The Nickum (33 page)

The tears that sprang to his eyes made her pause in her task. ‘What’s wrong, my lamb?’

‘Kissmapezzie,’ he repeated, his piping voice wavering a little.

‘Kissmapezzie?’ she echoed, searching for the meaning, then, remembering that the cook she had employed some weeks ago seemed to understand his babblings, she opened the door to the kitchen and called for her.

‘Aye, was you wantin’ me?’ The stout woman, a result of repeatedly tasting what she was cooking, came through at once, her hands white with the flour she was using.

‘Yes, Mary. Can you understand what Billy’s saying?’ She turned to the woebegone figure on the rug. ‘Tell Cook what you’re doing.’

‘Kissmapezzie,’ he said, looking hopefully at the other woman.

The cook looked back at her mistress. ‘Did you tell him what you were doin’?’

‘Wrapping Christmas presents.’

The two women gazed at each other, then, in a flash, the answer occurred to both of them, and at last, with a grin at her own stupidity, Margaret exclaimed, ‘Christmas present. Is that what you’re saying? Are you trying to wrap the cat up as a Christmas present?’

He beamed at her happily, and she whipped him into her arms to kiss him. ‘Oh, my lovie, what a silly Grandma you’ve got.’

‘Sillagamma,’ he agreed, turning to continue his impossible task, but the cat had taken advantage of his inattention and made good his escape.

Billy continued his entry into sentence-making as the time went on, but never succeeded to any great extent. Emily, who could remember how fluent Willie had been at the same age, was a little worried about the boy’s lack of progress, but Millie assured her that each child was different, and some took much longer to do things than others. ‘Some can speak early, some can walk early. As long as they are making an attempt, it’s nothing serious.’

But something serious did happen – or to be truthful, something that could have had a tragic outcome but, fortunately, didn’t. It started on another day when Margaret Meldrum was very busy and had asked Cook to look after Billy in the kitchen. Of course, she, too, was busy, and when the little boy managed to open the back door and went outside, she wasn’t worried. The garden was entirely enclosed by a tall wooden fence, and the child was quite safe. The only damage he could do, she told herself, was to pull the leaves off a few plants, and that was all right as long as it kept him out of other mischief.

She didn’t see the escapee lever himself under one of the struts of the fence and find himself on the path to freedom. This path divided the grounds of the house from the field some cows were grazing in, and Billy had always been interested in the cows, which he could see from the kitchen window as well as from the garden. As he toddled up to the gate, the cows, as all cows do, came towards him curiously, watching as he fumbled with the catch and coming out obediently as the gate swung open. Some went up the path, some went down the path, some stood uncertainly, not knowing what was expected of them. This was not their usual milking time, their liberator was not the usual tow-headed boy who led them to the byre.

For a few moments, Billy stood waiting for this small group to make up their minds, then he looked up the path at the five Freisians who were making their bulky way slowly towards the byre, and then, turning, he studied the four who were heading for the main road. Not that Billy knew where any of them were going. All that mattered to him was that he had freed them. Satisfied with himself, he went back to where he had himself escaped and finally to the kitchen, where Mary felt a little relieved that he had come to no harm in the garden.

It was about fifteen minutes later when Mararet Meldrum had to answer the door to a caller. ‘I was passing in my car,’ the man explained, looking quite flustered, she thought, ‘and I nearly knocked down one of your cows when I came round the corner. There’s four of them on the road. They could cause a bad accident.’

‘My goodness, yes,’ she exclaimed, ‘but they’re not our cows. This is the schoolhouse; it’s Wester Burnton Farm that owns the cows. It’s all right, though. I’ll phone them and let them know. Thanks very much for telling us.’

Johnny McIntyre was very grateful to be told, but completely at a loss to know how the beasts had got out, even warning the police to be on the lookout for some fool of a ‘townser’ that thought it was funny to open farm gates and let animals out. Herbert Meldrum couldn’t understand it either, when he came home at lunchtime and was told. ‘Did you not see anything from the kitchen?’ he asked Mary.

‘I was busy, Mr Meldrum,’ she said, a little guiltily, he thought.

‘But Billy was with you all forenoon,’ Margaret pointed out. ‘He usually watches the cows from the window, doesn’t he? He’d have told you if he’d seen anything different.’

