by Anne Douglas
She looked at him hopefully, but he only smoked in silence.
‘Don’t you think so?’ she pressed.
‘No,’ he answered at last. ‘It’s different for me.’
‘Why? Why is it different?’
‘Because George isn’t going to be among bombs again – at least, I hope not. He’s got the chance to get over what happened to him. But there’s no chance for me, it’s always there.’
‘Always there?’
‘It’s my job.’ He stretched out his hand and took hers. ‘Ah, you see, I shouldn’t have told you. I’ve given you my burden.’
‘Just a share. And I want it, anyway. Didn’t I tell you, what happens to you, happens to me?’
‘Does that mean,’ he asked carefully, ‘that you do care for me now? I mean . . . really care?’
‘Why, you know I do! We’re married!
Yes, they were married, and she did truly care for him, and for the rest of the short weekend said no more about the whisky. But when Rusty returned to Kenlin, Jess couldn’t find the bottle. She knew he had taken it with him.
Thirty-Four
Though no one had really expected Moyra Beattie to make a full recovery, her death when it came in August still had the power to shock. As Addie said, with the sadness of experience, that was because death was always a shock, however folk might think themselves prepared for it.
‘Look at me with your dad,’ she murmured to Jess and Marguerite before the funeral. ‘I knew what lay ahead, but when it happened – that was different, eh? And it’ll have been the same for poor Derry. His sister’s had to make all the arrangements. No good asking him, she said.’
‘Poor Derry,’ Jess echoed. She glanced at the clock. ‘Well, we’d best away to the kirk. I expect there’ll be a good turn out, eh? With all Derry’s customers?’
‘I daresay.’ Addie was putting on a large black hat and studying herself in the mirror. ‘Women and all. Was a time when women didn’t go to funerals, you ken. In fact, a lot still don’t, though I suppose it’s an old-fashioned idea.’
‘Why ever shouldn’t they have gone?’ Marguerite asked, adjusting a black armband on her uniform sleeve. ‘Seems ridiculous to me.’
‘Just the custom. Are you ready, then, girls?’
Though they told her they were ready to leave, it was Addie herself who seemed now to be hesitating at the door.
‘Think I should say that I might not be going back to the house afterwards. The sister’s laying on refreshments, but I’m no’ keen.’
Jess and Marguerite exchanged looks.
‘What’s up, Ma?’ Jess asked quietly. ‘Why don’t you want to go back to Derry’s house?’
‘Well – you know why.’
‘I do not. You tell me why.’
‘It’s because of what Moyra said that time. About wanting me to take care of Derry when she’d gone.’ A flush had risen to Addie’s cheek. ‘I’d feel that embarrassed.’
‘What’s all this?’ Marguerite asked. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘It’s just that when we sent to see Moyra in hospital, she asked Ma to look after Derry when she was gone,’ Jess told her quickly. ‘She didn’t mean anything – it was just she was ill and worried.
‘Aye, well, now she is gone, and I keep thinking of what she said,’ Addie muttered. ‘I’m no’ anxious to look Derry in the face.’
‘You look him in the face every time you buy a pound of carrots, or he gives you tomatoes!’ Jess cried.
‘Aye, but after his wife’s funeral, and in her house, it’d no’ be the same.’ Addie set her mouth firmly. ‘I’ll let you girls go without me. I’ll say I’ve to get back to work, which is true.’
Marguerite put her arm in her mother’s and walked her through the door.
‘Come on, Ma, it’ll look funny if you don’t go to the house. You’re Derry’s neighbour. People will wonder about it, and you’d never want that.’
‘That’s true.’ Jess closed the door behind them. ‘We’ll stick with you, Ma. You needn’t talk to Derry on his own.’
‘All right, then,’ Addie sighed. ‘But I just wish poor Moyra’d never said what she did.’
Making their way to the local kirk, as Addie walked ahead with other neighbours, Marguerite told Jess how well it had worked out for her to attend Moyra’s funeral.
‘Never thought I’d get the leave, you see. But when Ben said he’d be coming home before his posting, I twisted the CO’s arm. I mean, it’s the first time we’ve ever managed to be on leave together, eh?’
