The Back of Beyond (9 page)

Having exhausted her subject, Bella said, breathlessly, ‘I'm forgetting to ask. How's your Mam just now?'

Lexie shook her head and gave a dismal sigh. ‘She's not good. The doctor says it's just a matter of weeks.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry, lass, and me raving on like that about the wedding. Can I do anything to help you, Lexie? Would you like me to come and sit wi' her sometimes?'

‘Thanks, Bella, but her sister came up from Perth on Sunday for a fortnight. I doubt if she'd know you, anyway. She doesn't know me, sometimes. I think I'll need to get somebody into the shop when my Auntie Mina goes home, so I'll have more time to look after Mam.'

‘Poor Carrie. Look, I could easy sit wi' her every day to let you keep working. Me and her aye got on fine.'

‘It would be too much for you, Bella, walking three miles here and three miles back every day. Anyway, I don't think she'll last much longer, to be honest.'

Thus prepared, Bella was not surprised to hear, less than a week later, that Carrie Fraser had died in the night. It was better that she was at peace, especially for Lexie's sake. And she was glad on her own behalf, and all, Bella thought guiltily. She was so easily tired nowadays she doubted if she'd have had the energy to walk to the village to sit with the poor woman, never mind walk back.

When he arrived at work about two weeks after the wedding, Alistair's solemn face prompted Manny to say, ‘Have you and Gwen had words?'

‘No, no. I just learned that the girl I used to go with at home … her mother died.'

‘Ah! And you have discovered that you still feel a little something for her?'

‘I … I feel sorry for her, that's all. Carrie Fraser was a real nice woman, and Lexie's left on her own now.'

‘You are having regrets, hmm?'

‘I'll never regret marrying Gwen, but … ach, Lexie'll be free to find somebody else now. She was a nice enough girl, just a bit overpowering, if you know what I mean?'

‘She was too pushy? She wanted you to make a full commitment?'

‘That's right, and I wasn't ready for it. We were just sixteen.'

‘And now, at the ripe old age of nineteen, you are a happily married man.' Manny threw back his head and laughed.

‘I
am
happily married,' Alistair retorted, a little put out by his employer's amusement, ‘and even if I'd never left Forvit, Lexie still wouldn't have got me to marry her. She was bad enough before, but after her father walked out, she was ten times worse.'

Manny's smile vanished. ‘Her father walked out? It is not surprising, then, that the girl was a little unbalanced. Why did he go? He must have had a reason, poor man.' He shook his head mournfully.

‘There was rumours he'd run away with a girl he'd put in the family way, but the folk that knew him best found that hard to believe, for he was a good-living man – elder in the kirk, trained the choir, and he'd not long taken over the treasurer's job.'

Manny stroked his beard. ‘Would he have been in financial difficulties?'

‘There was no money missing. They got auditors in to make sure, but it was all in order, and so were his own accounts in the shop and the post office.'

‘No outstanding debts?'

‘Nothing! It's a complete mystery.' Alistair's sigh was long and slightly ragged. ‘Now this! Poor Lexie, I hope it doesn't push her over the edge.'

Manny hastily changed the subject. ‘How is
your
dear mother?'

‘She's fine, as usual, running after Dad and Alice …'

‘As she had run after you when you were at home, no doubt?'

Alistair grinned now. ‘Aye, that's right.'

Having seen her Auntie Mina on to the bus for Aberdeen where she would catch the train to Perth, Lexie lay back in her chair. She should feel utterly exhausted after the stir of the funeral, but it was as if she were floating on air. She had no one to worry about except herself now that her mother's suffering was at an end. It would be a perfect situation if only Alistair Ritchie hadn't left. He would have married her now, and they would have lived happily ever after. But Alistair had gone to London, and he hadn't had time to tire of his bride, so it would be useless to give up everything to go down there after him.

Feeling a tear trickling down her cheek, Lexie wiped it away angrily with her forefinger. Why should she cry? She hadn't given up on him yet. Give it another year or two, and things could be different.

Tiny attacked the pastry violently with the rolling pin. ‘I should have known!' he stormed. ‘All the ruddy Jocks I ever knew were randy buggers! The trouble was, I thought it would be Dougal who'd strike home first, but it's my Gwennie that's been nobbled and it's only nine weeks since the bloody wedding. Surely Alistair could have waited a year or two before he filled her belly.'

‘Calm yourself, Tiny,' cautioned Rosie. ‘Do you want the girls to hear you?'

‘I don't care who hears me.' Nevertheless, he did lower his voice. ‘I can't run this place without Gwennie.'

