Under the Bridges (10 page)

‘Breakfast's ready!' she called. Roy was already out with his friends, and Matt was on an early shift. Walter had left the house soon after seven, and Shona was spending the weekend with one of her teacher friends from school.

Lorna appeared, ready dressed.

That's a change, Nancy thought. Her daughter was looking attractive this morning, wearing a pretty soft pink jumper knitted in a shell stitch and a trim grey woollen skirt.

Nancy put two slices of bread to toast under the grill.

Since that evening a few weeks ago, when
she'd
confronted Lorna, life had been much easier. And though Lorna hadn't said anything, Nancy had a feeling that she'd made it up with Pete.

Certainly she sang about the house now, and was willing to take her share of the household chores. And just last Friday, on payday, she'd brought Nancy a bunch of flowers.

‘It won't be all that long now.'

Joe was still looking out of the window at the bridge.

‘Mmm?' Nancy's thoughts were far away.

‘Till they close the two halves of the bridge in the middle,' said Joe. ‘Walter thinks it'll be in about six months' time.'

Nancy glanced out of the window.

‘It's amazing,' she said.

For months they had watched the two parts of the bridge, from the north and south of the Forth, as they extended towards the middle of the river.

‘Aye,' said Joe. ‘A real feat of engineering.'

But his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the postman, coming up the path.

‘I'll get it. Bills, most likely.'

Joe returned, carrying one or two letters.

‘There's one for you,' he said, handing over an envelope to Nancy. ‘Looks official.'

Nancy turned from the cooker and stared at the envelope, noticing the postmark and the name of the firm on the envelope.

‘Well?' Joe looked puzzled.

‘I
went for a job interview,' Nancy said hastily. ‘I didn't say anything—I meant to tell you, but . . .' Her voice trailed off.

* * *

Joe was annoyed, Nancy could tell. She hurried on. ‘It was just that—well, I thought we could use the extra money . . .' She faltered.

‘You might have discussed it with me,' Joe said coldly.

‘I know, and I'm sorry. I thought . . .'

Lorna set down her cup. Poor Mum was clutching the envelope as if it were dynamite.

‘Hadn't you better open it?' Joe said.

Nancy tried to be offhand.

‘I won't have got the job, so it doesn't matter.' She could see now that he felt hurt.

She picked up a knife and slit open the envelope.

‘Well?' Joe asked stonily.

Nancy drew a deep breath.

‘I've got the job, Joe. They want me to start as soon as possible.'

Joe said nothing, and Nancy's heart sank. As she cleared the table, he followed her out to the kitchen.

Nancy flushed.

‘I . . . well, I didn't think I'd get the job, really.'

Joe looked at his wife.

‘You won't do anything like that again, will
you?
It's good you did . . . But, well, I wish you'd felt you could talk to me.'

‘I'm sorry.' Nancy bit her lip. ‘I should have told you. It was just that, well, I suppose I wanted to do something on my own.'

Joe's face cleared as his arms went around her.

‘Next time you have a great idea, let's talk about it, shall we?'

‘I promise,' Nancy said.

‘Come on, then.' He smiled. ‘Let's make a brew and you can tell us all about it!'

* * *

It was a fine crisp autumn morning when Nancy set off for her first day at work.

She knew she looked smart for her first day—a fine wool skirt in forest green that she'd made herself, and a cream blouse, and the soft green cardigan she'd finished knitting last week. And to complete the outfit, she'd bought a new pair of fully-fashioned nylons. At 8s.11d. it was more than she would normally have paid, but this was an important day and she wanted to look her best.

As she pulled on her camel coat and beret, and her new soft brown leather gloves—a present from Lorna—she glanced out of the window at the bridge, as she did every morning. She could see small figures—almost like toy figures—moving about on the catwalk.
She
wondered if Matt was among them. She prayed he would be safe.

She closed the door behind her and set off down the hill to catch the Dunfermline bus.

‘Well, Mrs Mackay,' Mr Hardy greeted her. ‘Your first day, eh? I hope you're going to enjoy working with us. I'll just show you round, and then we'll have a coffee. I find it's a good start to the working day, don't you?'

