‘Stop it, you two!’ said Mrs Mags. She was talking to Mr Mags, her husband, and the other man, George and Dougie’s dad, Mr Connor. They had lifted my mum out of the chair and were trying to position her in the wheelbarrow. Even in the falling light I could see my mum’s face redden under the white turban and I could see her wince with pain. It was a question of dignity, she told me later, as well as comfort and practicality, which seemed difficult to achieve under the circumstances. Finally they settled for pulling the wheelbarrow up the hill behind them rather than pushing it, while she sat propped up on somebody’s bundle with her feet, her foot, dangling over the back but as the hill got steeper she began to slip and they had to stop.
Everybody stood about scratching their heads and wondering what to do next and my mum apologised until she just couldn’t any more and then sat staring firmly back at the road. And while we were all standing there with the wind blowing around us and the sky threatening rain, again, I heard Mr Tait of all people calling us from the road.
‘I’ve borrowed a bogey,’ he said, ‘from the hall, for Mrs Gillespie, if you’d care to come and get it for her.’
He didn’t mean ghosts or snotters. He meant a trolley on wheels. It had a cage about a foot high all round for her to lean on and not fall out, and enough room for her legs, or leg, to stretch out. Good Mr Tait. Now she’d see.
Mrs Mags and her sister, Mrs Connor, went back down to get it while the men held the wheelbarrow. I gave Mr Tait a big wave and he disappeared along the road again. Then the men lifted my poor mum out of the wheelbarrow while the women rearranged the bundle in the bogey for her comfort. Then my mum was lowered into it. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t watch. I paced up and down and looked and looked away and thought I’d be sick at any moment. I could tell she was being brave, but I could tell it hurt too and she was scared. I didn’t like her to be scared.
Mrs Mags and her sister walked on one side carrying the crutches and Sandy and I walked on the other. I held my mum’s hand as I climbed the hill and stared straight ahead or to the side but definitely not down at the leg. And I didn’t know what to say to her.
Up above us the men talked about things I didn’t understand and people I’d never heard of, about organising and bosses, overtime and beer and things that had fallen off lorries. Maybe all the lorries had been bombed too and were in bad shape, but lots of things seemed to have fallen off them.
‘I was so worried,’ she said. I thought you were . . . .’
‘I know. Me too.’
We couldn’t talk any more, not really. The ride was too bumpy and she had to concentrate to stay safe and not hurt and every so often she’d cry out in pain and I’d cry out too or hold my breath and bite my lip. Mrs Mags scolded the men for not being more careful and took her other hand and told her how brave she was, and I thought maybe I should tell her something like that too, but I couldn’t think what. In fact there were lots of things I wanted to say, but none of them seemed to fit, perhaps because they were old things now, things that I’d thought I’d want to say when I was dreaming about her arriving. I’d wanted to say ‘I’m so happy you’re here!’ and ‘Everything is going to be alright!’ but neither of those things were true now, and it felt so much like they should have been.
She squeezed my hand so I tried to smile, but it hurt.
‘It’s going to be alright you know,’ she said. ‘We’re going to be just fine, just as soon as I’ve got the hang of these crutches, and then they’re going to give me a new . . . .’
‘No!’ I said. I didn’t want to hear. What did she mean, a new foot? One from the pile? Somebody else’s? No! I let go of her hand and put both hands over my ears.
‘I’ve heard they’re very good now,’ said Mrs Mags. I heard her through my palms, even though I didn’t want to. ‘They’ve come up with all sorts of new ideas. They have to, there’s so many people losing limbs, with this war and all that.’
I squeezed my hands harder over my ears. My mum shouted ‘Stop!’ and the men stopped. She tried to pull my hands away but she couldn’t get at me from the bogey so Mrs Mags came round to where I stood and tried to as well.
‘Lenny! Lenny, stop this,’ said Mrs Mags. ‘What on earth is the matter? Aren’t you pleased to have your mum back?’ And then she tried to laugh, even though we all knew none of this was funny. ‘Of course you are!’
I was ashamed of all the things I felt. None of them fitted. Mrs Mags let go of my hands so I put them back over my ears and she went back to talking to my mum again. I took my hands off my ears but not so anyone would know.
‘We don’t actually know what Lenny saw,’ said Mrs Mags, ‘but she’s been a bit upset, not naughty exactly but . . . Mr Tait’s been very protective. Apparently he’s been through something similar before, you know, in the last war, so he understands a bit. Wilful, on occasion, I suppose is what you’d call it, and desperate to find you and your wee Mavis.’
The bogey moved again and I took my hands off my ears. Sandy and I stayed to one side. Mrs Mags seemed to have lots of things to say to my mum so I kept out of the way and left them to it.
As we got nearer to the hut we could see Dougie up at the rope swing although it was nearly dark. Sandy and I broke into a run but he got there first. He told the other kids I was to get first shot and bugged the life out of the boy who was on it. But I didn’t really want special attention. I just wanted my place in the queue, and for my mum to be alright and this day to be over, to be left alone to hide in the trees and to help Mr Tait build his hut.
So I left them and sat against Mrs Mags’s hut so I could listen to the grown-ups through the wall, feeling guilty for being on the outside, not inside close to my mum.
‘He’s still a gaffer,’ said Mr Mags. ‘We don’t want gaffers here. How are we going to get huts built with him about? And I know what you’re saying, the man’s a cripple, no offence Mrs Gillespie, but he’s a bit of a mover as far as I can see, and straight as a die. We’d never get anything past him.’
