The Breadmakers Saga by Margaret Thomson-Davis

Author:Margaret Thomson-Davis
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781845025601
Publisher: Black & White Publishing
Published: 2012-11-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

‘Put that light out!’

The shout resounded up the close and round the stairs together with the indignant clatter of feet, and the door battered and shook before Catriona had time to get to it.

She screwed up her face, fervently hoping that the children would not be wakened.

‘There’s a light from your house shining across on the Benlin Yards. You’re endangering the whole of Clydend!’

The red-faced special constable could hardly speak, he was puffing so hard for breath.

‘Oh, no, you must be making a mistake,’ Catriona assured him. ‘I’m very careful about the windows.’

This was true. She had big heavy curtains up on all the windows including the bathroom and she had followed the instructions in one of the government pamphlets which advised criss-crossing the glass with brown sticky paper to strengthen it against blast.

The special constable pushed roughly past her into the hall, hesitated for a minute to get his bearings then made a rush at old Duncan MacNair’s room.

There were two bedrooms in the house and both faced on to the Main Road. Only the sitting-room had a window looking down on to Dessie Street. The smaller bedroom, which had once been the children’s, was now the old man’s room, and the children had been moved in with Catriona.

‘Look at this!’ the constable yelled.

The bedroom window stood bare and uncurtained.

Catriona sighed with exasperation.

‘Da, how many times have I to tell you. You’ll be the death of us yet.’

He was sitting on the edge of his bed in his vest and long-johns, his goatee beard quivering.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ His high-pitched nasal whine spluttering saliva through his ill-fitting false teeth. ‘Bursting into my room with your fancy man when I’m getting my clothes off!’

‘Da!’

The constable shut the curtains, satisfied himself that the window was thoroughly sealed, then approached with notebook and pen at the ready.

‘Your name?’

‘Away you go, you scunner. I want to get to my bed.’

‘Name?’

‘Da!’ Catriona pleaded. ‘Answer the man. You committed an offence. This is a policeman.’

‘My name’s Duncan MacNair,’ he yelped. ‘But you’re not the police. You’re too wee. The police are big fellas.’

The special constable, still heaving for breath, straightened in an effort to retrieve both authority and dignity.

‘Address?’

‘You’ve just come up the close. Do you not know where you are yourself?’

‘I’m warning you, Mr MacNair.’

‘Da!’ Catriona pleaded, ‘What about the shop if you go to jail? Things are hard enough as it is, without you making them worse.’

Old Duncan jerked on his pyjama jacket then began staggering about in a violent fight to get into his trousers.

‘It’s Number One Dessie Street.’ Catriona wrung her hands in agitation. ‘He’s just had a wee nightcap of whisky.’

‘I’m asking him the questions and he’s perfectly capable of answering them himself. What’s your nationality?’

Tangled in a trouser leg Duncan howled with rage.

‘I’m a ruddy German, you silly wee nyuck. Get out my way!’

In desperation Catriona grabbed the constable’s arm and pulled him into the hall, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

‘I’m most terribly sorry! I promise it’ll never happen again.

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