Towards a Dark Horizon (20 page)

I wondered if, at this moment, Kathleen was smiling and laughing? I doubted it very much.

I knew Kathleen wasn’t alone in her predicament. There were hundreds of girls like her but they didn’t have Sammy Malloy as the father of their baby. Still, I had to charitable and hope there was a nicer side to his nature because I was biased against him and his father for all the trouble with Danny. I had never met Mrs Malloy and maybe she was a good soul. Maybe Sammy had inherited some good points. Nothing was impossible.

I didn’t see Danny all that week but Granny handed me a parcel one afternoon. It was some of Danny’s outgrown clothes. I was amazed Hattie had kept them.

‘Och she’s a hoarder is our Hattie,’ said Granny when I expressed my delight with them. ‘She kept them in her blanket box and she was aye meaning to throw them out but never got round to it.’

There were two pairs of long trousers in wonderful condition, three shirts, a jacket and two hardly-worn woollen jumpers. I reckoned they should fit young Davie perfectly. There was just the one obstacle – I didn’t want to hand them over in the shop. I always thought charity should be given unseen. I had a vague idea where he lived and I made a mental promise to deliver them as soon as possible but I didn’t know his surname. I would have to ask Connie in a casual way.

I got my chance the next morning when he arrived for his delivery. His jumper was so short that a good four inches of his arms poked out from the sleeves.

For once Connie hadn’t managed to finish her pile of papers which meant Davie had to stand by the counter and wait. Fortunately the shop was empty so I had my chance. ‘You know, Davie, after all this time I don’t know your second name.’

He looked at me in astonishment and Connie twirled round. I was highly embarrassed by her attention. Especially when she laughed and said, ‘He’s a bit young for you, is he not, Ann?’

I felt myself blush and the harder I tried to stop it the worse it became. I had planned to get his name and address but there was no way I could find out now.

Connie chuckled loudly. ‘Och, I’m just kidding you. Tell her your name Davie and put her out of her misery.’

It was his turn to blush. He stuttered slightly, ‘It’s … it’s Chambers – Davie Chambers.’

I gave a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a common name so I should find no difficulty in finding his mother’s house tonight. I had planned my strategy well. Not wanting to give her the parcel in front of him I had decided to make my visit when he was busy with the
Evening Telegraph
deliveries. It would mean taking Lily along with me because I could never be sure when Dad would arrive home – especially now that Margot was on the scene.

After school and just before our tea we set off. Thankfully, it was dark and I felt like some spy from a film. In fact, it was Lily who said this as we searched through the warren of houses that lay beyond the front facade on the Hilltown.

The close leading from the street was narrow enough but it opened out into a large backland full of tenement houses. I was dismayed. It would take all night at this rate.

Lily said, ‘Where does he live, Ann? Do you know what house he lives in?’

I shook my head. ‘No, Lily, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll just have to hand him the parcel tomorrow.’

I saw an old woman. She seemed to appear from nowhere. One minute it was just a mass of dark shadows then this figure hurried by, clutching her message bag and pulling her coat tightly around her body. She stopped when she saw us. She looked uncertain and I had the foolish notion that she thought we were about to rob her.

Before she moved off, I spoke. ‘I’m looking for Mrs Chambers. Can you tell me where she stays?’

As the woman moved towards us, I noticed she was really old but she had sharp, dark eyes.

‘Mrs Chambers bides over there – those houses on the far side.’ She pointed with a thin finger in the direction of another shadowy mass. ‘She bides three stairs up but her name is not on the door.’ She peered at us both again. ‘You’ll be wanting your stairs washed, no doubt.’

On that reproving remark she departed. If she gave a backward glance I didn’t see it. We moved towards the houses she had pointed out. Finding Mrs Chambers was difficult because most of the gas lamps on the stair were either broken or not lit.

Lily held on to my hand tight in case she got lost. ‘It’s really creepy here, Ann. I hope there’s no ghosts.’

I laughed. ‘Of course there’s no ghosts, you daft wee lassie.’ Although I sounded jokey, I wasn’t too keen on these dark stairs myself. Another problem was the number of unmarked doors on the third landing. I decided to knock on the first door. It was opened by a young mother who was carrying a small child. The smell of cooking wafted out and I could see she was harassed.