‘How long’s he got?’
‘A week, like me.’ Marguerite’s smile vanished. ‘Then he’s away to the south of England. You heard he’d passed out well on his course?’
‘Never thought he wouldn’t. Why England, though?’
Marguerite stared. ‘Why, you know what’s happening, don’t you? The Luftwaffe’s attacking our planes and air stations all along the south coast. Have been since July. The phoney war’s over.’
‘I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind,’ Jess said in a low voice.
‘Because of Rusty? He’ll be finishing soon, eh? And then where for him?’
‘No idea.’ Jess began to quicken her pace. ‘Let’s catch up with the others. Don’t want to be late.’
As so often, the funeral service was an ordeal, with friends and customers remembering Moyra when she was young and fit, and thinking of her now, cut down by cruel illness while still not old, and having to leave her poor husband to mourn. But no bairns, of course, which had always been their tragedy. Och, what a miserable world it was then, and with news of what the German planes were doing, not likely to get any better!
Leaving at the end of the service, Addie managed to shake Derry’s hand without raising her eyes to his ravaged face, and afterwards, going back to the house on the Links, which had been his father’s, stayed close to her girls, while the cold ham and sandwiches were passed around and the tea poured.
‘You see, it was all right, Ma,’ Jess told her. ‘Derry’s got so many people to see, you won’t have to talk to him at all.’
‘You’re making something out of nothing, is what I think,’ Marguerite declared. ‘Just keep on as usual and forget what Moyra said. All she meant was make him a bit of stew now and again, or a pudding or something. What else?’
Addie shrugged and said perhaps it was true she’d read things into Moyra’s words that weren’t there. What a relief, eh? Now, why didn’t they offer to help Win, Derry’s sister from Perth, who had so much to do? It was too late now to go back to work, anyway.
‘Think I’ll have to get back, though,’ Jess said, looking at her watch. ‘I’ve things to check. Marguerite, I’ll see you soon, eh?’
‘Course you will. Ben and me want you to come round with Ma for your tea one evening. Dad would like that, and Ben would, too.’
‘Thanks, I’ll look forward to it.’ Jess took a last sandwich and thought, OK, that was a white lie, but what of it? She was always just a little uneasy, being with Ben, but she could hardly say no to meeting her brother-in-law again, and he would soon be leaving for the dangerous area of the south. Not aircrew, though, was he? Not like Rusty.
Back at the Princes, she was surprised and pleased to find someone waiting for her in Edie’s office. It was George.
Thirty-Five
‘George, how grand to see you!’ she cried, while Edie smiled from her desk. ‘Oh, but you’re looking well!’
He didn’t, in fact, look particularly well, being still very pale with a collar that was too big for his neck, and still the air of an invalid that made him seem strange. Yet, when Jess showed him into his old office, he seemed to be trying to be cheerful, walking well with his stick and taking the visitor’s chair without any sign of emotion.
‘Here you are then,’ Jess said, a little awkwardly. ‘Back in your old office. You should be behind the desk, you know.’
‘No, no.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s your desk now.�
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‘I’m only filling in for you, George, and you’re on the mend. You’ll soon be back with us.’
Again, he shook his head. ‘Fact is, Jess, I’m not coming back.’
She took her own seat behind the desk and, fiddling with a pen, stared into his serious eyes.
‘I don’t understand – why don’t you want to come back? This is your job, it’s what you want to do.’
‘Did want to do. Now . . . I don’t feel up to it.’
‘You still . . . hear the bombs?’ she asked delicately.
‘No, the doctor was right, they’ve gone. And the rocking floor. But that doesn’t mean I’m the same as I was. I know now that I’ll never be the same. I have to take too much care. I have to worry all the time what I can do.’
‘Have the doctors told you that?’
He shrugged. ‘They don’t understand how I feel. Every heart case is different, that’s the point.’
‘So, you’ll no’ be working at all?’
‘Oh, I’ll still have to work, though maybe only part-time. I’ve Daisy to think about, you see, though she’d keep me at home, if she could.’
