Fortunes of the Heart (31 page)

Had she taken Mammy’s advice to heart, then by now she would
have been safely settled in her own wee single-end home, with a loving husband
by her side and far removed from this hated room and its equally detested
occupant. She just could not believe how naïve she had been – especially after
the dire consequences of her first sexual experiences with that married wastrel
of a so-called man, Ross Cuthbert. How could she have been so daft? Well,
thanks to her own stupidity, Brian had found out her guilty secret long before
the planned wedding date. When, from their night of illicit passion in Glasgow
Green, he had discovered he was quite clearly not the first on the scene, he
had beat a hasty retreat in search of a fresh young virgin for his bride.

Last thing Jenny heard of him was that he had emigrated to
Canada – a land where it was rumoured the authorities were giving away free,
with both hands, huge tracts of Prairie land to pioneer settlers.

Jenny sighed with despair, frustration and an intense
longing for what might have been had she heeded her mother’s warnings. Hearing
this discontented sound, Pearce at once reacted in like-fashion.

“Jenny, what in God’s name is wrong now? Is it not enough
that you have brought shame on this household? And lost us our lodger – the one
bright spark in my life –and my only true friend, Mrs Delaney. Now there was a
real lady for you; well-born, mannerly and with a proper respect for the
rightness of things. Yes, a lady, Josephine Delaney.”

At once Jenny turned to face him as she shouted back, giving
him as good as she herself had received.

“What’s wrong, did you say, Dadda? I’ll tell you what’s
wrong I’m sick, fed-up with waiting hand and foot on you.”

Pearce’s already pasty complexion went ashen

“Listen you ... you pregnant hussy. Believe me, I would die
rather than ask your help.”

Just at that point, a wave of nausea and faintness hit her
and she had no alternative but to stand there, clutching on to the edge of the
still-
uncleared
kitchen table. Suddenly, as if
matters were not already bad enough, she felt a spurt of wet warmth trickling
down from between her legs. She knew enough of the facts of life to realise
what was happening. Clutching a trembling hand to her forehead, and in the
greatest blind panic she had ever known in her life, she screamed at the top of
her voice: “Oh my God. It’s started. The baby. It’s started. God help me.”

In one last desperate bid to reach the door and whatever
help might be found beyond the
suffocatingly
-warm
kitchen and its other occupant, she lunged her ungainly body away from the
mainstay of the table.

It was then that she fell in a dead faint just in front of
the closed door. As she fell with a crash that shook the foundations, her last
coherent thought was: The baby– it’s started. And who in God’s name is going to
help me now?

Chapter 23

It was some five or six hours later and well into the
afternoon before Kate finally got back to Garth Street. In the normal way, she
would have been home much earlier. However, something so unusual had happened
that she felt justified, at least for once in her life, in making the most of
it.

Mrs Scott had, as in the years before, insisted that she and
Kate have their annual pre-Christmas party. As usual Kate had thoroughly enjoyed
herself and to her surprise and delight Mrs Scott had given her five guineas.
When Kate had tried to refuse, Mrs Scott had been adamant. Kate could take the
five guineas or she could stop coming to work and chat.

To even the most casual bystander, it must have been
apparent that right at that moment, all was well with the world of Kate Kinnon.
She almost danced along the street in her delight at her unexpected good
fortune, her face shone with happiness and from time to time, she hummed a
catchy Irish tune.

Just fancy Mrs Scott giving me all that money. It could not
have come at a better time. Lucky me.

She was actually heading home, desperate to tell Jenny and
Granny of her good fortune, when all of a sudden she stopped short in such a
manner that the shawled woman behind her all but cannoned into her. The other
woman was obviously not having such a good day, for at the near collision, she
let out a stream of expletives which left Kate blushing and profuse with
apologies.

Anyway, having gone to such trouble to change course in
mid-stream, Kate decided to proceed with her bright idea. Glad to see the back
of the other woman, she grinned.

