The Back of Beyond (19 page)

The last house on that side – the first coming this way – was a more up-to-date, three-storeyed building with a long walled garden. A brass plaque on the gate said, Dr Christopher Geddes, Surgery Hours 3–4, 6–7. Well, Marge thought, she knew where to find the doctor if any of them were ill.

Next came the little school, with its tarred playground at the side farthest from the doctor, followed by the Jubilee Hall, with 1897 engraved in the lintel stone, which, of course, was the date of Queen Victoria's jubilee year.

Proud of remembering this, and having come to the field of turnips once more, she came off the bicycle and wheeled it across the street, glad to have a break. Her legs were aching, her rear end was practically numb and she was frozen to the marrow … and she still had three miles to go before she reached ‘home'.

She was glad to see two women in the shop. It gave her a chance to stand at the side of the open door for a few moments and have a good look at Lexie Fraser. She was actually quite a pretty woman, with rosy cheeks and hair that was as fair as Gwen's, eyes a lighter shade of blue, and roughly the same height. Marge could more or less understand what she was saying, but the other two women were speaking in a kind of rapid-fire gibberish. Marge did manage to make out a few words here and there, but it wasn't until Alice's name was mentioned that she took an interest and concentrated as hard as she could.

‘Did you ken Alice Ritchie's awa' to Edinburgh to be wi' Sam?' the waiting customer observed. ‘The doctor was to be takin' her an' Morag to Aberdeen.'

‘Alistair's wife an' her sister'll be left to look after the place,' commented the one being served. ‘Have you come across ony o' them yet, Lexie?'

‘I've spoken to the bairns, Doodie, nice wee souls they are. The girl's real shy, but the boy's more friendly.'

‘Weel, we're nae wantin' their kind here. Up fae London and likely lookin' doon their noses at us. What do you say, Aggie?'

Her friend nodded. ‘No, Doodie, we'd enough o' English folk when yon minister and his wife was here … I canna mind his name, but you'd have thocht he was God himsel', the wey he swaggered aboot, and as for his wife and her short skirties … she was a stuck-up besom.'

‘They werena Cockneys, o' coorse,' Doodie pointed out. ‘It was … Liverpool they belonged, and what a queer wey they spoke. Thank goodness he only bade five month.'

Aggie looked archly at Lexie now. ‘You an' Alistair was affa close at one time, wasn't you? We a' thocht you an' him would get wed some day.'

Lexie's face darkened. ‘And so we would, if Dougal Finnie hadn't dragged him away down to London with him.'

Marge's involuntary gasp at this made them aware of her presence, so she walked inside. Lexie obviously recognized her as Dougal's wife, but just as obviously had decided to brazen it out. ‘I'll be with you in a jiffy, Mrs …?'

‘Mrs Finnie,' Marge said icily. ‘Mrs Dougal Finnie.'

The other two women whipped round, their faces colouring, then turned back to Lexie, who said, smoothly, ‘That'll be four and sevenpence, Doodie, if you please.'

Doodie counted the money out on to the counter, four shillings, a sixpenny bit and a penny, then stood aside to let Aggie be served. The tension in the shop was almost tangible, and nothing more was said, so when the second transaction was over, the two women left the shop.

‘I'm sorry about that, Mrs Finnie,' Lexie said then, ‘but I didn't notice you there and in any case I didn't know who you were. Besides, I was only speaking the truth. Alistair wouldn't have gone to London if it hadn't been for Dougal. You see, we were …' She gave her head a slight shake. ‘But it's best to let bygones be bygones, isn't it? What can I get for you?'

The bread, butter and bacon paid for, the ration books duly marked, Lexie said, ‘I don't think you should say anything to Alistair's wife. It was over between us long ago and there's no sense in upsetting her, is there?'

‘There's nothing to tell anyway … is there?'

Lexie's red cheeks took on a slightly deeper hue. ‘If you're asking if Alistair and me … were lovers, the answer's no.'

‘He arrived just before I came out.' Marge watched for the reaction.

‘Alistair's back?' Lexie gasped, her face aflame now.

‘He'll only be here for a few days, so he wasn't wasting any time when I came out. I could see they weren't wanting me there.'

Marge hoped that this would stop the woman from trying to see him, but as she cycled back, she couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

‘You don't know how much I've missed you, Gwen.'

