She splashed cold water over her face and looked at it in the glorious mirror. It was Kate Inglis, wife of the war-wounded Charlie and mother of wee Patrick who looked back at her and not ‘Kate Inglis Bakeries’. Kate was delighted to see her. ‘You were almost daft for a minute there, Kate,’ she told her reflection.
‘My car will take you to the bus station,’ said Mr McDonald as he handed her the business plan. ‘I’ll be down for your answer in two weeks, Mrs Inglis. It’s been a pleasure.’
She must have thanked him as she must have added something to the conversation at lunch but she could never remember having said a word. And now here she was sitting in a motor car and what Charlie would say when she arrived at the bus station she could not imagine.
Charlie said nothing but handed her a sobbing, soaked baby. ‘I’ll get myself a piece and a cup of tea if your ladyship has enough time to attend to yer wean.’
It wasn’t fair, of course it wasn’t fair. She looked at the public clock. How could she have spent so long with Mr McDonald? There was barely enough time to attend to the baby before the last bus. She sat in the lavatory and pushed her aching breast into Patrick’s hungry little face and as usual his eagerness to suckle made her laugh. Poor wee lambie. Was it a bad mammy to leave you alone while she had her fancy luncheon with a city gentleman . . . and your poor daddy. But he knew it would take a while, Patrick, and he said it would be all right. Ach, but who would like to sit in a place like this for three hours with a crying baby – she bent to kiss his downy little head – except your mammy, lambie. I’ll make it up to yer daddy. Wait till he hears about yon grand office. Office; a palace more like and now Mammy’s got to think about the business plan and talk about it with Daddy.
But Charlie had no interest in the business plan. ‘I’m exhausted, Kate. Let me sleep,’ he complained as the bus drew out of the city and sought the road to Ayr.
Kate saw the greyness in his face and felt guilty again. Business plan, she thought to herself. We’re living nicely on the earnings now and Charlie’s getting better. What if he should have a relapse because of me? She remembered the words beautifully printed out on the crisp sheets of white paper . . . new premises, more bakers, weekly deliveries to Ayr, Thornhill, Dumfries, building up to deliveries to Glasgow and eventually into England itself. For a moment she saw herself sitting at a desk like Mr McDonald’s, with the glorious painting hanging behind her. Then she looked at what she saw as reality. She was an uneducated girl from the mining village of Auchenbeath. She had been terrified in that office and wouldn’t she always feel out of place in such an office. ‘I could hardly feed you in a grand place like yon, lambie,’ she addressed the sleeping baby and briskly dismissed the thought that Mr McDonald would not have minded at all.
9
DID DR HYSLOP sense that all was not well after the trip to Glasgow? He chatted inconsequentially all the way to the cottage and refused Kate’s offer of some tea.
‘You must all be exhausted,’ he excused himself. ‘A good night’s sleep, or what’s left of the night. You’ll be up at the crack of dawn baking, Kate.’
It was Charlie who answered, bitterly spitting the words out. ‘Afore dawn. Never gets to her bed at all these days, would you believe. Thank you for your kindness, doctor.’ And he went in, leaving Kate to bid the doctor goodnight. The baby lay heavily in her arms so that she felt that any second she would drop him on his little head on the pathway.
‘Was it not a success, Kate?’ Dr Hyslop asked gently. ‘McDonald seemed to have so many plans for you. I hoped for really great things.’
‘Too great maybe. A lot of thinking has to be done, doctor.’
‘Well, don’t think when you’re tired from such a long journey. You should have stayed at a hotel. Get some sleep, Kate.’
She watched him until he had turned the trap and, with a cheery wave of his hand, was headed back down the road.
Charlie was standing in front of the fire which Liam had tended during the day. The bakery fire could not go out or the oven would not be hot enough for the pies in the morning.
Gratefully Kate put the baby in his cot and reached for his clean nightdress.
‘Leave him alone, MRS INGLIS, and attend to me.’
She looked at him in surprise.
‘Get your clothes off, Kate, everything.’
