In a League of Their Own Page 12

  The store manager sighed. “Ah just told ye, did ah no? And for all you ever do about onything, ah think I’ll just go straight and get the polis.”

  This threat upset Mr Brand because, as Carrie well knew, he was (as her old Granny would have said) “not the clean tattie” and the last thing he would want was for the police to be brought into the matter. “Come, come now, my good fellow. Surely, you don’t want to mar this young lad’s life by giving him a criminal record?”

  The store manager snorted.

  “And I can assure you that, if you leave the matter with me, I will certainly deal with the boy more severely than the constabulary would.” Mr Brand lifted the lid of his desk and brought out his Rainy Day tin from which he ostentatiously paid for the crisps. The store manager made to leave but turned back and advanced towards Davie while addressing the headmaster. “And you will belt this wee blighter good and hard?”

  “That I shall indeed, my good fellow,” Brand unctuously assured him as he made to usher the manager from his room. “Oh yes! My motto is: spare the rod and spoil the child!”

  As soon as Mr Brand had stepped into the corridor, Carrie picked up the Polo tube and deposited it in the wastepaper basket. Then she became aware that young Davie was twisting, turning and clutching the back of his trousers. “Davie,” she exclaimed, “whatever is the matter with you?”

  “Oh, Mrs Fraser, I’m that feart of the belting he’s gonnae give me, I’m nearly shitting myself.”

  “But Davie, how often do I have to tell you that stealing is wrong. And you could end up in an approved school.”

  “I ken. But I was that hungry. I’ve had naething to eat since yesterday dinnertime because Maw was pissed again. And that approved school place is no aw that bad, so ah’m telt. Nae only d’ye get a cooked dinner and tea but ye hae a bed all to yersel!”

  “Davie, approved schools are for really bad boys. And you’re not that.” Bending down, Carrie picked up her handbag from which she produced a buttered roll. “Here, Davie,” she said, “you can eat this while you’re away to the lavatory. But promise me you’ll come back.”

  “Are you saying you want me to come back for a leathering? Nae chance! I’m doing a runner.”

  “Look, you’ll get over getting belted but if you do a runner you’ll miss your dinner. And Davie, it’s mince and tatties today, followed by lemon meringue pie!”

  “But them’s my favourites.” Davie thought carefully before adding, “Naethin else for it then. I’ll just hae tae thole the belt. But here, Mrs Fraser, could you no put in a guid word for me?”

  “I will try. But remember, Davie, Mr Brand has his standards.”

  Davie winked at Carrie as he made for the door. “Aye, and we aw ken what they are. Charges us bairns tuppence to see a film. Tuppence that ends up in his own tail.”

  An hour had gone by before Mr Brand returned to his office. Miss Wright had been in three times to see him but he’d managed to elude her successfully each time. He still had Davie to deal with, however, and was preparing to take out his leather tawse when he heard the ominous clicking of Miss Wright’s heels advancing towards his door. Gesturing to Carrie and grabbing Davie by the collar, he jumped into the large walk-in stationery cupboard that stood just next to the office.

  “Don’t tell me that man isn’t back yet!” snapped the Infants’ Mistress, but before Carrie could answer the interval bell rang and Miss Wright hurried off to supervise the exodus of her Infants into the playground.

  No sooner had she gone than Mr Brand surreptitiously pushed open the cupboard door and poked his head out.

  “Ah, she’s gone. Good! Now for my well-earned tea-break.”

  “Is there no going to be a rammie then?” Davie almost sang. Brand turned sharply and grabbed him by the jumper. “Oh, look an see what you’ve gone an done now,” whined Davie. “Ripped my jumper worse, so you hae. And that’ll no please my Mammy – nor the polis. This is a Police-Aided Clothing Model, so it is.”

  Mr Brand immediately let Davie go but pushed him further into the cupboard, muttering, “Impudent, ungrateful upstart. Just you stay in that cupboard until I have time to deal with you.” He then turned to Carrie. “Look, I’ve had such a traumatic morning that I desperately need to get into the fresh air.”

