Towards a Dark Horizon (40 page)

In the quiet air, Lily’s childish voice carried towards us.

‘She’s having a great time, isn’t she?’ said Greg.

I nodded silently.

‘I’ll be away next week, Ann – off to London – but I’ll write and tell you all about the big city. I just wish you were coming with me.’

‘Well, let’s get married right away, Greg. We can get a special licence. Connie told me about it and you don’t need to wait till the banns are read.’

He gave me a tender look. ‘If I really thought that’s what you truly wanted, Ann, then I would do it but I don’t think you do – at least not yet.’

I tried to protest. ‘But I do – I really do …’

At that moment, Lily’s voice carried down from the hill and she was crying. She had slipped on a patch of frosty grass and I ran up the hill towards her. Reaching her at the same time as Greg’s dad. Fortunately it was nothing more serious than a badly scraped knee and a frosty damp patch on her knickers. I turned around and saw what Greg had always known – although a single woman I was as tied to my sister as if I was already married.

There was no more talk of quick marriages and thankfully no more talk of impending wars.

When dusk came and the curtains were pulled we sat by the light of the oil lamps. Mrs Borland made another huge meal for our supper and it was lovely and cosy sitting in the kitchen with the fire crackling in the grate and the soft glow from the lamps.

Outside an owl cried and Lily stopped eating, her eyes as large as the owl’s. ‘What was that?’

Mr Borland teased her. ‘Oh, it’s just the huge owl that lives across the garden from your window. You’ll hear him all night long going twit-twit-twoooooo.’

She gave him a look as if she didn’t believe him and returned to eating her third scone and jam.

I apologised for her appetite. ‘You’ll be thinking I never feed her?’ I said to Babs Borland.

She laughed. ‘Oh, leave the bairn to enjoy herself.’

Afterwards, I put Lily to bed in the tiny room in the attic.

She looked fearfully at the small skylight window. ‘That owl won’t be able to get in here, will he, Ann? I didn’t want Mr Borland to think I was scared when he told me that story but I’m scared now,’ she confessed.

I tucked her up. ‘It’s just a bird, Lily, and that’s the sound it makes when it’s calling to other owls so don’t bother about it. It’ll not touch you.’

She lay snuggled up in the bed with the flowery valance and pink quilt. ‘It’s really great here, Ann. I like staying here with the Borlands because they’re so good to us.’

Suddenly, from outside the window, we heard, ‘Twit-twit-twooooooo.’

I jumped in alarm and Lily almost fell out of the bed with laughter.

‘So you’re scared of it as well! Never mind, Ann, you’ll be sleeping with me and I’ll look after you.’

She was still laughing when I went down the narrow stairs.

Greg and his parents were discussing my father’s quick marriage when I arrived back in the kitchen.

Like all women, Babs thought it was very romantic. ‘Your new stepmother’s called Margot?’ she said cheerily.

I nodded. To be honest, it was a discussion I could do well without but it would have been churlish of me to say so – especially as they were under the false impression that they were both blissfully happy.

‘Where did he meet her?’ asked Babs.

I explained the tragic circumstances of Harry’s death and Dad’s later involvement with the widow.

‘She sounds so glamorous – at least, according to Greg who’s told us about her lovely house and her clothes,’ she said.

I wished I could change the subject but Babs seemed to welcome this women’s talk of weddings and fine clothes. It made a change no doubt from talk of sheep and crofting. It would seem like another world to her – especially in this small rural corner where she didn’t even have a close neighbour.

I described Margot’s wedding dress and her lovely house.

Babs said, ‘You don’t have a wedding photo, do you, Ann?’

I had but it was in my suitcase. Dad had given me one a week or so after the wedding and I don’t know why I carried it around with me – probably because he looked so handsome in it and photographs in our house were few and far between. Dad looked so trim and young beside his glamorous bride but he didn’t look so good these days.

I went upstairs to get the photo from my small suitcase which lay beside the bed.

Lily was still awake. ‘I’m speaking to the owl, Ann.’ Her eyes were wide open.

I smiled at her. ‘That’s fine, Lily, but make sure you tell it not to make such a racket when we want to go to sleep.’

