Anne Douglas (30 page)

‘I think it’s a damn good idea,’ put in Struan, at which Myra frowned.

‘He’s asking your dad, no’ you, Struan!’

‘Aye, well I’m no’ one for writing letters,’ George said slowly. ‘Haven’t had to write a letter since I don’t know when.’

‘I’ll help you,’ Rod told him. ‘And type your letters up for you, too. I’ve got a typewriter back at the hostel. Why don’t we get on with writing something out now?’

‘Rod, thank you,’ Lindy said quietly. ‘We’re very grateful. I’m no’ sure if we’ve any writing paper, though.’

‘I brought some.’ Rod opened a small briefcase he’d brought with him which no one had noticed. ‘Be prepared is the motto, eh? Mr Gillan, I’ll rough something out for you and see if you approve. Will that be all right?’

As he nodded, seemingly amazed, Myra leaped to her feet. ‘I’m sure we can do with a cup o’ tea now. Struan, did you say you were going out?’

‘Aye, but first I want to say I’m going back to the idea I had before, and Dad needn’t put me down this time.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked George. ‘When did I put you down?’

‘When I said I’d join the Territorials. You said Bayne’s wouldn’t be pleased but I’m going for it anyway. I reckon I can make quite a bit at weekends and I need it.’

‘Of course you do!’ cried Myra. ‘Things are different now. You try for it, Struan – it’ll be just the thing.’

After tea and seed cake had been passed around, Rod wrote out the sample letter to the breweries and George, having studied it, gave his opinion that it was grand. ‘Will you really type it for me, Rod?’

‘Certainly will, as well as a copy of your reference if you’ll let me have it. Then I’ll get everything back to you so you can sign the letters and post them off to whichever breweries you think best.’

‘Rod, I couldn’t be more grateful. To take all this trouble for me – it’s unbelievable.’

‘You’ve been unfairly treated; I want to do what I can for you. Now, I’d better be going.’

Seeing Rod to the door, Lindy threw her arms round him and almost burst into tears. ‘Oh, Rod – you’ve been so kind.’

‘May not do any good, my idea, but it’s worth a try is all I’m saying,’ he told her. ‘Now, I’ll get back. Don’t forget I love you.’

‘As though I could!’

Moving back to her family after Rod had driven away, Lindy decided that her cup of happiness must be full. All that was needed now was to find her dad a job, and the cup would be running over.

The first replies that arrived for George were from the largest breweries and all said the same: no workers required. Though they’d keep Mr Gillan’s letter on file, any vacancies would be advertised and in future he should check the newspapers.

‘Did I no’ say?’ George cried as the disappointing replies arrived. ‘Did I no’ say it was all a waste of time?’

‘There are still some to come in,’ Lindy told him. ‘We can’t say it’s been a waste of time till you’ve heard from ’em all.’

But her father would not allow himself to hope and sank once more into his depression.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Rod groaned when given the news, ‘but it’s right what you say, Lindy – we don’t know for sure we’ve failed until all replies are in.’

All the same, as he and Lindy sat over a late coffee after a visit to the cinema, Rod himself seemed despondent. ‘Everywhere you look there’s trouble,’ he murmured. ‘Suffering, inhumanity, poverty – what’s wrong with the world?’

‘Whatever it is there’s no’ much we can do,’ sighed Lindy. ‘I mean, this Hitler fellow in Germany, he’s doing terrible things, they say, and so is Mussolini, but we can’t stop them.’

‘Well, we should be able to.’ Rod stirred his coffee gloomily. ‘It should be possible to take action to help victims, even if they are in other countries.’

‘How, though? How can folk interfere?’

‘Well, through some sort of international action. We missed the boat with the League of Nations after the war. Should have organized something then.’

‘Too late now.’

‘I wish that wasn’t true. I mean, it’s not just Germany and Italy we have to worry about. There’s unrest all over the world. Take Spain, for instance. According to the papers, it’s like a powder keg ready to explode, with a load of generals all set to oust the government. We’ll have to watch what happens there.’

‘You talk of other countries,’ sighed Lindy. ‘How about here? How many people are like Dad, thrown on the scrap heap? I sometimes think we’re so happy, you and me, but we shouldn’t be. I mean, with so much misery around.’

‘Ah, don’t say that!’ Rod caught at her hand. ‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, acting like an old misery guts. Let’s think of something to cheer us up.’

