Anne Douglas (3 page)

A week passed, during which she gradually got used to living on a knife edge, enjoying sympathy from Neil and even her father and Struan, though she knew a woman’s work problems were never as important in their eyes as a man’s. They had their own worries, of course, for no job was safe, and even if the brewery seemed to be doing well, who knew how long that would last? All anyone could do was hope for the best.

Alone in the shop one evening as closing time drew near, Lindy’s eyes were on the clock. Myra had left early to prepare fish for tea and the last customers had hurried home through steadily falling rain, which meant that all Lindy had to do was put out the lights and lock the door after her when she left – as soon as those clock hands reached six.

‘Come on, come on,’ she whispered, standing at the counter, swinging her keys, and was about to fetch her coat when the shop bell pinged and the door opened.

Oh, no, she groaned, a customer! At this hour? She’d soon sort out whoever it was – but then she saw that the customer was a stranger, a young man, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a damp raincoat and cap. For a moment he hesitated, then, taking off his cap and shaking it, approached the counter.

‘Hello,’ he said, smiling. ‘What a night, eh?’

His voice was deep and pleasant, his face not handsome but open and friendly, his hair sticking to his brow, a warm chestnut brown. Almost at once Lindy found herself smiling back, though latecomers such as he generally irritated her beyond measure.

‘It is,’ she agreed as the rain dashed loudly at the shop window. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Just hoping you could let me have some milk. I’m on my way home and suddenly remembered I’m completely out.’

‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid we’ve none left.’ She was genuinely sorry. ‘We don’t keep a lot because most folk get it delivered.’

‘There’s nowhere else I could try?’

‘Well, there’s a dairy on the High Street, but I’m pretty sure they’ll be closed by now.’

He sighed, then gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, I can do without for once – all my own fault. Thanks, anyway.’

‘No trouble. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.’

‘I expect I’m keeping you, am I?’ His eyes, golden brown, were fixed on Lindy’s face. ‘Shouldn’t you be closing, too?’

‘At six, but no need to worry; it’s only that now.’

‘Still, you’ll want to get home.’ He replaced his wet cap. ‘Goodnight, then, and thanks again.’

‘We do have tinned milks, if they’d be any good?’ she suggested, and he paused to think, finally shaking his head.

‘Not to worry, I can manage for tonight. I’ll be back where I work tomorrow.’

She walked with him to the door. ‘I’ll see you out, then. Looks like it’s still raining.’

‘I’m afraid so – probably set in for the night. I’d better get going.’

He was, however, still lingering, his gaze never leaving Lindy.

‘Goodnight, then.’ She held the door wide open. ‘Sorry again about the milk.’

‘That’s all right.’ He moved slowly out into the rain, turning back to smile. ‘Goodnight to you.’

Quietly she closed the door on the last sight of him and began to switch off the shop lights, still thinking of his smile, his generous mouth, the way his eyes had stayed with her until the very last ‘Goodnight’.

What a pity, she thought, putting on her coat, that he was probably out of his area. No doubt she’d never see him again. As she did last-minute checks and prepared to leave, keys and umbrella at the ready, she wondered why should she mind about that? About not seeing him again? Well, she didn’t, of course. They were – what? Ships that passed in the night.

‘Goodnight, ship!’ she called under her breath, as she ran home through the rain. And all through the evening, told herself it was true, they would never meet again.

In fact, she saw him again only two days later. It was just after five o’clock when she looked up from packing Mrs MacLauren’s basket to see him standing in the doorway, and her heart gave a little jump. This time, because there had been no rain, he was wearing a tweed jacket instead of a raincoat, and his cap was already in his hand as his eyes went straight to her.

‘That’s you, then, Mrs MacLauren,’ she murmured, handing over the basket to Neil’s tall, angular mother. ‘Sorry we’ve none of the cheese you wanted. It’s due in any day.’

‘Och, nae bother, Lindy. My lot’s lucky to get any cheese at all and that’s a fact.’ Mrs MacLauren shook her head. ‘When you think o’ some folk having to live on bread and marge?’

‘Very true,’ said Lindy, her eyes on the young man in the doorway and biting her lip as she saw Myra moving purposefully across the shop to speak to him. ‘Goodbye, Mrs MacLauren. Can you manage all right?’

‘Aye, thanks. Never bought much. You seeing Neil tonight?’

‘At the weekend.’

‘That’s grand. ’Bye, then.’

