Under the Bridges (4 page)

‘I'm thankful it's not bad news to take to my sister. I don't know how I could have . . .' She broke off.

‘There. We can both breathe easy now, dear,' Nancy found herself saying. ‘He's quite safe, and my boy too. And the lad who fell—he's going to be all right.'

Maisie tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve.

‘Aye, we must be grateful it was no worse. Ah, well, I'll need to get back to the shop.'

‘You wouldn't like a cup of tea?' asked Nancy.

Maisie
shook her head.

‘I'll need to get back. The place won't run without me.'

In a moment she was nearly her old sharp-tongued self again.

‘But . . .' She smiled at Nancy, ‘It's a kind thought. Next time you're in—we've got some lovely peppermint creams, just new. I'd like you to have a box, a wee present.'

‘Thank you.' Nancy stared after her, thinking how wrong she had been about Maisie Liddle.

Jenny reached out and squeezed Nancy's hand. There was no need for words between them.

* * *

Hurrying along the road, they did not see Matt and his friend Tom climbing down from the bridge.

‘Hey, what's the matter?' Tom turned round to look at Matt.

‘I've just seen my mother. She's in that crowd, I bet.' Matt sounded irritable. ‘You'd never think I was nineteen. “Have you got a scarf?” “Are you warm enough?” “Have you had enough to eat?” Now she's following me around at work! I'll bet she thought it was me that had fallen off the bridge.'

‘Don't let it bother you,' Tom said easily. ‘My mum's the same. You'd think I was a
two-year-old.
Come on, forget it. Fancy going along to the pub tonight?'

‘Maybe.' Matt was still feeling annoyed. ‘Oh, all right,' he said, his good humour returning. ‘I'm sometimes glad to get out, to be honest. Dad and Lorna never stop rowing.'

‘Seven o'clock, then? You could do with a bit of cheering up.'

‘OK. Seven o'clock.' Matt grinned.

By the time Joe got home, Nancy was herself again, though she was a little sharp with Roy, when he kept asking questions.

‘A shame I was at school,' he said mournfully. ‘I missed all the fun.'

‘It was not
fun
, Roy,' Nancy said sternly. ‘Someone might have been badly hurt. And haven't you got homework to do?'

Joe picked up the ‘Dunfermline Press'. ‘You've heard what Walter says. Safety's their main concern.'

‘Yes, but . . .' Nancy hesitated.

‘I know, love.' Joe's voice was gentle. ‘You can't help worrying about Matt. But he'll be all right. He's got plenty of common sense . . . Better not to mention that you were worried, though . . .'

‘I haven't time for tea.'

Nancy turned round from the stove. ‘But, Lorna. You've got to have something to eat.'

‘I haven't time.'

Lorna caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She was pleased with her beehive
hairdo
and that new lipstick matched her poppy-red sweater exactly. She'd studied carefully a make-up article in
Jackie
magazine and had been practising with her Pan-stick.

‘Where are you going?'

Lorna should have recognised Joe's tone of voice.

‘Oh, just out,' she said airily. ‘With a friend.'

‘Will you get something to eat at Mandy's?' Nancy was concerned. ‘Are you going to the pictures—again?' she couldn't help adding.

‘No, Mum.' Lorna raised her eyebrows in exasperation. ‘I am not going out with Mandy. I am not going to the pictures. I don't know where we're going to eat.'

‘Which friend is it?' Nancy tried to sound casual.

‘It's Pete, if you must know.' Lorna was just as offhand.

‘You should bring him home, dear.' Even as she said it, Nancy knew it was the wrong thing to say.

‘Well, maybe . . . sometime . . .' Lorna muttered, in a hurry to be off.

‘Wait a minute,' Joe interrupted. ‘This Pete—we know nothing about him. Where does he come from? What's his job?'

‘Dad! I'm old enough to choose my own friends,' Lorna challenged. ‘And what Pete does and who his family are is nothing to do with any of you. I'm all grown up now—remember?'

She
rushed out, banging the door behind her.

* * *

‘You're looking very smart today.'

Karen Johnson set down her coffee cup and settled into one of the comfortable chairs in the school staff room.

