Under the Bridges Page 2

  ‘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.

  ‘You’re not thinking of working in a bar?’ Joe had said when Bob’s wife, Jenny, first asked Nancy if she’d like a job.

  ‘It’s only to help Jenny out,’ Nancy explained. ‘A bit of cleaning in the mornings, and some evenings, when they’re busy. And we could use a bit extra . . . And you know Bob and Jenny...’

  Joe had had to agree. They were a hardworking couple, trying to make a success of the bar. Now the Two Bridges was becoming known. There was always a cheerful welcome, and the bar had soon got a name for wholesome, well cooked meals.

  But this morning Nancy didn’t take the same pleasure in polishing the dark wood counter, and shining the glasses.

  ‘You’re quiet today, Nancy,’ Jenny said at last. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  Hands on hips, Jenny looked at her friend.

  ‘I know you, there is something . . . And you’ve polished that surface till it’s nearly worn away.’

  Nancy grinned ruefully.

  ‘Come on,’ Jenny spoke more gently.

  ‘Jenny—could you check these invoices . . . I’ve got to see to a delivery . . . ’Morning, Nancy . . .’ His wife’s warning look made him retreat hastily.

  ‘Come on, you can tell me,’ Jenny coaxed her friend. ‘You look as if you’ve lost a half-crown and found a halfpenny.’

  Nancy managed a smile.

  ‘Oh, Jenny. I shouldn’t bother you with my worries.’

  ‘I think I can guess. It’s your Lorna, isn’t it?’

  Nancy nodded.

  Her mind went back to the previous Saturday evening. Joe liked to relax in front of the TV. He never missed ‘Scotsport’, and sitting with a cup of tea and scone in front of the set—well, it was the best evening of the week.

  Lorna had breezed into the living-room.

  ‘Shut the door behind you, will you?’ Joe said without looking up.

  ‘Had a nice evening, dear?’ her mother asked. ‘A Billy Fury film, wasn’t it?’

  Lorna had wondered how to approach the subject of Pete. Well, she was grown up, old enough to earn her own living. What could they say?

  ‘I met a boy in the café. Nice lad.’ Lorna looked pleased with herself.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Pete.’

  ‘You’ll bring him home, so we can meet him.’ Nancy knew Lorna probably wouldn’t, but it was worth suggesting.

  Lorna took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m seeing him again. We’re going dancing—’

  ‘What?’ Joe was alert now. ‘You most certainly are not, until we know something about this lad. Bring him home to meet us, then we’ll see.’

  ‘Oh, Joe,’ Nancy pleaded. ‘Don’t be so hasty . . .’

  Lorna had stormed out of the room, and they heard her bedroom door slam.

  Nancy looked at Joe.

  ‘You’d think you’d never been young yourself. Isn’t that attitude a bit . . . well, old-fashioned?’

  ‘She’s getting ahead of herself, that one,’ Joe had mumbled. ‘I’m not having it.’

  Now Nancy sighed.

  ‘They haven’t spoken all weekend, Jenny. They’re so stubborn, the two of them.’

  Jenny smiled sympathetically.

  ‘Families, eh? Who’d have them?’

  Nancy remembered with a pang that Jenny’s only son was living in Canada. She only knew her grandchildren through photos and airmail letters.

  ‘So what am I to do?’ she asked, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

  ‘Nothing, love,’ said Jenny. ‘Let them sort it out. Joe will calm down.’ Big gentle Joe, Jenny knew, could flare up suddenly. But he’d never stay cross for long.

  ‘I hope so,’ Nancy said with misgivings. ‘But I have a feeling there’s trouble ahead.’

  ‘Well, there’s no point in worrying now. What about that cup of tea before we start work?’

  * * *

  ‘I can’t do these sums.’ Roy was sitting at the kitchen table, his homework jotter in front of him.

  ‘They’re too hard.’

  ‘You’re going to break that chair if you swing on it like that,’ Nancy said, turning round from the sink.

  The door burst open and Matt arrived like a whirlwind.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, could I have tea a bit early? We’ve football practice tonight.’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgotten. But that’s no bother. Roy, I’ll need to set the table. Could you move your books?’

  Roy appealed to his brother.

  ‘Matt, can you do sums? We’ve a test on Friday.’

  Matt leaned over Roy’s shoulder.

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. To get the fraction, you divide by the bottom figure and multiply by the top one. See? No bother at all. Now you put in a bit of practice on these sums and if you do well in the test, I’ll take you to see the Pars play on Saturday. That’s a promise.’

  ‘Great!’ Roy swept his books off the table and bolted from the room

  Nancy smiled at her elder son. Not many young men of his age would have offered to take a young brother to a football match. Roy would be in seventh heaven.

  ‘Mrs Mackay!’

