Under the Bridges (7 page)

* * *

Shona paid no attention to him, but concentrated on unzipping her fleece-lined boots and placing them carefully on the mat to dry out, and putting on the shoes she had left in the hall. She had on a smart outfit, Nancy noticed—a wool cardigan and slim-line skirt in pewter grey, with a blue polo-neck sweater. She remembered Shona had made the skirt herself from a paper pattern.

‘Come in, dear,' Nancy said kindly. ‘There's tea in the pot.'

Shona didn't sit down but kept glancing out of the window. She seemed a little uneasy, Nancy thought. Was she maybe expecting someone?

Meanwhile, Lorna had vanished upstairs, with only a brief nod to her mother. Shona shook her head. Surely the girl wasn't in another of her moods? Well, at least she was spending the half-day at home.

‘Any jobs I can be doing for you?' Walter rose from his seat by the fire. ‘I know Joe won't be home for a bit. You're needing more coal, aren't you?' He picked up the coal scuttle. ‘I'll fill this up.'

Nancy smiled her thanks and poured out a cup of tea for Shona. She went to the foot of the stairs.

‘Lorna! There's a cup of tea and scones.'

There was no reply. Nancy turned back into
the
kitchen. What could be wrong with her now? She never used to be difficult and surly like this.

Nancy turned to her lodger.

‘I don't suppose you saw Roy on the way home?'

‘Last seen, he and some other boys were having a snowball fight,' Shona said.

‘In that case he'll be soaked through when he gets back,' Nancy sighed. ‘Oh, well, you sit and get warm, my dear. It looks like snow again. Dear knows when they'll be able to work on the bridge.'

‘I wish it was summer,' said Shona, as she sat and toasted her toes in front of the fire. ‘The holidays seem like years away.'

‘Have you any plans for the summer?' Nancy asked.

‘Not really . . .'

There were footsteps on the stairs, and Lorna appeared in the doorway. She was wearing her new cherry-red two-piece and her hair was swept up in a beehive.

‘I'll not be in for tea,' she said.

Nancy whirled round.

‘Lorna, you're never going out in this?'

Lorna tried to look nonchalant.

‘Why not?'

‘It's deep snow! You don't even know if the buses will be running. Where on earth are you going?'

‘That my business,' she said shortly, then
looked
sheepish. ‘Don't worry. I'll be OK, Mum.'

She brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped the lacquer.

‘Lorna, you can't!' Nancy's heart sank. What would Joe say? ‘Your father . . .' Her voice trailed away.

‘I'll be back late.'

Nancy, usually so placid and even-tempered, flared up.

‘What on earth are you thinking of? At least take your thick coat,' she called after her daughter.

But the door had slammed behind her.

Shona and Walter tried to look as if nothing had happened, but Nancy, twisting the dish towel between her hands, was shaken.

‘What will Joe say when he comes home?'

‘Mrs Mackay . . .' Shona said hesitantly.

‘Yes?' Nancy turned round. She was upset about that scene with Lorna, upset too, that Walter and Shona had witnessed it.

She gave herself a little shake.

‘What is it, dear?'

‘I wondered,' Shona said hesitantly, ‘if I might use the phone? I wouldn't ask but I won't be able to go out tonight.' She glanced at the sky.

‘Of course,' Nancy said kindly.

‘I'll pay for the call, of course. It's long-distance,' Shona added, ‘so I'll ask the operator to ring back with the cost.'

* * *

She went into the hall, and pulled out a scrap of paper from her purse. Mark had told her the name of one of the firms he worked for.

‘Very good customers,' he'd told her. ‘I get lots of business for them.'

She'd been looking forward to the evening—dinner somewhere in Edinburgh, then he promised to see her safely on the train home.

But she had no idea where he might be working. Still, his firm would be able to tell her.

She rang Directory Enquiry, and they gave her the number—a Waverley exchange, she noted. Feeling a little nervous, Shona dialled the number.

