CHAPTER 2
Her mother hadn’t been pleased at Catriona’s idea of leaving home, and wasn’t slow to let her daughter know.
‘I thought you might have spent a bit more time at home, now that I’m on my own,’ complained Mrs. Foster. ‘I don’t know why you want to go gadding about so much.’
‘It’s hardly gadding about,’ explained Catriona, not troubling to hide her impatience. ‘It’s a training course, and there’s a job at the end of it.’
‘There’s a job in one of the shops,’ said Mrs. Foster. ‘Talk to John. He’ll give you a job, I know he will. In fact, he’d rather have you than some of the dozy school leavers he has to put up with.’
‘No doubt,’ returned Catriona. ‘That’s supposed to make me feel wanted, is it? Let me tell you, I have no intention of working in a shop. Not John’s, not anybody’s. I want something a bit better than that.’
‘I’m sure your father wouldn’t have thought so.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Catriona. ‘The business went to John, after all. Nobody even thought about offering it to me, even though I am the older. Oh, don’t bother to explain, I know my place. I’m just the girl. I mustn’t get ideas above my station. Well those days have gone, mother, gone for good. I do have ideas of my own, and I intend to put some of them into practice.’
‘Well, can’t you be a comp whatever it is for John?’
Catriona laughed, but without any great humour. ‘Comptometer operator. No, I can’t. It’s a totally different thing altogether. It’s office work, and I I don’t mean counting up sides of bacon, packets of cornflakes and pounds of sugar. It might suit John, but it doesn’t suit me.’
‘Your father and I worked hard to give you what you have now,’ grumbled Mrs. Foster.
‘My heart bleeds,’ said Catriona. ‘The only thing is, you didn’t do it for me at all. John got the lot, didn’t he? I was never even considered.’
‘Well, you don’t seem to want it.’
‘I don’t. Certainly not as an act of charity. I can’t stand the thought. That’s why I’m leaving home and making my own way in the world. Accept it, mother. Accept it, and I’ll come back. Eventually. When I’m ready. Otherwise, I might just be tempted to stay away for good. You can’t interfere with my life. Nobody can interfere with my life. I won’t have it. If there’s any interfering to be done, I’ll do it.’
It was in high dudgeon that Catriona left home and town. Finding somewhere to live took only a little time. She recognised ruefully that in spite of her desires to lead an independent life, such desires were all the easier fulfilled because of her father’s money. He had left her a fairly sizeable amount, and there was more to come, she knew, when her mother died.
Her flat was comfortable, having a kitchen, a living room and two bedrooms. One of these was admittedly small, but would serve to accommodate anyone she wished to have stay with her. She went on a spending spree, buying furniture, kitchen equipment and a fair number of decorative items to brighten the place up and make it feel as though it was all her own. She enjoyed shopping and cooking for herself, giving not even a passing thought to those who served her in the shops she despised so much. The feeling of freedom, of independence, was too heady to warrant a moment’s consideration for others.
Her training course wasn’t as interesting as she had thought it might be, but was different enough to have an appeal of its own. At the end of the course, the promised help in finding a job was fulfilled, and she found herself in full time employment with scarcely a break. The work required intense concentration, but was otherwise frankly dull, consisting in the main of tapping out long lists of numbers on a seemingly endless amount of cards. What the cards were for she had only the haziest idea, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was paid every week, and as long as she made no mistakes in her work, nobody bothered her. Once, just once, she was called into the main office for an interview with the manager, an interview that had left her seething internally. It had started badly when she entered the office and sat down. The manager had simply stared at her with a look of distaste.
‘You wanted to see me, Mr. Fisher,’ she said eventually, when a full minute had passed without his saying a word.
‘I do,’ he replied. ‘I don’t recall asking you to sit down.’
Catriona stood up slowly, her face reddening in half suppressed anger.
‘That’s better. Now, perhaps you would like to explain these,’ he said, pushing over a stack of punched cards.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Catriona, not understanding.
‘And so you should be, young woman, so you should be. Our work in this office may not be the most important in the world, but it is well that we should take it seriously. The odd error is understandable, even acceptable providing it is put right, but this work, your work, is so full of errors it’s hard to discover just what it is you have done correctly.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Catriona, taken aback.