  Nancy wished Shona McAllister wouldn’t call keep calling her Mrs Mackay. She’d tried, without success, to make their relationship less formal.

  ‘Hallo, Shon—Miss McAllister.’

  The young teacher smiled, and Nancy thought how pretty she was.

  ‘I can’t remember if I told you I was to be out this evening . . . ?’

  ‘You did,’ Nancy nodded. ‘Going somewhere nice?’

  ‘I think so,’ Shona sounded vague. ‘There’s . . . I mean, someone will be calling for me . . .’

  ‘Have a lovely time,’ said Nancy, wondering who the ‘someone’ was.

  Just then, the doorbell rang.

  ‘That’ll be for me,’ Shona said hurriedly.

  She whisked out of the room and Nancy could hear a deep voice greeting her. She resisted the temptation to look out of the window, but she couldn’t help wondering . . .

  Walter came through the gate at the same time, and stood back to allow Shona to pass.

  ‘Evening, Miss McAllister.’

  She nodded a thank you.

  My, but her boyfriend was doing well for himself, Walter thought, as he watched Shona settle into the passenger seat of a shiny new Hillman Minx. Her boyfriend was in a sharp suit. He glanced at Walter, but didn’t speak.

  Walter went indoors rather slowly, thinking how attractive Shona looked in that blue dress and jacket.

  ‘Tea’s nearly ready,’ called Nancy, and he forgot about Miss McAllister. It had been a long day and he was hungry.

  That night the weather changed and the wind rose. Nancy woke several times during the night, hearing the rain beating against the window-panes.

  Next morning, the gale still hadn’t blown itself out.

  ‘They’ll maybe halt the work on the bridge today,’ Joe said at breakfast.

  ‘We lose a lot of days with the weather,’ Walter told him. ‘Better that than losing men, though.’

  * * *

  Joe glanced up sharply. He didn’t like to hear such remarks when Nancy was around, knowing how much she worried about Matt.

  Now Matt himself came thundering down the stairs, grabbing his jacket.

  ‘See you tonight,’ Nancy called. ‘Take care of yourself.’

  He gave her a cheery thumbs-up sign.

  When she’d seen the family and the lodgers off to work, Nancy cleared the table. She’d put the washing on the line before she went to Jenny’s. She switched on the wireless for ‘Housewives’ Choice’ and set about her work, humming happily to herself.

  In no time the washing was on the line, billowing in a stiff breeze, and Nancy was ready to set off

  ‘You’re early,’ Jenny greeted her. ‘Time for a cup of tea before we start work.’

  Towards two o’clock, Nancy finished the clearing up and took off her apron. ‘I’ll be on m
y way then,’ she said. ‘I’ll be . . .’

  She stopped in mid-sentence. As she opened the door, a police car, siren blaring, sped past, followed by a couple of ambulances.

  ‘I wonder what’s happened,’ Jenny said anxiously, gazing up the road to see where the cars had gone.

  Before long, a small knot of people had gathered in the main road, looking up towards the giant towers of the bridge. A motorcyclist, coming from the opposite direction, stopped when he saw the small group.

  ‘It’s young Kenny,’ said someone. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Don’t know, but it’s on the bridge,’ the motorcyclist informed them. ‘An accident. Someone said it’s one of the welders.’

  Quickly, Jenny moved to put an arm round her friend.

  ‘Oh, Jenny.’ Nancy’s voice trembled. ‘You heard what he said. Oh, what if it’s Matt?’

  * * *

  ‘Suppose it’s Matt! You heard what he said. One of the welders.’ Nancy’s voice shook. Jenny put an arm round her friend.

  ‘Now don’t start fretting till we know what’s happened. Come on, let’s find out. It’s better than waiting here for news.’

  Jenny draped Nancy’s coat round her shoulders, and the two friends made their way along the road.

  Above them, the huge girders of the bridge loomed, dwarfing the small knot of people who had gathered when they heard the police sirens. One of the policemen gently shepherded the small group back to the pavement.

  As Nancy and Jenny paused, craning upwards to see what was happening above, Nancy was aware of muted voices around them.

  ‘Someone’s hurt.’

  ‘Hope it’s no’ badly.’

  ‘A man falling from that height—he’d have little chance.’

  Jenny drew her friend away from the group of women who had gathered at the roadside.

  ‘Ghouls,’ she whispered. ‘There’s some only want to be there to watch what’s going on.’

  Nancy turned round and caught a glimpse of Maisie Liddle—she worked behind the counter of a nearby sweet shop, and was known for her enjoyment of a good gossip. Nancy didn’t know her well, but she’d often been in the shop.’

  Sometimes, on her way to work, she’d popped in to The Chocolate Box to buy a treat for Jenny, who had a sweet tooth.

  The last time Maisie had leaned over the counter.