As The Years Go By

by Anne Douglas

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Forced by the post-war boom to leave their shabby Edinburgh tenement for a new bungalow on the outskirts on the city, Madge Gilbride is comforted by the fact that at least she has her family near her. And when her grandsons, Will and Hamish, fall in love with local girls she is delighted.

But life is not sailing- especially for Will. In love with the fiery Kate Rossie, he discovers she wants both a husband and a politcal career. Conventional Will makes a choice he will regret for years- a sensible marriage of convenience to the suitable Sara.

As she watches her grand-children with their own families joys and troubles, Madge can't help but remember her old tenement home and hope that the new generation of Gilbrides never forget their roots...

Release date: February 7, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 400

Sample

Goodbye, Catherine’s Land. This was the day. 6 February, 1952. Kate Rossie, speeding up the Royal Mile towards the house, had been thinking of nothing else. Until she heard the wireless news. The announcer’s voice, broadcasting to the world. That voice still rang in her ears, solemn as a passing bell. Der König ist tot. Le roi est mort. The King is dead.

George the Sixth dead? She still could not believe it. He had been ill, it was true. A lung resection, the doctors said. Cancer, said the rumours. But he was supposed to have recovered. Kate was only twenty-one; she could remember no other monarch. Now Princess Elizabeth would be Queen and she was somewhere in Kenya, watching wild animals. Lord, thought Kate, this was going to send the paper hopping, she’d better ring the desk as soon she’d seen Will.

It was only three months earlier that she had landed the job of junior reporter on a Glasgow left-wing newspaper. She’d asked for special leave today to say goodbye to Catherine’s Land, but now of course she’d have to go into work and wanted to, for who’d want to be away from the centre of news at a time like this?

She had reached the Lawnmarket. Next stop, the Castle. Behind her lay the long historic thoroughfare that stretched down to the Palace of Holyroodhouse. These were the stones of Edinburgh she had known all her life. She had been born in the tenement that was Catherine’s Land, she had gone to school in the Canongate. It had always seemed to her that nothing could change, yet here was change happening before her eyes. Even though her pulse was racing and her heart beating fast, sadness gripped her at the door of her old home. Just for a moment, the news about the King had sent the other significance of the day from her mind, but now it returned in full force. This was the day the last tenants were to leave. This was the day that Catherine’s Land closed its doors. Until the builders moved in.

Kate stood looking up at the six storeys that had been home. Every window was known to her, every blackened stone, every tile, every leaning chimney. Her beautiful eyes moved slowly down to the front door hanging open and the steps where children, herself included, had played down the years. Here were the empty shops. Donnie Muir’s grocery, Will’s mother’s dressmaker’s, her father’s newsagent’s that had once been the sweetie shop. Ken Rossie had been a boy in Catherine’s Land, along with the Kemp boys, the Muir boys, the Ritchie girls, the Finnegans, the Pringles, the Craigs, the Erskines, so many people Kate had known only as grown-ups. All gone now, except for the Gilbrides, who would be up the stair waiting for the removal van. At the thought of Will Gilbride, Kate pushed open the front door and went sprinting up the worn stone steps calling, ‘Will, I’m here!’

And Will came thundering down the stair to meet her.

Catherine’s Land had been built by a merchant in 1701 and built to last. In its early days, it had included quality among its tenants. Later, it had become a slum. Restored to respectability at the turn of the nineteenth century, it had soldiered on to survive two world wars. By 1945, however, it was obvious that the years had finally taken their toll. The landlords, their hearts failing over the repairs, sold the house to the university for conversion to students’ accommodation.

No tenant at the time was worried. Why, the university would niver get planning permission! You couldna get the bricks for housing, niver mind digs for students, and who cared a toss for students, anyway, when there were families with nowhere to live? But eventually the university did get planning permission. By Christmas 1951, most of the tenants had been dispersed, some to council estates, others to lodging houses or other tenements, anywhere they could squash themselves in. By this significant day in February 1952, only the Gilbrides were left.

