Authors: Jenny Telfer Chaplin
Approaching their first anniversary, Meg and Jack
appeared to all as a settled, albeit rather staid, couple. As yet there were
still no signs of any addition to their family except for a very bad- tempered
canary rejoicing in the name Pretty Boy. The bird was as spoiled as any
doted-upon, longed-for child and ruled the roost in the Dunn household. Not
only did he have his likes and dislikes but he had a positive aversion to the
sound of anything sizzling in the frying pan. Meg was cooking Jack’s ritual
Sunday morning fry-up and Pretty Boy was hopping to and fro in his version of a
childish tantrum when Jack entered the kitchen.
“Still up to his tricks, I see,” Jack said and planted
a chaste kiss on Meg’s cheek.
“If anyone had told me there was such a thing as a
bad-tempered canary I’d have told them to pull the other leg.”
Jack laughed. “You’re right, dear. If ever we should
hear the patter of tiny feet, Pretty Boy’s beak would surely be out of joint.
Mad with jealousy he’d be.”
After church, when the minister had given the pulpit
rail its weekly hammering, on their way home Jack said: “Meg, are you quite
sure you don’t want to come with me this afternoon?”
“I’ll leave it for this week, if you don’t mind, dear.
After all, it isn’t even as if you mother knows who I am. You’ve said it
yourself – there are times when she scarcely recognises even you.”
“That’s true enough I suppose. You know, no matter how
I wrack my brains, I’ll just never understand what brought on mother’s stroke.
I always took such good care of her. Not a worry in the world, did she have,
not a single worry.”
Meg made no reply. Although there was plenty she could
have said to throw light on the matter, her lips were sealed.
When the silence was growing uncomfortable Meg squeezed
Jack’s arm and said: “No, best that you go on your own today. I’ll give you
some of those wee sponge fingers to take along. Even on her bad days she always
likes them. Soft on the gums, aren’t they?”
Having seen Jack safely off on his duty visit Meg was
settling down at the fireside with a welcome cup of tea when the doorbell
interrupted her solitude. When she opened the door to admit Nellie, she pushed
her way past Meg in the narrow hallway and marched straight into the kitchen.
“What brings you out on such a day, Nellie? Look at you;
you’re drenched to the skin. Here, give me your shawl. I’ll hang it up on the
pulley.”
Divested of her shawl and seated at the fire with a cup
of tea and a buttered pancake on a plate beside her, Nellie seemed a little
more at ease. Even so, she looked round then in a stage whisper asked: “Is his
lordship ben the room wi his books?”
Meg shook her head. “No, he’s gone to visit his
mother.”
Nellie snorted in disgust. “Oh, her! Don’t tell me
she’s still hingin on in that church home for the aged and infirm. She’s the
very one that’ll cling tae life tae the bitter end – especially if, in the
process, she can make everyone else’s life a misery, if no an actual livin
hell.”
Meg gave a wintry smile. “Oh, I think you’re perhaps
exaggerating a little, Nellie. The poor old woman. She can’t help being ill and
landing up in that home.”
“Puir auld woman, ma fit! And don’t ye gae changin yer
tune. Who was it telt me it wis the shock o her darlin son haein the temerity
tae git merit that gave her the stroke in the first place? The very thought o
her wee boy lyin wi a woman damned near killed her.”
Meg felt herself pale. “Nellie! I told you that in
confidence.”
“Aye, aye, keep yer shirt on. Ah didnae come here the
day tae talk aboot auld Dragon Dunn. Ah’ve got mair important things on ma mind
than yon selfish auld bitch.”
Meg bridled. “I’ll thank you not to use such language
in my house, Nellie. It’s well seen that you don’t go to church.”
Nellie banged down her plate on the wee creepie stool
with such force that the half-eaten pancake almost fell off onto the rag rug
before the hearth.
She glared at Meg. “That’s right, hae a go at me noo
because Ah don’t sit every Sunday under the Reverend C Semple Armstrong. Weel,
if the truth be telt, Ah’m far tae busy bringin up ma squad o weans, no tae
mention wipin the bum and moppin up the sick o yer ain wee bastard – far tae
busy daein aw that for tae waste time listenin tae yon high-falutin meenister
dronin on week efter week.”
Having delivered herself of this diatribe Nellie sat
back and again glared at her sister as if now issuing an unspoken but very real
challenge.
