The Back of Beyond (4 page)

Ivy tutted at his dripping clothes when he went in. ‘I'm sorry I'm making such a mess of your clean floor,' he muttered, but she waved away his apology.

‘It's not the floor I'm worried about,' she assured him, as she pulled off his jacket. ‘You'll catch your death if you're not careful. Go up and change into something dry and I'll give you the good news when you come back.'

He couldn't for the life of him think what good news she could possibly give him, and pondered over it while he towelled his legs dry and draped his flannels over the hot tank in the cupboard at the top of the stairs. Presentable again, he ran down to hear what she had to say.

Ivy had the fire burning ‘half up the lum', as his father would have said, and he stood with his back to the heat, his brows raised in question. ‘You'll never believe this, Al,' she began, her voice trembling with excitement, her mascara'd eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

‘Go on, then,' he said, impatiently, ‘tell me.'

‘I went shopping as soon as you left – I put my face on first, of course – and I got speaking to old Ma Beaton five doors down on the opposite side, and the nosy so-and-so asked me who the handsome young men were she'd seen going in and out of my house. Not a thing happens in this street without her knowing, 'cos she sits behind her net curtains all day and watches everything that goes on.'

Feeling rather let-down, Alistair muttered, ‘Is that it?'

‘No, it's a long story and I have to tell you everything so you'll understand.'

‘I'm sorry, carry on. You were speaking to old Ma something …?'

‘Ma Beaton, and I told her you and your pal had come from Scotland to look for jobs. I said Dougal was fixed up—he came back at twelve to say he starts on Monday and then went out again – but I said you were still looking and she said to try Ikey Mo. He'd been telling her he was thinking of taking a young boy on to help him. So I went and told him about you, and you've to see him tomorrow about ten.'

‘B … but …' stammered Alistair, ‘who's Ikey Mo, and what kind of shop is it?'

Ivy spluttered with laughter. ‘That's not his real name. I can't remember what it is, but Ma Beaton calls him Ikey Mo because he's a Jew.'

‘What kind of shop is it?'

‘A pawnshop. I started going there when Len came out of the Navy, for he was out of work for months and I used up all our savings, but when he got a start on the North boat, I didn't need to pawn no more stuff. I used to go to Uncle – that's what most people call him – every week, and he's a nice old bloke.' Noticing Alistair's deepening perplexity, she said, ‘Don't you know what a pawnshop is?'

After hearing what was entailed in the pawnbroking business, Alistair said, ‘I'm sorry, Ivy, but I don't think I'm fitted for that.'

Her face darkened. ‘Ain't a pawnbroker good enough for you?' she snapped. ‘Is that all the thanks I get for going out of my way to ask about it for you? You think it's beneath you?'

He was quite shocked by her outburst; he had spoken without thinking and hadn't meant to offend her. ‘Oh, please don't think that! I'm really grateful to you … and the old lady, but it's just … I'm worried because I don't know anything about … what was it you called it? Pledging things. I wouldn't know how much to give for them.'

‘You'll soon learn,' Ivy smiled, her spirits restored. ‘The customers'll tell you if you don't offer enough, and Uncle'll walk into you if you give too much.'

‘That's what I'm worried about.'

E.D. Isaacson, as the sign under the three brass balls proclaimed the pawnbroker's name to be, was like no man Alistair had ever seen before, and because he was busy attending to a tall, belligerent woman, the boy had a chance to study him fully. He was shaped rather like a tadpole, his head big in proportion to his short body and legs. His grizzled, curly hair was quite thick, yet his crown was covered by a small skull-cap, and his long nose protruded above a bushy moustache and rounded beard, reminding Alistair of a cow looking over a dyke. Whatever his failings in appearance, however, his attitude to his customer held all the patience of a saint.

Alistair was so fascinated by the unfamiliarity of the man's physical make-up that he was unaware of the woman going out, and was startled when the old man spoke to him. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, my boy. What do you think of my little emporium, hmm?'

Having paid no attention to his surroundings, Alistair took a guilty glance round, but feeling it would be unwise to keep his prospective boss waiting for an answer, he hardly took anything in. ‘It's very nice.'

‘You think you could work here?' The old man's eyes held an appealing twinkle now, despite the lines of fatigue above and below them.

‘I believe I could, but you'll have to learn me …'

‘Not to worry, my boy. I shall teach you everything, but what do I call you, hmm?'

‘Oh, sorry, my name's Alistair Ritchie, Mr Isaacson.'