There were four of them. Madge, Will’s grandmother; her daughter, Jennie, and Jennie’s sons, Will and Hamish.

Madge, still sweet-faced, still pretty, had come to Catherine’s Land as a young widow when her mother-in-law had brought her back from Southampton with her three little girls, Abby, Jennie and Rachel. That had been in 1912. Madge had been Madge Ritchie then. Jennie and Rachel had married brothers, the sons of Jim Gilbride, a widower. Years later, Madge herself had married Jim. Rachel’s Malcolm was still alive, but Jim was dead and so was Jennie’s Rory. Will and Hamish rarely spoke of their father.

‘Oh, Kate!’ Will strained her close, then released her to look at her, taking his usual delight in his Renoir girl as Rachel Gilbride, a painter, liked to describe Kate. Will knew nothing about art, but he knew that Kate, with her velvet dark eyes, her peachy skin and tawny hair, was beautiful. Folk said she and her sister were like their mother, but Ivy Rossie these days was a spent match to their flame. That was what life did to you, eh? Why, even Biddy, older than Kate and married with three children, was showing signs of wear and tear. But Will couldn’t imagine Kate’s looks ever fading. She wasn’t the type to let life grind her down. Just let it try!

Kate was taking pleasure in her Will too. He and Hamish had Jennie’s blond good looks, even though their father’s extravagant handsomeness had passed them by. At one time Jennie used to say she could just see a look of Rory in Hamish, but after Rory left her for Sheena MacLaren, Jennie never mentioned that look again.

‘No uniform?’ Kate teased. ‘Why, I was looking forward to saluting!’

‘Ah, come on!’ Will protested, not wanting to be reminded of the row they’d had when he’d taken a National Service commission. Kate didn’t approve of differences in rank and thought it crazy that anyone from Catherine’s Land should want to be an officer. But then Will was a university graduate and had already been promised a post in one of Edinburgh’s most famous banks. Kate knew he didn’t think of himself as belonging any more to Catherine’s Land. After all, two of his aunts and his uncle had long ago escaped. Well, everybody’s escaped now, thought Kate, if you wanted to put it that way.

‘I’m on leave,’ Will said softly. ‘I’ve got ten days, if you remember.’

‘I remember.’ Kate, her lower lip trembling, didn’t have to be reminded that he was bound for fighting in Korea. She swallowed her tears and took Will’s arm to run up the stair to his mother’s flat.

‘Have you heard the news?’ she cried, greeting everybody.

‘What news?’ asked Jennie Gilbride. ‘We’ve packed the wireless.’

Jennie, Madge and Hamish, surrounded by boxes, were in the living room that still showed signs of early grandeur in its long windows and handsome cornice. The ceiling over the old range was blackened, Jennie had never been able to do anything about that, but elsewhere everything was clean as a new pin for Jennie was a good housewife and liked things tidy. The gas was still connected, the kettle had not been packed but was singing in the little scullery. Soon Madge would make tea for everyone, the removal men as well, when they arrived.

‘What news?’ Jennie repeated, taking the top off the milk bottle.

‘The King is dead,’ said Kate.

There was a stunned silence. Everyone stared at Kate, who couldn’t help enjoying her moment of attention.

‘Aye, I thought you might not’ve heard,’ she went on. ‘I heard it on ma portable. He died in his sleep, his manservant found him.’

‘Oh, the poor King!’ whispered Madge. ‘Only fifty-seven!’

Kate and Will exchanged looks. Seemed to them, fifty-seven wasn’t very young.

‘And the poor Queen, too.’ Madge shook her head. ‘A widow. We know what that’s like.’

Jennie said nothing. She had gone rather pale. Remembering, perhaps, thought Will, the time she had found his father dead. He had just returned to them from London. Would he have stayed? They would never know. Death gave no answers.

‘What’ll happen now?’ asked Hamish. ‘Will they have to get Princess Elizabeth back?’

