Free The New Breadmakers by Margaret Thomson Davis

about it. His mother refused to allow him to do anything about it. The only compensation was the stolen time his mother spent with him during the week when she was out for her shopping. Instead of going to the Co-op in Balornock, which was nearer, she’d hurry down to Springburn, do her shopping and then come to his house. He’d cook her lunch and they’d talk. Sometimes he even managed to make her laugh. She always brought the dog with her now and she would proudly show Sammy the tricks she’d taught it to perform.
    As he watched her lavish love on the little terrier, he blessed the day he had given it to her. She spoke to it as if it was a true friend and it obviously gave her comfort as well as company. He had never seen her so happy, so content.
    On his Sunday visits, he put up with his father’s boasts about his important Masonic friends with as much patience and good grace as he could. This was somewhat easier to do as he didn’t have such a critical opinion of the Masons as he had of the Orange Order. At least, as far as he could make out, the Masons weren’t religious bigots. There were Catholics, Protestants and even, so he’d been told, Jewish Masons.
    However, the mere fact that his father went on and on so much about the Masons made Sammy vow never to have anything to do with them. The mere fact that his father was one of them soured his view. There must be something wrong with them if they accepted his father.
    He escaped from the house and strode thankfully and speedily away, nearly forgetting to turn round and wave to his mother. Usually the sight of her thin, bent figure and pale, sad face at the window haunted him for the rest of the day, but now, clutching Patch in her arms, she waved back at him quite cheerily.
    ‘That dog,’ he thought to himself, ‘is causing a transformation in her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she begins to find enough strength to stick up for herself and tell the old man where to get off.’
    He chuckled to himself. The way things were going, it seemed a real possibility. That made him happy. He began to whistle to himself as he strode along.
    In Broomknowes Road, he bumped into Julie Vincent. She had been visiting Madge and was now on her way to see her mother-in-law. As they walked along together, Julie said, ‘I enjoy having lunch with Madge and her crowd. It’s a terrible contrast at my mother-in-law’s. It’s noisy and a bit chaotic at Madge’s but …’
    ‘A bit?’ Sammy laughed.
    ‘Well, OK, but my mother-in-law’s place is like the grave in comparison. It always depresses me. And she still goes on and on about Reggie. Never mentions her late husband. It’s always Reggie. It’s not that I want to forget Reggie, or ever will forget him, but it’s awful the way she lives in the past so much. You’d think her father and mother would tell her to snap out of it. Well, not snap out of it, not using those words exactly, but you know what I mean. Her father’s a minister. He lives next door to Catriona.’
    ‘Yes, I know.’
    ‘At least I managed to get out of lunch there today and settle for an afternoon visit. You must feel the same about Ruth. You loved her, but you don’t still go on and on about her, do you? What good does it do?’
    ‘No good at all. We’ve just to get on with our lives the best we can. They wouldn’t want us to be stuck in the past and made to feel miserable.’
    ‘No, that’s exactly what I feel, Sammy. I’ve tried to tell Mum that, but she just doesn’t listen.’
    ‘You’ve been good to Mrs Vincent, Julie. I don’t know how you survive these Sunday visits. The minister and his wife are usually there as well, Madge tells me.’
    ‘Yes. Talk about depressing? He says a long gloomy prayer when I arrive and then another one before he and his wife go away. I can’t stand Holy Willies. Oh, I’m sorry, Sammy. I forgot. You’re religious, aren’t you?’
    ‘Not a Holy Willie, I hope,’ Sammy laughed. ‘And I know what you