The Back of Beyond (11 page)

Baby David, as though aware that his sister was stealing the limelight although this should have been his day, slept through all her antics cradled against Ivy Crocker's ample bosom, and the party, as it had become, broke up just after five o'clock.

‘Thank God that's all over!' said Marge, a little testily, after the guests had gone.

‘Yes, it's been some day,' Tiny agreed.

Gwen looked keenly at her sister but said nothing until she and Alistair were in bed. ‘I think Marge's jealous,' she told him. ‘She's desperate for a baby.'

‘So Dougal's been saying, but it's something you can't arrange to order.'

‘I don't like to ask, but would he be …?' She paused. ‘Could he have lost interest in … that side of things?'

Alistair had to laugh at this. ‘Not Dougal, I can assure you of that.'

1935 had just begun when Tiny collapsed. The hotel had been closed on Christmas Day, but he had prepared an impressive dinner for his extended family, and despite Rosie's warnings not to overdo it at his age – ‘You're sixty-seven, for goodness' sake, and would be retired if you'd been working for a boss' – he wouldn't let anyone help him. He produced another feast for New Year's Day but the upset of him being rushed to hospital as they were about to sit down to the meal banished everyone's appetite.

He hovered on the brink of death for twenty-one hours, and just when his wife and daughters thought that having survived the heart attack for so long he would pull through, he slipped effortlessly away.

Both Alistair and Dougal had their work cut out trying to comfort the three sisters, but Rosie, who had lost her partner of thirty-five years, was the calmest of them all. She told her sons-in-law to register the death and contact the undertakers so that the funeral could be arranged, then she sat dry-eyed and holding herself as erect as she had always done, seemingly impervious to her husband's demise, or more probably, unable to take it in.

The birth of Alistair's second child had made Lexie Fraser take stock of her situation. There didn't seem to be any chance of him leaving his wife, not now they had two children, and it had begun to be very painful to think of him, excruciating even to try to picture him with his expanding family. Alice had shown her a studio portrait he'd sent of his wife cuddling an infant in a christening robe, Alistair standing behind her chair with a fair-haired little girl in his arms, which had haunted her waking hours and disrupted her nights for weeks.

The pain was easing a little, but something else had reared up in her mind, something she had pushed resolutely away over the years since her father's disappearance. At the time, having been so angry and upset by the lack of interest shown by the police, she had been unable to think of anything else, yet there had always been this feeling of … She couldn't remember if it had been fear, or pain, or what, and she had filed it away during the years she'd had her mind on Alistair, but there was no one now to help her.

The doctor – Dr Birnie, it was, or Dr Tom as he'd affectionately been known – had done his best to comfort both her and her mother, but he had left Forvit a few months afterwards. He hadn't wanted to go, but his mother-in-law had had a slight heart attack, and his wife, the elder daughter – the younger had been working in America – had gone to Stirling to look after her. After a few days, she had told Dr Tom on the phone that she wanted them to move there permanently. He'd had to find a replacement before he could go, of course, and had been most apologetic to all his patients, more so, perhaps, to her mother and her, Lexie mused.

Because she was so young at the time he left, and hadn't yet recovered from the shock of losing her father and the stories that still circulated about him, she had fastened on Alistair with such intensity that she had scared him off, and she had blamed her heartache on his desertion of her. Just once, while she was struggling to cope with that agony, had a picture flashed through her mind.

It had been gone in an instant, and she hadn't been really sure if it was of something that had actually happened or if it had been a dream, a nightmarish dream. She didn't want to think about it. She had the feeling that it was something horrible, something so nasty it would change her life for ever, so it was probably a good thing that she couldn't recall exactly what had taken place, or when. She could remember the bobby being there, and the doctor giving her mother sleeping pills with the caution, ‘They're pretty potent, so wait until you are in bed before taking them.'

She had been given two, as well, and it was just as well she'd heard that caution, because she must have gone out like a light seconds after swallowing them.