‘I missed you, too, darling, but it must have been worse for you, losing Manny …'

They were snuggled together on the old sofa Alistair remembered being told to keep his feet off when he was a child. He wanted to make love to her, but after almost ten years of marriage, it didn't seem proper to be so lustful, especially here … in the middle of the day.

‘Yes, it was a terrible shock.' He was glad she had given him a lead into what he'd been turning over in his mind since the funeral. ‘I'm damned glad you and the kids are away from it, so I can have an easy mind when I'm away. Better still, Mr Brown, that's Manny's solicitor, he's arranging for Crawford at the bank to sell one or two of the pieces of jewellery if he can, and add it to the account they opened for us with the two hundred Manny left. That'll let you draw a few pounds every week to help out, for the allowance you'll get from the army won't be very much.'

‘I know how much Marge gets,' Gwen put in, ‘and we'll easily manage between the two of us. I'm used to having to be careful with my spending.'

‘Yes, but you can't expect Marge to pay half the expenses here when you've the two kids to feed as well. Anyway, it's done now and you don't have to touch it if you don't need to. It can lie in the bank till the war's over – God knows how long that'll be. Oh, I nearly forgot. Mr Brown drew up a proper will for me, so if anything happens to me, everything'll come to you.'

‘Don't say things like that, darling. Nothing's going to happen to you!'

‘We have to face facts, dear, and it's best to be prepared.' He stopped momentarily then rushed on, ‘But I'll tell you this, if I do get killed, I'll murder the Jerry that did it.'

His grin was not enough to make his wife take this in the light-hearted way it was meant. ‘Don't be morbid, Alistair Ritchie!' she cried, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘You have to make your mind up you won't be killed.'

‘Oh, my sweet, I'm sorry for upsetting you. I was only joking, and it's time we got on to something else. Have you been to the village yet?'

‘Not yet. Alice has done all the shopping since we came, but Marge and I will have to take turns now she's away, I suppose. She said we could use her bike, though I don't know when I last rode one.'

‘It's something you never forget,' her husband consoled.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Leila and David came home with sweets the other day. He said the shop lady gave them to him. She said she was an old friend of yours.'

‘That's Lexie Fraser. I told you – she was at school with Dougal and me.'

‘Nothing else?'

‘What d'you …' The answer dawning, he chuckled loudly. ‘Oh, I knocked around with her for a while, two fifteen-sixteen-year-olds playing at being grown up, you know.'

‘Just playing at it? You weren't … you didn't …?'

‘We stopped at kissing, if that's what you mean. Just kids kissing, nothing in it.'

‘You're sure that was all?'

‘Look, Gwen, darling, I've only ever loved one girl in my whole life and that's you. I've never thought twice about any other girl, and I never will. You're my whole life, Gwendoline Ritchie, you and the kids.'

He pulled her to him and their kisses might have made him forget his reluctance to do anything on his mother's old sofa if Marge hadn't walked in.

‘Oh, shit!' she laughed. ‘I've come back too soon, have I? Couldn't you two have waited till bedtime?'

Flustered, Gwen sprang to her feet and smoothed her clothes. ‘Don't be silly, Marge. We haven't seen each other for weeks and we were … talking things over, that's all.'

‘I believe you, thousands wouldn't.' Marge set the shopping bag down on the well-scrubbed table in the middle of the kitchen to unpack it. ‘You know, I'm getting quite an expert on the bike again, if only my bum gets used to it.' Rubbing her rump wryly, she began to put away her purchases.

‘Was it Lexie Fraser who served you?' Gwen tried to sound nonchalant, but she was desperate to hear something about this girl, woman now, who had once been part of Alistair's life.

‘Yes, she was serving two middle-aged harpies when I went in, Aggie and Doodie, but she knew who I was. It wouldn't be difficult. We must be the only two strangers within miles of the place, and she had likely seen me when I was here with Dougal.'

‘That would have been Aggie Mearns and Doodie Tough,' Alistair observed, his memory having successfully put faces to the familiar names. He glanced at the clock. ‘Can I use that kettle to wash and shave, or was it for making tea?'

Both women burst out laughing at this. ‘There's a bathroom upstairs,' his wife told him, ‘with hot and cold running water. Alice's Sam had it put in.'

Alistair pulled a face. ‘Shows how long it is since I've been here. OK, won't be long, but I have to get this stubble off before my wife complains of my sandpaper chin.'

When he went out, Marge eyed Gwen affectionately. ‘He looks better than I thought he would, what with Manny's death, and going in the army. How does he feel about that, has he said?'

‘I think he's quite looking forward to it.'