  On his departure, Carrie was alerted by the banging on the store cupboard door and Davie shouting, “It’s dark in here! Mammy! Daddy! Save me. Somebody get the polis.”

  Immediately Carrie stood up, switched on the light and opened the cupboard door slightly. “Shhh, Davie,” she whispered comfortingly. “You’ll be perfectly safe in there.”

  “Will I? And what about the bogeymen?”

  “Bogeymen? Don’t talk rubbish. Look, I’ll away and get you a bottle of milk.”

  The afternoon session had just begun. Davie had been released from the cupboard by Carrie so that he could have lunch in the dinner hall. Now he was back in the cupboard, sitting on a chair, and plaintively asking Carrie when she peered in, “Hoo much langer hae I got to stay in here?”

  “Do try to be patient, Davie. Mr Brand has been called away on urgent business.”

  “We bairns aw ken he goes hunting around the secondhand shops in Leith Walk.”

  “That’s so he can buy things on the cheap that we need here in the school.”

  Davie started to cackle. “Oh aye? Like last week when he came back with a mangle?”

  “Well you never know when things like that may come in handy.”

  “Right enough. When he’s finished mangling the bairns he could mebbe straighten…”

  “That’s quite enough, Davie. Now, did Mrs Brockie give you your dinner?”

  Leaping out of the cupboard, Davie pretended to be eating furiously. “Aye. And she’s a smasher. Gave me doubling helpins when I told here I was getting blootered this afternoon.”

  Carrie was about to respond when she looked out into the corridor and saw Mr Brand sprinting towards her. “Quick, Davie! Back in the cupboard.”

  It was too late. Mr Brand sprang into the office and hurtled himself towards the boy. “Forgot that I had still to deal with you,” he snorted before indicating that Davie should stand in front of his desk. “Now, David Scott, you were caught stealing and no one is required to steal.” Mr Brand raised a finger and pointed to the ceiling, “Our Father in heaven – does he not provide for our every need?” He fixed Davie with a stern glare. “Does he not?”

  Davie considered the question carefully before replying, “Well, Him and the Means Test.”

  Carrie sighed. She knew that, by this time in the afternoon, any connection Mr Brand had with reality would have long gone so she was not in the least surprised when he ignored Davie’s response and began to preach aloud. “Doth he not clothe the humble sparrow? If He would do that for a simple bird, David, how much more will He do for you?” Davie said nothing but just looked about the room despairingly. “And are you aware, David Scott, that every day I, your illustrious Headmaster, go down on bended knees and thank God for all He has bestowed on me. Now, my lad, can you think of just one thing you can thank God for?” Davie shrugged and looked over to Carrie who was frantically hoping he would answer. “Come away, boy, there must be one thing you can think of to thank God for.”

  Davie shifted from one foot to the other and Carrie thought just how hard that question was for him. He lived in a condemned room and kitchen in Primrose Street along with six other siblings and his drunken parents; and the only cooked meals he ever got were his free dinners here at the school.

  Furious at Davie’s inability to respond, Mr Brand lifted the lid of his desk and, bringing out the cruel belt, bellowed, “Right! Have you never heard your miserable, scrounging mother thank God?” Davie’s face lightened. “Come on then! What does she thank Him for?”

  “Wall’s steak pie!”

  Mr Brand sank down on his chair and buried his head in his hands before groaning, “Wall’s Steak Pie. Now tell me, Carrie, where in the Holy
Bible does it mention Wall’s Steak Pie?”

  “I don’t think it does, sir. So would it not be better if I took Davie back to his class?”

  “Yes, pluck him out of my sight. For the sight of him doth offend my eye!”

  11

  STORM AND STRESS

  Hannah gazed unseeingly as she stood at the window which faced the school. One of the few things that she disliked, even hated, about life on Herrig was that now, in December, daylight didn’t surface until after nine in the morning and darkness shrouded the island by half past three in the afternoon. However, all that was compensated for when at midsummer the sun chased away the dusk almost before it had time to settle.