The photo was in a deep brown folder. It wasn’t a large image but it had been taken by a photographer at his studio in the town. Margot didn’t know I had it but Dad had given it to me a few weeks after the wedding – mainly because I asked him for it. The photographer had done a good job and the couple had come out very well. They were maybe a bit stiffly posed but it showed their faces and figures very clearly.

Downstairs, I showed the photo to Babs. Never in a hundred years could I have envisaged the reaction. At first Babs peered at it then she put on her spectacles and she peered at it again.

‘What did you say her name was, Ann?’

‘She’s Margot Neill now but she was a Mrs Margot Connors before she married Dad.’

‘I know this woman,’ said Babs, ‘but her name wasn’t Margot in those days. It was plain Mary – Mary Farr.’

Greg seemed surprised. ‘How do you know her, Mum?’

‘Before I married your father, I was in service in a large house in Perth. Mary Farr arrived – from Ireland, I think. She came as a housemaid.’ Babs studied the black and white photo which showed Margot clearly but didn’t do justice to the lovely lilac dress and hat. ‘Yes, it is her – I’m sure. She was a beautiful girl. That’s the reason she caught the eye of young Charlie Cooper whose father had a string of ladies’ dress shops on the west coast and in Glasgow, Perth and Dundee. Charlie was in charge of the Perth shop and, to cut a long story short, they got married very quickly – they had only known one another for a couple of months. Then, quite suddenly, Charlie’s father died and he sold up the business and they moved to Edinburgh to live.’

I had gone cold. How many husbands did Margot have? I wondered. ‘Her name wasn’t Cooper when Dad met her. She was married to a lovely man called Harry Connors who worked with Dad in the warehouse. This Charlie Cooper must have died.’

Babs laughed. ‘Charlie Cooper isn’t dead. We get a Christmas card every year from him. He now lives in England and I always wondered why he never mentioned Mary. He did tell me years ago that she had squandered all the money he got from the sale of his shops but I assumed she was still with him. He must have got a divorce from her.’ She shook her head in wonder. ‘What a small world it is! Imagine Mary Farr turning up and looking as chic as she ever was.’

Mary Farr – also known as Cooper, Connors and Neill I thought bitterly. It would seem that the fair-faced Mary Farr had always been adept at squandering other people’s money. It was an art form with her.

Babs suddenly looked stricken. ‘Oh, Ann, I shouldn’t have been gossiping about your stepmother like that. Perhaps she had a good reason to divorce Charlie. If she’s happy with your father, then please don’t tell her about me.’

In spite of myself, I blurted out, ‘Dad is not happy with her. She still carries on about money like it was some god and I’m really worried about my father.’

The Borlands stared at me – even Greg. He said, ‘You never mentioned this, Ann. How long has it been like this?’

Although I didn’t go into any details, I did say there had been an incident at Maddie and Danny’s wedding but, although Greg would have liked to hear the whole story, he also knew I wouldn’t like to speak about it to his parents.

Babs looked at the photo again. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure – she’s certainly aged well and I could understand what a man sees in her with her lovely face and nice figure, not to mention her fabulous clothes. She’s kept her slim figure, not like me,’ she said, patting her ample hips.

She handed back the photo and I went upstairs and put it back in my case. For some reason, I felt it had spoiled my weekend.

We left on the Sunday afternoon as Greg had to catch his train to London the next day.

Lily once again had her nose pressed against the window, and, apart from her chattering, it was a sombre journey. I knew I would miss Greg so much and he had said the same to me.

The incident with the photo had also unnerved me and I couldn’t understand why Margot had changed her name from Mary. But surely lots of women did that if they disliked their name? I inwardly asked myself. There was no harm in it so why did I have this dreadful feeling of foreboding?

It was raining when we reached Dundee. The wet pavements and dark tenements looked so drab and grey and formed a sharp contrast to our memory of the frosty hills and autumn-tinted trees. People walked along the wet pavements but most of them didn’t look happy. They had worried frowns as if the threat of war was hanging over us all like the sword of Damocles.

Then, when we reached the Overgate, we found Grandad in bed with a bad chest infection. Granny was making him some hot thin soup and I suddenly realised how old he looked. Granny was chastising him for wanting to smoke his pipe and he gave me a beseeching glance.

‘Don’t bother looking at Ann for help because she knows it’ll make your chest infection worse.’

I gave him a rueful look and Lily, Greg and I set off for home. We said our goodbyes to Greg and he made his way back to Victoria Road.