He really was quite young, Nancy thought, a lot younger than her—and not at all intimidating.

As if he had read her thoughts he smiled and showed her into the office that was to be hers. She noted the new Remington typewriter on the desk, and some tired-looking spider plants on the window-sill.

But what struck her most was the large pile of papers on the desk and a mass of files—on the chair, in the corner of the room—everywhere, even on the floor.

‘It's a bit of a challenge for you, I'm afraid,' her new boss went on a little apologetically. ‘Our last secretary wasn't very efficient. She'd no idea about filing.'

‘Don't worry,' Nancy reassured him. ‘I'll make a start—you don't mind if I do a bit of reorganising?'

‘Go ahead.' He looked relieved. ‘I'm sure you'll know just what to do. Now let's see . . .'

‘That cup of coffee?'

* * *

‘Another birthday,' Grandpa said, then he brightened up. ‘And another clootie dumpling to look forward to.'

‘Nancy's a dab hand at the clootie dumpling.' Joe grinned. ‘And it wouldn't be a proper birthday without it.'

‘She's a good lass,' Grandpa said, stretching out his legs in the armchair and warming his hands at the cheerful blaze.

‘Now you'll take a dram before your dinner,' Joe said, ‘seeing as it's a special occasion.'

‘Well, just a wee one!'

‘So here's to you,' Joe said, raising his glass. ‘Happy birthday and many more.'

‘Thank you.' Grandpa raised his own glass. ‘And a toast to you and Nancy and the young ones. It's going to be quite a time ahead with the bridge opening next year. A great occasion.'

Joe didn't respond and Grandpa looked at him enquiringly.

‘For some.'

‘You don't sound that pleased about it.'

‘I'm not, and that's a fact,' said Joe. ‘Oh, it's going to be a fine piece of engineering and it'll bring more business and more jobs to Fife—and dear knows, they're badly needed. But . . .'

‘But what?'

Joe shrugged.

‘I'm maybe being a bit selfish. But I've been
on
the ferries a long time—it's going to be a big change. And I'm used to the outdoors, meeting people. A job on the tolls just won't be the same. Still, it's work, I suppose.'

Grandpa was silent for a moment.

‘There's always going to be changes. I can mind—' He broke off.

‘You were going to say?' Joe noticed that the old man looked a little distant as though he were thinking of some time in the far-away past.

‘I was thinking about the number of times I changed my job. First, there was the rail bridge—and when that was built, well, I was still a young lad, but there were always jobs for men that were trained and willing to work. I got a job in Kirkcaldy, I remember, at the linoleum works.

‘I was doing fine, newly wed and a bairn on the way. Then came the war . . . I was lucky—many of them never came back—you can tell by the names on the war memorial. After the war, it was a bad time—there wasn't the work. You'd see men, some of them crippled, selling matches on the street corners. I was lucky. We moved to Dunfermline. I got a job working in one of the linen factories.'

‘Dunfermline linen,' Joe said thoughtfully. ‘The best in the world.'

‘Aye, it's fine work,' Grandpa said. ‘Let's hope it continues.'

Nancy put her head round the door.

‘Will
you sit in to the table? The dinner's nearly ready . I've got a nice bit of steak, as a treat—and I haven't forgotten the sixpences in the dumpling.'

‘There's no-one makes a clootie dumpling like you, lass,' Grandpa said.

‘Well, it's a special day.' Nancy smiled fondly. ‘Now sit in, before it all gets cold.'

Joe laid a hand on William's shoulder.

‘Thanks again, Dad. You've been a great help.'

* * *

Shona had taken special care over her appearance that evening. She was pleased with the dress in soft blue wool that she'd made at dressmaking classes. And on a shopping trip to Edinburgh the previous Saturday, she'd bought a pair of knee-high soft leather boots—the latest fashion.

Wearing them, she felt as elegant as any of the models in the magazines. At the same time she'd splurged out on a luxury talc and a bath salts gift set.

