The Nickum (30 page)

‘I’m afraid you are, but I didn’t want to let my father know. He’s booked me into the maternity ward at the hospital in Whinnybrae, and I wanted to have it at home.’

The older woman waited until the pain that crossed the girl’s face had passed. ‘I think you’re nae gan to ha’e time to get hame. They’re comin’ real quick, the pains?’

‘Nearly right … aahh … after each other.’

‘Aye. It’s time, but we’ll see things is a’ right. I’ll come back wi’ you, but first we’ll collect Beenie’s Gladstone bag for her. You’ll be fine wi’ her; she’s ta’en near every bairn in the place into this world, including my Poopie an’ your Willie.’

And so, in less than fifteen minutes, Millie was ensconced in the ‘ben’ room, in the bed that had been Willie’s sisters’, with the rubber sheet under her and Willie’s mother and her own mother in the kitchen getting a plentiful supply of hot water ready in the pans, pails and two large baking bowls they set along the range’s hob. Beenie, in her huge rubber apron, was directing operations. ‘Push noo, aye, there’s a good lass. Tak’ a deep breath, an’ anither push. Aye, you’re comin’ on like a hoose on fire.’

Perhaps her labour seemed, to Millie, to take hours and hours, but when the infant slid into Beenie’s hands, she exclaimed, ‘Look at that, noo! As bonny a laddie as ever I saw, an’ he jist took two hours.’

Margaret was despatched to tell the good news to Jake and Herbert, who had been sent outside at the very start, and who had been walking up and down the track with their pipes in their mouths, but doing little actual smoking.

‘Come in, Grandpas,’ she laughed, ‘it’s a boy.’

All those present now agreed wholeheartedly with Beenie. This child was the bonniest baby boy they had ever seen; head covered with quite a thick layer of dark hair, chubby cheeks, lovely little fingers and toes and a pair of lungs, as Jake observed at one point, ‘Like a pair of bellowses.’

After all his resistance to the visit, it was Herbert who was reluctant to go home, and his wife had to drag him away from the grandson who was to be a large part of their lives from now on. Beenie Middleton had stipulated that she didn’t advise Millie to get up for at least seven days, and to wait another few days before she went home, and the Fowlies were more than pleased to have their new ‘lodgers’.

The Meldrums came every day after school was out, but not one of the grandparents had the temerity to ask Millie what she was going to call the child. It was not until the day Emily was packing up her things in readiness to go home, that the girl said, ‘I hope it’s all right, Mrs Fowlie, but I want to call him William.’

Emily went over to kiss her. ‘Thank you for that, lass, and will he be Willie as well?’

‘If you don’t mind, I think it would be best to make him Billy, and he’ll just have the one Chistian name. I don’t like seeing anybody with a string of middle names, and anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to decide between Jacob and Herbert.’

‘It’s probably best,’ Emily agreed. ‘We don’t want the two of them falling out.’

Ten days later, left on her own again, Emily missed having the work of feeding and clothing the infant, but it did give her time to look back. When she had first learned that Willie had left his girlfriend with a ‘bun in the oven’ as they said nowadays, she had been really angry, considering it a misdemeanour to add to the others he had committed over the years. While Millie was here, however, she had spoken of how deeply they had loved each other and had described some of the things Willie had said about being scared to touch her because he wouldn’t be able to stop going too far. It was an intimate confession, and she had been quite shocked at first. She could understand it now, though – although she had never had the same problem with Jake.

Almost two months went past before a package arrived by Special Delivery, a small envelope which Emily had to sign for, obviously containing more than one sheet of paper, and marked, ‘On His Majesty’s Service’. The penny dropped then, and although it was addressed to Mr Jacob Fowlie she took out a knife and slit it open. After reading it through several times, she laid it on the table with trembling fingers. She couldn’t believe it! Recalling all the bad thoughts she’d had about her son over the years, she really couldn’t credit this. She spread out the communication now, and read it again with a mother’s eye. Wait till Jake saw it! Wait till all Wester Burnton heard about it, and they would, for she’d broadcast it far and wide, she was so proud.

It was almost an hour and a half before Jake came in, looking surprised to see Emily sitting at the table, but no dinner laid out for them. Then he spotted the letter, and like Emily, had to read it more than once to take it in. ‘Well I’ll be jiggered!’ he said at last. ‘Jist fancy that! Oor Willie gettin’ a Commendation for Bravery in the Field!’

