In a Class of Their Own (19 page)

Rachel gave the matter careful thought before answering. “Look, I come with experience of serving toffs. I know how to run a high-class bar. Tell you what: you agree to give me the job, here and now, and I’ll agree to come for five ten a week. But as soon as I’ve proved myself, you’ll put my wages up by another pound. All right?”

Paddy leant over and shook her hand.

By the April of 1949, Rachel had been working three months for Paddy Doyle. From the first day however, she realised that even if they changed the name from the
Standard Bar
to
The Dorchester
it would always be known in Leith as
Dolan’s
and only its unique clientele would ever cross its threshold.

Rachel had tried barring the very worst customers (including Gabby) from its doors, but in the end she had to admit defeat. It pained her to advise Paddy that they would just have to settle for the fact that it was a notoriously disreputable gold mine and accept the class of people who patronised it. Indeed by the end of her first week, despite all her efforts, she knew there was no chance whatsoever of raising its status.

She cherished her Wednesdays off. Those were the days when she could forget about breaking up fights, cleaning up spew, serving Red Biddy to old whores whose minds were now completely befuddled, and checking that Jimmy, the barman, wasn’t fiddling the till or doctoring the stock. Wednesdays were the days for family and house: days for cleaning, washing, cooking and getting things generally sorted out. And that particular Wednesday she would be busy in the afternoon getting both Sam and Carrie sorted out with a job.

The Headmaster of Montgomery Park secondary school was allowing all the imminent school leavers time off to find employment, and Rachel had arranged for Sam to come home early so that they could spend the afternoon trying to find him a trade.

By the time Sam arrived home, Rachel had his plate of soup already dished up. “Sam,” she said as he began to tuck in, “we’ve agreed that you want to learn a trade. What exactly would you like to be?”

Sam stared at the gas light above his head. As usual the mantle was broken, thanks to his prowess with a ball. “Well, if ye’re still no gonnae let me kick a baw?”

“I’m not.”

“Then hoo aboot me gettin’ tae be an electrician and pitting electric licht in here?”

By now Carrie had come in and sat down. “Oh, Sam, that would be just great. Imagine it, Mammy, you’d come in and flick down a wee switch and the whole house would be lit up. Even the bathroom.”

“Carrie, you wanting to hide in the toilet and read your trashy magazines there is no reason for putting in electric light,” snapped Rachel. “Besides, within a year I’ll have saved up the money we need to put it in. So, Sam, it’s your choice.”

“Dinnae ken, Mam.”

“In that case, we’ll just get ourselves down to the Labour Exchange and see what they’ve got to offer.”

When Rachel advanced into the men’s section of the Leith Labour Exchange with Sam behind her, a silence fell upon the room. Even Sam could feel the hostility towards his mother for having invaded this male sanctum. Indeed, one man remarked very loudly, “Nae content with runnin’ Dolan’s, she’s got the bluidy cheek to come in here to see whit ither man’s job she can pinch.”

Ignoring both the outburst and the queue, Rachel walked straight up to the clerk, who was about to call the next man. “You’d best attend to us first,” she cautioned the open-mouthed man. “That way you’ll get rid of me and then be able to find out if anybody is daft enough to give blabber-mouth over there a job,” she said, pointing towards the man who had had the temerity to try and humiliate her.

“Look, Mister, all I want is a trade,” Sam intervened, to demonstrate that he could speak for himself.

The clerk sucked in his lips. “Well, son, we expect you to have reached a certain standard in your education.”

“He’s better qualified than you,” Rachel interrupted, slapping down Sam’s Lower Leaving Certificate onto the counter.

The clerk took the certificate and perused it carefully. “Look, son,” he said as he handed Sam back his certificate, “with marks like these, shouldn’t you be staying on at school and thinking about a white-collar job?”

Sam shook his head. “All I want is a trade.”

“Well, you just might be able to get one. Only problem is there’s more laddies wanting trades than there are places. And another thing. The shipyards won’t take on any apprentices until after the Trades in July.” The man’s face brightened. “Hang on though: I do have a plumber looking for a bright laddie right now.” The man then began to flick through his card-index box.

“Don’t bother with that,” snapped Rachel, losing her self-control. “My Sam doesn’t shovel his own shit and there’s just no way he’s going to shovel anybody else’s.” Rachel made for the door. “Right, Sam, let’s go.”

