In a Class of Their Own (9 page)

“This
is what’s wrong!” Rachel screamed, brandishing the fiver.

Carrie didn’t wait for her mother to continue. She guessed she was in for a right good leathering – one that her mother would say she had asked for – but she knew she hadn’t. Flight was the only option, so she bolted from the scullery and into the living room.

Sam too realised Carrie was in deep trouble. Without hesitation, he sprang forward and yanked the front door open for his sister. But just as Carrie leapt out, Hannah kicked the door shut, trapping Carrie’s hand. The resulting screams sent bloodcurdling waves of shock through each of them, and they cringed when the door was re-opened to display the terrifying picture of red blood gushing from Carrie’s hand. “Mammy, Mammy,” she bleated piteously, “I’m dying.”

“Ye’re a richt bleedin’ ass, Hannah,” Sam accused his older sister. “She was only tryin’ to mak a getaway and noo ye’ve broken her airm.”

“It’s all right, Sam,” sobbed Carrie, shaking her hand in the air. “My arm’s not broken but see – my whole thumb is and the nail’s hanging off.” Her sobs then reached a crescendo before she ruefully announced, “That means I’ll never be able to write for the
Red Letter.”

Hannah squirmed away from Sam. “I was only
trying
to keep her in, Sam; I mean, what would the neighbours think?”

“The neebers? Weel, as they dinnae bluidy live wi’ us, I really dinnae gie a shite what they think.” Sam spat at Hannah and rammed his clenched fist into her face.

“Why on earth did you do that?” Rachel yelled, making a grab for Sam.

“Cos she asked for it.”

“Never did,” sniffed Hannah, trying to stem the flow of blood from her nose.

“That’s enough from all of you,” said Rachel. “Come on now, Carrie, get on your feet and stop bubbling,” She took Carrie to the fireside. “Quick, Sam. Fetch the matches from the scullery and get this gaslight lit.”

Sam scurried into the scullery and duly brought through the matches and lit the gas.

Carrie’s mutilated thumb then became the focus of their combined attention.

“Some mess it is. You’ll need to go to the hospital in the morning and get it seen to,” pronounced Rachel, wrapping a towel round Carrie’s bleeding hand. “And why, can you tell me, did you do it?”

“Oh Mam. We need to keep our house. I just couldn’t bear it if Alice and Paul ended up in a Home. And I’m sure Jesus knew how I felt and that was the reason he sent Granddad here the night.”

A bemused smile crossed Rachel’s face before she said. “I meant, why did you run away from me?”

Carrie was about to answer when she glanced at the mantelpiece. A still more strident scream escaped her mouth.

“What is it? What is it? Is there more than your thumb hurt?” demanded Rachel frantically.

Carrie nodded her head to the bare mantelpiece. The shepherd and the shepherdess were gone! “That’s why you wouldn’t let us have a light in here the night. You didn’t want me to see the rotten, stinking thing you’ve done,” Carrie howled, pulling away desperately from her mother.

“Carrie, I
had
to
sell them today,” sobbed Rachel. “Surely you can see that keeping the roof over our heads was more important than a couple of china dolls?”

“They weren’t just china dolls. They were
my
ornaments. My beautiful ornaments. I loved them. I want them back. Please, oh, please.”

“And we
could
get them back, Mam,” Sam argued. “We could yaise Grandad’s fiver.”

Rachel shook her head. “No, we can’t. You see, the dealer that bought them from me had a customer who was desperate for them. And with us bombing the hell out of Dresden at the end of the war, there’ll be no more.” Rachel hesitated, thinking, “Oh please, Carrie, try and understand!” Then she reflected, “Got four pounds ten shillings for them, I did. But then I would, because they’re so valuable.”

No one spoke aloud. There was nothing to say that would pacify Carrie, and the only sound that filled the room was her uncontrollable sobbing.

Eventually Rachel, her face etched with fatigue, croaked, “The ornaments are by the bye. None of you must ever steal again. It’s wrong. And if ever we do need to steal again it will be done by me and me alone.”

“Does that mean you’re going to put Granddad’s money back?” asked Hannah.

“Course not. I was ten shillings short for the rent. But now, not only do we have enough, but thanks to me having more respect for Gabby’s liver than he has, there’s also enough for next month’s rent too.”

“There is?” Hannah cried as she looked at Sam, who was smiling broadly.

“Aye,” continued Rachel with a wink. “And a wee bit left over for luxuries like a warm coat and shoes for Alice, ham ribs and cabbage for tea the night and a clootie dumpling on Sunday.”

