lying here you’d be much more comfortable at home.” With that she hauled Etta to her feet, flung her coat round her shoulders and then together the two women made the slow and painful journey to Learig Close with Etta stopping frequently as yet another pain engulfed her.
They had just turned into Learig Close when Patsy realised that Rachel Campbell, returning as usual from work, was just ahead of them and she called out to her. Immediately Rachel laid down her heavy shopping bags and ran to help Patsy. “But Etta was just saying to me yesterday that she didn’t know what size she would be by February – and here, the wee soul’s on its way now.”
Patsy nodded before going on to explain about Phyllis and was grateful when Rachel replied emphatically, “Look, you get yourself back to the wee lassie. Sure she might be in heaven but she shouldn’t be lying there all by herself. Now, off you go and I’ll look after Etta. I’ll call my neighbour, Peggy, to come and help me until the nurses come.” Rachel stopped as Etta gave out yet another piercing scream.
It was three hours later, in the morning, when Rachel tapped gently at the Glasses’ door in Restalrig Circus. Immediately it was opened by a man that Rachel thought was Patsy’s husband but because of the blackout she wasn’t able to see him clearly – though she could certainly recognise the smell of alcohol on his breath.
“I, er. Well, I’ve come …”
“What?” bellowed the man, swaying to and fro. “This is a hoose o’ mournin’, I tell ye. So if ye’re on the cadge, just sling yer hook.”
Rachel was about to react angrily when Patsy opened the door further. “Oh, it’s yourself, Rachel. Ignore this idiot,” and with that she pushed her husband Danny back. “Come away in.”
“No, no,” replied Rachel, shaking her head. “I just came round to tell you, with you being so friendly with Etta Simpson like, that she’s had a nice wee boy.”
“Oh, but with him being one or two months early, he’ll be very small.”
Rachel looked bewildered. “Well, he is wee, but no wee for his age. Weighed in, he did, at nine-and-a-half pound – and, before you ask, that was without a nappy!”
Patsy pondered before asking, “And who does he take after?”
“Oh, his Granddad. Spitting image of old Mr Simpson, so he is. Even got the long accountant’s fingers for counting the money.”
Patsy just nodded. Evidently even on a night like this she could still put two and two thegither.
Rachel had turned to leave when a giggling woman, Patsy’s daughter, approached the pathway. Patsy immediately sprang in front of Rachel, blocking her view, but she did hear Dinah being given a loud slap by her mother. Rachel then had to jump back sharply, as Patsy roughly bundled her daughter past her while shouting at Dinah’s military escort to “Boo-row off!” She then went on to yell at Dinah, her voice cracking with emotion, “Where in the name of heaven have you been when you were needed here at home?”
“Dancing. Celebrating. ’Cause my Tam’s safe.”
Another loud slap from Patsy found its target as she retorted, “Aye, our Tam’s safe and so is my Phyllis. Safe in the arms of Jesus!”
7
The constant knocking on the front door roused Patsy from her catnapping but, finding it hard to fully awaken, it took her some time to open the door.
“What do you want?” she shouted after the retreating figure.
“It’s only me,” Mary answered, turning round and walking back to where Patsy was standing. “Just got settled in and was fancying a wee cuppa … but I’ve nae sugar.”
Patsy smiled and with a beckoning gesture invited Mary into her home. The house in Restalrig Road was where she’d moved to a year ago when Danny Kelly, her paralysed husband, was released from hospital in a wheelchair. His paralysis had stemmed from an inebriated backward fall down the well-worn stairs in West Cromwell Street. Of course, according to Danny, the
They had just turned into Learig Close when Patsy realised that Rachel Campbell, returning as usual from work, was just ahead of them and she called out to her. Immediately Rachel laid down her heavy shopping bags and ran to help Patsy. “But Etta was just saying to me yesterday that she didn’t know what size she would be by February – and here, the wee soul’s on its way now.”
Patsy nodded before going on to explain about Phyllis and was grateful when Rachel replied emphatically, “Look, you get yourself back to the wee lassie. Sure she might be in heaven but she shouldn’t be lying there all by herself. Now, off you go and I’ll look after Etta. I’ll call my neighbour, Peggy, to come and help me until the nurses come.” Rachel stopped as Etta gave out yet another piercing scream.
It was three hours later, in the morning, when Rachel tapped gently at the Glasses’ door in Restalrig Circus. Immediately it was opened by a man that Rachel thought was Patsy’s husband but because of the blackout she wasn’t able to see him clearly – though she could certainly recognise the smell of alcohol on his breath.
“I, er. Well, I’ve come …”
“What?” bellowed the man, swaying to and fro. “This is a hoose o’ mournin’, I tell ye. So if ye’re on the cadge, just sling yer hook.”
Rachel was about to react angrily when Patsy opened the door further. “Oh, it’s yourself, Rachel. Ignore this idiot,” and with that she pushed her husband Danny back. “Come away in.”
“No, no,” replied Rachel, shaking her head. “I just came round to tell you, with you being so friendly with Etta Simpson like, that she’s had a nice wee boy.”
“Oh, but with him being one or two months early, he’ll be very small.”
Rachel looked bewildered. “Well, he is wee, but no wee for his age. Weighed in, he did, at nine-and-a-half pound – and, before you ask, that was without a nappy!”
Patsy pondered before asking, “And who does he take after?”
“Oh, his Granddad. Spitting image of old Mr Simpson, so he is. Even got the long accountant’s fingers for counting the money.”
Patsy just nodded. Evidently even on a night like this she could still put two and two thegither.
Rachel had turned to leave when a giggling woman, Patsy’s daughter, approached the pathway. Patsy immediately sprang in front of Rachel, blocking her view, but she did hear Dinah being given a loud slap by her mother. Rachel then had to jump back sharply, as Patsy roughly bundled her daughter past her while shouting at Dinah’s military escort to “Boo-row off!” She then went on to yell at Dinah, her voice cracking with emotion, “Where in the name of heaven have you been when you were needed here at home?”
“Dancing. Celebrating. ’Cause my Tam’s safe.”
Another loud slap from Patsy found its target as she retorted, “Aye, our Tam’s safe and so is my Phyllis. Safe in the arms of Jesus!”
7
The constant knocking on the front door roused Patsy from her catnapping but, finding it hard to fully awaken, it took her some time to open the door.
“What do you want?” she shouted after the retreating figure.
“It’s only me,” Mary answered, turning round and walking back to where Patsy was standing. “Just got settled in and was fancying a wee cuppa … but I’ve nae sugar.”
Patsy smiled and with a beckoning gesture invited Mary into her home. The house in Restalrig Road was where she’d moved to a year ago when Danny Kelly, her paralysed husband, was released from hospital in a wheelchair. His paralysis had stemmed from an inebriated backward fall down the well-worn stairs in West Cromwell Street. Of course, according to Danny, the
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