"Right, settle down. Quiet. We’re going to start now. Settle down. SHUT UP!!" Olly Cosgrove banged the table with an empty Guinness bottle.

The room became quiet. The annual general meeting of the Seabank Gaelic Association got under way. The agenda was worked through till they reached the election of officers. Olly was unanimously re-elected as president. Danny Taggart was elected vice-president. He was twenty-four years old. A majority of eleven votes secured his election. There had been fierce opposition to him from the moderate members. Danny, who had joined the club as a ‘nice young lad,’ had developed into an aggressive, anti-Protestant activist. The GA had its roots in a federation of Irish Cultural Clubs, with the objective of maintaining and promoting Irish culture among the emigrants in Britain. Seabank was one of the clubs which, in the anti-Catholic atmosphere of the West of Scotland, was being subjected to reactionary influences from the younger members.

Olly and Danny stood at the bar of O’Sullivan’s pub, which they used as the club headquarters and meeting place.

"Danny, this is my club. Don’t ever forget that. I started it twelve years ago to keep the Irish spirit going among the Irish in the town. If you want to start a branch of the Irish Republican Brotherhood here, do it on your own. Don’t use the Association for it. I won’t have any republicanism here. I’ll fight you on this, and I’ll win."

"To hell with your Irish spirit Olly, It’s time we stood up to the Orange bastards that are trying to keep us down. I won that election tonight because there’s more in the club thinking like me than thinks like you."

"I can agree with you. We’ve got to stand up to them, but the GA isn’t the way to do it. Now, we’re a social and cultural club, and that’s the way we want to keep it. If you start getting us involved in politics, the ordinary members will stop coming. Now I didn’t put all that hard work into this club for you to ruin it."

"We’ll see Olly. I think you’ve had your day. Now it’s our turn; us young ones."

A troubled Olly picked up his beer and left the young man standing at the bar.

*****

"Where’s Cormac? Away to the football somewhere, I suppose?"

"No. Not today. They’re away today. It’s his Saturday off. He’ll be down in the Popinjay. He’ll be fu’ when he gets home for his tea at seven o’clock. You wait and see."

"If he’s coming home drunk, I won’t be waiting here to see it."

"Ach, Meggie, he’s a good man. He’s never struck me or the weans. He doesn’t gamble. He has a good job that brings a good wage in. He hasn’t got any fancy-women, - as far as I’ve ever been able to find out. He’s respected in the town. He’s good to me and the children. So he takes a drink. It’s not every night. It’s not every week. It’s just every now and again. I can’t hold it against the man. A man needs a vice, - every now and again, - as long as it does no harm."

"My Eddy doesn’t drink. If he came home drunk, which he’d never do, he’d sleep in the coal-shed. I wouldn’t let him in the house. My daddy never comes home drunk. Mammy wouldn’t stand for it either. I’m surprised you do."

"Meggie, you’re my sister, and I’m daft about you ... and our Sophie too. But I couldn’t live with your Eddy. He would drive me daft. Cormac’s got his warts and pimples, but, at least, there’s a bit of life about him. Your Eddy’s too quiet for me. He’s a lovely man, and I’m awful fond of him, but, - not for me."

Meggie left at half past six to catch the train back to Irvine, where her husband came from. He was a joiner, a staunch Catholic, a member of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, the Catholic Young Men’s Society and a pass keeper at the church on Sunday. He had signed the pledge as a boy, and, as far as Cormac could make out, he had not a single redeeming vice. Cormac found it difficult to be in Eddy Carty’s company for any length of time. Rory Urquart, Sophie’s husband, also from Irvine, a postman with a liking for beer and a wicked sense of humour, was more to Cormac’s taste.

Ten minutes after Meggie left, Cormac arrived home.

"Hello wee Beth. I’m fu’." He fell on his backside taking his shoes off.

"Aye, a blind man could see that."

He began to sing. "I belong tae Glasgow, dear old Glasgow toon."

"Cormac, for God’s sake shut up. You’ll have the neighbours round complaining. And you’ll wake the children."