‘No regrets? After all, he volunteered as a reflex action after Manny …'

‘He wants to do his bit, for Manny's sake.'

‘Well, I hope this damned war doesn't last long.' Marge pulled a face. ‘The locals don't want to be friendly, they're anti-all-English.'

‘Surely not.' Gwen was shocked at this. ‘You'd been imagining things.'

‘That's what they were saying, anyway, before they realized who I was, but I suppose we won't come much in contact with them, so it won't bother us.'

‘Should we invite Lexie to come and see Alistair? They
are
old friends.'

‘He'll be gone the day after tomorrow, and I'd have thought you'd want him all to yourself … no old ladyloves butting in.' Marge wasn't meaning to instil suspicion in her sister's mind. She was just being careful.

Chapter 14

The first contingent of the Black Watch had not arrived at Ardley House until the 26 April, and for two full weeks not even one private had made an appearance in either Forvit or Bankside, and the female populations of both were beginning to wonder if their dreams of romance were to come to nothing. By the end of the third week, however, most of the young soldiers had made contact with one or more of the girls in all the villages within a ten-mile radius of their base, scouting around in jeeps and trucks, on motor cycles, even riding bicycles. Lexie Fraser, being in the shop-cum-post office, saw more of them than anyone else, but sadly found that the majority of them were much too young for her – or, to be more precise,
she
was much too old for
them
.

But salvation was at hand. Some of the local farmers decided to do their bit for the war effort by funding a ‘get-together' to welcome the newcomers; what could be more patriotic than providing amusement for the fighting men? The Jubilee Hall in Forvit – built by the laird of the time to celebrate sixty years of Queen Victoria's reign – was filled to capacity during the entire evening.

The Royal Hotel had supplied the drinks, free for the first hour and half-price from then on, which resulted in such shenanigans as made the owners regret their generosity and vow never to repeat it. Both youths and girls being determined to find a suitable partner, there were several Paul Joneses played, and the bus the army laid on didn't come to take the boys back to camp until two a.m. This official introduction of soldiers to locals was a great success, at least one instance of true love being initiated, but mostly just brief encounters. Each side would need to get to know the other better before any commitments were made, temporary or otherwise.

Lexie Fraser had played the field of the NCOs, nearer her age, but when the dance ended, was no nearer to finding a life partner than when it began, but she had thoroughly enjoyed every minute.

‘Wasn't it great?' she asked Lizzie Wilkie the next day. ‘I really enjoyed myself.'

‘Aye, you made a right exhibition o' yourself,' Lizzie said, caustically, ‘but I suppose you was desperate. The men round here havena had much time for you lately.'

Ignoring the slur, Lexie gave a carefree laugh. ‘You're just jealous, and you needn't worry. It looks like I was cut out to be an old maid, but, I tell you this, Lizzie, I'm going to get as much pleasure out of life as I can before I settle down with a cat at my feet and a bag of knitting on my lap.'

The other woman looked somewhat ashamed. ‘Ach, Lexie, I didna mean what I said. You're right, I was jealous, but I'd like to see you finding somebody.'

‘I'm not bothered, honestly.' She looked up as the shop bell tinkled and addressed her next words to the new customer. ‘None of the wives round here are really happy, isn't that right, Gladys? Every one of you's forever complaining about your man.'

‘That's different,' Gladys said, indignantly. ‘We complain about them, but it doesn't mean we're nae happy wi' them. They can still make us … forget the bad things they get up to. Tak' my Chae now.'

‘No, thank you very much,' Lexie giggled, while Lizzie spluttered with laughter.

‘You can laugh a' you like,' Gladys declared firmly, not in the least put out, ‘but even though he comes rolling in fu' on Saturday nichts, he still … he can …' She broke off, her cheeks pink. ‘No, no, you single lassies dinna understand, but I wouldna change him, supposing the maist handsome man in the world walked in right this minute and offered me a thousand pounds to share his bed.'

‘Fat chance of that,' Lexie muttered, doing her best to keep a straight face.

‘Aye, well, you're right there, but you ken what I mean. I took my Chae for better or worse on oor wedding day, and I'm quite happy to thole the worse, for the better couldna be better, if you get my meaning?' She gave a lewd wink. ‘Now if you're nae in a hurry, Lizzie, would you let Lexie serve me first? I just want a bit o' haddock for the supper. Is that fresh?' She pointed at a shimmering enamel tray under the glass counter.