‘Of all the careless, slipshod and negligent work I have ever seen in my career, this surely ranks amongst the worst. If you wish to stay with this firm, you had better pay far more attention to your job than you appear to do so. You will stay behind tonight and do these lists again, this time without error. They have to be ready for use first thing in the morning.’
‘What? But that will take hours.’
‘Probably. You should have thought of that before allowing your mind to wander during working time.’
‘But I’m going out tonight,’ exclaimed Catriona.
‘Were you?’ asked Mr. Fisher. ‘As you please, of course. Will you call in for your cards, or shall I have them sent on?’
Catriona’s face went red with anger, and her voice sharpened. ‘Are you sacking me?’
Mr. Fisher smiled thinly. ‘Let us rather call it constructive dismissal. It’s entirely up to you. You have wasted the firm’s time when you should have been working. I am simply giving you an opportunity to put things right in your own time. If, of course, you would prefer to seek employment elsewhere, I will do nothing to prevent you. If, on the other hand, you wish to stay here, then you know what to do. I am not an unkind man, Miss Foster, but I do insist on a fair day’s work for your pay. You may go.’
Catriona returned to her desk, fuming and trembling with self righteous anger. She sat there for some time before looking almost unwillingly at the clock. Ten minutes before her official day ended. With a sigh of impatience, she pulled the long, long lists of numbers towards her, flexed her fingers and began work again. An hour passed. A door behind her opened, then closed once more. The sound of footsteps came to her ears, then a slight cough as she finished one sheet, turned it over and took another.
‘The door is on the latch, Miss Foster,’ said a well known voice behind her. ‘Would you be good enough to see that it is properly locked when you leave?’
She simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Tomorrow, she vowed, tomorrow I’ll start looking for another job.
What time she actually finished work for the day she never knew, but it was after eleven before she got back to her flat, tired and hungry, but oddly satisfied. If Mr High and Mighty Fisher found a single mistake in the work she had done that night, she promised to hand in her notice with immediate effect, even though she knew that her decision that she should look for another position was an empty one. There were fewer jobs advertised now than when she started. Another wouldn’t be so easy to find.
Wearily, she bent down and picked up the post from the mat. A circular and two letters. The circular she threw away unlooked at. The letters were different. One was from Simon, the other from Harry. He must have been to see her mother, or perhaps John, to get her new address. She opened Harry’s letter first, even before removing her coat. Taking out the several sheets of paper that were inside the envelope, she stood for a long moment, considering. With a series of swift, almost savage movements, she tore the unread letter into shreds and stuffed the pieces into the waste paper basket, the one with the bright yellow daisy handpainted on the side.
‘No, Harry,’ she murmured. ‘I haven’t forgiven you yet. I probably never will. Nobody treats me the way you did. Nobody. I looked for a bit more action from you, a bit more excitement, but I didn’t want to be frightened half to death.’
She sat down and slit the envelope that Simon had sent. This one she read. It didn’t take long, as he wrote more briefly than Harry’s missives.
Dear C,
Thanks for your last letter. You seem to like your job, and being away from home, but I’m missing you. I’m coming over for the weekend by car. My cousin lives nearby, so he will put me up for a couple of nights. Let’s go out on the town, and you can show me around. We have a lot to talk about. Looking forward to it. I’ll arrive on Friday night, probably quite late, so I won’t see you then, but I’ll call for you early Saturday, say about ten in the morning. Perhaps we could see a film, if there’s anything decent on.
Love, S.
Catriona lifted her eyes in despair to the ceiling. ‘My name is Catriona, not C. I won’t be an abbreviation for anyone,’ she muttered to the uncaring walls. ‘As for calling for me at ten o’ clock, he’s taking a lot for granted. I may not be in at that time. I just might have other arrangements. Not that I have any, but that can be changed quite easily.’
She went to bed, tired and dispirited, sleeping badly because of her still glowing anger at her employer, her irritation at being taken for granted by Simon, or S, as he seemed to prefer to be known, and Harry, who didn’t seem to realise that it was over. Or, to be more accurate, Harry, who didn’t seem to realise that it was never on in the first place.
