Anne Douglas (17 page)

Oh, enjoy what you have, she told herself. It wasn’t as though she was so very anxious to be married, was it? No, but she did want Rod to be keen for it, or at least to know why he was not.

Her last thoughts before sleep finally claimed her were to wonder what his hostel would be like, and what sort of residents she would see there. And, oh, yes, what should she wear?

‘Everything plain,’ Myra advised the following Sunday afternoon as Lindy was about to get ready for her visit to the hostel. ‘That jumper you’re wearing now, I’d say, and that skirt would do. You don’t want anything smart.’

‘I was going to wear my good twinset, Aunt Myra. This jumper’s ancient!’

‘No, no, it’ll be fine. And no lipstick, remember. You don’t want to attract the sort o’ men who are in that hostel.’

‘That’s right,’ George put in. ‘I don’t know why Rod wants Lindy to go there, anyway.’

‘He’d just like me to see where he works,’ Lindy said, frowning. ‘But he’ll expect me to look smart, like I always do, so I’m going to wear my twinset and my lipstick. Don’t forget, he’ll be there. I won’t be seeing the hostel fellows on my own.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Myra retorted with a shudder. ‘But I’ve made my point, so you do as you please.’

‘OK, Aunt Myra. I’m away to get ready.’

‘I must say I’ll be glad to see you back,’ George sighed when Lindy appeared in her best twinset and her usual lipstick. ‘Shame Rod can’t come and collect you, eh?’

‘Dad, he’s on duty, he can’t get away.’

‘Well, you tell him to take good care of you, eh?’

‘As though I need him to do that!’ cried Lindy, buttoning on her winter coat and pulling on her woollen hat. ‘Look, stop worrying. Those poor chaps in the hostel aren’t going to do me any harm. See you later!’

Leaving her father and stepmother to exchange glances and shake their heads, Lindy hurried from number nineteen with some relief, taking deep breaths of the chill November air as though she’d been feeling suffocated. So much fuss made of girls doing anything the least bit different was frustrating. Especially when she thought about Struan’s freedom to do whatever he liked. What an unfair world it was for women, then! No point in dwelling on that now, though – she had to find Rod’s workplace off Nicolson Street that meant so much to him. When she was on the tram she’d have another look at the little sketch map he’d given her.

It was just half past two on a striking church clock when she arrived at Guthrie House, a square, modern building fitted in between two older houses. She’d thought it might have been a conversion of a nice, elegant Edinburgh house, which was the sort of place she admired, but then it was only a hostel and Rod liked it. At least the windows were clean, even if their net curtains looked as grey as the pebble-dashed walls, and the woodwork needed a coat of paint, but that was probably because money was tight. Always was. She rang the bell.

Out came Rod immediately, his face all smiles – he’d obviously been waiting at the other side of the door. ‘Oh, Lindy – you made it!’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

‘No, no, I’m just sorry you had to come on your own. You know I’d have liked to bring you.’

He drew her into a wide hall with doors on either side, a wooden staircase at one end, pegs stacked with coats and caps by the entrance, and framed prints of Edinburgh on the distempered walls. Not too bad, thought Lindy, as Rod took her coat and hat and fitted them precariously on to the crowded pegs. The inside of the house was better than the outside, anyway – apart from the smell of carbolic and cooking, of course, but Lindy was already wondering when she would see Rod’s clients. She had to admit, she was just the tiniest bit apprehensive.

‘Well, what d’you think?’ Rod asked, his eyes very bright. ‘Of my hostel?’

‘Oh, very nice,’ she answered quickly. ‘What I’ve seen of it.’

‘Used to be a health clinic until that was moved to the infirmary and then it became a hostel. Somebody called it Guthrie House after Doctor Guthrie. Have you heard of him?’

‘At school, I think. Did he work with poor bairns? Wanted ’em to have an education?’

‘That’s right. He started the Ragged Schools and always campaigned for compulsory education back in Victorian times. In a way he was one of the first social workers.’ Rod smiled. ‘I like to think he’d approve of what we’re doing here.’

‘He certainly would.’ Looking around, trying to please, Lindy murmured, ‘And it’s good that you’ve put up pictures. Makes all the difference.’

‘The prints? Got them in a second-hand shop, probably ripped out of a book. Framed ’em myself.’

‘Rod, you didn’t! That was very clever, eh?’

‘Oh, sure, I’m a genius.’ He took her hands in his. ‘But it’s so good to see you here, Lindy – I hope your folks didn’t disapprove? It’s only to let you see where I work.’