‘And there’s a letter with it,’ Emily pointed out. ‘From his Commanding Officer.’

‘Let me read it for masel’, woman.’ But he was smiling, a smile of deep pleasure.

It was only when he learned how their son had actually saved the life of another Gordon Highlander by using his own body to shield him, that Jake saw the light.

‘He’s made up for nae savin’ Poopie! That’s why he did it. Oh, Emmy, it must’ve ta’en a lot o’ courage to dae that when he ken’t there wis snipers roon’ aboot him.’

He stretched across the table and took her hands in his. ‘I’m that prood o’ him, lass, to think oor son gi’ed up his life to save somebody else.’

‘He knew what he was doing, Jake, and he’d have been glad to do it. Oh, I’m going to tell every living soul I meet from now on.’

Jake squeezed her hand in warning. ‘Nay, Em, that would pit folkses’ backs up. An’ Beenie widna be pleased that her Malcie didna get recommended.’

‘Her Malcie would never have had the courage to …’

‘Aye, me and you ken that, but does she? No, it’s best to keep oor tongues atween oor teeth. We’ll need to tell Millie, of course, she deserves to ken, but naebody else.’

Silence fell, but not for long. ‘You know, Jake, when I learned he’d been killed, my first thought was I should have known he’d end up dead.’

Her husband’s mouth twisted. ‘We a’ end up deid, Em.’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘It wasna meant to be funny, lass, but I canna see what you’re gettin’ at.’

‘Have I got to spell it out for you? It was his own fault. All his life he jumped in without thinking of the consequences. He always liked to be different from other people.’ She knew she was being unreasonable, knew that her heart would never be whole again, but still couldn’t come right out and admit that she loved her son, had always loved him, no matter how badly he had behaved.

‘Dinna look at it like that, Emmy love.’ Jake slid his arms round her, hugging her tightly. ‘You havena time to think of consequences in a war. You’ve just got to pile in an’ dae the first thing that comes into your mind, the obvious thing. Nine times oot o’ ten, you’ll be lucky an’ get awa’ wi’ it, but the tenth time’s bound to come. Look on it that road, lovie. Apart fae his fit bein’ broken in three places, he got aff lightly wi’ what he did when he was a laddie—’ His own emotion halted him briefly, but then he murmured, ‘He’s a hero, lass, nae matter how you look at it. Dinna forget that. A bloody hero. An’ I’m the proudest man in a’ Christendom.’

The ferocity of this last statement got through to his wife at last, but it was some time before she was able to express herself coherently. ‘Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. I know he’s a hero, and I know he didn’t mean to be bad before. It’s just …’ She stopped to search for the right words. ‘I’d been used to my two well-behaved girls for so long, you see, and when he came along … I’d never had anything to do with boys, and he was loud and rough, and I was never done patching his torn breeks and darning his socks, and … Oh, Jake, I did love him. I did. I did, and I’m ashamed of some of the things I said.’

He patted her back, unheedful that her flowing tears were saturating the collar of his shirt, unmindful that they were both well into their fifties and would be mortified if anyone happened to come and catch them. ‘We can put a’ that ahin’ us, my lovie. We’ve got a grandson noo, a grandson to be prood o’; you’ve naething to be ashamed for. Willie was jist … Willie was jist Willie, and we’ll never forget him, but we’ll ha’e to get on wi’ oor lives. But keep mindin’ one thing, my dearie. I’ve loved you fae the first time I saw you, I’ve never stopped lovin’ you an’ I never will.’

Giving her no time to reply, he twisted his head to kiss her, their tears mingling, their hearts beating almost in unison, as they hadn’t done for many years. They jumped apart at the sound of a vehicle drawing up outside, and barely had time to wipe away the signs of their emotions before a tap came on their door. All Jake could see from the window was the tail end of a motor he didn’t recognise, and before he was halfway to the door, it opened and their caller walked in.

Jake stared, trying to place the elegant figure who was looking at him in exactly the same manner as …

‘Becky! Dear Lord, it’s Becky!’ his wife screamed, nearly knocking him over in her haste to welcome the daughter she had thought was lost to her for ever.

The meeting, bordering on the hysterical, could not possibly have lasted much longer without the two elderly people breaking down altogether. Coming on top of what they had gone through earlier, although an answer to their dreams, it was too much to bear. All three had wept together, had kissed and patted, had laughed as well as cried, and Jake had to mutter, eventually, ‘Oh, I’ll need to sit doon. I dinna ken if I’m imaginin’ this or if it’s really happenin’.’

