Under the Bridges (2 page)

‘Not at all.' Shona was still frosty.

‘Working on the bridges all these years, as I said—someone's always going to lose out. It's hard, but there it is. '

‘As you say, there it is.'

‘But I know you were fond of your gran and it was a shame she had to move.'

‘Yes, she did,' Shona said roughly, ‘to an old people's home. From the cottage she'd come to when she was married.' She gave him a searching look. ‘It broke her heart, Mr Logan.'

‘I'm sorry. But it wasn't in my hands to halt the building.'

‘There were other sites,' she flared up. ‘It didn't have to be the Mackintosh Rock site.'

‘But it was the best site,' he insisted. ‘They spent years deciding. It was just hard luck that your gran's cottage was . . .well, in the way.'

‘Hard luck, eh?' she said bitterly. ‘I grew up in that cottage, after my parents died. I haven't got a home any more.'

‘You're kind of sorry for yourself, aren't you?' he said, suddenly exasperated. ‘I've apologised. I can't do any more.'

‘Then we must agree to differ. You'll excuse me. I'm going out this evening.'

He stood aside, watching the slim figure as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Oh well, he'd done his best. He sighed. There was
nothing
worse than a chilly atmosphere, especially when you were sitting across the table from someone. Still, if that was the way she wanted it . . .

* * *

William was waiting eagerly. He enjoyed hearing from Walter about work on the bridge. Matt had come in and was having a wash before sitting down to dinner.

‘I saw the first one—the rail bridge—being built, you know,' William said, drawing on his pipe.

Walter had heard the story before but he listened patiently.

‘I was just a lad at the school in Dunfermline,' William continued. ‘But my brother and me, every chance we got, we were down to see how the bridge was getting on.'

‘And were you at the opening?'

‘Of course I was!' The old man's eyes brightened at the memory. ‘In 1890 it was. All the workers in Dunfermline had a day off that day. And the railway ran special trains from Dunfermline to Queensferry, drawn by wee engines. I've never seen so many folk. Dunfermline was empty!'

His eyes twinkled as he looked back over seventy years. ‘But oh, what a grand day. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.'

‘And I'll be at the opening of the new
bridge,'
he added. ‘And I'll walk over it.' He winked at Walter.

‘Well, that'll be in 1964,' Walter grinned. ‘Weather permitting.'

‘Aye, that's the problem,' William nodded wisely. ‘You can make your plans, but you can't reckon on the weather.'

‘I've worked on bridges all over the world,' said Walter. ‘But I've never seen anything like the weather on the Forth. Rain, sleet, hail—and the high winds. When the wind rises, you have to walk extra carefully, and keep your donkey jacket buttoned up, else it might act as a sail.'

* * *

Matt stopped eating and laid down his knife and fork. ‘I heard there was nearly a bad accident last week.'

Walter glanced across the table at Nancy.

‘Aye, there was.'

‘What happened?' Grandpa asked, interested.

‘One lad slipped and his mate was about to grab his sleeve. Then he realised his hands were greasy—they'd been greasing the bolts, you see. So he shouted to his pal to hold on, while he wiped his hands. Then he stretched out his hand and pulled his mate safely back. It took a lot of courage that, and a cool head. There's many a story like that—lads who don't
think
about their own risk, only about saving their pals.'

‘Real heroes.' Grandpa nodded.

‘Do you never get frightened, Mr Logan?' young Roy asked, his eyes wide.

‘It wouldn't do, lad.' Walter turned to him. ‘You couldn't do this job if you were scared of heights. If you're walking across a two foot beam with the whole of the Forth beneath you, you need to have your wits about you.'

‘I might want to do that when I grow up,' said young Roy. ‘If I'm not a spaceman.' His eyes shone. ‘Like Gagarin.'

Yuri Gagarin's space flight the year before had made him a hero to millions of youngsters.

‘It'll be years yet,' he added gloomily. ‘It's a waste of time staying at school—doing sums, and grammar, and the like.'

‘They'll still be building bridges when you've grown,' Walter promised him with a smile. ‘And who knows about space travel?'

‘Excuse me.' Nancy got up from the table and went into the kitchen.

