day a child is going to fall in there and be killed,’ James says. ‘They should fence it off. In fact, I think a child was killed here a couple of years ago. I don’t know if that’s true, and it’s better not to ask. Everyone is related in this village.’

  ‘I do not like it here.’

  ‘No, I know what you mean: it’s creepy. Come on, let’s go.’

  The boys ignore them, but Ellie hears a parody of a chimpanzee’s call as they pick up a small track and leave the waterside. She looks to James, but he makes no indication he has heard; only the tightness in his jaw tells her that he has.

  The small footway doubles back and takes them past a house.

  ‘Father Grattan lives here,’ James informs Ellie.

  They walk down a short gravel track and enter the main road just before the road sign. Ellie can feel the blood in her veins pulse harder when she sees Mr Gallagher standing on the banking just above the painted wall. He is hacking back a bush with a large pair of scissors, and Ellie thinks a machete would be better for a job such as this.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ James shouts.

  ‘No,’ Ellie hisses to him.

  ‘Shsh,’ James says, batting away her protest.

  Mr Gallagher turns round with a smile; it reminds Ellie of a crocodile basking on a riverbank. This is the first time she has seen this man with his smiling mask pulled over his face. He looks at James, and when he looks at Ellie his smile remains, but a slight shift in his eyes betrays him.

  ‘Well, hello there.’ He puts the scissors down on a sack, bounds down the banking and jumps the wall, all in a couple of strides.

  He holds out his hand to James.

  ‘Mick Gallagher. And you are the factor of the Broomfield estate.’

  James takes his hand. ‘Yes, that’s right. James Mason. And this is my wife Ellie.’

  Mr Gallagher takes Ellie’s hand in his cold limp grasp, shakes it once and drops it like a stone before saying, ‘Yes, I think I have seen you at Mass.’

  Ellie’s tongue is stuck behind her teeth.

  ‘And who are you, young man?’ The crocodile puts his hand up to stroke Nat’s hair and Ellie shrinks back.

  ‘This is our son Nat,’ says James. ‘Say hello to the nice man, Nat.’

  Ellie cannot prevent the snort that escapes her nostrils. James’ eyes flick to hers then back at Mick Gallagher.

  ‘’Ya,’ Nat chuckles.

  ‘Ho, do I detect a Fife accent?’ the Gallagher man says. ‘It doesn’t take long. My daughter Mary is already talking like a native.’

  Ellie sees his face colour and backs away. She will not go on with this farce any longer. ‘James, I think we should go, Nat is restless.’

  ‘No, he’s fine.’

  ‘No, no, don’t let me keep you,’ the crocodile says. ‘I have work to do anyway. I don’t want the little woman to catch me slacking from my Sunday chores.’ It seems that the man has also had enough pretence.

  ‘There, he seems nice enough,’ James says to Ellie when they are out of the sight of this hypocrite.

  Ellie kicks a stone hard into the road. Tall grass sprouts and reaches high from the kerbside. She grabs it and picks it to pieces, scattering the remnants onto the pavement.

  ‘Well, didn’t you think so?’

  She continues to walk. Where had ‘the little woman’ been, when they were having their pleasant chit chat? Hiding in the house? Ellie knows one of their windows looks along the road and she can feel the woman’s eyes watching them behind those damned net curtains.

  ‘You forget, husband, that this man accused me of poisoning his daughter. He set the police on me. Rather than hobnobbing with him, I would have preferred if you punch his nose.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Ellie! I think there must have been a misunderstanding. He was perfectly civil and polite.’

  Ellie looks at the road ahead of her.

  ‘I do not think we should go to the village now. It is getting late and Nat will need some dinner.’

  ‘But I thought you wanted to go for a fish tea?’

  ‘I do not have much appetite. In fact I feel a little sick. I think I should go home. You can go for some and bring them home if you like.’

  ‘They’ll be cold before I get home.’

  He takes her arm; she wants to shake it off. She wants to shake him, why can he not see?

  ‘Come on, Ellie, we’ll go home and you can have a rest. I know what will cheer you up: we can have some of your famous macaroni for tea.’

  The Pairty Line

  ‘Did yer man tell ye? Thir’s a new dance band at the club.’

  ‘Naw, ah niver knew. Ur they ony guid?’

  ‘Fantastic. They play aw the auld stuff but also Jim Reeves and Perry Como.’

  ‘Aw, ah luv Jim Reeves. That “Ah luv you because” it’s beautiful.’

  ‘Me an’ a’. It’s such a shame he’s deid, nae mair great tunes fae that yin, eh?’

  ‘Sad. Ah huvnae been tae the club fur ages, is the dancing still the same? Ye ken, the same auld show-affs struttin’ thir stuff.’