Yes. I will do it; why shouldn’t I steal a couple of hours?
After all, it isn’t as if anyone will be needing me right now. Hannah is safely
under Granny’s wing. Jenny still has a few weeks to go to reach her time.
Anyway, she’s looking after Pearce. Right. Here goes.

She retraced her steps and instead headed towards the
Briggait
and from there to
Shipbank
Lane. Her final goal was Paddy’s Market and the many second-hand stalls which
were
sited
in the archways under the railway line.

When she arrived, it was to find the usual scene of noise,
laughter and. bustling activity. There was much evidence of the usual Glasgow
bonhomie and ribaldry, as stallholders, browsers and buyers alike traded not
only second-hand goods but friendly insults.

Altogether, the atmosphere of the place exactly suited her
mood, and not least on account of the air of added excitement and suspense as
everyone kept a weather eye open for the polis, as members of Her Majesty’s
Constabulary were known locally.

Kate would have loved to dawdle over the hats, coats, bed
linen, tablecloths, and even books. But on this occasion, she had come with a
specific purpose in mind and she determined not to be detracted from it. She
already knew that if there was a bargain to be had anywhere in Glasgow, then
this was the place for it. So in this Aladdin’s cave under the railway bridges
of the Second City, she started her hunt. She scoured from one end of Paddy’s
Market to the other, but nowhere could she find what she wanted. At last she
sighed, and with a deep frown on her face, all her earlier jubilation gone, she
was on the point of giving up the search when she spied a face she recognised.
It was old
Shuggie
, the kindly soul she had met
before at the Book Barra in Stockwell Street. But as far as Kate could see,
this time it was not a
barrowload
of books he was
trundling. Kate shook her head in disbelief.

I just don’t believe it. This must be a dream. Surely I
couldn’t possibly be lucky twice in one day?

She awakened from her reverie when she heard her name being
called, and glancing up, with a questioning look in her eyes, she found that
she was being hailed by the very man himself, old
Shuggie
.

“My, my. And if it’s not Kathleen
Mavourneen
herself, my lovely Irish colleen.”

Kate laughed, willing herself to keep her eyes on old
Shuggie
and well away from the contents of his barrow, even
though she felt their magnetism drawing her. It would never do, she realised
full well, to evince too much interest. The only result of that would be to put
the price up.

But she had reckoned without old
Shuggie’s
friendly and direct manner.

“Nice to see ye, hen. But if you’re looking for books from
me the day – as I mind, it was poetry you were after? Aye, never could stand
the bloody rubbish myself. If it’s books you’re after ... weel, hen, not to put
too fine a point on it, you’re shit out of luck.”

Kate gave a broad grin.

“Well, that’s the wonder of poetry disposed of
Shuggie
, and no mistake.”

They laughed together in easy companionship, with all the
while Kate wondering the best way, without appearing too obvious, to broach the
subject uppermost in her mind. Fortunately,
Shuggie
put her out of her misery.

With a disparaging wave of his hand towards his overloaded
barrow, he shook his head.

“Not a book in sight. Bugger my luck. No, hen, I’m stuck
with this
barra
-load of rubbish.

When he again indicated with a grubby forefinger the
contents piled high on his barrow, Kate this time took a closer look. Her eyes
grew wide with amazement. Seeing this, the old man grinned.

“No wonder you’re near losing your eye-sight, hen. A right
barrow-load of rubbish for a respectable book-dealer like me to be wheeling
aboot the streets of Glasgow. I feel a right big Jessie. Just hope none o’ my
drinking pals see me.

In her excitement, Kate had to gulp a couple of times before
she could speak. Even then, when the words came, they had an odd husky quality.
She pointed to the object of
Shuggie’s
scorn.

“And what might you be planning to do with that ...
er
... that barrow-load of rubbish, as you choose to call
it?”

Quick as a flash came
Shuggie’s
reply.

“See
Ettna
Cassidy’s stall over
there? Weel, I’m hoping that good old
Ettna
will give
me ten bob for the lot and let me get the hell out of here.”

Kate gulped. She could hardly keep the excitement out of her
voice.

