Anne Douglas (9 page)

‘How can I talk to you when you’re so far ahead?’ Neil called. ‘And it’s no’ dark yet. Everybody can see you dancing.’

‘I don’t care, I feel like dancing. But, OK, I’ll walk with you – if that’ll make you talk, anyway.’ She waited for him, then put her arm in his. ‘You’ve scarcely said a word all evening.’

‘We were supposed to be watching a picture.’

‘But even in the intermission you were like a wet weekend. Now don’t be telling me you didn’t enjoy
Top Hat
?’

‘Oh, yes, I enjoyed the dancing – terrific. But the story was silly. Same old thing, I thought.’

‘Who cares about the story? You don’t go to see Fred and Ginger for the story, Neil!’

‘I’m a writer, I care about it.’ Neil shrugged. ‘Reckon I could do a lot better than that scriptwriter, anyway.’

‘Sure you could.’

For some time they walked without speaking and at the tram stop, the evening being so fine and still so light, they decided to give it a miss and keep going.

‘I wish you felt like me,’ Lindy said suddenly. ‘I mean, about the picture. To see something like that – so good, so perfect, really – makes me feel good, too. Takes me right out of myself, sends me flying, just like you said we would one day.’ She stared up at his handsome profile and sighed. ‘But you don’t feel like that, eh?’

‘Suppose I don’t.’ Neil turned his head to look at her. ‘I’m glad it made you happy, anyway. I like to see you happy.’

She smiled. ‘That’s nice, Neil, thank you. But let’s talk about you know who, eh? If I hadn’t been full of the picture, I’d have been talking about her already.’

‘Who? Who’d you mean?’

‘Come on, Neil – Miss Rosemary, of course! Isn’t she just like you expected? Though I must admit I never expected her to ask us to call her Rosemary – made Jemima stare, I can tell you!’

‘I think it’s a sign that she’s no’ what I expected,’ Neil said slowly. ‘You were right, in fact – she shouldn’t be blamed because of her background. It’s nothing to do with her that she’s been so privileged, and you can tell that by the way she treated us, eh? Couldn’t have been more friendly, could she? No hint of playing the grand lady or anything like that. I was – well, let’s say I had to revise my opinion.’

‘My, you’re certainly talking enough now,’ Lindy remarked. ‘Heavens, what a flow – and all praise.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I don’t know her well enough to be sure what she’s like – I’m only going on how she was this evening. And then, you have to remember that she’s facing a real crisis in her life, something we haven’t had to do, and she’s taken it very well. Moved out of the life she knows to something quite different, and not shown bitterness or self-pity, or anything. It is something to admire, Lindy.’

‘Oh, yes, I agree. Thing is, I wouldn’t say folk like us have never had to face a crisis in our lives, Neil. Some live that way all the time, if it’s a question of finding where the next meal’s coming from.’

‘As though you needed to tell me that!’ he cried. ‘I was talking of you and me – our families being so lucky to be still in work and have food on the table.’

‘And knowing that could change any time, Neil. If Dad lost his job and the shop was closed – and it could close, there’s no’ much turnover these days – we’d be in crisis, too. I reckon Miss Rosemary doesn’t really know yet what hardship is – and might never know, come to that. What’s the betting an admirer will come riding up on a great white horse and carry her off to riches?’

‘You think so?’ asked Neil quickly.

‘Och, who knows? I’m just guessing. Come on, here’s number nineteen looming ahead. Let’s have a cup of tea with Dad and Aunt Myra. Poor old Myra will be dying to hear about Rosemary.’

‘I don’t think I’ll come in tonight, thanks, Lindy. I want to do some writing before bed. But it’s been a grand evening, eh?’

‘Grand,’ she agreed, though her gaze on him was doubtful. ‘Don’t forget our goodnight kiss, though.’

‘As though I would!’ he cried with enthusiasm.

But the kiss, when it came, might have been described as short and sweet – not quite the same as their kisses of late. What was on his mind? Lindy wondered, as they parted at the stairs. The writing he was planning to do? Or what they’d been talking about? He certainly seemed a long way away from her.

‘Is that you, Lindy?’ came her stepmother’s voice. ‘Come away in and tell me all about Miss Dalrymple, then!’

If Lindy had thought Miss Rosemary would move out of number nineteen as soon as she’d seen the dark side, she was mistaken. Far from being upset by the way her neighbours behaved, particularly on Saturday nights, she seemed fascinated by it, and when Mrs Kerry tried to apologize and said Rosemary must be horrified, she told her, no, no, it was the way some people were – she must try to understand.

