In a Class of Their Own (7 page)

“Is that an Easter thing – no having a light in the living room?” asked Sam as he took the bread from the bread tin and realised there was only enough for one slice each.

“No, it’s not. And when Carrie comes in, you see to it she
stays put
in the scullery.”

Sam nodded.

“Now remember the rules, Sam. No trouble. No fighting. No answering the door to anyone. No one is ever to know I leave you alone at night when I go out to work.”

“Why’re ye always sayin’ that, Mam?”

“Cos you’re all under sixteen years of age, Sam. That means they’d say I was neglecting you so you could be put in a Home,” Rachel warned, picking up her coat.

“So what? If we get kicked oot on our erses on Tuesday we’ll land in yin onyway,” Sam retorted.

Two hours had gone by before Carrie reached home. She had stopped off at Bernie’s so she could read the final gripping instalment of the serial and she hadn’t been disappointed. Oh no! The ending was even better than she had imagined, with that horrible upper-class woman, who’d inveigled the hero into promising to marry her, being hurled off the cliffs at Kinghorn. Her death meant the hero could come back and rescue the true love of his life, that poor sick overworked damsel in the manse. Promised her, he did, that she’d now live in a mansion – Carrie was certain it had two bathrooms. He’d also pledged to her on bended knee that she would never again have to scrub floors to buy food. No, she would have maids, not just to scrub the floors but to massage her back as well. Finally, the hero swept up the fragile maiden in his arms, dashed down the stairs, two at a time, and they both disappeared off into a golden sunset.

Carrie had followed the story eagerly in the
Red Letter
for six weeks and the ending left her toes curling in ecstasy. An unaccountable sensation permeating her whole body, worked strange stirrings in her that she couldn’t even acknowledge, stirrings that made her flush guiltily.

Whenever she opened the door into the house, however, her temperature plummeted. “Oh, bother,” she exclaimed. “Would you look at that fire? It’s freezing outside and it’s banked up with wet dross. Not a bit of heat’ll come out of it the night.”

Sam stood framed in the scullery doorway. “Weel, ye dinnae hae to worry aboot it – cos we’re aw to bide in the scullery the nicht.”

“Why?” demanded his sister, pushing past him.

“Dinnae ken. But what I do ken is it’s dried egg for the tea and seein’ ye’re so guid at scramblin’ things ye’re to switch them up.”

Hannah, who had been through in the bedroom, came to join them in the scullery. She closed the door firmly and signalled to talk quietly. “I’ve an idea,” she confided. “You know, Carrie, that you’ve to go across to Mrs Gracie to find out where Alice’s number comes on the hospital list?”

“She’s surely not on the danger list again, is she?” In her alarm Carrie almost spilt the dried egg mixture that she was measuring into the bowl.

“No. I think she’s still fine. It’s just that once you’re done scrambling the eggs the three of us have to sit down and think what we can do to get money for the rent.”

“But I’m only good at asking people for rags, empty bottles and jam jars.”

“That’s right. So after tea I think you and Sam should both go out scrounging.”

Before Carrie could reply, a loud cackle from Sam rang through the scullery and he blurted out, “Dinnae talk such shite, Hannah. It’s a fiver we need.”

“I know that. That’s why I think we could make it.”

“Mak it? But ye only get a penny for a jam jar.” Sam gestured at a jar labelled “Lipton’s Fine Apple and Raspberry Jam”.

“Aye. So that means Carrie would only need to get – how many, Sam?” Hannah paused as she started to butter the bread.

“Well, there’s twa hunner and forty pennies in a pound; so hoo aboot twelve hunner? An’ I dinnae think that there’s that mony bluidy jam jars in the hale o Leith – full or empty.”

“Oh!” was all Hannah could say before opening the door to call Paul through for his tea.

Paul and Sam were only just seated before she began again. “Look, I think that we can do it – and we will. But if we start off saying things like …”

“Twelve hunner jam jars?” interrupted Sam.

“… we’ll never make it,” Hannah continued, ignoring Sam’s observation. “And you and Carrie are real good at hawking. So after tea I think you should at least try.”

“And what’re
you
going to do?” demanded Carrie as she shared out a flat yellow omelette among four plates.

Hannah rolled her eyes in mock horror. “Surely you know it’s against the law to leave a child under sixteen alone, so I will have to make the sacrifice and stay in to look after Paul.”

