Monday Girl (20 page)

‘Renee,’ he interrupted. ‘Darling, listen . . .’

‘No, you listen. I’ve had enough! I’ve been through hell and back over you, and I’ve had it! I’m finished!’

It wasn’t what she’d intended to say. It had come out without her being conscious of even thinking it, but she was glad, and hoped she was wounding him as much as he’d wounded her in the past. Fergus seemed stunned by the tirade, but recovered quickly. ‘I know what all this is about,’ he sneered. ‘It’s Jack Thomson. You’re in love with him now, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe I am. What’s it to you?’

‘You’re mine! You’ve been my Monday girl for . . .’

‘Cut that out, Fergus Cooper! It’s no use now. You made a mockery of that long ago, and all your sweet-talking won’t make any difference.’

His cajoling smile faded. ‘OK then, if that’s how you feel. Your smarmy Jack can have you, but does he know he’s getting second-hand goods? You can’t change that, Renee. I was first.’

She felt her gorge rising. ‘Shut up! Shut up! I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to . . . You can’t hold a candle to Jack. He’s everything you’re not – decent, genuine . . . Oh!’ She turned and walked away from him, so angry that she couldn’t trust herself to say anything else.

He bounded after her and gripped her shoulder. ‘Go on, then. Tie yourself to him. You’ll soon get fed up, and I guarantee you’ll remember me every time he makes love to you on a Monday. You’ll always remember that you belong to me, no matter who thinks he owns you.’

She shook off his hand and stood breathing heavily. ‘I don’t know if Jack has even thought of marrying me, but if he asks me I’ll say yes, and you’ll never cross my mind on Mondays or any other day of the week. As for being fed up with him, I’d be happy for the rest of my life as long as he kept on loving me, because I’d know it was just me for him, not hundreds of other girls, and certainly never my own mother.’

‘You couldn’t be happy.’ Fergus stuck his face, contorted with rage, close to hers. ‘You need excitement, a proper heman to keep you satisfied. You need me.’ His expression softened. ‘You can’t send me away like this, when I might be killed any time.’

She glared at him. ‘Don’t try any of your tricks, Fergus, for they won’t work any more. I’ve come to my senses at last.’ That seemed to hit the target, because he said, sadly,

‘Your mother guessed you were meeting me tonight, you know, and we’d another barney. She didn’t tell me not to keep the date, but she said I was never to come back to her house after I leave tomorrow.’ He looked at her pitifully.

‘She means it this time, Renee.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Good! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going home.’ She pulled away from him, and walked on along the path towards the side gate.

‘I swear to you, Renee,’ he shouted after her, ‘every time
anybody
makes love to you on a Monday, you’ll remember that I was first, and you belong to me. And there’s nothing you can do about that!’

Ignoring him, and, without once looking back, she went down the steps and through the narrow gate on legs that were shaking violently. She felt empty, drained of all feeling, but she had broken his spell over her, with his own, unwitting, help.

After she crossed Schoolhill, and was walking up George Street, she realised that she was going in the direction of her grandmother’s house. It hadn’t been intentional, but she had to unburden herself to someone, and who better than her beloved granny, who had been perceptive enough, the first time she saw him, to assess Fergus for the rotter he really was? Unfortunately, her warnings had fallen on ears unwilling to listen. Sheer doggedness kept Renee going until she reached the tenement in Woodside, but she was still trembling as she climbed the stairs. By pure good luck, Peter McIntosh was out, and Maggie looked up in surprise when Renee walked in.

‘What brings you here at this time o’ night?’ she asked, then one look at the girl’s face in the light of the gas lamp on the wall told her that something dreadful had happened, and her voice became anxious. ‘Sit doon, my dearie, an’ tell me aboot it.’

‘Oh, Granny!’ Renee’s delicate composure crumbled at the love and concern in the old woman’s words. ‘You were right about Fergus. He
was
no good.’ She burst into tears and ran to the outstretched arms, then sank to the floor with her head on her grandmother’s lap. Maggie let her sob her heart out, patting her head occasionally in sympathy, until the girl’s shoulders stopped heaving and she held up her head, pathetically. The faded blue eyes looked down with compassion.

‘Can ye speak aboot it, noo?’

Renee took a shuddering breath. ‘I’ve been stupid, Granny. Really stupid. I thought . . . he swore he loved me, but . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Ye found oot that he didna?’ Maggie didn’t sound surprised, and waited for the rest of the story.

