The Incomers

by Moira McPartlin

  ‘Who won the prize?’ she asks.

  ‘Whit prize?’

  But Ellie sees Mary’s smug grin and knows the answer. Carol casts her eyes down.

  ‘Tell me, what was your grand prize?’

  The smile slips.

  ‘A Mars Bar.

  Ellie knows what this is: “A Mars a day helps you work, rest and play.” James had brought one from the chip shop one night. More inches to add to her hips. Very tasty, but Ellie feels a cheat prize for six weeks’ devotion, or is it six weeks of bribery and deception?

  Mary seems to feel the need to qualify her prize: ‘It’s not just about the prize; it is about the taking part.’ Ellie can hear an adult voice in that comment. ‘Anyway, I had given up sweets for Lent so it was great to get it.’

  ‘Is that no whit Easter eggs are fur?’ Carol asks. ‘Tae make up for aw the weeks wi’ nae sweets ah mean? Ah dinnae see how a Mars Bar wid make much difference.’

  Mary drops her chin. ‘Well, I thought it was nice to get it anyway.’

  Carol lifts her face and looks straight at Ellie. ‘Ah’m gonnae win the black babies onywey, who cares about a stupid Mars Bar, eh? Ah huv much mair black babies than she hus.’

  If it wasn’t for the gormless expression on Carol’s face, Ellie would suspect that these girls have come to taunt her. Carol’s eyes show no shame or irony. The girl Carol is stating a fact. Mary on the other hand lowers her head further and toes at a weed growing in the crack between the step and the path.

  ‘Come on, missus, gonnae let us take the bairn oot for a hurl in the pram?’

  Ellie grips the door, she wants to close it and return to her home colours.

  ‘Nat does not have a pram, and I have already told Mary that she should not come to this house again.’

  Carol spins on Mary who has managed to break the weed from its stem and is spreading its seeds all over the path now.

  ‘He does not need a hurl; he has a garden to play in,’ Ellie continues. She almost closes the door and then remembers her manners.

  ‘But thank you for the offer, girls. Good day, girls.’

  As the girls turn with heads held high, Ellie is reminded of the warning her father used to give his children: ‘If you show kindness to a monkey once, he will live in your yard until he has destroyed your home.’ Ellie hopes this is not also true of little girls.

  She watches them walk up the path and squeak the gate open. The encounter leaves her numb, not mad as it would have done a few weeks earlier. Is this because she is now becoming used to these villagers? Perhaps the doctor is correct and she just needs to get used to being away from her homeland and out of Hollyburn more often.

  Before she returns to her kitchen Ellie fetches a small can of bicycle oil from the shed and smears a couple of drops on each gate hinge; she moves the gate back and forth, no squeak. She stands for a few minutes and looks towards the village. The fact that Mr Winski cries too does not make her feel better. Ellie wants to follow him, she wants to tell him to go to the doctor and for the doctor to tell Mr Winski that it is OK to feel sad.

  The Pairty Line

  ‘Huv ye goat yer coal delivered yet?’

  ‘No. Ah’m gettin’ ten hunner weights next week. How, like?’

  ‘Coont it goan intae the coal hole then, eh?’

  ‘What fur?’

  ‘Ah goat ten hunner weights last week and ah’m shair ah’m short.’

  ‘Short?’

  ‘That’s whit ah said. Ah’m shair that Eck the Bleck is skimming some and selling it buck-shee.’

  ‘Dae ye reckon?’

  ‘Aye, ah reckon he’s pittin’ in only nine bags instead o’ ten.’

  ‘He widdnae dae that.’

  ‘Wid he no? Listen, he thinks that cause we git it fur nithin’ we widdnae miss a bag or two, eh?’

  ‘Aye, but he’s been deliverin’ pit coal fur years, if he sterttit that he wid lose the Coal Board’s business.’

  ‘Jist coont them goan in, is aw ah’m sayin’. If ah’m right oor men’ll sort it oot fur next time.’