As Mrs MacLauren left the shop Lindy darted round the counter and sped across the floor towards the chestnut-haired young man, just beating Myra by a fraction. ‘It’s all right, Aunt Myra, this gentleman came in the other night – I think I can help him.’

‘The other night?’ Myra exclaimed. ‘Why, where was I, then?’

‘You’d left early.’

Lindy was smiling at the young man, who was himself smiling with relief that she had come to him.

‘Was it milk you were wanting again?’ she asked, willing Myra to move away, which she eventually did, though she still looked back with some suspicion.

‘Er, no, thanks. I just thought, as I was passing again, I might pick up a few things – groceries, I mean.’ Looking round at the shelves as though for inspiration, he added quickly, ‘Everything looks so nice. I’m sure I can find what I want.’

‘I can get them for you, anyway. Have you a basket or anything?’

He grinned. ‘Never thought of it.’

‘I’ll give you a carrier, then. This way, sir.’

‘Sir?’ He laughed. ‘My name’s Roderick Connor, always known as Rod.’

‘I’m Lindsay Gillan, always known as Lindy.’

‘I’m very glad to meet you, Miss Gillan. Suppose I’d better be formal. Lead on to the provisions, then.’

Weaving between the customers, watched from the counter by Myra, Lindy, followed by Mr Connor, made her way round the shelves, suggesting items – tea, sugar, tins of beans and soup, packets of macaroni and rice, tomatoes, cauliflower, a few potatoes. In the end she needed a second carrier.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, who’s going to cook all these things?’ she asked, smiling. ‘You don’t do the cooking yourself, do you?’

‘Certainly do, when I’m at home. There’s no one else.’

‘I see.’ Lindy, without asking herself why, felt instantly pleased to learn that when he was at home he was alone. Where was he, when he was not at home? ‘Very few men know the first thing about cooking.’

‘Necessity is a fine thing, Miss Gillan.’ He looked at the bulging carriers Lindy was holding. ‘Here, let me take those to the till.’

‘No, no, I’ll take them. Over here, Mr Connor.’

Aware that customers were watching with interest and her stepmother too, Lindy led the way to the till at the counter, where she rapidly rang up the purchases to a total that was more than customers normally paid at Murchie’s Provisions.

‘I’m afraid it comes to rather a lot,’ she said in hushed tones, her eyes widening.

‘Oh? What’s the damage, then?’

‘Seven shillings and fourpence.’

‘That’s all right, I need to stock up and I’d be spending the money at my local shop, so why not here?’ Rod took a handful of coins from his trouser pocket and counted them. ‘I think I’ve got it in change. That right, Miss Gillan?’

‘Quite right, Mr Connor.’

No problems for him with paying, she was thinking. No need for him to take out a book for his ‘tick’. Must have a good job, then? Certainly he was not on the dole.

As she passed his carriers over to him, their hands lightly touched and his brown eyes brightened.

‘Miss Gillan,’ he whispered, leaning towards her, ‘would you consider—’

‘Everything all right, sir?’ came Myra’s voice as she appeared at Lindy’s side and fixed her new customer with a long, steady stare.

‘Oh, excellent,’ he answered quickly. ‘The shop seems extremely well stocked – that’s what I noticed the other day.’

‘And why you came back?’ Myra’s smile was so wry, Lindy sighed. Oh, Rod Connor, did you think you could fool my stepmother, then?

‘Yes, as I say,’ he was floundering, ‘I thought it’d be good to shop here.’

‘Even when you’re no’ from these parts?’

‘I’m from Leith.’

‘Leith?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ll need to get the tram, then. Or else the train.’

‘It’s all right, I’ve got the car today.’

There was a silence. Myra and Lindy stared. He had a car? No one in Scott Street had a car. No one who shopped at Murchie’s Provisions had ever come by car.

‘Oh, well, then, no need to worry about carrying anything, eh?’ asked Myra. Her eyes so sharp, she was studying Rod closely. ‘Must make life easier.’

‘In some ways, yes.’ Under her scrutiny he moved uneasily. ‘Better be going now, I think. Thanks very much for your help.’

His gaze was on Lindy, but it was Myra who said, ‘Thank you, sir.’

And then there was nothing else for him to do but put his cap over his rich brown hair, pick up his carrier bags and make for the door, conscious of eyes watching, but no one followed him. Until he set down his bags to open the door and then Lindy was swiftly at his side.

‘Can be stiff, this door,’ she murmured.

‘If I look in for some milk tomorrow, will you be here?’ he asked, glancing back at Myra at the counter.

