In a Class of Their Own (8 page)

Hannah and Carrie collapsed against the wall with relief. Sam pushed them aside and opened the door cautiously. In reeled Gabby, their grandfather, who in his youth had been an articulate, handsome and debonair lad, but now – thanks to fifty years of abusive drinking – was little more than a shrunken shambles of a man.

Gabby had just recovered his balance when he tripped over his own feet and did a pirouetting stagger across the room before collapsing in a heap on the floor. While this impromptu display was going on, the children just stood and stared in astonished silence. But when Gabby half rose and spluttered, “Some pissin’ weather we’re haein’,” they all had to stifle a giggle.

Carrie was the first to stop laughing. She felt instinctively that she should help her grandfather to his feet, but the stench of alcohol, mingled with the stink from his unwashed body and hair, made her retch and turn away.

Trying to focus his bleary eyes, Gabby squinted first at Hannah and then at Sam, before his gaze finally came to rest on Carrie. That brought a crooked smile to his face and without uttering a sound he fished around in his pocket and brought out a bag of sweets, which he shooggled noisily before handing them out to the children. “Bluidy lucky ye are,” he warbled. “Ah hae jist laid hands on some of ma Post-War Credits the day and I’ve backed a couple of winners forbye.”

“How much have you got?” Hannah asked sweetly, taking a single sweet.

“Nane o yer bluidy business, Miss Smarty-pants,” snapped Gabby. “And yer snobby bitch o a mither’s no getting ony o my thirty-five pounds neither. So there.”

Wide-eyed and gaping, the three children all looked at one another. Eventually Hannah said, “Our Mam’s very hard up and you owe her, Granddad. You know you do.”

“What we’re saying, Granddad, is this,” explained Carrie, taking a big breath before helping him to his feet. “Could you no see your way to giving her a wee loan?”

“Naw I couldnae. And why should I?” grunted Gabby belligerently.

“Cos she’s yer ain dochter and she’s skint,” replied Sam.

“Some dochter,” sneered Gabby. “D’ye think I dinnae ken thon uppity bitch disnae want me comin’ up here an’ giein’ her a showing-up? Worst thing I ever done was lettin’ that bleedin’ sufferin’ get influence her.”

“What suffering get?” asked Carrie, looking apprehensively from her granddad to Hannah and Sam.

“The blethering skite means Mammy’s auld freend Eugenie, the suffragette. No a sufferin’ get like him,” Sam whispered back.

“Uh-huh,” was all Carrie said as she began to pat her grandfather’s arm, and gently crooned, “and Mam
does
like you coming up here, Granddad. It’s just that she doesn’t like you being an alcoholic.”

“Al-co-ho-lic?” thundered Gabby, staggering about the room. “I’m nae al-co-ho-lic. It’s just that I’m partial to a dram or twa.”

“Aye, and he’s no drunk aw the time neither. It’s just that he gets less and less flipping sober,” remarked Sam ruefully.

“See you?” Gabby snapped, aiming punches that Sam had no difficulty in dodging. “Ye’re a razor-blade mooth just the same as yer bluidy mither.” Gabby turned to Carrie and wheedled, “Come on, hen, help us through to the lavvy.”

Once Carrie had complied meekly, Hannah asked, “Is he safely in the bathroom?”

“Aye, and I shut the door on him.”

“Look,” Hannah whispered. “He’s got money and we need some of it.”

“Money? He’s a millionaire,” Carrie gasped. “I’ve always dreamed of being rich but a Granddad with thirty-five pounds – that’s scary. Really scary.”

“Be quiet, Carrie. We’ve got to think of a wey o partin’ Granddad from his dough,” said Sam, scratching his head as he tried to figure out a way of doing just that.

“That’s easy,” said Hannah. “We steal it.”

Carrie yelped before breaking out of the circle. “Steal it! Look, Hannah, stealing money is different from us finding tatties in a field that need dug up and apples needing shaken out of a tree.”

“You think so?”

“I do, Hannah, I do! Because, as you know, stealing money is breaking God’s commandment, and Jesus isn’t too keen on it either.”

“But it’s just like the food and coal that Sam and you found,” Hannah argued before becoming aware that Sam wasn’t listening. “Are you still part of this family, Sam?”

“Aye.”

“Right then. Now listen, both of you. I’m convinced that Jesus knows it’s a fiver we need and that’s exactly why he sent Granddad up here to visit us. Now d’you think you can get the money away from him, Carrie?”

“Me?” shrieked her sister, looking aghast at the others.