‘I’m sorry to bother you but I’m looking for Mrs Chambers.’

The woman pointed to the far end of the dark lobby. ‘It’s the door facing you.’

The child began to howl, no doubt wanting its tea, and the woman went back inside. Once the door was closed the lobby became black as night. We literally had to feel our way towards the door but it was opened on our first knock.

‘Mrs Chambers, can I come in for a minute?’ I asked.

The woman held the door open. ‘Aye, come away in.’

She was a tall woman, gaunt faced and grey haired. She showed us to the chairs beside the fire and I could also smell the cooking on the tiny gas cooker by the side of the sink.

‘Is it your stairs you want washing?’ she said, pulling a small book down from behind the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I have to keep a note of my customers and the times.’ She smiled and her face was transformed into a more youthful look. ‘I call this my social diary.’ She laughed and I liked her very much. It didn’t look as if she had got a great deal out of life. The room was small and sparsely furnished and her clothes, although clean, were pretty threadbare. Still, she still had her sense of humour.

I explained I didn’t want my stairs washed and her face fell as she replaced her book. I had the parcel on my knee but I didn’t know how to begin about the clothes.

Before I could speak, however, Lily said, ‘My sister Ann works in the same shop as Davie and she’s got some clothes she wants him to have. They belonged to my cousin Danny but he’s too big for them now and his mother was going to throw them out but Ann thought about your laddie.’ She stopped for breath and I was mortified. I had intended to approach the subject warily – after all, some poor people didn’t like the idea of charity in the shape of discarded clothes or discarded anything.

Mrs Chambers, who had remained silent throughout Lily’s speech, now burst out laughing.

I said, ‘But only if you want them, Mrs Chambers. My auntie was thinking of putting them out like my sister said.’

‘Well, that’s right kind of you both and, if they fit my Davie, then they’ll be a blessing indeed. That laddie seems to eat me out of house and home and he’s growing at an alarming rate. This room will soon not be big enough for us both.’ She gave another deep chuckle and I marvelled once more at her great spirit.

I knew she was a widow and I also knew that she travelled around the town on her stair-washing chores. This was a job that people hated and some were quite prepared to pay a small sum for the privilege of someone else doing it – although it had to be said that her employers were mostly people with a bit of money. The majority of people I knew, myself included, washed their own stairs – it was simply a case of having to.

We found our way back through the darkness and we had just emerged into the Hilltown when we met the old woman trudging along with her heavy message bag. She peered at us. ‘Did you find Mrs Chambers?’

‘Aye, we did. Thank you for helping us,’ I answered.

As she walked away, I had to smile. She was muttering to herself, ‘Young lassie like that wanting old Mrs Chambers to wash her stair! Bloody disgrace when I’ve got to trauchle down with my bucket and brush and wash my own.’

I could have put her right on two points – the stair washing and the fact that Davie’s mother wasn’t old. She just looked like thousands of women who were old before their time. The entire city was full of women who had once been pretty and full of life but were now worn down by husbands without work and children having to be reared on little money. No wonder their faces showed the strain and gave them old expressions that belied their years.

Next morning, the look on Davie’s face gave me a moment of pleasure. The clothes fitted him perfectly and he wore the trousers, shirt, jumper and jacket. What a difference it made to him and I was reminded once again of the russet cashmere coat, Mrs Barrie’s gift to me – it had given me such delight and confidence in myself.

Connie was speechless when he entered. ‘Goodness me, Davie, I didn’t know you! What a toff!You could go straight to Buckingham Palace in those togs, I can tell you.’

He glanced shyly over at me but I shook my head. I had told his mother last night that no one knew about the parcel and she could tell anyone she liked that she had bought them. Then I noticed that, although his gloves were cosy and hand-knitted, his shoes were really old and done. Blast it, I thought. I hadn’t thought about shoes but I would remedy this later in the day. I also knew that Hattie had never spared any expense on Danny and all his things were good quality.

After he had gone, Connie said, ‘Thank goodness the laddie has some decent clothes. His mother must have joined a clubbie to get him kitted out but I’m really pleased for him. I’ve often thought that if I had kiddies of my own then I could pass things down but, as you know, Ann, I’ve never been married.’

