The Back of Beyond (10 page)

They were both in bed by the time he reached Benview, and, in the morning, he was able to answer his sister's query as to why he'd been so late in coming home the night before with a half-truth. ‘Lexie asked me in for a cup of tea.' He had half expected her to torment him about taking so long to drink it, but she'd let it go, thank goodness.

Feeling his eyes weary – his guilt hadn't let him sleep much – he closed them for a moment, and the next thing he knew the train had arrived at King's Cross. He'd still been awake at Newcastle, but he must have dropped off and slept through the commotion of all the other stations they'd stopped at. The rest had done him good, though; he felt better now.

On the way to Guilford Street, he came to the conclusion that he had overreacted to what he had done to Lexie. He had maybe gone a wee bit further than he should have, but he'd thought it was what she wanted. It was her own fault, and she shouldn't have got in such a state, battering at him like he was trying to kill her, though it was just as well she had. If she hadn't stopped him … by God it didn't bear thinking about, and thank goodness there was no chance that Gwen would ever hear about it. Lexie would never belittle herself by telling anyone, for it had been a proper fiasco.

As he had done ever since he moved into the hotel, he entered by the area steps and, as soon as he went into the kitchen, Tiny said, with a touch of sarcasm, ‘So Daddy's home at last?'

It was a second or two before Alistair understood. ‘You mean Gwen's had the baby already? Is she all right? Is
it
all right? Is it a boy or a girl?'

Before his father-in-law could answer, Peggy walked in, excitement making her more forthcoming than normal. ‘Go up and see your daughter right this minute, Alistair. She's absolutely gorgeous.'

He took the stairs two at a time, passing Rosie without a word, his heart swelling with love for his wife when he burst into their room and saw her lying in bed looking as sweet as she always did, just a fraction paler, more fragile.

She held a finger to her lips. ‘Don't make a noise, Alistair. She's asleep.'

He tiptoed across the room to kiss her. ‘When was it? Was it bad? I wish I'd been here for you.'

‘She was born yesterday and it wasn't too bad. Everything went as it should. Don't you want to look at her?'

Peggy hadn't exaggerated, he discovered. He had never seen such a beautiful infant before. No hair as such, of course, just a fuzz of fair down which suggested that she'd be blonde like Gwen and him, a teeny red, wrinkled face, minute hands perfectly formed and opening and closing as if searching for something to hold. She captivated him for ever by grabbing the finger he obliged with and opening her eyes. ‘She looked at me,' he crowed, ‘and her eyes are as blue as cornflowers.'

‘All babies' eyes are blue for the first few weeks,' observed Rosie who came in at that moment with a tea tray in her hand.

‘She's like a little doll,' he breathed.

‘You won't think that for long,' laughed Gwen. ‘Wait till you hear her bawling.'

Rosie grinned. ‘She can definitely make herself heard, but you must be hungry, Alistair, and I kept some dinner for you.'

He tore himself away from his daughter to go down to the kitchen where they always had their meals, the dining room being kept for the guests, but he couldn't eat very much, he was so pleased with the tiny being he had created … with a little help, of course. In less than half an hour, therefore, he was racing back to see her, and his heart contracted when he saw his wife with the infant in her arms. They made a perfect picture of Madonna and Child.

‘Why don't you lay her down again?' Gwen asked, holding the small bundle out to him. ‘I've just fed her and she's fast asleep.'

In holding his tiny daughter, even for the short time it took to put her back in her cot, Alistair experienced an emotion like no other he had ever felt. The sheer depth of it filled him with awe. It was as if he were looking down upon the innermost part of his being.

‘How did things go in Forvit?' Gwen asked, as he straightened up. ‘I'm sorry, I should have asked before, but …'

‘Don't worry about it, everything went off quite well. Dad's real down, as you'd imagine, but Alice says she wants to stay at home to look after him.'

‘That's good. It'll stop you fretting about him.'