‘Of course,’ Madge answered. ‘She’s the Queen.’

‘That’ll be funny,’ Will commented. ‘Having to sing, God Save The Queen.’

‘I remember when we thought it strange to sing God Save the King,’ said Madge. ‘I was only seventeen when Queen Victoria died. Everybody said it was the end of an era.’

‘So’s this the end of an era,’ said Jennie. ‘I mean, for Catherine’s Land.’

‘Listen, is that the van?’ shouted Hamish.

They rushed to the windows to see. Three storeys below, they could see a large furniture van manoeuvring itself into a parking place. Three men jumped out and began to fling out cartons and sacks, then there came a thundering blow on the downstairs door. Everyone exchanged glances.

‘Nineteen twelve,’ Madge said huskily. ‘That’s when we first came. Of course I had Jennie’s flat, then, that’s where we all lived, then when Jennie got married, I moved up the stair and let her have more space. Nineteen forty-five, Jim and I moved across the landing—’

‘Yes, Gran,’ Hamish said patiently. I’ll go down and tell the men to come up.’

‘Will,’ whispered Kate, ‘I’m sorry but I’ll have to go to work.’

‘Why? I thought you’d taken the day off?’

‘Yes, but now the King’s dead I’ll be needed. You know what it’s like when a big story breaks, they’ll be sending everybody everywhere.’

‘OK, I’ll come with you to the station.’

‘No.’ Kate flattened herself against the wall as one of the removal men marched past with an armchair. ‘You stay here and help your mam. She’s going to be feeling pretty blue, leaving here. And then she’ll be needing you at the bungalow.’

Abby, Madge’s eldest daughter, had bought the family a bungalow in Corstorphine, a part of the city that had once been a village but was now a large residential and shopping area with the Edinburgh zoo on its fringe. Abby was the clever one, dark and spirited, full of energy. From being a housemaid, she had risen by self-education and brains to the top post at Logie’s, one of Edinburgh’s most fashionable Princes Street stores, and had married her childhood sweetheart, Frankie Baxter. For years, she had wanted to transplant Madge to a little house with a garden and an apple tree, just like they’d had so many years before in Southampton, and for years Madge had resisted. She was happy with her friends in Catherine’s Land, Peggie Kemp, Joanie Muir, Jessie Rossie. Even when Jim had died, she still hadn’t wanted to leave and Jennie, whose life was part of Catherine’s Land, had also refused to go. Now, of course, they’d had to accept the inevitable, aware that they were in fact luckier than most. Still, it was an ordeal, leaving their homes, moving into the unknown.

Will sighed. ‘Suppose you’re right, I’d better stay.’

‘See you tomorrow night, then,’ said Kate, as they ran down the stair. ‘For Bobby’s welcome home party.’

‘Oh, God, what a waste of an evening.’ Will brightened. ‘Hey, maybe they’ll cancel it, now that the King is dead.’

‘Nothing in this world will make your Aunt Rachel cancel a party for Bobby,’ laughed Kate. ‘Speaking of angels, here’s Rachel now.’

A small car had squeezed itself in behind the furniture van and out of it stepped Rachel Gilbride, Madge’s youngest daughter. Still very attractive, with dark Ritchie eyes and delicate features, she was a gifted artist who had seen her image change from innovator to establishment figure and wasn’t sure she liked it. Still, her pictures sold well and that pleased not only her but Malcolm, who was an accountant. Their other shared interest was their only child, Bobby, who had just completed his National Service. Will knew that Kate was right. Rachel would never cancel a party for Bobby.

‘They’ve come, then!’ she cried, greeting Will and Kate. ‘The removal men? Oh, isn’t this a sad day? Seeing the end of our home?’

Will said nothing. Everyone knew that his aunt had never been so happy as when she married Malcolm and moved to a fine solid house in Morningside. Like Abby, Malcolm had made his way by his own efforts. ‘Doesna want to be a house painter like his Dad,’ Jim Gilbride used to say, and Malcolm always quite sincerely said Amen to that. He and Will were of a mind, whereas what was in Bobby’s mind, nobody knew. Nothing sensible, thought Will.