‘Well, I’ve had some more catalogue work – that’s money coming in, and I forgot to tell you that Struan’s been accepted for the Territorials. Part time sort of thing. He’s over the moon.’

‘That’s great news, Lindy.’ Rod’s brow had cleared, his eyes were brightening. ‘The silver lining, eh? Suppose that’s what we should look for?’

‘Every time,’ said Lindy, as they rose to go.

Walking instead of driving back to number nineteen, the July evening was warm around them and they felt a little better in themselves. After all, they had each other – they couldn’t be blamed for feeling happy, could they?

‘No more depressing talk,’ Lindy said at her door. ‘Let’s look on the bright side. Dad might get good news soon. And I’ve thought of something else that’s cheered me up.’

‘Me?’ Rod asked fondly.

‘Apart from you! You remember I told you about the wife who’d been beaten up by the husband who threw the porridge around?’

‘I do remember. Shocking thing.’

‘Yes, well, Aggie – that’s the wife – saw me the other day and said Tam has been amazing. Still lost his temper a couple of times, but he’d just gone out and stood on the stair, shaking all over, till he’d calmed down, and then he’d been OK. Oh, she was so happy, Rod! I just hope he’ll no’ go back to his old ways.’

‘No guarantee, but it’s a start.’

‘Yes, and I think I helped, Rod. I did threaten to report him and he might have listened.’

Rod’s eyes on her were considering. ‘Did you enjoy being able to help, Lindy?’

‘I’d no’ say “enjoyed”, I was just glad I could.’

‘It’s what people find rewarding in my sort of job. Makes up for the times when it’s anything but.’

‘You know much how I admire you,’ Lindy told him, and was beginning to move into his arms when the flat door opened and Struan looked out.

‘Lindy – Rod – thought I heard you – come on in. Dad’s got some good news!’

‘Came by the evening post,’ George told them, smiling widely and waving a sheet of paper. ‘From Wellmore’s – that’s one o’ the smaller breweries out Northfield way. I never thought they’d come up with anything.’

‘They want him to go for interview!’ cried Myra. ‘They said they’ve a key job that’s just come up and they were impressed with George’s reference. What d’you think, Rod?’

‘I couldn’t be more pleased. It all sounds very hopeful – promising, in fact. When’s the interview?’

‘Thursday,’ said George. ‘Think my brown jacket’ll do, Myra?’

‘Dad, I’ll get you a new shirt,’ Lindy told him, hugging him tightly. ‘The sales have started – I’ve seen a real bargain. Oh, I’m so happy for you!’

‘No counting chickens before they’re hatched, but I’m just glad I’ve got as far as an interview. Rod, it’s all thanks to you. I’d never have done it alone.’

‘Don’t thank me, Mr Gillan – it was your reference they liked and your good work got you that.’

‘Aye, well, I’ll see how I get on. But I wish you’d call me George, Rod. After all, you’ll be one o’ the family one o’ these days, eh?’

‘Not too far away, we hope.’

‘Christmas,’ said Lindy happily. ‘That’ll give us time to prepare and save up.’

‘And if I get this job I’ll be saving up and all,’ said George. ‘We’ll want to put on a nice show, eh, Myra?’

‘I’m planning it already,’ said Myra.

Thursday came and George set off for his interview with Wellmore’s Brewery looking, Myra said, ‘as smart as paint’ in his brown jacket, newly pressed trousers, crisp new white shirt and brown striped tie. Smart – yes, he knew he looked smart, except for his face that was as apprehensive as a condemned man’s, while as for his earlier euphoria – that had vanished as soon as Thursday dawned.

‘Aye, it’s one thing to get an interview,’ he’d muttered to Myra, ‘it’s another to get the job.’

‘Just do your best,’ she told him. ‘We’re all thinking of you.’

Of course they were: Lindy, Struan and Rod, but there was nothing they could do. It was all up to George to prove he was better than the others being seen, for there would be others. Younger, perhaps; more articulate; better at selling themselves.

As she smiled for the camera at work on a toothpaste advert, Lindy was secretly praying her father would be successful, for if he weren’t she couldn’t imagine what he would do. While Struan, doing one of his days at Bayne’s, was feeling as tense as a too tight string, partly for his father’s sake and partly because that evening would be his first at the Territorial drill hall, where he would be given his uniform and meet the sergeant to begin training. Suppose it didn’t work out? Suppose the sergeant was one of these sadistic guys who liked making new recruits feel bad?