"Ah, bugger the neighbours," he said good-naturedly. "Put the kettle on, and make me a wee cup of tea."

"Cormac Sleanagh, I have no intention of making you a cup of tea when you’re in this state. Away you go to your bed. You’re only a nuisance when you’re like this."

He put his arms round her.

"You’re a wee smasher, d’you know that? I love you. You’re ma wee lassie. I’m going to make you awfy proud of me. I’m going to have an important job in the yard. They want me to be a book-keeper. Charles Hutchinson took me into the office yesterday afternoon. They want me to go back to the Fullarton to learn to be a book-keeper. And they’re going to pay for it all. Beth, they want me to be a book-keeper. I’m just a stupid wee man that was born on a stupid wee farm in Ireland, and they want me to be a book-keeper. I don’t know if I want to be a book-keeper. I just want to be happy with you and the weans. I don’t need an important job. Do you want me to have an important job? What do I need an important job for?"

He sat down in the big arm-chair beside the fire.

"Put the kettle on lassie. I’m going to be a book-keeper. I’m going to be an important man in that shipyard. My father never thought I’d be a book-keeper. uncle Thomas never thought I’d be a book-keeper. My brother Harry never thought I’d be a book-keeper. You never thought I’d be a book-keeper. I never thought I’d be a book-keeper. Nobody ever thought I’d be a book-keeper. But I’m going to be a bloody book-keeper."

He fell silent. The warmth of the fire took hold of him. His eyes closed, his head fell back, mouth open. He began to snore gently as he always did when drunk. Beth stood in front of him, knowing that life in the Sleanagh household was about to take another major change of direction.

Cormac started book-keeping classes in Irvine in September 1903. The course lasted two years, and he passed all the exams with distinction.

*****

"Well, that’s me got no more classes till after Easter. I just got my exam results for the term, and I got more than seventy percent on all my subjects." He patted Beth’s ‘bump.’ She was six months pregnant. They were both delighted with another addition to the clan, as was Father Tierney.

"That’s really good. I’m pleased it’s going so well. Now the winter’s by, you won’t have such bad weather when you’re on that bike. That’s six months past already. Just another year and a half to go. It’ll pass in no time."

"Aye, it’s going in quick, right enough. It’s harder than the reading classes though."

"You knew that when you started. But you’re getting good marks in your exams, so you’re doing all right." She set a cup of tea in front of him, and joined him on the other side of the table

. "There’s a nice cup of tea to warm you up. Would you like a biscuit to go with it? I’ve got some ginger-snaps in the tin"

"Aye, a ginger-snap would be nice. Did the weans go to bed quietly tonight? They’ve been kind of jumpy the last few nights when you were putting them to bed. Did you find out yet what it’s all about?"

"Oh, John let the cat out the bag tonight. Mack’s been frightening them with some kind of ghost story. Miss Cameron told them it at the school, and he’d been telling it to John in bed when the light was out. I told them a wee fairy-story tonight, so they’re nice and quiet. That Mack’s a wee devil."

"They’re growing up, and I’m not here again. They’re going to think they don’t have a daddy at all."

"Ach, it’s not that bad. You see them at the week-ends. Do you want another cuppa, or another biscuit?"

"What’s all this attention for? Another cuppa; another biscuit? What are you cooking up Beth Sleanagh? I’ve got no money to lend to you, so it’s no good buttering me up."

She reddened. "Ach you. I can’t hide anything from you. Jenny Gilmour was telling me last Friday, that there’s a nice house in Kerlaw to rent. I went to the factor yesterday, and he let me see it. I left the boys with Julia in Glebe St. and took wee Maggie with me, and went up there this morning. Cormac, it’s really nice. They’re wanting half-a-crown a week, but it’s got two big rooms downstairs and a big back-kitchen. And it’s got a big attic running the whole length of the house. It could hold ten beds easy. Oh, and its got a nice big bed-recess off the living-room. Cormac, please come and look at it on Saturday. You’ll like it too. I’d love to live in a house like that. It’s got its own inside lavatory too. Can we afford two-and-six a week? It’s got a huge big garden at the back as well, with a greenhouse and the biggest pear-tree you ever saw. Cormac, please say you’ll come and look at it. Just to have a look."