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Alistair took her gently in his arms. ‘I didn't think it would be possible to love you more than I did before, but … now you've given me such a lovely daughter …'

Her kiss stopped him, and all he could think of for some time was how lucky he was.

His wife drew away at last, stroking his cheek as she said, ‘We'd better choose a name for our little one. Any ideas?'

‘No, nothing. I'll leave it up to you, seeing she's a girl.'

‘I'd like to give her a name to herself, not after relatives, and the midwife who attended me was really nice, so I asked her name and she said Chantal, her mother was French. It's spelled C-H-A-N-T-A-L. Unusual, but nice I think.'

After just a moment's thought, Alistair said, ‘You know how folk shorten or change names, somebody might make it … Chanty.' He pronounced the ch as in cheese, not, as it should be, as in shell.

‘What's wrong with that?'

He smiled apologetically. ‘It's what folk in Forvit call a chamber pot.'

Gwen gave an embarrassed chuckle. ‘That won't do, then. The only other one I thought of was one I saw in a magazine once. Leila. That couldn't be changed much?'

‘I suppose somebody might say Lee, but it wouldn't matter, would it?'

‘I'd prefer if they didn't, but it wouldn't be so bad. So that's settled, is it?'

‘What's settled?' asked Dougal as he and Marge walked in. ‘We did knock,' he added, as an afterthought.

‘Your mother's name was Isabella, wasn't it?' Gwen asked then. ‘So how does Leila Isabella … Rose strike you?'

Marge clapped her hands. ‘That's great. Leila Isabella Rose. It has a ring to it.'

Dougal slapped his pal's back. ‘I think we should go down and get Granddaddy to wet the baby's head with us, then we could go out for a wee stroll.'

‘You've started something,' he began, when they left the hotel some twenty minutes later, Alistair having flatly refused to take more than one drink with Tiny. ‘Marge has gone all broody on me.'

‘Ach, your turn'll come, maybe it's better to wait, though I'm not sorry
we
didn't.'

‘I'm forgetting to ask. Did the funeral go off all right? How's your father?'

‘He took it bad, Dougal, but Alice is going to keep house for him.'

‘That's good. Um … did you see Lexie Fraser?'

After an infinitesimal hesitation, Alistair nodded. ‘Aye, she was there and Alice made me walk her home.'

The twinkle reappeared in Dougal's eyes. ‘Did she try to get you to …?'

‘She didn't try anything, it was me.' He could have bitten his tongue out for the slip.

‘
You
tried?' Dougal was shocked. ‘But I thought you didn't even like her.'

‘I never said I didn't like her, I was fed up with the way she was going on at me.'

‘So she didn't go on at you this time, but you did what she's aye wanted? Good God Almighty, Ally, what were you thinking about? She'll tell the whole place …'

‘She'll not tell anybody anything. You see, I didn't actually …'

‘That wouldn't stop her from telling folk you did.'

‘She's changed, Dougal. She's not as forward as she used to be, she wasn't forward at all. In fact, I was real sorry for her.'

‘You'd a lucky escape, boy. Think what could have happened if you
had
done it.'

‘I know, I know. It doesn't bear thinking about.'

‘Did you get a chance to speak to my Mam or Dad?'

‘Just for a minute or two. They were both looking well, I thought, and saying how pleased they were at seeing Marge at Easter.'

For the remainder of their short walk, Dougal asked after their old school friends and Alistair told him what he had learned about them, sometimes reminiscing about the exploits they and their ‘chums' had got up to.

Lying beside his sleeping wife later, it occurred to Alistair that Dougal had always been the ringleader, and that he had always followed on, done what Dougal had done or told him to do. For once in his life, though, he had achieved something before Dougal managed it. He had made a daughter, the loveliest daughter any man could ever wish for. He had never knowingly felt jealous of Dougal at any time over all the years they'd been pals, yet it gave him a kick to feel that he was his own man at last.

‘Congratulations, Alistair, my boy!'

