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Authors: Margaret Thomson Davis
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and what she’d said about herbs stuck in her mind. She gave Mrs Mulvaney credit for what might be quite a good idea. There might well be a market for herbs and herbal remedies. Perhaps not to sell in a baker’s shop but, if not in McNair’s bakery – where? She didn’t know the answer to that but the idea gradually formed into a dream. She began reading more and more, not only about herbs and herbal treatments, but about other alternative therapies too. It was a fascinating subject. There was such a wide variety of therapies, including aromatherapy, acupuncture and homeopathy.
‘Your nose is never out of a book these days,’ Melvin complained. ‘I’ve spent a fortune buying a television for you to watch and you sit there with your nose in a book.’ He snatched the book from her, looked at it and jeered, ‘You’re getting a right hypochondriac, reading all this weird stuff. It’s a shrink you need to see. You’re going off your nut.’
She dreamed about getting premises of her own one day and perhaps renting out consulting rooms to various therapists at the back and selling herbs and pills and potions in a shop at the front.
Oh, what a wonderful dream it was. But she could never make it a reality unless she had capital. She needed money. The only way she could think of was if Melvin died and she inherited the house and the bakery. She’d immediately sell the house. That would give her enough capital and also enough to buy a cosy wee place like the one she’d had before. She could become successful in her own right, she felt sure. In her dreams, she saw herself getting the capital and becoming successful. In reality, she knew that Melvin would insult her even from the grave. Years ago, he’d told her that he meant to leave everything to Fergus. And he would.
But there was bound to be some way. And if there was a way, she’d find it.
9
‘Get that bloody animal out of here while there’s food on the table,’ Hodge Hunter’s coarse voice sawed through the shadowy room. ‘Do ye want to poison us all with the filthy beast?’
‘Now, now,’ his wife said, half laughing but in obvious distress, ‘wee Patch is just as clean as you or me.’ But she lifted the dog into her arms and hurried with it out of the room.
Sammy kept his head down and made a pretence of enjoying his food.
‘You’re a great cook, Mother,’ he told her when she returned. ‘Every Sunday you surpass yourself. I don’t know how you manage it. This is absolutely delicious.’
The old woman’s face lit up with pleasure and gratitude.
‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re enjoying it, son.’
‘He’d say that even if it tasted like shit.’
‘You know I mean it, Mother. I always look forward to your cooking.’
He wanted to say a lot more but his mother always pleaded with him beforehand to try his best to keep quiet and not anger his father.
‘It only makes him worse, son. He just takes it out on me after you’ve gone.’
For her sake, he did his best to keep quiet. He sometimes remarked to Catriona that his father and Melvin were a right pair. Melvin was one of the few people he’d ever seen his father get on with. They sometimes met at the ex-servicemen’s club in town and reminisced about the war and their time in the forces. His father was also a Mason and always on his best behaviour at his Masonic meetings. There he was on good terms with one of the local ministers, a local doctor, a councillor and a lawyer. His father took great pride in being well thought of and respected by those he regarded as the local ‘big-wigs’. He judged Melvin, as a successful businessman, to be in this category, even though Melvin was not a Mason. Ordinary working men, his father despised. Unless they had been in the forces or had ‘fought for their country’, as he liked to put it.
The weekly Sunday visit was a terrible strain on Sammy. It upset him deeply to see how his father treated his mother, but there was nothing he could do
‘Your nose is never out of a book these days,’ Melvin complained. ‘I’ve spent a fortune buying a television for you to watch and you sit there with your nose in a book.’ He snatched the book from her, looked at it and jeered, ‘You’re getting a right hypochondriac, reading all this weird stuff. It’s a shrink you need to see. You’re going off your nut.’
She dreamed about getting premises of her own one day and perhaps renting out consulting rooms to various therapists at the back and selling herbs and pills and potions in a shop at the front.
Oh, what a wonderful dream it was. But she could never make it a reality unless she had capital. She needed money. The only way she could think of was if Melvin died and she inherited the house and the bakery. She’d immediately sell the house. That would give her enough capital and also enough to buy a cosy wee place like the one she’d had before. She could become successful in her own right, she felt sure. In her dreams, she saw herself getting the capital and becoming successful. In reality, she knew that Melvin would insult her even from the grave. Years ago, he’d told her that he meant to leave everything to Fergus. And he would.
But there was bound to be some way. And if there was a way, she’d find it.
9
‘Get that bloody animal out of here while there’s food on the table,’ Hodge Hunter’s coarse voice sawed through the shadowy room. ‘Do ye want to poison us all with the filthy beast?’
‘Now, now,’ his wife said, half laughing but in obvious distress, ‘wee Patch is just as clean as you or me.’ But she lifted the dog into her arms and hurried with it out of the room.
Sammy kept his head down and made a pretence of enjoying his food.
‘You’re a great cook, Mother,’ he told her when she returned. ‘Every Sunday you surpass yourself. I don’t know how you manage it. This is absolutely delicious.’
The old woman’s face lit up with pleasure and gratitude.
‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re enjoying it, son.’
‘He’d say that even if it tasted like shit.’
‘You know I mean it, Mother. I always look forward to your cooking.’
He wanted to say a lot more but his mother always pleaded with him beforehand to try his best to keep quiet and not anger his father.
‘It only makes him worse, son. He just takes it out on me after you’ve gone.’
For her sake, he did his best to keep quiet. He sometimes remarked to Catriona that his father and Melvin were a right pair. Melvin was one of the few people he’d ever seen his father get on with. They sometimes met at the ex-servicemen’s club in town and reminisced about the war and their time in the forces. His father was also a Mason and always on his best behaviour at his Masonic meetings. There he was on good terms with one of the local ministers, a local doctor, a councillor and a lawyer. His father took great pride in being well thought of and respected by those he regarded as the local ‘big-wigs’. He judged Melvin, as a successful businessman, to be in this category, even though Melvin was not a Mason. Ordinary working men, his father despised. Unless they had been in the forces or had ‘fought for their country’, as he liked to put it.
The weekly Sunday visit was a terrible strain on Sammy. It upset him deeply to see how his father treated his mother, but there was nothing he could do
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