Page 42

Chapter 42

October 1931

The letter was delivered on Monday morning.

Black ink, scribed on a small envelope, the paper stiff with prosperity.

Isobel picked it up off the doormat and studied the handwriting.

Not elderly, but they are uncertain about the address, she reasoned.

And there was something about the E for Edinburgh that was familiar.

She placed the envelope carefully on the hall table with the other post, and stepped over the canvas rucksacks and abandoned walking boots which had been deposited in the hall the evening before by Keith and Ann, so urgent was their need for sleep.

In times past it would all have been left for her to tidy away: boots polished and put in the hall cupboard in a neat row, bags emptied of wet and muddy clothes and taken through to the kitchen to dry in front of the range while the contents were sorted and scrubbed clean.

Not any longer. Times had definitely changed and Ann would have her guts for garters if she so much as moved a bootlace.

Isobel returned to the kitchen and ran her hand along the back of the chair and across Rab’s shoulders.

He was sitting at the table in his working trousers and braces, a collarless shirt, and socks that needed attention from a darning needle.

He had moved into the house at the end of September, and over the last week, ever since Ann and Keith had waved goodbye and headed off to the bus station, things had started to change.

They had enjoyed having the place to themselves; laughing and chatting with no one to hear.

He had told her about the accident which had happened more than twenty years before in a house on Library Terrace, although he couldn’t be sure which one.

He had been thirteen and not big enough to be labouring on many of the building sites even though he’d been out of school for a whole year.

His uncle had known that money was tight and found him a few hours’ work but afterwards he had never forgiven himself for what happened.

Rab explained how a dod of lime plaster had fallen from the plasterer’s hawk and landed square on his face as he looked upwards from below.

The hawk had been full and heavy and it had taken a minute for the tradesman to get down the ladder safely and scoop him up.

All the while he had been screaming his head off, and then he had been held under a tap, dunked into a bucket of water and got soaking wet and half frozen in the cold.

He told her how the man whose house it was going to be had handed over his good coat to stop him from freezing half to death; a coat which had been stored safely in the wardrobe with mothballs stowed in the pockets until he had been old enough to wear it.

He had used it for years until it had eventually become threadbare.

Isobel had stroked his face and kissed the burn scars and the blind eye and said how pleased she was that he had come back to this street and not been frightened away.

Neither of them cared about the age gap; six years was such a small thing to bother about when so many had lost everyone who mattered.

For three nights now, they had slept side by side in her narrow bed in the room above the scullery, and she wanted him never to leave.

‘Porridge?’ said Isobel.

‘Or toast and mar-mal-adeee?’

He smiled at the deliberate mispronunciation.

‘Toast, please.’

She opened the bread bin and took out the wholemeal loaf, made the day before with Dr Allinson’s best flour.

‘I suppose I may get used to this .?.?.’ he paused, not wanting to offend, ‘ .?.?. this wholesome bread.’

‘Since you live here now, you’ve got no choice,’ she replied, setting about the loaf with the bread knife.

‘You’ll not get that white stuff in this house, so if you’re wanting it you’ll need to be buying it yourself and eating it on the street corner.

’ She put the slices between the mesh of the wire toaster and set it down on the hotplate.

‘I wonder what time they’ll rouse themselves,’ he said.

‘About now, actually,’ said Ann from the doorway, taking in the scene, the comfortable space between her friend and this man who had been chief ladder-steadier for the last couple of months.

Rab jumped up from the chair and Ann could have sworn that he blushed.

‘I’ll just get my shoes,’ he said and disappeared up the scullery stairs, stopping halfway up as he realised he had just revealed everything that needed to be known about the sleeping arrangements over the last few days.

Ann raised an eyebrow and smiled at Isobel.

Isobel ignored her. ‘Do you want some toast as well? There’s another loaf; I made two.

’

‘Toast and mar-mal-adeee,’ said Keith as he entered the kitchen.

‘The second-best breakfast after porridge. Yes, please!’

‘Was the youth hostel good, then?’ Isobel didn’t understand why anyone would want to stay in such a place.

‘Worth going all that way in this October weather to stay in a draughty hut in the country, far away from your creature comforts and your own bed?’

‘It was.’ Ann sat down at the table.

‘Youth hostels are the future of holidays. So much more fun than guest houses, even though there are chores to do.’

‘We met some interesting young people, but I think we were the oldest folk there,’ added Keith.

‘It was marvellous to be away from the city for a little while, in spite of the draughty dormitories.’

Rab returned, and the four of them sat around the table, eating the toast, spread with a little butter and a scraping of marmalade to make the jar last.

Ann listened as the room filled with stories and ideas, and thought that perhaps she was creating a family of a different kind.

*

After the men had left, putting their plates in the scullery sink and donning coats and caps to go to the next street to give an estimate for the painting of an entrance hall and staircase, Ann and Isobel stayed at the table and refilled the teapot halfway, eking a fifth and a sixth cup from the tea leaves.

‘So, am I right in thinking you might be a little bit smitten with our Robert?’

Isobel reddened.

‘Just a touch.’

‘You still haven’t moved upstairs, so I was going to suggest you choose some paint for your old room.

’ Ann pointed to the room above the scullery.

‘The one you have been so determined not to give up. But I’m now wondering if that will be necessary.

’

Isobel sighed and got to her feet.

‘Miss Ann, sometimes you are so sharp you’ll cut yourself.

’

‘I’m right, though, aren’t I?

’ Ann took a last mouthful of tea.

‘It’s about time you had a little happiness, and if Keith and I can find it so unexpectedly, then why not the two of you?

’

‘Maybe.’

‘Now, have there been any letters? Post that came when I was away?’

‘On the hall table. It’s all next to the heap of hats and gloves that you left there last night.

’

Ann went to investigate, returning with the five envelopes.

‘A bill. Another bill. An official letter about .?.?.’ she tore open the envelope, ‘ .?.?. repairs to the pavement. Yet another bill. And,’ she paused, ‘a hand-addressed letter from person or persons unknown. How intriguing. I hope this is a nice surprise and not something unpleasant.’ She turned the envelope over and examined the back.

‘Thick paper. No seal. No return address. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say. Pass me the bread knife before you go upstairs, there’s a dear.

’

But Isobel had already left.

Ann leaned forward and grabbed the knife herself, shaking the crumbs from the serrated edge.