by Anne Forsyth
UNDER THE BRIDGES
UNDER THE BRIDGES
Anne Forsyth
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available
This eBook published by AudioGO Ltd, Bath, 2012
Published by arrangement with the Author
Epub ISBN 9781471302886
U.K. Hardcover ISBN 978 1 408 45796 2
U.K. Softcover ISBN 978 1 408 45797 9
Copyright © Anne Forsyth 2008
All rights reserved.
Cover illustration © iStockphoto.com
‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t agree with you at all!’ Miss McAllister stirred her tea vigorously.
‘Please yourself, lass.’ The man’s face crinkled into a smile as he poured milk on to the bowl of porridge Nancy had set in front of him.
‘And don’t call me “lass”,’ she said, a little sharply.
‘I beg your pardon, miss,’ he said emphasising the word.
Nancy drew in her breath. Why did her two lodgers always have to argue like this, and always at the breakfast table?
‘I’m sure you’re both right,’ she said hastily.
The big man with the weather-beaten complexion smiled at her. Nancy liked Walter Logan. Tough and hard-bitten he might be—well, of course he was! He was a bridge builder, and he’d worked on bridges all over the world. And now he was one of the foremen on the building of the new Forth Road Bridge.
Nancy remembered when he’d first come to stay.
‘Bed and breakfast would suit me fine, Mrs Mackay,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve stayed in hotels all over the world. Now I just want to live in a real home for a bit.’
‘In that case,’ she’d said with her warm smile, ‘you’ll be wanting an evening meal as well.’
‘Wouldn’t it be too much trouble?’
‘Not in the least,’ she’d assured him. ‘I’m cooking for my husband, Joe—he’s on the ferries. And Matt, our boy, he’s a trainee welder on the bridge. Then there’s Lorna, our daughter, she works in Dunfermline, and Roy—he’s our youngest, still at primary, and Miss McAllister . . .’
Sometimes she forgot about Miss McAllister, she was so quiet and unobtrusive. A teacher at a primary school, she’d moved into digs with the Mackay family a year ago.
‘I looked after my grandmother,’ she’d told Nancy. ‘But her house was demolished when they started to build the bridge. She went into a home . . .’
‘You’ll be welcome here,’ Nancy had said gently. And the pale, dark-haired young woman gave her a grateful look.
Now, as her lodgers sat at the breakfast table on this bright early September morning, she overheard them talking—and arguing. Shona McAllister could be very determined—and as for Walter, he liked a good argument, Nancy thought wryly.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ she said, as she refilled the teapot.
‘You make a grand bowl of porridge, Mrs Mackay,’ Walter Logan said with the smile that always warmed her heart. He was a fine man, she thought.
Oh, no! She sighed as she saw him turn to the young teacher who was buttering her slice of toast with an air of deep concentration.
‘I don’t think, Mr Logan,’ Miss McAllister began, ‘that you have any inkling what my grandmother went through. That cottage was her home. She’d lived there all her life. I know we need the road bridge, but—’ She gulped ‘. . . But it was so hard. You—you—men don’t understand . . .’
‘Aye,’ the big man said slowly. ‘But I’ve been in bridge building all my life, all over the world—Australia, America, you name it—and there’s always someone who loses out.’
‘Oh!’ Miss McAllister was speechless.
* * *
Nancy shrugged as she laid a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages in front of Walter. He looked up at her with a smile.
‘You know how to feed a man, Mrs Mackay,’ he said.
‘Hearty fare—that keeps you going up there on the bridge.’
It was nice to be appreciated, Nancy thought. Not that Joe and young Matt were unappreciative. Matt had polished off a large plate of bacon and eggs only half an hour ago, and she had waved him goodbye.
‘Take care of yourself,’ she’d said, as she always did.
Matt had grinned and nodded towards the foreman. Oh, he was handsome, this big lad of hers, Nancy thought. If only—but there was no point in wishing. Matt enjoyed his job. It was all he’d ever wanted to do.
The big man finished his breakfast and drained a second cup of tea.
