by Anne Douglas
‘You’re probably right, the idea will come to nothing.’ George’s smile seemed relieved. ‘At least we’ll have had a nice trip out. But isn’t this our stop?’
They had left the tram and were walking towards the turning for the cinema when, beneath their feet – it seemed crazy – the ground rocked. At the same time, some distance away, an almighty noise hit their ears like a blow.
A noise, Jess called it, but it wasn’t like any noise she’d ever heard before. Not like the warning siren, which she was certain she hadn’t heard. Not like a gun firing, or a rocket soaring. Not like anything except itself, a heavy, ominous thud. A crump that filled her full of dread, and sent people screaming everywhere.
‘Oh, my God!’ cried George, grasping Jess’s hand. ‘What was that?’
‘I’ll tell you!’ cried a man in air force uniform running by. ‘It’s a bomb! We’re being bombed!’
‘Bombed?’ Jess gasped. Her heart missed a beat, as she thought of her mother in Great Junction Street. But then relief flooded through her, as she remembered that Addie would be at the camouflage factory in Edinburgh, she’d be safe. Thank God, she’d be safe. And Derry in his shop? Please God, he’d be safe too.
‘But we had no warning,’ Jess cried to the young airman. ‘We never heard a siren.’
‘I saw the plane,’ he told her. ‘It was a Jerry. All on his own. A Jerry. I recognized the sound. Better get to a shelter. He won’t have finished yet.’
Glancing hurriedly at George, Jess saw that his face was putty-white and shining and he was beginning to breathe fast.
‘An air-raid shelter,’ he said thickly. ‘We have to find an air-raid shelter.’
But even as he spoke, another, nearer, heavier thud sounded and again the pavement seemed to rock around them as people cried and screamed and a man, shaking from head to foot, was calling that a great crater had appeared just up the road.
‘Oh, my God, a bloody great crater,’ he kept shouting. ‘Can you no’ see it? A bloody great crater, big as the moon! Oh, save us, oh Lord! Spare us, oh Lord, for we are repentant sinners! Oh, Lord, save us!’
‘Quick,’ Jess cried to George, ‘let’s get away, find a shelter!’ But to her horror, she saw that his eyes were now closed and that his breath was coming in great gasps, their wrenching sound more frightening than even the thud of the bombs that had fallen.
He was having a heart attack. George was having a heart attack. What could she do? He was having a heart attack, here in the street, and he was going to die. Unless she could do something, unless somebody could do something.
Frantically, she unloosened his tie and his shirt collar, and then, as his legs gave way, laid him on the pavement, her cardigan under his head, and called aloud for help.
But who would hear in all the terrible confusion? It was like a nightmare, the sort you long to leave by waking, until a solidly built woman in a nurse’s uniform came running towards them, shouting that she could help, she could help, where was the patient?
She took one look at George, and turned to Jess.
‘Has he a nitrite capsule?’ she asked. ‘Quick, quick, tell me!’
‘I don’t know, I don’t think so,’ Jess stammered. ‘He’s got tablets . . .’
‘Too late for tablets. Look, dear, what we’ve got to do is get this fellow to hospital, or he’s going to die. There’ll be ambulances on their way – flag ’em down . . . tell ’em it’s an emergency . . . and, please God, they’ll come for him!’
‘Couldn’t I phone the hospital myself? I can find a phone . . .’
‘The lines will be jammed, you’ll never get through.’ The nurse’s eyes were on George’s face, her fingers on his pulse. ‘Run, then, run!’
Where? Jess cried to herself, as the feeling of nightmare returned. Where can I run?
A small knot of people had gathered around George and one of them – a middle-aged man – shouted now, ‘Quick, there’s a policeman! He’ll help – come on, lassie, I’ll go with you!’
‘A man dying?’ echoed the policeman. ‘Well, there’s already folk dead here – that first bomb fell on a tenement.’
Folk already dead . . . Jess swayed on her feet. War in all its horror held her in its grasp. Folk already dead, and George would join them. There was nothing she could do.