Manny's welcoming words took his assistant aback. He had wanted to tell the good news himself. ‘Do not look so surprised,' the old man laughed. ‘I am not psychic. Your charming sister-in-law came to tell me about your daughter. Well done! But you will have to make a son before you have a gentleman's family. How is dear Gwen? I do not suppose that she is thinking, just yet, of having any more children?'

‘I shouldn't think so, but she seems quite well. She said she didn't have too bad a time.'

‘I believe that women usually play down what they suffer during childbirth. It is a time for the exclusion of men.'

‘Did you never want children, Manny?'

‘Anna and I both wanted babies, but it was not to be.' The pawnbroker averted his head for a moment, obviously to hide his sadness, but it wasn't long before he was smiling again. ‘I was so pleased when Marge gave me the news that I closed the shop and went out in search of a gift for the little one. Wait and see what I found!'

He took a square wine-velvet-covered box from his safe and laid it on the counter. ‘Open it, Alistair.'

Nestling amidst some pale pink cotton wool was a gold bangle which the new father removed reverently. ‘Oh, Manny, you shouldn't have. I know you didn't pick this up in any of the markets. It's brand new, isn't it?'

‘I have taught you too well, my boy. Yes, it is brand new, as befits a brand new baby, and when you have chosen a name for her, I will have it engraved inside. It is adjustable, and will fit her even when she is a grown woman.'

‘Oh, Manny.' Alistair felt all choked up. ‘The things you think of … but you really shouldn't.'

‘Let me know when you have chosen her name …'

‘It's Leila. We chose it last night – Leila Isabella Rose, after the two grandmothers.'

Manny nodded his approval of this. ‘Leila Isabella Rose. Yes, that rolls off the tongue very nicely. Now, when your dear wife is feeling up to it, tell her to bring little Leila Isabella Rose here to let me see her.'

It was on the point of Alistair's tongue to ask his employer to be godfather, and then he wondered how a Jew would fit into a Church of England ceremony. Come to that, he thought, how would a Church of Scotland man fit in? He knew nothing of the ways of the Episcopalian church. In any case, Gwen would likely want Marge to be godmother and Dougal to be godfather, so he had better not make any ripples by suggesting Manny.

When he went up to Gwen that night, his employer having made him swear to say nothing about the bangle, he was delighted when she said, ‘I was thinking after you went to work. Manny's always been so good to us, we should ask him to the christening.'

‘That's a lovely idea, my darling, and he wants to see her, as soon as you're fit to take her to the shop.'

‘I'm supposed to stay in bed for ten days, so it'll be more than two weeks before I can walk as far as that. Marge could take her, though.'

‘He wants to see you as well.'

‘Say I'll come two weeks on Wednesday. That's not one of your busy days is it?'

‘No, that'll be ideal.'

Damn Alice Ritchie, Lexie thought. She had been getting over the upset of Bella's funeral and what Alistair had done – or more like it, not done – and his sister had stirred it up again. He'd become a father while he'd been in Forvit, maybe at the very time he'd been with her, kissing her, raising her hopes that he did want her, and she had spoiled it with her stupid fear. But now, even if he could tear himself away from his wife, he wouldn't want to leave his daughter. Not for a few years.

She was still prepared to wait, though. However long it took him to realize that she was the one he really loved, she would be here for him. From what Alice had said, he was having to do odd jobs in his father-in-law's hotel after he finished work for the Jew every day, and he would soon get fed up of that. And if the bairn, as most bairns do, kept them awake at nights, that would tell on him, as well. His body would rebel; he would start to get short-tempered with his wife and fall out with her …

Yes, it would be worth while to wait … like a cat at a mousehole, like a spider in its web. He was bound to fall into her trap … not that she considered it a trap and nor would he by that time. His marriage would have fallen apart, his heart would be broken and she'd be there to pick up the pieces.