‘Sure to be.’

‘Till tomorrow, then?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Lindy,’ said Myra, when the door had closed on the new customer and Lindy was back at the counter.

‘Yes, Aunt Myra?’

‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be getting off with that young man you don’t know.’

‘Getting off?’

‘Well, don’t tell me he came in here for groceries when he lives in Leith! What man buys groceries, anyway? He came in here to pick you up.’

‘He did not! And he has to buy groceries. He lives alone.’

‘My, my, you’ve soon found out all about him, eh? What would Neil say if he could see you dancing attendance on a stranger?’

Lindy turned aside, flushing. ‘I’d better go and help old Mrs Knox,’ she muttered. ‘She can never read the prices.’

‘Well, if that young man comes in here again you be careful, is what I’m saying,’ Myra said in a hissing whisper. ‘I’m responsible for you, you know. You’re no’ twenty-one yet.’

‘Don’t I know it!’ answered Lindy.

The following day when Rod came in, supposedly for milk, it was arranged, under the very eyes of Myra, again watching from the counter, that Lindy would meet him on Wednesday afternoon, half day closing for the shop, though how Rod could get an afternoon free she didn’t know and didn’t ask. It was agreed that they should not meet outside number nineteen, though she told him that was where she lived, but at the Canongate Kirk, from where they would set off on their walk. At Rod’s suggestion, this was to be up Arthur’s Seat, the famous dead volcano, an Edinburgh landmark which neither of them had climbed for years.

‘Be sure to wear sensible shoes,’ Rod warned. ‘Don’t want you taking any risks, Lindy. Would you mind if I called you that?’

‘Oh, please do, then I can call you Rod. But don’t worry, I won’t be in my high heels. I’m really looking forward to doing the climb again.’

‘So am I!’ chimed Rod, before bravely taking his milk to the counter, where Myra coldly accepted his money and slammed the till drawer shut with an almighty bang. But she said no more to Lindy, who wouldn’t have listened, anyway.

They were lucky. For their walk up Arthur’s Seat the weather was again fine – blue sky, bright sunlight, even a breeze rather than a roaring wind. Of course, it was cold – it was only March, after all – but neither of them minded that. In fact, Lindy rather liked it – it made her cheeks look pink.

Pink cheeks, blue eyes, dark hair escaping from her pull-on hat, she knew she was looking her best as she ran up to greet Rod, who had arrived at the historic Canongate Kirk before her – and if she hadn’t known it, his eyes would have told her the same.

‘Oh, it’s wonderful!’ he cried, gazing at her. ‘Wonderful to see you.’

‘And you!’

She meant it. As her eyes went over him, today wearing a waterproof jacket, she was struck by his ease of manner, so different from Neil’s, who for one reason or another always seemed to be on edge. But as soon as she’d thought that she felt guilty. She shouldn’t be comparing Rod with Neil, especially when she hadn’t told Neil about Rod when they’d met on Sunday. They were just good friends, so she might have done – but then she hadn’t.

‘All set?’ she asked Rod swiftly.

‘All set.’

She hesitated, looking along the Canongate, now just a thoroughfare stretching from the High Street to Holyrood but once an ancient burgh in its own right, only merging with Edinburgh in the nineteenth century. Being so steeped in history but also full of modern shops, it was always crammed with tourists and city people, and a favourite haunt of Lindy’s, being close to her own home.

‘You didn’t bring your car, then?’ she asked, turning back to Rod.

‘No, I thought we’d just be walking today.’ They had begun to make their way down the Canongate towards Holyrood, striding out well in their sensible shoes. ‘Actually it’s not my car, it’s my father’s.’

‘Your father’s? But you said you were on your own!’

‘I mostly am, when I’m at home. Dad’s away a lot at sea. He’s a ship’s engineer.’

‘Oh, what a thrilling job! Always away, seeing new places!’ Lindy’s eyes were shining. ‘Are you an engineer too?’

‘Me? No.’ He shook his head. ‘Sore point, that, with Dad. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps but I hadn’t got the same idea. In the end he accepted me for what I am and we get on well.’ Rod laughed. ‘When we see each other, that is.’

‘So, what do you do?’

‘You might be disappointed when I tell you. I work for the council. Not exactly pen pushing, though. I run a hostel for homeless men and I also do occasional work elsewhere.’ Rod hesitated, glancing at her with some diffidence. ‘At the city workhouses, as a matter of fact.’