Prospect Place

Prospect Place

List of Characters

Pam Manvers - Main character.

Audrey Jones - Pam’s mother

John - A friend.

Maureen - A friend.

April - Pam’s boss at the charity shop.

Sharon Campbell - Travel Lodge receptionist.

May - A young mother 

Tanya - May’s daughter.

Avril Knight - Carer.

Duncan Knight - Avril’s husband.

Hugh Manning - Once Pam’s boss.

1. Turning Point

The door slammed shut behind her and, as she stood on the pavement, she heard the door bolts banged into place. The words ‘Fuck off. Just fucking go’ still ringing in her ears.

It was snowing and cold, made worse by the harsh light of the one sodium lamp which illuminated Prospect Place, and she had no coat. What will it be? A shag or dissection? John or Maureen? She wanted neither. ‘One day, one day’ she heard herself muttering under her breath. Pam pulled her top lip over her bottom one and breathed in and out, in and out, taking what comfort she could from the action, by which time she had wrapped her arms around her body and she was swaying side to side on her hips, still rooted to the spot outside that bloody front door, as the settling white flakes smothered her hair, shoulders and shoes.

Pam thought she must look demented to the passing motorist using her road as a short cut. How had her mother described her? ‘Streaky bacon on legs’. Where had that come from? It was her life, yet all around others wanted a slice. Her mum saw her as a crutch, someone she could use to her own advantage, as did John. Maureen was much more forensic. She picked over Pam’s life, asked endless questions, but never answered any. Nor was work much better. Always endless demands from her boss and colleagues. The only consolation was the pittance which went into her bank account at the end of every month.

Not for the first time she was outside her own home unable to get in. She cursed the day she let her mother stay. The cold was already dulling Pam’s senses and reactions when she felt a slap on her left leg. It was her bag, which fell open on contact with the pavement and spilled most of its content around her. This was followed by her coat and before she had time to look up, the first floor window above her closed with a bang. She picked up her coat and put it on. Thankfully, the thick cashmere scarf she had stuck down the sleeve when she had arrived home an hour earlier was still in place and, miracle of miracles, her woollen gloves were still in still in her coat pockets. She scrabbled around the pavement and in the gutter recovering the contents of her bag before rising to her full height of five foot ten inches and screaming, at the top of her voice, ‘Fuck you Mother’ before turning and walking towards the main road.

There was the café, which might be open. She had never been there at night. It was closed. Thirty minutes later she was letting herself into the shop. She was glad that the keys were kept in their own zipped pocket inside her bag. No one arrived before nine-thirty, so she could spend the night there without anyone knowing. Pam placed the key in the lock, turned it to the left and watched the clattering shutter rise as if by magic. There was no one in sight at her end of the deserted high street, only her footprints broke the carpet of snow, which sparkled under the lamps and falling flakes, as she placed another key in the door and let herself in. Once inside she locked the door and pressed the button behind the counter to lower the shutter. No one would know she was there. For the first time in two years she was glad to be the manager of a charity clothes shop.

In the small kitchen Pam made herself a cup of coffee and munched her way through a half-opened packet of chocolate digestives, then thought about how she could sleep. It didn’t take long. Pam piled a dozen coats on the floor beside the electric radiator, which was already warming up nicely, and kept a few back which she used to cover herself.  As she snuggled down for the night, she cursed her mother again and again, promising herself as she did so, that she would get her life into some kind of order.

None of her colleagues had an inkling of what had happened the night before, nor did her mother, who had been too drunk to remember that Pam had not been there. Saturday was busy in the shop, so she had little time to dwell on what was going to happen at five o’clock. In the end, she went round to John’s. He, who for once, was quite restrained. They had a cup of tea before he stood behind Pam, who was sitting on the sofa, and ran his hands over her shoulders and nuzzled the top of her head, before cupping her breasts and lifting them whilst he kissed her neck. She turned and looked up at him. She wanted to tell him it was all over. The words ‘Not now John’ caught at the back of her throat. Instead she lifted her neck and raised her head towards him. John always turned her on. In the background, she could hear Tina Turner singing ‘Addicted to Love’. He knew how to press all the right buttons.