Chapter 7

‘You're useless, Dougal Finnie! D'you know that? Absolutely, bally useless!' Marge glared at her husband. ‘Gwen's had her second and you haven't even managed to make one! We've been married for two years, for goodness' sake.'

‘It could be your fault.' He felt obliged to make this quite clear.

‘Not mine,' she sneered. ‘Nobody in my family's ever had problems having a baby.'

‘Nor in mine,' he snapped. ‘I've a sister in America, and Mam had another son that died when he was three, so there was three of us, the same as you Jenkinses. One thing, you can't say I haven't tried, can you?'

She gave a tight little smile. ‘No, I can't say that.' Capitulating suddenly, she sighed, ‘I really do wish we could have a baby, Dougal. Don't you?'

‘You know I do, my darling.'

As he made ready to go down to breakfast, however, he wasn't quite sure that he did want a baby, after all. They seemed to cause an awful upheaval in people's lives. Look at Alistair. He'd had precious little sleep for months after Leila was born, she'd been a fractious wee toot, and she'd just settled into a normal routine when the new one made its debut … correction, his debut. Ally had never shown much sign of gumption let alone a powerful sexual drive, yet he'd put his wife up the bloody spout twice in little more than a year. He didn't need to be so cock-o'-the-walk because this one was a boy, though. He wasn't the only man on earth to make a son … and by God, Dougal Finnie would give his eyeteeth to be in their brotherhood. But he'd better go downstairs before Marge came up again reading the riot act.

They were all seated round the table when he entered the kitchen, and Peggy was saying, ‘Thank goodness it's over! I didn't get any sleep for the noise Gwen was making. I thought she was in the throes of death.'

Dougal couldn't resist teasing her. ‘I didn't know dying people kicked up a noise.'

She tossed her head, then a loud knock on the door made her jump up. ‘I'll go.'

‘I wonder who that can be?' Rosie remarked. ‘The post came half an hour ago.'

‘It's a telegram,' Peggy announced as she came in again, ‘for Alistair.'

Watching the blood drain from her son-in-law's face as he read it, Rosie asked, anxiously, ‘Is it your father?'

Willie Ritchie's foot had been punctured some weeks ago by one of the tines of a harrow. He had tried to kick away a stone in its path but hadn't been quick enough to get out of the way himself. The resulting wound had never healed properly, but Alice's last note, saying that he was quite poorly, hadn't prepared her brother for this. ‘He died yesterday,' Alistair moaned. ‘Oh, God, I should have gone home to see him when she told me about it first.'

‘You weren't to know this would happen.' Rosie was always on hand to soothe and comfort her small brood if anything untoward happened.

‘I should have thought,' he persisted. ‘The spikes would've been coated with earth and dung, and the poison must have gone right through him.' He turned to Dougal. ‘The same as old Robbie Rankin, remember, Dougal? About five years ago?' Alistair looked at Rosie in anguish. ‘I can't leave Gwen just now.'

‘You have to go,' she said quietly. ‘You can't miss your father's funeral. Gwen's got all of us to look after her, and your sister's got nobody.'

‘She's got lots of friends, and I know you're worried about Gwen.'

Rosie looked away for a moment, then admitted, ‘She's not too good. The doctor's coming back today, but I'll take care of her. There's no need for you to be here …'

‘There's every need for me to be here,' he cried. ‘Good God, Rosie, if anything happened to her and I was hundreds of miles away, I'd never forgive myself.'

She met his eyes now. ‘Perhaps you're right.'

Dougal offered to send a telegram to Alice, and after carrying out that duty, he went to tell Manny Isaacson that Alistair would be off work that day. ‘Gwen's quite ill,' he explained. ‘It wasn't such an easy birth this time. The baby's OK, but …'

‘Oh, that poor girl. I shall pray for her speedy recovery …'

‘And another thing,' Dougal went on, ‘Alistair got word this morning that his father had died, but he's not going to the funeral … because of Gwen, you understand?'