  Angus, her youngest fifteen-month-old son, was now pulling vigorously at her skirt and she bent to pick him up. “Ah,” she said teasingly, “so you think you should still be the baby? Well, that’s Ishbel’s place now.” She pointed out of the window. “See there! Those are your brothers and sisters running home from school. We’d better get the scones buttered and then we’ll get all the chores done so that everything is spick and span for Daddy coming home tomorrow.”

  As soon as Angus was set down on the floor he propelled himself towards the door, waiting eagerly to welcome his siblings back – especially his sister, Katie, who had taken over as his second mother since August when Morag had left to attend a secondary school in Edinburgh. Morag – who’d been such a help indoors and out – was sorely missed, especially by Hannah. There was no one who could keep the family supplied with water the way she could. Small in stature though she was, it seemed no problem for her to carry two brimming pailfuls of water up the hill with a wooden yoke about her neck. She could milk a cow, herd the sheep and tend the horses, though wise enough to leave collecting the hens’ eggs to (as she saw it) her less capable brothers.

  Allowing Morag to attend a grammar school on the mainland hadn’t been a tough decision for Hannah and Jamie. She’d had an excellent primary education at the small school on Herrig – a better education, they felt, than she could have gained on the mainland. Classes were small and individual attention was something to be taken for granted rather than wished for. Having a very close relationship with Rachel, Morag had chosen to stay with her grandmother in Edinburgh and was now enrolled as a pupil at St Thomas Aquinas, a girls-only school. Her acceptance there had delighted Rachel, who pointed out that Morag having passed the qualifying examination with flying colours only confirmed what she’d always known – that she took her natural intelligence from her mother’s side of the family. Rachel, of course, ignored the fact that Morag’s father had been one of the youngest ever to pass his seagoing Master’s ticket!

  Angus looked up expectantly when he heard both the outside and inside doors bang open noisily; but it was Fergus, not Kate, who burst into the living room. Fergus was a sensitive lad who believed that whenever his father was away fishing he himself was responsible for the whole family. “Mathair,” he excitedly cried and went on to babble a long spiel in Gaelic.

  “Fergus! Oh, Fergus!” pleaded Hannah as she tried to calm him. “You know I haven’t the Gaelic, so please talk to me in English.”

  Fergus hung his head apologetically. He always forgot that his mother was the only person on Herrig not to have the Gaelic. To be truthful, Gaelic was his first language, the language he loved best. It had been as a toddler, while sitting on the knees of his two great aunts, Ishbel and Myrtle, that he’d been taught to speak and sing in the ancient tongue. How grateful he felt towards them both for teaching him so effortlessly: no wonder that when they’d died five years ago, within weeks of one another, he had been quite distraught. Nevertheless, he continued to perfect his knowledge of the language by conversing at great length with his father and with all the others who chose to use the foreign English tongue only when the uneducated were about! With a patient sigh he announced, “Mum, the headmaster’s just told us the fishing forecast is warning that there’s a big storm brewing and our boats will be heading for shelter.”

  Hannah grimaced. “Och, is that not just like the thing. Here am I needing your father home tomorrow and now … Did the forecast say how long it would last?”

  Making for the door, Fergus shook his head. “No. So I’ll away and see to the beasts and hens and then do the locking up.”

  “Aye, you do that.” Then, wagging a finger at Roddy, her second son, she firmly ordered him, “And once you’ve finished jamming that piece for yourself, Roddy, just you get outside and give Fergus a hand.” Ever since he was just a toddler, Hannah had acknowledged that Roddy was exactly like her own brother Paul – always first to be at the table when a meal was being dished up but all too quick to disappear whenever there was work to be done. Until now she’d managed to make sure he didn’t avoid his share of the chores but as he grew older it was increasingly hard to keep tabs on him. As Roddy made for the door, she focused her attention on Katie. “And you, my lass, could you go now and fill the pails with water? And this time try to have a few drops left in the bucket when you get back to the house!”

  The storm raged throughout the night but had blown itself out by mid-morning and the sea was now perfectly calm – so calm that it resembled a sheet of glass. Hannah always said a silent prayer after such a storm was over. She was thankful that the damage this time was no more than a few slates off the roof.

