The Baker's Daughter (11 page)

‘Well done, Rona,' said Angus. ‘It was a bright idea of yours, and its done our business no harm, no harm at all. Away you go and put the card in the window, and I'd better see about some more of these biscuits.'

‘You've put Maclaren's on the map,' said
Callum
later. ‘I'm really proud of you.'

Aunt Lizzie didn't say very much except, ‘We should have had Coronation shortbread tins. I told Angus.'

‘You told him no such thing,' said Rona under her breath. But she didn't want to spoil this special day by arguing with Aunt Lizzie, who really, thought Rona, was much better-tempered since her return.

Now Aunt Lizzie was keeping an eye on the wireless shop across the road. ‘Mrs McFarlane tells me the owner's having a lot of old folk in to watch the television,' she said. I wonder . . .' she turned to Angus. ‘It would be a kindly gesture if you were to give them a slab of sultana cake for their tea.'

‘I never heard the like. You'll have me bankrupt.' He pretended to be stern, but Rona knew him well enough. Father would agree.

‘Oh, Father,' Rona protested. ‘It's the Coronation—it's a special occasion.'

‘Ah, well,' he said. ‘Maybe you're right. Away you go, Lizzie, and take them a couple of slabs of sultana cake.'

Aunt Lizzie returned from her errand, beaming. Rona couldn't remember when she had last seen her aunt looking so pleased about anything.

‘He said to thank you kindly,' she reported to Angus, ‘and the old folk will enjoy the cake. And he's asked me if I'd like to go across—if we're not busy here—and watch the ceremony
on
the television. Fancy that! I'll see the Queen being crowned!'

*        *        *

It was certainly a day to remember. There was the news that Mount Everest had been climbed—the news came over the wireless that Hillary and Tenzing had reached the summit.

‘A grand beginning to Her Majesty's reign,' said Angus.

Aunt Lizzie watched the ceremony throughout—the arrival of the young Queen with her maids of honour and the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret watching from above with a young Prince Charles.

The solemn moments of the anointing, Prince Philip taking the oath of loyalty to the Queen—there were so many memorable moments.

Outside Westminster Abbey, the crowds ignored the rain. Some had been waiting all night in the Mall, sharing sandwiches and flasks of tea and joking with the policemen on duty.

Even in Kirkton there were so many memories of that day. The sound of the town band, the children waving their flags, marching to the park: Running off their energy in sack races and egg and spoon races, before they queued for lemonade and paper bags containing sandwiches and iced buns.

When
they'd finished eating, some of them blew up the bags when they'd finished and burst them. It was a grand day that finished with three cheers for the Queen.

‘And let's have three cheers for Mr Maclaren who gave us the buns and cakes,' one of the organisers announced. The children roared themselves hoarse. It had been a great day.

Things were all rather flat when Coronation day was over—except that everyone would be going to the Regal when the film of the Coronation reached the cinemas.

Rona felt particularly flat. It was fun going out with Callum, but it had become a bit of a routine—a walk along the shore, a coffee in the local café, to watch the TV the owner had just lately installed.

Saturday nights meant queuing for the pictures or maybe going to a dance at the town hall. There was, she thought, no glamour, no exciting romance.

‘I'm only young,' she said to herself rebelliously. ‘Why shouldn't I have a bit of romance?'

She wished she could meet someone—he needn't be tall, dark and handsome, though it would be nice if he was. No, she'd settle for someone who looked into her eyes as if she were the only girl in the world.

Callum, stocky, fair-haired and with a ready laugh, was good company, but that was all.
Surely
there was more to life than this.

And suddenly, she felt tired, bored with the daily grind. ‘I need a holiday,' she said, and remembered what Nancy had suggested.

‘A holiday camp!' That was it. Lots of fun, dancing every night, meeting new people.

She would put it to her father.

‘I'd like a holiday, just a week.'

‘Oh well, aye,' said Angus pausing in his work. ‘I suppose you're due it. And we could manage fine for a week. You'll be going away I suppose, maybe to your Auntie Cassie?'

