by Anne Douglas
‘You could say that.’
‘Have you given any more thought to that job at the Citadel? Don’t fancy following Ben Daniel, for example? I must say, I wasn’t too pleased to hear he’d jumped the gun and got himself a job in Glasgow. Now your husband will have to try to cope on his own in the projection box until we close.’
‘Yes, well, I might look at the details,’ Jess said hoarsely. ‘Though I’m no’ sure what I want to do at the moment.’
And that’s no lie, she thought sombrely.
Back in her office, she read through the particulars of the job at the Citadel. The salary was good, but the picture of the cinema was dreary. Just a large, characterless building dating from the late 1930s, but not even art deco in style. Not in any style at all, unless you could say functional. Some of the Glasgow cinemas were very attractive, if not, of course, as attractive as the Princes, but this was not one of them.
And then there was the drawback of being only assistant manager, instead of manager, with the manager being an unknown quantity. Might be nice, might be awful. Did she want to work for someone else, anyway, when she’d been used to making her own decisions, running the cinema her way?
Of course, even if she applied for the job, she might not get it, and when her heart lifted at the idea of not getting it, she put the particulars away. She would not be applying to work at the Citadel, and that was final.
Glancing at her clock, she saw that it was time for the intermission and Ben’s tea break, which meant he would be looking in – something he’d lately taken to doing, disregarding Edie’s stares. Sure enough, his tap came on the door, and he slid in, closing the door behind him and coming to take her in his arms.
‘Well, how did it go with old Syme?’ he asked, releasing her. ‘You’re not looking too happy, so I guess there was no good news?’
Relieved that he had not asked her again about speaking to Rusty, Jess filled him in on what would be happening to the Princes, carefully omitting any mention of possible bonuses.
‘H’m, that’s a let-down, eh? Bringing the closing date forward from Christmas? Just what I’d expected, though. How about the demolition men? Are they coming any earlier?’
In spite of her efforts, tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
‘After Hogmanay,’ she said thickly. ‘And before that, everything will be sold, even the organ. Poor Trevor, he’ll be crying, like me.’
‘Oh, Jess!’ Ben held her tightly. ‘I won’t rest till you’re out of here and all this nightmare’s over. Come to Glasgow, sweetheart, come to Glasgow with me. Did you find out any more about the Citadel job?’
‘I don’t want it, Ben, I really don’t want it. Look, I got the details. Here’s a photo. It’s no’ me, is it? I could never work in a place like that.’
Ben studied the picture. ‘Well, I don’t know, Jess, it’s not too bad. Good size and modern. It would probably adapt well to the new screens.’
‘Is that all that matters? I couldn’t consider it.’
‘Even as a temporary measure? Until something more attractive turned up?
‘I might have to wait for ages. I couldn’t risk it.’
‘OK, though you might want to have another think about it when you feel better.’ Ben quickly kissed her wet cheeks. ‘I mean, does it matter where you work, as long as we can see each other?’
‘It matters to me!’
‘Yes, of course. Sorry. I’m just wanting to make sure you join me. Look, I’ll have to go. We’ll meet tomorrow, shall we, and talk?’
‘All right.’ She watched him go, then wiped her eyes and threw the details of the Citadel job into her waste-paper basket, just as Edie came in with a cup of tea.
‘Why, Jess, what’s wrong? Has something upset you?’
‘No more than usual. It’s just a cold, Edie. Nothing to worry about.’
‘If you say, so,’ Edie murmured, backing out, while Jess drank her tea and attempted to recover herself.
Sixty-Seven
Jess left work at seven that evening, deciding that she’d done enough. Ben was on late shift, Rusty probably in one of his haunts; she was free to sit on a bench in the evening sunshine, looking across to the Princes. Where she could think.
Something heavy was weighing round her heart, and it was not just to do with the demise of that dear cinema over there. For a while she didn’t want to face what it might be, but slowly, slowly, she let herself admit it. The burden was to do with herself and Ben.