‘I'd like to speak to Mr Mark Jenkinson,' she said. ‘He may not be in the office, but perhaps you could tell me how I can get in touch with him?'

There was a pause.

‘Could you say the name again?'

‘Jenkinson,' Shona repeated. ‘Mark Jenkinson.'

‘He's not on the staff list,' the voice said.

‘He does a lot of work for your firm. He's a freelance sales rep,' Shona said, feeling a little foolish.

‘Wait a moment, please. I'll put you through
to
someone who can help.'

‘Sales department, how can I help you?' a pleasant voice said.

Shona took a deep breath.

‘I'm trying to contact a Mr Mark Jenkinson who works for you. At least, you are one of the firms he works for. He's a sales representative,' she began. ‘I'm sorry to trouble you, but I didn't know any other way to get in touch.'

‘One moment, please. What was the name again?'

Shona repeated the name.

‘We don't usually give out addresses of employees,' the voice said. ‘But I can tell you if he's one of our reps, and you could leave a message. Would that do?'

‘Oh, yes, thank you.'

There was a pause, and she could hear voices in the background. After a little while, the voice said, ‘Are you still there?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I'm sorry, Mr Jenkinson isn't on our staff. He's not one of our reps, I'm afraid. Are you sure you have the name right?'

‘Yes, quite sure,' Shona said.

‘I'm sorry I can't help you.' The man sounded a little impatient. ‘If it's a business query perhaps someone else . . . ?'

‘No . . . no, thank you. You've been very helpful.'

Shona put down the phone and stood,
gazing
blankly at the floral-patterned wallpaper in front of her. A few minutes later the phone rang. She seized the receiver, desperately hoping it might be Mark. But it was only the telephone operator.

‘The cost of your call . . .'

‘Thank you.'

Shona blinked and wrapped her cardigan more closely around her. She went into the living-room and stood looking bleakly out of the window. She didn't notice Walter, who'd paused, not liking to overhear her conversation. But he'd realised something was wrong.

Nancy had lit a fire in the grate earlier on, and now there was a cheerful blaze. Walter sat down in one of the easy-chairs and stretched out his hands to the warmth of the fire.

‘It's a lot better in here than up on the bridge in this weather,' he said.

‘I beg your pardon?' Shona turned round.

‘I only said it's better indoors than out.'

‘Yes,' Shona said tonelessly. What could have happened? Mark had mentioned the name of the firm and the work he did. He was one of their top sales reps, he'd told her. And yet—they'd never heard of him. She must have made a mistake. It was the only explanation.

She didn't like to think of the other explanation—that Mark had lied to her. But why would he?

‘Were you going out tonight?' Walter asked,
trying
to sound casual.

Shona gulped.

‘I thought so. But—the person I was meeting—well, I won't be able to get to Edinburgh, not in this weather.'

‘It wouldn't be wise,' Walter agreed. ‘No-one would expect you to.' He glanced at her. ‘This weather—everything's at sixes and sevens. Buses off, trains cancelled, and—' He paused. ‘People held up all over the place. It's no joke trying to get around by car.

‘And as for communications—phone lines brought down by the snow, no-one able to get in touch,' he said kindly, ‘I'm sure the friend you're meeting will realise you can't get to Edinburgh today and won't expect you. Probably they're in the same boat and can't get a message to you. I wouldn't worry too much, if I were you.'

* * *

‘I suppose so,' Shona said gratefully.

‘Might as well make up our minds there won't be any going out tonight. Except,' he added, ‘I'll need to go down to the bridge later to check there are no problems.'

‘There isn't anyone up there, is there?' Shona asked anxiously.

‘No, we got everyone down as soon as the weather started to get worse.'

‘I think,' Shona said slowly, ‘they must be
very
brave, you and all the men who work up there.'

‘We don't see it that way. If you started thinking about whether you were scared, you'd never go up there.'

‘You've been working a long time on bridges?' Shona asked.

‘All my life. I can't imagine doing anything else.'

‘The children I teach are fascinated,' Shona said. ‘We've been doing a project about the bridge, cutting stuff out of the papers. They've made a collage, and there are pictures all round the classroom.'