She had never seen Charlie like this before; he had gone mad. There could be no other reason. She was terrified.
‘Damn it, woman, do as you’re told. For once I’ll see what’s hidden under those prim and pretty corsets.’ He looked at her standing there, trembling, half-crying. ‘All right, I’ll do it for you.’
He was not gentle; perhaps he did not know how to be; perhaps if Kate had helped, had tried, but she was physically and mentally exhausted from the events of the day. He pulled her clothes from her shivering body and then he was pushing and pulling her down onto the rug where the firelight cast shadows over her secret, hidden treasures. He drank it all in while she turned her head away, sobbing. His hands, oh, God, it was indecent; would he never stop? There was a moment – his mouth tightly encircled her heavy breast – a spark of pleasure flared at the base of her stomach and, if he had but known, he could have blown up a flame that would have consumed them both, but he did not know the moment existed, and he ground the spark into oblivion as, with a hoarse cry of mingled pain and pleasure, he pushed himself between her shaking thighs and possessed her. When it was over he was aware only of how chilly the room seemed and of how silly he must look collapsed on top of his naked wife with his trousers and drawers around his ankles.
‘Fucking in firelight’s supposed to really turn a woman on,’ he said in an attempt to recapture the bravado he had had a few minutes ago. ‘Get up for God’s sake afore ye catch your death.’ She stood up trying ineffectually to hide herself from him. ‘Make one move for that kettle and, so help me, I’ll belt ye one. I should have done it long ago.’
He pushed her before him into the bedroom and pulled back the blankets. ‘Get yer bloody nightgown on. I’m not away to sully yer body again the night, Madame Business Woman, but you’ll sleep in this bed from now on and you’ll act like a proper wife and mother and no like you were making some great sacrifice for the nation.’
She pulled on her nightgown and stood for a moment by the side of the bed. In the front room the baby began to wail. He was wet and he was hungry. She had to attend to him, no matter what Charlie said.
‘Charlie?’
‘Attend to your precious son,’ sighed Charlie bitterly.
When she was gone he wearily undressed and slipped into the bed. His thoughts went to his wife and child in the next room. Her beautiful breast would be offered to that greedy little mouth and he, he, her lawfully wedded husband was not even allowed to see. He groaned in remembered pleasure and then pain. Why, Kate, why did you make me act like that? I raped my own wife, damn it. Was I punishing her and for what, trying to make our lives better? Or was it because I’m no man; I cannae even provide a decent dry home. She’s taken my right place as breadwinner. Does she think she’s head o’ the house too? Well, I’m still a man. I proved that the night. He turned over and pressed his head into the pillow. Oh, Katie, Katie, I want you to love me, to let me kiss you. He thought of her white trembling body in the firelight and desire rose, swift and hot, in his groin. God, it’s no wrong to want your wife. What did she marry me for? And then he remembered how frightened she had been and all desire for anything but oblivion left him. He felt Kate slip into bed beside him. No need to lie on the edge, Katie darling, he thought, is that not where I am already?
*
Kate did some hard thinking too. She tried to avoid remembering the experience in the front room; Charlie had been angry because he had been alone with the child so long while she had been sitting, with no thought for husband or even child, being feted by Mr McDonald. She determined to show Charlie that she still thought of him as an important part of the family, eve
n if it meant being more . . . welcoming. His quick fumbles at least left most of her body inviolate. Perhaps if she held him while he moved?
When they woke that first morning Charlie had been shamefaced. ‘Forgive me, Kate.’ Echoes of their wedding night.
‘It’s all right, Charlie.’ She looked at him sitting like a bairn that had been belted, head down, afraid to look at the wielder of the strap. ‘I wish I could be more like what you want. I’ll try to . . . to . . . no be so frightened.’
She hurried out into the garden, afraid to say too much too soon. A few minutes later he heard her voice, raised in excitement, calling him.
‘It’s Jessie, Charlie, look she’s come back.’
The brown hen was busily pecking away in her vegetable garden.