Rona shuddered. Auntie Cassie lived in the suburbs of Edinburgh—staid and grey-haired, she was kindly, but oh so dull!

She never went to a film or a theatre, or trailed round the shops. She had never been to the Castle or Holyrood or the Botanic Gardens, and saw no reason why Rona should wish to visit any of these places.

Rona had stayed there once before and discovered Auntie Cassie's main interest was family history. How many photograph albums she'd put in front of Rona, she couldn't remember.

‘This was my great aunt—you'll not remember her. And here's Uncle Hamish—he was a great character.'

It was hard to see from the grim-looking figures staring into the camera, how any of them had been fun, or had kicked over the traces when they were young. No, a visit to
Aunt
Cassie was not Rona's idea of a holiday.

‘Oh no,' she said. ‘I'd like to go to a holiday camp.'

‘A holiday camp!' Angus's voice rose. ‘That you will not.'

‘Oh, Father. This is nineteen fifty-three. Lots of people go to holiday camps. You can have a great week.'

‘I'm not having you going off to a holiday camp. I don't know what you'd get up to.'

Rona sighed. ‘I'd be going with Nancy.'

Angus hesitated. ‘Oh, aye.' He knew Nancy's parents—sensible folk, her father an elder of the church, and Nancy herself had a good position in the council offices. She was sure to be a restraining influence on Rona.

‘Please, Father,' said Rona.

He looked at his daughter's bright face and knew how disappointed she would be if he refused permission. After all, it was only a week, and she would be with Nancy.

‘Oh, all right then.'

‘Thank you!' Rona beamed. ‘The first week in August—is that all right? Nancy's office is closed then.'

‘You've got it all planned, I see.' He shook his head. ‘Well, then you can have your holiday.'

He turned and lifted a tray of potato scones. ‘Now don't waste my time—there's these shelves to be wiped.'

A
DIFFICULT VISIT

‘Great!' said Nancy when she heard that Angus had agreed to Rona going to the holiday camp. ‘As long as I'm with you,' said Rona with a smile. ‘He thinks you're a responsible person.'

‘Just what my dad said about you.'

The two girls fell about laughing. Then Nancy sat up and wiped her eyes.

‘Let's be serious. I'll arrange the booking and we must decide on clothes for the holiday. Have you got a swimsuit? No? Then we'll have a trip to Dundee, the next half day.'

‘It won't be long now,' said Rona. ‘Oh I am looking forward to it all . . .'

*        *        *

Rona had been made a welcome visitor to Callum's home. She'd been invited one Sunday.

‘Just a cup of tea, don't dress up,' Callum had warned her. ‘And don't pay any attention to what my mother says.'

Rona had been a little apprehensive about this. Would his mother be difficult, very critical perhaps?

She didn't mention the visit at home. By now Aunt Lizzie was back in her usual place, though somehow she didn't seem as irritating
as
before. Lips pursed, she had given the floor a good clean.

‘It looks as if it hasn't been washed since I left,' she had said grimly. Rona had been about to snap back at her, ‘Do you think I had nothing else to do?' but she had held her tongue. I must be growing up, she thought.

Still, Aunt Lizzie had looked at the cupboards, and given a nod of approval. ‘Tidy, I will say.' But Rona knew this was Aunt Lizzie's way of giving praise.

So now, she wondered what to wear for the visit to the farm. Not her Sunday best dress—that would be too formal. Besides, Callum had promised to show her round, and not her best shoes, those with the little heels—she'd saved for those and they were far too smart to waste on a visit to the farm.

At last she decided on a light wool skirt, and a pretty turquoise blue jumper that Aunt Lizzie had knitted for her.

*        *        *

Callum's mother had been busy at the cooker when they arrived. ‘Well, here you are!' she greeted them.

She was a little woman, hardly coming up to Callum's shoulder, with a round rosy face and her hair piled up on top of her head. She'd wiped her hands on a cloth, and shaken hands with Rona.

‘So!'
she had looked Rona up and down. ‘I've been at him to bring you up for your tea—and here you are at last. You're the first one he's ever brought home. I said to his father, “He must be serious about this one, our Callum”.'