‘There’s an ambulance!’ cried the middle-aged man beside her, pointing to a vehicle with sounding siren coming rattling down Commercial Street. ‘And another behind. Can we no’ get the poor guy to hospital, officer?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ the policeman said.
Thirty
The news at the Royal Infirmary was long in coming, but it was good. George, saved initially by the ambulance crew, was going to pull through. He was now ‘stable’ and ‘as comfortable as could be expected’, his trembling wife was told, and she could see him, but only for a minute or two. No need to try to tell him, but he was a very lucky man.
‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ Daisy quavered, as a young doctor guided her away. ‘Oh, I can never thank you enough, never!’
But at the door of the small waiting room where she and her sister, Jess, Addie and Edie had spent long hours in suspense, she did not forget to turn and look back to Jess. ‘And thank you, too, Jess, for all you did for poor George. I’ll never forget it.’
‘Aye, it was a mercy you were there, eh?’ Alison Wright, Daisy’s sister, murmured. She was as thin and nervy as Daisy herself, and though had come to offer support, spent most of the time in the waiting room shivering and crying, and fetching more tea.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, what would have happened if you’d not got him into that ambulance, then? I hear it was the oxygen that saved him.’
‘And what would have happened if they’d both been a bit nearer the bombs!’ Addie cried, clutching Jess’s hand. ‘When Jess rang me at work and told me she’d been in Leith, I couldn’t take it in. I couldn’t believe she was safe. I kept asking her over and over again if she was all right, and the money for the phone kept running out and she’d to keep putting coppers in. Oh, it was a nightmare, so it was – a nightmare!’
‘It was,’ Jess said tiredly. ‘That’s all it was. A nightmare.’
‘Seven people, they say, killed in the tenement,’ Edie wailed. ‘Would you credit it? Out of the blue! No siren, no warning, just in their homes, and then gone. And poor Mr Hawthorne nearly gone, too. Oh, when you said he was here in the Royal, Jess, I was in such a state! I thought all I should do was get here, to be with Daisy, and I just told Fred and Flo to look after things and up I came.’
‘Well, I’m sure my sister was very grateful,’ Alison said graciously. ‘But of course I came with her myself. She’s very highly strung, is Daisy. I knew she’d never manage alone.’
‘It’s good she’s got you,’ Addie told her, rising and taking Jess’s arm. ‘But if you don’t mind, I must get my girl home now. She’s still suffering from shock, she needs complete rest.’
‘I’m all right, Ma,’ Jess said at once. ‘I want to wait for Daisy. See how George is.’
‘Here she is,’ Alison cried. ‘Oh dear, looks like she’s crying. How is he, pet, quick, how is he?’
‘He’s all right,’ Daisy answered in strangled tones, as she pressed a hankie to her eyes. ‘They keep saying he’s going to be all right.’ She began to sob in earnest. ‘But he doesn’t look all right. So pale and so still, just lying there, not talking. Not saying a word!’
‘Of course he’ll not look all right yet,’ her sister said soothingly, putting her arm around her. ‘But you have to go by what the doctors say, you know. If they say he’s all right, well, that’ll be true, won’t it? Now, why don’t we try to find a taxi – you can sometimes catch one outside the hospital – and come back tomorrow? Did they say you could see him tomorrow?’
Still sobbing, Daisy nodded, and after a quick glance at the watching faces, Alison led her away.
‘I’d better go, too,’ Edie murmured. ‘If I run, I can get the last tram
home. Jess, shall I see you tomorrow?’
‘No, no,’ Addie said firmly. ‘After what she’s been through, she’s going to need some time off.’
But Jess shook her head. ‘No time off, Ma. I have to look after things, for George’s sake. Edie, I’ll see you as usual.’
‘Oh, Jess,’ Addie sighed, as Edie hurried away. ‘At least you’ll come back home with me, eh? No’ go to your empty flat?’
‘I’ve got a better idea, Ma. My place is nearer. Why don’t you come home with me instead? We needn’t go back to Leith tonight.’
Addie’s weary face brightened. ‘Are you sure, pet? Oh, I think I’d like that. Let’s go then.’