Shona smiled shyly.

‘Thank you.'

She knew she looked her best in the new navy and emerald two piece, flattering V-necked top and slim skirt. It had cost her more than five guineas in Caird's on a recent day out in St Andrews—but it was worth it.

Usually she wouldn't have worn a new outfit to work but she was meeting Mark straight after school. She hoped he would think she looked smart. She was trying her best to impress him.

‘Maybe I'm a bit too smart for Primary Six,' Shona laughed. ‘They tend to get overenthusiastic when they're drawing and painting. They're such a lively lot to teach.' She smiled. Somehow she had much more confidence these days.

‘So what is it today? The Vikings?' Karen asked.

‘No, we've finished with them, thank goodness. A project about Queen Margaret, I think. I've always loved her story,' Shona went
on.
‘Gran and I used to go to Dunfermline Abbey. She seemed such a wonderful person—the way she civilised Malcolm and all the court. And teaching people to read, and caring for the poor . . .' She blushed. ‘Sorry, I get carried away.'

‘I wish I had your imagination,' Karen grumbled. ‘I'm doing fractions with my lot after the break. Nothing very exciting about that!'

As they all finished their coffee, and prepared to go back to their classrooms, Karen turned to Shona.

‘I'm sorry if we haven't included you in our outings,' she said. ‘It's not that we meant to shut you out—just . . .' She paused. ‘We thought you might not want to mix with us.'

Shona flushed.

‘I didn't mean to seem stuck-up.'

‘No, you weren't,' Karen hurried on. ‘Sometimes on a Saturday a few of us go over to Edinburgh on the ferry. Maybe go to a theatre or a film. We could go to see ‘Dr No'—you know, the James Bond film? Or there's a group of us going to see ‘Showboat'—the Operatic are doing it at the Carnegie Hall in Dunfermline, and my sister's got a lead part.'

Shona hesitated for only a second.

‘Oh, that would be fun. I'd love to,' she said.

As Shona picked up her books and set off, with a smile, Karen watched her. She had changed so much from the silent, mousy
creature
who had sat in a corner of the staffroom . . .

Shona hummed to herself as she made her way along the corridor to her classroom, little aware that her colleagues were wondering just why she had changed so much. She knew herself that she was different, more alive. And it was all since she had met Mark.

Her thoughts went back to that Saturday afternoon on the ferry. A bright spring day, so clear that you could pick out details on the coast of Fife, all the way from North Queensferry along as far as Kirkcaldy. Perhaps she had been too engrossed in admiring the view, she thought ruefully. But if she had been paying attention, she would never have met Mark.

As she was coming off the ferry she tripped, clutching a the rail for support. She'd stifled a little cry of pain and hobbled out of the way of the passengers disembarking.

‘Are you all right?' a voice behind her said.

‘Yes—I think so.' Shona bit her lip.

He was looking at her with concern, and he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall, dark—just like a film star.

‘It's nothing, really,' Shona insisted. ‘It was just painful for a moment. I can walk quite easily.' And she stumbled against him.

‘Steady.' He grasped her arm. ‘Have you far to go?'

Shona shook her head.

‘No,
just up the hill.'

‘I'll run you home. My car's in the car park.'

Shona didn't try to argue. She sank into her seat, enjoying the luxury of the beige leather upholstery and, despite the pain in her foot, the comfort of being driven home.

‘Thank you so much,' Shona said as she limped into the house. ‘I really am grateful.'

* * *

And that was how it began.

Later that evening, with her ankle bound up, she thought back to their meeting—a pleasant encounter, no more. She hadn't met many men—with looking after Gran, somehow there hadn't been much time for boyfriends.

She'd never expected to see Mark again, but to her astonishment, he called at the house the following evening.

Nancy had answered the door.

‘Someone to see you, Shona.'

‘I came to see if you were all right.'

He'd smiled at Shona as she appeared, hesitating in the doorway.

‘I feel a fraud.' She blushed. ‘There's nothing at all the matter with me.'

He'd smiled encouragingly at her.

‘So if you're all right, you can come out for a meal with me, can't you?'

