Monday Girl (14 page)

‘Oh.’ Anne gave a nervous laugh; she hadn’t known that Phyllis Barclay had a brother. ‘Another string to your bow? You’re getting to be a real flirt, aren’t you?’

Renee thought ruefully that she was getting to be a real liar, anyway, a perfect pupil of the true master of deception – Fergus Cooper.

 
Chapter Eight

On the next two Monday nights, Renee’s suspicions about Fergus were allayed. He was waiting for her when she arrived at Woolworth’s at half past seven and tucked her arm through his while they were walking, which made her very proud and happy. His whole attitude was tender and caring, and she reflected that this was how it should be all the time and would be, very soon, once their love was made public.

Both weeks, they walked all the way to Hazlehead, and found a clearing in the trees near the golf course. They were lying on the mossy ground, their love-making over, on the second Monday, when Renee remarked, idly, ‘My birthday’s on Thursday.’

‘I know. Mine was a week past Friday.’ Fergus turned over, to lie on his stomach. ‘I’m an old man of twenty-two now.’

‘But I’ll be sixteen, and you know what that means, don’t you?’ She looked at him hopefully.

‘Mmmm. It means that for nearly two weeks I’ve been seven years older than you, but from Thursday I’ll only be six years older.’ Poking in the moss with his finger, he hadn’t lifted his head while he was speaking.

Renee ruffled his dark curls. ‘Be serious, Fergus. I meant that from Thursday I’ll be old enough to go with whoever I want, so you can take me out openly.’

‘I am taking you out openly. Anybody could see us.’

‘I meant openly in front of my mother.’

‘I told you before, Renee, I need time to . . . explain to her, and brush her off gently.’

‘You’ve had plenty of time already. It’s two whole weeks since you said you’d do it, and you could have told her by this time, if you’d wanted to.’

‘You know I want to tell her, but . . .’ He squeezed her hand. ‘It’s very difficult. I can’t just tell her straight out to stop pestering me because I don’t love her.’

‘Why not?’

He regarded her mournfully, his dark eyes widening.

‘That’d be cruel, Renee. I’ll have to let her down easily, lead up to it gradually, be diplomatic, or else she might throw me out. She is my landlady, remember?’

‘I’m telling you, Fergus, I’m not going to wait long. If you don’t tell her, I will.’ She withdrew her hand and made a move as if to get up, but he gripped her arm.

‘I’ll try, Renee, honest, I will. Don’t say anything yet, for God’s sake. You’ll just make things worse.’

Worse for who? she thought ruefully, but let him kiss and stroke her body again until she forgot everything except her aching need for him.

On Thursday morning, she received several birthday cards in the mail, also one large brown envelope, which she opened first.

‘Mum!’ She ran into the scullery. ‘It’s my certificates from the RSA. I’ve passed the Elementary in the whole lot –

shorthand, typing and book-keeping.’

‘That’s good.’ Anne was washing the breakfast dishes, but looked up with a smile.

The cards were from Granny and Granda, Sheila Daun, Jack, Tim and Mike, and her mother, but she was disappointed that there wasn’t one from Fergus. ‘Thanks for the card, Mum,’ she said, propping them up on the mantelpiece.

Anne came into the living room, drying her hands.

‘That’s OK.’ She lifted a parcel from the sideboard and handed it to her daughter. ‘Many happy returns, Renee. I’m sorry it’s not much.’

Renee took off the paper and gave a cry of delight when she saw the powder compact and lipstick. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. Thanks again, Mum.’

‘I’m glad you like them. You’d better get a move on or you’ll be late for work.’

At teatime, there was a card from Fergus on her plate, so she happily thanked all the boarders for remembering her birthday, and Tim led them in singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her.

Anne produced a small cake, which she had baked and iced, and cut in six so that everyone could have a piece.

When he finished eating his, Fergus stood up. ‘That cake was absolutely delicious, Anne.’

‘Yes, Mrs Gordon. It was really great.’ Mike excused himself and followed Fergus out of the dining room.

Tim looked across at Renee. ‘How does it feel to be sweet sixteen?’

Her high spirits had flagged somewhat at hearing Fergus still calling her mother ‘Anne’, but she smiled and said, ‘No different, Tim, unfortunately. I wish I was twenty-one.’

Jack, sitting next to her, laid his hand over hers for a second. ‘Don’t wish your life away, Renee. Sixteen’s a great age to be. I wish I was sixteen again as well.’

