Free Crystal's Song by Millie Gray Page A

my Dod?”
    Patsy nodded. “That’s just what I’m wondering,” she said. What she didn’t tell Mary was that surely the powers that be must be mad to risk everything they had gained by putting Dod on the front line! Good heavens, didn’t they know he’d sell his Granny if the price was right – never mind trading any future victories?

    The small home bakery in Restalrig Road was open from six o’clock in the morning selling freshly baked rolls and bran scones. Even if the shop had opened at five o’clock there would still have been a queue of eager customers. This Friday was no different. Patsy had just staggered through with a red-hot tray of rolls when the baker opened the door and the first three customers crammed themselves into the limited space. “Sleep in, Patsy?” joked Wilma Johnston.
    “No,” was Patsy’s curt reply. “I’ve been in here since half past four. Ye ken! While you were still lying in your kip, I was earning my daily bread. So what’s it the day? The same half-dozen rolls and two bran?”
    “Aye. Here, I’m real glad your Dinah’s getting herself out and about again. I thought she was never going to get over your poor wee Phyllis. And then with her dad following on so quick it seemed to knock the life clean oot o’ her.”
    Patsy drew herself up sharp. What on earth was this woman talking about? Dinah had been a model of good behaviour since the night of Phyllis’s death nearly two years ago. And not only had her behaviour been exemplary but she regularly visited the bairns in Linlithgow and wrote every week to Tam – even although there never seemed to be any letters getting out of the prisoner of war camp.
    “Mind you,” Wilma blundered on, “I’ll bet she’s fair missing yon tall, dark, handsome GI” Then, adding to Patsy’s discomfiture and terror, Wilma turned to the others in the queue and licked her lips as she told them, “Sure like a film star, he was. The best-looking of the hale tribe that Dinah and her pals had in tow!”
    “There’s your order. Next please,” Patsy hissed through gritted teeth, as she tossed the bag of hot rolls in Wilma’s direction.
    “Getting them for nothing, am I?” Wilma asked cheekily, while thumping the money down on the counter.
    “Sorry,” mumbled Patsy, grabbing the coins and tossing them into the till. “I’m no quite mysel’ the day. Need three jobs I do, just to keep my head above water. And I’m that tired, I’m nearly drowning.” Patsy was indeed exhausted because not only did she work five hours at the bakery every morning but three afternoons a week she cleaned for the piano teacher who owned one of the big houses down in Restalrig Road – while on Friday and Saturday nights she served in Angelo’s fish and chip shop. Yet what else could she do? She had to work to keep herself and there weren’t many who would employ someone of her age. Oh aye, being sixty-one had its drawbacks, one of which was to be regarded as being over the hill, so she was grateful that she still did have work. She smiled at the thought of the bonuses – free rolls and buns from the morning job, a fish tea every Friday and Saturday night, and a tinkle on the piano when she dusted the keyboard.

    There was no need for Patsy to knock at Dinah’s door since the key was in the lock. That was no great surprise as Dinah found it easier for people to let themselves in rather than her having the bother of going to open the door. However, when Patsy advanced into the living room (which in her opinion was in need of a good tidy-up) she was confronted by Etta staggering towards the bathroom with a kettle of boiling water. On seeing Patsy, Etta did a quick about-turn into the kitchen with the dribbling kettle. Patsy’s eyes were now drawn to Etta’s infant son, Bill, who was rocking on his bottom from side to side on the floor. From the odour emanating from that direction he was obviously in need of a nappy change.
    “Is your Bill no needing