Lexie gave a shivery sigh. She didn't like dwelling on that awful time, it was too disturbing for her, so she turned her mind once again to her present circumstances. She desperately needed someone to depend on, to gather comfort from, and with there being no chance of Alistair ever coming back to her now, she had better look elsewhere. Most of the boys she had been at school with were either married or had found work in some of the big industrial cities in the south. Only two were still bachelors and still living at home – Gibby Mearns and Freddie McBain, neither particularly good-looking, but both with steady jobs in Aberdeen. Gibby, the postie's oldest son, drove a long-distance lorry for a large haulage company, and Freddie worked in the office of one of the shipyards.

Yes, one of them would be her best bet. She wasn't cut out to be an old maid.

Chapter 8

The hotel had been closed for exactly ten days when Rosie, matriarch now, the unrelieved black of her apparel emphasizing her pallor, called her family together.

‘I want you to listen and weigh up everything carefully before you say anything,' she instructed them, looking at her three daughters in turn because it was from them that the inevitable arguments would come. ‘I know your father only did the cooking …' She waved away what Marge was trying to say, and went on, ‘… but it was the meals he produced that brought people back, the kind of meals that only the top hotels could offer, and at half the price. That was why we'd a clientele of company reps and businessmen, and I can't hope to continue that. Your father was a Regimental Cook Sergeant when he married me, so he wouldn't let me do anything except serve, and even if I could probably manage to provide good plain fare, that's not what the hotel was famed for.'

The alarmed glance which passed between Gwen and Marge made her add, a little sadly, ‘I see you can guess what's coming. I'm going to sell the hotel and buy a decent-sized house so we can still all be together.'

Marge could hold her concern at bay no longer. ‘But, Mum, all you have to do is engage a good chef, and we'll all help you to carry on, Gwen and Peg and me. I know it won't be the same for you, but we'll manage, I'm sure we will.'

With a shake of her head, Rosie said, firmly, ‘Just managing isn't enough. In any case, I couldn't afford even a mediocre chef, so it would fall to me, and if I'm tied up all day in the kitchen who'll keep account of things – what each guest is due, what we owe the tradesmen at the end of each month, order the provisions, make the guests feel at home? Who'll listen to their troubles, comfort them if their wives have been unfaithful, or left them, or died? That was a big part of what I did over the years.'

‘We could do that,' persisted Marge, ‘and you could show us how to do the rest.'

‘I wouldn't have time, and there's something else to consider. You and Peggy will eventually have children, too, and a hotel isn't a place to bring up families …' She broke off, pausing long enough to compose herself, but such was the impact of what she had told them that none of them said a word.

After only a few seconds, she continued, ‘What we get for it should buy a fairly big house with a garden for the little ones to play in.' She looked at her middle daughter again, waiting for further objections, but she had lapsed into silence, and Rosie hoped that she hadn't upset her by speaking about gardens for the little ones. She had thought that Marge and Dougal were purposely waiting a few years before they had children, but maybe they
had
been trying. Poor Marge! A change of home, and not having to work so hard every day, might do the trick.

Rosie felt better now. ‘I think it would cheer us all up. A more modern house, with a good-sized garden, away from all the traffic and bustle. We'd need six bedrooms at least – one for Gwen and Alistair, one for Marge and Dougal, one for …'

‘You don't have to worry about Marge and me, Rosie,' Dougal put in, as if he knew what she'd been thinking a moment or so earlier. ‘I've enough laid by to put down a deposit for a nice wee place of our own. I've been thinking about it for a good while, but I didn't like to say anything in case you thought I wasn't happy here.'

‘But don't you want us to stay together?' Rosie was bewildered now. She had never imagined that her attempt to keep the family round her would result in splitting it up.

‘We don't need to be living in each other's pockets to be close,' Dougal persisted. ‘We can still see you regularly, and you wouldn't have to buy such a big house.'

Alistair shot a silent question at Gwen and got a nodding reply. ‘We were thinking of renting a place,' he told his mother-in-law, hesitantly, ‘to be on our own, you know?'

This double blow left Rosie nonplussed, so it fell to Peggy to pour oil on the troubled waters. ‘I think it's a good idea for us all to live our own lives. I used to get tired of you two bossing me about …' She gave a faint smile to show that she bore no grudge. ‘Mum and I'll still be together and I can take a job somewhere to help out with expenses.'

