They walked past the looming walls of the new cathedral, with its tall narrow windows letting the light squeeze in, with the skeletal steel spire that crowds had gathered to watch being lowered into place by helicopter, and she said, well anyway, we'll have to talk to Laurence about it, when the time comes. She said, I don't suppose he'll be much use though. David didn't say anything. They stood across the road from the bus station, waiting for the traffic to clear so they could cross. She said, when are you going down there next? She said, I'm sure she'll be very pleased to see you again you know. A heavy lorry clattered past, loaded with rubble and soil from a building site, and they both stepped back.
She said, David, don't be like this, please. She was out of breath from trying to keep up with him. She said, David, please, I can't.
They crossed the road, and as they walked round past the bus station she said, I thought I might have a go at getting the garden tidied up this weekend. It's been getting a bit out of hand again. She said, of course it was your father who was the expert, and they both flinched a little at her use of the no longer comfortable word. She glanced at him, and continued, saying, but I imagine he'd have a thing or two to say if he saw the garden now, don't you think? He looked at her, not quite meeting her eye, and made a gesture with his head which was almost a nod. She sighed impatiently, and said, yes, well, it's up to you whether you want to give us a hand or not. Give me a hand I mean, she said, correcting herself.
She said, David, are you even listening to me? They crossed the route of the new ring road, following the fenced footpath between a maze of trenches and banks and towering concrete stilts. She said, this isn't going to make things any easier you know. She said, I mean, I know you're upset, but I don't see how this is going to help David. He didn't say anything. She held his arm, and said, David, and again he pulled it away.
They walked through the streets beyond the city centre, past flat-fronted terraces which opened straight out on to the street, past bay-windowed semis by the park, past a row of houses which had once been watchmakers' workshops, the attic windows built tall and broad to let the light flood in on their intricate work. They crossed the road by a parade of shops and started walking up the long hill which led towards their house.
She stopped for a moment to get her breath back, and when he didn't wait for her she scurried after him, turning to try and meet his eye, saying, David, how long are you going to keep this up? He didn't say anything. She said, what do you want me to do? She said, David, I've said I'm sorry; I've said it over and over again; what else do you expect me to do? It's not fair David, she said, it's just not fair. And if it hadn't been for people walking nearby she would have been shouting, the force of it already trembling in her voice.
Do you think I never worried about this? she said, a moment later. He was silent, and she said again what she'd already said so many times: I was going to tell you; I wanted to tell you. I was waiting for the right moment and I never found it and then it only got harder, I couldn't think of a way to begin. I'd have had to tell your father as well, and I thought you'd both be better off not knowing. She reached into the sleeve of her jacket for a tissue, and David still didn't speak.
They walked past the school Albert had been working on before he died, built to take the pressure off the overcrowded grammar Susan and David had both attended, where temporary classrooms had hidden the bomb-craters in the playground and lunch breaks had had to be taken in shifts. They turned the corner into their estate, past a small strip of woodland, and left again into their street.
She said, in desperation, David, I never lied to you. If you'd ever asked me I would have told you the truth, but you always seemed happy with the way you thought things were; it didn't seem fair to upset things for you. I wouldn't have lied to you, ever, she said. You believe that at least, don't you?
He stopped abruptly and looked at her, meeting her eyes for the first time since he'd seen her at the bottom of the museum steps. He peered at her for a moment, closely, as if watching to see what else she had to say, and when he saw that she was starting to cry he allowed a smile to open out across his otherwise impassive face before turning away. She watched him go. She called his name, quietly in case the neighbours heard. She followed him to the door. She said, oh if your father was here you wouldn't, and he turned, waiting for her to finish her sentence, but she said nothing more. He stood in the opened doorway, blocking her path, and saw Susan walking up the street towards them.
He said, almost in a whisper, you've got no idea, have you? He stood aside to let her into the house, and as she squeezed past him the phone started to ring. He left it a moment, watching her disappear upstairs, and when he picked it up he was almost breathless with the adrenalin pulsing through him. He said hello and Eleanor said guess what? Guess what? Oh David, you'll never guess what.