‘Most folk here lead hard lives,’ Lindy explained, when she and Rosemary had joined Jemima and her mother one evening in Mrs Kerry’s flat. ‘Men as well as women, and the way the men relax and let off steam is to go to the pub – then you see what happens.’

‘How can one blame them?’ Rosemary asked. ‘I’m just beginning to understand what their lives must be like – it’s no wonder they want to escape. But then, as you say, the women’s lives are hard, too, and they just seem to stay at home.’

‘And take what’s coming sometimes.’ Lindy sighed. ‘I don’t blame the chaps going out to the pub, but why knock their wives about when they get back?’

‘Very few do that here,’ Jemima said quickly. ‘And it’s just the drink, you see. They’re good lads, really.’

‘Is poor Aggie’s husband one of them?’ asked Rosemary diffidently.

The other women exchanged glances.

‘You saw her black eye the other day?’ Jemima asked reluctantly. ‘Aye, I’m afraid the drink does seem to have a bad effect on her Tam. He’s always sorry afterwards.’

‘I should think he is!’ cried Lindy. ‘Should be ashamed of himself, hitting a woman. My dad would never do that, drink or no drink.’

‘It’s a real shame he’s that way,’ Mrs Kerry ventured quietly. ‘Like Jemima says, he’s no’ a bad lad at all.’ She turned to Rosemary. ‘But has it upset you, dear, seeing poor Aggie? That’s the last thing we want to happen, to have you upset when you’ve troubles of your own.’

‘Oh, please don’t worry about me, Mrs Kerry!’ Rosemary replied hastily. ‘Things have worked out so well for me, personally, I can’t thank everyone enough for their kindness. All the work you did on the flat, Jemima, and the cooking you’ve done for me, Mrs Kerry, it’s been amazing. I really feel I should learn to do some cooking myself – perhaps you could teach me a few simple dishes?’

‘Oh, no, dear!’ Mrs Kerry cried in alarm. ‘I’d get that flustered, eh? I could never teach anyone.’

‘Never even taught me,’ Jemima said, smiling. ‘But no one would expect you to do anything, Miss Rosemary. Don’t you worry about it.’

‘I did say no need to call me “miss”,’ Rosemary said reproachfully. ‘And I don’t see why I shouldn’t be expected to do anything. I mean, I haven’t even done any washing yet in your basement – you’ve done it all, Jemima. And then there are the stairs. Am I not supposed to take a turn? I saw a lady sweeping them yesterday but when I offered to help, she said’ – Rosemary laughed – ‘nae bother!’

Everyone laughed with her, but Lindy was thinking that the words perfectly summed up the attitude of those in number nineteen when it came to expecting the new tenant to do anything. ‘Nae bother’, ‘that’s all right’, ‘no trouble’, ‘don’t worry about it’.

It seemed to have been readily understood that Rosemary, in spite of her wish to be the same as everyone else, was far from being the same; was, in fact, some sort of fairy tale being dropped into the tenement as though by a spell. And who could expect a fairy-tale being to sweep the stairs, or take a turn for the copper in the basement to do her own washing?

Rather teasingly, Lindy asked Struan if he wasn’t interested in taking out such a pretty girl as Rosemary, to which he’d snorted in derision.

‘Me take out
Miss
Rosemary? Are you joking? How could I afford to take somebody like her anywhere? I can scarcely afford beer for myself, never mind taking her to the North British Hotel, or the Caledonian or somewhere!’

‘She’d never expect that, Struan. She knows you’re no’ one of her rich crowd.’

‘Well, I’d feel a fool, asking her out for a cheap seat at the pictures and a fish supper to follow. Neil’s brothers were saying the same. Lovely girl, no’ for us.’

‘I’d say they were all absolutely wrong,’ Neil himself declared next evening when she told him of her conversation with her brother on the way to their usual dance hall. ‘Rosemary would never expect to be wined and dined by anyone from Scott Street, but it wouldn’t stop her wanting to go out with a fellow because of that.’

‘You think so?’

‘Sure I do. I told my brothers the same. If she was really attracted to someone she’d be happy to go out with him whoever he was.’

Lindy was looking dubious. ‘I don’t know if you’re right. Going out with someone here could be the start of something that wouldn’t do for her, Neil. I mean, treating us all as friends is one thing, but getting really involved with a chap from a different background . . . that’d never be the same.’

Neil shook his head. ‘Lindy, you’re wrong. I’ve talked to Rosemary. She’s no snob. I think when she marries it’ll be for love, no’ money or background.’