She began to look quite animated.

‘Of course, nearly every family has someone connected with the bridge, so they're all interested.'

‘That sounds great,' Walter said. ‘Maybe I could come and have a look at it some time?'

‘You'd be welcome,' Shona said. ‘The children would be thrilled to see you.'

‘Some time when I have a half-day,' Walter promised. ‘I'd be glad to.'

‘At the moment,' Shona went on, ‘we're doing a project on the weather. It seems a pity not to talk about the snow, draw pictures and so on. After all, we may not get a winter like this for a while.'

‘The last one was in forty-seven,' Walter said.

‘Do you remember?' Shona said with a little
shiver.
‘It was just after the war, and everything was in short supply. Coal was scarce and food was still rationed.'

Her face glowed with interest, and Walter thought how attractive she looked.

‘I expect you're a very good teacher, Miss McAllister,' he said admiringly.

‘I'm Shona.' She smiled. ‘You make me feel I'm at school.'

‘Then I'm Walter,' he returned.

‘Very well—Walter. And I hope you'll be able to come along to school one day.'

‘I'd be pleased to.'

Nancy popped her head round the door.

‘Shona. Walter. Supper's ready.'

* * *

As Lorna stood at the bus stop, she felt a little nagging doubt. Not about Pete—she had no doubts about him at all. But—she glanced up at the sky—it was going to snow again. It would be a cold journey by bus to Dunfermline, and chilly, too, on the bus to Kelty.

She wondered if she should have told Mum where she was going.

‘No,' she said fiercely to herself. ‘You know they would only have tried to stop you. They'd say Pete isn't good enough for me. As if our family is anything special. It's just snobbery, that's what.'

Besides,
she wouldn't have put off this date—not for anything. She and Pete had been dancing a lot. They'd held hands in the back row of the stalls at the pictures. And he'd kissed her goodnight when he saw her on to the bus. But today—today was special.

It was the first time she was going to meet Pete's family. She was glad she was wearing her new top and skirt.

And it was a bit of luck she had the half-day off. And Pete would be home—he was on the early shift this week.

* * *

He was there to meet her at the bus stop.

‘You look really smart,' he told her, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

‘Not
too
smart?' She was anxious for a moment. She hadn't really known what to wear. Pete had told her very little about his family, except about his mother, who sounded a kind warm-hearted woman, and his two sisters who were always squabbling.

‘You needn't pay any attention to them,' he told her. ‘They're just showing off.'

When they got off the bus, Lorna looked around her with interest. The narrow row of terraced houses looked cramped, and she couldn't imagine how Pete's family all fitted into one house.

He stopped in front of a blue painted door,
and
Lorna noticed that the net curtains at the window were spotlessly clean.

‘Here we are. Come in and meet the folks.'

‘Is that you, Pete?'

Agnes, Pete's mother came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron.

‘So this is Lorna!' she said. ‘Come away in, lass. We've been at Pete to bring you home to meet us. My, it's awful weather. Now sit you down and get a heat at the fire, and I'll put the kettle on. We'll have our tea as soon as my man gets in.'

Lorna took off her coat and sat down by the fire, shivering a little.

‘We thought you wouldn't be coming in this weather.' Pete's mother was taking cups down from the dresser. ‘I hope your mother's not worried about you.'

‘Oh, no,' Lorna said hastily. ‘No, she won't be worried.'

She glanced round the room. It was cluttered, but homely and comfortable. She sank back in the armchair, stretching out her feet towards the blaze.

‘We keep a good fire,' Agnes said. ‘Well, if a miner's family can't have a good blaze, who can?' She laughed.

The door opened and Pete's father stood there, shaking the snow from his jacket.

‘Tommy, will you shut that door!' Pete's mother said, exasperated. ‘You're letting the cold in.'

‘You
must be Lorna.' He came forward and she got up out of the armchair.

‘I've probably taken your chair,' she said, as they shook hands a little awkwardly.