Rosie heaved a sigh of resignation. ‘I suppose … if that's what everybody wants?'

A sharp wail from upstairs made Alistair jump up. ‘That'll be David, likely.' As he passed his mother-in-law to attend to his son, he gripped her shoulder reassuringly. ‘It'll work out fine, Rosie. Dougal and I'll be masters in our own homes, and if you want us to do something for you at any time, you'll only have to let us know.'

‘I feel awful,' Alistair admitted to Manny the following day after telling him what had transpired. ‘Are we being selfish?' Is Rosie right? Are we splitting up her family?'

As usual, Manny gave his manager's troubles his full consideration. ‘It is difficult to say, my boy. From her point of view, you probably are, but you can prove it otherwise if you visit her frequently and issue an open invitation for her to visit you. From what I have seen of your mother-in-law, she is not an unreasonable woman, and she will realize that you and Dougal need to have time alone with your wives, and as long as you let her see her grandchildren as often as she wants, she should be satisfied. In any case, things may change. Tiny's death, coming when there was hope of him pulling through, was bound to have unsettled all of you, and when Rosie is able to think rationally, she may not want to give up the hotel at all.'

Alistair shook his head. ‘No, her mind's definitely made up about that, and she's quite right, you know. I don't think it would be the same without Tiny in the kitchen and her at the helm, but you'd better not let Gwen or Marge know I've said that.'

The next three months were extremely busy for the Jenkins family, especially Rosie. She took to visiting estate agents with Peggy, asking to view any houses they had for sale, but found nothing that attracted her. They were all too small to her mind, although Peggy said they were big enough for the two of them.

It was Dougal who first found what he was looking for. ‘One of the despatch clerks says his parents have booked one of the houses going up in Lee Green,' he told Alistair. ‘It's a bit out, but I'm going to have a look at them on Sunday. Fancy coming?'

He hadn't wanted Rosie to know but Marge let it slip, and so the whole ‘shebang of them', as Dougal put it, made the journey to SE 12. The neat semi-detached villas made a deep impression, each with a small patch in front for a garden, and a much larger piece at the rear. Going into the show house, completely fitted out so that prospective buyers would have a clearer picture of the possibilities, they discovered that the ground floor consisted of a square lounge at the front, a smaller living room behind it, and alongside that, a scullery with a door into the ‘garden'. Upstairs were two decent-sized bedrooms, and, reminding Dougal and Alistair of the Crockers' house in Hackney, a separate tiny lavatory and a narrow bathroom.

Most of the houses in the street were finished, some actually occupied already, but two still had to be painted and the surrounding ground levelled out. ‘What d'you think?' Dougal asked Marge, her smile encouraging him to ask the Site Manager for more details.

‘Not bad for under £500, eh?' he observed to his wife, as they all trooped along to Hither Green to catch the train back to Russell Square. ‘I've got the deposit and I should manage the mortgage, so I put my name down provisionally, is that OK with you?'

She smiled her approval. ‘Perfect. I loved the house.'

‘The man said I'd better make up my mind quick, because there's only two left.'

The final outcome of the expedition, however, was something Dougal was none too happy about. When he went to the builder's office on the Tuesday to sign the contract, he asked if anyone had bought the last one.

‘I was hoping I could persuade you to take it,' he confided to Alistair that evening, ‘but I near fell in a heap when the girl said a Mrs Rose Jenkins had been in on Monday morning and settled for it. I ask you, Ally. I thought Marge might be able to conceive once she didn't have to worry about Rosie hearing us, for I think that's what's been wrong though she never said, and now! Speak about living in each other's pockets!'

Alistair couldn't help smiling. Gwen had kept at him to make the commitment, and she'd looked disappointed when he said Woodyates Road was too pricey for him, but Rosie, bless her, had let him off the hook. ‘Has she bought the house you're joined on to?' he asked Dougal.

‘No, that's one thing I'm thankful for.'

‘So Marge'll know her mother can't hear what you get up to in bed, not with the width of two garage runs between your house and hers.'