Saturday arrived. During the week, Catriona had been extra careful with her work, and no further complaints came her way. She had scanned the situations vacant columns in the newspapers, but to no avail. There was nothing, simply nothing that she could envisage taking up. She was not going to be a shop assistant, on that point she was determined. There were very few office jobs available, and of those, a knowledge of skills she didn’t possess seemed to be necessary.
Saturday. Something to look forward to at last. She arose early, breakfasted and tidied her flat with a little more care than usual. Choosing just the right clothes took a little time, but at last she was ready. She looked at the clock. It was a few minutes before ten. Simon would be arriving soon. While waiting, she investigated her feelings and found it hard to envisage a lifetime with Simon. He was all right in his own way, fun to be with, if lacking somewhat in consideration. He held down a decent job in a bank, and had ambitions of a minor managership before long, so financially he was sound. Of course, money wasn’t everything, but you couldn’t do much without it, she mused. It does have a certain importance. Any man she married would have to understand that, and understand the necessity of spending some of it on his wife. A lot of it, in fact. She smiled as she thought of what this weekend was going to cost Simon. He wouldn’t get away with a simple home cooked meal made by herself. No, it had to be a classy restaurant, and nothing less than a half pound box of chocolates in the cinema, and that without a guarantee of back seats.
She looked at the clock again. Ten thirty five. He was late. All right, make that a pound box of chocolates, and wine with the meal as well. Some time later, she found herself looking anxiously up the street from the front room bay window. There was nobody there, excluding a neighbour painting the front gate, but that was a normal sight, as he was always doing some job or other of home improvements even though the house never seemed to look any better for his efforts. No Simon, though. Harry would have been on time, at least. He might be boring - he was boring, but he was reliable. Good old Harry. Glad to get rid of him. Her temper rose as time passed further on. She felt she would burst if she didn’t get the frustrations of the week out of her system. She found writing paper and a pen, and scribbled a short note.
Harry,
I have found a new job and a new boyfriend, and I am very happy. Stick to your chisels and toys.
Catriona
The act of writing made her feel better. Addressing an envelope, placing a stamp on it, and walking to the nearby post box to drop it in through the slot made her feel better still, sufficient to mollify her temper at Simon’s arrival at well past eleven o’ clock. He didn’t seem to notice that he had something to apologise for.
‘You’re a bit late,’ said Catriona pointedly looking at the clock after she had invited him inside.
‘Yes, I am a bit,’ he replied. ‘The car wouldn’t start last night, so I came by train today instead. Then I missed the connection when the train got in late.’
‘You should have got an earlier train then, shouldn’t you?’
He grinned at her. ‘Hardly possible. It was the first one here. Still, I’m here now, and that’s all that matters. I’m hungry. Where’s a good place to eat?’
It wasn’t a good start to the weekend, but that was nothing to what was to come. They had eaten in a nearby pub, a choice of Simon’s. Catriona tried to protest that she would rather eat in a restaurant, but she wasn’t listened to. The food was reasonable, but nothing special. Moodily, she sat over a glass of tomato juice - no point in asking for the wine list in a place like this - while Simon took a third pint of bitter and chattered on about his prospects at the bank.
Just before closing time, Simon stood up, to Catriona’s evident relief.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘shall we move on? Where to next? Is there anything good on at the cinema?’
‘I haven’t looked,’ she answered. ‘We could go and see.’
‘Right ho. Lead the way. And incidentally, you’re looking very delectable today.’
His arm came around her shoulders and he gave her a squeeze.
‘Simon! Somebody might be looking.’
‘Don’t care,’ he said. ‘Give us a kiss.’
Without waiting for her response, he leaned forward and pressed his lips on hers. It was with a sense of distaste that she became aware of the beery flavour of his mouth. She twisted away in slight disgust.
‘Not here, Simon. It’s a bit public.’
‘Still don’t care,’ he said, but relinquished his rather painful hold, and led her out on to the street. They made their way to the nearest cinema, and approving of the programme, went inside, just in time for the start.