‘That’s what I told them.’

‘They did object, then?’

‘No. Well, they were just sort of asking, you know, why you wanted me here. But I explained, so it was all right.’

‘Truth is, I expect they’re worried about you meeting my chaps, but there’s no need, and there aren’t many around at the moment, anyway. Just a few playing table tennis in the recreation room.’

‘Where are the others, then?’

‘Out, or having naps in the dormitories. You needn’t see them.’

‘You don’t mind them going out?’

‘Of course not – they’re not prisoners!’ Rod laughed. ‘Actually, I see two chaps coming down the stairs now. I’ll introduce you.’

Aged perhaps thirty or so, the two men on the stairs were respectably dressed in jackets and flannels, with caps over short, neat hair, not at all as Lindy had imagined homeless men to be. But then, they were now in Rod’s care – of course they would look respectable. As they reached the foot of the stairs and advanced slowly down the hall she braced herself to smile, but though they stared they did not smile back.

‘All right, Bill?’ Rod asked pleasantly. ‘Mungo?’

‘Fine, thanks, Mr Connor,’ one of the men replied. ‘We’re just away for a wee bit o’ fresh air.’

‘Good, good. This is Miss Gillan, by the way. She’s just looking round.’

‘Afternoon, miss.’ The man who’d spoken before touched his cap then nudged his companion, who seemed not to want to speak. ‘We’d best away, eh?’

‘See you at teatime, then,’ Rod called. ‘Cold beef and pickles, remember.’

When the men had gone out, closing the front door carefully behind them, Rod smiled apologetically at Lindy. ‘As you’ll have gathered, those two aren’t much given to conversation. We’ve just found ’em some new clothes – well, second hand, of course – and they’ve had their hair cut and a good tidy up. Should be ready to go job hunting at the end of their time here.’

‘How long can they stay?’

‘Well, no one can live here, but we offer more than some of the charities who only give them a bed for the night and then they have to go. We try to kit them out, get them patched up and then hope they can move on.’ Rod sighed deeply. ‘Trouble is, we’re so strapped for cash, as you can imagine. I have to fight for every penny.’

‘I bet,’ said Lindy.

‘Worst is, a lot of the chaps go back to the streets and we can’t do much for them, but the ones who’ve just become homeless because they’ve lost their jobs – well, we do all we can to help them back to ordinary life.’

‘Rod, you’re wonderful! I really admire you.’

‘Oh, please!’ Rod’s cheekbones were tinged with red. ‘Come on, I’ll show you our recreation room.’

As he opened one of the doors leading off from the hall, he said in a whisper, ‘Don’t mind if the few fellows around give you a good stare, will you? We don’t get many visitors like you, Lindy.’

‘I won’t mind.’

‘In we go, then.’

The recreation room, long and narrow with a scuffed, carpet-less floor, had an upright piano in one corner, two card tables, two sagging sofas, several wooden chairs and a wind-up gramophone – at that moment silent. The ping-pong game evidently over, three middle-aged men were sitting, smoking, on the sofas, while a fourth, rather younger, was on the floor, fiddling with a small wireless. All, as soon as Lindy walked in, fixed their eyes on her.

‘Everybody OK?’ asked Rod. ‘This is Miss Gillan from the council, just looking round. Miss Gillan, meet Jem, Walt and Reg, and Sean on the floor.’

‘Another snooper, eh?’ asked Jem from his sofa. ‘Thought we had one o’ them round last week.’

‘No one comes snooping,’ Rod returned pleasantly. ‘And no one came last week.’

‘Take no notice o’ Jem, Mr Connor,’ Walt put in. ‘He imagines things, eh?’

‘Who says I imagine things?’ cried Jem. ‘I tell you, there was someone round last week asking questions.’

‘Is the lassie asking questions, Jem?’

‘What else is she here for?’

‘Just to see that everyone is happy,’ said Rod. ‘I hope you are. It’s what I want.’

‘Aye, you’re a good man, Mr Connor,’ said Sean on the floor. ‘We appreciate what you do. But what I want is to get some help here. This wireless doesnae work and we have tae listen to that wee gramophone. It’s only got a couple o’ records.’

‘Aye, “Danny Boy” and “Blue Skies”,’ Walt chimed in. ‘If I hear them again I’ll go mad, eh?’

‘I’ll have a look at it later,’ Rod said cheerfully. ‘Now, if you folk are all right, we’ll move on.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Lindy murmured, clearing her throat.