‘Would you look there, Kate.’
Under the cabbages, in and out among the Brussels sprouts ran . . . seven, eight, nine little chickens, not yellow chicks, but browns and golds and blacks.
‘Noo, what in the world fathered them?’ asked an incredulous Charlie.
Kate knew. It had to have been her winter visitor, the beautiful pheasant. Everything was going to be fine; she knew it.
‘Do you think you could maybe build a pen, Charlie?’ The day before she would have said, ‘you’ll need to build a pen,’ but things had to change.
Nine months later, Kate had been welcomed back into the Catholic Church and Patrick had been, with the permission of his father, duly baptized. Jessie and four of her children were happily laying eggs in their pen at the bottom of the garden and the other five, all little cockerels, had made fine soup.
Unfortunately, by Kate’s way of thinking, she was also in labour with the child conceived on that night, or was it the next night, or the next? No matter. The pregnancy had been nothing but a nuisance although, thankfully, she had felt well all the way through and had been able to continue with the growing business, for it was growing and Kate was well on the way to becoming a rich woman.
As a peace offering, Charlie had asked to read the business plan. ‘The man’s mad,’ he had said as he finished it. ‘This “high finance” stuff is no for the likes of you, Kate. You’re a wee lassie that left the school afore ye were fourteen. He’s maybe wanting more than your pies.’ He looked at his wife questioningly but it was obvious that she had no idea of what he was thinking. Maybe it had been just excitement that had made her look so, so . . . different that day; her eyes, her skin glowing as they never did for him, sitting in a motor car like a princess of the realm. ‘Delivery vans.’ He started to laugh. ‘Does he know his pies are delivered in a pram? We can paint Kate Inglis Bakeries on the sides to give it a bit class.’
‘Inglis Bakeries, Charlie. We’re partners.’
‘Take it slow, lassie. What about yer bairn? Aye, I thought that would get through.’
‘I would never hurt Patrick. The work’s for him, Charlie.’ She looked at him still unsure, afraid to wound, . . . ‘And for you and me too and, look, I’ve even given my own father work.’
‘Aye, he must be a proud man walking up and down the streets wi’ a pram selling pies.’
‘He’s proud to be earning a wage and paying his own way.’
‘Well, for God’s sake, buy a wee pony and cart, and I’ll take the pram for a wee while till ye can afford a second one, but none o’ this “Elegant, distinctive delivery vans”. What would the village say?’
The thoughts of what the village might say bothered Charlie more than they bothered his wife. At first it had seemed a bit strange when girls she had gone to school with had called her Mrs Inglis when they had come looking for jobs but she had become used to it and accepted it. Then, one or two, assuming a friendship that was not there, just because they had sat side by side in the same classroom, had attempted breezy familiarity.
‘Well, Kate, ye’ve done right well for yersel’. It’ll be grand us working together.’
So easy to smile and respond in kind. Harder to rub her sweating palms against her skirt and straighten her back.
‘Mrs Inglis in the bakery, if you don’t mind.’ And they had flushed and accepted the rebuff for jobs were not going abegging in the 1920s. It was correct, for if she was going to be an employer there had to be a barrier over which no one could tread. It would make working relationships easier. None of them had been friends after all. When she thought back to the long-ago days of her schooling she realized that, even then, she had been too busy with her brothers and sisters to make friends.
‘If we’re taking on more bakers, you’d best get on with your two carts, Charlie.’ Remember, remember, he is a partner and must always be consulted.
They said nothing of the new premises idea that had been in the business plan and since the thought of a ‘real’ bakery terrified Kate herself, she decided not to voice the question; not yet. She knew every word of that business plan and one day, some day, there might be a bigger kitchen. But there would be no bank loan. She preferred to overwork herself, her step-mother, Deirdre, three mining wives and even wee Bridie, rather than expand too quickly. The more popular the pies became, the more frightened became the baker trying to keep up with the demand, and then she had realized that she was pregnant. It could hardly have happened at a worse time. Please God, don’t let it have been that night.