"Dammit Beth, we’re hardly settled here. It’s not four years yet. And we were only two years in Warner St. You’re nothing but a bloody gypsy. If we move to Kerlaw, how long will you stay there? Another three or four years? I’m fine where I am. I like it here."

"We’ve got four children sleeping in one wee bed-room and one in beside us. What happens when Maggie’s too big to be in with us? We cannot have the boys sleeping in the same room with a lassie."

"Don’t be daft, woman. It’ll be years before the weans know there’s any difference between boys and lassies."

"Just the same, boys or lassies; soon enough, there’ll be five of them in one room. There’s hardly enough room in there just now. If we have to put another bed in there, there will be no room to walk between them."

"Aye, we’ll go and take a look on Saturday if that’s what you want? Tell the factor to meet us at eleven. I’d been thinking the same myself, that it was getting far too wee here."

She came and sat on his knee.

"Wait and see. It’s really nice, and I’ll never move again. I promise."

"Aye, well. I’ll believe that when I see it."

The following year, Cormac, having passed his final exams, became assistant book-keeper in the general accounts department, under George McGregor the head book-keeper.

*****

Danny Taggart took the chairman’s gavel from Olly Cosgrove.

"Thanks Olly." Danny turned to the members of the GA gathered in Sullivan’s back room for the annual general meeting.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your support in electing me president of the Association. You can be sure that I will lead it in the way youse all want me to. I’d like to thank Olly here for all his years of good work and, as a token of our appreciation, I’d like to present him with this bottle of Jameson’s whiskey."

Olly took the bottle and turned to the body of the hall.

"I’m not going to give you a speech. I never thought you’d vote against me. I’m resigning from the Association as of tonight. I won’t be a part of what it’s turning into. I started it as a cultural club, where there was no place for politics. I suppose I was kidding myself that the two could be kept separate. I wish the Association well, but you’re all going to regret this."

Olly put the bottle on the table, stepped down from the platform and left the room.

"If there’s no other business, I declare the meeting closed." Danny raised the gavel.

"Point of order, Mr. Chairman," a voice called before the gavel could fall.

"Dick? What’s on your mind?"

"If Olly doesn’t want that bottle of whiskey, what are we going to do with it?"

"Good question Dickie. This’ll be my first decision as president. We’ll raffle it at the next ceilidh. The proceeds will go to our brothers in the old country to help them fight the bloody English."

Danny banged the gavel on the table to the cheers of the members. "Who’s going to buy their new president a pint?"

*****

"Cheerio then. I’m away to the match. I’ll see you later on tonight. I’ll not be late."

Cormac pulled on his overcoat, settled his cap, and went out. It was half past twelve on a Saturday afternoon in early October. It was a cold day, though dry. Kilmarnock, the football team that Cormac followed, was playing Saint Mirren away in Paisley. Now that his studies were over, he attended all the home matches, and one away match each month. The five to one train would get him into Paisley Gilmour Street station at twenty-five to two. He would have enough time for a pint or two and be able to get into the Love St. ground well before the kick-off at three o’clock.

There was a derailment outside Johnston station and the train was delayed. When he got there, the turnstiles were closed. It was a Scottish cup-tie and the ground was full.

As the pubs had closed at half past two, he went back to the station but the next train was not till half past four. He decided to wander round the shops for a bit. He dawdled along Gilmour St. looking in shop windows.

It started to rain. Passing a men’s shop, he thought, I need a new bunnet. It’ll get me in out of this rain.

He turned into the shop and wandered around killing time. Caps were at the back of the shop which was busy, allowing him to browse at his leisure as the assistants were all dealing with customers. He picked up a few caps, but none to his taste. Browsing further, he saw one that looked promising. He looked at himself and the cap in a mirror.