‘You managed with just two before Peggy left school.'

Tiny made a rude noise. ‘Gwennie's worth Marge and Peg put together, as you know perfectly well.'

‘Well, it's done now and you can't do a thing about it.' Thinking that it would be wise to issue a caution, Rosie continued, ‘Don't say anything nasty to Alistair, or criticize him to Gwen. At least they waited till after the wedding to start their family.'

‘Good God, Rosie! You don't think he'd been at her before they were married? I'll knock his teeth down his ruddy throat if he had!'

‘For heaven's sake! I don't for one second think that, so take it easy! Your face is as red as a beetroot. You'll give yourself a heart attack if you're not careful.'

‘Could you blame me?'

‘Yes, I'd blame you! Gwen'll be able to work practically to the time of the birth, provided you don't make her do anything strenuous. And with four women in the place, there'll be no shortage of nurses for the little one when it's born.'

Her husband glared at her in exasperation. ‘You're looking forward to this … to being a grandma, aren't you?'

‘I certainly am.' Rosie gave a rapturous sigh. ‘And when you're a grandpa, you'll feel exactly the same.'

His whole attitude changed now. ‘I suppose so,' he grinned. ‘I can see me in a year or so, dandling a little boy on my knee …'

‘There's no room on your knee for anything except your fat stomach,' chuckled his wife. ‘You'd better stop tasting everything a dozen times, so you'll lose some of that blubber and have room for your grandchild.'

Deeming this not worth a reply, Tiny contented himself by flinging a dish towel at her.

Chapter 6

In May 1933, when Alistair received the telegram saying that his mother had died, it was so unexpected it almost tore him apart. She had never given the slightest hint in her letters that she was ill, and he hadn't suspected a thing when she was in London for his wedding. It placed him in a proper quandary. His father and Alice would expect him to go home for the funeral, but how could he leave Gwen when she was so near her time?

‘Mum says first babies are usually late,' she assured him, ‘and you'll only be away for a few days. In any case, if it does come early, I've all my family to look after me.'

Everyone told him he should go, but it was Dougal who clinched it, observing with his usual candour, ‘What could you do even supposing you
are
here when the labour starts? You'd likely panic, and put Gwen in a panic, and all. No, Ally, that kind of thing's best left to the women, they know what to do … well, Rosie does. She's had three.'

On arriving in Benview, Alistair was dismayed at the change in his father. His face was drawn, his back bowed, his eyes red-rimmed and dull. ‘Is Dad all right?' he asked Alice, realizing as he spoke that she, too, was looking haggard.

‘He's taking it bad,' she murmured, ‘though we knew it was coming, for the doctor said the bout of flu we thought she was getting over had left her so weak she couldn't fight the infection she picked up. Even if you know something's inevitable, you can't believe it's really going to happen, and when it does, it comes as an awful shock … like God's betrayed you. I know it sounds silly, but I'm sure Dad feels the same. And he's going to feel a lot worse after the funeral and he's left on his own.'

‘Oh, my God, aye!' In the sorrow which had threatened to fell him, Alistair had given no thought to what would happen afterwards. ‘Will he manage by himself?'

‘He says he will.' There was a brief silence before she added, ‘I said I'd forget about going to 'varsity, even if I've passed the prelims, but he wouldn't hear of it.'

‘You can't do that, Alice. Mam and him wanted you to get some kind of degree, so you could have a professional career. They couldn't afford to put me through university, and in any case, it was you that was the clever one.'

‘I'm not bothered about having a career. I'd rather stay at home and look after Dad. It's what I want to do, Alistair,' she said quickly as he opened his mouth to argue. ‘I've no ambitions. I don't want to be a doctor or a solicitor or a teacher. I just want to get married and have a family … maybe two boys and two girls, and keeping house for Dad would be good practice for me.'

‘But you're not eighteen yet, Alice …' The force of her glare stopped him telling her what a mistake she was making. It was her life to do with as she wanted. After all, hadn't he given up a steady job himself to go to London?

The ordeal of the funeral was only fractionally more harrowing than facing Lexie Fraser again. He had known she'd be there, of course – she'd always been friendly with his mother – and he had primed himself to treat her as if they'd never been anything more than school friends, but it wasn't so easy. Most of the people there believed that they had once been sweethearts if not lovers, and when he went over and shook hands with her, he could sense the knowing glances that were being exchanged behind his back. Worse still, he was so emotional anyway that his heart beat a little faster when she clung to his hand and regarded him with eyes moist with tears. Thankfully, she'd had to move away to let someone else voice their condolences and ask how he was getting on in London, and he was kept thus occupied until the minister arrived to say a prayer over the open coffin.