Anne stretched over to lift the empty cake plate. ‘I wish I was sixteen again, too,’ she said, ruefully.

Mike went out later to meet Babs Sandison, and Fergus went out about five minutes afterwards, but he didn’t divulge which of his girlfriends he was going to meet. Renee reflected dismally that it was probably his Thursday girl, the one who offered it to him on a plate, and felt a horrible churning inside her stomach.

Then Jack and Tim came through together. ‘We’re going out for a walk. Would you like to come, Renee?’ Tim asked.

Oh, no, she thought. Not a repetition of what happened that other Thursday? ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I want to wash my hair, and, anyway, Granny and Granda might come across, seeing it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, aye, they likely will.’

Jack turned to Anne. ‘Would you like to come, Mrs Gordon?’

‘No, I’d better be here in case my mother and father do come.’

‘Oh well, cheerio then.’ Jack preceded Tim to the door.

‘We’ll maybe go in somewhere for a drink, seeing we’ve no ladies with us,’ Tim said, over his shoulder. ‘But we won’t be late.’

Anne picked up her mending basket and sat down, and Renee went into the bathroom. She hadn’t really intended to wash her hair that night, but having said it, she felt obliged to do it. She was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, reading to pass the time until her hair dried, when someone rang the doorbell. Maggie and Peter McIntosh had not forgotten to bring their granddaughter a birthday gift. The old lady extricated a bulky parcel from her shopping bag when she was seated on the settee, and handed it to Renee. ‘We came the night instead o’ the morrow, to gi’e ye oor present.’

‘Oh, a handbag! Just what I was needing,’ the girl exclaimed as soon as she removed the paper. ‘It’s really beautiful, Granny, and it matches my new coat.’

‘I hoped it would.’ Maggie beamed. ‘I mind ye showin’

me yer coat a week or so back, and it fair suits ye.’

Renee laughed. ‘It wasn’t bad for twenty-five bob, was it? Thank you very much, Granny, and you, too, Granda,’ she added to Peter, sitting, as usual, in the background.

His eyes were twinkling. ‘Ye’d better tak’ a look inside to see if it’s big enough for a’ the rubbish ye cart aboot.’

The girl obediently undid the two metal clasps. ‘Oh, you two pets. There’s a bottle of Californian Poppy inside. That’s just great, because the Evening in Paris you gave me at Christmas is just about finished. Thanks again.’ She rose and kissed them both on the cheek, and they appeared very proud that she was so pleased with their gifts.

‘Ye’re gettin’ to be quite the young lady,’ Peter remarked.

‘The next thing is ye’ll be gettin’ a lad.’

‘She’s been out with Tim Donaldson already,’ Anne told him. ‘And with Tim and Jack another night, and she went to the pictures with her chum’s brother once, as well.’

Maggie nodded approvingly. ‘Ye’re best wi’ a few, so ye can pick an’ choose. Ye’re young yet, an’ it’ll be a puckle years yet afore ye meet the right lad.’

Renee hugged to herself the thought that she didn’t need to wait a ‘puckle years’ to meet him, and that it wouldn’t be long before she could shout it from the rooftops. When her grandparents went home, she went a little way with them, and, when Peter walked on in front, she couldn’t resist saying, ‘I’ve got the right lad already, Granny, but don’t let on to Mum yet.’

Maggie smiled encouragingly. ‘Jack an’ Tim are baith nice laddies. Which ane is it? Or is it yer chum’s brother?’

‘It’s none of them.’ Renee laughed with delight.

‘As lang’s it’s nae that Fergus Cooper.’ Maggie eyed her keenly. ‘He’s a bad lot, if ye ask me.’

‘Nobody’s asking you, and you don’t know anything about him!’ The girl had unwittingly revealed the truth by her sharp retort and wondered why her grandmother seemed so disapproving. She returned home, angry with Granny for the first time in her life. She was also annoyed because Fergus had apparently made no effort to break with her mother, which made her doubt if he’d any intention of doing it at all. Still, as he’d said, it was difficult for him, so she’d need to have patience – but not for too long. She’d wait another full week, perhaps until the Sunday after that, when the other three boarders would be away, then she would make her big announcement, calmly, quietly and simply.

‘Fergus and I are in love,’ she would say, or something like that, and let him take it from there. Roll on Sunday, the – she counted it on her fingers – 10th September 1939. It would be a date to remember.