‘It was worse than that. He’d been . . . making love to . . . other girls as well.’ Renee had almost given away her mother’s secret, too, but covered up quickly.

‘Aye.’ The woman’s expression did not change. There was no disapproval or shock on her face as she took the girl’s hand. ‘Lassie, ye’re nae the first to be let doon like that, an’ ye’ll nae be the last. At least ye’ve seen through him noo.’

‘Yes, I have seen through him now, Granny. You warned me about him long ago, and so did Jack Thomson and Tim Donaldson, but I was sure he loved me, so I wouldn’t listen.’ Her grandmother smiled sadly. ‘Sometimes it’s best if ye learn yer lesson the hard road. Ye’ll nae mak’ the same mistake again, will ye?’

‘No, I’m sure I won’t, but, oh Granny, it was awful. We’d a blazing row tonight, and we said terrible things to each other.’

The grey head nodded. ‘Nae doot ye deserved them, the pair o’ ye.’ She squeezed Renee’s hand to let her see that she wasn’t censuring her, and they sat silently, lovingly, until Maggie said, ‘He’s hame on leave, then?’

‘He goes away tomorrow, and I’ll be glad to see the last of him. I’m sure he’ll never come back to our house again, because Mum won’t let him.’

Maggie’s eyebrows rose. ‘She ken’t aboot you and him, did she?’

‘Yes.’ Renee wondered how much she could say without Granny realising what had actually been going on in the house in Cattofield. ‘You see, I told her myself before Fergus went away the first time, because I wanted everything out in the open.’ Would that be enough to satisfy her grandmother’s curiosity?

Maggie nodded wisely. ‘Now I understand. I was a bit feared that yer mother had mair than a soft spot for Fergus hersel’.’

Their eyes met and held, until Renee looked away. ‘That’s all finished now . . . I think . . . and I’m finished with him, too.’

The old woman was quiet for a few minutes, then she said, ‘I’m goin’ to mak’ ye a cup o’ tea, then ye’d better get hame, but mind this, Renee, a mother’s a lassie’s best friend. Dinna let that waster come atween ye.’

She stood up and the girl rose off the floor to take out the dishes while her grandmother filled the kettle and lit the gas ring. They sat down at the table to wait for it to come to the boil, and Maggie suddenly looked anxiously at Renee.

‘There’s jist one thing I have to ask ye, lassie . . . Ye’re nae goin’ to ha’e his bairn, are ye?’

Renee shook her head. ‘No, Granny, I’m not. Thank God for that.’

‘Aye, thank God. Ye’ve got aff light, for things could ha’e been a lot worse.’

When Renee was leaving, her grandmother said, ‘We’ll nae tell yer mother ye’ve been here, eh?’

‘Thanks, Granny . . . for everything. I feel better now.’ On her way home she congratulated herself that at last she’d had the courage to do what she should have done months ago. If only she had listened to Granny, and Jack and Tim, she could have saved herself all the heartache. Her step lightened as she went on. She felt purged, as if she had cast an evil demon from her soul. She smiled grimly. That was exactly what she
had
done. She had rid herself of a Svengali who had hypnotised her for far too long.

Fergus Cooper would be leaving tomorrow for good. Thank God he would never affect her life again.

 
Part Two

 
Chapter Thirteen

As the sound of John Boles’ voice died away, Anne rose to wind up the gramophone. This twelve-inch recording of the ‘Desert Song’ had been one of her late husband’s favourites, and the song, ‘One Alone’, especially, made her think nostalgically of Jim Gordon. She glanced across to her daughter, who was curled up on the settee, but Renee was too busy reading to be any company. They were alone in the house, Tim Donaldson and Jack Thomson having gone to visit Mike and Babs, and Anne’s heart ached with longing for the life she had once known, and hadn’t fully appreciated until it was gone.

Sighing, she lifted the record and drew her sleeve lightly round it to remove any particles of dust. She was replacing it on the turntable when she was startled by the ringing of the doorbell.

‘I’ll go.’ Renee jumped up eagerly. She had no idea who might be calling, but any visitor would brighten them up. The small dark-haired girl standing on the step was a complete stranger, and seemed nervous and apprehensive.

‘Yes?’ Renee asked, helpfully, because the girl appeared to be unsure of what to say.

‘Is this where . . . er . . . Mrs Gordon lives?’ The last three words came out in a rush.