‘Well, this won’t get the bridge built.’ He laughed and rose from the table, picking up his thick donkey jacket.
‘Usual time this evening, Mrs Mackay?’
Nancy nodded.
‘See and take care of yourself now,’ she said, in an echo of the words she’d said to her son.
Walter paused on the doorstep, glancing up at the sky to see what the weather promised, and made his way down the street. It was grand, he thought, to have someone caring about you, like his kindly landlady. Someone who treated you like one of her own, who minded whether you were safe or not.
Back at the house, Nancy began to clear the table.
Miss McAllister pushed a stray dark curl out of her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed after the argument with Walter.
‘I’d like to be in early today. We’ve the inspectors coming next week.’
‘Miss McAllister . . .’ Nancy paused. She thought how pretty the girl looked, and how fresh in her crisply starched white cotton blouse. ‘He doesn’t mean anything, Mr Logan. He couldn’t help what happened to your grandmother, after all.’
‘I know.’ The girl looked a little ashamed of herself. ‘It’s just that—well, Gran was old, and I’d said I’d stay there and take care of her. Then all of a sudden—well, it seemed sudden—she was put out of her house. Oh, the home was comfortable, and they were kind, but it was a big upheaval. I know I’m being unreasonable, but people like him, they have a job to do—they don’t care about people’s feelings.’
‘I’m sure . . .’ Nancy began, then there was a clatter of feet on the stairs.
‘Mum, have you seen my homework jotter?’
‘Oh, Roy.’ Nancy was beginning to feel exasperated. The day had begun badly with the argument between the foreman and Miss McAllister. And now here was Roy. Her nine-year-old skidded to a stop on the linoleum, and looked a bit shamefaced.
‘It will be where you left it,’ Nancy pointed out. ‘You’d lose your head if it wasn’t fixed to your shoulders.’
Miss McAllister smiled as she gathered her things together. Roy wasn’t in her class—not yet.
‘Mum, I’m going to be late!’ The slim, brown-haired girl who stood in the doorway glared at Nancy. ‘I told you to wake me! And now I won’t have time for breakfast.’
‘Then that’s your look-out, my girl,’ Nancy said as calmly as she could. ‘There’s cereal, and toast . . .’
‘I haven’t got time,’ the girl said crossly. ‘And I’m out tonight—to the pictures,’ she called over her shoulder. She flung out of the house without saying goodbye.
Nancy looked after her daughter with a sigh. Oh, why, when the boys were so easy, was Lorna such a problem?
* * *
‘Come away in, Grandpa!’ Nancy beamed at her father-in-law. It had been a hectic day but somehow seeing him always made her feel calm and cheerful again.
‘I’m not in your way?’
‘You? Never.’ Nancy took the old man’s hat and stick. ‘In you go, and take a seat at the fire. You’ll stay for your tea?’
‘Depends what it is.’
It was a standing joke between them, with William pretending to be choosy.
‘Mince and tatties. Walter’s favourite.’
‘Mine, t
oo. My Jessie made a grand plate of mince.’
Nancy put her hand gently on his arm. She knew he missed his lively, sunny-tempered wife, but he was coping well on his own, and was fiercely independent.
* * *
Now he sat down by the fire in the living-room and warmed his hands at the cheerful blaze. Although it was still late summer, the early September nights could be chilly.
‘I walked down to see how the bridge was coming on,’ he said.
Nancy hid a smile. Her father-in-law took a personal pride in the bridge. She enjoyed listening to his memories—he’d been a young boy when the Forth rail bridge was built.
‘Maybe that’s what made me want to be an engineer,’ he’d once told her. He’d wanted to go to the technical college but he’d had to leave school early, to help support a widowed mother. That’s when he went to work on the estate near Limekilns.
Not that he ever complained about missed opportunities. William enjoyed working in the open air—and he knew a lot about birds and animals. He was one of the most cheerful, uncomplaining people she’d ever met, Nancy thought fondly.
‘So what else have you been doing?’ she asked.
‘Oh, just pottering about the garden. I’ll have some good onions for the Inverkeithing Show. And I lifted the carrots before they split. Oh, and I got some grand hyacinth bulbs the other day. Ninepence each, really good quality. It’s best to get them potted up now.’
