In a Class of Their Own (3 page)

Johnny breenged forward, grabbed Sam by the arm and yanked him to his feet. “Look, my lad,” he said threateningly as he shook Sam. “Dinnae ever,
ever
let me hear ye say such a thing to yer sister again.”

This reaction emboldened Carrie, who smirked at Sam before leaping from the floor on to his back. Curling her legs tightly round his waist, she began pummelling him with her clenched fists.

“That’s enough,” Johnny commanded. “Is there no enough fightin’ goin’ on the noo withoot you twa startin’ anither war in here?”

He heaved Carrie off Sam’s back and propelled her into the scullery.

“Rachel!” he called. “Could ye no hear the racket they twa were makin’? Heard their shrieks from the tap of the back lane, so I did.”

Rachel didn’t answer. She just sat there on her rickety wooden chair, staring vacantly into space.

Johnny hesitated before shaking his head. “Em … em,” he stammered. “Ye just gang back ben the hoose, Carrie. But keep awa frae Sam.”

He closed the door quietly but firmly on both children and turned to his wife. “Noo then, Rachel. What’s up? You cannae be awa wi’ a bairn again. Hiv ah no been gettin’ aff at Haymarket for months noo?”

Rachel well understood Johnny’s euphemism for a practice that so often dulled her sex life. She blinked her half-misted eyes. “Och, if it was only you forgetting to get off afore the Waverley, I’d be more than happy.”

Johnny pulled up another chair and slumped himself down in front of Rachel. Then he patted her hand and took a deep breath. “So ye’ve mebbe heard aboot whit happened to me at work the day?”

“No,” said Rachel, pulling her hand away impatiently.

“Then whit on earth’s wrang?”

“Mind how you wanted me to get your shoes out of the mending the day?”

“Dinnae say ye didnae hae enough to pey for them?”

“No… Aye …  What I mean is, I hadnae at the start. No till I pawned your suit.”

Johnny jumped to his feet, the chair toppling over with a thud, and shrieked, “Pawned ma suit! But Rachel, you ken it’s the Trade Union meetin’ the nicht. The AGM. An’ I’m chairin’ it.”

Rachel didn’t speak, so Johnny continued. “I cannae staun up in a boiler suit to address the brithers. I’d be the laughin’-stock.” She still made no comment, so he bent down and picked up the chair before starting to pace about the scullery. “Pawned ma suit? Pawned ma suit? Pawned ma only suit?”

“Now just a minute, Johnny,” Rachel said sharply as she slowly got to her feet. “What you said this morning was that, whatever else, you had to have your dress shoes out of the mending.”

“Aye, but surely the likes of you, whae’s sae hoity-toity, kens ye dinnae wear dress shoes wi’ a boiler suit.”

“Look! Why don’t you go in your Home Guard uniform then?” Rachel said brusquely. “But right now we’ve a lot more to worry us.”

Johnny stopped his pacing. Rachel could see he was realising that the Home Guard uniform was his solution. Smart and authoritative he looked in it. Especially now there were three stripes on his sleeve.

“Richt enough,” he conceded, “I cannae dae onything aboot the suit noo. And there could be an air raid the nicht. So it’s just as weel that they ken whae’s in chairge.”

Rachel nodded. “Now listen to me, Johnny. They shoes of yours were mended by yon Polish refugee, Roman, who’s working there the now.”

“Did he no mak a guid job o them like?” Johnny asked, picking up the shoes to examine them.

“Och aye. But when I got talking to him, know what he told me?”

“Naw.”

“That it’s true about Hitler no liking the Jews.”

Johnny was still admiring the shoes, giving them a wee rub up on his boiler suit sleeve, and he casually replied, “Well wi’ aw their dosh, the Jews’ll no be bothering a whit aboot that.”

“Look, will you just listen to me?” Rachel said in an exasperated whisper. “He says Hitler puts Jews into concentration camps and I’ve been thinking – what if he invades us?”

“Dinnae be daft,” said Johnny with a chuckle. “There’s nae wey he’d bypass Dover and Portsmouth and start his invasion doon at Leith Docks.” He pushed out his chest and began strutting around the table. “And even if he was daft enough to tak’ on me and ma lads first, whit’s him no bein’ keen on the Jews got to dae wi’ us?”

“You’re forgetting my Mammy was a Jew.”

“Aye, but she’s deid and I dinnae think he’ll dig her up just tae tell her he disnae care ower muckle for her.”

“But, Johnny, Roman says they’re arresting
all
of the Jews.”

“And I say again, what the hell has that to dae wi’ us?” Johnny replied emphatically, laying down his shoes and looking vaguely about the scullery.

“Well, Roman says that even half-Jews, like me, have to be sent away to be –
cleansed.”

Johnny now slowly raised his head to examine the clothes pulley. Freshly washed garments hung neatly from every bar.