The old man was obviously shaken by this further had news, and it was only when Dougal was leaving that he rallied enough to say, ‘I am so very glad that the infant is all right. Is it a boy or a girl?'

‘A boy.'

‘The gentleman's family … but the two events to occur at the same time … it must be a truly traumatic time for Alistair. Please convey my heartfelt sympathy for him at the loss of his father, and tell him that I shall not expect him back to work until his dear wife's health has improved.'

*    *    *

Tiny having put on so much weight – he was over the twenty-stone limit of their household scales – Rosie asked Dougal if he would mind doing something for her.

‘Anything,' he grinned. ‘Your wish is my command, madame.'

‘Cheeky!' she smiled back. ‘It's for Alistair really. I should have thought of it before, but with all the worry … You know the lumber room up on the top floor? There's an old bed-chair there. We bought it for Tiny's father when his wife was in hospital, though she was only in two weeks when she died and he went back to Swansea. That was the only time it was used. Sadly, he didn't last long himself, after that.'

‘Alistair doesn't need a bed-chair,' Gwen protested weakly. ‘He'll sleep with me.'

‘He will not!' declared Rosie. ‘You need all the rest you can get and so does he.'

But Gwen was adamant that he wouldn't disturb her, that she would prefer to feel him beside her if she woke in the night, and so the unwieldy old wooden bed-chair was left in state in the lumber room, to have further dust added to that which had already accumulated over the past fifteen years.

Despite his wife's protests, Alistair did spend a two-night vigil in a rickety basket chair by the bed, afraid to sleep, even for only a few minutes, in case she needed him. It was a full week before the doctor pronounced her out of danger and the whole household breathed a deep sigh of relief. Alistair, gaunt and hollow-eyed, cried, ‘Thank God!' and bent to kiss her pale, sunken cheek before practically collapsing on to the bed at her side.

When Alistair saw his sister's writing on the envelope the following morning, he said, ‘This is it! A telling-off for not going up for the funeral.' But it wasn't.

Your loving sister, Alice.

‘Who's Lexie Fraser?' Gwen wanted to know, after she read the letter.

‘Just a girl Dougal and I went to school with.'

‘She didn't ask about him, though?'

‘I suppose … I suppose she knew me best.'

‘In other words, she was the girlfriend you told me about. Don't blush, Alistair, I'm not angry or jealous. Was she the only one?'

‘Yes, she was,' he muttered, thinking that it sounded even more damning than if he had confessed to a whole harem.

‘Ah,' his wife said, thoughtfully, ‘how long were you and she …?'

‘It wasn't the way you think. We were still at school when we started going out for walks and there was nothing in it, till …' He halted, shaking his head. ‘No, there never was anything in it, Gwen, darling, not on my side. She would have liked there to be, that was the trouble. I came to London with Dougal to get away from her.'

A delighted smile lit up Gwen's pale face. ‘So I've Lexie Fraser to thank for having you as my husband?'

‘I suppose you could put it like that. One thing's for sure. I would never have married her, whatever she thinks … thought.'

‘You believe she might still be hoping?'

‘No, of course not. I hope you don't think … I'd never look at another woman, ever!'

‘I know that, my dear. I'm only teasing. But getting back to Alice's letter, we'll have to think of a name for our little man.'

‘I used to think I'd like to call my son after Dougal,' Alistair began, but Gwen's last two words had given him a new idea. ‘Back home, young mothers often spoke about a baby boy as ‘my wee mannie' – it was an affectionate term, you know? – and though I know you wouldn't want to call him Emanuel, that's Manny's real name, his sign says E.D. Isaacson, so what if I ask him what the D stands for?'

The pawnbroker was so overwhelmed with emotion when he learned why he was asked his middle name that his assistant feared he might have a heart attack, but he didn't take long to pull himself more or less together. ‘This is truly a great honour for me,' he murmured after a brief pause. ‘No one has ever …' He stopped again to regain his still wavering composure, filling the awkward moments by opening his safe and taking out a gold wrist watch. ‘I bought this as soon as Dougal told me that your Gwen had given birth to a son, but I wish now that it had been something more suitable for an infant.'