‘I always mean to buy them as soon as they’re in the shops,’ Nancy confessed with a smile. ‘I even passed Ferguson’s when I was up in Dunfermline and I clean forgot.’
‘I’ll plant some for you,’ the old man offered. ‘Keep them in the cool and dark, that’s the secret.’
Nancy laid a hand on his arm.
‘That’s good of you, William.’
‘So where’s Joe? He’s late tonight.’
Nancy glanced at the clock. ‘He’ll not be long. And Walter’s due in soon.’
‘Grandpa!’ Lorna burst into the living room.
‘My, you’re a sight for sore eyes, lassie,’ the old man said, beaming at her.
Lorna flung off her coat and sank down on a stool before the fire. ‘I’ve had an awful day. Just because I was late back from my dinner break, the supervisor told me I had to work extra time.’
‘And why not?’ Joe, following Lorna into the living-room, overheard his daughter’s complaints. ‘How would it be if I took extra time for my dinner? The ferry would never run to a schedule.’
He spoke mildly enough but Lorna flared up. ‘Oh, I might have known you’d say that. You’re always on at me.’
‘Lorna,’ Nancy said firmly. ‘Now don’t be long tidying up. The tea’s nearly on the table. ’
‘And then come and help your mother,’ Joe put in.
Lorna glared at him and flounced out.
Nancy sighed. Were her family always to be quarrelling like this? Thank goodness for cheerful, imperturbable Matt!
‘Miss McAllister’s going out for a meal, and Walter and Matt will be in shortly,’ Nancy said as she spread a bright gingham cloth on the table.
William brightened up. He enjoyed talking to Walter about the bridge, and reliving his own memories of the rail bridge. He liked hearing about the men who worked on the bridge—like a family, really, Walter had told him. Some of them had worked on bridges all over the world.
‘You’ll hear lots of different accents up on the catwalk,’ he’d told the old man.
* * *
‘Here he is!’
The foreman put his head round the door.
‘Good to see you, Mr Mackay. I’ll just get cleaned up and be with you in a minute.’
‘Mince and tatties,’ Nancy told him, ‘with plenty of onion.’
‘Smells grand.’ He gave her a broad grin.
Coming downstairs, he almost bumped into Shona McAllister.
‘Sorry!’
‘Excuse me.’ She tried to sidestep him.
‘Just a moment.’ Walter barred her way.
‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m in a hurry,’ she said politely, but keeping her distance.
‘I won’t detain you. It’s just—well, I maybe spoke out of turn this morning at breakfast-time, about your gran’s cottage.’
‘Not at all.’ Shona was still frosty.
‘Working on the bridges all these years, as I said—someone’s always going to lose out. It’s hard, but there it is. ’
‘As you say, there it is.’
‘But I know you were fond of your gran and it was a shame she had to move.’
‘Yes, she did,’ Shona said roughly, ‘to an old people’s home. From the cottage she’d come to when she was married.’ She gave him a searching look. ‘It broke her heart, Mr Logan.’
‘I’m sorry. But it wasn’t in my hands to halt the building.’
‘There were other sites,’ she flared up. ‘It didn’t have to be the Mackintosh Rock site.’
‘But it was the best site,’ he insisted. ‘They spent years deciding. It was just hard luck that your gran’s cottage was . . .well, in the way.’
‘Hard luck, eh?’ she said bitterly. ‘I grew up in that cottage, after my parents died. I haven’t got a home any more.’
‘You’re kind of sorry for yourself, aren’t you?’ he said, suddenly exasperated. ‘I’ve apologised. I can’t do any more.’
‘Then we must agree to differ. You’ll excuse me. I’m going out this evening.’
He stood aside, watching the slim figure as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Oh well, he’d done his best. He sighed. There was nothing worse than a chilly atmosphere, especially when you were sitting across the table from someone. Still, if that was the way she wanted it . . .
* * *
William was waiting eagerly. He enjoyed hearing from Walter about work on the bridge. Matt had come in and was having a wash before sitting down to dinner.