  Chapter Twenty One

  Rain comes in the night, and Ellie prays the seeds she has planted directly into neat earth rows in the garden have not been washed away. In the morning, after the rain, there is sunshine. Dod has shown her how to sow some seeds in pots and grow them into seedlings on her inside window ledge.

  Ellie takes her tender strawberry seedling plants from the ledge and positions them on the coal bunker to catch some rays. She can almost taste the fruit on her lips as she finishes washing her hands. James whistles in the bathroom and when he returns to her kitchen, he announces he has to make a trip to buy a piece of machinery for the estate. The only place it is to be found is in the City of Glasgow.

  ‘Why don’t you and Nat come too?’

  Ellie does not need to be asked again. Almost before the words are out of her husband’s mouth she has a bag of Nat’s provisions packed and their coats on.

  ‘How long will it take to get there? Will I need to make a picnic?’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice, and you better pack an umbrella, it always rains in the West.’

  Ellie looks puzzled. ‘But it always rains here.’

  James laughs. ‘No, it is dry here.’

  ‘It is always raining. Every season is rainy season in Scotland.’

  James picks up an umbrella from the door stand. ‘But not today. So we take one then?’

  ‘Please remind me to take my seedlings inside when I return,’ Ellie says as she straightens up the little pots. These babies still need her care.

  They have driven only a short distance when they are prevented crossing a bridge by a queue of cars stopped by a small red light. The bridge, smaller than the Forth Road Bridge which was opened by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, is swinging open in the middle, like a gate from a gate post. A mighty shipping vessel pulled by four smaller boats sits low in the middle of the river.Five cars queue in front of the Landrover. Huddles of car people stand on the verge to watch the big boat being pulled through the bridge gap.

  When the boat is clear the spectators return to their cars, but it is another five minutes before the bridge swings closed, and still the traffic is not allowed to proceed.

  ‘We’re going to be late and won’t have much time for sightseeing,’ James fusses.

  ‘This does not matter. This river is wonderful.’ Ellie hugs her son. ‘Is that not so, Nat? Look, Nat, look at the ship.’ Nat giggles and points, ‘Sip, sip.’

  When the red light switches off and a green light glows they cross the river. The sunshine of the morning is replaced by a grey, grey sky and soon the rain lashes down on the windscreen.

  The fields are similar to the ones they have just left, but Ellie feels a loss when she crosses the bridge, as if she is treading on someone else’s territory. After an hour tall block buildings appear on the horizon ahead.

  ‘We will be there soon,’ James tells her, but she has already guessed this. The streets begin to crowd round them. Black four-storey buildings, all with sad eyes and gashes for mouths, line the pavements and welcome them to Glasgow.

  ‘How can these house dwellers bear to live so close together?’

  ‘Tenements,’ James says. ‘Most people in this city live in houses like these.’

  ‘Where are their gardens?’

  ‘They have no gardens as such, only small back yards.’

  Ellie looks for grass and trees and sees only patches of them, scarred and chaotic. Thick smog hangs around the buildings. High industrial chimneys choke the air; a fire seems to burn in every house, discharging smoke from every chimney. When Ellie first arrived in Hollyburn, she hated the smell of newly lit coal fires in the morning, it smelled dirty compared to the wood smoke she knew best; she is now used to that. But here the houses, so packed together, belch out smoke that forms a blanket over the entire city.

  ‘How do they breathe?’

  ‘They don’t – well, not properly anyway.
’

  Ellie wraps her arms around Nat and holds her handkerchief up to his nose. They drive past a park. A small deer runs across the road and James brakes hard to avoid a collision. Even though the park is surrounded by a high metal fence, Ellie can see inside to a lake with small boats floating. Another of those red lights forces James to stop the car again right beside the park gate. Through this gate Ellie can see a dog chasing a ball and grabbing it with its teeth. Little boys run after it shouting, trying to get their ball back. The boys wear the same blue or green jumpers they wear in Hollyburn, this is a Scottish uniform, she thinks. Ellie is almost sad when the green lights up and James moves the Landrover forward.