At first, their relationship that had so suddenly taken off, bursting across her sky like some amazing shooting star, had seemed wonderful. Thrilling. Carrying her from her old life to something new, something she’d really wanted. But it had come to her, only that day, with fearful truth, that she didn’t want it any more. Didn’t want to take the job at the Citadel. Didn’t want to have her own flat and risk sharing Ben’s. Didn’t at all want to go to Glasgow.
How terrible, how fickle! But she knew the fault wasn’t only hers. Ben claimed to love her, wanting her to go to Glasgow, come what may. Even not minding that if she took the Citadel job, she would hate it. Even concealing at first that until a prohibiting law was changed, they couldn’t hope to get married.
Why was he doing this? She had the strongest feeling now that he was doing it because of Marguerite. Perhaps trying to prove to her that he could be just as happy with her sister as he’d ever been with her. How much she must have hurt him! There was no way he could have got over her and felt so strongly for Jess, she’d been foolish to think so. It was true, she did care for him, special man of the past that he was, but, sitting on the bench in Princes Street, looking into her own mind, she knew now that the feeling she had for him was not enough. Not enough to go with him where he wanted to go. Not enough to leave Rusty.
Heavens, where had that come from? Was it true? Could it be? Leaping up, she began to hurry towards the Bridges to catch her tram, her thoughts in fresh turmoil.
After all that had gone wrong between them, after he’d become so different from the Rusty she’d married, was it possible he was still the one for her? It seemed hard to believe, yet the fact remained, she hadn’t been able to tell him about herself and Ben. She hadn’t even been able to hint that she might be thinking of leaving him. And that could only be because, in her heart, she’d known all along that she didn’t want to.
Gradually, as she waited at the tram stop, all the problems connected with taking on Ben and going to Glasgow began to melt away, and she was filled with a wonderfully intense relief. She was free. Free of an intolerable burden she’d placed on her own back. So free, she left the stop and began to walk with amazing energy all the way to Newington. Over the Bridges, into Nicolson Street, into Clerk Street, moving fast as though on wings.
She would have to tell Ben, of course, that she’d changed her mind, and whatever his motives in wanting her, she was going to feel bad about it. First, Marguerite, now Marguerite’s sister, had let him down. How he would hate them both! But there was nothing to be done. She’d made a mistake and had only just avoided making another, even more serious than the first. If there’d been a church handy, maybe she’d have gone in and sent up a prayer of gratitude.
There was a church, but she didn’t go in, for her eye had been caught by a small building off Clerk Street that seemed vaguely familiar. There was a notice on its door that read ‘Dependency Helpline – all welcome’, and then of course she remembered. This was where Rusty had come once to please her, but had not stayed.
What made her push open the door and go in, she didn’t know, but when a friendly, middle-aged woman in the vestibule gave her an enquiring smile, she heard herself say, ‘I thought I might just look in for a moment, if that’s all right?’
‘Of course, my dear, this is an open meeting. Visitors are welcome.’
‘Shall I just go in?’
‘If it’s your first time, perhaps you’d like me to take you? We have a speaker on his feet at present, but
I think he’s nearly finished. We’ve already had a prayer and gone through the steps to be taken to achieve freedom from addiction. Another time, we could go through those with you.’
‘Oh, but I’m no’ addicted!’ Jess cried, and the woman’s smile was kindly.
‘I think I hear our second speaker taking the floor. Shall we go in together?’
‘Yes, please!’ Jess said, trembling, for she too had heard the new voice and knew it well. It was Rusty’s.
He was standing in front of a circle of people sitting on wooden chairs. He looked pale, but composed, and even from her distance away, she could tell that his remarkable eyes were as bright as when she’d first known him.
‘My name is Russell,’ she had already heard him say. Now he was continuing, ‘And I think . . . I hope . . . that I am recovering from my addiction. When I spoke to you before, I believe I told you that I’d begun to have a problem when I was in the RAF, but I wouldn’t admit it. When the war was over, I still had a problem, because I could only face the world after a drink. There was someone who cared for me, who tried to make me get help, and I came here, but I couldn’t stay. It was only when I knew I had to try again or lose everything, that I came back and found the way to peace with myself. That’s all I can say at present. I hope to speak to you again soon.’