Billy himself came toddling through now, and the headmaster bent down to ask him, ‘Did you see anything over in the field this morning, Billy? Did anybody let the cows out?’

He smiled at the man beatifically. ‘Moocoosootapay.’ The three adults looked at each other hopelessly, then Mary said, ‘Wait a mintie. He’s sayin’ “moo-cows”.’

‘He said “moo-coos”,’ corrected Herbert.

‘Well, that’s me,’ she admitted. ‘I often say, “Look at the moo-coos.” He likes to watch them.’

‘He is speaking about the cows, then. Right, Billy, what else did you say? Moo-coos what?’

‘Moocoosootapay.’

‘Ootapay? What the devil …?’

Mary’s hand flew up to her face. ‘Oh, that’s likely me, an’ all. I usually ask him if he wants oot to play, if he’s standin’ at the door.’

With a twitch at the corner of his mouth, Herbert said, ‘So he’s saying the cows were out to play? But, Billy, who let them out? Somebody must have opened the gate. Did you see?’

He patted his chest. ‘Billy.’

It was some time before they solved the whole mystery – the sneaking under the fence, the opening of the latch. ‘By God, he’s quick, this lad,’ his grandfather said proudly, ‘but we’ll need to fix that fence so he can’t get out again. Anything could have happened. There could have been some bad accidents, with the amount of cars that go on that road, not only the cows, either. Billy himself might have gone on to the road with them. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Meldrum,’ Mary snivelled. ‘I didna ken he …’

‘It’s not your fault, Mary. Don’t upset yourself. It’s just this little …’

‘Nickum,’ his wife cut in, before he could say anything stronger.

The last word, naturally, was Billy’s. Looking at one after the other he pronounced carefully but forcefully, ‘Nickum!’

When Emily was told of her grandson’s latest escapade, she did not join in the Meldrums’ laughter, but it was only when the visitors had gone and the mischievous little boy was safely tucked up asleep that she mentioned her thoughts to her husband.

‘I can’t get over how much Billy is getting to be like Willie. He’s got the same eyes, dancing with devilment, the same cheeky grin that melts folks’ hearts.’

‘But not yours?’ Jake put it as a question, sure that he knew the answer, but he was wrong.

‘Yes, mine as well,’ she said, sounding as if she were sorry rather than pleased.

‘There’s nothing wrong in that. He’s a taking way aboot him. It’s like father, like son.’

‘That’s what’s bothering me, Jake. Can’t you see? He’s going the same way as Willie. He’ll be the same when he goes to school, he’ll be clever, he’ll deserve higher education, there’ll be a war and he’ll be killed – just like his father.’

Jake showed shock at her pessimism. ‘My God, Em, you’re fairly lookin’ on the black side.’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’ll grow up a lovable rogue, as they say, and he’ll end up like most of them – killed through their own stupidity. No,’ she corrected herself, hastily. ‘Killed because of their own thoughtlessness. They don’t consider the consequences before they do anything.’

‘Emmy, my lovie, you’re tired. You’re nae really fit to be lookin’ after a wee laddie – a wee nickum,’ he added, trying in vain to make her laugh, because it had become a standing joke. ‘I’ll tell Herbert next Sunday this’ll be oor last week.’

‘No, no. I’m all right. It’s just … oh I don’t know what it is. Just a queer feeling I have, now and again, that something’s going to happen – change. Don’t ask, for I don’t understand it myself.’

Several more days passed, during which Emily prepared herself for a shock of some kind, but when nothing had happened by the following Sunday, other than Billy emptying the contents of her flour bin onto the kitchen floor when she had run out to take in the washing because the rain had come on. Unfortunately, the rain had been absolutely torrential, and her dripping feet and the water running off the long oilskin coat of Jake’s that she had put on made a thin paste form on the congoleum, so that it became as slippery as ice. Negotiating it as carefully as she could she still skidded and almost fell, and the delighted little boy tried to slide on it, getting himself in a right mess in the process by constantly tumbling down, on purpose.

She was thus more tired than usual by the time Sunday came round, and was looking forward to her ‘free’ week. At the usual time on the Sunday afternoon, Herbert Meldrum’s car drew up outside the gate, but it was Millie who came in to collect her son. ‘Dad’s busy with some reorganisation he’s thinking of doing at the school,’ she explained, ‘and I think he’s beginning to trust me not to bash his car. It’s over a year since I passed my test and this is actually the very first time he’s let me touch it.’

