The Baker's Daughter (5 page)

‘Take your partners for the Duke of Perth.'

Callum grabbed her by the hand and grinned at her. ‘You know this one?'

She nodded, smiling. She'd enjoyed dancing at school and. knew most of the dances. Callum was a good dancer and he whirled her round without any effort, and never once stepped on her toes.

‘Come and meet some of my pals,' he said in a break between dances. They joined a noisy, laughing group—Rona knew some of
them
from years ago, the girl in the post office clinging to her boyfriend's arm, the fair-haired girl at reception in the dentist's surgery, one or two old school friends. Mostly they'd come with partners, but Rona was pleased she was with Callum.

Everyone seemed to like him and he was a better dancer than some of the others, she thought, after his friend, Tom, had tramped on her feet in an eightsome.

Sipping a lemonade, after a breathless whirl in the Gay Gordons, Rona thought she hadn't enjoyed an evening so much for a very long time.

‘You look nice,' Callum told her shyly. Rona smiled to herself. She knew that Nancy's boyfriend, who worked in the same office, paid her extravagant compliments. Nancy had told her about some of the things he said. But Rona thought, I'd much rather have Callum's way of complimenting a girl. It sounded as if he meant it.

On the way home, he told her about the farm, about his older brother who would take over one day.

‘What's it like, working for your father?' Rona asked.

He grimaced. ‘Och, he's a hard man to please. Some days it's fine. Other days . . .' he broke off.

‘I know what it's like,' said Rona. ‘Working for your own father, and I've got my auntie in
the
shop too. She can be so difficult. I wish she wouldn't keep picking on me, for every little thing.'

‘She really scares me,' Callum confessed.

‘That makes two of us,' said Rona and they both laughed.

‘I think,' said Callum a little shyly, ‘that folk come into the shop because of you. I mean, hoping you'll serve them.'

Rona blushed.

‘I mean it,' he said. ‘She puts people off, your auntie.'

‘Oh, well,' said Rona. ‘I'm stuck with the job, but I wish Father would let me do more—like decorating the window. And we could have a tearoom upstairs—plenty of bakers do. People would come in for their tea and coffee, and lots of people in the offices, for their dinner in the middle of the day.'

For a moment she had almost forgotten Callum and saw the tearoom of her imagination, just like McVitie's where she'd once been on a rare visit to Edinburgh.

There would be waitresses, well, maybe one waitress, trim in black with a white apron and cap, taking orders for toasted teacake and sultana scones.

Sometimes, she knew, tearooms had a piano tinkling in the background, and now and then the big stores would have a mannequin parade—a glamorous model moving among the tables, and stopping now and then to
answer
a customer's query about the price, before gliding on with a gracious smile.

But no, she thought sadly, Father would never agree to having a tearoom.

‘Penny for your thoughts,' said Callum.

She smiled. ‘I was just thinking. Father would never agree to us having a tearoom—teas and coffees for the grand ladies who have time to go shopping, dinner for the people who are out at work and want a hot meal in the middle of the day.'

‘So you and me,' said Callum, ‘we're the same. We both work for our fathers, and we both want to do something different.'

‘What do you want to do?' she asked.

‘Go abroad for a bit,' he said. ‘Maybe Canada. Ah, well,' he went on, ‘I'm stuck here.'

They walked on in silence. ‘I've got you home in time,' he said. ‘I'm not wanting your father after me for keeping you out late.

‘Listen,' he said, all in a rush, ‘would you come out with me again? Maybe a bus run to Kirkcaldy or St Andrews when I have a half day? Or the pictures?'

‘I'd like to.' She smiled up at him.

‘I'll come into the shop,' he said. ‘If I can beard your auntie in her den.' They both laughed at that.

‘How are you getting back to the farm?' said Rona suddenly.

‘I'll get a lift with one of my pals,' he said.
‘Or
I can walk. I have done before.'

‘I really enjoyed the dancing.' Rona was suddenly shy.

For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he just said, ‘That's good, then. I did, too.' Then, ‘I'll be seeing you,' and he was gone down the street with that long loping stride. She watched till he had turned the corner, then pushed open the gate.