In the mirror, he saw a woman watching him; an assistant. She was wrapping a purchase for a customer. With her moving about behind the counter, and people passing in between, he could only see her intermittently. Amused and flattered at female attention, he tried another cap and watched her. She finished giving the customer his change and he was finally able to see her clearly. She was about his own age, mid-thirties, attractive, nice figure, though a bit on the stout side, stylishly dressed with permed red hair.

It was Maisie Wilson.

Cormac turned to look at her. She looked him in the eye across the shop and nodded to say, yes, it’s me.

He replaced the cap on the shelf, picked up his own and walked over to her.

"Can I help you sir?" Her voice was softer, more refined; not the broad south-Ayrshire accent he remembered.

Equally calmly, he replied, "I’m looking for a cap."

"Would that be checked or striped sir?"

"Maisie?"

"Hello Cormac. How are you keeping?"

"I’m fine. And yourself?"

"As you see, I’m all right. You look quite prosperous. Done well for yourself have you?" There was an edge to her voice; a sarcasm.

"I’ve done not too badly, thanks. You seem quite prosperous yourself. You living here in Paisley now?"

"I left Girvan not long after you. Went to Glasgow first, but I didn’t like it there. What brings you to Paisley?"

"I came up to see the game."

"Up from where? Ah, the game; Kilmarnock?"

"No, Kerlaw. That’s where I live."

"I’ve been there. It’s a nice wee town. You married? Family?"

"Aye. Four boys and a lassie. You?"

"No, I never got married."

"That’s a shame Maisie. Why not? You’re a fine looking woman. You must have had plenty of offers."

"Who’d want spoiled goods Cormac?"

"How d’you mean?"

"Who wants a woman with a wee daughter?"

"Excuse me Miss, can you help me here? I’m looking for a jumper like this in a size eight for my son. I can’t find one in that size in this colour. Do you maybe have one in the back?" A large woman pushed a green sweater between them.

"Certainly madam. I’ll go and have a look. I’ll be straight back." Maisie disappeared into the store-room at the rear of the shop.

Cormac smiled at the woman.

"Sorry, was she helping you? I thought you were just talking."

"No, it’s fine. We were just talking."

Maisie came back with a green sweater, size eight.

A slow light began to dawn on Cormac. Jesus Christ Almighty.

"There you are madam. You’re lucky. It’s the last one in green. It’s two shillings, elevenpence-ha’penny. Will that be all right."

"That’ll be just fine dear. I’ll take it."

"Good. I’ll wrap it for you. If you’d just like to come over to the counter, I’ll attend to you there."

Cormac went back to the caps. He picked up the one he liked and moved over to the counter where Maisie was wrapping the sweater for the lady. He waited.

Maisie finished with the lady and her sweater. She turned to Cormac.

"Can I help you sir?"

"I’ll take this cap please."

"Certainly sir." She started to wrap it.

"Maisie. Whose daughter is it?"

"Yours." Cormac looked at her. She returned his stare.

"That’ll be one and sevenpence ha’penny, please."

Cormac pulled out his wallet. He handed over a ten-shilling note.

"There you are sir. Thank you very much. Good day to you." She handed him his change.

Turning to another customer she asked, "Yes sir? Can I help you?"

"I was looking for some calf-skin gloves."

"I’m sorry sir. We don’t carry leather goods, only woollens. You could try Fraser’s on the corner, or maybe Glendinning's further up."

"Thank you very much."

"Maisie...."

"Have you found what you were looking for madam? No? Let me see if I can help." Maisie moved off with a well-dressed woman looking for socks for her husband.

Cormac went out into the rain

*****

"Where are they playing today?"

"Stirling, so I’ll likely be late home."

"How late?"

"Oh, Beth. If I’m home by ten o’clock, I’ll be doing well. Certainly before eleven."

"Well, you be careful."

He gave her a peck on the cheek. "Don’t be daft. It’s Stirling I’m going to, not Ibrox or Parkhead. If it was the Rangers or the Celtic, you might need to worry a bit, but Stirling’s no bother."