‘I’ve heard some men think mair o’ their cars than their bairns,’ Jake laughed, ‘but me? I’m content to be on Shanks’s mare. Nae that I could afford a car, in ony case.’

‘How are you two, this week?’ she asked now. ‘No problems with this little monkey?’

Emily shot a quick glance at her husband, who ignored the message. ‘Weel, lass, I’m nae that bad, but Emily’s real tired. We was wonderin’ …’

‘Oh, don’t tell me you want to stop having Billy?’ Her eyes were filled with tears. ‘Mum hasn’t been well at all this week, and the doctor says it’s her heart. He told her she’d better let the child’s other grandmother take over for a while, but …’

Her worry for her mother was so obvious that Emily’s heart went out to her. She loved this girl, who could have been their daughter-in-law and was indeed just like a daughter to them. ‘No, it’s all right, Millie. I’ve just been a bit down this week, that’s all, but I’ll be fine. Just leave him here.’

‘Are you sure, though? I don’t want you cracking up as well. I know he’s a proper handful.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Emily assured her.

‘We can do your washing for you – I’m sure that would help. Dad bought Mum a new washing machine. The old one was hard work, you know, with having to use the handle to make the agitator work, and the gas ring underneath took quite a long time to heat the water. Plus she had to fill it and empty it with a pail, but this new one’s got a hose to fix to the tap, and one to take the water down the drain. Better still, since it’s plugged into the electricity, that’s what works the agitator, the water heats in no time. Marvellous. So don’t you carry on slaving. I’ll change your bed sheets and things, and let me have all your dirty clothes. I can come every Sunday morning, and take back the laundered things the next week. That should save you some work, mm?’

Overcome by this offer, Emily said weakly, ‘I couldn’t let you do that.’

‘Why not? Just think of what you’ve done for me. Please, Emily, it’ll let me think I’m not taking advantage of you.’

‘But you don’t manage to come home every weekend, so …’

‘I’ll make sure I do come home. Anyway, Dad’s speaking about getting Mum a woman in to help with the housework, and do the laundry and all the heavier work. It’ll all work out perfectly.’

She started by changing the sheets in the box bed in the kitchen, then went through to the other room to change those on her son’s single bed, saying as she went through the door, ‘You can look out whatever else there is to wash.’

Husband and wife regarded each other as if in shock, but at last Jake grinned. ‘By gum! She’s doesna waste time, does she? Oor Willie would’ve been a lucky man gettin’ a wife like that.’ He regretted the words the minute they were out, for his wife’s eyes had clouded over.

‘We can’t let her do this, Jake. It would be like us taking advantage of her.’

‘She’ll nae think that, never fret. She’s young an’ fit, an’ willin’. If this is the change you’ve been worryin’ aboot, it’s the best thing that coulda happened. Except for Margaret Meldrum’s he’rt, of course.’

Billy didn’t seem to mind staying with his ‘Gamma an’ Ganda Fowlie’, and nodded happily when his mother told him, ‘Grandma and Granda Meldrum will come to see you as often as they can.’

It had all been arranged so quickly that Emily lay in bed that night wondering if she had been dreaming. This was certainly a change, but not what she had worried about. Still, she assured herself, as her mother-in-law used to say, ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’ The washing machine would take a load of work off her shoulders, and give her more time to enjoy her grandson, wee Nickum though he certainly was. In any case, he’d be going to school in little more than a year.

Almost three weeks later, when she heard the car drawing up at the door, Emily thought at first that it would be Herbert Meldrum bringing back the laundry early for some reason, but it wasn’t his car she saw when she lifted the net curtain to make sure. It was the Tillyburnie taxi, and a tall, gaunt young man was coming out. He gestured to the driver to wait until he made sure he had come to the right place, she thought – and then strode over and knocked on the door. She opened it warily.

‘Mrs Jacob Fowlie?’ he asked.

She liked the look of him, pleasant manner, very pale complexion, but he likely worked inside an office somewhere. If he hadn’t looked so respectable, she would have thought he was just out of prison or some kind of confinement, but he wasn’t that kind at all. ‘Yes?’

He turned and signed to the driver, who moved away at once. ‘You don’t know me, Mrs Fowlie, but you may have heard of me. My name is Pat Michie …’