“Look,” the clerk shouted, “wouldn’t it be better for your boy to take a temporary job till he gets into a trade in July? Though most of the laddies who do that get used to having a bob or two in their pocket and don’t want to give that up.”

Once outside, Sam turned on Rachel. “Mam!” he exclaimed. “Ye didnae gie me a decent chance to find oot if there wis a job I could get richt noo.”

“Look here, Sam,” said Rachel. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Go over to Henry Robb’s Shipyard right now and ask them to give you a temporary job in their office till they can take you on as an apprentice in July.”

“An
office
job?”

“Aye, and if you talk proper like your sisters, and stop bloody swearing too, you just might get taken on.”

“But Mammy, would that no be me trying to get in by the back door?”

“Oh Sam, surely you know I’d never encourage you to do such a thing?”

Sam and Rachel eyed each other, and then without another word they set off walking across the wooden bridge towards the docks. Halfway over Sam stopped. “This is as far as ye go, Mam, cos I hae to go to Robb’s on my ain!”

“No, Sam, I’m going with you.”

“Naw, Mam, if I’m gonnae work there, I hae to speak up for masel’. Ah’m able to talk for masel’, even though it’s no the wey ye’d like me to speak. So ye’ll just wait here till I get back.”

Rachel wanted to argue, but Sam’s determined look made her realise he’d go his own way no matter what she said. She sighed to herself and stood looking over the worn rails of the bridge at the gurgling, murky Water of Leith that ran below her. The view had always frightened her – as Sam’s future now did. Memories of her own past came flooding back and she thought of the many times she had walked over that very bridge with her Auntie Anna. Resting her chin in cupped hands, she wondered what life would have been like if she’d had a real mother – a mother who would have cared for her and protected her. Sure enough, she’d had Auntie Anna and maybe that was as much as she had a right to expect. Then, lifting her head boldly, she stared firmly downwards and vowed that her bairns would never be deprived of a mother’s love as she had been. On the contrary, she’d strive to ensure that they’d all reach their full potential, and somehow she just knew that some of them at least would end up in the class that she should have been born into.

The sound of approaching feet made Rachel turn. She hoped it wasn’t Sam back already, because if so he’d surely have been unsuccessful. A warm smile lit up her face, however, when she saw Bella at her side. Beloved Bella was Auntie Anna’s brother’s youngest bairn, who had also been brought up by Anna. She was just seven years older than Rachel herself and they’d been brought up as sisters.

“Well, are you not a sight for sore eyes? I haven’t seen you in weeks,” said Rachel delightedly.

“Honestly, Rachel! Sandy and me – we’re run aff oor feet, these days.”

“Ah well, it’s grand to know the funeral trade’s no dying.”

“Richt enough. By April there’s usually less deid customers coming in – but noo that Sandy’s got this wee scheme going …”

“Wee scheme? What wee scheme’s that, for heaven’s sake?”

Bella looked warily about her before whispering, “Got himself real freendly like wi’ yin o the Sisters at Leith Hospital that he fancies. So when onybody dees on her ward and their folk are wonderin’ aboot an undertaker she sends them ower the street to Sandy.”

“Now, that’s a proper dead-end way to build up a business.”

Bella chuckled heartily before asking. “But here, whit are ye daein’ hingin’ ower the bridge with a face as lang as Leith Walk itsel’?”

“Just waiting for Sam. He’s away over to Robb’s to see about a job and then an apprenticeship.”

“Johnny been speaking up for him tae?”

Rachel shook her head. “Johnny? How could he do that?”

“Well, wi’ him being sae high up in the Union noo. He spoke up for Ella’s twa and they’re starting in Bertram’s.”

“Bertram’s Engineering in Leith Walk?”

“Aye. They’re just sweeping the flairs to start wi’, but if they dae weel they just micht get the chance o a trade. Mind you, with them no being ower bricht, that’ll tak some daeing.”

“Och, I don’t know. They seem to have the backing of a father my bairns don’t have. But at least my Sam can aye say he got his trade by being top of his class and me bringin’ him up to speak up for himself.”

Bella bristled, realising she’d said too much. Rachel was fuming now, and Bella knew she had every right to be. Sam, after all, was Johnny’s son, and there was Johnny, doing what he was best at – being the Good Samaritan to all but his own.

“Em, does Sam no want to gang to sea like yer ain grandfaither?” said Bella brightly, trying to defuse the situation.

“He hasn’t really said. But I know he’s quite happy to get a trade.”

“So he’s got ower the fitbaw thing?”