‘Thank you, Russell,’ someone said, and someone else stood up and said there would be a topic put forward for discussion, but by then Rusty’s eyes were wide on Jess and he was running towards her, hands outstretched.
‘Jess?’ he whispered. ‘You’re here? You’ve found me?’
It all seemed a little unreal after that, with Rusty making his goodbyes to a tall, grey-haired man he said was his mentor and the friendly woman at the door he called June, and then he and Jess were in the street and Jess was shedding tears. Which were real enough.
‘Oh, Rusty, I’m so sorry, I never knew you’d been trying to give up drinking. I never knew you’d been coming here.’
‘Been coming for some time. Knew I had to.’ His voice was low. ‘If I’d any chance . . . of keeping you.’
‘Oh, Rusty, why didn’t you tell me? It would have meant so much . . .’
‘I wanted to wait until I was sure it was going to work.’
‘I could have helped.’ Jess put her hankie to her eyes. ‘But I didn’t realize, and I’ve been . . . well, I’ve been . . . so foolish . . . I can’t tell you . . .’
‘Ssh.’ He put his hand over her lips, as they walked together towards home. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything.’
‘You know?’
‘All I know is you don’t have to tell me anything. If we’ve both done things we regret, the slate’s clean now. We start again. Agreed?’
She knew she didn’t need to speak.
As soon as they reached home, it was as though they were on honeymoon. They went at once to bed, slipping out of their clothes and making love as they’d never made it before, afterwards lying together, not talking, just being content. After moving so far apart, to be again as one was like living some amazing dream that was still continuing after waking.
Eventually, of course, they felt hungry and cooked the bacon ration and the last two eggs, drank tea, and seemed as blissfully content still, until Rusty said quietly, ‘Think we can make it work this time, Jess? I know it will depend on me.’
‘There are two of us, Rusty. It won’t just depend on you.’
‘I’ve given you a rough time.’
‘I should have been more understanding.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘And I’ve a lot to be sorry for.’
‘We said the slate was clean, didn’t we?
‘Oh, Rusty, we did!’
After a long relieved embrace, they moved to easier matters. The time had come, Rusty said, to spend his father’s house money on a place of their own in Edinburgh, if they could find one. And maybe think about a family?
‘Is the time right for that too, Jess?’
‘Think it might be. But you’ll need a job.’
‘I’m considering television.’
‘Television!’
‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. There are courses I could do, for television engineers. And maybe you might think of one?’
‘As an engineer?’ She laughed.
‘As a producer, or something in that line. I’ve heard there are courses for that sort of thing too, and you’d be good.’
‘After I’ve had my family, of course?’ She laughed again, and flung her arms around him. ‘Oh, Rusty, whatever we do, we’ll be together, that’s what matters. It’s taken us a long time to learn that lesson, eh?’
‘It’s in my head now,’ he said seriously. ‘But thank God you found me tonight.’
‘Rusty, I’d have found you anyway. It was all I wanted to do.’
Later, her thoughts turned to Ben, for her conscience still pricked her. She hoped he wouldn’t be too upset, and somehow was sure he wouldn’t be. He’d been hurt, but not by her, and time was the only thing for healing. Perhaps she owed him something, anyway, for he had pointed her on the way back to real happiness. And glancing at Rusty, washing up and whistling, she dearly wanted Ben, hero of her youth, to find it too.
Sixty-Eight
It was a Sunday in January, the day before the demolition men were due. Huddled together at the glass entrance doors of the Princes cinema, chilled figures waited for the Keys and Keys representative to arrive to let them in. For a last look round, they’d said. By which they meant, a last goodbye.
‘He’s late,’ Jess said, standing with her arm in Rusty’s, next to her mother and Derry. ‘Wouldn’t he be?’
‘Sunday morning,’ Addie answered, rubbing her cold nose. ‘He’ll have wanted his lie-in.’
‘At least he’s letting us look round,’ George Hawthorne murmured. ‘Couldn’t bear not seeing the old place for the last time.’