A deep menacing rumble came from the region of the man's stomach. ‘And who is this Mister Isaacson, may I ask?'

Alistair couldn't think what he had done to anger the man. ‘It said … E.D. Isaacson on the sign,' he ventured, ‘and I thought that was you.' He heaved a sigh of relief when the rumbling erupted into a series of full-blooded belly laughs.

‘Nobody ever calls me Mr Isaacson,' the pawnbroker said, breathless after such unaccustomed mirth and taking a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket to wipe his eyes. ‘It's sometimes Ikey Mo because I'm a Jew, although they mean no disrespect. Some call me Edie, because of my initials, but I'm Uncle to most people.' After a brief pause, he added, ‘My first name is Emanuel, if you would feel happier with that.'

Alistair gave it a few moments' careful thought. ‘Ikey and Edie sound disrespectful to me, but Uncle doesn't feel right, either. I'd better make it Emanuel …'

‘Shall I tell you what would give me even greater pleasure? My dear mother used to call me Manny, and no one has addressed me so since she passed away … over thirty years ago. Do you think you could manage that? And I shall call you Alistair, a fine Scottish name for a fine Scottish boy.'

‘When do you want me to start … um … Manny?' He found it much easier to say than he had thought.

‘The sooner the quicker, hmm? What do you say to … at this very moment, Alistair, or do you have to let your landlady know where you are?'

‘Ivy knows where I am, and I'd love to start straight away.'

And thus began an unusual friendship, which deepened as the years went by and blossomed into as close a bond as any two men of different religions and generations could possibly share.

Chapter 3

Alistair's uncertainties about his aptitude for the job were quickly banished by Manny's patient teaching. During slack spells, he learned how to repair clocks, large and small, and watches from the cheap to the expensive, not that many of those found their way into E.D. Isaacson's shop. Most customers wanted to pledge something, and after they went out, the pawnbroker explained why he had given what he did for the article brought in.

‘Mrs Fry's husband has been unable to work since he injured his back last year,' he said, one morning. ‘Sadly, she had just given birth to their fourth child at the time. They are all under school age, and she finds it extremely hard to manage on the paltry sum his employers dole out to him, less than twenty per cent of what he was earning before the accident. I suppose they are lucky, really, because his firm is one of the few who give anything at all in such cases.'

Another woman, middle-aged this time, had been widowed some months previously. ‘Mrs Borland is slowly selling off all her possessions,' Manny observed mournfully, ‘and goodness knows what she will do when everything is gone. She will most likely have to apply to the parish, and losing their independence is something all these women dread. It also means the loss of their self-respect.'

‘So she'll never manage to redeem her things?' Alistair asked, wonderingly.

‘I am afraid not, my boy. She knows that and I know that, and I also know that they are worthless. Nothing will sell, but what can I do? I cannot let her starve, can I?'

Alistair's opinion of the elderly man rose with every day that passed, and he set out to absorb as much as he could of what he was being taught about human nature. He could not blame, any more than Manny could, the poor wives whose men drank most of their wages, or gambled them away, or refused to work at all, and admired them for struggling to keep their families fed and clad and, most importantly, together. On one occasion, however, he felt he had to comment on what seemed to him a betrayal of trust. ‘The gent's watch that woman redeemed was real gold, wasn't it? How could a family as poor as that afford anything so expensive? And she didn't say anything when you let her get it back for less than you gave her for it in the first place. She's cheating you, Manny.'

‘No, Alistair, never think that. All the women who come to me are as honest as the day is long. In this case, Mrs Parker's husband came from a well-to-do family, and was given the watch for his twenty-first birthday. His father, however, did not approve of the girl he wished to marry, and headstrong and deeply in love, young Parker left home in order to make her his wife. They now have three sons, and although he does not regret what he did, according to his wife, he still cherishes the watch, the one and only item of any value he possesses, and makes a point of wearing it to church every Sunday. You see, she has never told him that it languishes in my safe from Monday to Saturday each week. It is her way of proving that she can manage on what he gives her.'

‘But she's living a lie,' Alistair burst out. ‘She's not managing, or if she is, it's because you're helping her. She's cheating you as well as her husband.'

Manny shook his head. ‘Oh, Alistair, how little you know of these people. They do the best they can with what little they have. I suppose you think Mrs Parker should
sell
the watch to me? If she did, her family could certainly live comfortably for a year or so, perhaps, but at what cost? The loss of her husband's respect, his love? Because she would never, ever, be able to buy it back for him. Can you understand that?'

The youth looked sheepish. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. It must be terrible to have to live like that.'