Hannah and Sam beamed. But even the thought of ham ribs and cabbage and clootie dumpling wasn’t enough to lift Carrie’s spirits. She was still staring at the bare mantelpiece and pitiful sobs still racked her thin frame.

When Sam became aware that Carrie was so upset, he stopped grinning and went over to her. Putting both arms around her, he pleaded, “Stop greetin’, Carrie. Please! Ye ken hoo ye brek my hert, so ye dae.” And as he brushed his lips over her hair he murmured, “I promise ye, I dae, that if ye stop bubblin’ an’ thole it, I’ll get them back for ye.”

“When, Sam?” Carrie sobbed, lifting her eyes to his.

“I dinnae ken exactly when. But what I dae ken is – that some bluidy day I will.”

“Crippled for life. That’s what I’ll be after all this,” Carrie moaned as she scrambled after the tractor to pick the potatoes that the digger relentlessly threw out to her.

Sam turned to look at his sister. He shook his head and sighed. “Look, Carrie,” he said in exasperation. “I telt ye hoo to dae it yesterday. Get stuck in efter the tractor’s past and pick the biggest tatties. It’s easy to fill yer basket that wey.”

“Easy? I never should have listened to you. You said it would be jammy, like picking the rasps and strawberries in the summer.”

“But tatties are ten times bigger, so they’re much easier to pick,” Sam argued back with increasing impatience.

“No, they’re no. And you cannae eat raw tatties to keep you going. Nor make jam neither out o the ones you smuggle home.” Carrie picked up a potato and threw it at her brother.

“Naw, but they make braw chips,” Sam laughed, making a flying dive to catch the potato and then tossing it high into the air.

Carrie wearily sank down on the earth before bleating, “Sam, I just cannae go on. I want to go home.”

“Why?”

“Cos I’m flaming freezin’. Soddin’ soakin’ an’ screaming hungry,” she yelled through her cracked sobs. “Worst of all, my back’s broken and I’ll likely never straighten out again.”

“That aw?” mocked Sam.

“No, it’s not aw,” she retorted, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Carrie wiped them away with her muddy hands and whimpered, “I want my Mammy.”

Sam tutted as he helped her upright. Then he wrapped his arms about her and rocked her back and forth comfortingly. “C’mon noo, Carrie. It’s okay.” He began to wipe the rain from her hair but suddenly pushed her away and warned urgently, “Sssh! Stop greetin’. That bluidy fairmer’s on his wey ower.”

“Hey, ye twa,” the farmer shouted when he was still twenty feet away. “Ye didnae get a week aff the schuil just so ye can skive. So get liftin’ they tatties. And afore ye start, it’s no bucketin’ rain. It’s only drizzle ye’re haein’ to work in.”

Sam and Carrie both nodded, but the farmer strode close up to them and shook his fist in Carrie’s face. “And Missie, if you dinnae manage yer bit the day – dinnae bloomin’ bother comin’ back the morn.”

Sam said nothing, but sprang to help Carrie fill her basket. “Just keep goin’,” he whispered. “And remember that we’ll baith get three and a half quid. Nae countin’ the bag o tatties we tak hame wi’ us every nicht,” He squinted at her. Tears were still running down her face. “Hoo aboot – if I no anely dae my ain bit but half of yours as weel?” he coaxed.

All Carrie could do was brush her hand across her dripping nose and nod.

“That’s richt. And we’re hauf wey through. Only Thursday and Friday to go efter the day,” said Sam encouragingly as he took a piece of rag from his pocket and spat on it before wiping Carrie’s face.

An Irish family who were working alongside them had all stopped howking by now. They stared long and hard at the two children before the mother asked, “You no got a pair of mittens for her, son?”

Sam shook his head as he pulled his sister’s collar up and tucked it in round her neck.

“Here then. Take mine,” the woman said, pulling off her own mittens and handing them to Sam. “Sure, me own hands are well enough seasoned. Hard as that blessed farmer’s heart, so they are.”

These acts of compassion served to make Carrie’s tears run even faster. However, she did manage to push back her damp curls before looking down at her mud-caked hands, scowling when she saw that her nails were all edged in thick black mourning, as if to match her mood. Without a word she lifted her right hand to her mouth and blew on her white bloodless fingers while managing a half-smile for Sam and the Irish woman. It was the best Carrie could do to convey to them that she was determined to soldier on.

Two weeks later, at the end of October, winter set in. Wind, rain and sleet arrived; and finally the snow came – the snow that would fall and lie for weeks and weeks well into the spring of 1947. Always there would be fresh snow falling on top of packed ice. Always the wind would whistle and howl, chilling every bone in your body to the marrow.