‘I’ll need to get another baker. I think we’ll afford another trap before Christmas and I’ll need to get everybody into my ways afore this bairn comes.’
Luckily, because the doctor could never have got to her in time, the birth was completely straightforward. Auntie Molly delivered Katherine Margaret Inglis at four o’clock on a cold, frosty morning in March 1921. Twenty-four hours later her mother was again in her kitchen and business was more or less as usual.
‘Kate, do you no think you should hae stayed in yer bed a wee while longer?’ asked Charlie. ‘Auntie Molly’s managing fine. Come on, sit down and I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.’
He put his arms around her to lead her to a chair and, despite herself, she jerked away from him. Was their relationship always to be one step forward, two steps backward? If she could just explain that when it was happening she began to hear the screams and she couldn’t bear them, couldn’t bear . . . she wanted to be soft but she was abrupt. ‘I have to get back to the business. If there was one thing I didnae need at this time it was another bairn.’ There, she had said it. She hated herself for feeling it, let alone saying it, and she was angry with herself for being glad that there was no milk for this baby and that baby Margaret had to be bottle-fed. It had meant that wee Patrick had had to be weaned and Kate sorely missed those precious moments of closeness with him. Charlie spent more time with him now than his mammy did but that was a sacrifice she was prepared to pay. He’ll thank me for it one day, thought Kate, and as she made pastry she went over and over her conversations with Mr McDonald; the pictures of a different life that he painted. ‘Grab this chance with both hands, Mrs Inglis. I’m on my way to being the biggest wholesale grocer in Scotland and you could come with me, but you need a bakery, not five wee kitchens all over Auchenbeath.’
What was holding Kate back? Was it that already there was more money in the bank than she had ever dreamed of? She had two carts and two drivers and paid the wages of seven people. What did she need with an assembly line and motorized transportation? In the dark of the night she would lie beside a gently snoring Charlie and compare herself with Dr Hyslop or Mr McDonald or even her own old schoolteacher. The only difference between me and her is education, no breeding. I’m frightened to talk to people I don’t know and tied down with two bairns . . . and as for Charlie, he hasn’t a shred of ambition. He’s more than content with what we have now and maybe I should be too.
Six months before baby Margaret’s arrival, Charlie had received a pension from the War Office; five shillings and sixpence a week. He thought he was a millionaire.
‘At last I’m paying the rent on this place,’ he had said an
d Kate could only be grateful that his euphoria satisfied him and he did not feel the need to prove himself in bed quite so often.
She had been determined to carry on working, working, before and after the baby. But two pregnancies in less than two years took their toll and finally she had to sit down; her overtaxed body could take no more – and there at the door was wee Bridie all set to take over. She did not get the reception that she expected.
‘Bridie, it’s lovely to see you and you can bide for yer dinner since you’ve walked all this way but I want you back home and at the school in the morning. Me and Charlie and yer Auntie Mollie can manage fine and you need to look after Da and Colm.’ Kate sighed in exasperation. Would anyone in this family ever get an education? Aye, her wee Patrick would; he would stay at the school and he would even go on to the university. There was a glimmer of a dream of what he would be but she would not tempt fate with that yet.
She was distressed to see Bridie so mutinous; she could understand that the little girl had been thrilled at the idea of staying with her big sister and looking after the babies. Playing with real babies was a lot more fun than playing with one with a china head.
‘Da said I could come up to yer lovely wee cottage and help you; please Kate, I fair get bossed around at home by Da and Auntie Molly and even Colm. I’m just waiting to be old enough to leave school and get a job in the bakery.’
Not a wise remark to make to her sister who was worrying, worrying, not only about her own lack of education but of her failure to ensure an education for her brothers and sisters. For her pains Miss Bridie received another lecture about, to her, boring books.
‘Come on, Bridie,’ said Charlie. ‘You’ll no shift her once her mind’s made up. Give Kate the babby and you and me will take Patrick with us in the cart. I’ll let you drive.’
A Pinch of Salt Page 11