‘And if there are any taxis outside the hospital, should we take one? Just for once?’
‘Just for once,’ Addie agreed.
It was only when she was in the taxi, on her way home, that Jess remembered she hadn’t rung the owners to tell them of George’s illness. Tomorrow, she would have to ring Mr Syme in Glasgow, and see what he wanted to do.
Thirty-One
Next day, at the Princes, the atmosphere was subdued, as after a death. And, of course, even if Mr Hawthorne had actually survived, there were deaths to mourn. Seven in the tenement. And maybe more to come. No one felt safe. How could they, if a lone raider was able to appear in the sky without warning and rain down bombs on civilian targets? They’d been expecting air raids when the phoney war finally ended, but somehow had always thought they’d focus on the things the Germans feared, not poor folk in tenements. But that was war for you, and now they knew just what they were facing.
Jess, feeling as vulnerable as everyone else, knew that others at the Princes were looking to her to hold the place together. In fact, there was no one else. She was not only assistant manager, she was the only one with an overall view of everyone’s work; the only one, apart from Edie and Fred, to have worked at the cinema before the experienced people were taken away by the war. And, while Fred could manage the jobs he knew and Edie could type the letters and do her filing, for anything more, it was no good asking.
One problem was that everyone was so obviously on edge. Even when Jess was able to call them all together and tell them that Mr Hawthorne was improving, there were still tears flowing and nerves showing; so much so, she began to wonder in the end if things would ever return to normal.
Routine was a wonderful support, though, and gradually, as the shock of what had happened began to wear off, everyone slipped back into doing what they always did with their usual efficiency, and Jess could heave a sigh of relief. And to thank heaven she’d booked Spring Parade, starring the young singer Deanna Durbin, for this particular week. Just the thing for escaping the world and settling everyone’s nerves.
Even mine, Jess had thought, until, crossing the foyer some hours later, she saw John Syme coming through the doors towards her, when she began to tremble. Inside, anyway. Outwardly, she appeared quite composed as she went forward to shake his hand.
‘Mr Syme – I’m very glad to see you.’
‘Terrible news about George, Mrs MacVail, not to mention what happened in Leith. Hard on you, too, as you were there.’
‘I’m all right, thanks. Everyone’s pretty upset here, but the news is good. I rang the hospital about Mr Hawthorne this morning.’
‘So did I. Soon as I get the OK, I’ll go to see him.’
‘Mrs Hawthorne’s going to let me know when visiting’s allowed. Would you like to come to my office, Mr Syme?’
‘Better make it George’s. As you share with Miss Harrison, I believe, and we have things to discuss.’
John Syme was in his late forties, a distinguished looking businessman, with dark hair just beginning to show grey at the temples, and a nose that was on the sharp side. Jess had met him two or three times, the last being when he’d interviewed her after George had selected her as his assistant manager. He’d made no objection to her appointment, though she knew he’d wondered about her credentials, and she’d considered herself lucky over that. How lucky was she going to be when he brought in some outsider to tell her what to do in George’s absence, though?
As she showed him into George’s office, her thoughts were not on her own position, however, for her gaze had gone straight to George’s desk with all his things just as he’d left them, and she couldn’t help her eyes filling up with tears.
‘It’s all right, Jess,’ Mr Syme said kindly, setting down his briefcase. ‘Mind if I call you Jess? He’s going to be back, you know. No question.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It just hit me for a moment.’
‘Of course. It would. Now, shall we sit down?’
‘Would you like to take the desk, then?’
‘If you prefer.’
When he had taken George’s chair behind the desk, Jess seated herself in what she always thought of as the interview chair; it was where she’d been placed by Sally on the day she’d been appointed to the box office job so long ago. Perhaps it wasn’t so long ago, only seemed so. And now she was waiting, as assistant manager, to hear Mr Syme’s ideas on finding a new and temporary manager to be her boss in the absence of George. Who would it be? Where would such a person be found? Don’t worry, she told herself, someone would be found, all right. Someone would want to work here, just as she did.
Looking up, she found Mr Syme’s narrow grey eyes fixed on her face.