‘For love
and
money, I’d say. These society folk marry each other.’ Lindy laughed. ‘When did you ever hear of a debutante marrying somebody from a tenement?’

‘Usually they don’t meet people from tenements.’ Neil hesitated. ‘The difference with Rosemary is that she has.’

Lindy stopped laughing, her dark blue eyes on Neil’s face suddenly searching – for what she wasn’t sure, maybe nothing. Probably nothing, in fact.

‘Think she’s found anyone?’ she asked, forcing herself to speak lightly. ‘In our tenement?’

‘I don’t know. How would I know?’

‘Oh, you’d know, all right. You know what they say – love and a cold can’t be hid.’

‘Haven’t seen either.’

‘Nor me.’ Lindy was trying to relax. ‘I expect Rosemary’s too busy to fall in love. She’s got to find a job. When she does she’ll be away, you know. She isn’t here to stay.’

‘Hasn’t done much so far about finding a job. What could she do, anyway?’

‘I’ve no idea. What sort o’ thing do debutantes do? Arrange flowers, go dancing, have cocktails?’

‘Doesn’t sound much like work to me. Might take Rosemary quite a while to find anything, then.’

‘Might. Meanwhile, she seems to be happy here.’

‘That shows what she’s like,’ Neil said eagerly. ‘She’s settled so well. Got some character, eh?’

With her looks she doesn’t need character, Lindy thought, then felt a little ashamed. It was true what Neil said. Rosemary was a person of character, and nice-natured with it. If only folk were not so obsessed with her . . . As they moved on to the floor for a quickstep it came to her, worryingly, that by ‘folk’ she had meant Neil. No, that was a piece of nonsense! He was just interested, the way they all were. Only to be expected.

‘When are we going out again?’ she asked as they arrived home after a pleasant enough evening. ‘Tomorrow, Sunday, as usual?’

‘Aye, tomorrow. Go for one of our walks, eh?’

‘I thought we might go somewhere different. Take the bus to Cramond or Swanston, maybe?’

‘Think I’d rather stay local this time, Lindy, so I get back early. I’ve some reading to do for this course I’ve taken on.’

‘Thought that had finished?’

‘New session starts this month.’

‘Oh, well, where’d you want to go, then?’

‘We can decide when we meet. I’ll call for you about two, all right?’

‘Fine. See you then.’

They kissed, only briefly, which did not surprise Lindy – lately, all their kisses seemed to have been brief. Now, that wasn’t to be expected, was it? She decided not to think about it. Neil had things on his mind: his writing, his course; he’d sort himself out sometime. Meanwhile, she had Aunt Myra to face, for the usual chat.

‘That you, Lindy?’ cried the familiar voice.

‘Who else, Aunt Myra?’ called Lindy.

On Sunday afternoon Lindy was alone in the flat waiting for Neil, who was late. Glancing at the clock she saw it was showing ten minutes after two, which meant he was not very late, then, but still . . .

‘Shouldn’t be late at all, should he, Gingerboy?’ she asked the ginger cat, who had stalked in from her wee bedroom, where he often slept for hours. Naturally he only gave her a scornful look, then went to see what was in his saucer.

‘Want some more milk?’

She bent to pour him a little from a jug in the scullery, then straightened up to smooth the skirt of her vivid green dress that she was wearing for the first time, having put the last stitch into its hem the night before.

For some reason she had felt it important to get it finished for today’s outing with Neil, had wanted to make sure that she was looking her best, even if a little different, in something new. Not that he’d take much notice, he not being one to worry about appearances, only putting on the first thing that came to hand himself. Still, she would feel better if she looked right. More confident about their afternoon together, for there had been something in Neil’s eyes as he’d said goodnight last evening that worried her just a little. She couldn’t say what it was, but was rather afraid that she might soon find out.

Suddenly, with a rush of relief, she heard his voice just outside the flat door. He was here at last. But at the door she paused. Who was with him? Whose was that other voice, answering his? Light, charming, quite familiar. Lindy knew it well.

‘Hello, Rosemary!’ she cried, opening her door. ‘Hello, Neil.’

They were standing together, smiling at her, Rosemary in one of her favourite pink outfits with matching hat, and Neil – Neil was in a brand-new sports jacket. Lindy couldn’t believe it, couldn’t take her eyes off him. Neil, not in some aged coat belonging to one of his brothers, but a handsome tweed jacket, so stiff and pristine it had to be new? Where had he got it from? Where had he found the money to buy it? His shirt looked new, too, and his tie, and though she had seen his flannel trousers often enough, she’d never seen them actually pressed – with a crease, for heaven’s sake?