She gave me such a searching look and I could have sworn she knew. I remained silent and she went back to her papers. She was certainly a good judge of human nature was our Connie. It came from all her years of serving the public, I thought.

I was on my way home after leaving a note through Hattie’s door regarding the shoes when I bumped into Minnie and Peter. He wasn’t eating ice cream today – it was too cold for that. Instead he had a bag of sherbet dip and his little face was concentrating on dipping the liquorice stick into the paper bag full of sugary yellow sherbet.

Minnie looked pleased to see me. ‘I was hoping to run into you, Ann.’

I smiled at them both. ‘Hullo, Peter.’

He lifted his head briefly and gave me a smile.

The wind whistled around our feet as we stood at the junction of Westport and Tay Street.

‘Come on up to Granny’s house, Minnie,’ I said. ‘It’s far too cold to be standing outside.’

We set off towards the house with Peter still mesmerised with his sherbet. I hoped Bella wouldn’t be in the house and, thankfully, she wasn’t. Although Minnie liked her, I don’t think she would enjoy a third degree inquisition from her.

Granny had made some tea for Grandad but he was dozing in his chair and she hadn’t wanted to wake him.

When we entered, her face lit up. ‘Heavens you must’ve smelt the teapot, Ann!’

We sat at the table and Peter said, ‘Where’s the box of comics, Mummy?’

Granny went over and took them from the fender box. This was Lily’s favourite place to sit. The brass fender, with its twin padded seats at either end, was one of the warmest spots in the room.

He placed his precious sherbet beside him and sat quietly by the fire.

‘He can take them home with him, Minnie, because Lily has finished reading them. I don’t like throwing them out when another bairn can get some pleasure from them.’

Minnie thanked her but then said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Neill, but my mother would just throw them out because she doesn’t like clutter.’

Granny nodded. ‘Well, we’ll keep them here for Peter and he can read them when he comes to visit.’

Minnie looked sad. ‘That’ll not be for a long time I think, Mrs Neill.’ She turned to me. ‘I’ve had a letter from my man and he’s been shifted to a branch in Clydebank and he’s managed to get a house organised. He’s looking forward to seeing us again.’ She didn’t look very happy about it.

Granny was concerned. ‘If you’re not happy, Minnie, well, don’t go back. After all, it’s your life – although I have to say that a man with a job these days is very rare.’

‘That’s what my mother aye says. She keeps telling me I don’t know when I’m well off but, as I was saying to Ann, I don’t make friends very easily and it makes for a lonely time.’

‘Aye, it’s not easy, lass, settling into a new place,’ said Granny, ‘but I’ll give you a grand tip. When you meet your new neighbours, ask them about themselves and before long they will be telling you all their problems. Most folk like to chatter about themselves and, before you know it, you’ll have made friends. Just you try it, Minnie – believe me, it works.’ She gave her an encouraging smile.

‘Thanks, Mrs Neill, I’ll try that because I’ve really no choice but to return. It’s a terrible thing to say but I can’t stand my mother any more. She’s driving me barmy.’

She drained her cup and there was a ring of black tea leaves left clinging to the cup. She gazed at them and said, ‘You don’t read the tea leaves, do you, Mrs Neill?’

Granny said that she didn’t.

‘Well, that’s a pity because these leaves are arranged in some strange-looking patterns.’ She gazed into space, her face wearing a sad expression. ‘I would really like to know what the future holds.’

Granny patted her hand. ‘Maybe it’s better if none of us know that, lass. Just put your faith in the future and it’ll work out for you all – your man, the bairn and yourself.’

Peter was in the middle of a comic and he wasn’t happy about leaving. Small as he was, he liked this house with the warm chatty people and the old man snoring in his chair and the seats by the fire and the big box of comics. At least that was what Minnie had told them – that he was always chattering about his visit for days after.

Granny rolled up the pile of comics. ‘Here, Peter, you take them.’ She looked at Minnie. ‘If your mother throws them out, it’ll not matter because I don’t want them back, Minnie.’

I walked as far as the foot of the Hawkhill with them. Minnie stopped when we reached the foot of the street. ‘Do you mind if I write to you, Ann, when I’m in my new house?’