When the men returned from the interment in the kirkyard, Alice took her brother aside. ‘Lexie's in an awful state,' she whispered. ‘You'd better walk her home.'

He looked across to where Lexie was sitting forlornly in a corner, dabbing at her eyes with what looked like a sodden handkerchief, and was almost swamped by a surge of pity for her. It did flit across his mind that she could get a lift from the doctor, the one who had taken over after Doctor Birnie left, but it was really up to him to make sure she got home all right. He owed her that.

He was disconcerted by the way her face lit up when he made his offer, but once it was said, he couldn't take it back, and his father nodded gratefully as they went out.

‘How's he keeping?' she asked as they set off on the three-mile walk.

‘Not too good. They'd been married for nearly twenty-five years, you know, and he's going to miss her.'

‘Aye, he's bound to. It's a long time.'

Their conversation, as they strolled along, revolved mainly around people they had both known, and he was thankful that she confined herself to answering his questions, and not asking him anything personal. It had to come, of course.

They were approaching the track to the tower when she looked askance at him. ‘Do you remember when we used to go up there at nights?'

He didn't want to be reminded, but he couldn't tell her so. ‘We'd some nice walks.'

‘Nice walks? Oh, Al, you surely haven't forgotten how you used to kiss me?'

‘I haven't forgotten,' he muttered. He hadn't thought about it while he'd been in London, but being with her again brought it back, the youthful, innocent kisses, given solely to find out what kissing a girl felt like, though if Lexie hadn't been so pushy, so forward, there was no saying what it might have led to. But she had spoiled it … and put him off girls for years.

‘I never had another lad,' she said, coyly, ‘not even when you took a wife.'

His wife was something he felt safe to talk about. ‘I'd have liked you to meet Gwen. She was sorry she couldn't come up with me, but it was too far for her to travel. It's just a couple of weeks till our baby's due.'

‘Your Mam said she was expecting.'

She stopped walking, abruptly, as if she had come to a sudden decision. ‘Will you take me up to the tower again? Please, Al, just this one last time … for old times' sake?'

A coldness swept over him. ‘I'd rather not, Lexie. I'm married now, and …'

‘Being married shouldn't stop you from being friends with me. Come on, Al. I thought … you know I lost my mother, and all?'

‘Yes, I know,' he replied stiffly, angry at her for taking advantage of the situation and annoyed at himself for forgetting that it was only a few months since Carrie's death.

‘I need some … affection, Al … please? I don't want you to kiss me, or anything like that, just walk with me so I'll have that to remember. Or are you too high and mighty now you live in London and speak like you'd a plum in your mouth?'

There were tears in her eyes again, real tears, and he guessed that she was masking her vulnerabilty by being sarcastic. Poor Lexie. She was right. She had nobody now, and why shouldn't he take her up to the tower … for old times' sake? ‘Come on then,' he said, albeit a trifle brusquely.

She walked decorously by his side, wanting to know more about his wife, about his in-laws, and he answered as best he could until she asked what they were going to call the baby. He and Gwen had not discussed the matter of names. ‘If it's a boy, I'd like to call him Douglas,' he said, after a moment's consideration. ‘That would be after Dougal, you see, for he's been a true friend to me all our lives. If it's a girl …' He paused, then shrugged. ‘I haven't thought about that.'

‘What about Alexandra?' she suggested, smiling.

‘I don't think that'd be a good idea.'

‘Why not? I've been a true friend to you, and all, more than a friend, and it would make me truly happy, Al.'

‘No, Lexie, I can't. It wouldn't be fair to Gwen.'

‘Haven't you told her about me?'

‘There was nothing to tell, was there? It was all in your mind.'

‘Oh, Al, how could you say a thing like that?' Bursting into a flood of tears, she whipped round and ran back down the hill.

He didn't chase her, but tried not to let too great a distance develop between them. He had to keep his eye on her in case she did anything silly, because she was obviously on the verge of some kind of breakdown.

It wasn't long until she slowed down to a walk and he caught up with her. ‘I'm sorry, Lexie,' he said. ‘I
have
always looked on you as a friend … just a friend, though, but Gwen might think there was more to it if I wanted to call our baby after you. Can you not understand that? How would you like it if you were married and your husband wanted to call your daughter after his old girlfriend?'

‘So you still think of me as a girlfriend?'

Her voice was so low that he had to bend his head to hear. ‘Well, we did go together for a good few months.' He knew he shouldn't have said it. He should have made it clear that he meant a girl friend, not a girlfriend. There was a world of difference, but now wasn't the time to be brutal.