‘Aye, he’s trustworthy alright,’ said the other man, Mr Connor, ‘but he’s not dishonest, not as he’d see it. He wouldn’t turn a blind eye for long but his conscience would get the better of him, and we’d all be sunk. He’s a gaffer, for God’s sake! It’s not worth his while. Not worth ours.’
‘Well, he’s only just a gaffer,’ said Mr Mags. ‘Wee in both status and stature but still a gaffer.’
‘He’s a gaffer because of his leg,’ said Mrs Mags. ‘What else was he going to do, coming back with a leg shot to bits? No-one would have him at the shipyard would they? He’s never risen above supervisor level, you know, and he’s a capable man. I’m sure he could have risen higher in all that time. He’s only trying to survive and do the right thing, like the rest of us.’
‘Och, away you go,’ said Mr Mags. ‘He’s still a boss, so he’s not to be trusted.’
‘You’ve not seen him here with our Sandy,’ said Mrs Mags. ‘Or your Lenny, Mrs Gillespie.’
‘He shouldn’t be anywhere near my Lenny,’ said my mum. ‘He’s nothing but trouble. So I’ve heard.’
Nobody spoke, as if they didn’t want to speak about that, whatever it was that had happened. But I did. I wanted to tell them he didn’t do it, he told me so himself. I wanted to know what my mum was supposed to have been doing. Perhaps they didn’t know anything about it, but their silence suggested they did.
‘I’ve heard he has an eagle eye for things going missing and things going on,’ said my mum.
‘Would you like more soup?’ said Mrs Mags.
Soup? I thought. I’d love some soup. My tummy rumbled so loudly I thought they must have heard me.
‘I’ve too much to do to be helping him,’ said Mr Connor.
‘You’ve too much to do to be helping anybody,’ said Mrs Mags smartly, but I think she was joking. ‘And if your George is going to be off school, I’m not keeping an eye on him. Mr Tait can get the use of him and keep his hands out of mischief. I’m sure he’d teach him a thing or two and not just about carpentry.’
‘I know he’s a problem, our George, I know that.’
‘And I’m sure it’s a great relief to you for him to be out here,’ said Mrs Mags flatly. ‘He’s needing a father about.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Send him to Mr Tait,’ said Mrs Mags.
‘He’s strict, right enough,’ said Mr Connor.
‘Strictness is a good thing,’ said Mrs Mags. ‘Everybody knows where they are with strictness.’
‘You’re starting to talk like a boss now yourself, Mags!’ said Mr Mags.
‘Och, you men, you don’t know a thing!’
Was Mr Tait strict? I didn’t think so. He’d always been very kind to me but fair, not to mention helpful, and always there. He’d promised to provide for me while my mum was in hospital, and he had. He’d even brought me an orange. I wanted to be expelled from school too so that I could help him with his hut and learn a thing or two, and not just about carpentry.
Sandy and Dougie came screaming down the hill so I leapt out of the darkness and frightened the living daylights out of them, and then we went inside and had soup with big lumps of chicken in it and jammy pieces.
My mum was wearing different clothes. Mrs Mags had lent her a pair of dungarees so that I couldn’t see the bandage where the foot wasn’t. She still had her white turban and a new pink cardigan that I hadn’t seen before, like the pink clothes Mrs Wilson wore. I went and stood next to where she was sitting on the end of the bench.
‘There’s my Lenny!’ she said smiling. She put an arm round me. ‘Where have you been?’
‘The rope swing,’ I said.
‘She’s really good on the swing now,’ said Sandy.
‘Am I?’ I said.
‘I’m Sandy,’ he said.
He threw me a big smile and I wished I had a big brother.
‘Your mum tells me you’ve been looking out for Lenny,’ she said. ‘Has she been good?’
Sandy looked at his feet and I squirmed.
‘You’d need to ask Mr Tait that,’ he said.
‘Of course I’ve been good,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m always good.’
‘I’m sure you’re a great help to your mum, Lenny,’ said Mrs Mags. ‘She’s certainly going to need you now until she gets a hang of those crutches. How long have you had them?’
‘Two days. Not long, but I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of them.’
‘Of course you will. Look at Mr Tait. He’s managing,’ said Mr Mags. And I wondered why Mr Tait would have needed crutches; perhaps when he first hurt his leg, perhaps he had a stookie. Mr Mags must have known Mr Tait longer than me.
‘Mr Tait, Mr Tait,’ said my mum, suddenly angry. ‘Do all roads lead to Mr Tait?’
I wished the ground would open up. I wished my mum wasn’t so rude. You could have cut the air with a knife, as my gran used to say when my dad was home last year. I knew what that meant now.
‘Sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s the pain. I’m so tired.’
‘Mr Tait’s nice, Mum, honestly,’ I said quietly.
‘That’s alright, dear. I think we’re all a bit tired,’ said Mrs Mags, standing up. ‘Let’s see if we can sort a bed for you and Lenny. Don’t you worry about a thing.’
I had temporarily and completely forgotten about Mavis, although obviously there was no news of her or someone would have told me, I was sure, or was I? Perhaps I ought to check.
‘Mum . . . ,’ I said, once Mr MacInnes senior was snoring on the sofa and Dougie and his mum and dad had left us for their own hut, which really was their own.
‘Yes, Lenny?’
But she had shrunk, somehow, so I thought I’d wait until the morning to ask her about Mavis, because I knew really what the answer was going to be.