‘Fresh in from Peterhead this morning,' Lexie assured her.

‘Gi'e me two, then, that biggest ane for Chae, and a littler ane for me.' While the fish were being wrapped, she fumbled in her purse, then laid down the exact money and left with a cheery, ‘Ta-ta, then.'

Waiting until she went past the window, the two younger women gave vent to their laughter at last, holding on to the counter until they simmered down. ‘Oh, my God,' Lizzie gasped, holding her aching sides. ‘“Tak' my Chae,” she said, and I near fell ower when you said, “No, thank you very much.” I dinna ken how you managed. Her Chae's got a big fat boozer's nose, and his face is mottled-purple, and his eyes look two ways for Sunday. It would turn my stomach if I found him lying in the bed aside me.'

‘It's his great beer belly that sickens me,' Lexie gurgled, ‘hanging over his breeks like that. And Gladys isn't what you'd call slim, either, is she? I wonder how they manage to get near enough to …? Their two bellies would be a big obstacle.' They looked at each other and dissolved into another fit of uncontrollable raucous laughter.

After a few moments, Lizzie managed to get out, ‘I suppose his bandy legs help them to get closer. They're that bowed Sandy Coull's auld sow could run under them.'

It was perhaps fortunate for them that another customer walked in at that point, a passing motorist who, being an absolute stranger, had an instant sobering effect on them. Lizzie paid for the items Lexie had already set out for her, packed them in her shopping bag and walked out with a surprisingly dignified gait.

The monotony was getting to Marjory Finnie.

‘I'm sick of this,' she moaned one morning after the children had set off for school. ‘We've been up in this Godforsaken hole for months now, cut off from everything and everybody, and there's nothing to do except work in the blasted garden. I didn't mind having to do our wee patch at home after Dougal went away, but I never thought I'd have to tackle anything like this – it's like a bally field. Just look at my hands.' She held out the offending parts of her anatomy to let her sister see the reddened, chafed palms and callused fingers.

‘Mine are the same,' Gwen told her, ‘but think of the perks. We never have to buy any vegetables, all we have to do is pull them or dig them up when we need them.'

‘I wish they got up by themselves,' Marge said ruefully. ‘All this pulling and digging, and weeding and raking, I'd be as well in the Land Army, and I'd get paid for it.'

‘You wouldn't pass the medical with your bad ear, and your asthma.'

‘I haven't had one bout of asthma since I came up here – fresh country air's good for chest troubles – and being a wee bit deaf in one ear wouldn't be a handicap in the Land Army, now would it?'

‘You can't go into the Land Army, Marge. I couldn't bear it here on my own.'

‘It's not all sweetness and light under your bushel, then? You're as homesick as me.'

‘Not really. It's just that … oh, I don't know. Alice is expecting us to keep her garden going the way she had it, and I haven't a clue how to plant things for next year.'

Marge's face became a study in horror. ‘We won't still be here next year … will we?'

‘I hope not, but Alistair says I've to keep the kids here till the war's over.'

‘It's all right for him. It's where he was brought up, and I suppose he sees it through rose-coloured specs, but we've been accustomed to the stir of London, going round the markets on our days off, or off up west to window-shop. This isn't even a dead-and-alive hole … it's just dead. Only one street, one shop, if it can be classed as a shop, one church, one doctor according to what Alice said …'

‘But it's much better for the children,' Gwen pointed out. ‘They look much healthier already with all the good, fresh air and all the open space around us, nothing to see from our windows except hills …'

‘That's what I'm complaining about,' Marge sighed. ‘The Back of Bally Beyond, that's where we are, and I'm sick of it. Dougal wouldn't know if I went home … not until he has his next leave.'

‘You can't leave me here on my own!' Gwen burst out. ‘Please, Marge, don't go! I couldn't cope with looking after this place by myself! I wouldn't know where to start.'

‘I was only joking, Gwennie.' Marge's smile, however, was perhaps a little forced. ‘Dougal would have a fit if I went back to Lee Green. But about this blasted garden … I suppose we could ask somebody? The postman seems quite nice.'

‘What about asking Lexie Fraser in the shop if she knows of a young lad who might come and give us a hand? Do the heavy work.'

‘I'm not asking her, Gwen – I just can't take to her. You'll have to do it.'

‘You know I don't like asking people for anything … but all right. I'll ask her next week when it's my turn to do the shopping. Now, if you fetch the pail, I'll dig up the potatoes this time, to save your precious hands.'