‘Difficult for you, all of this,’ he observed. ‘I know you’ve always got on well with George.’
‘Yes. He’s always been very helpful to me.’
‘Thinks very highly of you, too.’
To that, she made no reply, and after a moment, Mr Syme took out his cigarette case, studied its contents, and closed it.
‘Trying to give them up,’ he said with a brief smile. ‘Especially since the only ones I can buy are those I don’t like. You don’t smoke, Jess?’
‘No, I’ve never started.’
‘Sensible girl. But then you are – very sensible.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘Would it surprise you to know that I’ve already thought of you as a replacement for George? Temporary, of course?’
At first she was speechless, staring at him with wide, gold-flecked eyes.
‘Me?’ she said at last. ‘To replace George?’
‘My suggestion. Unfortunately, one of my company, when I telephoned him this morning after you’d told me about George, was of the opinion that you were too young.’
The sound of her spirits plummeting must surely have echoed round the room, she thought wildly, and almost felt like smiling at the idea she could ever have been considered to run the Princes Street Picture House. But that was wrong. She didn’t feel like smiling.
‘I see,’ she murmured. ‘Well, I suppose I am. Young.’
‘But not too young. Others on the board agreed with me. In fact, we think you’d do a good job. Temporarily, of course.’
‘But one man didn’t agree.’
Mr Syme sat back. ‘I’ve persuaded him.’
‘Persuaded?’
‘I explained that of all the people we might find, you’re the only one who really knows the Princes, and that you’ve been working lately as assistant manager with George himself, so you’d be au fait with all that he has to do. I also explained that George has always thought you very competent, with good ideas of your own, and – this is pretty important – that you’d be the one he’d like to look after things while he’s away.’
Shrugging a little, Mr Syme gave another of his brief smiles. ‘That’s what I call persuasion, Jess.’
‘And he accepted me?’ she asked huskily. ‘Without an interview?’
‘These are difficult times. We need somebody to take charge immediately to run things as smoothly as possible for the time while George is away. We’ve decided you’re that person. Are you interested?’
Interested? Again, she could have smiled.
‘Mr Syme, I don’t think interested is the right word.’
‘Yo
u mean, you’ll take the post?’
‘I’ll take the post. If you’re sure you want me.’
‘It’s been decided. As a temporary measure only, but of course, you understand that. Now, there’ll be formalities to see to, salary to discuss, a contract to be drawn up, and so on – I’d like you to come through to Glasgow one day next week, so that we can finalize matters.’ He took a diary from his briefcase. ‘Would Wednesday suit?’
When he took his leave at the cinema doors, he shook her hand and wished her all the best in her new post.
‘One thing you won’t have to worry about – after what’s happened, we’re not pressing ahead with any idea of renovating the old Clarion. I expect you’ll be glad about that.’
She was. Didn’t even like to think of the ill-fated expedition to Leith to look at it. Would never again want to hear even its name.
‘But George will be pleased, you know, that you’re holding the fort for him.’ John Syme was continuing. ‘Let’s hope we can visit him soon.’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Syme! And that he won’t be away too long.’
He gave her a long considering look. ‘Whatever happens, this will be good experience for you. Remember that, Jess.’
‘I will, Mr Syme.’
‘Call me John,’ he said pleasantly, and left her.
Stunned, was how she felt. Stunned at her new position which she could never have imagined could be hers so soon. Yet not elated. Stunned, apprehensive, perhaps, but not elated, not happy. Because the post had only come to her because of what had happened to George. How could she be happy about it?
As she returned to George’s office, though, she did begin to feel a little better about stepping into his shoes. It wasn’t as if he were not coming back. She could take the view that she was going to do her best to keep the cinema going for him, and take pleasure in that. It would be what he would want, and it was after all pretty nice to know that the owners – except for one – had confidence in her.
By the time she’d thought all these things, she knew she was ready to sit at George’s desk and tackle the paperwork already there, though taking his chair still gave her a strange feeling. Everything looked . . . sort of different, didn’t it? To be in charge. Heavens, that was different, too.