‘Yes, come in.’ Renee led the way into the living room, puzzling over who this girl could be, and what she wanted with Anne. ‘Mum, somebody wants to see you.’ She gestured to the girl to sit down, but the caller shook her head and remained just inside the door, one hand clenching and unclenching spasmodically at the front edge of her coat, so Renee shrugged and sat down on the settee again.

Anne switched off the gramophone and waited, but, when nothing was forthcoming, she smiled. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’

‘Did . . . er . . . Fergus Cooper lodge here?’ The almost-whispered words made both Anne and Renee look at her in astonishment.

‘Yes, he did,’ Anne said, after a slight pause. ‘But he joined the army in September.’

‘I know.’ The girl was silent again and the other two kept looking at her expectantly.

‘Has he been back on leave yet?’ This time, the voice was a little stronger.

‘He was here after his training was finished, and he went back about a couple of months ago.’ Anne’s perplexed face had begun to show signs of anxiety. ‘Was it him you really wanted to see?’

The girl nodded briefly. ‘I . . . he . . .’ She swallowed, then burst out, ‘I’m going to have his baby.’

The two gasps were practically synchronised, and it was a few seconds before Anne said quietly, ‘Are you sure that Fergus is the father?’

‘Oh, yes. I was never with anybody else, and he said he’d marry me, but then he just disappeared. I went to where he worked, and they told me he was in the army and gave me your address, because he would likely write to you. I waited for a few weeks, to give him the chance to get in touch with me, but he didn’t, and my mother doesn’t know yet, but I’m well over five months already and it’s starting to show.’ She began to weep softly and sat down on the chair by the door.

‘Is your name Lily?’ Renee had remembered Fergus telling her that Lily was growing too serious.

The girl lifted her head. ‘No, it’s Jeanette. Jeanette Morrison. Why? Did he speak about having another girl?’ Renee saw how upset she was by that possibility, and said, hastily, ‘No, no. That was a long time ago, probably before he ever met you.’ Another girl? she thought, ruefully. Dozens, if she was any judge, including herself . . . and her mother.

‘Did he know about . . . this, before he went away?’ Anne was asking.

‘Yes, he did, and he promised he’d do the right thing by me, so the baby wouldn’t be illegitimate.’ A remark which Fergus had made before he went away in September flashed into Renee’s mind. When she had told him she hoped he’d given her a baby, his answer had been, ‘I’ve enough on my plate without worrying about that,’ which she’d assumed to be covering up his dread of being killed. No wonder he’d given that peculiar laugh. It must have been Jeanette and her pregnancy that had been filling his plate.

‘I was wondering . . .’ Jeanette gulped. ‘Could you give me his address? I have to get in touch with him.’

‘I’ll give you the one I’ve got,’ Anne said, ‘but he’ll likely have been shifted by this time. And even if he hasn’t, don’t be surprised if he doesn’t answer any letters you send. I don’t like having to tell you this, Jeanette, but he’s an out-and-out rotter. He was involved with . . . a lot of other girls, and you’re better off without him. Honestly.’

‘I have to try, anyway. You see . . . I love him, though I see now that he doesn’t love me.’ Jeanette fished in her clutch handbag for a handkerchief, and scrubbed at her eyes.

‘I don’t know how to tell my mum, and when she finds out, she’ll likely throw me out on my ear.’

‘No she won’t,’ Anne said quickly. ‘Go home right now and tell her. Mothers can forgive more than you think.’ She glanced at her daughter, her eyes conveying a message she’d been unable to put into words. Renee realised that she was being told she’d been forgiven for her previous secretive behaviour, and felt more affection for her mother at that moment than she had done ever since the terrible confrontation of the 3rd of September.

Anne stood up and went over to the sideboard. ‘If he doesn’t answer your letter, Jeanette, get in touch with his commanding officer. Fergus Cooper should be made to face up to his responsibility.’ She took out a letter and tore off the corner with the address, handed it to the girl then crossed to the fireside and threw the sheet of paper into the flames.

‘Thank you very much, Mrs Gordon.’ Jeanette dropped the address into her handbag and got to her feet.

On an impulse, Renee asked, ‘How often did you go out with Fergus?’

‘Every Friday for about seven months. Why?’

‘Oh, no reason, really, I just wondered.’ Fridays? So Jeanette wasn’t the girl she had seen him making love to that Thursday night at the Bay of Nigg. He really had had a girl for every night of the week, and must have sworn to each of them that she was the only one for him. She felt nothing but sorrow that she’d been so easily taken in by him, but she brightened up when she saw his letter reducing to ashes in the fire. Her mother had proved that her attachment to him was completely broken, too.