‘Your Aunt Abby’s tied up at a meeting,’ Rachel told Will. ‘She’ll be coming round to the new house this afternoon.’

‘OK,’ said Will, his eyes on Kate’s retreating figure. ‘There’s some tea on the go up the stair if you want it, Aunt Rachel.’

‘Always tea on the go if Ma’s around,’ said Rachel with a smile.

It didn’t take long to dismantle Jennie’s flat or Madge’s; didn’t take long to dismantle their homes. The family stood around, watching in melancholy as the piano went, accompanied by much groaning and swearing, then the chairs and washstands, the beds where people had been born and died, the kitchen table where the girls had sat in the old days, eating meals, cutting out patterns, adding up weekly bills.

‘I did my first drawings at that table,’ Rachel said softly.

‘Yes, and wouldn’t budge when I had to lay the cloth,’ Jennie reminded.

‘Well, where’s all this stuff going now?’ asked Hamish. ‘I mean, will it all fit in to the bungalow?’

‘What doesn’t fit can go in the garage.’

‘Keep forgetting we’ve got a garage.’ Hamish grinned. ‘Supposing I want to get a car?’

On the strength of being a ‘poor fatherless bairn’, Hamish, like Will, had been lucky enough to be given a place at Heriot’s, one of Edinburgh’s fine old schools, but he had refused to go to university and as soon as he finished National Service had declared he wanted to be a tailor.

‘Like mother, like son,’ Jennie said proudly.

‘Like grandmother,’ said Madge, for she too had trained as a dressmaker, though had worked most of her time in Edinburgh at Mackenzie’s Bakery.

Will had not been pleased.

‘Doesna want his grand friends to be measured for suits by his brother,’ Jessie Rossie had shrewdly commented.

But Madge would have none of that. Will was no snob. What grand friends was Jessie talking about, anyway? Will’s girlfriend was Kate, Jessie’s own grand-daughter!

‘Aye, it’s funny, that. Chalk and cheese, eh? Canna see how they get on.’

‘Opposites attract, Jessie.’

‘True. Look at you and your Jim.’

Madge had not replied, but everyone knew about Jim’s fiery temper that had kept him and Madge apart for too many years.

‘When are you going to have enough money to buy a car?’ Will asked Hamish now, his tone a little acid, but Hamish only laughed.

‘Why, when you get me a loan from your bank!’

If only Will were going to work at the Scottish and General now, thought Jennie. If only he were not going to Korea. Why did the British still feel they had to send troops all over the world, fighting battles that weren’t theirs?

‘Have to defend South Korea against the North’s aggression,’ Will had told her. ‘Have to protect the weak.’

But Jennie felt quite weak herself at the thought of her son in a fighting zone. Why couldn’t he have been as lucky as Hamish or Bobby who had never even left their own country? She knew she must look on the bright side. Will could well come home safe and sound, probably to Kate Rossie. It wouldn’t surprise Jennie if those two slipped quietly out one day and got married. There was no doubt that they were very much in love.

‘That’s it, then, hen,’ said the foreman of the removers. ‘That’s us. We’re away.’

‘You’ve got the new address? Nineteen, Brae Street?’

‘Aye.’ He waved a roughened hand. ‘See you there, when we’ve had a bite to eat, eh?’

‘Oh, yes, there’s plenty of time.’ Jennie’s voice faltered. ‘We want to have a last look round, anyway.’

‘And then we have to wait for the man from the university,’ put in Madge. ‘He wants to lock up.’

They smiled their sad smiles again. When had Catherine’s Land ever been locked up? People had always walked in and out through that hanging door, moving aside children to go running up the stair. There was never anything to take, nothing that would be missed, anyway.

*    *    *

John Mains, a stooping figure with greying hair and moustache, arrived from the university as the removal men were leaving.