“Don’t be daft, Bella! Of course he hasn’t – and he never will.”

“And oor Carrie? Is she gonnae dance straight ower to Hollywood?” Bella teased, nudging Rachel with her shoulder. “Or is there a chance she’ll stick aroond an’ find a real job when she leaves schuil next week?”

“Right enough – she’s pretty good at the dancing,” Rachel chuckled, “but not that good yet to tap-dance the whole way over the Atlantic.”

Rachel stopped, suddenly aware that Bella was staring beyond her. She turned, thinking Bella was seeing Sam coming back, but it was a dirty, drunken old man staggering on and off the pavement that was holding her attention.

“Some folk never change,” Bella muttered as Gabby tried three times to navigate himself onto the bridge.

“Aye, you’re right there! And know what I’m thinking? Where on earth did he get the wherewithal to be drunk this early in the day?”

“You still letting him into Dolan’s?”

Rachel shook her head.

“Here, talking of that, has yon skinflint pit up yer wages yet?”

“Officially - no.”

“Oh, dinnae tell me ye’ve taken to doctoring the whisky and takin’ the money he owes ye oot o the till?”

Rachel just turned away and looked down into the murky waters again.

“Oh, my God. Do ye no ken ye could end up bein’ chairged and daein’ time for that?”

Rachel’s head shot up “Me doctor the whisky? Dinnae be daft. He goes off back to Ireland every month and while he’s away I just buy a couple bottles of the real Mackay.” Rachel stopped and winked at Bella before adding in a whisper, “Bottles, you know, that fell off the back of a lorry. Then I sell them in the shop for myself. And know something? If you pour it right, you can get nearly thirty nips out of the one bottle.”

By now, Gabby had got himself on to the bridge and, as he weaved his way towards them, he pulled a bottle from his pocket and took a long slug from it. He was so bleary-eyed and drunk that he was almost level with Rachel and Bella before he noticed them.

“Weel, weel! If it’s nae ye twa. And ken somethin’? Aw ye need is for soddin’ Anna to come back frae the deid and the three of ye could play the bloody witches in Macbeth.”

“That richt?” said Bella tartly. “And what I’m wondering is, where the hell did ye get the dosh to get so bloody fu?”

“Got a few o my Post-War Credits again. Aye, they come in real handy. Mind ye, at the time they were takin’ them aff ma wages I cursed them, so I did. But I’m real grateful noo for the wee lift I get when they pey them back.”

“In that case, d’you no think you should be layin’ something by for your funeral?” asked Rachel.

“My funeral?” Gabby exclaimed, tottering backwards. “Look, I’m no thinkin’ o deein’ richt noo. And when I dae dee, ye can bung me in the paupers’.”

“No way will you leave my house for the paupers’.”

“In that case, just gie me to the students to practise on.”

“Washed or unwashed?” sniggered Bella impudently.

“An’ that’s anither thing! When I do d-dee-d-dee ye’re no to wash me,” said Gabby, wagging his finger in Bella’s face.

Bella pulled her head back in distaste. “That richt?” she sneered. “Well, that’ll no be ony hardship, cos I’m damned particular aboot whae I wash.”

Gabby made to take a lunge towards Bella then seemed to change his mind and began to lurch off. But after only a few steps he turned and sniggered, “An’ if they doctors up at the in- fir-mar-ee dinnae want ma pickled liver, then just send me awa in an orange box. An’, like yersel’, Bella, my darlin’, I’m real fussy – so it will hae to be Ootspan or Jaffa.”

Bella and Rachel shrugged and looked at each other. “Here, Rachel, talkin’ o folk deein’. Do ye ken Rosie’s had a bad stroke yesterday?”

“No. But why would that matter to me?”

Bella shook her head disapprovingly. “Look, she does her level best by you and the bairns. She just cannae help it that she’s nae match for Ella’s green eyes and Johnny’s …” Bella hesitated. “Look, he’s no really aw that bad, Rachel. He’s just no a coper.”

Rachel eyes rolled before she retorted. “Not a coper? He’s not anything.”

“Maybe so,” Bella went on doggedly. “But where Rosie’s concerned, ye should mak yer peace wi’ her.”

Rachel made no attempt to answer at once, which surprised Bella, who had expected a mouthful in return. But Rachel was shaken and searching for the right words – words that would say she was sorry about Rosie, yet at the same time blaming her for Johnny having deserted her and the bairns.