In a Class of Their Own (24 page)

“What’s the problem then?”

“Just that he asked me if I had a ball gown and I told him –” Carrie hesitated and carefully distanced herself from her mother, “- that I had two.”

“And where the hell are you going to get
one,
let alone two?” fumed Rachel.

Carrie sidled over towards Rachel again. “Well, Mam, if you could lend me a fiver there’s a lilac one in the Store sale that would do.”

“A fiver for a frock that you’ll no be able to wash and wear again?”

Carrie nodded. Sam giggled. Rachel took a deep breath, suddenly realising that Carrie didn’t know about Gabby.

“Look, Carrie,” she whispered. “Come and sit down. I’ve something to tell you.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know who’s dead?”

“Aye! The King.”

“Not just the King, Carrie, but your Granddad too.”

Carrie began to sob. “Oh no!”

Before Rachel could comfort her, Sam butted in. “And ken whit? He bocht it tryin’ to get yin last dram.”

“That’s enough, Sam!” Rachel retorted sharply. ‘“Don’t you realise that we’re going to have to come up with the wherewithall to bury him?”

Before Sam could speak there came a loud knock at the door. “Right, Sam. Go and see who it is and try to come back with some good news for us.”

Sam cautiously opened the door and found Bella, who pushed straight past him and was in the scullery before Rachel knew she was there.

“Whit a beezer o a day!” Bella exclaimed, rubbing her hands together enthusiastically.

Rachel didn’t respond. Instead she glared at Sam and hissed, “D’you ever listen to a word I say?”

Sam repressed a giggle with difficulty.

“And hoo are ye, Rachel hen?” Bella went on. “Ye ken, as soon as I heard, I just kent ye would be needin’ me. Mind ye, did I no tell ye last week, when I saw that auld craw sittin’ on tap o yer roof, that there would be a passin’ for sure.”

“You did?” said Carrie hysterically.

Ignoring her, Bella carried on. “And, Rachel hen, yer Mammy came through to me last nicht and asked me to be on haun to comfort ye. An’ here was I just comin’ alang the street, there the noo, when she came through again just to say ye’ve nae tae worry as yer Dad’s arrived safe and sound.”

“That right?” Rachel said with some contempt. “Oh, what wouldn’t I have given to be a fly on the wall when my mother got her hands on him again?”

Carrie felt it was time for her to speak, but all she could think of was, “Auntie Bella, you don’t happen to know anybody that has a ball gown I could borrow?”

Aghast, Bella stared at Carrie. “Oh, hen,” she gasped, “ye dinnae wear a ball goon to a funeral. Naw. Naw. A wee black frock is whit ye gang in.”

Sam and Carrie had better things to do than cope with Auntie Bella and her ravings, so both went out – Sam to meet some mysterious man who wanted to discuss a wee business proposal, and Carrie to cry on Bernie’s shoulder about the ball gown. That left Rachel and Bella to do what they were both best at: sitting down with a cup of tea and having a good crack.

Today, however, they were lost for words and Bella, who seemed deep in thought, was idly stirring her tea when she noted that Rachel’s tightly clenched fists were constantly rubbing her eyes.

“Ye can greet aw ye want, Rachel, noo the bairns are oot o the road. I ken, as well as ony, that it’s a sad day when ye lose yer faither,” Bella reassured her, surreptitiously adding a large spoonful of sugar to her tea.

Within seconds Rachel’s eyes blazed and she fired back at Bella, “You really think so, do you?”

Bella shifted uneasily in her seat and took yet another spoonful of sugar. “Well, maybe no in your case.” And when Rachel made no response other than to offer Bella another warning glower, she continued. “Just to please ye, I went ower to the hospital mortuary and laid him oot. And efter I washed and shrouded him I even pinned a wee bunch of blue violets to his chest.”

“That so?” mocked Rachel. “Well, all I’ve got to say is that they’ll be a fine match for his big purple nose.”

“Aw, Rachel, dinnae be so sarcastic. The man’s deid an’ there was some guid in him.”

“Like what?”

Bella shrugged. “Like er … Like, just gie me a meenit to think!”

“Oh, Bella, be fair. He died as he lived, a disorganised bloody burden that I’ve had to take care of.”

Bella sniffed and looked away from Rachel, who promptly moved the sugar bowl out of reach.

“And anither thing,” said Bella, turning back to face Rachel again. “Ye’ll hae to tell Johnny.”

“Tell Johnny?” cried Rachel so shrilly that her voice reverberated round the scullery. “And why the hell should I tell Johnny that my father’s dead? He wouldn’t even give a shit if it was me that was dead.”