Indoors there was no sign of her aunt—she must have gone to bed, and Angus turned in early, since he was always up by four to begin work.

Only Doug sat at the kitchen table, turning over the pages of a motoring magazine and listening idly to the wireless.

‘Hello.' He didn't look up. ‘Did you have a good time?'

‘It was great.' Rona sank into a chair. ‘You're not out tonight, then?' she asked.

‘No.'

Doug was never one for much conversation, she thought. What did he and that girl talk about? But she'd heard him talking to one of his pals about cars, about the newest model, and problems with a starting handle, or a carburettor, and then he was voluble, even chatty.

She hesitated. ‘I saw you with a girl.'

‘Aye?'

‘You and she were getting into a car—you were driving.' Rona thought, I am not handling
this
right. ‘The other evening.'

‘Is that so?' Doug continued to scan the pages of the magazine, not looking at her.

Suddenly she burst out, ‘Where did you get the car? You know you can't afford a car. And it was quite—' she paused, ‘it was a posh car.'

He looked up and glowered at her—she had never seen her placid, easy-going brother look like this.

‘And what's it to you?'

‘I just wondered . . .' Rona ploughed on. She had got this far. ‘I was worried. I mean, you can't afford a car and I thought, there's no-one we know has a car like that. Oh, Doug?' She hardly recognised her usually good-natured brother who glared at her across the table.

‘It's nothing to do with you,' he said sharply. ‘So why don't you mind your own business.' He flung the magazine aside and got up.

Rona gazed after him as he slammed out of the room. What was the matter? There was something badly wrong. And somehow the evening, with all its magic, was spoiled.

REFLECTIONS FOR RONA

I'll soon be twenty-one and I haven't had any sort of life, thought Rona rebelliously. It should have been a good year, 1952, though it had begun on a sad note with the death of the
King
in early February.

Aunt Lizzie had shaken her head sadly over the pictures in the paper of the three women all in black and heavily veiled—the Queen, now the Queen Mother, and Princess Elizabeth who had so suddenly become Queen, and her sister, Princess Margaret.

‘Poor souls,' she said.

But then people talked about the future and the dawn of a new Elizabethan age. Now you could fly all over the world, there were all sorts of fascinating inventions—many people were buying or renting television sets, hoping to watch the coronation of the new Queen in June the next year.

All the same, for Rona, life seemed very flat and dull. The one bright spot was her friendship with Callum.

‘Not a romance,' she told her friend, Nancy, hastily. ‘We're just good friends.' But he made her laugh, and she enjoyed going dancing with him, or spending an evening at the pictures.

No, it was the feeling that life was going nowhere. She was stuck in Kirkton while other girls of her own age were working in Edinburgh or Glasgow, or even finding jobs abroad.

Father seemed to think that she was quite happy with the daily routine. She knew quite well that if she complained, he would look surprised and tell her she was lucky to have a good job.

And,
of course, the main problem was Aunt Lizzie. There she was in the cash desk, ‘And likely to be there for ever', thought Rona. She kept a watchful eye on everything that Rona did, and was quick to point out any mistakes, or take her to task for a job that wasn't properly done.

‘Snappy old besom,' Rona often said under her breath and glared at Aunt Lizzie's back.

So the year wore on and every day seemed much like the one before.

It should have been a lovely summer's day. It looked so promising—yesterday had been fine and now the air was warm after the heat of the previous day. But it was a close, clammy sort of heat.

Rona, waking early, found nothing to look forward to. For one thing, she had a niggling toothache. She knew she should make an appointment with the dentist, but she had put it off. Maybe the pain will go away, she thought hopefully. But it didn't and by the time she reached the shop, she was feeling thoroughly miserable. It was going to be a very long day.

And of course Aunt Lizzie was in one of her most trying moods, finding fault with everything that Rona did. ‘You've not swept the floor,' she said almost as soon as Rona had hung up her jacket.

‘I'm just going to.' Rona gritted her teeth and then found that hurt.