She clutched the edge of the sink, feeling it cool under her hand, and gazed out of the window. There was no-one on the bridge now, but the wind was rising, and she saw the trees at the end of the garden beginning to sway.

She looked out unseeingly, trying to quell the feelings of panic inside her. Matt! Suppose it had been Matt!

There was a footstep behind her, and an
arm
went gently around her shoulder.

‘Are you all right?' her husband asked gently.

‘Of course I'm all right,' said Nancy, with a sharpness that was unusual for her.

But Joe knew what she was thinking.

‘It's what Matt wants, love,' he said soothingly. ‘Try not to worry about him. They've a good safety record on the bridge.'

‘I know.' Nancy's voice trembled. ‘But whenever I think . . . I hate to hear about the dangers up there.'

‘Ssh . . .' Joe held her for a moment.

Nancy gave herself a little shake.

‘I'm just being silly. Imagining things. Now I'd better get on—it's apple crumble for pudding. Grandpa's favourite.'

She took the dish out of the oven. ‘Will you take the plates in for me?'

But as she served the pudding, and offered a jug of custard round the table, Nancy's thoughts were elsewhere. Out in the Forth, where the wind was whipping the water into white-crested waves.

‘Well, I'm off . . .' Lorna jumped up from the table.

‘You're going out, then?' Joe said.

‘Yes, to the pictures.'

‘That's the third time this week.' Joe frowned.

‘And what if it is? I don't have to sit at home with you and Mum every evening, do I?'
Lorna's
voice rose.

Oh dear, Nancy thought. Why did they always have to argue at mealtimes?

‘It's just the pictures, Joe, an hour or two . . .' she said, trying to calm things down.

Her husband paid no attention.

‘And do you expect your mother to cook the meal and wash the dishes? You never do a hand's turn in here.'

‘I'm going out,' said Lorna. ‘I'm sick of being treated like a child.'

She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

‘You're late!' Lorna's friend Mandy was waiting under the clock.

‘Sorry!' Lorna dropped her bag and coins spilled all over the pavement.

Mandy sighed and helped her to pick them up.

‘What kept you?'

‘Well, there was a bit of a row at home and I thought I was going to miss the bus. And I couldn't get my eyeliner on.' She turned to her friend. ‘How do you think I look, then?'

‘You look great,' Mandy said, inwardly thinking Lorna had overdone the eye makeup.

‘Well, I'll have to take it off before I go home.' Lorna sighed. ‘You've no idea what my dad's like these days.

‘And
Mum—she never speaks up for me. You're so lucky with your folks . . .'

‘Forget it.' Mandy was growing a little tired of the subject. ‘And hurry—or we'll miss the big picture.'

Lorna looked up at the poster advertising the film outside the Regal Cinema.

‘
Play It Cool
. I've wanted to see this for ages.'

* * *

On their way out of the cinema after the film had ended Lorna said, ‘I thought Helen Shapiro was great, didn't you? I wish I could sing like that.'

‘And Bobby Vee.' Mandy rolled her eyes. ‘He's sooo handsome!'

‘It's Billy Fury's first film.'

Lorna began humming “Halfway to Paradise”.

They turned into a coffee bar where their friends were already waiting.

‘Oh, look—they're here again this week.'

Mandy nodded at the group of boys who were banging at the juke box to try to make it give up more than the threepence-worth they'd put in.

‘Hallo, there. Can we get you girls a coffee?'

Lorna glanced up. The lad who spoke was tall, with dark hair swept over his forehead in a Beatles' style and an engaging smile.

‘Yes,
thanks,' Mandy said. ‘I'll have an espresso.'

‘And your friends?'

Shirley shook her head. ‘I don't like that frothy stuff. I'll have a bottle of cola, please.'

‘Coffee for me.' Babs began fishing in her purse.

‘No, this is our treat,' the tall dark-haired young man insisted.

‘You were here last week,' he said, looking directly at Lorna.

‘What if I was?'

‘You don't want to believe anything Pete says.'

His friend was tired of trying to make the jukebox play extra time, and the owner of the café was glaring at them from behind the coffee machine. He came over to join the group.