‘It’s really happening, Pop,’ Becky grinned, then turned to her mother. ‘I could be doing with a cup of tea, Mom, I’ve been on the go since dawn.’

‘Yes, of course. You sit down and I’ll make some.’ Emily shifted the kettle nearer the fire.

‘Wait or I get a good look at you,’ Jake said, pulling the young woman round to where he could see her better. ‘You’re lookin’ weel, ony road.’

Becky was indeed looking the picture of health. Slimmer than she had once been, yet not anywhere near skinny, she filled her obviously made-to-measure two-piece costume very nicely, rounded bosom, nipped in waist, neat derrière. Its colour matched her cornflower-blue eyes. Her flawless skin was lightly tanned, her cheeks and lips were made up to look in the same shade, not too pale, not in the least brash, as she had once been. Her dainty feet were encased in Cuban-heeled suede shoes in the same shade of darker blue as the handbag she had thrown on the old couch. Her hat, on the floor where it had been knocked by the vigorous greeting she had received, matched the other accessories.

‘There’s nae shortage o’ money wi’ you, I’m pleased to see,’ her father observed now, ‘and your Mam’s been worried sick that you maybe hadna two maiks to rub thegither.’

Sitting down, Becky said, ‘For the first few years I was there, I didn’t have two ha’pennies to rub together, but then I met Buddy.’

Emily looked round from setting out cups and saucers. ‘Buddy? Is that his real name?’

‘It’s what he answers to, but his real name is Charles Grover Goldstein, the Third.’

‘He’s a Jew?’ Jake’s voice gave no sign of disapproval or otherwise.

‘Yes, he’s a Jew, and he’s a really nice guy. His grand-father, the first Charles Grover Goldstein, came from Russia in the 1880s, and started a small business that grew and grew till he had factories right across the States.’

‘Making what?’ Jake asked, purely to show interest, nothing else.

‘You know something, Pop, I couldn’t tell you. As long as we’ve gotten enough to let us live the good life, I don’t give a damn what they make.’

Inwardly amused at how Americanised she’d become, Jake wished that he had his old daughter back, before remembering that the old Becky had also had a hankering after the good life. That was the reason she’d left home in the first place. ‘So how did you meet this Buddy?’ he asked now, for she couldn’t have been mixing with those kinds of people.

‘Oh, Pop, it was the funniest thing,’ she laughed. ‘I was pretty near down to my last cent at the time, and I’d had nothing to eat all day, but my lipstick was down to the bare metal and I had to get a new one. It was a case of a hamburger and a coffee, or a lipstick and a coffee with a bun of some kind, and I wouldn’t have been seen dead without my lipstick, so I went in a diner for a coffee and a bagel.’

‘What’s a bagel?’ her mother asked as she filled the teacups – the best china tea-set because this was an extra-special guest.

‘Oh, it’s a Jewish bun. I didn’t notice it was a Jew-run diner.’

‘And your Buddy whatever was in there, as well?’ Emily wanted to know.

‘Yeah. He told me I shouldn’t be eating a dry bagel, and when I said I couldn’t afford to have a filling, he bought me a proper meal.’

‘That was very kind of him, and you got to know him better?’ Like all mothers, Emily wanted to learn about her daughter’s friends.

‘Not half. He seemed to be taken with me so I went out with him a few times, then he started wanting to see me every day.’

Jake was eyeing her contemplatively. ‘An’ you were happy to let him spend money on you? Did you like him as much as he seemed to like you?’

‘Well no, not really. I did like him a little bit, but that was all. Still, I’d been working as a salesgirl in a Woolworth’s store and had got the sack for being late a few times, so I was glad this guy was buying my meals. Then he asked me to move in with him, but I drew the line at that, so I said no.’

‘I’m glad you still had some sense,’ Jake said now, although recalling her marriage to Jackie Burns, he realised that she had always been out for what she could get.

‘Then he asked me if I would do him the honour of becoming his wife and I said yes. So you are speaking to Mrs Charles Grover Goldstein the Third.’

Emily gave a smiling approval of this. ‘He sounds a real nice man.’

‘He is, Mom, and he lets me have everything I ask for – no quibbles about the cost.’

‘You landed on your feet, right enough.’

But Jake wasn’t so easily hoodwinked; something didn’t sound right. ‘Aye, maybe, but we’ll ha’e the truth now, Becky, if you please. I’m mebbe jist a common fairm labourer, but I’m nae daft.’