The River Flows On (8 page)

‘Well?’he demanded.

It came out in a rush. “They think I should stay on at school. Then go to the Art School, up in Glasgow. They think I’m good enough. They think I could try for a scholarship. That would pay the fees and give me money for materials, and a small allowance, a living allowance. They really think I’m good enough.’ Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the bubbling excitement and pride out of her voice. She smiled up at him.

‘Of course you’re good enough,’ said loyal Robbie. ‘Have I not always told you that? You’re great at drawing and painting and all that sort of stuff.’ He smiled back at her, a long slow smile. It brought a deep curve to his mouth and a sparkle to his grey eyes.

‘What?’ asked Kate.

‘Nothing,’ he said, still smiling broadly at her. ‘Nothing. Come on, let’s go and tell everybody.’

Robbie’s wee sisters were playing at skipping in the back court. Barbara and Flora were holding a length of rope and Alice and some other girls were taking their turn at jumping. Barbara and Flora swung the rope gently backwards and forwards and Alice began jumping over it as they all chanted the song.

‘Christopher Columbus was a very brave man, he sailed through the ocean in an old tin can. The waves grew higher and higher and OVER!’

The last word was the signal for the two rope wielders to change from rocky to coy, swinging the rope in an arc over the head and under the feet of the skipper. Sometimes a girl was caught out straight away, tangled in the rope, but Alice was good at skipping. All the girls joined in the number count. ‘Five-ten-fifteen-twenty...’ The winner was the one who reached the highest number without the rope catching her ankles. Towser the dog was watching them with great interest, his eyes and his head following the movement of the rope.

On the way past, Robbie reached out and ruffled Barbara’s hair. She scowled at him, but refused to allow the disturbance to break her concentration. Alice was still jumping. ‘Eighty-five-ninety. Ninety-five-a hundred...’

The young voices followed them as they plunged out of the sunlight of the April afternoon into the darkness of the close.

‘Your mother’ll give you a doing, Robert Baxter,’ Kate laughed. ‘You’ve just ruined what was left of Barbara’s waves.’

Robbie laughed too, his smile a flash of white in the gloom of the close. ‘No, she’ll not. I’m too big for her now, anyway.’ He stopped and laid a tentative hand on Kate’s shoulder. ‘I’m that pleased for you, Kate-’ He broke off. ‘What was that?’

It was a voice, echoing down the stairwell - Lily’s voice, high-pitched and angry. She was letting rip with a stream of invective. Whoever she was shouting at didn’t seem to be answering back. Kate looked anxiously at Robbie. Front doors were opening all around them.

‘In the name o’ God ...’

‘Neil’s for it this time - and that’s a fact.’

Agnes Baxter appeared at her door on the first landing. ‘Ma!’ said Robbie. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

Agnes’s glance slid past her son to Kate. ‘Och, Kate, hen, I’m sorry. Your Da’s been paid off. The whole o’ the Black Squad. And your own father’s not home yet, Robbie... MrMacLean told me that a crowd of them went along to Connolly’s and they were there most of the afternoon.’

Robbie took the stairs two at a time, Kate and Agnes following him as fast as they could. Neil Cameron sat slumped in his chair in front of the range. His wife was standing over him, her hands on her hips. Her golden hair, escaping from its pins, was falling in wisps about her face. She was calling him - or rather miscalling him - for everything under the sun.

Jessie and Pearl, sitting as still as china statues on the edge of the box bed, had eyes as big as saucers. Granny, smiling gently in the corner, was oblivious to the drama being played out in the kitchen. From beneath the curtain which covered the space under the jaw-box sink, Kate saw the tips of two paws and a white nose peeking out. Mr Asquith had obviously decided that discretion was the better part of valour. If the scene hadn’t been so tragic, it might have been comic.

Neil Cameron smiled stupidly up at his wife. She lifted an arm, ready to strike him. He made no move to defend himself. He seemed rather to be inviting it, something like a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

‘Go on, then,’ he said softly to her. ‘Do it.’

Fleetingly, Kate had another image of them before her eyes; the memory of her mother on her knees in front of the range, combing out her hair, her father stooping to lift her into his embrace...

The expression on Lily’s face was unreadable. She drew her arm further back, ready to deliver the blow. Jessie gasped when she saw her mother’s hand go up.

Robbie took two rapid strides across the room. ‘Now, now Mrs Cameron. You’ll not be doing that. You might regret it later.’

Lily turned on Robbie then, eyes flashing. ‘Do you know what he’s done? Do you know?’

‘I think I can guess,’ murmured Robbie, ‘but hitting him won’t help anybody, now will it?’ He put his hand on her elbow. She drew in a breath, staring at him. Then, suddenly, her whole body seemed to relax and she allowed Robbie to lead her to the rocking chair on the other side of the range and push her into it, gesturing to his mother to come and stand by her.

‘Has he drunk all his pay, Lily?’ asked Agnes, her good-natured face lined with anxious enquiry.

‘Aye, he’s drunk his pay, the rotten, no-good bloody bugger! There’s only half a crown left.’ She dug into the pocket of her apron and threw the coin onto the floor. ‘And there’s no work anywhere along the river. None o’ them has got any orders.’ She sank her face into her hands. Just as suddenly her head snapped back up and her eyes fixed on Kate..

‘There’ll be no more school for you,’ she said. ‘That’s you finished wi’ that. Come Monday, you’re out knocking on doors, looking for work.’

‘The lassie’s staying on at school!’ They had all been focused on Lily and hadn’t noticed Neil getting to his feet. He stood there, swaying, dwarfing the kitchen with his height. He repeated it, bellowing the words out. ‘The lassie’s staying on! To make something of herself!’