Dougal Finnie was also having new experiences. At first, he felt as if he were caged, having to spend his entire days indoors at everyone's beck and call, but there were compensations. Apart from the cash office where he worked – they called it the Counting House – there was a despatch office and a general office, the staff of both including several girls … not ordinary girls, though. He had never seen such beauties, far outshining any of the girls he had known back in Forvit.

As he told Alistair one night in bed – where they exchanged stories of the events of their days – ‘I'm going to be spoilt for choice, Ally, short ones, tall ones, slim, well-rounded, blonde, dark, redheads, they're all there! Would you like to make up a foursome one night? I could tell my one to bring a friend with her for you.'

Trying to imagine the kind of girls who would appeal to Dougal, Alistair said, ‘No thanks, I'll find a girl of my own when I'm ready for it.'

‘Och you, you're getting to be a right old stick-in-the-mud. Or are you waiting for Ivy Dearie to make another move?'

‘Shut up!' Alistair grinned to show he didn't mind being teased now. Originally, he had felt cheated that nature had robbed him of the office job, but things had worked out quite well, for he was more than happy working with Emanuel D. Isaacson.

*    *    *

Alistair was exhausted when he finished on Christmas Eve, with dozens of mothers, and a few fathers, rushing in because they needed money, so he was glad when Manny said he was closing the following day. The Crockers' house was decorated in a manner neither of their boarders had seen before, with tinsel everywhere, holly, mistletoe (which allowed Ivy to kiss all of Len's mates who came in during the evening), and long strings of cards and paper chains stretching from wall to wall. Several cards came from Forvit to the two youths, who were deeply touched that so many people had remembered them and even felt a trifle homesick, although they pretended it was all a bore. There was no card from Lexie Fraser, however, and Alistair was relieved that Dougal didn't seem to notice his disappointment.

Ivy had provided a sumptuous meal, a whole turkey with all the trimmings, plum duff and brandy butter, mince pies, much more than they could eat, and when she was placing the covered half-empty dishes on the coolest shelf of her larder, she laughed, ‘You'll be getting this left-overs for the rest of the week.' They did, and still enjoyed every bite.

No celebrations were held on Hogmanay or New Year's Day, much to the boys' surprise, especially Dougal, who had been accustomed to seeing the men of Forvit village well under the weather by midnight and continuing to bend their elbows until they dropped off to sleep where they were sitting, or ended up at the side of the road after going outside to be sick. Dougal had never understood what enjoyment they could have got from that. Alistair's father, though not exactly teetotal, only took a glass of malt whisky to see in the New Year, or on rare occasions, for medicinal purposes.

Over the following weeks, Dougal regaled his friend with tales about the girls he had chatted to in the cloakroom – one toilet for both male and female staff – or taken for a short walk in the lunch break, or whose bottoms he had pinched in passing, all of which Alistair recounted to Manny the following day when business was over. At first, he had wondered if the pawnbroker might not be interested in such goings-on, but when the old man began to ask what Dougal had been up to the previous day, he knew that his employer was enjoying hearing about the youthful exploits and tried to inject as much humour into the telling of them as he could. One occurrence, however, was certainly not as amusing to Dougal as it was to Alistair and Manny.

They had been living in the Crockers' house for about four months and were in the middle of supper when Dougal said, with studied nonchalance, ‘I'll have to get my skates on tonight. I'm meeting a girl at seven.'

A
frisson
of envy made Alistair's appetite vanish, and with it, seemingly, his power of speech, so it was Ivy who asked, ‘What's her name?'

‘Amy something. She works in the general office and she lives just two streets away from here, so I won't have to walk miles from seeing her home. How's that for good management?' He looked extremely pleased with himself.

‘Very convenient,' she laughed.

When Dougal left the table to go and make ready for his tryst, Alistair followed him upstairs and stood in the open doorway of the bathroom while the other boy filled the basin with hot water then ran his hand over his chin. ‘Um … do you think I should shave again? I did shave this morning, but look at me. That's the worst of having dark hair. You're lucky, being so fair. You don't really need to shave at all.'

Piqued because this was true, Alistair said nothing, and Dougal went on, ‘I've been fancying Amy for days, and I met her in the corridor this morning and not a soul in sight, so I dived straight in and asked her out. I didn't think she'd come, because … oh, you should see her, Ally. She's a corker! Lovely blonde hair, natural, not peroxided like Ivy's, and a figure …' Unable to find words to adequately describe it, he sketched an exaggerated hour-glass shape with his hands. ‘I'd better shave, I don't want to rough-up her soft skin.'