‘As long as you don’t catch pneumonia!’ Daisy cried, tucking his scarf closer into his coat collar.
‘I think this is him coming now,’ Trevor whispered, as a tall young man in a long overcoat and trilby hat came strolling towards them.
‘Morning everybody, sorry I’m late,’ the young man said cheerfully. ‘I’m Fergus Henderson from Keys and Keys, all set to let you in. Everybody ready?’
‘We’re ready,’ Jess said with cold lips, and watched with the others as he opened the entrance door and stood back. ‘How long have we got?’
‘Reckon an hour should do it, don’t you? It’ll be cold in there.’ He grinned. ‘And there’s no coffee.’
‘That’s where he’s wrong,’ Sally murmured and patted her carrier bag. ‘I’ve got a couple of flasks in here.’
‘And so have I,’ Addie said.
‘Addie’s always prepared,’ Derry murmured fondly. ‘Must have been a Girl Guide.’
Jess said nothing, as she watched everyone filing in. Edie, Fred and Gus; Renie, Edna and Faith; Joan, Pam, Kate and Ruthie from the cafe; Mrs Watts and Vera, the cleaners; Sally and Arnold, with young Magnus jumping ahead; and Netta, sneezing already. No Marguerite, who’d just said it wasn’t for her, and no Ben, of course, though he’d sent a card saying he’d be thinking of everyone on that last morning. He and Jess had parted on better terms than she’d hoped for, perhaps because he’d realised, as she had, that what they’d had was never real. It had been a great relief to her that he was willing to keep in touch, and was doing well in his new post.
‘You coming?’ cried Addie, looking back, and Jess, with Rusty, stepped through the glass doors.
How it hit her like a blow! The coldness of it all, the emptiness. No photographs lining the walls, no carpets, no flowers. And in the auditorium, no organ, no curtains, only rows and rows of empty seats and the vacant screen. Everything hushed, covered in dust, like a tomb somebody had opened after many, many years.
Yet it wasn’t long since there’d been a film on that screen – Miracle on 34th Street – which Jess had once thought of scree
ning at Christmas, it being a sweet, sentimental Christmas story, but it had turned out to be instead their very last showing. All the patrons, sitting on those now empty seats, had loved it. They’d said so. Said it had been a terrible shame, that the Princes was going under. But they knew there was nothing anyone could do.
‘How are you feeling?’ Rusty asked gently.
‘Stunned.’
‘Poor Jess. I’m going along to see the projection room. Somebody’s already bought the equipment.’
‘And the organ,’ Trevor sighed. ‘I’ve got another job in Portobello, but I’m going to miss my Wurlitzer. How long will I last?’
‘I’ll stay here,’ Jess told Rusty.
She didn’t add that she would be listening to the voices. But voices there were, all around her.
‘Good morning, ladies, and welcome to the Princes . . . I’m Sally Dollar . . . what’s your name, dear? Jessica Raeburn . . . Any chance of a coffee? I’m Russell MacVail, always known as Rusty . . . Miss Raeburn, please . . . If you want the job, it’s yours . . .’
Tears pricked her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. There could be no point in tears now.
‘Remember when I told you to nip into the circle?’ Sally was asking. ‘You looked so scared, as though you’d no right! Now what was that film you saw?’
‘It was Jezebel,’ Edna told her, grinning. ‘Funny how you remember these things, eh?’
‘Strange,’ Jess agreed, though it seemed to her only natural to remember everything about the Princes, and she knew she always would.
‘Like to go and see the office?’ George was asking, but when she shook her head, he said no, he didn’t want to see it either.
‘Come and have some coffee!’ cried Daisy, who was another to have brought a Thermos, and then Addie and Sally, and Joan Baxter, too, produced theirs, graciously offering Mr Henderson a cup, and everyone stood in the foyer, trying to warm themselves up, knowing it was time to go.
‘Seen enough?’ asked Mr Henderson, swinging his keys, as Edie burst into tears, and Renie sniffed and Netta sneezed.