“Yes! Surely, if he’s to be robbed by anyone, it would be kinder if it was his favourite.” Hannah smirked. “That’s you, Carrie. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t talk rubbish,” said Carrie. “But I
will
do it cos when I took Granddad through to the bathroom I looked in on Paul. Lying asleep like a wee angel, he was. Only thing is that Alice isn’t there beside him. But she soon will be when I take the money.”

“Dinnae, Carrie,” interrupted Sam. “See, when you start on like this ye’re the only yin that can mak me want to greet. But ye’re richt. We hae to keep this roof ower oor heids for Paul and Alice’s sakes. There’s nae wey they could survive in a Hame. They’re just too wee.”

Just before Gabby reeled back into the scullery, Carrie started to write out an IOU.

“Surely you’re not going to put that in his pocket?” exclaimed Hannah.

“No. I’m going to put it behind the gas meter.”

“You’re what?”

“Come on, Hannah, you know that’s where we keep the pawn tickets and when we have the money we go and take them out and get our stuff back. It’s just the same with this IOU. Yes, when I have the money to pay Granddad back, I will,” Carrie replied solemnly as she got up and hid the IOU behind the gas meter.

“Ye’re no the full shillin’, Carrie, so ye’re no,” began Sam, but Hannah broke in before he could go on.

“Ssssssh! Here he is.”

Gabby duly appeared bearing a half-bottle of whisky in his hand. Unscrewing the top, he lifted the bottle unsteadily to his mouth and took a long hard swig before dragging his hand across his lips.

“Drink up, Granddad,” Sam encouraged, pulling up a chair.

“That I will, son,” and with that he took another long swig. “Here’s tae us an’ wha’s like us. Damn few and …” Gabby didn’t finish his recitation. Nor did he sit down on the chair. Instead he began gradually to sink to the floor. The bottle dropped from his hand and the pungent liquid seeped into the worn faded linoleum.

“He’s asleep,” pronounced Hannah.

“Deid drunk, ye mean,” said Sam, giving Gabby a kick with his foot.

“Whatever. But it’s safe now. So go on, you two.”

“And what’ll you be doing, Hannah?” asked Carrie.

“I’m going to sit beside Paul, naturally. We don’t want him waking up in the middle of all this.” Hannah flounced out of the scullery, leaving Sam and Carrie to exchange glances.

“Right,” said Sam at last. “Let’s get started.”

“But, Sam, I’m scared. What if we get caught?”

“Then they’ll just hing us.”

“Hang us?”

“Just joking, dopey! Ye dinnae get hung at twelve. They jist birch ye wi’ a cat o nine tails.”

“What!” shouted Carrie, backing away.

“But dinnae worry. It doesnae break yer neck; it only taks the skin aff your erse.”

Carrie jumped again when Gabby let out a loud snore. “I suppose,” she remarked stoically, “that whatever’s going to happen to us
will.”

“That’s right. And we’ve just got to save oor hame. No maitter whit.”

Carrie and Sam dropped to their knees and began cautiously crawling towards Gabby. Sam went on one side and Carrie the other. Sam signalled to Carrie that they must roll Gabby over. So they pulled and pulled, but he just wouldn’t budge.

“Ye’ll need to push while I haul,” Sam whispered, but he now saw that Carrie was trembling and was quite unable to do anything. “Get a grip, Carrie,” he urged through his clenched teeth.

Carrie took a deep breath and then shoved at Gabby with all her might until he slowly rolled over. In his coat pocket her first find was the bag of sweets. She shoogled it joyously before picking one for herself and then popping a second into Sam’s mouth.

“Look, dopey, I cannae haud on much longer. So will ye get a move on?” pleaded Sam

Carrie furtively searched all of Gabby’s outside pockets, but all she found was another half-bottle of whisky, a couple of broken biscuits, a twist of Bogey Roll tobacco, a box of Swan Vesta matches and, finally, a clay pipe.

“Try his inside pockets,” urged Sam, tightening his grip on Gabby’s coat.

Carrie obeyed, and immediately her hands curled around a small wooden cylinder. She was about to take it out when Gabby suddenly roared, “Thievin’ bastards! Thievin’ bastards! I’ll get even wi ye aw!”

The unexpected outburst startled Sam so much that he instantly let go of Gabby, whose body now firmly crushed Carrie’s hand.

“Sam, I’m stuck,” she wailed, realising that Gabby had lapsed once more into a drunken stupor.

Sam made a grab for Gabby’s coat again, but his grasp slipped repeatedly before he managed to haul Gabby over and allow Carrie’s hand to break free.

“Sam! Sam! See! See! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Carrie yelled triumphantly, brandishing the cylinder with its bundle of crisp fivers rolled around it.