He was smart, thought Lorna, but not as well dressed as the tall, dark one. She noticed he was wearing an expensive-looking leather jacket.

‘I'm Nick, and he's Pete.' He nodded towards his friend.

‘Hello, Pete,' Lorna said, opening her eyes wide. He looked a bit like George Harrison.

‘So,' Nick said suddenly, ‘what about these coffees? And you haven't told us your names.'

‘I'm Mandy and this is Lorna. And Babs and Shirley.'

‘I mustn't stay long.' Babs glanced anxiously
at
her watch. ‘I've got to go and meet Neil. We're looking at a flat.'

Lorna sighed. You could get a little tired of Babs and her wedding plans.

Lorna had plans, too. Leaving home, for a start.

* * *

‘Penny for them?' Pete leaned over towards her. ‘Did you say coffee?'

‘Oh, I'll have a cream soda instead.'

Pete was great company. Lorna hadn't laughed so much for a long time. He did a wonderful Chubby Checker imitation, till the café proprietor told him to sit down and not disrupt the whole place.

‘You'll have to wait till next week for my Elvis impersonation,' he whispered to Lorna. ‘It's worth coming back for.'

His eyes held hers as he pushed a plate of chocolate biscuits across the table.

‘So what do you do, Lorna?'

She hesitated. It sounded so dull to say she worked in a typing pool.

‘I'm just temporary,' she improvised. ‘I'm hoping to be a model. Maybe in Edinburgh. Maybe even London.'

‘I never . . .' Mandy was about to say she had never known of this ambition, but Lorna kicked her gently on the ankle.

‘And what do you do?' Mandy was never shy
of
asking questions.

‘We're down the pit.'

‘Oh?' Lorna was a little disappointed. Not that she was a snob, but it would have been nice to introduce a boyfriend who was training to be an architect or a surveyor, something like that.

‘Oh well—is that the time?' Lorna glanced at her watch. ‘I'll have to rush for the bus.'

‘See you next week?' said Shirley, getting up. ‘There's the new Doris Day picture coming soon.'

‘Great,' Mandy said. ‘Well, I'd better be off too.'

Pete jumped up.

‘I'll walk you to the bus station.'

‘Me?' Lorna was a bit surprised. She wasn't absolutely sure he was speaking to her and not to Mandy.

‘All right, then,' she said, trying to sound casual. If only her new shoes weren't hurting so much. It was hardly romantic to be hirpling along the street.

‘So you and your pals meet up every week?' Pete said as they made their way to the bus station.

‘Yes . . . Oops!' Lorna tripped over the kerb. ‘Ouch!'

She made a face and took off her right shoe. No, thank goodness, the heel wasn't broken.

‘Are you OK?'

Lorna could have cried with embarrassment.
Now
there was no chance he would ask her out. And he'd been just about to, she was sure of that.

‘You can lean on me if you like.' He grinned.

‘No, thank you,' Lorna said stiffly. ‘I can manage.' Oh, what a fool she was, wearing these shoes just to go to the pictures!

‘How do you fancy going dancing next week—if your foot's better, that is?' He smiled.

All sorts of thoughts went through Lorna's head. Who was he? Where did he live? But it was only a dance, for goodness' sake. She knew she was a good dancer, and she didn't need to mention it at home.

‘I'll think about it.'

‘Tell you what. I'll meet you on Saturday evening. The Milkmaid Snack Bar—d'you know it? Right opposite the bus station.'

‘All right.'

‘Seven o'clock suit you?'

‘Fine.'

‘You'd better hurry—you're going to miss your bus.'

Lorna just made it in time. She swung on to the platform of the bus, and watched as Pete waved to her.

‘Saturday. Don't forget!' he called.

As if she would. But then, she felt a slight tremor of apprehension. What would Dad say?

* * *

It was a week later, a sunny morning with a strong breeze.

Nancy made her way through the hotel courtyard towards the bar. She noticed as she always did, the still colourful tubs of bright red petunias, and the troughs of dark-red Swiss pansies.

The lovely garden was Bob Wilson's pride and joy.