“Cleanse
you
?
For heaven’s sake, wumman, there’s naebody wid need to cleanse you wi’ aw the bleachin’ and carbolickin’ ye’re forever daeing.”

Rachel went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And no only me but the bairns an aw – because they’re a quarter.”

“Behave yerself, Rachel! Even Hitler widnae mak war on innocent bairns.”

“Oh but he does. They get taken away too and they’re looking for a final solution. One that will be …” She hesitated as she drummed her fingers on the table. “Final!”

“Final solution? Weel, let me tell ye, I’d like a final solution richt noo – like when am I, the breid winner in this hoose, gonnae get ma tea. And is there onybody gonnae show ony interest in whit happened to me the day?”

Rachel went on talking as if Johnny had said nothing. “Look,” she said as she rose mechanically and lit the gas underneath the chip pan and lifted up a handful of chips that were sitting ready in a bowl of water. “We’ll need to make plans.” She breathed in deeply as she laid the chips on a tea towel and began vigorously patting them dry.

Carrie, who had grown tired of being jabbed and punched by Sam, now pushed open the door and crawled into the scullery. Without being noticed by either Rachel or Johnny, she huddled up in the corner beside the children’s bench.

“Aye, we have to make plans,” Rachel repeated more to herself.

“Plans? What kinna plans?”

Rachel flung the first handful of chips into the chip pan and the fat sizzled and spat. “Like how we get to be like the Free French.”

“Free French?” Johnny exclaimed as his eyes widened.

“Aye, a hit-and-run resistance.”

“But, but… but ye could get killed daein’ that.”

“So?”

“Ye ken fine it’s against my principles to kill onybody that hasnae put an end to me first,” Johnny moralised as he picked up his dress shoes again and held them to his chest.

“Naw! Naw! Mammy,” Carrie cried, bumping along the floor on her backside.

“No what?” Rachel demanded.

“I dinnae want to get killed either.”

“And why for no, Carrie? A guid killin’ wid dae ye the world o guid.” This admonition came from Sam, who had now joined the others.

“It wud not!” asserted his sister indignantly.

“Aye, wud it. Cos ye’re just a great big yelly belly,” said Sam, jabbing Carrie in the shoulder.

“Careful, Rachel, ye’re scarin’ the bairns,” warned Johnny, pulling Sam and Carrie apart.

Rachel stopped slicing the bread when she realised how terrified Carrie looked. The knife slipped from her grasp as she stretched out her hand towards the child, but when she saw Carrie shy away she instinctively pulled back and turned again to Johnny.

“Richt!” he said. “Let’s forget aboot aw this cleansin’ nonsense. There’s a mair pressin’ problem that we
hae
to get to grips with the nicht.”

“Aye, you were saying there was something up at work,” Rachel said slowly.

“Somethin’ up? It’s mair than somethin’ up,” said Johnny, with a note of alarm in his voice.

“Oh?”

“Aye, an’ it’s no as simple as gettin’ to grips wi’ Hitler the meenit he gets here. This is serious, very serious, and we’ve got to get it sorted oot this very nicht,” said Johnny with conviction.

Without another word, he turned to Carrie and Sam, and with a jab of his thumb signalled for them to get out.

“But, Mammy?” Carrie protested.

“Your Dad’s right. Now off you go. The pair of you.”

Carrie sniffed but without further protest followed Sam out of the scullery, Johnny slamming the door after them.

“Now what is it, Johnny?” Rachel asked wearily as she shoogled the chip pan.

Johnny began to pace the floor. “I just dinnae ken what t’dae aboot it. An’ if I dae nothin’ I could end up daein’ time in Saughton.”

“The prison?”

“Of course the bluidy prison!”

“But why?”

“Well, ye ken hoo they’ve put in the polis at the Store?”

“Aye, cos there’s been a lot more food going missing since you were put in charge?” Rachel said quietly but firmly as she began to lift the chips out of the pan.

“Well, the nicht, wi’oot ony warnin’,” Johnny continued, ignoring this slight on his managerial abilities, “dae they no lock aw the doors and start to dae full body searches o awbody?”

“Everybody?”

“Aye, even me. There wis I waitin’ to gang through to be searched when Fingers, whae was standin’ richt aside me, threw a wobbly. Honestly, what a state he got himsel’ in. And then he gasps, ‘Christ, Johnny, I didnae ken there was to be a bluidy body search the nicht. Ma auld hert’ll no staun it. Hae an attack, it wull’ So I says to him that I could see he was haein’ bother with his hert but he then tells me that the problem’s no his hert – it’s his liver!”

“His liver?” Rachel said incredulously.