They worked in silence, until the ringing of a bicycle bell made them straighten up. ‘You're busy, I see,' observed the postman, a small wiry man, always cheery and ever ready for a chat, though the two Englishwomen hadn't jumped to his bait yet. ‘A letter for you, Mrs Ritchie, but nothing for you today, Mrs Finnie, I'm afraid.'

As Gwen tore open the envelope, he remarked to Marge, ‘I'm nae one to interfere, but tell your sister she'd be better to use a graip to lift the tatties, nae a spade.'

‘A grape?' gasped Marge. ‘What use would a grape be? And where would we get any up here?'

His rather sharp features were transformed by a wide smile at this. ‘Nae a G-R-A-P-E, a G-R- … Ach, I'm nae sure how you spell it, G-R-A-I-P I suppose, and you'll mebbe ken it as a fork. That's what she should be usin'.'

The perplexity in Marge's eyes deepened. ‘But a fork wouldn't make any impression on this earth, Mr … um …? It's as heavy as blooming lead.'

He threw back his head and roared with laughter now. ‘The name's Sandy Mearns, an' it's well seen you're nae a country lassie. A garden fork, that's what you need for this job, so you can dunt aff the earth afore you put the tatties in your bucket.'

‘Dunt aff?' Marge looked more bewildered than ever.

‘Eh …' The man searched for words she would understand. ‘Knock off, before you put them in your pail. I'll show you.' Opening the gate he was leaning on, he walked up the path and round the corner of the house, to return in a few moments carrying the implement he was recommending, clearly having known which of the three outhouses held the garden tools. ‘Watch, noo!' he ordered, sticking the fork into the ground behind and under the withered leaves of one of the plants, giving it two hefty thumps with the sole of his right boot, then levering it up again.

‘This is the wey, look. Shoogle it aboot a bit, then gi'e't a dunt against your knee.' The bang on his knee dislodged most of the soil clinging to the potatoes, and as he transferred the vegetables to the pail, he said, triumphantly, ‘D'ye see? It's nae near so hard work.' He handed the fork to Marge. ‘You tak' the next shaw, noo.'

Her effort didn't produce as many potatoes as Sandy's, but she was quite pleased with what went into the pail. ‘It's easy when you know how,' she exulted.

‘Aye,' he grinned, ‘I tell't you.' First giving his grimy hands a wipe down his trousers, he removed his cheesecutter and ran his fingers through his thinning mousy hair. Then he took the palm of his hand across his damp brow before putting the hat back on. ‘I'd best be goin', though, or folk'll think there's nae post the day.'

Marge wondered how to show her gratitude. She had the distinct feeling that he'd be offended if she offered him money, and settled for asking if he would like a cup of tea.

‘Thanks, Mrs Finnie, but I'm late as it is. Anither time, mebbe.'

‘Right, well, thank you very much, Mr Mearns.'

‘Sandy, for ony sake, an' it was nae bother. Cheeribye, noo, and I'm sure you'll get your man's letter the morn.'

‘What was all that about?' asked Gwen, some minutes after the man had cycled off.

‘Sandy was showing me the proper way to lift the spuds. Watch.'

Gwen was astonished at the way her sister unearthed another lot of potatoes, but only said, ‘Sandy? For goodness' sake, Marge! You didn't ask his name, did you?'

‘No, he told me.'

‘You should have asked if he knew anybody who'd give us an hour or two's help now and again. That would have been more to the point.'

‘I clean forgot, Gwen, I was so interested in what he was doing. But we can ask him tomorrow, or next time he comes. What's Alistair saying?'

‘He says they've been kept at it, marching, drill, all sorts of things, but … the good news is, he has a few days leave after this initial training's finished, before he's posted. He'll be here next Friday.'

‘I hope I get a letter from Dougal tomorrow. Wouldn't it be great if they could be here together?'

Alistair was amazed at how well the large garden was looking, almost as good as when his father had tended it, and deeply impressed by the potato pit installed by Barry Mearns – Sandy's thirteen-year-old son – but, on only his second day home, he said, ‘If you don't mind, Gwen, I'll take Alice's bike and have a wee scoot round to see some of my old pals.'

‘I don't mind,' she assured him. She couldn't get over how handsome he looked in uniform, and David had been ecstatic at having a Dad in the services.

‘He might go to that Lexie person,' Marge remarked when Alistair had gone.

Gwen smiled happily. ‘I hope he does. It'll be nice for him to see her again.'