If only John felt the same. He took what was offered and any woman who chose his company knew what the deal was. He was a cocky sod and ten years younger than Pam. It was a relationship going nowhere. They had met the first day she worked in the shop. He was a volunteer then, about to graduate and she was flattered by his attention. Before John there had been a long dry period and, right from the off, he described their relationship as one of meeting ‘mutual needs’. He stayed on at the university as a research assistant and moved in with Pam for a while, but blotted his copybook by bringing a girl home. After John left, they continued to have sex whenever they met. In truth, the arrangement suited her at first. Her directness deterred most men who, in her limited experience, preferred their women to be passive. After two years though, she was in charge of nothing, other than when she contacted John. On top of this, Audrey, her mother, had turned up out of the blue after her second marriage collapsed because of her drinking and, in a moment of weakness, Pam had said she could stay.

As for Maureen, how she had inveigled her way into Pam’s life was a mystery.  Her constant questioning wore Pam down and Maureen became an unwanted confidant. How could she have been so foolish, but she had no one else with whom she could share confidences.

Pam stayed the night with John and surprised him in the morning with a fuck. There was nothing ‘mutual’ about it. He didn’t know she was saying ‘goodbye’ and he would never see her again.

‘What time is it?’ John asked as he raised himself up on his elbows to see Pam fully dressed and ready to go, standing at the bottom of the bed.

‘Seven-fifteen. I’m going to see if I can get into my own home before my mother sobers up’.  John didn’t hear a word. He had thoughts of his own.

‘Did we just have a shag or was I dreaming?’ were the last words Pam ever heard John say.

She didn’t answer, she just turned and left, turning out the bedroom light as she did. Back at Prospect Place Pam was in luck. The bolts were off and she was relieved to hear her mother snoring loudly in the small living room. She packed her suitcase on wheels and haversack as full as she could, then wrote a short note and left it on the kitchen table.

‘Mum, you can stay in the house until it is repossessed by the Britannia — as it will be — because I will no longer be making any payments. I’ll send them a letter authorising them to pay you what cash there is after they have sold the house and taken their costs. It won’t be much, if anything.

Your on your own now.

Pam’.

She had no idea where she was going.

Maureen like John was history. She would never get to ask another question and, as for the shop, she would ‘phone April, her boss, tomorrow. Pam got to the station and saw that is said ’09:08’ on the large digital clock. She would allow herself one change. Her eyes scanned the departure board which flapped as she did and the 09:08 to Skegness disappeared. The next train was at 09:20 to Birmingham New Street. She went to the ticket counter and said ‘Single to Birmingham please’. It was that easy.

‘First or standard?’

‘Standard please’.

The train left on time and as it trundled west across the broad Midland plain, the snow disappeared into the north facing folds of a medieval ridge and furrow landscape which, somehow, had survived the ravages of time. Burton-on-Trent Station always caught her attention and imagination. Just two platforms in use, but still physical evidence that once there had been six. What a place the town must have been then. One day she would come back. By Tamworth the snow had gone completely. At quarter past ten she was climbing out of the cold bowels of New Street Station, which reeked of dirty diesel and immediately made the toes feel as if they were being punctured by icicles, and into its large booking hall, where Pam stood for a moment, taking in the scene before turning and seeing the large arrivals and departures board. She looked down the columns from left to right then back again. There was no point in going somewhere too small. She would need a job and a room. She must have looked at the names half-a-dozen before she decided. The 11:33 to Glasgow gave enough time to have some coffee and a bun. She was starving, but first she had to buy her ticket.