He watched the countryside from the carriage window. The train stopped in Paisley. He thought about Maisie and his daughter. He had thought of little else since he had met her four weeks ago. Fifteen minutes later he got out at St. Enoch’s station in Glasgow. He set off to catch the five-to-twelve Stirling train at Buchanan Street station.

I’ll drop in here to have a pint before I catch the train. I’ve plenty of time.

After the first pint he thought, I could go to Paisley and see her. I’ll have another pint. I can still catch the five-to-one and still be on time for the match.

He had a third pint, which meant he would need to catch the five-to-two train. That’ll mean I’ll only have ten minutes to get to the park. It’s a good quarter of an hour walk. So I’m too late. I’ll just wait here and go home early. I’ll have another pint while I’m waiting. He finished his beer and left the pub at closing time; half past two.

At ten to six, he was standing at the corner of Gilmour St. and Dyers Wynd. some fifty yards from the shop where she worked, on the opposite side of the street. He sheltered from the drizzle in a shop doorway. The lights from the shop windows reflected off the slick, granite cobbles, the passing people and traffic making a colourful kaleidoscope of their dull grey. The staff left the shop at ten past, Maisie among them.

She walked towards the Abbey, and walked up the hill. He followed on the other side of the street. Twenty minutes later she turned into a close in Johnston Rd.

Nice street, he thought. Wonder how she manages to pay for this.

He waited. After a minute or two, a light came on in the second floor left-hand flat. He stood there.

There was a bar nearby. He had another pint.

She’ll not want to see me, he thought. If she wanted to see me, she’d have let me know in the shop last month. She cut me dead. She’ll do it again. I’ll only be embarrassing the woman. It’s the right thing to do. I’ve got to try to make it up to her. She must have had it awful hard; a single woman with a bairn. I want to see my bairn. I’ve got a daughter that I’ve never seen. I can try to make it up to her. Jesus, I still want her. He though about her, as he had many times, naked by the burn.

An hours and two pints later he entered the close and climbed the stairs. He knocked on the door. It opened. Maisie looked at him, saying nothing. She turned and walked back into the flat, leaving the door open.

Cormac walked in, closing the door behind him. It was dark. The light from the open door at the end of the passage drew him towards the living-room. She was standing with her back to the fire-place. A cheerful fire burned in the grate. The furniture was not new, but had quality. Maisie had taste. He had already noticed that in her clothes.

"Well. I wondered whether you’d take the trouble to find me."

"I’m... I didn’t know... If I’d known... I was so... I’m so sorry. Maisie, I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I just ran away."

"You’re sorry. You were scared. You didn’t know what to do. You bastard. You got me pregnant and you just fucked off the very next day. And now you roll up here feeling like a damned victim." The coarse language sounded strange in her refined voice.

He looked at her.

"Maisie, I was so damned innocent. I swear to God, I had no idea about girls, women and bairns and things. You were the most wonderful thing that happened to me. You were the first girl that looked at me. You were the first woman I knew... like that. I wasn’t just a virgin, I was a total bloody innocent. I... never forgot you. There’s hardly been a day that I never thought about you.

I’ve been married now for ten years. I love Beth, my wife. We’ve got five weans. But you’re still the one I remember. There was only ever you and Beth. There’s never been any other women. Beth’s the mother of my weans, but there’s no warmth in her. I love her. She’s my friend and my bed-partner, but she’s not my lover. She doesn’t know how to be a lover. You and me were only ever together that once, but you and me…. It was so special. I’ve never had anything like that before or since."

The coals in the fire collapsed. Maisie turned and picked up the poker. She re-arranged the glowing embers in the grate before putting fresh coal on top.

"You want to see her?"

"Is she here?"

"Where did you think she would be?"

"I wasn’t sure. Maybe with her grand-parents?"

"Are you stupid? When they found out I was expecting, they threw me out."

"Are you trying to tell me they abandoned you to fend for yourself and the wean?

"The same day; like a piece of shite; just like you did."

He looked at her. She looked back.

After a while. "What’s her name?"

"Corrie."

"After me?"

"Aye, ye daft bugger. Who else would I call her after?" The Ayrshire accent became evident again. "Like a fool, I kept hoping that you’d come back."