Bella stretched out an arm in attempt to retrieve the sugar bowl. “Ye’re wrang there, Rachel. When I telt Johnny aboot Gabby being sae ill that he was likely to dee, he said he’d gae to his funeral. Though – if he was strictly honest – he’d rather gang to yours!”

Rachel shook her head. Why, she wondered, did she put up with Bella? Then she confessed to herself that she knew why. She was truly indebted to this woman, who had shared a bed with her when they were just bits of bairns. Indebted to her, moreover, for her loyalty in always putting out a hand to help, even though she usually ended up making things worse.

“Look, Bella,” she said at last, “I’ve more to worry me the day than Johnny. Don’t you realise I don’t know what I’m going to do about Gabby?”

“Aw, Rachel, wi’ aw that’s been goin’ on, I forgot to tell ye Sandy’s comin’ up.”

At that very moment a loud knock at the door startled both women but within seconds Bella relaxed and announced, “That’ll be him noo. Gonnae tak ower aw the arrangements, he is.” And she rose to go to the front door.

“But why?” demanded Rachel.

“Weel, wi’ me workin’ there and oor Auntie Anna haein’ trained him,” Bella shouted back, “he’s as guid as faimily.”

Bella returned followed by Sandy, a tall, gaunt man with sunken cheeks, wearing a long mourning coat and tall lum hat. Rachel knew that Alice would be terrified if he was still in the house when she came in because folks rightly said that Sandy’s dead customers looked healthier than he did.

“Sad day, Rachel. Sad day when you lose yer farther,” he said mournfully into Rachel’s ear as took a seat at the table. Then he added comfortingly, “Well … sometimes death comes as a freend, ye ken.”

“Like a wee fly-cup, Sandy?” Bella offered on Rachel’s behalf.

Sandy’s eyes searched around the room. “Ony embalming fluid to gang in it?”

Rachel reached up behind the soap powder and brought out a bottle of whisky, which she laid on the table. Bella picked it up instantly and poured a good dram into each of the three cups of tea before lifting one cup to her own mouth and greedily sucking in the warm pungent liquid.

“My, but that’s real guid,” she said, smacking her lips with satisfaction.

“And so it should be! It’s the real Mackay,” Rachel responded as she also took a long slug of the medicinal restorative.

Bella set her cup down, lifted up the whisky bottle and squinted at the label. “Naw, naw. It’s no the real Mackay. See, here it says, Glenfiiddich Twelve Year Old.” She then turned the bottle around, stared at the back label, and gasped, “Oh, here. Whit’s this?”

Rachel bent over and grabbed the bottle out of Bella’s hand. “So if it was on its way to Venezuela and got lost in the docks, so what?”

Then she switched her attention to Sandy. “Sandy,” she asked plantively, “what am I to do about Gabby?”

“Cremate him. I mean, whit else would ye dae wi’ him?”

“All I want is to have him put away nice and tidy.”

Sandy smiled graciously and patted Rachel’s hand. “Nae problem. Ye ken fine I’ll dae aw that for ye.”

“No problem is it? And will it still no be a problem when you know I cannae afford it?”

Sandy sucked in his lips thoughtfully as he took out a notepad and pencil from his pocket and started to scribble furiously on the pad. Once finished he gave a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, but ye
can
afford it. See!” He pushed the notepad under Rachel’s nose. “Wi’ a wee bit o faimily discount, it’s only gonnae set ye back thirty-five quid.”

“Thirty-five quid!” squealed Rachel in dismay, sending her chair toppling as she jumped up. “But I’ve only got eighteen pounds coming from the Pearl.”

“Gabby left nae siller?”

Rachel shook her head. “Silver? He didn’t even leave any brass.” She paused before adding in a voice thick with sarcasm, “Unless, of course, you count his brass neck.”

“In that case,” said Sandy brusquely, tucking his notebook away in his pocket, “just bung him in the paupers.”

Rachel spun round and her head shot up defiantly. “Cannae do that. You know fine he did that to my mother and I’ve lived with the disgrace of it ever since.”

While Rachel and Sandy were arguing, Bella had begun to replenish her cup with tea and whisky. “What a state ye’re gettin’ yersel’ intae ower nothin’, Rachel,” she said benignly. “Ye’re forgettin’ aboot the death grant, so ye are. And that alang wi’ whit ye’ve got coming …”

“Death grant?” Rachel interrupted. “What death grant? Don’t you realise he’s too auld to qualify.”

“Richt enough,” Bella reluctantly conceded, before looking up over her shoulder and nodding to some unseen presence. “That was him just comin’ through to say he was ayeways too everythin’ for onythin’.”