‘What are you going to do, then?’
‘It’s all fixed. Daisy’s brother has a small business making parts for various engines. He needs an admin assistant to keep an eye on the paperwork side of things, and he’s offered me the job. It’ll be less stressful than here, and I can do my own hours.’ George leaned his bony hands on his stick and gazed appealingly at Jess. ‘It’s sad, I know, to say goodbye to the Princes. Don’t think I don’t feel it.’
‘I’d never think that, George.’
‘But it’s time for me to hand over the baton. I’m just glad it’s to you.’
Jess continued to roll her pen between her fingers.
‘Can’t be certain it will be to me, though. No’ for a permanent job. I was always told I was just temporary.’
‘You’ll be permanent. I’ve already spoken to John Syme and he said straight away, there’d be no question of asking you to stand down.’ George rose slowly to his feet. ‘He’ll be getting in touch, so don’t worry about it. Where on earth would they find anybody better than you, anyway?’
‘I just can’t imagine this place without you, George, that’s the thing.’
‘You know what they say – everybody can be done without. Now, what about a cup of coffee in the cafe? And then a complimentary cinema ticket for me, if you can spare one? You’re showing a Spencer Tracy film I wouldn’t mind seeing.’
‘North-West Passage?’ Jess nodded. ‘George, you know you can have all the complimentary tickets you want.’
‘Because I might actually get to watch a film or two nowadays, you mean? I’ll bet you don’t.’
‘Remember Edna Angus? One of the usherettes? She said to me once that if you worked in a cinema, you never got to see a film right through. So, you’re right, George. These days I hardly get to see one at all.’
They laughed together, but after they’d had their cup of coffee and Jess had shown George into the circle for his Spencer Tracy film, she had to return quickly to her own office to try to come to terms with George’s news.
Of course, she could have been on top of the world, she told herself. Wasn’t she now to be permanent manager of her beloved Princes, as soon as she received confirmation from John Syme? That should have been something to celebrate, surely?
If it had come at some other time, yes, she would have celebrated. Now, though, she had to think not only of George, sitting in the circle instead of at this very desk, but of the war that was now taking a new toll, with the bombing in the south, and of all who’d be involved. Maybe her own Rusty, who’d be finishing his course soon? Maybe Ben, who’d be in the danger zone, even if not flying. All the people who’d be at risk if Hitler started bombing cities, as he’d said he’d do.
Oh, what was the point of a job like hers, then? She’d always thought so much of it. Stocking the silver screen. Keeping the projectors turning. Taking people’s minds off their troubles, transporting them to Never-Never Land, where, let’s face it, she’d spent some time herself. Was any of it worth doing? Shouldn’t she just go out and join up, as Sally had done, and Marguerite?
No. She straightened her shoulders. That wasn’t the way to look at things. The Princes did do a good job. She did a good job, too. People did need what she and the silver screen could provide, for life was dark enough for most of them without taking that away. She’d keep on. She’d have to, for her life too would have been dark without her work.
Setting herself the target of tidying her desk, which usually made her feel better, she jumped as though shot when her telephone rang.
‘Princes Street Picture House,’ she intoned. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Jess, is that you?’ she heard a man’s voice say, and before he’d given his name had recognized it. ‘This is John Syme speaking. Can you spare a minute?’
‘Certainly, John,’ she replied. ‘Only too happy.’
Thirty-Six
‘Well, well, Jess, that’s something, isn’t it?’
Ben, acting the perfect host for Marguerite’s family visiting his father’s house, was smiling, though keeping his eyebrows raised. ‘Manager of the Princes, at your age! Amazing.’
‘I told you in one of my letters that she’d been made manager,’ Marguerite said sharply. ‘No need to look so surprised.’
‘That was temporary, though. This is permanent. Makes a difference.’
‘It does,’ Addie chimed in. ‘I think she’s done very well.’
‘And so do I,’ Mr Daniel agreed, with a smile for Jess. ‘You’ve obviously impressed those bosses, eh?’