Alistair, too, now had difficulty in remaining calm, and his voice trembled a little as he said, ‘Manny, that watch is something he can cherish for the rest of his life. You couldn't have bought him anything more fitting … though you shouldn't have.'

The elderly man wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with his thumb. ‘You do not understand. As you know, my Anna and I were not blessed with children, and it is so long since I lost her … I have had no one, except you. You are the son I never had, Alistair, your Gwen is my daughter-in-law and your children are my grandchildren. You have made my life complete, so please do not be angry with me for buying gifts.'

‘I'm not angry, Manny, please don't think that. I just felt it wasn't right for you to spend your money on us when you had your mind set on buying bigger premises. You'll never get your antique shop at this rate.'

‘Antique shop?' Manny snapped his fingers. ‘Poof! What is a shop full of the most expensive antiques in the world compared with the happiness I feel at being able to do something for your two precious little cherubs.'

And so David (Manny's middle name) William (after Alistair's late father) Trevor (after Tiny) was christened, and Manny having declined to act as godfather because of the difference in religion, Alistair paid tribute to Ivy and Len Crocker by asking them to be godparents. Both vowed to take their duty seriously, but during the meal, Ivy had them all laughing by keeping up a teasing conversation with Tiny who gave as good as he got.

At four o'clock, when Rosie, Peggy and Marge were downstairs in the kitchen tidying up, and Tiny, Dougal, Manny and Len were engaged in a discussion on politics, Gwen said, ‘Shall I fetch the baby down, Ivy, so you can see him properly?'

‘Ooh, yes please! I'd love to see both the little lambs.' She waited until the younger woman had left the room and then leaned over towards Alistair. ‘You haven't half done well, Al, but I knew you had it in you, when you were lodging with me.' She covered her mouth momentarily to suppress a giggle. ‘Oh, my Gawd! I nearly said when we were living together! Now that would have been something, wouldn't it?'

He could only respond in the same vein. ‘Aye, it would that, though you were so randy you'd have exhausted me.' It was easy to laugh with her now. She couldn't help herself and she probably didn't mean half of what she said. ‘I wouldn't have had enough stamina left to make any babies with Gwen.'

A wistfulness crept momentarily into her eyes, then, in a quick change of mood, she said, ‘I'm really glad for you, Al, love. You deserve the best.'

‘And I've got it,' he assured her, looking up as his family entered the room – his darling wife, looking radiant in a London tan woollen costume and carrying a bundle swaddled in a lacy shawl, with their beautiful daughter hanging on to her skirt. Leila was obviously newly awake, her eyes still hazy with sleep, but she soon perked up.

‘She's so lovely,' cooed Ivy, who had seen her regularly since she was born. Diving into her hand bag now, she extracted a small parcel which she handed to the little girl. ‘I can't give your brother a present without giving you something, too, can I?'

The fifteen-month-old shook her head gravely and tore off the paper to see what was inside, then without saying anything she toddled into the hall and they could hear her feet slowly negotiating the stairs to the kitchen. ‘It was only a rag doll,' Ivy said in concerned apology. ‘Didn't she like it?'

‘She loved it,' Gwen smiled. ‘She's taken it down to let her Grandma see it.'

Ivy was reassured in a few moments when Rosie came in carrying the little girl, followed by Marge and Peggy, and for the next half hour or so, attention centred on Leila, who was adept at playing to an audience. Needing only little encouragement, she recited several nursery rhymes, missing some words and getting others wrong, sang ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' – which came out as ‘Tinka, tinka, icka tah' – three times and ‘Umpy Dumpy satta wo', twice. To follow this, making it a mammoth production, she executed little dances her Auntie Peggy had taught her and then proved that the show was over by saying, as she climbed on to Rosie's knee, ‘Aw done, Gamma.'