Rachel and Sandy both shook their heads and sat in stunned silence. Bella, however, took no notice of their bewilderment and went on to looking over her shoulder. “Oh here, wait a meenit though! Auntie Anna’s just come through an aw; an’ she says, Rachel, ye’ve to ask Sandy hoo aboot payin’ up the difference at five bob a week.”

This unexpected advice from the other world restored Sandy’s voice. “B–b–but Anna kens fine I dinnae dae funerals on the never-never.” He gulped three times before turning his attention to Rachel and confiding in professional tones, “Ye see, there’s nae comeback frae the deid. So it’s a waste of time tryin’ to sue them.”

“That right?” And Rachel gave Sandy a covert wink. “Well, it just might be that my Auntie Anna – who taught you all you know about the funeral business and sorted out all your wee …” Rachel deliberately hesitated and winked again at Sandy. “Your wee problems – that she’ll think it’ll be in everybody’s interest for you to make a small concession in my case.”

Sandy swallowed hard, put two of his fingers inside his collar and stretched his scrawny neck. Rachel knew he was wondering how many of the rumours she’d heard about what he and that wee nurse in Casualty had been up to in the mortuary? And if she thought it explained why the beauty spot under the nurse’s bairn’s right eye was identical to the dirty wee black mole under his.

After much deliberation, Sandy announced, “Aye, aw richt then. But richt noo I’ve to gae and see about a big bug’s funeral, so I’ll tell ye what.” Sandy drew out his notebook again and licked his lips before writing a brief note. “We’ll dae Gabby in Seafield Crematorium, let’s say, on Wednesday at fower o’clock.”

“Four o’clock? That’s just perfect,” Rachel almost sang. “Cos that means the bairns will only need two hours off work without pay to go to it.” She hesitated before going on, “And we’ve agreed it’ll be eighteen pounds down and the rest at five shillings a week?”

Sandy rolled his eyes, sighed, grimaced and finally nodded in acquiescence.

“And that’ll surely include a wee floral tribute? The bairns would like that,” Rachel added coaxingly.

Sandy fingered the mole under his eye again. “Aye, I suppose so. Noo I maun be aff. Run aff my feet this week, I am, with everybody wantin’ to be upsides with the King and pass away this month.” Before leaving though, he drained his cup and asked, “Here! Yin last thing: d’ye want Gabby brocht up here to hae a proper lying-in-state afore the service?”

“Course she does!” Bella interjected. “There’d be nae point in giein’ him a decent send-aff if the neebors didnae see it.”

Rachel nodded her assent. She and Bella both rose to see Sandy out, but by now four cups of whisky-laced tea had taken effect on Bella and she staggered perceptibly before embracing Sandy rather too cordially. Rachel, who had had only two cups of the medicinal tea, was overtaken by a fit of the giggles and spluttered, “Here, Sandy, tell you what! To hell with the expense! Let’s give Gabby a right royal send-off, just like the King’s getting this week, and send him off in that mahogany coffin with the maroon tassels that you’ve got on show.”

Now it was Sandy’s turn to chuckle. “Right enough, lass, so we should. But here – ken somethin’? A funeral like that would set ye back a cool hunner.”

“That all?” replied Rachel. “Well then, we’ll just take it out the petty cash, won’t we, Bella?”

Sandy had only been away for half an hour when Rachel realised that she’d have to put Bella to bed to sleep off the effects of her six cups of tea. Bella had insisted that she was needed down at the funeral parlour to help Sandy. Rachel was of the opinion, however, that Bella was more in need of being laid out than the corpses, so she had hochled her through to Sam’s room and planked her down on the bed before throwing her coat over her. She then dashed to the scullery and had just finished getting rid of all the evidence of their impromptu wake when Carrie opened the door and came dolefully into the living room.

“Suppose having a face like the length of Leith Walk means you’ve told Will you won’t be going to the ball.”

“Haven’t told him yet,” Carrie snapped back, flinging herself on a chair.

“And why not? After all, haven’t I brought you up to face up to your problems?”

Carrie began to look tearful. “That was the problem. I tried to look him straight in the eye and when I did – oh Mam! His eyes are so blue and they twinkle whenever he says, ‘Carrie, darling’.”

“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me you’re wanting to write for that blinking
Red Letter
again?”

“Mam,” Carrie whispered pleadingly, “is there no way you could get that ball gown for me?”

Rachel looked out off the window. It was raining again. Like her own life of late, the weather was always storm-tossed. She sighed. “No, hen. You see, I’m having to go into debt because I haven’t got all the thirty-five pounds I need for your Granddad’s funeral.”