20 Examination results, Scottish Highers, July 1967
A single sheet of paper, slightly larger than letter-size, an expensive-looking rough-grained texture with a circular watermark just visible about halfway down the page. The name of the examinations board at the top, an address, a reference number. An official seal at the bottom, lipstick red and frilled at the edges. A ruled table with columns for subject, paper, date, and grade. The thick black type that can change a life. The paper held delicately, at arm's length, as though creasing it or tearing it would invalidate what it said. As though the ink were still wet and could be smudged or removed.
She hadn't got any sleep the night before it came, she told him. He imagined her sitting up all night, drinking cocoa and trying not to think about it. Sitting in the kitchen, sitting in the front room, in her father's chair, standing out in the backyard, looking down at the lights in the harbour, softened and wavering in the warm night air.
She didn't want to open it when it came, she said. She heard the letter box go and she sat in the kitchen and she didn't move. The envelope landed with a tap and a skid across the smooth stone floor, and it was a minute before she stalked out of the kitchen with a butter-knife at the ready to slit open the envelope. The brown paper broke into two rows of jagged teeth. She slid out the letter and unfolded the clean white sheet.
She hadn't got any sleep the night before it came, she told him. He imagined her sitting up all night, drinking cocoa and trying not to think about it. Sitting in the kitchen, sitting in the front room, in her father's chair, standing out in the backyard, looking down at the lights in the harbour, softened and wavering in the warm night air.
She didn't want to open it when it came, she said. She heard the letter box go and she sat in the kitchen and she didn't move. The envelope landed with a tap and a skid across the smooth stone floor, and it was a minute before she stalked out of the kitchen with a butter-knife at the ready to slit open the envelope. The brown paper broke into two rows of jagged teeth. She slid out the letter and unfolded the clean white sheet.
She didn't know what she was expecting. For months she'd been going over it in her head, going backwards and forwards, convincing herself she'd passed, convincing herself she'd failed. She didn't know what was going to happen. She didn't know what she wanted to happen. It was new territory; her staying on at school at all had been new territory for the whole family. Her mother had left school at fourteen to work at Williamson's, learning to gut and split and fillet the heavy flat fish with vicious speed, salting and carrying them into the field and spreading them out like great white sheets in the sun to dry. Her father had left school at eleven to help his father's friend in the shipyard at the bottom of the hill; there was a photo of him from soon after he'd started there, half-hidden in a group of hard-looking men all bristling with moustaches and hammers and tongs, his small eyes shut tight against the blaze of the flashgun, his cap a few sizes too big for him still. So they didn't understand, either of them, what Eleanor had been doing at school those last few years, why she'd carried on fussing with books and things when she could have been bringing money into the house.
She unfolded the sheet of clean white paper, and read the words in thick black type. Chemistry, B. English, C. Geography, B. Mathematics, C. Physics, B. She read the words over and over, holding the paper up to the light, a pale gasp of excitement breaking out from her pursed lips. The first in the family to stop on at school, and now the first in the family, the first in the street, to go on to university. She refolded the paper and put it back into the jagged-toothed envelope. She propped it up on the kitchen table, leaning it against the empty cocoa mug, staring at it, checking her name and address on the front. She didn't know what to do straight away, who to tell, whether to have a drink and celebrate, whether to start packing her bags there and then.
All the different ways there were of leaving home, and the one she'd chosen had finally settled within reach. Her first brother, away with the merchant navy before she was even born. Her second and third brothers married. Her sister, gone with a story that no one ever spoke of. And now her, with a place waiting at Edinburgh University, ready to slip out of the house for good.
She heard footsteps on the wooden stairs and her mother came into the room, standing just inside the doorway, looking at her. What's that you've got there? she asked, her voice a little slow with sleep.
Eh? It's just a letter from the school, Eleanor said, leaning over it slightly. Is Da awake? she asked. Is he up yet?
No, he's still sleeping for now, her mother said, walking across to the kettle and filling it with water. What's the letter for? she asked. Eleanor turned round in her chair.