Rather than put a millstone round his neck, Alistair finally settled on renting an old terraced house – furnished, if a little basically – in Bethnal Green, only a short bus run from Manny's shop. Like Dougal, he had been worrying about furniture, and had warned Gwen that she'd have to put up with second-hand for a while, so all that concerned them now was buying essential household items. Then Rosie told them that there was enough furniture, bed and table linen, dishes and cutlery in the hotel to equip all three houses and still leave enough for the new owners to start off with.

Now came a time of frantically begging for tea chests and crates to pack things in, the three young women making sure that everything was fairly divided and each item marked with its proper destination. Of course, with the amount of upheaval going on, it was not surprising that Leila and David were fretty, and Ivy's offer to keep them from the day before the removals until the day after was gratefully accepted. It certainly wasn't a time to have small children running around under everybody's feet disrupting things.

The more time Lexie Fraser spent with Ernie Gammie, the more she came to like him. He was thoughtful, asked no questions of her and, most important, he was courting her – the only way to describe it – in the good old-fashioned way. He hadn't kissed her until the fourth or fifth time he saw her home, and he hadn't tried anything else even yet, and they'd been keeping company for almost eight weeks now.

Remembering, how that had come about, she gave a satisfied little smile. Over the past six or so months, she had gone out with three other men before Ernie, but once was enough with each of them. As soon as they got her where nobody would see them, she'd had to fight them off, even Gibby Means, who had known her since she was five and should have known her better than try. Davie Lovie, the van driver who delivered newspapers to the shop, hadn't been quite so bad, but he hadn't asked her out a second time – probably because she wouldn't let him do what he wanted – and although Freddie McBain had waited until he took her home, he was as determined as the other two to get her flat on her back.

But Ernie wasn't like that. She had been surprised when he walked into the shop that day; and even more astonished when he asked her out; he'd never shown any interest in her before. ‘Somebody told me you were married,' she'd replied, to let him know that she knew. It was why he had never entered into her plans.

‘Cathy died two years ago.'

‘Oh, Ernie, I'm sorry. I could kick myself for …'

‘No, you were right to say it, and you're the first one I've …' He paused, uncertainly, then ended, ‘I haven't looked at anyone else since I lost her.'

She learned on their first date that he had joined the Aberdeen Fire Service, that he and his late wife had had no children, and that he was still living in the house in King Street that he had rented when he got married. ‘I've been thinking about emigrating,' he had told her, ‘to get a new life somewhere different, but I can't make up my mind – especially now things are starting to look up for me again.'

This small compliment – she was sure it was a compliment – was all she had needed to accept his invitation to see a show in Aberdeen, and that had been the first of many truly enjoyable evenings, though it had always been the first house of the Tivoli or the early showing of a film so that they could get a bus back to Forvit.

On their first date, she had said, ‘I'll easy manage home on the bus myself.'

He had taken her hand and squeezed it. ‘No, I'll see you home. I wrote to my mother to say I'd need a bed there tonight – tomorrow's my day off.'

She was grateful that he had made this arrangement, his father's farm was only a mile and a half off the main road, so he didn't have far to go after he'd seen her inside. And it saved her from worrying whether or not she should ask him to stay over at her house.

She was certain she was doing the right thing at last, and she wished that she had known much earlier that he was free … and how nice a man he had turned out to be. Take tonight, for instance. After meeting her at the bus terminus, he had suggested taking a tram to the Bridge of Don and walking along the prom. ‘It's too fine a night to be sitting inside a picture house,' he had smiled, and then his expression had changed. ‘That's if it's OK with you?' he had asked, anxiously.

‘I'd love it,' she had told him, and so she had.

On their stroll, they had talked of this and that, and she'd been tempted to ask about his wife, what kind of woman she was, what she looked like, how she had died, but it was too early yet to be so openly inquisitive. If he felt like telling her, he probably would, though maybe he didn't like to mention what had caused her death. It could have been cancer, and that wasn't something people liked to speak about, though she wouldn't have minded – she'd had long enough experience of it with her mother. It was just another illness, an illness that couldn't be cured, and dying as a result of it was nothing for the family left behind to be ashamed of.