Carrie swung the empty pan to and fro dreamily. “See? When I’m big – I’m going to have a Mars bar all to myself. Real blankets instead of coats on my bed. And every night I’ll have toast dripping wi’ butter for my supper. And I’ll eat it while I’m reading my
Red Letter. ”

Sam was filling his shoes with cardboard soles and took a long look at the big holes in his shoes before commenting. “Aye! An’ I’ll be playin’ centre-forward for the Herts.”

The twins started out, Sam dragging his guider and Carrie with a couple of sacks tucked under her arm.

“Right, Carrie, noo we’re oot in the main street I think we should split up.”

“It’s dark, Sam,” whispered Carrie, looking around for a patch of light. “Look, could we no ask Dad for help?”

Sam stopped his make-shift guider by putting his foot down on the pavement to stop it rolling. “Daddy? Dinnae tell me you havnae got it intae yer thick skull yet that yon eejit has gone aff to find himsel’ and has got lost.” He paused. “Look, I ken his daein’ a runner has made life awfae tough for us. It’d be great if he’d help but let’s face it, hen, he’s no gonnae.”

Sam then spoke more to himself. “A Christian he is noo. A pillar o the Chapel. So the only wey we can get the money to pey the rent,” he hesitated before emphasising, “is to
steal
it.”

“Steal it! You mean rob a bank?”

“Aye. But richt noo they’re shut, worse luck.”

“Oh, Sam, I could never steal money. And Sam, if you rob a bank you’ll land in …” Now it was Carrie’s turn to hesitate.

“I ken,” interrupted Sam, “a Hame with bars on the windaes.”

“No. In the burning fire aneath the floorboards,” sobbed Carrie before turning away. “I’m away to see what I can find to sell.”

“Aye, awa ye go then,” Sam called after her. “And remember. It’s at least a bleedin’ fiver we need.”

Carrie nodded and thought: “I wonder if Jesus felt as bad as I do when they nailed him to the cross. Good Friday it is today – for everybody but us.” She pulled her scarf tight around her neck and shivered.

Sam dragged his guider into the entry and parked it in the stairwell. The clatter alerted Hannah, who shot out of her chair and on to her feet. Before opening the outside door she thought she’d better hide the book she’d been reading. So she reached up and popped it behind the soap powder on the scullery shelf.

“Oh, goodie! I see you’ve got somethin’,” she said with relief as she took one of the two bags that Sam was holding. “And you know it’s all thanks to me and my continual praying.”

“Eh?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been doing ever since you left - praying. And God has answered our prayers.”

“Aye, just like he answered his ain laddie’s and left him hingin’ aboot aw day,” sneered Sam, pushing past his sister.

“Sam Campbell! That’s blasphemy,” Hannah gasped.

“Naw. It’s the hale truth. Oot aw night in the pissin’ rain I’ve been and what has yer prayin’ got us?” Sam’s feet lashed out at the bags. “Nowt that’ll bring in a tosser. Just a bag of coke aff the railway line an’ some rolls an’ buns that were gettin’ chucked oot o the store.”

“That all?” Hannah asked taking the coke to store it in the glory hole.

“Well, to be truthful, I
did
get something else.” Sam grew excited. “A guid place for us all to hole up in if we do get kicked oot.”

“What?” Hannah exclaimed.

Sam was looking down at his shoes. “See these, Hannah? My shoes are like paddlin’ pools. Aw flippin’ sodden. An’ it’s supposed to be the bluidy spring.”

Hannah was about to speak when a high-pitched scream and a great thump on the outside door sent them both rushing to open it. There, prostrate on the doormat, lay Carrie.

“What on earth has happened?” asked Hannah as she tried to dodge the apples, onions and potatoes that were rolling around the landing.

“Some eejit went and left that guider sticking out, that’s what’s happened,” sobbed Carrie. “And I’ve just tripped over it and broken my leg.”

“Never mind yer bleedin’ leg, ye blind bat,” said Sam, pushing the guider further into the stairwell and then picking up one of the sacks that Carrie had let drop. It clinked. “An’ I hope you havnae broken ony of thae bottles? Because that really would bring tears to ma een.”

After picking up every bit of the fruit and vegetables, the children took themselves back into the scullery. A limping Carrie staggered over to a chair. Sam stared hard at her dripping wet hair and swollen blue fingers. Without a word, he lifted a towel and began to rub her hair dry. “Ye look like a droookit rat that’s ‘scaped aff the Titanic,” he sniffed.

“A drookit rat?” she snivelled. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t die of pneumonay.”

“Cut out the dramatics, Carrie,” Hannah commanded. “You’re a wee bit wet and cold. So what?”