“Ten bob, eh? Listen,
Shuggie
, how
would you like to double your money at one fell swoop, as it were? I’ll give
you a golden sovereign for the cot and the pram.”

Shuggie’s
eyes widened with
surprise and delight, but before he could say anything, Kate went on.

“Just one thing, though. I’d need to ask you to wheel the
load round to Garth Street for me. Then hump it up four flights to the top
flat. Do you think you could do that?”

Shuggie
half-raised his bunnet
and, with black-rimmed fingers, groped underneath the skip of his cloth cap as
though seeking something of value which he had lost. At length he grinned over
the stubs of teeth which so exactly matched his finger-nails.

“Listen, hen, for a golden sovereign – well, let me tell you
this – I’d even sell my Granny, never mind take a wee jaunt round to Garth
Street. Aye, I’d be happy tae wheel this bloody lot of rubbish tae Kingdom Come
for ten bob,
niwer
mind a golden sovereign. Must be
my lucky day.”

“Lucky day. You and me both,
Shuggie
.
Tell you what, I’ll give you the sovereign now, we’ll walk round to my house
together. Then, after you’ve unloaded the stuff – well, there might even be a
wee cup of tea and a hot potato cake for you. How would that suit you,
Shuggie
?”

The old man nodded his assent.

Then, with a great display, he spat first on the palm of one
hand, then on the other, rubbed them together and finally grabbed hold of the
shafts of the barrow. He grinned.

“Right, then. Nae more talk. Lead on,
MacDuff
.
And I’ll tell you this – I could murder for a drink even if it is only the cup
that’s supposed to cheer.”

So it was that in high good humour the oddly-matched pair
set out, with Kate’s purse now a bit lighter. Even so, she felt that it had
been money well spent. Now she was assured that when Jenny’s bairn would be
born, probably in another two or three weeks, then it would be the first child
in the Kinnon family to have its own satin-lined Moses basket. There would be
no kitchen dresser drawer for her grandchild. Even better perhaps was the
carriage-built high pram which she knew that she herself or Jenny would be
proud to wheel through the streets of
Candleriggs
.
Yes, while it was certainly true that Jenny’s baby, at least in the eyes of the
law and of enquiring neighbours, would be born a bastard, nevertheless from
that moment, Kate decided that nothing but the best would be good enough for
the new baby whenever he or she decided to arrive.

Chapter 24

Half an hour or so later, Kate,
Shuggie
,
and the overloaded barrow arrived outside her own close in Garth Street. That
in itself would have been excitement enough for the interested and highly
inquisitive neighbours who, if nothing else, always loved a removal, or a
flittin’ as they called it. However, given the knots of
overalled
,
beshawled
women already gathered at the close-mouth,
it was at once clear that something of even greater moment had already taken
place. As Kate approached the first group of whispering women, they immediately
stopped all efforts at conversation, and instead, after a commiserating glance
at Kate, moved aside to let her pass. By now highly intrigued as to what could
possibly have happened in her absence to occasion such underlying excitement,
Kate cocked an enquiring head. But on seeing this, most of her neighbours at
once lowered their eyes, as if bent on making a minute study of the pavement
puddles at their feet. It was left to Big Beanie McGuire to act as spokeswoman.

This formidable lady lived on the ground floor, and on
account of her white-scrolled and disinfectant-scrubbed door-step and her
child-chasing efforts, she was known as the Queen of the Close. She it was who
assuming command of the situation, stepped forward and taking Kate by the arm,
said in her broad Glasgow accent: “It shouldn’t be too long now, Mistress
Kinnon. It’s five hours ago and more since the midwife went up there. And even
before that we heard the screams of the poor lassie. But God willing, it won’t
be long now.”

Kate clutched the other woman’s hand, and her eyes wide with
fear and amazement, she asked in a hoarse voice: “Poor lassie? Midwife? Surely
ye don’t mean ... no, it can’t be Jenny. She’s got close on another month still
to go. Tell me, ye don’t mean it.”