‘I saw the first one—the rail bridge—being built, you know,’ William said, drawing on his pipe.
Walter had heard the story before but he listened patiently.
‘I was just a lad at the school in Dunfermline,’ William continued. ‘But my brother and me, every chance we got, we were down to see how the bridge was getting on.’
‘And were you at the opening?’
‘Of course I was!’ The old man’s eyes brightened at the memory. ‘In 1890 it was. All the workers in Dunfermline had a day off that day. And the railway ran special trains from Dunfermline to Queensferry, drawn by wee engines. I’ve never seen so many folk. Dunfermline was empty!’
His eyes twinkled as he looked back over seventy years. ‘But oh, what a grand day. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.’
‘And I’ll be at the opening of the new bridge,’ he added. ‘And I’ll walk over it.’ He winked at Walter.
‘Well, that’ll be in 1964,’ Walter grinned. ‘Weather permitting.’
‘Aye, that’s the problem,’ William nodded wisely. ‘You can make your plans, but you can’t reckon on the weather.’
‘I’ve worked on bridges all over the world,’ said Walter. ‘But I’ve never seen anything like the weather on the Forth. Rain, sleet, hail—and the high winds. When the wind rises, you have to walk extra carefully, and keep your donkey jacket buttoned up, else it might act as a sail.’
* * *
Matt stopped eating and laid down his knife and fork. ‘I heard there was nearly a bad accident last week.’
Walter glanced across the table at Nancy.
‘Aye, there was.’
‘What happened?’ Grandpa asked, interested.
‘One lad slipped and his mate was about to grab his sleeve. Then he realised his hands were greasy—they’d been greasing the bolts, you see. So he shouted to his pal to hold on, while he wiped his hands. Then he stretched out his hand and pulled his mate safely back. It took a lot of courage that, and a cool head. There’s many a story like that—lads who don’t think about their ow
n risk, only about saving their pals.’
‘Real heroes.’ Grandpa nodded.
‘Do you never get frightened, Mr Logan?’ young Roy asked, his eyes wide.
‘It wouldn’t do, lad.’ Walter turned to him. ‘You couldn’t do this job if you were scared of heights. If you’re walking across a two foot beam with the whole of the Forth beneath you, you need to have your wits about you.’
‘I might want to do that when I grow up,’ said young Roy. ‘If I’m not a spaceman.’ His eyes shone. ‘Like Gagarin.’
Yuri Gagarin’s space flight the year before had made him a hero to millions of youngsters.
‘It’ll be years yet,’ he added gloomily. ‘It’s a waste of time staying at school—doing sums, and grammar, and the like.’
‘They’ll still be building bridges when you’ve grown,’ Walter promised him with a smile. ‘And who knows about space travel?’
‘Excuse me.’ Nancy got up from the table and went into the kitchen.
She clutched the edge of the sink, feeling it cool under her hand, and gazed out of the window. There was no-one on the bridge now, but the wind was rising, and she saw the trees at the end of the garden beginning to sway.
She looked out unseeingly, trying to quell the feelings of panic inside her. Matt! Suppose it had been Matt!
There was a footstep behind her, and an arm went gently around her shoulder.
‘Are you all right?’ her husband asked gently.
‘Of course I’m all right,’ said Nancy, with a sharpness that was unusual for her.
But Joe knew what she was thinking.
‘It’s what Matt wants, love,’ he said soothingly. ‘Try not to worry about him. They’ve a good safety record on the bridge.’
‘I know.’ Nancy’s voice trembled. ‘But whenever I think . . . I hate to hear about the dangers up there.’
‘Ssh . . .’ Joe held her for a moment.
Nancy gave herself a little shake.
‘I’m just being silly. Imagining things. Now I’d better get on—it’s apple crumble for pudding. Grandpa’s favourite.’
She took the dish out of the oven. ‘Will you take the plates in for me?’
But as she served the pudding, and offered a jug of custard round the table, Nancy’s thoughts were elsewhere. Out in the Forth, where the wind was whipping the water into white-crested waves.