A week before the great day, she sat down along with her mother and Fergus, to listen to Neville Chamberlain’s special broadcast at eleven o’clock. Not that she was really interested – it was probably just another warning of the impending doom which never materialised. Her mind was preoccupied with what she meant to do the following Sunday, but her mother’s sharp intake of breath made her concentrate on the final sentence.

‘Consequently, this country is at war with Germany.’ Renee was surprised, and rather indignant. What an effrontery the man had, after promising, about a year ago, that there would be ‘peace in our time’. But this couldn’t affect her plans? The British Army, the Royal Navy and the RAF, of course, would naturally be involved, but nobody else. Confident of that, she relaxed and returned to her own train of thought, to pre-live, for the umpteenth time, the excitement of openly declaring her love for Fergus, but his voice intruded on her daydream.

‘Well, it’s here.’ He sounded pleased.

Anne, looking very upset, rose to switch off the wireless.

‘It’s nothing to be happy about Fergus. Look at the lives that were lost in the last war.’

‘It’ll all be over in a few months this time.’

Feeling better, Renee closed her ears to the discussion, until, without warning, his words filtered through.

‘I wouldn’t mind joining the army . . .’

Oh, no! He couldn’t want to leave her now? She couldn’t say anything, and watched him going out after Anne had accepted his offer to cut the grass. Her mother rose in a few minutes, saying, ‘Well, I’ll have to get on with the dinner, war or no war.’

Renee was left alone, her heart aching and her brain furiously trying to cope with these new developments. If Fergus joined the army and was sent to fight the Germans, where would that leave her? She couldn’t tell her mother anything if he wasn’t there to endorse it, and he might stay away and never come back.

There was only one thing to do. It would have to be today, not next Sunday, and she’d be sure he’d return to her when the war was over. Of course, it would have to be done before Jack, Tim and Mike returned in the evening.

She pottered about in the loft until just before dinner time, tidying up drawers and folding her clothes neatly, glad that her hands had something to do. When she went down to set the table, she was convinced that now was the time. If there was any unpleasantness – she was sensible enough to realise there might be – it would all be over by the time the other three turned up. She waited until they finished their broth, then, steeling her churning stomach, she spoke as her mother rose.

‘Sit down, Mum.’ Her voice quavered a little. ‘Fergus and I want to tell you something.’ It wasn’t exactly the words she’d meant to use, but it didn’t matter, as long as she kept calm. Fergus looked rather alarmed. ‘Renee,’ he murmured.

‘Your mother doesn’t want to know about . . .’

Poor Fergus, she thought. He doesn’t know what to say, but he’d be grateful to her for helping him out, once she’d said her piece.

‘She doesn’t want to know what we’re planning for her birthday,’ he finished, lamely.

Anne looked suspiciously from him to her daughter.

‘What’s going on? My birthday’s not till December.’ She turned her attention again on the man who was now cowering rather fearfully in his chair. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Fergus.’

‘Don’t mind him.’ Renee was quietly amused. ‘This is a new experience for him.’

‘Yes?’ Anne barked out the word.

‘I’m in love with Fergus, Mum, and he loves me.’

It was out, at last. She’d known there would be some repercussions, but had never, in her wildest nightmare, imagined the explosion that followed.

‘You stupid little bitch!’ Anne’s eyes were blazing as she moved her white face close to Renee’s. Her hand came up, as if to strike the girl, then she turned on Fergus, slumped helplessly against his seat.

‘Tell her the truth, Fergus! Tell her you love me, and we’ve only been waiting till she found a boyfriend before we got married. Go on, tell her!’

‘Anne,’ he began, haltingly, but she was beside herself with fury, and newly kindled jealousy.

‘Tell her!’ she screamed. ‘Tell her we made love every Monday night all the winter, when she was out at her evening classes. Tell her she’s only a kid, and you laugh at her behind her back. Tell her it’s me you love!’ She was sobbing loudly now. ‘Go on, Fergus! Tell her!’

Renee’s mouth had fallen open with shock, but now she blurted out, ‘He’s made love to me every Monday. Before the classes stopped, and after, as well.’ She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. ‘Tell my mother that, Fergus! Tell her you felt sorry for her, and you were only trying to show your gratitude for what she’d done for you. Tell her you love me!’ Her voice had risen until she was screaming as loudly as Anne.

Fergus had said only the one hesitant word since his abortive attempt to stop Renee overtaking him. He had no answer to this predicament and made to rise from the table to get away from the two distraught females, but Anne jumped up and pushed him roughly back.