Pushing Agnes Baxter’s restraining hand aside, Lily rose to her feet and squared up to her husband.

‘Like you’ve made something of yourself, Neil Cameron?’ she demanded. ‘You’re a waster, that’s what you are.’ She poked him in the chest with one finger to emphasize her point. ‘Och, you were handsome enough. Still are, when you’re not guttered, but you’ll never amount to anything.’

Like a balloon pricked by a silver pin, the fight went out of Neil Cameron. ‘Don’t be like that, Lily. It was the war, Lily, that’s what did for me ...’

His voice tailed off in the face of his wife’s contempt. ‘Other men came back from the war and made a go of it. What happened to you? Nae backbone, that’s your trouble.’

His eyes, terribly, filled with tears. ‘Och, Lily ...’

Kate, stunned with the horror of it all, stood frozen. She should do something, but what? She had no idea. She only knew she wanted it to end.

Agnes Baxter took control. She gestured to Pearl and Jessie to climb down from the bed and ushered them towards the door. ‘Girls, away ben to the front room and get your wee brother and go down to our house. Jessie, fetch Barbara from the back court and tell her to give everyone a scone. They’re new baked.’

Jessie and Pearl looked anxiously to Kate for reassurance as they left the room. She couldn’t seem to find any words of comfort to offer them. She couldn’t even manage a reassuring smile.

‘Neil, sit down here and I’ll make you and Lily a cup of tea.’ Agnes pulled Neil back to his chair. Once she had him settled in it, she straightened up, turned round and took in Kate’s rigid form and white face. She exchanged a glance with her son. ‘Robbie, why don’t you take Kate out for a wee while?’

Robbie shot Kate a glance, then gestured to Neil. ‘Are you sure you can manage him, Ma?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘Aye, son. The worst’s over.’ She was right. Both Neil and Lily were slumped in their respective chairs. Agnes lifted a hand to pat her son on the shoulder.

‘There’s some money in the silver tea caddy on the sideboard. Why don’t you take Kate to the pictures? Take her mind off it, like.’

‘Aye, Ma. We’ll do that. All right, Kate?’

They took a tram along to Clydebank and saw a cowboy picture. Of that much Kate was aware. She couldn’t have told anybody what the story was, or even who the stars were. When they came out of the cinema, Robbie said one word. ‘Home?’

Kate shook the chestnut-brown waves of her hair. ‘No. Not yet. Can we - can we walk a bit?’

‘Of course we can. There’s no rush.’

Kate managed a small smile. ‘You’re looking after me well. You and your mother both.’

Robbie shrugged.

‘You know,’ Kate went on. ‘Where I was this afternoon - at the Art School and the tearoom I mean-‘ She paused, lifted her hand to indicate Dumbarton Road. ‘Well, it’s only up in Glasgow, no more than a few miles away, but in another way it might as well be on the moon. I’m never going to get there. It’s not for the likes of us, that’s the trouble, only you keep hoping and hoping that it might be.’

Robbie had fallen silent by her side, his eyes downcast, listening to what she was saying.

‘Not for the likes of us,’ she repeated softly.

He looked up then, his expression fierce. ‘You’re not to say that, Kate. I won’t have you saying that. There’s got to be a way we can get you there, some way you can stay on at school.’

‘Oh, Robbie,’ said Kate, angry with him, herself and the whole world. ‘You know I can’t stay on at school after what happened this afternoon. I’ve got to get a job. You heard her. She’s always on about it. Thinks I’ve stayed on far too long already. And she’s right, I suppose. With my father laid off again, someone’ll have to start bringing some money into the house. There’s only me as can do it.’ To her horror, her eyes filled with tears. She turned her head away quickly, but not quickly enough.

‘Och, Kate,’ Robbie said, running an angry hand through his already tousled locks. ‘Och, Kate,’ he repeated. He was frowning. ‘Come on, let’s get the tram along a couple of stops and go for a walk by the river.’

The river. Her refuge. Unchanging and yet always changing. Today it was dark as ink, gliding peacefully in the evening sun to the open sea. The sky was impossibly blue, the clouds white and fluffy.

‘You wouldn’t think it was near nine o’clock, would you?’

Apart from that one comment, Robbie walked tall and silent beside her. She was grateful for that. He didn’t try to offer empty words of comfort. She said as much to him. He stopped dead beside her, twisting his flat cap in his hands and stared at her, his eyes very clear beneath angry black brows. She took an involuntary step backwards.

‘Christ!’ he said explosively. ‘Not offer you comfort! And you’re grateful to me for that! Jesus Christ, Kathleen Cameron!’

She stared at him. This was a new Robbie, one whose eyes flashed with anger and frustration; one who squared his shoulders and tossed his head back, glaring at her; not a boy any more, but a man. It gave her a funny feeling inside, one she couldn’t explain. One she didn’t want to explain.

He quietened. ‘I’m sorry for taking the Lord’s name in vain,’ he said stiffly.

‘Robbie?’ She reached out a hand to him.

‘Come on,’ he said, moving away from her. ‘I think I can just about afford to buy you an ice cream at Pelosi’s. Are you coming?’

‘Robbie?’ she said again. She caught him up and laid a hand on his arm, her fingers curving round his elbow. He stopped but didn’t look at her. The wind off the river lifted his dark hair.

‘Promise me something.’

‘What?’ His voice had a raw edge to it.

‘That you’ll get out of here. That you’ll go to sea. Make something of yourself.’ She grimaced, remembering when she had last heard that phrase used.