‘Timed it nicely,’ he said, politely touching his hat.

‘We were just going up for a last look,’ Jennie said quickly.

‘Certainly, certainly. Just take your time. I know this will be a sad day for you. A sad day, anyway, of course. Who’d have thought the King would go so quickly?’

‘I don’t know that I want to look round,’ Madge said, tears choking her voice. ‘I don’t need to, I can see it all in my mind. I think I’ll always see it in my mind.’

‘We could wait down the stair, Gran?’ suggested Will, but Madge, clutching her kettle, said she’d wait for the others on the landing, they would all leave together.

‘I just want to look in at our old room,’ Rachel whispered to Jennie. ‘I know it’s different, I know you split it, but I’d like to see it again.’

‘Everything will be split up soon,’ said Jennie.

She was gazing at the old range in the living room, remembering all the hours it had stolen from them, all the sweeping and raking and washing with soda it had needed, all the blackleading and filling up with coal and starting all over again. Poor Ma! How hard she’d had to work, even after a full day at the baker’s. And then wouldn’t she want to go and start washing the stair! At least, things were easier for her now.

‘Come on!’ called Rachel from Jennie’s bedroom, one half of the original room the two sisters had shared. ‘Remember when we got dressed here for our weddings? You in blue, me in cream? We thought ourselves the bee’s knees, didn’t we?’

‘Seem to remember we did look pretty good.’ Jennie’s eyes were fixed on the spot on the floorboards where her marriage bed had stood.

‘Oh, Rachel,’ she said, sombrely. ‘Let’s go. Ma’s right, there’s no point in all this.’ But when Rachel had gently touched her hand and left her, Jennie still waited a moment.

‘Goodbye, Rory, darling,’ she said softly.

For the last time, they walked down the stair, and the ghosts went with them. They all had their special ghosts and did not speak of them, except that Madge said she could still hear the boots of the Kemp boys, the Rossies and the Muirs, ringing on the stone.

‘Lucky to have boots,’ muttered Hamish, feeling ashamed of the lump in his throat.

‘That’s true,’ said Madge, remembering all the barefoot children of the not so distant past. ‘Here’s Mr Mains waiting for us.’

‘Ready to go?’ he asked kindly, swinging a bunch of keys from his finger.

Yes. Now they felt they couldn’t go fast enough.

But when Mr Mains locks this door, thought Jennie wildly, who’ll go running up the stair?

They moved into the February cold and stood shivering on the steps, while Mr Mains slammed and locked the door of Catherine’s Land behind him. More than anything else, that locking brought it home to them: this was the end.

‘The end of Catherine’s Land,’ Rachel whispered, but Mr Mains looked his surprise.

‘Why, no, it’s not the end, it’s a beginning. Tomorrow the builders arrive to start on Catherine’s Hall.’ Mr Mains rubbed his thin hands together. ‘Sad it had to be at this time, though. I mean, with the death of the King.’

‘Shan’t forget this day,’ said Will. ‘Goodbye, Mr Mains, and thanks.’

‘Goodbye and good luck.’ He tipped his hat and walked away down the Lawnmarket and they stood watching him go. Rachel said they should go to the car and be on their way, but two people were hurrying towards them, a narrow-shouldered man and a young girl. Donnie Muir and his daughter, Nina.

‘Oh, what a shame, Donnie!’ cried Madge. ‘The man from the university’s just locked up. Did you want to have a last look?’

Donnie Muir, one of those whose boots had thundered past Madge’s door, gave an asthmatic cough.

‘Och, it doesna matter. I thought on about it too late. It was all the news about the King, put it out o’ ma mind, then Sally says you nip round now, I’ll mind the shop.’

Donnie and Sally, who had kept the grocery at Catherine’s Land, now rented a smaller shop in the Haymarket, close to Ken Rossie’s newsagent’s. Their only surviving child, Nina, had just left school and was helping in the shop and studying bookkeeping at night school. Now, standing with her father in the chill wind, she did not look at any of the Gilbrides, but kept her eyes cast down. It was generally accepted that Nina was a clever girl, but shy.