At ten-to-five she was looking at a new world. It was noisy, people everywhere. Was all Glasgow like this she wondered? As Pam looked about her, she saw a digital destination board on the next platform scrolling through a list of places from Glasgow Queen Street to Aberdeen. Impulsively,  she decided to buy a ticket. It was a good place to go. ‘A boom town’ is how she remembered Aberdeen being described. Better than Glasgow. It was Sunday, so the train would be quiet. How wrong she was. The train snaked and galloped its way through the countryside, whistling almost continuously as it arrived and left every little station. It was a happy train on which folk seemed to know one another or, even if they didn’t, soon became acquaintances. A group of teenage girls giggled all the way to Dundee, then became two and quieter, as an elderly women took one of the seats opposite them. Pam dozed to Arbroath, where the two girls got off, and two middle-aged men played chess the entire journey. At first Pam looked around her, then dozed, dimly aware of announcements as to the name of the next station, reminders not to forget hand luggage or belongings and that the train was on time.

Pam had put a book in her bag when she left the shop for the last time. It turned out to be The Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler, which she finished by the time the train reached Montrose and as the train got further away from Glasgow the remaining passengers nodded and said ‘See ye’ as they left, it all seemed so familial. Three minutes early, at 7:37pm precisely, the train arrived in Aberdeen. First a room for two nights, then digs and a job. She had taken her own P45 with her. She was sure April wouldn’t mind. She did it for others. Why not herself?

It was dark and damp, but not as cold as Pam expected being this far north. Until now, Edinburgh was the furthest she had ever been and that for only a week. There was something good about the place.

2. Arriving

Across the station concourse she saw a large map and could just make out the words ‘You are here’. She walked over and looked under ‘Hotels’ and saw that there was a Travel Lodge close by. Sort out a room first, then eat, was the sensible thing to do, but when she arrived the lonely receptionist, a short woman with big bosoms and a company blazer she had no chance of ever doing up said they were full, but helpfully added ‘No matter, just hang on a wee moment will ye and I’ll see if I can get ye sorted’. She picked up the telephone and dialled. A few moments later someone answered.

‘Helloo May, I have a lassie here I canna help. She needs two nights’, There was a pause. ‘Ah, that’s good. I’ll send her over now’ and turned to Pam and said ‘What’s ye name for May?’

‘Pam Manvers’.

‘D’ye hear that May. She’s coming over now’. Turning to Pam she said ‘May’s a friend of mine and takes in strays from time to time. You’ll be all right with May.

Is it your first time in Aberdeen?’

‘Yes’ replied Pam.

The receptionist smiled, as if trying to reassure her, then Pam noticed her badge. It said ‘Sharon Campbell’. 
‘May’ll look after ye’ were the last words Sharon said before giving Pam instructions on how to find May, who lived about ten minutes away by bus, then remembered it was a Sunday evening, so she called a taxi and when it arrived went to the Travel Lodge entrance and signalled to the cabbie to wind his window down, then shouted ‘Patrick, no more than £2, the lady isn’t from Texas’.

May was in her mid-twenties and already plumping out, with a full head of thick red hair and eyebrows to match, piercing hazel-green eyes, full lips and the pale complexion which often accompanied redheads. She threw open her front door and welcomed Pam in like a long lost friend and took the suitcase from her hand and the haversack from her shoulder, adding ‘Now your coat’ as if it was an order, before opening a door off the narrow hall, ushering her in and asking ‘Tea or coffee, what is it to be?’

‘Er, tea please, no sugar’.

‘Tea it is’ said May, before she bellowed ‘Tanya, we have company, come and say hello’.

The room was warm and cosy, made to look smaller than it was by two large sofas and an armchair, all of which had seen better days. There were three round coffee tables with wheels and a gas fire was popping away, as its flames flickered blue, white and yellow. There were no less that three reading lamps and along one wall, a bookcase full of books, with one shelf used for a radio. There was no television. Pam took all this in as she sat down on the one of the sofas as close to the fire as she could.

‘What was she doing here?’ Suddenly Pam began to feel nervous. This time last night she was being shagged by John. The thought brought a smile to her face. As for her mother and Maureen, ‘Fuck them’.

Then the door opened again and it was May with a tray, which she placed on a shelf she pulled out from the bookcase and saw Pam looking. ‘Clever that. My Paul made the whole thing. You wouldn’t know it was there’, then she walked to the door and shouted  ‘Tanya, tea’s made’.

‘My daughter. Teenagers. A blessing and a curse’.

‘You don’t look old enough’.