"You care?"

"Not now. Not any more. Oh, I cared. I fell for you right away. You were just that nice; ... innocent. There was no guile in you. You were... just... you; with them big brown eyes and that smile. You’ve still got them. I’ve had other men; before, and after you. Oh for God’s sake, don’t look so bloody shocked. You and me had something special. It was just that one afternoon. But it was just so... special. And you threw it away."

"I never knew. I thought I’d taken advantage of you and that you’d never want to see me again."

"You took advantage of me?" She laughed at him. "I practically damn-well raped you, you idiot."

"Aye. I suppose, looking back, you did. But at the time I felt that, as the man, it was all my fault."

"You want to see her? She’s in the back bedroom."

"Can I?"

"Aye, she’s yours isn’t she."

They went through to the small bed-room at the back of the flat. Maisie opened the bed-room door. They tip-toed into the room. The light through the half-open door from the hall filtered into the room. Cormac, unable to see the child properly, opened the door further. The light shone on her face as she lay on her back, one arm thrown above her head.

"She’s the image of my mother Biddy. Has she got red hair?" With little light in the bed-room, colours were impossible to make out.

"Aye, she has. I always thought she got it from me. I see her awful like my sister Peggy."

They stood in the door looking at the child.

"I’d better be going. I told Beth I’d be home before eleven. It’s gone half past eight. Can I come back and see you and the child?"

"No Cormac. I spent twelve years cursing you for a heartless bastard. There were times I could have cut your throat. I still might. You did a terrible thing to me and to that child in there. I don’t know if I’ll be able to forget that. When I recognised you in the shop the other week, I...

I’ve got a life Cormac. Me and Corrie don’t need anybody except ourselves anymore. It’ll be better if you don’t. Life’s complicated enough without you coming back into it. Leave me to keep hating you. It was the only thing that got me through the bad times. Away you go back to your wife and bairns."

He stepped through the door onto the landing.

"Cheerio Maisie."

"Aye. Cheerio."

Now you can suffer, you bastard, she thought, closing the door. Now you’ve seen her, and you know you can’t have her. I hope it rots your guts.

He went down the stairs, out into the rain.

*****

"A fuckin’ penalty for nothin’ in the last minute. That bastard of a referee. If I could get my hands on him, I’d wring his neck, the bastard."

Kilmarnock had lost one-nothing. The comments from the crowd around him, leaving the ground mirrored Cormac’s own thoughts. That was never a penalty. George Ross never touched that forward. He tripped over his own feet.

Cormac was pulled along by the crowd heading back towards Paisley town-centre. It was the end of March and very mild. Instead of turning into the station, he waked under the bridge and found himself in Gilmour St. It was getting on towards half past five. He walked along to the Abbey. Crossing the road, he sat on a bench in the Abbey gardens. He watched for her. She wore the same dark green raincoat with matching bonnet she wore the first time he saw her. As he crossed the road, she saw him.

"Hello."

She ignored him and walked on. He fell into step beside her.

"Go away. I don’t want to see you." She turned abruptly down a side-street. He followed her. "I’ll call a policeman. I’ll make a scene."

"Maisie, we need to talk."

"What about? Go away and take your Catholic guilt with you. Wallow in it. I hope you drown in it."

"I want to help you; you and the wee lassie."

"The wee lassie’s got a name."

"I know. I want to help you and Corrie."

"Go away. When I needed your help you weren’t there. Now I don’t need it. So go to hell and leave me alone."

"Maisie, I want to try to make it up to you. I haven’t thought about anything else since I saw you again. Please let me help with the ...., with Corrie."

"I don’t need your help. I have a decent job, and a nice wee flat. I can fend for myself. So away you go and salve you bloody conscience somewhere else. Go to your confession. Say ten Hail-Marys. Say a hundred Hail-Marys. I don’t need you or your damned money. What I needed was a husband and the child needed a father. You’re too damned late. Now please, just go away."

Maisie walked on leaving him standing there.

*****

chapter nine     top