‘I wish we could give you a lift back,’ Madge was saying to Donnie, for she had a soft spot for the son of her old friend, Joanie, who had died the previous year. ‘The thing is, Rachel’s taking us to the new house.’

‘That’s all right, dinna worry, we’ll get the tram.’ Donnie shook hands all round. ‘Glad to have seen you, though, and the best o’ luck, eh?’

‘I’ll come and see Sally!’ called Madge, as the two rather woebegone figures turned away.

‘She’ll look forward to that!’ Donnie called back.

‘Come on,’ said Rachel again, ‘Let’s go.’

DEATH OF THE KING was on all the placards, as they drove down the Mound. Above them, the flag on the castle drooped at half-mast.

‘Oh, don’t you feel sad?’ cried Rachel. ‘Everything seems to be sad together, doesn’t it? At least we can cheer up tomorrow at Bobby’s party.’

‘You’re still having it?’ asked Madge.

‘Oh, Ma, you don’t mean I should cancel, do you? I can’t, I’ve done all the food!’

Will, stuffed between his mother and Hamish in the back seat, remembered Kate and smiled, but the smile soon faded. Now was not the time for smiling.

Rachel, striking in full-length black, was checking the buffet table in the dining room of her house in Morningside. It was a handsome room, Victorian, of course, not Georgian, which was one step down the scale in Edinburgh, but Rachel was proud of it. She was proud of her buffet, too, which was all her own work and very hard work at that, considering the rationing problems still around, but she had wanted it to be a thank-you for Bobby’s safe return from service. Having the caterers in would not have meant the same.

‘All set?’ asked Malcolm, joining her.

He had put on weight recently and lost most of his sandy hair, but he thought he looked well, looked what he was, a successful accountant. He had never had his brother’s good looks or his fierce desire for social change. The only social change Malcolm desired was his own and he had achieved that by hard work and application. If he appeared dull to some, he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

‘Looks all right?’ asked Rachel.

‘Looks fine.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘And so do you.’

‘Better check the drinks,’ she told him, with a pleased smile.

‘Your ma and Jennie still coming?’ he asked, moving to the trolley of bottles and glasses.

‘Of course, why not?’

‘Thought they might be a bit low, leaving Catherine’s Land.’

‘Well, of course it was sad, saying goodbye. You might have come over for a last look yourself.’

‘I hate goodbyes. Only upset you. Anyway, we were never so very fond of Catherine’s Land, were we?’ Malcolm pulled the cork of a bottle of red wine. ‘Damned glad to get away.’

A grandfather clock chimed seven and Rachel gave a start.

‘I do wish Bobby would come down! People will be here soon.’

‘Don’t nag him. He’s straight out of the army, he’s had enough of worrying about time.’

‘I’m not going to nag him, Malcolm. When have I ever nagged him?’ Rachel’s eyes lit up. ‘Anyway, he’s here!’

As Bobby, in a dark suit, stood looking in at the dining room, Rachel ran to him and kissed his cheek. She thought he looked wonderfully handsome, with the dark Ritchie eyes he had inherited from her and finely chiselled features. Oh, but why had the army ruined his sandy-blond hair? Cropped so close to his skull, it made him seem a stranger. The good thing was that it would grow and then he would seem their Bobby again. Not for a moment did she allow herself to remember that Bobby had not been their Bobby for many a long year.

Malcolm suggested a quick drink before the guests arrived and fussed to give Bobby a gin and tonic, as Rachel lit his cigarette.

‘I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have you home,’ she told him. ‘No more worries about where you might be sent!’

‘To be honest, I’d rather have been sent where there was some action,’ Bobby replied. ‘What’s the point of doing military service if you only stay in the UK?’

‘You’re not saying you wanted to go to Korea?’ Rachel shivered. ‘I’m just thanking my lucky stars that you’re not Will.’