‘Likewise,’ Reg and Walt said politely, and though the man called Jem remained obstinately silent, Sean on the floor added: ‘Come and look round again soon, eh?’

‘Wasn’t too bad, was it?’ asked Rod when they were back in the hall. ‘I’m afraid Jem isn’t very friendly. He suffers from depression – he’s had a broken marriage.’

‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘His reason for going on the street.’ Rod’s face was still rather red. ‘Listen, I hope you didn’t mind that I had to tell a little white lie there, saying you were from the council? If I’d said you were my friend I’d never have heard the last of it.’

‘Hey, I’m feeling quite proud,’ Lindy answered, smiling. ‘Didn’t know I was a council worker.’

‘You’d be fine,’ he said seriously. ‘I’ll just quickly show you the dining room and my office, then I suggest we make for the kitchen where we’ll have a cup of tea.’

It seemed that on Sundays Rod, or his assistant, Dougie Howat, whichever was on duty, had to manage alone for part of the day. Mrs MacArthur, the woman who cooked for the hostel, always left after Sunday dinner, and Florence, the one maid, never came in at all.

‘It’s no trouble,’ Rod explained, making Lindy sit down at a long scrubbed table in the large, dreary kitchen after he’d put a kettle on one of the two gas stoves. ‘There’s a cold supper on Sunday evenings and the men take it in turns to wash up, so no problem there. We like ’em to help with the chores, anyway, and most don’t mind. They’ve lost so many of their interests, you see, the little jobs fill the gap.’

Setting out cups, filling a milk jug and finding plates for shortbread, Rod was smiling as he proved his efficiency.

‘Mind you, I’m not saying that the end result is always what you’d want. You should see some of the beds they make – like great mounds concealing heaven knows what! But they do their best.’

‘Beats me how you keep so cheerful,’ Lindy murmured, shaking her head. ‘Didn’t you say once that these fellows could drive you mad? You seem to me to be very patient.’

‘I told you, you just have to keep calm, do what you can. But there’s the kettle going – I’ll make the tea.’

Passing Lindy her tea and the shortbread biscuits, Rod’s eyes seemed to her, as she glanced up, to be rather considering, as though he had something he wanted to say. ‘Yes?’ she asked, sipping her tea. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

‘Why, Lindy, how well you read me!’ Rod, stirring milk into his tea, seemed embarrassed. ‘I can see I’ll have to try to develop a poker face . . . Well, the fact is, I haven’t been altogether straight with you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes widening, Lindy gazed into his face. ‘You’re always straight!’

‘Except when I say you’re from the council.’ Rod ran his hand through his hair. ‘Look, it’s just that when I said I wanted you to come here because it’s important to me, well, that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.’

‘What other reason was there, then?’

‘I was thinking – if you saw the sort of work people like me do, the sort of difference it can make, to some, anyway – you might be interested in it yourself. I mean, I know you want to change your job, do something more worthwhile, and this could be it.’

Rod’s eyes on her face held such appeal that Lindy’s own eyes fell and she stared for some moments into the interior of her teacup. What to say to him? She couldn’t think of how to put it, although she had once told him, she remembered very well, that never in a million years could she do his job. Had he not believed her? His hand suddenly on hers was warm and firm, he was making her look up at him, answer him . . .

‘Oh, Rod,’ she murmured at last, ‘I did say your sort of work wasn’t for me. Do you no’ remember? When we were first walking together?’

‘Of course I remember, but I know you were only saying that because you didn’t understand what you could do. Lindy, you’re a very caring person. I know. I know from things you’ve said and from the way you are, and I can promise you that you’d be perfect for my sort of job. And, helping others, you’d soon find out there’s no better way of earning a living.’

‘Honestly, Rod, can you see me running a hostel? I know it’d be one for women, but can you see me dealing with the sort of girls that’d end up like your fellows here? I’d never have the patience; I’d always want to be doing something else.’

‘You wouldn’t have to be running a hostel, Lindy. It’s true, there aren’t a lot of us in social work at present, but it’s something that’s taking off, and there are other openings you could go for. Maybe visiting folk in their homes, or working in a hospital, or with children. Won’t you even think about it?’

‘Rod, even if I wanted to do your sort of work, I haven’t got the education. They wouldn’t want anybody like me.’

‘They would if you were keen enough. And you could always go to evening classes, get some more qualifications.’ Rod’s eyes were shining. ‘Lindy, you’re a very bright girl – the world’s your oyster. And I’d always be here, to help, remember.’