She started to look into the bags Carrie had brought in. “More importantly, what did you get?”

“Well, there’s the chipped fruit and vegetables that we’ve just picked up.”

“That’s mair chipped noo,” chuckled Sam.

“And a bag of rags I left in the coal bunker. But they won’t fetch much. Not many woollens.”

“That all?” Hannah exclaimed, her tone insinuating that Carrie was worse than useless.

Carrie blushed. She didn’t like being accused of letting the family down. “No,” she quickly defended herself. “There’s four empty beer bottles in that sack.”

“Only four?”

“To be truthful I did get eight but…”

Sam stopped rubbing Carrie’s hair. “Ye greedy wee pig. You went and sold the other fower and bocht a bag o chips for yerself, didn’t ye?” he accused, thumping her on the back.

“Ouch! That was sore, Sam. And I didn’t buy any chips,” Carrie protested.

“Then what happened to the other four?” asked Hannah.

Carrie gulped before whimpering, “Look, I met a wee squatter lassie. Her mother had gone off for a good time with some GI. The wee lassie was out in all that rain looking for somethin’ to eat and no only for herself but her two wee brothers an aw.”

“Oh, Carrie,” sighed Hannah, bending to count the bottles in the sack. “It’s nice to help people. But we need all the help we have for ourselves right now.”

Carrie’s lip trembled as she bowed her head for a few seconds. Then suddenly she looked up and her eyes were sparkling. “But I also got a half-crown from Granny!”

“You didnae tell Granny aboot the mess we’re in?” said Sam in alarm.

“Course not. What more could she do? She already gives us half of her five shilling pension. Poor Granny. I’m that sorry for her.”

“Sorry for Granny?” Hannah asked, unable to hide her concern.

“Aye, how do you think she feels about our Dad leaving us. He’s her son after all. The poor soul beggars herself to make it up to us.”

“Did she say anything about him?”

“No, Hannah. All she ever says is that she’s had nine bairns and only three are still living. Now she wishes it had only been two.”

Hannah and Sam exchanged glances but said nothing while Carrie went on. “She just asked me when I went in if there was something up? Like Mammy flinging me out again for setting up cheek. I just said no. And if there
was
anything wrong we could easy fix it ourselves.”

“That richt? Then hoo aboot tellin’ us hoo?” demanded Sam as he went to light the gas under the kettle. “Whae’s for tea?”

“Me,” sighed Carrie. “And is there any bread for toast?”

Sam shook his head.

“But there are some nice stale rolls that Sam got.”

“Nice stale rolls, Hannah,” grumbled Carrie, taking a roll from Hannah and tearing it apart in the hope that the inside was soft. It wasn’t. “You know, some day I just know we’re going to be rich. I said that to Granny and she said, ‘Aye that’ll be right. When our boat comes in’.”

Hannah sighed. “So you didn’t get much to help either, Carrie?”

Her sister shook her head and went on gnawing at the roll.

“But I did get something to help us,” Sam exclaimed. “A place to stey.”

“You don’t say!” said Hannah while she warmed the teapot. “Now where exactly is this place?”

“Doon the road in Craigentinny. You ken the auld army camp that’s noo been taen ower by the squatters.”

“Oh, Sam, that squatters’ camp is worse than a pigsty,” wailed Carrie. “We just couldnae take Alice there when she comes home.”

“And I couldn’t stay there either,” exclaimed Hannah, banging the filled teapot on the table. “I’m going to be a doctor or a missionary and I’ve never heard of any folk like that living in a squatters’ camp.”

But before Carrie or Sam could answer her, a loud knock came to the door and a decidedly drunken voice called out. “Open up! Open up! Open up in the name o the bluidy law.”

All three children looked in consternation at each other. Without saying a word they joined hands, crept out of the scullery and sidled along the living room wall.

“The law,” squealed Carrie as the door was hammered again.

“Should we open up and see who it is?” whispered Hannah.

“No,” replied Carrie. “You know what Mam says – we’re not to open it to anyone.” Then she gasped. “And what if it’s the rent man wanting his money?”

“Rent man? You’re cuckoo, Carrie. That lot hardly work when they hae to, so there’s nae bleedin’ chance of them comin’ oot on a blinkin’ holiday,” quipped Sam in a hoarse whisper.

The hammering came again. Louder this time. And, while the children huddled closer together, the voice thundered, “Open up, I say. Open up. It’s yer Granddad and I’ve got sweeties for you.”