One of the other teachers had teased her recently.

‘You look smart these days, Shona—dressing for someone special?'

Shona had hastily denied it but couldn't hide her blushes. Because, of course, it was Mark. He was quite different from any other
man
she'd met—but still there was that faint niggle at the back of her mind. He was fun to be with, that was important. There hadn't been a lot of fun in Shona's life.

But she wasn't sure if she could trust him.

She went into the front room to wait for him—just as, so many times, she'd watched for his car coming along the road. It wouldn't be long now. Six-thirty, he'd said, with a table booked for seven. And time, maybe, for a spin along to Limekilns or Aberdour.

By seven o'clock Shona was beginning to feel a little anxious. What if the car had broken down? What if he had had an accident? ?

She picked up a magazine and thumbed through it, not really concentrating on what she was reading. She tried very hard to interest herself in the short stories, but her mind was miles away.

He would have phoned, of course he would, if there had been some hold-up at work. He knew they'd fixed to meet that evening.

By eight o'clock, she realised he wasn't going to arrive. She threw down the magazine and began to make her way upstairs.

Coming downstairs, Walter glanced at her.

‘Going out somewhere nice?' he said.

Shona shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

She went upstairs, took off the blue dress and put on her old skirt and a comfortable roll-neck jersey.

* * *

It was perhaps a couple of days later when Nancy called upstairs.

‘Phone for you, Shona.'

She hurried downstairs—it had to be Mark. Trembling a little, she picked up the receiver.

‘Hallo, Shona. It's Mark. How are you?'

She didn't say anything.

‘Are you there?'

‘Yes.'

‘I wondered if you'd like to go out some evening this week?'

She drew a deep breath.

‘What about last Friday?'

‘Friday?'

‘We were supposed to be going out to dinner.'

‘Oh, yes—look, I'm sorry about that. I got tied up with something at work. I tried to ring you, but I couldn't get through. You didn't put anything off, did you?'

Shona was silent.

‘Not mad at me, are you? I've said I'm sorry.' He was beginning to sound bored. ‘What about that dinner we postponed—I could ring you when I've looked at my diary?'

‘I shouldn't bother. I'm sure there are plenty other girls you can call on,' Shona said in a tone that quelled nine-year-olds at school.

‘Goodbye, Mark.'

‘Have
it your own way, then. It's your loss.'

She put down the phone and found that her hand was trembling, but she felt lighter. The anxious feeling had gone. So that was the real Mark!

Walter was scanning the pages of the
Dunfermline Press
. He glanced up as she entered the room, then got to his feet, looking a little flustered.

‘I just wanted to see if there was anything on at the pictures. What sort of film do you like, Shona?'

‘Oh, anything entertaining—something lighthearted, or a really good thriller. ‘Nothing too romantic,' she added grimly.

‘I go for comedy, every time,' Walter said. ‘Did you see
Doctor in Distress
? Mind you, I like a good thriller too. Something like
The Great Escape
Or Hitchcock's
The Birds
.'

Shona shuddered.

‘Just the trailer. Too creepy for me. I didn't know you were such a film fan.' She smiled.

‘Ever since I was a boy,' he said. ‘We used to queue up on a Saturday morning.'

He scanned the paper.

‘I
see
The Mouse on the Moon
is showing.'

‘Oh, Margaret Rutherford's in that, isn't she? She's always wonderful. Remember the Miss Marple films . . . ?'

‘Shona, would you like to come to the pictures with me?' Walter said suddenly.

She smiled at him.

‘Thank
you. I'd like that.'

As they settled in their seats, in time for the Pathé newsreel, Walter thought what a quiet, pleasant girl she was. She didn't try to flirt with him or put on an act.

Later, as they left the cinema, Walter put his hand gently under Shona's arm.

‘Time for a coffee before we set off home?'

‘Yes, please. I did enjoy the film—thank you for inviting me.'

Walter glanced at her. She didn't laugh enough, this girl. And yet he'd noticed in the cinema, how much she'd enjoyed the film, how she turned to him with a smile at a specially entertaining scene.