Meg, still mentally reeling from her sister’s outburst,
felt a reply of some sort was now expected of her. She cleared her throat twice
before saying: “I must say you’re in a very strange mood today, Nellie. Even
so, I can’t believe you braved the downpour to trail round here to the
Parliamentary Road with the sole purpose of shouting such abuse at me.”
Nellie banged her clenched fist on the arm of the
chair. “Damned right! Aye there was somethin Ah had tae tell ye, but we’ll let
that flea stick tae the wall for noo. Ah’ll come tae that later. In the
meantime, ye can collect yer bastard ony time ye like and bring her here to
live with yer beloved Jack.”
Meg was stunned with this bolt from the blue, but
Nellie went on: “Aye, that’s the ploy. Ye can explain it onywey ye like tae yer
darlin man.”
By now, with her mind and emotions in a turmoil, Meg
could feel the fabric of her settled married life collapse around her. No
matter how she pleaded with Nellie her sister was adamant. Even the offer of an
extra half-crown a week didn’t sway her; she’d had more than enough of looking
after Becky.
“But why? Why now, Nellie? What on earth am I to tell
Jack? How can I possibly explain away Becky?”
“Ye can tell him ony damn thing ye like, hen. Ah don’t
mind if ye tell him the truth aboot how ma ain situation has changed – it’ll be
plain tae see soon enough.”
“Changed? In what way are things now so different? Just
tell me that.”
“Oh, Ah’ll tell ye aw right. Noo that Rab’s hame mair
often he’s at it every five minutes, isn’t he? Ah’ve fallen again, haven’t Ah?
Wi naethin happenin the last couple o years Ah thocht Ah wis past it. But naw,
trust ma luck, Ah’m the one tae be haein a change-o-life baby!”
“A baby! At your age?”
“Meg, wid ye please stoap repeatin everythin efter me.
Ye’re beginnin tae sound like that daft budgie ye both dote on. Aye, Ah’m
carryin in ma belly a change-o-life baby and wance it’s born Ah’ll hae enough
on ma plate without fleein daft efter a toddler as weel.”
In the silence that followed Nellie rose to her feet.
“Noo, if ye’ll jist get ma shawl doon aff yer pulley Ah’ll be on ma wey. Rab’s
hame for a couple o days and daein his nut aboot another baby. Between him and
the weans runnin wild the place will be in an uproar.”
Meg handed Nellie the still damp shawl and Nellie said
in a more kindly tone: “Mibbe things’ll workout for the best. Onywey, when
Ah’ve gone just sit yersell doon and get clear in yer mind whit ye’ll be tellin
Jack. Weel, cheerio, hen. Sorry if Ah’ve disturbed the peace of yer Sunday
efternoon.”
***
For the remainder of that memorable afternoon Meg
agonised over her quandary. There was simply no way she could announce the
facts to her husband. If she did, her comfortable marriage to the steady,
reliable, if somewhat boring, Jack would be well and truly consigned to the
scrapheap of life.
What in God’s name was she expected to do or say?
Determined to keep focussed and busy, Meg bustled round
the house dusting this, re-arranging that, and generally creating work and
chaos where previously none had existed.
So it was when Jack came home he returned to a scene of
domestic bliss where, for some strange reason, not only had the furniture been
re-positioned, but every item from brass candlesticks to decorative soup
tureens, to china ornaments had been cleaned and polished for dear life. A
roaring fire whose flames licked up the chimney warmed the room and his wife,
pristine as the china crinoline ladies in the display cabinet sat meekly by the
fireside diligently working on a piece of crochet.
Meg raised her head and smiled. “Your tea’s nearly
ready, dear. It’s your favourite – toad-in-the-hole. But first, how was your
mother? Any improvement in her condition?”
Jack sighed. “Improvement did you say? Hmph! If
anything she was even worse today. She moaned about everything, nothing pleased
her, decided she hated sponge fingers. And just would not listen to reason on
any subject. But worst of all–” Jack paused as if to gather the moral strength
to continue with his tale of woe. “You’ll never believe it, Meg, but worst of
all it was really bizarre, she actually thought I was her long dead brother,
Ross! That’s right, the black sheep of the family, a man whose guts she hated.
A gambler, a womaniser and by all accounts no better than he should be. A man
she couldn’t stand and could never get along with.”
Meg gave a sympathetic shake of her head.