‘Fifteen I was, a schoolgirl mum, the kind you read about’ then May laughed.

‘Paul was her dad. Worked as a chippy on the rigs. Got killed a few years back, but it got the house loan paid off and me a pension, so I’m not crying’.

Whilst it was Pam’s jaw that wanted to drop, she managed to keep it under control, but her eyes widened and gave her away.

May continued. She was on a roll, ‘I was fourteen going on twenty with a body to match. My boobs are the same size now as they were then. After Tanya I ballooned. Fooled Paul completely. Thought I was twenty like I said. He was twice my age, but I liked his hands and after a few drinks I just wanted him all over me’.

‘What did he say when you got pregnant and when did he find out you were…’ at which point May picked up the conversation again. ‘…fifteen? Soon enough. I caught first time and he was back off to the rig the next day, but gave me his number and got mine and we spoke once a week until he came back six weeks later and picked up where we left off. I bunked off school and spent every day with him, told him I was taking holiday, then sick, and he believed me’.

‘You must have been good’ chipped in Pam.

‘Got it from my mam. Had three of us with different fellars by the time she was twenty-one, then her tubes tied, and took herself off to college and became a teacher. After that, mam says she did the fucking. She was disappointed and cross with me, but was hardly able to beat it out of me and by the time we all knew, I was too far gone, not that I would anyway. Paul, bless him, was great. Came and met my mam, promised to support me and asked me to marry him on my sixteenth birthday when Tanya was about six months old. I said “yes” and we got married the next time he came back and he bought this house for us. He was into education big time and insisted that I stayed on at school and did my exams. I got into Aberdeen and did business studies. Proudest day of me life, getting my degree with Paul, Tanya, Mam and me two sisters all there, plus my grandparents and Paul’s mum and dad came over from Ireland. The best day of my life and I was only twenty-one’.

‘Wow’ was all Pam could say, at which point a young girl, Tanya obviously, came into the room.

‘Been telling you her life story has she, my mum? Does it for a living, that’s why she’s so good at it’.

Pam looked back from where Tanya was standing to where May was sitting, legs tucked up, looking like a fifties housewife in her red dress with large white polka dots and wide black belt pulled in tight around her waist, as if carrying the weight of her ample bosoms.

‘Had I been half as grown up as you are now girl, you wouldn’t be here and that’s the truth’, May said to Tanya, who took her tea and slumped into the large armchair. They were obviously at ease with one another and the daughter’s demeanour suggested a natural confidence and maturity well beyond her years. Despite May’s self-deprecation, it seemed obvious to Pam why the saintly Paul had got it so wrong,  but given May’s account of things, the man was obviously not a prisoner of circumstances beyond his control. The injustice of it all. Him dead.

‘What do you do then?’ asked Pam, looking at May.

‘I run a confidential service for young people ranging from housing and money management to contraception and one-to-one support’ in a public building with several ways in and out.

‘Here in Aberdeen?’

‘Yes. It’s hard work. Money’s always tight, but the better off love the chance to give a few quid to hear a working-class woman like me talk in great detail about being a schoolgirl mum, so I play them whilst I’m able’. Pam saw May look at Tanya, expecting her to comment, which she did.

‘Mum does a good job and I go to the High School, so no one thinks anything of it, because a good few of us have a parent who gets seen on TV or in the papers’. There was a pause before she added in a softer, quieter voice, ‘It’s the plus side of private education you never hear about. ‘I’m lucky, my fees are paid by my grandparents in Ireland. Mum couldn’t afford them’.

May than said “What about you Pam?’

Pam knew what May meant and wanted to say “What about me?’ but thought it might come out aggressive. Instead, she told them about her mother, John, work and wanting to make a new life for herself. They listened and at the end May looked at Tanya, who gave a barely perceptible nod, and said, ‘You’re welcome to stay until you can get yourself settled. There’s alway work of some kind if you’re prepared to look. What would you like to do Pam?’ 

May didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she continued speaking, ‘I’ll show you where to find things in the kitchen just in case we’re not about in the morning. We’ll both be gone by eight and I’ll give you a key to the front door and show you how to set and unset the burglar alarm. We’ll be back by five’.