Shona was surprised, but her heart did a little flip as she smiled back self-consciously.

Since
then Mark had taken her out once, sometimes twice a week, dining and dancing.

Shona had never met anyone quite like him. He was an entrepreneur, and she was fascinated, hearing him talk about his varied. business interests. It all seemed such a long way from her dull, day-to-day life.

She said this to him, on their third or fourth date.

He had reached across the table of the restaurant, and taken her hand.

‘Shona, I don't think you're dull. Quite the opposite. You're charming. I've never met anyone quite like you.'

Shona had blushed and quickly withdrawn her hand.

One night he drove her home and waited at the gate as she waved from the doorstep. Shona let herself into the house, watching till Mark had driven away.

Walter Logan came downstairs.

‘Had a nice evening out then?'

‘Very nice, thank you.' Shona was determined to be polite.

‘That's a grand new car he's driving, your gentleman friend.'

Shona said nothing.

His eyes twinkled. ‘Must be bringing home a fair wage . . . Not much hope for the likes of us, then . . .'

Shona side-stepped him and made for the stairs, still saying nothing.

Walter
sighed. He felt sorry for her. She was so young and naïve to be going out with such a man of the world . . .

* * *

Later that night, Shona, unable to sleep, slipped down to the kitchen for a glass of milk, and found Nancy enjoying a cup of tea. It was the time of day Nancy liked best, when she could put her feet up.

Tonight, as she sipped her tea, she was enjoying one books that she'd borrowed from the library.

‘Oh, I'm sorry.'

Nancy turned round with a smile.

‘Can't you sleep?'

‘No. I came down for a glass of milk.'

‘Hot milk? Or would you join me in a cup of tea?'

Nancy reached for the milk jug and got out the tin of biscuits.

‘I was just reading
The Mirror Crack'd
—Agatha Christie, of course—and I've been trying to decide what to knit for Joe's birthday. I thought this pullover, in bramble stitch. Maybe in a dark green.'

‘It's very smart,' Shona agreed. ‘He'd like that.'

Sitting at the kitchen table, Nancy looked at the young woman.

‘Trouble sleeping, Shona? Are you worried
about
something?'

‘No.' Shona folded her hands round the cup of milk. She hesitated. ‘Not worried, exactly. Just perhaps, too much to think about.'

‘Nice thoughts, I hope?' Nancy was casual.

‘Very nice.' Shona suddenly decided that she could tell her kindly landlady. ‘It's just . . . well—I'm seeing someone . . .'

‘I know. He brought you home . . . what a beautiful car. Walter was most impressed.'

‘Oh, Walter,' said Shona dismissively.

It all spilled out—Shona's astonishment that Mark should find her attractive. Her enjoyment of their outings, his charm, how attentive he was.

‘I'm so pleased for you,' Nancy said warmly.

‘Well, I'd better be getting off to bed.' Shona drained her cup.

Nancy washed up the cups and wondered. Shona seemed happy. But something wasn't right . . .

* * *

‘Where's Mum?'

Pete paused at the kitchen door. Every day when he came home from the pit, Mum was there, a meal on the table, a cheerful welcome.

He lifted the lid of a pan simmering on the stove and sniffed appreciatively.

‘The dinner's ready anyway. My favourite, a thick tasty stew, with lots of carrots.'

Lana,
one of his sisters, was sitting at the living room table, reading the
Radio Luxembourg book of Record Stars
. She twirled a lock of her hair absently, and paid no attention to Pete.

‘I said, where's Mum?'

‘I don't know,' said Lana, not lifting her eyes from the book. ‘How would I know?'

‘She's gone next door.' Irene, his younger sister, appeared at the door. ‘With some stew for Mrs Smith. She won't be long.'

She twirled round.

‘How d' you like my hair, Lana?'

‘It's OK.'

‘You haven't even looked,' Irene reproached her sister.

‘It's far too old for you.'

Pete slung his jacket over a chair and sat down by the fire, rattling a poker through the bars to stir up a blaze.

‘It's not too old for me.' Irene was just sixteen, and proud of having her first pay packet from her job in a local grocer's shop.