‘He’ll be all right. Probably won’t be in real danger.’

‘But he’s an officer, Bobby!’

‘Bully for him. I never wanted a commission. Look, can we talk about something else?’

‘Such as what you’re going to do now,’ said Malcolm cheerfully. ‘Back to university, eh? You’ll want to get your degree out of the way.’

It had been Bobby’s decision to opt for National Service half way through his history degree course. Malcolm had thought it unwise, but provided Bobby completed his studies on his return believed there would be no harm done.

Bobby studied his cigarette. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly.

Malcolm’s eyes stared glassily. ‘What do you mean? Of course you’ll be going back to university!’

‘No.’ The monosyllable was flat. Final.

‘Oh, God.’ Rachel slumped in her chair. Here it was, here was what she always half expected with Bobby. Trouble.

Malcolm’s fleshy face had turned a dusky red. ‘If you’re not going to finish your degree, what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to London. I intend to become a professional musician.’

Malcolm and Rachel turned to each other. They didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘A musician? You mean a pianist?’ Malcolm ran a hand across his brow. ‘Who in hell put this idea into your head? Frankie Baxter?’

Frankie, Abby’s husband, was Bobby’s idol. His mother had kept the sweetie shop at Catherine’s Land, he had had no formal training but had earned his living as a pianist all his life. Pubs, cinemas, ocean liners, American radio, he had played anywhere, and was now running his own band in London and doing very well. But of course he had talent.

‘No, it wasn’t Uncle Frankie,’ Bobby retorted. ‘It was my own idea, because I play jazz pretty well, everybody says so.’

‘Everybody?’ repeated Rachel.

‘All the fellows I met in the army. I used to play wherever I could find a piano and they thought I was terrific. That’s what made me realise playing piano was what I wanted to do.’ Bobby’s eyes glinted. ‘All I wanted to do.’

‘Bobby …’ – Malcolm was hesitating, searching for the right words – ‘what you’re suggesting, it just isn’t practical. I mean, to succeed as a professional pianist, you have to have more than just—’

‘More than just what?’

‘Well, you know – you have to be able to do more than – play a tune or two.’

‘You’re saying I haven’t enough talent?’

‘I mean you should just think of playing as a hobby. And earning your living some other way.’

‘Like you?’ Bobby’s lip curled. ‘Working in an office all day? Thinking about money that isn’t even yours? I’d rather do anything than that. Drive a van – dig coal.’

‘Go and dig bloody coal, then!’ cried Malcolm. ‘You have the nerve to sneer at the way I earn my living? When it’s paid for everything you’ve ever wanted? I ought to knock you down!’

‘Malcolm!’ cried Rachel.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got past that sort of thing. But when I see a son of mine turning down the chance to go to university, something I’d have given my soul for, it sticks in my throat, Rachel, it makes me sick!’ Malcolm turned his glassy gaze back to Bobby. ‘You go to London,’ he hissed, ‘you try to keep yourself on what you earn, playing your damned piano, and see how far you get. But don’t look to me for a penny piece, or your mother either!’

‘Fine!’ shouted Bobby, turning white. ‘That’s all right by me! I don’t want anything from you, I don’t need anything, I’ll leave this house now, so you won’t need to feel sick a minute longer—’

‘Bobby, what are you talking about?’ Rachel screamed. ‘You can’t go like this, you can’t!’

‘For God’s sake, have a heart,’ groaned Malcolm. ‘Can’t you see what you’re doing to us? Your mother’s arranged this party for you, the guests are due at any minute—’

‘I don’t care about the party, I don’t care about the guests,’ Rachel whispered. ‘I just don’t want you to leave us like this, Bobby.’ She put her hand to her brow. ‘I don’t understand, you see, I don’t understand where we’ve gone wrong.’

‘We haven’t gone wrong, Rachel.’ Malcolm put his arm around her shoulders. ‘We haven’t done one damn thing that hasn’t been for that boy’s good and don’t you forget it.’

Bobby stood