  ‘Oh aye, that Jenny Middleton tryin’ tae look swell wi’ Charlie Mathews.’

  ‘Ah dinnae ken how Jock Middleton pits up wi’ it – imagine huvin’ yer wife paradin’ aboot in another man’s airms.’

  ‘But Jock’s no interested in the dancing. It wid take him away fae the games room. Ye ken how darts mad he is.’

  ‘Aye, ah suppose so. Still, ah must try tae get back; git a babysitter this Seterday and come an’ hear the Jim Reeves songs.’

  ‘Dae ye think yer man’ll want ye tae come?’

  ‘He’s like Jock Middleton, as long as ah dinnae expect him tae dance he’ll no mind.’

  ‘Right, ah’ll see ye there, then.’

  ‘Yer oan.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  When they arrive home, Ellie feels no better. She unties the sleeping Nat from her back, lays him on the playpen mat and covers him with a blanket.

  ‘I think I will go for a bath.’

  James looks at her as if he has not seen her before.

  ‘No, Ellie, sit down. I need to talk to you. We are tiptoeing around each other like frightened rabbits.’

  She sits on the chair with the red cushions that James has not yet noticed. As Ellie unbuttons her cardigan she is surprised to notice that her hands are shaking. What is she afraid of? That James will grant her wish and send her home? The door to the rest of the house lies open and Ellie’s feet itch to flee to the bathroom and the safety of the warm bath where she can dissolve her fears. Or perhaps he will tell her that he will take them to Perth. What does she fear most? Coward.

  ‘Do you know that I have hardly seen you smile since you arrived here?’

  Ellie shrugs; she does not know where this is leading to.

  ‘When was the last time you smiled?’

  His voice is so low and searching. Ellie shifts in her seat. She wants to go for her bath, she wants to be clean. But she knows the answer to his question.

  She lifts her head and faces him. He has worry in his eyes.

  ‘This morning when I rescued the mess you were making of breakfast.’ He will let her go if she does not show him her pain.

  ‘Last night you mentioned we hadn’t been to the doctor yet to register you and Nat; I think we should go tomorrow.’

  ‘You think I need a doctor?’ She cannot hide her surprise. Or is it disappointment she finds in her voice?

  ‘I don’t think it would do you any harm to have a check-up. You have had a cold and have been a bit down. You probably just need a pick-me-up.’ He stands and holds out his hand to help her up. ‘Now go and have a quick bath to make you feel better before we have our meal.’

  Once more Ellie is dismissed, and the bath, that moments before seemed so attractive to her seems like a punishment for her cowardice.

  The lady at t
he front desk glares at James when he tells her that he wants to see Dr Wishart and he does not have an appointment.

  ‘Is it an emergency?’ This time she attacks Ellie and Nat with her vicious eyes.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  She raises a pencil thin eyebrow. ‘Well, you may have to wait for as long as an hour for a space in the diary. I haven’t had any “no shows” yet today.’

  ‘That will be fine, as long as we can see him.’

  The chatter Ellie hears from the front desk ceases as soon as she and her family walk through the open double doors into the waiting room. Most of the seats are filled, but one man rises and motions for Ellie to take his seat and for James to take the vacant seat beside her.

  ‘Ah should be next onyweys, hen,’ he says.

  Two women to the right of Ellie start to speak to each other. At first Ellie cannot understand their words but like with the radio she soon tunes in to the garbled noise.

  ‘Ah cannae get ma telly tae work. Ah missed Sunday Night at the London Palladium.’

  ‘Och, that’s a shame, it wis that gid last night tae.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch.’

  A black door opens and everyone’s eyes turn to watch a small woman with a walking stick shuffle out.

  ‘Mr Mathie for Dr Wishart,’ the poisonous receptionist calls from the office.

  ‘Ye see? Ah wis right.’ The man who gave Ellie his seat nods to her before he begins to limp towards the black door. Everyone watches his progress, but before he reaches the door, Nurse Lynn barges from another door and holds her hand up to the man.

  ‘Just a moment, I need to ask the doctor something.’ She leaves him standing halfway between his seat the doctor’s room.

  One of the women beside Ellie clicks her mouth and says in a loud voice, ‘That is the height o’ ignorance. See that wumman, she should git the sack fur aw the trouble she causes.’

  Ellie turns and looks at the speaker and finds the woman looks right at her.

  She nods to Ellie, ‘Pure mischief-maker, so she is.’

  ‘I know,’ Ellie says. And looks at all the heads nodding in agreement with her.

  James places his hand around her wrist like a handcuff and squeezes.

  ‘Don’t say any more,’ he whispers.