A few minutes later Pam found herself in a bedroom larger than she expected. The house was like a Tardis and the room contained a double bed, an old fashioned wardrobe, complete with hanging rails and drawers, a bedside cabinet, a chair and table to one side of the bed, with a reading lamp and, in the corner furthest from the door, a wash-hand basin, complete with mirror and a shelf. The floor was covered with a mushroom coloured cord carpet and walls painted in a shade of pale cream, although Pam thought the room might look a little different in the morning when the curtains were drawn. On the wall were three prints of women making ready for bed, in various stages of undress. Pam put her things away and climbed into bed.

When she awoke, she was hit by the silence. She took her watch from the bedside cabinet and stared at it as she tried to make out the time. It was eight twenty or there abouts. She needed a pee, but first she needed to see daylight and leaned across the table and drew back the curtains. The sky was clear and blue and she saw a hint of her breath as she looked out the window. It was cold and she wondered if the room had heating. The cold then hit her stomach and the urge to pee became stronger than anything else. It was odd what folk took satisfaction from. For some it was their first cigarette or drink. With Pam, it was always that long first pee of the day.

Back in the bedroom, Pam realised that she did not have a dressing gown , only her coat, so she put on her green woollen jumper and a pair of black leggings, then noticed the three framed pictures on the bedroom walls again. This time she took a closer look. It was the same woman in each, but they showed her young, middle-aged and old, with her bedclothes covering more each time, but always the same red hair, long at first, then short and finally long again. Looking closer, she realised the young woman was May. They were all prints, each marked ’10/10’, signed ‘Jack 1990’.

Downstairs, she made herself a cup of tea, found the porridge, added some milk and put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes, then again for another two minutes before letting it stand for a further minute. She added more milk, cold this time, and ate more quickly than she intended. She washed up and made her way to the bathroom and found the towels which May had left on the chair for her to use, stripped off and stood back from the shower until the water was hot. She lathered herself in the lavender shower gel she had brought with her and caressed herself as she did. Only one person ever did this better and he wasn’t there. Never would be.

3. A New Start

By the time Pam was ready to face the day it was ten o’clock and she was about to get her first glimpse of Torry. She had arrived in the dark and the taxi’s windows had been covered in condensation, no doubt caused by countless warm bodies and the driver’s smoking — two in the ten minutes she had been in his cab. May said the bus stop into town was opposite the house and the 5’s ran every ten to fifteen minutes, so she wouldn’t have to wait long. Outside she breathed in the cold air and exhaled a trail of vapour, then again. She could smell the sea and in the background she heard a low, deep, siren sound, then another, but different, as if they were calling to one another. Overhead seagulls were circling, crying as they did. She surveyed the wide road and grass verges in front of her and looked back at May’s house. It was stuccoed in pale blue cement, not white as she had thought the night before and stood four square, with its neighbours, as if saying ‘Don’t mess with me’.

Torry, so Pam found out, lay just to the south of Aberdeen City Centre, across the Dee, which along it’s southern bank was home to parts of the booming oil industry. Finding this out, probably explained why Paul and May had made their home in Torry. Later, she would learn that it was also a relatively cheap place to live, but on her first full day in Aberdeen a future living in Torry was not something she even considered imagining.

She had decided whilst eating her porridge that her priority had to be finding a job. Anything to get her started, then she could work out how much she could afford for a bedsit or even, maybe, a ‘small’ flat. By the end of the week that word had been firmly replaced by ‘wee’. She got off the bus by the railway station and walked into the newsagent by the bus stop and looked at the row of local newspapers and picked them up one by one. The Aberdeen Express seemed to have the most jobs, so she bought a copy and walked a few doors down and into a small café, walked to the counter and ordered a coffee and a Belgian Bun. It was the large cherry and thick icing which had caught her eye and she took her first bite as she waited for her coffee to cool. It was deliciously sweet, far sweeter than she was used to and two sides were burnt deep brown by the exposed sultanas and sugar, whilst the inside edges were a vanilla colour and went sticky in the mouth, whereas the burnt sides flaked and crunched. After that she always asked for a ‘corner’ bun. It was only after a few such buns in what became her café that Pam came to understand that the Scots liked everything sweeter than the English, including the way they spoke to one another. They were kinder people, more open, the fact that you were in their country and staying was enough to make you one of them.