Rona had blushed and stammered something.

‘Now,' Callum's mother had said, ‘you don't need to stand on ceremony with us. We just have our tea in the kitchen—maybe on a very special occasion we use the parlour. You'll not mind the kitchen,' she'd run on, not waiting for an answer. ‘If I've asked him once, I've asked him twenty times—what's wrong with the lass that you don't bring her to see us?'

She'd paused for breath and Callum, by now shining uncomfortably had said, ‘Now, Mother, that's enough. You'll embarrass Rona.'

He'd then said hastily, ‘I'll take Rona out to look round for a bit, and we'll come back for our tea.'

‘Your father and the boys will be back for five,' his mother had said.

Outside, there had been a constraint between Callum and Rona.

‘Come on,' he'd said, ‘I told you not to pay any attention to what my mother says. She's always like that.'

Rona had frowned. ‘She said that you'd never brought a girl back home before.' She
hesitated.
‘I don't want your family to get the wrong idea about us.'

‘Don't be daft,' he'd said. ‘What is there to get ideas about?'

Rona had felt vaguely disappointed. Well, they were just friends, after all, but he had made it perfectly clear there was nothing else.

He'd dismissed out of hand the idea that there was any romance between them. And of course, he was quite right.

I don't know what I want, that's my trouble, she thought. Maybe a break away from each other is a good idea

He helped her over a stile and she jumped down on the other side.

‘Look,' he said, ‘you can see for miles.' They looked down over the fields to the main road away in the distance and the little cars that looked like toys. Far away you could see the Firth of Forth and the small villages strung out along the coastline.

They leaned against the stile, and Callum put his arm around her as he pointed out other farms and white-washed houses.

‘I hope it's weather like this when we're on holiday.' She'd hesitated about telling Callum of her holiday plans—somehow she thought he might not take too kindly to the idea. ‘Nancy and I—we're having a week at a holiday camp. At the beginning of August,' she added. ‘It should be fun.'

‘Oh?' Callum sounded surprised, and
Rona's
heart sank. She burbled on, ‘Dancing every night and swimming and all sorts of entertainment. It should be great.'

‘Oh . . .' he was silent for a few moments then he said, ‘Well, I hope you have a good time. I'd thought, maybe after the harvest you and I could go hostelling, hire bikes, perhaps. But if you've already made plans . . .'

‘I'm sorry,' said Rona, though she didn't quite know why she was apologising. ‘But I know farmers don't often get holidays.'

‘I could,' said Callum. ‘There's my father and brothers here. I could get away.'

‘Oh, well,' said Rona airily, ‘too late now.'

‘I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time,' he said a little stiffly. Suddenly Rona was irritated. ‘I'm sure we will. Sorry about the hostelling, but I don't know if it would suit me.'

As you've already made your plans anyway . . .' he began.

‘Callum!' Rona burst out. ‘You don't own me, you know. I've a perfect right to go on holiday with someone else.' She was still a little upset by his easy dismissal of their friendship as nothing to get ideas about.

‘I thought we were friends, but . . .' he said.

‘Of course we are!' said Rona quickly. Oh, why did the argument have to happen here? Now she'd have to go back to the farmhouse for tea, pretending that all was well.

‘But I think,' she added, ‘that perhaps we've
been
seeing too much of each other. Maybe we should have a little break.'

‘Come on,' he said, ‘it's time we went back. My mother will have the tea on the table.'

Suddenly the summer's day was spoiled for Rona. What had happened to their easy friendship full of fun and laughter? Now they were like strangers to each other—like people who had only just met. What had happened to those light-hearted months they'd shared?

Callum was silent as he had led the way back to the farmhouse.

‘Sit in, and make a good tea,' Callum's mother told her. His father, a large, cheerful man, rather like an older version of Callum, rose from his seat.

‘So this is Rona,' he said, grasping her hand in his huge grip. ‘Pleased to meet you.'

The two brothers nodded shyly and made room for her at the table.