‘When you meet her, couldn't you say something's cropped up and you'll have to make it another night?' Alistair asked plaintively. ‘When Len's at home.'

‘You don't need to be scared at being left on your own with Ivy.'

‘I'm not scared, I just don't feel comfortable with her.'

Negotiating his safety razor round his nostrils, Dougal snorted loudly and waited until his downy whiskers were gone before lifting the towel from the rim of the bath and patting gently at his tender face. ‘Shaving twice a day's a bugger!'

‘You didn't need to shave again,' Alistair pointed out, sarcastically. ‘I know I've only got to shave every third day, but that doesn't make me any less of a man than you.'

‘No?' sneered Dougal as he made his way to their bedroom with his chum following at his heels. ‘I bet I'll have more girlfriends than you, and be married first,
and
have a child first, and all. Not that I intend settling down for years. I'm going to hunt around till I find the right one.'

‘We'll see,' Alistair said, darkly. ‘If you go on the way you're doing, you'll end up having to marry some poor lassie before she drops your bairn. That's if her father hasn't got at you long before that.'

Still grinning, Dougal shook his head. ‘Not me! I'm smarter than get caught like that. Look Ally, can you fasten this front stud for me? My fingers are all thumbs.'

When Dougal was finally satisfied with his appearance, Alistair picked up the Zane Gray he'd been reading and accompanied him downstairs, saying as Dougal went out, ‘Think on me stuck here wi' Ivy when you're enjoying yourself wi' your Amy.'

He jumped guiltily when Ivy came through from the scullery, but she hadn't heard, and was regarding him apologetically. ‘I'm sorry, Al, but I've to go out as well. When you were upstairs, Daisy Smith from down the street came in and asked if I'd sit with her mother to let her visit her older sister. Greta's on her own, and she fell and broke her hip, poor soul, and Daisy's going over to give her house a bit of a tidy. I'll be away for at least a couple of hours, maybe longer, but you'll be all right, won't you?'

‘It'll give me a chance to finish this book. It's due back to Boots's library tomorrow.'

Alistair settled back in the most comfortable easy chair when she was gone, and was soon engrossed in
Riders of the Purple Sage
, a saga of the Wild West – so engrossed, in fact, that he did not hear the front door opening less than an hour later, and was startled when someone came into the room. ‘Oh, thank God it's you, Dougal!' he gasped. ‘I nearly had a heart attack. But why are you home so early? Did things not go right with you and Amy?'

‘No they bloody didna! Her face was made up to the nines and she'd high heels and a tight jumper, and I thought she was sixteen, but she's just fourteen, would you believe?'

With others, they had to speak in English to be understood – although their broad vowels and guttural voices made it difficult – but when they were alone, they reverted to their native dialect, as Alistair did now. ‘You didna …? Nae wi' an underage quine?'

‘She didna say how auld she was till I … I wouldna've touched her. I thought she'd give in once I got her going, you ken, but the silly bitch hadna a clue … about a bloody thing! God Almighty! She thought kissing would gi'e her a bairn, and I'd a helluva job convincing her it wouldna, and then, when I'd been holding myself back and kissing her as tenderly as I could, I thought I'd chance going a wee bit further. She wasna ower keen on me touching her chest, but when I tried to lift her skirt, she went bloody berserk!'

Alistair had to let his laughter out now, and it burst forth like a blast from a volcano. ‘It serves you right! You went out with the intention of seducing her.'

‘No, I didna! Like I said, I thought I'd work on her till she wanted it and gave in without a murmur, but … she went mad, raving mad!'

‘She'd been terrified. She was only fourteen, you said?'

‘She didna tell me afore that! She was screaming blue murder,' – here he put on a high falsetto voice – ‘“Don't you dare touch me! I'm only fourteen and I'll tell my father you interfered with me.”' His tone deepened again. ‘Then she kneed me and ran off like the wind, and I was left in absolute agony.'

Alistair was laughing fit to burst. ‘I wish I'd seen it! The great ladies' man weaving his spell and getting his nuts cracked.'

‘It's nae funny, Ally, it was damned painful, I can tell you, still is.'

But his friend couldn't stop teasing. ‘Tell Ivy when she comes back, and she'll kiss them better.' He doubled up at the idea of this, and tears ran down his cheeks.

He had unwittingly hit the right note. Dougal's outraged expression disappeared as he joined in Alistair's laughter. ‘By God, that would be a sight for sore eyes, right enough!'