  He turns into a major road that stretches ahead of them for miles. At least three church spires pierce the grey sky. The pavements are crowded with people dodging each other’s umbrellas. Colour splashes from the shops and the brightly coloured clothes of the many pedestrians make Ellie’s eyes ache. There are people with black faces, brown faces, pink faces, white faces walking the same streets. If this is Glasgow she wants to stop and step out among its people.

  Ellie spots two Asian women drift along; their cool turquoise and coral dresses escape under drab brown outerwear, like butterflies struggling to escape the pupa. If only Ellie could stop and buy some material of such colours. Gold jewellery hangs heavy from pierced ears. The rings and bangles swing with pride as each step is taken; their sparkle lights up the dull day.

  James glances toward her. She knows she gapes, but cannot stop. This is why her husband brought her to this street, she is sure: to show her she is the same as others in this country. She is not the only black face in Scotland.

  Shop windows display drapes of materials in the style of the Indian trader women who peddled wares to the clinic in the town back home. One shop has a table weighed down with fruit and vegetables bursting with life and spilling onto the pavement. There are yams. She is sure. She sees yams. She has not tasted yams for six months.

  ‘Stop! Please stop.’

  James pulls off the road into a side street and parks. When Ellie steps onto the pavement her legs tremble. The air catches her throat; she can almost taste coal dust and feel grime on her teeth. She clutches Nat tight and turns the corner into a wide street.

  At the shop front she hands Nat to his father and touches the vegetables she has not seen for so long. The vegetables are past fresh but there are yams and cassava of her village and also many other things she could only find in the markets. An old man in a dirty white dashiki nods to her as she hands him the yam and her money.

  ‘Where are you from?’ she asks him in English.

  ‘Sierra Leone,’ he says, handing her back her yam in a brown paper bag. Ellie waits for him to ask where she is from but he does not, he turns back to his assistant and begins talking in their own tongue.

  Her eyes roam the busy shelves of the shop but the crammed space means there is no room for the likes of her, and soon the old man ushers her out of the door to make way for a male customer; a regular by the way they converse and one who knows what he wants to buy.

  James meets her at the door, puts his arm around her shoulder and kisses her forehead.

  ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s go for that picnic before the rain gets any heavier.’

  He drives only a little further and parks beside an austere building with “BBC” emblazoned on the side wall. Ellie wonders if she will see that lovely Andy Stewart, for she is sure he works at the BBC.

  She stares at the gate, not daring to take her eyes off the place, someone she will recognise might come through the gate.

  ‘Come on, starstruck.’ James leads her across the road and into a park.

  Tall trees sprout through grass lawns and form a canopy over their own territory. Benches line hard paths and bushes arrange themselves in order of height to create a neatness Ellie has only witnessed near the big hoose. James propels her to a rectangular glass building. When they walk through the door Ellie gasps at the heat, and she realises she has forgotten how comforting heat can be. She smells the damp humidity and the tangy earth.

  But the heat is not as welcoming as her African heat; this heat has no sun. There is still a grey sky above this city. This heat, which is captured and held in a building in Scotland, is oppressive and claustrophobic. Plants tower over her blocking out the dull daylight trying to penetrate the glass walls. The plants are the plants of her African back yard and beyond. Nat struggles in James’s arms and begins to cough. He does not like this, Ellie thinks.

  She sits down on a bench and closes her eyes and tries to feel home. But where is her mother’s voice calling her from the river and the scratching of the chickens in the yard? Ellie cannot resurrect these sounds from her memory. She hears the harsh voices of two women discussing how long they wait for a bus. She hears the sound of the hose a worker is directing towards these fragile foreign plants. She hears her own inner voice reminding her she is in another world and this world is now her home.

  The Pairty Line

  ‘Whits the matter?’

  ‘Och, ah’m fine.’

  ‘Ye dinnae soond fine – ye soond – different, eh?’

  ‘No – its nithin’.’

  ‘Dinnae gie me that, ah cun hear yer aboot greetin’.’

  ‘Och, ah micht as well tell ye. Yir gonnae fund oot sin enough onywey. Ah’m goan intae hospital tae get ma left breast aff the morra.’