Pam scanned the job adverts and, as she glanced through the ‘Care and Support’ section, saw a job offering accommodation in return for some help around the home of a couple which included the phrase ‘One disabled’. The person would have to work ‘Two hours a day five days a week providing help and support’. The accommodation offered was an ‘ensuite garden room’. She looked at other jobs, but she kept coming back to this one. The ad didn’t say where it was. Just a telephone number. It was midday by the time she telephoned and heard an English voice say  ‘Avril Knight’.

‘Hello, I’m phoning about the job and accommodation advert in the Aberdeen Express. Can you tell me more about it please’ asked Pam in her best voice.

‘You sound English’.

‘I am’.

‘Have you references?’

‘I can get them’.

‘Can I speak to them?’

‘I would think so, but I’d like to know more about the job’.

‘Can you come and see us?’

‘I don’t know where you are’.

‘Ah. Do you know Mastrick? We’re right by where the number three bus turns round’.

‘Where’s that?’

‘You don’t know Aberdeen?’

‘No, I arrived yesterday’.

‘Oh, where are you staying?’

‘In a place called Torry until I find somewhere, which is why I’m interested in the job you’ve advertised’.

‘Can you come now?’

‘Yes’.

‘Come and join us for lunch. We eat about one. 

Where are you now?’

‘By the railway station’.

‘Perfect, the three goes from the Station, so you should get here in time’.

By the end of the day Pam had a job of sorts and somewhere to live, subject to references. Avril Knight looked as if she had the whole world on her shoulders and looked ten years older than she was. She was a woman in need of help and someone to talk to. Five years with her husband Duncan, an amputee suffering from short-term memory loss after a horrific road accident was more than she could cope with on her own. As Pam was to soon find out, Duncan was just one of many who fell through the system after a couple of years, and their carers were left to fend for themselves. Social Services and the NHS both seemed to think their job was as good as done when folk like Duncan got ground-floor housing and mobile hoists. Of course it was never that simple. 

‘Duncan inhabits a world which ends on 14th April 1987. After that he remembers nothing. He will talk to you and answer questions, so when you offer him a cup of tea, he will say ‘Yes please’ and ‘Thank you’ when you give it to him, but he will not remember having said ‘Yes’ a few minutes before. He can ask for the toilet, but cannot remember asking. When he goes out he has to wear a nappy and for a moment knows why, but then he forgets and asks again and again, always happy with the answer you give him’.

Avril was growing tired of telling a story she had told on countless occasions, then continued after a deep sigh, ‘He’s beginning to think that I am my mother. As I get older he only remembers the me he knew up until 1987. He doesn’t recognise our boys any more, but enjoys his weekly outing with them to places he knew before 1987. You could take him to same place every day and he would not remember. You cannot explain these things to Duncan because he cannot cope with more than five to six words at any one time. It is better than it was. At first he could only remember one word at a time. I go to special events run by clinicians and therapists for other carers, as they have come to the conclusion that Duncan’s brain needs daily stimulation. Someone comes and assesses him every three to four months and that’s all the support we get. With luck Duncan might recover. It has happened in other cases, but I can’t see it myself’.

Avril looked at Pam and patted her hand, which was resting on the arm of the chair next to her. Duncan was wearing headphones and listening to a Walkman. ‘Sorry about that Pam, but you need to know what you’re letting yourself in for. Six months at most is all I hope for. The two before never lasted more than a month, but at least you speak proper English and seem to understand that it’s me who needs supporting. Not Duncan. I must have seen ten people this time’.

The ‘garden room’ was, in fact, a porta-cabin and had been used by their teenage sons until they left home, so that their bedroom in the house could be adapted for Duncan.