“Aye, and ye’re never gonnae believe this, Rachel. But just as we were gettin’ near the tap of the queue, there was a loud swishin’ kinna plop.” Johnny stopped and nodded emphatically to Rachel, who was staring at him as though he had gone quite mad. “An’ the poor sod’s liver, aw drippin’ wi’ bluid, careered doon his trouser leg and fell on the tae o my boot.”

Rachel gaped at Johnny’s boot. “Now, let me get this straight – you’re tellin’ me Fingers’ liver dropped right out of him, on to the toe of your boot?”

“Aye, an’ Fingers looked doon at it and says, ‘Ah telt ye it was a liver problem, Johnny, didn’t I? But noo I’m rid of the bleeding bugger, I’m ready to face onythin’!’ An’ he jumps richt to the heid o the queue and demands to be searched immediately. And as they couldnae find onythin’ on him they let him bolt oot the door, and the last that we saw of him was him goin’ like the clappers alang Tower Place.”

“So that was that, then?”

“Naw. The sergeant turns to me and says, ‘What’s that there on the tap of yer boot, Johnny?’ I tells him, ‘Fingers’ liver’. ‘That richt?’ says he. ‘Weel, just pick it up an’ you and me’ll go ben an’ hae a wee chat aboot it.’ So I picked up the liver, and believe it or no, it wis still warm.”

“Well, seein’ it had just fell out of Fingers’ belly, it would be,” said Rachel as she went to wind down the clothes pulley. She had just began to take the sheets off for folding when she discovered Johnny had followed so closely that he was now entangled in the washing.

“Where was I?” he went on relentlessly. “Oh aye. Well, I lays the bleedin’ thing on his desk and ye should hae seen the cairry-on yon liver was haein’. Shakin’ and wobblin’. Ye’d hae thocht it was still alive. But ken something, Rachel? That sergeant wasnae lookin’ at it. Naw, he was starin’ at me. Wantin’ an answer, so he wis.”

“And what did you tell him?” said Rachel before calling to Hannah to come and take the washing away.

“Just that the liver wasnae mine. That it was Fingers’. Then he asks me if I could explain hoo my alibi was now daein’ a Powderhall sprint alang Constitution Street?”

“And did ye?” Rachel asked, trying hard to keep her laughter in check.

“Naw. Cos I couldnae. And I kent, cos I couldnae, I’d be nicked and chairged.”

“Oh, my God! You’ve no lost your job, Johnny? Please say you havnae lost your job.” Rachel was almost hysterical by now.

“Naw, naw. I didnae lose my job, but I wish to hell I hud,” Johnny replied as he choked back the tears. “In fact, droonin’ mysel’ or volunteerin’ seems like a guid idea.”

“You joking?”

“Naw, I’m no jokin’. Ye see, whit happened next wis he tells me to sit doon. And I’m aw shakin’ and shiverin’ aside yon bleedin’ liver. Then he says that, starting the morn, he’s gonnae get real tough with them that’s nickin’ grub oot the Cold Store. An’ he needs ma help.”

Johnny followed Rachel over to the sink, where she measured out a tablespoon of water that she added to the sauce bottle.

“Stopped him richt there and then, I did,” Johnny explained. “Telt him straight oot that I was nae shopper. Against ma religion that’d be. But afore I could go on, he says, ‘Aw, I think the twa o us could come to some kinna arrangement’.”

Rachel pushed past Johnny and shook the sauce bottle vigorously before setting it on the table, “Arrangement? What kind of arrangement?” she asked, sucking the sauce that was sticking to her fingers.

“I thocht he meant spyin’ on ma mates. So I says, ‘Look! I’ve already telt ye, I cannae help ye. I …’”

“For heaven’s sake, Johnny! Hurry up and get to the end of your tale. The chips are burning,” said Rachel before calling Hannah for a second time to take the clean clothes away.

“Weel to cut a long story short … An’ here, Rachel, is there onythin’ to gae wi’ they chips?”

“Aye, that tomato sauce I’ve just doctored.”

“Are we that hard up?”

“Wednesday, is it no?”

Johnny shrugged. “Aye, richt enough.”

“But you’re damned lucky you’re getting your chips. Cos I’ve had mine – in more ways than one.”

Before Johnny could answer the scullery door creaked open and Hannah tiptoed in. “Just finishing the chapter of my book, Mammy, I was.”

“Good grief, Hannah. Every time I want you, your nose is buried in a book.”

“Sorry.”

“You always are. Here, take this washing and put it on top of the boiler to air off.”

“I was sayin’,” said Johnny, ignoring Hannah. “Then the sergeant says his wife’s findin’ it awfae hard to make ends meet. And then he brings his face that close to mine I could smell his mingin’ breath, an’ he whispers in my ear that there’d be only yin person smugglin’ food frae the Cold Store frae noo on. An’ that it wid be,” Johnny hesitated and took a deep breath, “me!”