It was in the back row after all, even though she hadn’t been asked, and there was no box of chocolates either. Still, all that could come later. She was keeping a reckoning. The lights dimmed and the screen lit up. Simon’s hand reached out for hers, clasping it firmly. Better, she thought. Distinctly better. A girl needs a bit of romance in her life. Then, to her surprise and dismay, Simon let go of her hand, and replaced it on her knee, stroking it in a circular motion. Sharply, she jerked her knee away, but to no avail, as his hand simply followed.
‘Simon,’ she hissed. ‘No.’
‘Catriona,’ he mocked her. ‘Yes.’
His hand moved further, lifting the hem of her skirt. She tried to push it away, but he clamped down harder.
‘Simon. You’re hurting.’
His grip relaxed, but he continued further up her leg.
‘If you don’t stop that, I’ll hit you.’
‘No you won’t,’ he said with confidence. ‘Come on Catriona. We are supposed to be engaged, after all.’
His hand went higher still. Resolutely, Catriona rose from her seat and walked out, stared at by a none too interested usherette, who had seen it all before. She stood uncertainly in the open air for a while, trying to recover her senses. She stood too long. Simon was by her side.
‘What did you do that for?’ he asked.
‘You know what for,’ she responded in what she hoped was an icy tone of voice.
‘Oh, give over, Catriona. Everyone does it in the cinema.’
‘Do they? Well, I’m not everyone. I wanted to see the film, not to feel your hand half way up my leg.’
He stared at her, nonplussed. ‘But we’re getting married. It’s only a bit of fun, a sort of taster, as you might say. What’s wrong with that?’
‘If that’s what you believe, Simon, I’m not sure we should be getting married.’
‘But you said...’
She broke him off in mid sentence. ‘I said I would think about it, that’s all. I made no promises.’
‘You led me to believe you had,’ he grumbled.
‘Then you believed wrongly, didn’t you? I only said I needed time to think. Well, thank goodness I did. I have thought, and I think your behaviour today is despicable. You turn up hours late without a word of apology, get half drunk in a pub...’
‘On three pints? You must be joking.’
‘You get half drunk in a pub,’ she repeated. ‘Then you practically try to undress me in the cinema. If that’s any foretaste of your version of married life, then I can only say thank goodness I never accepted your proposal. I think you had better take me home. No, don’t bother, I don’t trust you. I’ll see myself home. I suggest you make your own arrangements.’
This, she thought, was becoming habitual. At least Harry hadn’t made unwelcome advances to her. Not even welcome advances, for that matter.
‘You mean you’re breaking our engagement?’
‘No I’m not,’ she replied with some heat. ‘I’m not because we were never formally engaged.’
‘I thought we were,’ he said.
‘Then you thought wrong. Where’s the ring? I can’t give that back to you, because you never gave me one, and a good thing too. Don’t you see, Simon? It wouldn’t work. I like you well enough, but not well enough to marry you, not now that I know you a bit better. Much better. More than I wanted to. Why couldn’t you have been more patient?’
‘You’ve found somebody else, haven’t you? Who is it? Anybody I know?’
‘No, there isn’t anybody else.’
‘Come off it, I’m not the only one you’ve been out with. You’ve always been a bit free with your favours. Wait a minute, I know who it is. It’s Harry Forsyth, isn’t it? It must be. He was always a bit sweet on you. Go on, admit it.’
‘I can’t,’ Catriona said with a calmness she was far from feeling. ‘I can’t because it’s not true. I’m not going to marry you, but I’m not going to marry Harry either. He has asked, but I’ve refused him. Believe it or not as you like. It makes no difference. There simply isn’t anyone else at all. Now I’m going home. Don’t bother to follow me.’
Simon called after as she walked away. ‘It is Harry. It’s obvious. You do know he’s got a touch of the tarbrush, don’t you? All your kids’ll be black. If he knows what to do. And if you let him. That is, if you haven’t done so already.’
He followed up with a word unknown to Catriona, but the sense was clear to her burning cheeks. His jeering tones rang in her ears long after she reached home, indeed stayed with her through many a sleepless night thereafter.