Mastrick was pleasant enough, a mix of council housing and family homes all built after The War. It wasn’t as spacious as Torry, but Pam quickly learned that the latter had been developed as ‘a garden village’ after the First World War — hence the wide roads, green verges, open corners and large houses. Even in the late-forties and fifties, Mastrick was an exercise in cost cutting and it showed. It was already beginning to looked tired.

Avril Knight formally offered Pam the job two days later, after speaking to her former boss, April, and Hugh Manning, the retired Director of the housing charity she worked for until it ‘merged’, under pressure from the Housing Corporation, with a larger housing group. 

They had both lost their jobs, but Hugh had gone gracefully with a large payoff and enhanced pension, since he was close to retirement anyway. That had been just two years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime already. That was when Pam had become ‘morose‘ — Maureen’s word, not hers. No wonder Maureen had become her only friend. At best she tolerated people. She had seen her job go, not because she couldn’t do it well, but because the other housing association was bigger and their Director wanted all his people in the managerial positions. He rewarded them by increasing their pay and getting them to ‘re-organise’ the frontline services, cutting pay and posts in the process. It was the first time she had seen the corporate voluntary sector at work and she hated it.

When she spoke to Hugh, he chided her for the lack of contact. He was well spoken, slow and deliberate. ‘Lower class gentry with all the bearing of a Colonel Blimp’ was how one of her former colleagues had described him. He came to the housing charity in 1966 and by the time he ‘retired’ in 1990, it was ten times bigger. Still small though, just two hundred houses and flats for ex-servicemen and women, but by this time the Housing Corporation was beginning to view any ‘specialist’ housing provision as ‘segregated’. Hugh was a good man and one who liked to nurture his own talent and Pam was one of his. She stood no chance in a world where a degree counted for more than practical experience — that had been at the root of her undoing two years ago. The new job specification had excluded her from her own job, so she worked her notice and took the redundancy money.

Hugh’s passing shot was to say that the next time he passed through Aberdeen he would break his journey and buy her lunch, he then told Pam that his sister and her husband lived in Elgin and she had recently been the city’s Provost. ‘No excuses Pam. By the way I have a lady friend now, Doris Gooding. You may remember her, used to be in the City’s Planning Department until she retired. Getting married next month. I’ll send you an invite now that I know where you are. Take care’ and with that he was gone.

4. Postscript

May treated Pam like a friend during the few days  she stayed with her and Tanya. On the Sunday, one of Avril’s sons, Robbie, came and collected her. The family was being assembled for afternoon tea. In the end she stayed a year and became close friends with Avril. Pam also got a part-time job processing orders with a local food wholesaler supplying the oil-rigs.

On the Saturday afternoon, towards the end of her first week in Aberdeen, Pam made her way back to the Travel Lodge with a box of chocolates in the hope of finding Sharon. It was Sharon who saw Pam first and smiling broadly, greeted her warmly. ‘Well, hel-loo. What brings you back?’.

‘I want to say thank you’ and handed Sharon the box of chocolates as she did. ‘May, well she’s something else isn’t she? and I have a job and place to go and it all started with you, so thank you, Sharon’.

‘Ooh think nothing of it, I was in your shoes when I arrived three years ago, just like you, off the train, nowhere to go and met May. She got off the same train as me and followed me down the platform, saw me stop and look around and asked if she could help. I told her I was looking for somewhere to stay for a few days and she took me to her place and a couple of weeks later I got this job and from Monday I’ll be Relief Manager, covering for the Manager and her deputy when neither is here, so there you go. That’s me’.

‘Perhaps I can buy you coffee on one of your days off?’ asked Pam. 

‘Sometime Tuesday then’ replied Sharon and that was how their friendship began.

When she left Avril and Duncan, Pam went to live with Sharon and, not long afterwards, started her own food packaging business for oil-rig workers who wanted their own meals and treats during the six weeks they were away from dry land.

Pam never forgot the winter week in 1992, when she chose to leave Prospect Place. Occasionally, when sitting in her favourite Aberdeen café eating a Belgian Bun and drinking an Americano, Pam thought she saw John in the street. The animal in her still craved attention, but that was another story all together.

The End