Greg left early the next morning but he came to say goodbye at the shop and Connie went into the back shop in order to leave us alone – which was a laugh because she could overhear every word but the gesture was appreciated.

After he had gone, I felt so drained. The rain fell from a gunmetal-coloured sky and the wind was cold. Winter wasn’t far away and I dreaded the return of the cold weather. This was the worst possible weather for Grandad’s chest but, maybe, if he remained indoors, he would be fine. I certainly hoped so.

Meanwhile, Connie was reading all about the events unfolding in Germany. She would read out the headlines with an avid interest every morning. In November she read one headline with disgust. ‘Look at this, Ann. Those thugs in Germany have smashed all the Jewish business community’s windows.’ She showed me the picture in the paper that portrayed a crowd of people laughing and gazing at a row of smashed windows.

‘They’re calling it Kristallnacht or Crystal Night,’ she snorted with derision. ‘When is this country going to wake up and deal with that wee thug Hitler? Going to Munich to plead for peace is just damn stupid and Chamberlain should have known better.’

The news was certainly depressing and I was glad we didn’t live in mainland Europe. We had freedom of choice which the poor Jewish people didn’t seem to have.

Connie was still fuming. ‘Hitler is devising ways to know who is Jewish. He wants this true Aryan race of blonde hair and blue eyes. And would you look at the wee gowk he is? He’s like some ugly stunted gnome with that stupid black mouser on his upper lip. If there’s anybody a million miles away from being blonde haired and blue eyed, then it’s himself.’

To be honest, I was getting a bit tired of all this news of war. Either it came or it didn’t but the papers whipped up this constant barrage of fear and even the children began to get worried.

Lily mentioned to me one afternoon after school, ‘If there’s going to be a war, Ann, will that mean we’ll not be together?’

I squeezed her hand. ‘Of course, we will. Don’t worry about it, Lily, because it may never happen. And, if it does, then it’s the young men who have to go.’

This seemed to reassure her and she didn’t mention it again but, as far as I was concerned, the worry went on and on.

On New Year’s Day, we were at the Overgate. Rosie and Alice were there and I was pleased to see Grandad was looking and feeling so much better. We were all discussing the year that had gone – remembering the good parts and skimming over the bad ones. Then, in the middle of all this chatter, Dad appeared. He looked so thin and ill and his white face had an ageing drawn look.

I leapt from the chair. ‘Dad, what’s the matter? Are you ill?’

I noticed that Rosie had also risen and she stood by my side, looking worried.

He drew a hand across his eyes then spoke in a soft voice. ‘I’ve left Margot and I wondered if I could come back to live with you at the Hilltown.’

What did he mean? Had he left her for good or what?

I stared at him while Rosie led him to a chair by the fire. She said, ‘Sit down, Johnny, and I’ll get you a cup of tea.’

‘Have you left Margot for good, Dad?’ I asked him while Lily burst into tears.

While I comforted her, he explained, ‘It’s a long story but I’ve had enough of her nonsense.’ He looked at me. ‘Oh, by the way, I never thanked you for that gesture from Mr Pringle, Ann.’

Rosie and I gazed at him in horror. I was almost afraid to speak. ‘What do you mean, Dad?’

‘Maddie’s father called me to his office last month and gave me this.’ He held up a small post office account book. ‘Thanks, Ann, but Margot has demanded that I give it to her or at least half of it – I’m not quite sure.’

I relaxed. I thought he was referring to John Pringle.

‘She’s welcome to it all if it means you’re rid of her,’ I said with feeling.

Granny, who had remained silent up till now, said, ‘I aye said you were a stupid idiot, Johnny, and now it’s been proved.’

He looked sheepish but Rosie put her arm around his shoulder – much to Alice’s annoyance.

Dad looked gratefully at her. She had kept her initial elegance since the wedding and hadn’t gone back to her mismatched clothes or untidy hair. Tonight she was wearing a royal-blue pleated skirt with a soft woollen jumper in three shades of blue. It suited her and her short hair was like a shining cap.

Dad looked at her with admiration. ‘I know I’ve been an idiot, Rosie – imagine passing you over for somebody like Margot …’

Alice butted in, ‘Aye you did pass her over, Johnny Neill, and now it’s too late. Albert has asked Rosie to marry him and she’s thinking about it, aren’t you?’