There
was no pleasing Aunt Lizzie today. She commented on Rona's overall. ‘That needs a wash. You'd best give it to me and I'll see to it.'

‘It was clean on yesterday.' Rona defended herself.

‘Well, it doesn't look like it.' Aunt Lizzie sniffed and turned back to the till.

‘I'm going to make a cup of tea.' Rona felt perhaps that might ease the pain a little. ‘Can I make one for you?'

‘No, thank you,' said Aunt Lizzie. ‘I'm not one that needs to be always drinking tea. And you're just after your breakfast.'

This time Rona ignored her. Angus appeared from the back shop, wiping his forehead.

‘It's going to be hot and sticky today. We'll maybe get thunder before the day's out.'

He nodded to them, and set out on his deliveries.

The morning dragged on. There were few customers and those few seemed to Rona to be trying. So many wanted to have a chat. She wasn't interested, she told herself, in this one's aches and pains, in another's new grandchild. And why should she be expected to care about someone's holiday plans, or the new caravan they had up on Deeside?

She tried to force a smile, without much success.

The shop was busy and there was hardly any
time
for a break. Rona became more and more aware of her nagging tooth and Aunt Lizzie's constant complaints and criticisms seemed to hammer into her brain.

At last as it came to the dinner hour, Rona came to a decision. I don't have to stay here. Why should I? No-one appreciates me. She felt a great wave of self-pity, and all of a sudden she grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the door.

Behind her, Aunt Lizzie called, ‘Where are you off to? It's not your dinner time.'

But Rona, hurrying down the High Street, didn't hear her. She had no idea where she was going—maybe to the promenade, maybe to the pier, or a café. She didn't care. As long as she could get away from Aunt Lizzie. And she told herself, ‘That's it! I've had enough. I'm not going back—ever.'

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

Rona made her way along the High Street, aware that her blouse was clinging to her back and her hair felt damp on her forehead.

A breath of fresh air—that would help she decided as she took the turning that led to the promenade. She sank down on a seat overlooking the bay.

There was a pleasure steamer entering the
little
harbour and one or two fishing boats. Normally she would have enjoyed watching the activity, but not today.

She sat miserably wondering what to do. ‘I'm not going back—ever,' she thought.

It was then she heard the rumblings of thunder and now the first drops of rain began to fall. She got up hastily and began to hurry towards the town centre. By the time she reached the town hall and the shelter of its steps, her cardigan was soaked and her summer cotton dress clung damply to her body.

Breathless, she reached the shelter of the steps, and huddled there, watching the people scurrying along the pavement, nearly everyone taken unaware by the storm.

‘Hey, what are you doing here?' It was a familiar voice.

‘Callum. I could ask the same.'

‘In the town for the market,' he said briefly. ‘But you haven't got a waterproof or an umbrella. You're soaked.'

‘I didn't bring a raincoat,' she said, shivering.

‘Here,' he offered. ‘You have my jacket. You'll want to get back.'

‘No, thank you.'

‘Oh, don't be stubborn, girl,' he said. ‘Look at you, soaked through. Well, anyway, I'll come back to the shop with you.'

‘I'm not going back,' she muttered.

‘What
do you mean?'

‘I said, I'm not going back. I'm not going back to the shop ever again.'

He gave her a little shake. ‘Don't be silly.'

‘It's not silly. I'm determined. I've put up with Aunt Lizzie for ages, and I'm not standing for any more. She treats me like a child . . .' her voice tailed off.

‘So?' said Callum.

‘So that's it. I've finished with the shop. I'll get a job somewhere else. They can do without me.' She went on, ‘I'm right, do you not agree?'

Callum said nothing. Then slowly, ‘Well, it's your decision.'

'You think I'm in the wrong, then?' Rona flared up.

‘I didn't say that. I said it's up to you.'

‘But surely,' she persisted, ‘you can see that I'm just treated like a skivvy.'

‘Well . . .' said Callum thoughtfully.

Rona was angry by now. ‘You're siding with them. You don't think I'm within my rights to walk out, do you?'