  It was mid-afternoon, while she was breastfeeding Ishbel, with Angus lying beside her on the couch having his afternoon nap, that she heard a soft tap on the outside door and then the door slowly creaking open. Quickly, she snatched her breast from Ishbel’s mouth, causing the baby to cry out in some distress. But when Hannah saw that her visitor was Father Donald she was thankful she’d fastened up her blouse and made herself respectable. “Nice of you to call, Father,” said Hannah with a beaming smile that died on her face once she saw that he had come with Peggy Mack in tow.

  Peggy Mack had been a good friend to Hannah – the best friend she had on the island since Myrtle and Ishbel had died. Sure, it was Peggy Mack who’d shown her how to cut peat, plant potatoes in the lazybeds and herd the ponies. And it was Peggy Mack who would always hold the fort until Rachel arrived whenever another of her children was on the way. Most important of all, it was Peggy Mack who had schooled her in the ways of the island and who insisted that people speak English and not the Gaelic when she was about. But Hannah’s first thought was of Peggy’s brother, Calum, who had the second sight – and immediately a sickening feeling of dread filled Hannah’s breast. “And what brings you here in the middle of the day, Peggy? Not got enough to do?” she asked shakily, trying hard to calm herself.

  Father Donald stood back to let Peggy Mack sit on the settee beside Hannah. “Hannah, my dear …” he began tentatively.

  “There’s been an accident on the fishing boat,” Peggy broke in, grasping Hannah’s hand.

  “Oh, no!” Hannah blurted out, pulling her hand free. “Please don’t say something has happened to my own Jamie?”

  Father Donald shook his head. “We’re not quite sure yet. You see, as you know, I have the only telephone on the island. However, there are times, like today, when it doesn’t work all that well.” He hesitated. “But a garbled message did get through from Father Archie in Mallaig…I’m just not a hundred per cent positive, that when he said ‘Jamie McKinley’, whether he meant your Jamie the Bull or his cousin, Jamie McKinley the Fish. And before I could ask for clarification we were cut off. So all I am sure of is that an accident happened to a Jamie McKinley who was sailing on the Santa Maria.”

  Hannah looked perplexed. “An accident? So whoever it is will be in the hospital?”

  Peggy and Father Donald shook their heads in unison.

  “You mean the accident was …” Hannah just couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘fatal’. All she could think of was the day she’d first stepped foot on the Isle of Herrig. Three old islanders were seated down on the pier, passing the time of day. Having alighted from the ferry-boat,
she’d taken her head-square off and allowed her long blonde hair, with its ginger highlights, to tumble free in the fresh air. One of the old men, Peggy’s brother Calum, on seeing her hair, had half-risen and gasped in horror before pointing a gnarled finger towards her. “It’s her! It’s her!” he’d shouted and gesturing to Hannah to get back on board the boat. “It’s she that I’ve seen weeping on the shore. Go! Go home, lassie, while you have the chance.”

  Jamie had immediately gone over to Calum and grabbed him by the arm. Hannah had no idea what he’d said since the talk was all in Gaelic. Some months later, however, one of the busybodies of the island told her that for twenty years and more Calum had frequently foretold of a stranger, with long, flowing blonde hair, who would marry one of the islanders and make her home here. One day, so Calum had predicted, that woman would know great sorrow – a sorrow that had to do with her standing upon the shore, surrounded by many, many children. They would all be weeping as a fishing boat with a coffin on board would pass by on its way to tie up at the pier.

  “Fatal, yes,” mumbled Peggy, “but it shouldn’t have been. He only banged his head when he slipped jumping from the boat onto the pier,” she continued vehemently before whispering, “although you’ll remember, Hannah, my dear, how our Calum did …”

  Hannah shook her head violently. She just couldn’t understand it. It was quite true that, since she’d made her home on the island, Calum had accurately foretold of two unnatural passings! But here they were, saying they weren’t sure – and in any case why should anyone believe the ravings of an old man? “When will we know for sure?” she asked.

  Father Donald put up his hand to silence Peggy before she could speak. “Well,” he began, “as Jamie the Fish is the cousin of Father Archie at Mallaig, I would have expected him to ask me to call on his aunt immediately – the boy’s mother. But, when he rang me…”