  ‘Oh goad, ye niver said ye hud a problem. When did ye fund oot?’

  ‘Jist this morning, the biopsy report came back and Dr Hurry wants me in right away.’

  ‘Ah goad, ah’m right sorry. How long will ye be in fur?’

  ‘No long, a couple o’ weeks.’

  ‘Oh goad, ah’m sorry.’

  ‘Aye well, ah’m sure it’ll be fine.’

  ‘Aye, it’ll be fine.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Chapter Twenty Two

  When Ellie wakes next morning, a cold dread enters her body. Dod had warned her to return the little plants to the warmth of her kitchen. This she forgot to do, but she cannot imagine what harm could have befallen them overnight. She creeps through the silent house and opens the back door. There they are. Small green seedlings that yesterday erupted from their pots to catch the sun now fall limp and shrivelled. She cannot understand why this has happened and mourns for the death of her plants.

  ‘The frost has killed them,’ James tells her. ‘Sorry, I should have reminded you.’

  The letter she received from her mother had distracted them both. Mrs Watson must have slipped it through the door yesterday; it was waiting for Ellie when she and James returned from Glasgow.

  The news is not good and is told in short statements with no detail. There is fighting in the eastern part of her country, and Matthew has left his wife, children and mother to go and fight with the militia against the President’s men. Jacob has gone to work in the mine to earn money to feed them, but the new road is being blockaded and it is difficult to get to market. What food they have in the fields is hardly enough to feed their own children and they have a whole village to feed. Her mother thanks her for the money she sends, this has helped.

  Ellie feels she should be there to help them, but here she cannot even keep some small plants from being killed.

  The forest is chilled even though the sun shines through the trees, casting slats of light on the path for Ellie and Nat to follow. The day is still and silent, as if the birds are awaiting their arrival before they begin to chant. Ellie wants the silence to persist, to punish her; her anger is directed towards herself: if only she had taken her plants inside when they returned last night but she was too consumed by anticipation of her family’s troubles. She had no cockerel to sacrifice towards the protection of plants as her father and brothers used to do at the beginning of the growing season. This, she is sure, will be a problem in her country this year.

  How will they survive? The letter of her mother is warm in her mind. What c
an she do for her family? James has told her not to worry; her brothers know best, she would only be an added burden. The best they can do is to send provisions to the estate. Her family will be well looked after. The family maybe, but what about her country?

  She looks around the lush forest and knows that her sorrows are nothing compared to others. She can search for new plants to grow in her garden. Plants, not from a packet, but from the earth where they have been living for centuries. It is her own stupidity that causes her pain and the thought of her embarrassment when she has to explain to Dod what she has done.

  Childish laughter moves through the trees from the plot of the nuns’ graves. Ellie shakes her head; even though she knows the truth of this burial ground, she cannot rid herself of the name she has given it.

  The two girls, Mary and the big child, Carol, sit in the clearing with what looks like a chess board between them, on the board is a tumbler on which both girls balance their index finger. The tumbler is gliding between letters Ellie can see scratched in bold red around the edge of the board.

  Carol notices Ellie first and jumps to her feet. She grabs Mary’s arm and tugs her also to her feet. They look as though they have broken all the eggs in the yard.

  ‘What are ye spyin’ on us for?’ Carol says as she grabs the tumbler and the board, which Ellie now sees is an upturned Kellogg’s Cornflake box, and stuffs them in a duffle bag.

  Mary wears a mask of horror over her pink face.

  ‘I am not spying,’ Ellie says, ‘but why are you playing with the spirits?’

  Their feet shuffle the earth and their eyes are downcast.

  ‘It’s just a game, Ellie.’ Mary holds her head up but her arm is still gripped by Carol.

  ‘Yeh, you must have played wi’ a ouija board sometime,’ Carol cheeks, at the same time moving backwards away from Ellie, dragging Mary with her.

  ‘Carol just wanted to contact her Airdrie grandad, that’s all. He died last year and she misses him. Don’t you, Carol?’ Mary nods as if inciting agreement from everyone.