Maybe if George got into Wellmore’s he might put in a word for Struan in the future? With a full-time job he might manage without the TA money. On the other hand he liked the idea of being a part-time soldier. Hell, he’d just make it work and that was that. And he’d be able to take Jemima out as often as before and cut the arguments about her paying. ‘When I take a lassie out,’ he’d told her, ‘I pay, all right? I don’t want any woman paying for me.’

‘Oh, what a piece of nonsense!’ Jemima had cried, but she’d taken his point. She was very sensible, Jemima.

Over at the hostel, Rod’s thoughts were certainly with George, for it would not be easy to pull him back from depression if he failed his interview, but something else had sent his heart sinking: an item in his newspaper. Several times over his coffee break he read it through, and when he folded the paper and put it in his desk drawer his face had assumed a grim thoughtfulness Lindy would not have recognized. Trouble was, he didn’t know how things would go, whether he could do anything or not. Could he face the difficulties, anyway? Or ask so much of the girl he loved? When his phone rang later that day it was a lifeline – it gave him something else to think about. For it was George on the phone, ringing from a call box.

‘Rod, it’s me!’ His husky voice echoed in Rod’s ear, for George always thought you needed to speak up on the telephone. ‘I’ve got the job! I start next week and I want to thank you, Rod. You’ve saved ma life!’

Thank God, thought Rod as he gave George his heartiest congratulations. Now he could put that other matter out of his mind, at least for the time being.

Of course there had to be a celebration. Eating out was not something the Gillans went in for – except for that lovely time when Rod’s father had treated them in Leith, but just for once Myra said they should all go out to a fish restaurant in the High Street and make sure Rod didn’t pay. It would be their thank you to him, for as George said, he’d given him his life back, and that was enough to change all their lives.

The following evening they gathered at the restaurant, the four Gillans plus Rod and Jemima, the women in summer dresses, for the July evening was steamy, the men in jackets they took off at the table. All were intoxicated – not with alcohol, only George’s good luck and their own shared relief.

‘Tell Jemima about the interview,’ Myra commanded as jugs of lemonade were brought and large menus. ‘She’s no’ heard it yet.’

‘Och, I just did what you told me,’ George protested. ‘I did ma best.’

‘But tell her how many fellows were there. Six, eh? Shows how well you did, to be picked, eh?’

‘Aye, well, it’s true there were six others, but I don’t like to think of ’em because I know how I’d have been feeling if I’d been them.’ George shook his head. ‘I think, to be honest, they weren’t as experienced as me, and what the board told me was that they’d been impressed by me writing in the first place.’

‘Rod’s idea!’ cried Lindy, pressing his hand.

‘Showed’ – George hesitated – ‘initiative. Is that the word? And yes, that was your idea, Rod. Typing the letter and all – I bet they never expected a fellow like me to be able to type!’

‘Please don’t say any more,’ Rod murmured. ‘I told you, George, whatever I did would have got you nowhere if you hadn’t had the experience and knowledge to back it up. So no more thanks – unless it’s to yourself.’

‘Think there might be an opening at Wellmore’s for me, Dad?’ asked Struan. ‘I wouldn’t mind a full-time job again, though I had a grand time at the drill hall the other night, so I’ll be sticking with the TA. The sergeant was an old chap who really knew his stuff but didn’t make us feel like idiots because we didn’t.’ Struan drank some lemonade. ‘I was worried to death, I can tell you, but it turned out fine.’

‘Sure, I’ll keep my ears open for you at Wellmore’s,’ George told him. ‘I’d like you out of Bayne’s – they’ve no treated you well, either. But now, who wants what to eat? And no arguments about paying, eh?’

‘This is on us,’ Myra declared. ‘And I’ll start the ball rolling. I’ll have the haddock.’

After the happy meal was over, they strolled back to number nineteen in the sort of warm evening stillness rarely met in Edinburgh. Where was the usual wind? Didn’t dare to spoil things, eh? Oh, couldn’t you wish it was always summer, then? A good summer, of course.

When the others had gone into the flat, after George and Myra had insisted on thanking Rod yet again, Lindy and Rod stood by his car in a last sweet embrace.

‘I said once, if Dad got his job, my cup would be overflowing,’ Lindy whispered against Rod’s face. ‘And he did get his job and my cup is overflowing. With happiness, I mean, in case you think I mean anything else!’

Rod, caressing her, nodded. ‘It’s been a wonderful thing for him, to know he’s wanted again.’

‘Wonderful. You’ll let me thank you again, Rod?’