“You know, I’m beginning to wonder who won the blasted war,” Rachel raged as she shivered.

“What d’you mean, Mam?”

“What I mean, Hannah, is – I thought things would’ve got a lot better by now. Seeing we won. Not worse like they are.”

Rachel was at the coal bunker in the scullery and flung it open with such force that the lid bounced off the wall. “Pass me the torch, Hannah,” she said, bending over to see down to the very bottom. “Never mind. I don’t need any blooming light to tell us we havenae even any dross.”

“But we must have a fire for Alice. We mustn’t have her getting sick again.”

“You know something, Hannah,” Rachel retaliated venomously, lifting her head out of the bunker. “You’re a real genius at telling us what our problems are. Pity you’re no so clever at coming up wi’ the bloody solutions.”

Slightly embarrassed, Hannah made herself scarce by slinking off into the living room.

“Right. We just have to find some coal or something to burn. Bloody Hannah’s right, Alice just has to be kept warm,” Rachel muttered to herself before shouting to Sam, who was out in the stairwell fixing his guider. He had built it himself – and, like Sam, it had a mind of its own.

“Was that you shoutin’ on me, Ma?” Sam asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he came in.

“Aye. You were saying they’re selling briquettes down at the Coal Depot just past the docks?”

“Aye, just aside the railway station at Lindsay Road they’re sellin’ them, richt enough.”

“Well, how’d you like to take your guider and some of your tattie-picking money and go down to buy some?”

“Weel, I wouldnae, cos ye’ve got to stand in a queue for at least three hoors.”

Rachel looked piercingly at Sam. Her eyes glinted a stern warning to her son, who had been quite truculent ever since she’d been down to school to tell his teacher, Miss Stock, to stop coaching him for the Heriot’s bursary he so longed for.

Miss Stock had been absolutely furious and explained how it would be such a wonderful opportunity for Sam that his fees to the prestigious school would be met until he was eighteen and that when he was ready for university they might even help him there too. All Rachel would have to provide was a blazer and his bus fares.

“That all?” Rachel said bitterly as she turned to walk away from Miss Stock. “Well, rides on the bus, my dear, are luxuries you may be able to afford, but not us.”

What Rachel couldn’t understand was why the teacher didn’t realise that if Sam did go to Heriot’s, he’d have to give up his morning milk job – ten shillings a week that the family simply couldn’t do without. Yet if there was any mother who wanted her bairns to go to a posh Edinburgh school, it was her. Hadn’t she already had to cope with dashing Hannah’s hopes of sitting for a bursary – Hannah, who was brighter than Sam? Folks would tell her she must be right proud to have two such bright bairns. Proud, aye, but broken-hearted because their father didn’t pitch up with any keep for them, so that good schools, even with bursaries, were way, way beyond their means. But Rachel did promise herself, there and then, as she waited for Sam’s response, that she would make sure that he got a good trade. It would be a struggle even getting him through that, but she would do it for him, one way or another. Oh aye, one way or another, she’d make it up, as far as she could, to Hannah and Sam.

“I’ll gae if Hannah gangs wi’ me,’” said Sam reluctantly, willing her to send her precious Hannah with him.

Sam’s face fell though when Rachel shouted, “Carrie!”

“I’ve an idea,” Carrie said, jumping from one foot to another.

“Your heid’s aye runnin’ on wheels,” Sam replied. “An’ I hope to heavens this time ye’ve thocht of somethin’ that’ll get us oot o this blinkin’ queue.”

“Well, no exactly out o the queue,” Carrie went on chirpily. “But how’s about we take turns to stand here and that’ll let us go round the corner to Admiralty Street to see Granny for a heat?”

Sam shook his head, but then he began to make clucking sounds with his tongue.

“And just remember, Sam,” Carrie wheedled when she saw him weakening, “Granny aye has soup on the fire. A big black pot of yummy soup.”

“Aye, an’ she ayeways has big slices of plain breid to dunk in it.” Licking his lips, Sam decided, “Richt. Ye first. But dinnae be ower lang. I’m stairvin’.”

Carrie’s backside landed twice on the icy pavements so she decided to walk instead of run to her Granny’s. But when she did finally reach 35 Admiralty Street, she bounded up the worn wooden stairs two at time. Until, that is, she reached the dark landing – the dark landing where Spring-heeled Jack had sprung down and grabbed children, to whisk them away, never ever to be seen again. Or so the story went, as Carrie had been told it again and again by her mother.