Hannah, who had heard Gabby’s shouts, now came running in. She snatched the money from Carrie and began to unroll one five-pound note after another.

“What d’ye think you’re doing?” Carrie demanded angrily.

“Getting the money for Mam.”

“But we only need a fiver. You’ve taken two. Now – there’s three in your hands!”

“If we leave any he’ll just drink it. And we could do a heck of a lot with all this,” moaned Hannah, waving the fivers in the air.

“No, Hannah! We only take
one fiver.
The rest goes back,” Carrie replied decisively as she grabbed the cylinder and money.

“But—”

“But nothing! Our rules are always that we only take what we need to get by. Besides, Jesus knows exactly what we need, so to take more would be letting him down.”

“Besides, Hannah, Granddad mightnae miss yin fiver,” Sam suggested. “The state he’s in, he’ll think he either drunk or gambled it. That wey he’ll no caw in the polis.”

“Does that mean I’ll no get the birch?” asked Carrie, rubbing her buttocks.

“Aye,” said Sam, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “Cos I was just kiddin’.”

“You were?”

“Aye. Did ye no ken they stopped birchin’ the hell oot o bairns years ago?”

With great satisfaction, Carrie handed one large five-pound note to Hannah. She rolled the rest around the cylinder again and fastened them with the elastic band, but before she could put them back in Gabby’s pocket he let out another great roar and screamed, “Bastards! Bastards! Bleedin’ thievin’ bastards.”

Sam and Hannah scampered from the room, followed quickly by Carrie, who only just had time to drop the wooden cylinder by her grandfather’s side.

Rachel emerged from the side entrance of the Queen’s Hotel where stinging ice particles of sleet assaulted her face.

“Some night, Rachel, and you’ve missed the last bus,” Duncan the doorman informed her.

“Aye, well. Lord Strathcannon drinks to all hours so the bar must bide open till he drops,” Rachel responded, pulling her coat collar around her face.

“Aye, but surely they gave you somethin’ for your inconvenience?”

“Five bob for a taxi,” Rachel chuckled.

She had just sallied forth when the doorman called after her, “Good. And the next one that comes along is yours.”

Rachel waved a dismissive hand and without turning round called out, “Dinnae be daft, Duncan. Me take a taxi when five bob’ll feed my bairns for two days?”

“But lassie, you’ve miles to walk.”

“Och, I’ll dae it in about two hours.”

“But see this weather. No tae mention there’s a rapist on the loose.”

She was now too far from Duncan for him to hear her reply, “Oh, if that was all I had to worry me, Duncan, I wouldnae caw the Queen my auntie.”

It was after two in the morning when Rachel reached her front door, but before taking the key from her bag she slipped off her shoes. As quietly as possible, she let herself in and crept through the living room into the scullery where she tripped over something solid. “Sam’s blooming guider, I bet,” she muttered, rubbing her shin. “Told him so often, I have, not to bring the thing inside.”

She ran her hand lightly over the obstacle. “Good heavens,” she thought. “It’s a human being, and from the stench, I know it’s my own father.”

Fumbling her way to a chair, she struggled to her feet, sought for matches and lit the gas. As the eerie blue and yellow flame lit the room, it did nothing to temper her disgust at the sight of her sleeping, drunken father. “Well, well!” she said philosophically as she nudged him with her foot. “Wonder what brought you here tonight? Wanting something, no doubt, cos you sure never ever gave anybody anything – but heartache.”

It was only when she pulled her foot away that she noticed the wooden cylinder with the five-pound notes wrapped around it. A puzzled expression crossed her face as she unrolled and counted them. After a moment’s reflection, she opened her handbag and slipped one of the notes inside before replacing the re-rolled money by Gabby’s side. Only then did she allow a quiet smile of satisfaction to light up her face.

Five minutes later, she was calmly seated, drinking a cup of tea, when Hannah came into the scullery and thrust a five-pound note into her hand. “Where the hell did you get that from?” Rachel exclaimed, banging down her cup and grabbing at her daughter.

“Er, er, er,” stammered Hannah while she tried to dodge her mother’s grasp. “Carrie stole it from Granddad for you.”

Rachel dashed immediately to the bedroom and dragged Carrie out of bed and into the scullery. It was hardly surprising that the commotion wakened Sam from his sound sleep. Jumping out of bed, he decided at once that he too should be part of the drama now unfolding in the scullery.

“I keep asking you what’s wrong, Mammy?” Carrie whimpered. She wondered perhaps if she was still dreaming about the end of the
Red Letter
serial.