‘Not all of ’em,’ Jess felt constrained to admit. ‘It was Mr Syme who wanted me to get the job. I suppose there wasn’t a lot of choice.’
‘Now, don’t run yourself down,’ Addie told her. ‘They wouldn’t have appointed you if you weren’t right.’ She stood up and looked across to Marguerite. ‘Want me to give you a hand with that fish pie, pet?’
‘Oh, yes, please, Ma,’ Marguerite cried. ‘I thought you’d never ask!’
When Jess was left alone with Ben and his father, she looked around the little front room, and politely remarked on its pleasantness. Privately, she was surprised that Marguerite had not so far left her mark on a room so carefully furnished by her late mother-in-law. But then she hadn’t had much time to do anything before joining up, and also wouldn’t want to upset Ben’s father. No doubt he wanted to keep all the antimacassars embroidered by his wife, and her choice of framed lithographs, artificial flowers and enough ornaments to set up a shop. Yet, Jess had been sincere when she’d said the room was pleasant. There was an atmosphere of a couple’s shared affection here which still lingered, though only one half of the couple remained; the sort of atmosphere Jess, in fact, rather envied.
‘How are things with Rusty?’ Ben asked, coming to sit next to her on the sofa, while his father nodded in his chair. ‘Isn’t he due to finish his course soon?’
‘Yes, quite soon. He’s been doing very well.’
Ben lit a cigarette. ‘Met a chap from Kenlin the other day who knows him. Said he was a good guy.’
‘So he is.’
‘But this chap mentioned he hadn’t seemed so fit lately. OK on the job, but a bit – you know – nervy off it.’
Jess looked away from Ben’s intent gaze. ‘I don’t know why he should’ve said that. Rusty’s fine.’
‘That’s good, then. I’m glad to hear it.’
‘I tell you, that fellow doesn’t know what he’s talking about!’
‘Yes, all right, he got it wrong.’ Ben hesitated a moment. ‘But, if you should ever need any help, Jess, remember, you’ve got a brother now.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Ben, but why should I need help?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose everybody needs help, the way things are. We’re so alone, aren’t we? Now that France has fallen, who�
�s left? Hitler’s going to step up this bombing, you know. It’ll be the cities next.’
‘You weren’t talking about the bombing just then, though, were you?’
‘Well, you’ve had experience of it.’
She raised her eyes to his. ‘Why don’t you say straight out what’s worrying you?’
Again, he hesitated.
‘Seems, in fact, I’ve rather worried you. Didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. All I wanted to say was that if ever you do need a friendly shoulder and I’m home, you can count on mine.’
‘But you’re being posted down south, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right, but I’ll get leave.’
‘I hope you’ll be all right,’ she said quietly.
‘As a matter of fact, I’m looking forward to it.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘I’ve got over not being aircrew, you know. Planes in the sky need work on the ground, and chaps like me can do it.’
‘Of course you can!’ she cried. ‘I bet you’ll be rocketing up the promotion lists in no time!’
His expression softened. ‘So I’ve been told. But, what’s it matter? We all do what we can, don’t we?’ He stubbed out his cigarette and rose. ‘I see Dad’s waking up, and I’m starving – don’t know about you? Shall we find out what Marguerite and your ma are doing in the kitchen?’
After the evening had passed very pleasantly and they’d all enjoyed Marguerite’s meal – ‘Ma’s’, really,’ she’d said modestly, ‘I only found the cod.’ – Ben walked Addie and Jess to the tram stop where they kissed him goodbye. He was leaving the next day.
‘Take care,’ Addie said, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘Come back safely to Marguerite, eh?’
‘You bet. And you two look after yourselves as well.’ He glanced at Jess. ‘Hope all goes well for Rusty,’ he murmured. ‘Drop me a line if you’ve time.’
‘I will,’ she promised, watching him walk away, waving, but as she waved too, her heart was heavy in her breast. He knows, she thought. He knows about Rusty. He didn’t put it into words, but she could tell he knew, all the same. That was why he’d asked her to call on him if she needed help. But how could she do that? How could she talk about Rusty’s problems with Ben?