They walked on in silence for some time, then Lexie murmured, ‘I'm awful tired, Alistair. Would you mind if I took your arm?'

He did mind, but all he could do was shake his head, so she tucked her hand under his arm, hanging on as if she were totally exhausted, as quite possibly she was, he mused, compassion for her welling up in him again. His mother's funeral was bound to have distressed her by reminding her of her own mother's death, and she had nothing to look forward to when she went home except empty rooms. He had no idea how it happened, but when they reached the two-storeyed house at the rear of what had been her father's shop but which she had run for a few years now, his arm was round her waist, and she was saying, as she fitted her key into the lock, ‘You'll come in for a cup of tea?'

The fire was set but not lit, and although the May evening was quite warm outside, there was a chill inside – no feeling of welcome. It was the first time he had ever been inside her home, but this room wasn't all that different from his mother's kitchen. There was an almost identical oak dresser with ornaments in its small pigeonholes, a few china plaques on the walls expressing various Victorian sentiments, several pot plants here and there, a fender round the fire with a padded stool at each end and a high-backed armchair at both sides of the hearth. There was one difference, though. Where the Ritchies had a neat tartan rug thrown over their worn couch, Carrie Fraser had used an old curtain, faded so much by the sun that it looked as if it were striped – a washed-out crimson and a pinkish white.

Flopping down on this, Lexie gave a sigh and stretched out her legs. ‘Oh, Al, I'm sorry I forgot. It wasn't worth lighting the fire when I was going to be out all day, but once I put a match to it, the kettle'll not take long to boil.'

He pushed away the insidious thought that she
had
remembered that the fire wasn't lit and this was an excuse to keep him with her a little longer. She was so upset, it wasn't fair to doubt her. ‘I'll light it.' He took a box of matches from his jacket pocket, struck one and held it to the paper in the grate. After blowing on it for a few seconds to make sure it was properly kindled, he turned to her again. ‘Would you mind if I smoked?'

‘I always loved the smell of your cigarettes,' she smiled, ‘so sit down beside me and smoke as many as you want.'

Unwilling to upset her by sitting anywhere else, he edged down on the couch, lit one of his Gold Flakes and leaned back. He'd had a gruelling day himself and was glad of the rest. ‘Never mind about making tea,' he told her in a minute. ‘I'd better not stay, or Dad and Alice'll think I'm lost. I'll just finish this and get going.' He looked around for an ashtray but couldn't see one.

Lexie understood his predicament. ‘Just put your ash in the begonia,' she told him. ‘There's no rush for you to get home, is there? I'd be glad of a bit of company for a while, for I feel a bit lost.' She turned to him, appealing, ‘Please, Al?'

Even in the dimness of the kitchen, he could see the anguish in her pale blue eyes. She wasn't shamming. She
was
lonely. She
did
need comfort. And he hadn't had any real comfort himself since he came back to Forvit. His father and sister were both too wrapped up in their own grief to worry about his. ‘Come here,' he said, gruffly, putting his arms round her and pulling her close.

She wasn't pushy this time. She lay against him passively, the tears trickling down her cheeks until he could stand her misery no longer. ‘Oh, Lexie,' he murmured, ‘I know how you're feeling. It's a terrible thing to lose your mother, but we all have to go some time.' Realizing that this was unlikely to give any solace, he made up for his insensitivity by bending his head to kiss her.

On his way home on the train next day, he was beset with shame at what had happened. It had been his fault, not Lexie's, because even now he could remember how his body had responded to the arching of her back. With Gwen being so far on in her pregnancy, he hadn't touched her for weeks and Lexie's lips were so sweet, the old remembered smell of her so heady, that he'd been utterly lost.

He had unbuttoned her blouse, kissed away her faint murmur of protest and fondled her hungrily. Oh, the bitter shame of letting lust overrule sense. She hadn't encouraged him. On the other hand, she hadn't
dis
couraged him, either, and it hadn't been until he was a hair's-breadth away from the unthinkable that it seemed to dawn on her what he was doing and she started pounding at his chest. That was when his sanity had returned.

He had almost thrown her from him and, in spite of her flood of tears and bitter pleadings not to leave her like this, he
had
left her, and had run like a wild thing until a stitch in his side forced him to stop. He had leant against a tree to get his breath back and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the mossy grass at the roadside, where he had remained for well over an hour. It had taken him that long to get himself in a fit enough state to go home. His father wouldn't have noticed anything amiss if he was flushed to the gills and looked guilty as hell, but Alice would have spotted right away that something was up and demanded to know what had happened.