“Yes,” Jack went on, “I can honestly say that this
afternoon’s fiasco was without doubt the worst visit I’ve ever had with my
mother. I tell you, Meg, and I wouldn’t dream of breathing a word of this to
another living soul … but the moment the bell went for the end of visiting
time, it came as a blessed relief. That’s the God’s honest truth. I felt like
an escaping prisoner.”
Meg chewed at her lip, fully aware that now was
definitely not the moment to spring on Jack her own dramatic news.
Later, with the tea things cleared away, and Meg and
Jack sitting companionably on either side of the fire, Meg tentatively started
to broach the subject which was uppermost in her mind. Feeling as if she was
walking on eggs, Meg tiptoed her way round until she could no longer avoid the
dénouement. Even then she knew she had to put forward her startling proposal in
such a way as to make Jack think that any suggestion as to a possible solution
to the problem had come from him.
Having laid some of the groundwork and given him time
to mull it over she heard Jack say: “So, one way and another it hasn’t exactly
been the best of afternoons for either of us, has it, dear?”
With what she hoped was a brave smile Meg said: “Well,
I have to admit, hearing all of my sister’s worries certainly didn’t make for
cheery listening.”
“Poor Nellie, she’s really going to have her hands full
isn’t she? With her squad of children, Rab under her feet more often than not,
and toddler Becky running around and into everything the last thing she needs
is another baby. From what you say Nellie is feeling out of sorts and bitterly
resenting her fate of becoming an old mother. Not a happy prospect, is it, my
dear?”
Meg nodded. “If only there was some way we could help
her, Jack, lighten her burden, at least in some small measure. After all as
good churchgoers we are only too aware that the minister is forever telling us
to help our neighbours. Surely when it comes to family it is even more our
Christian duty, don’t you agree?”
Jack frowned in concentration then rose to the bait.
His words came out in a rush. “My sentiments exactly, Meg. Now I don’t know how
you, or Nellie either for that matter, would take to this … but it seems to me
that the older children won’t pose as much of a problem as an active toddler
who needs eyes in the back of the head attention, right?”
Meg nodded, already daring to hope for the impossible
as the she waited for her husband to go on.
“Meg, you may not be aware of it, but I’ve seen the
doting way you look at that lovely wee Becky any time she’s been with us. A
real wee charmer she is, and since as yet we’ve no children of our own and no
sign of any immediate happy event how would it be if …”
Meg sagged with relief as she listened to Jack’s master
plan. Yet again her secret was safe.
Panic over. Thank God. Nellie is sure to jump at Jack’s
kind offer and keep her own counsel as to Becky’s true parentage. Thank you,
thank you, God. It’s a dream come true. I can have my own darling wee Becky at
home to bring up properly.
***
Even in the short time Becky had been with them, life
had taken on a rosy hue of happiness in the Dunn household. Becky, doted on by
her Uncle Jack and her Aunt Meg, was the centre of their universe. She was now
approaching a milestone in her young life – her first day at the local primary
school.
In preparation for starting school, Meg had taken Becky
to the old teacher she had lived with when her parents died and who had ensured
that Meg had grown up speaking ‘properly’.
Miss Euphemia Edgar looked Becky over. “So this is the
young lady for whom you gave up a promising career in teaching?”
For a moment Meg thought she had made a mistake in
bringing Becky to meet Miss Edgar and that she had guessed Meg’s secret.
However, Miss Edgar went on: “It was very noble and
unselfish of you to give up your training to help your sister when she needed
you. And now once again you are coming to her aid by taking care of her
daughter. I suppose it was all for the best. You’ve married well to a young man
with a promising future in the bank, and you certainly couldn’t have continued
teaching once you’d married.”
She turned to Becky. “Now, young lady, your Aunt Meg
tells me you are about to start school. You and I have some work to do on your
speech before that great day.”
Meg hoped that with this start and the example of Jack
and herself, Becky would lose the coarse accent she had naturally acquired
living with Nellie. Perhaps, Meg hoped, Becky would thus escape the fate of
many pupils of being punished with the dreaded Lochgelly for not knowing they
were expected to be bilingual and not to resort to the common language of the
streets and their homes despite many of the words being perfectly respectable
old Scottish words.
As far as Meg and Jack were concerned, as long as it
was in their power to do so, Becky Bryden would have the best of everything
life had to offer.
***