Vina's Quest

Book summary

"Vina's Quest" is a heartfelt journey that begins in the charming town of Penguin, Tasmania, where Vina West cherishes the love of her adoptive parents. As adulthood beckons, she ventures to Melbourne, forging friendships and a life of her own. Yet, Tasmania's allure draws her back, leading her on an unexpected journey to Glasgow in search of her roots. In the heart of Scotland, Vina unravels family secrets, encounters the charming Glasgow lawyer Philip Dawson, and embarks on a budding romance amidst art galleries and age-old streets. With the discovery of a newfound half-sister, a nephew, and an unexpected love story, Vina finds herself beautifully intertwined between two worlds, spanning continents. This tale of discovery, love, and family ties will transport you from the serene shores of Tasmania to the historic heart of Scotland.

Excerpt from Vina's Quest

‘If only your father was still alive,’ Agnes McQueen yelled. Her eyes were bulging and there were angry red circles on her cheeks as she glared at her teenage daughter. ‘Maybe he would have made you see sense, but then again perhaps not as he was always too soft with you.’

‘Dad wanted me to have fun. Not like you, always spoiling things for me,’ Jean Morrow shouted back. ‘And anyway you can’t stop me. I’m nearly 20 and a married woman.’

‘Married woman or not, you’re are no match for the sorts of men who frequent these city centre dance halls. I’m telling you, no good comes to women who go there.’

Jean put on her coat and stood in front of the kitchen mirror to fix her beret. ‘Well, whether you like it or not, I’m going. I’ve told Brenda I’ll get her at the Locarno and I’m not going to let my best friend down.’ She picked up her bag and gloves and stormed out on to the landing, almost pulling the door off its hinges.

The door opened again and her mother’s angry outbursts continued as she made her way down the stone steps to wait at the tram stop in front of their tenement building. When the tram arrived she climbed aboard, still reeling from the ferocious row. ‘A return to Hope Street,’ she said to the driver, and took a seat inside the dimly lit vehicle.

It was during the first few days of 1944 that she’d met her sailor boyfriend, Bill Prior, at the Locarno ballroom in Sauchiehall Street. They’d dated regularly since, but on each occasion she’d told her mother she was going out with Brenda.

On the night she’d met Bill, she really had been out with Brenda. She smiled at the memory. She’d worn her favourite green dress, one that highlighted her greeny/grey eyes, and for once her hair had fallen into place perfectly.

Jean pulled off her knitted gloves, grey to match her beret. She flicked her long black hair out of her coat collar and in the dim light re-applied her lipstick. Amber Rose was the shade, a cross between pink and orange. She only used lipstick on special occasions with such commodities hard to come by in wartime.

Lifting the blackout blind a little she peered through the crack, her breath drawing a mosaic on the glass. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the intense darkness outside, she spied the ghostly outline of pillars. If her hunch was correct they were on the King George V Bridge, which spanned the River Clyde, and she had only two more stops to wait until she saw him. The usual butterflies started at the thought of being with her handsome sailor again.

Bill pulled her into his arms when she alighted in Hope Street, at the side of Central Station. Even with three-inch heels she only came up to his shoulder. She leant her cheek against the warmth of his uniform, trying to believe it was only three weeks and three days since she’d first met him. It felt like she’d known him forever.

They walked up Hope Street hand in hand, Jean picking her way carefully over the paving stones. When she slipped on a broken slab, Bill’s arm tightened around her waist and he drew her into a shop doorway. They kissed, their bodies pulsing with pleasure. ‘I’ve had word to report back to the ship tomorrow morning,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you yet, didn’t want to spoil our last night together.’ He began to kiss her again, a more probing kiss this time until she felt the desire swelling up in him. ‘We could go to the Regent Hotel in Bath Street, instead of the Locarno. If you want to?’

They both knew her answer and a few minutes later the porter at the Regent showed them to their room and reminded them of the blackout restrictions. Alone again, they sat down on the eiderdown and he pulled her into his arms.

‘We haven’t enough time to marry, Jean, even with a special licence. This is the best we can have meantime, darling.’ As he was speaking, Bill undid her bra and fondled her breast. Her heart pounded and her breath came in short bursts when he slid his other hand up the inside of her leg. She struggled to pull down the zip on her black taffeta skirt and raised herself up off the bed while he eased the rustling material over her hips and let the skirt drop on to the floor at the side of the bed, to be followed by her underwear.

Bill’s breathing matched her own as Jean unbuttoned his shirt and he shrugged himself out of it. Naked, their passion heightened; she moaned quietly as he explored her body, giving herself up to her desire for him.

When she touched him, he responded immediately until, by mutual consent, he entered her. Jean had never before found sex so pleasurable, culminating in such a joyous surrender; so different from the aggressive lovemaking she’d experienced with her late husband, Frank, which had left her cold and empty.

Bill rolled off her and lay beside her on the eiderdown. He raised himself up, leaning on his elbow, and looked into her face. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you, darling,’ he murmured, the anxiety to please evident in his voice.

‘Absolutely not,’ she smiled, and traced her finger round the fish tattoo on his forearm, chosen to match his zodiac sign. Happiness rippled through her as she gazed into his clear blue eyes. They got into the bed proper and snuggled down under the blankets. She laid her head against his chest, drawing her fingers down its hairy front. ‘I don’t want to go home yet,’ she whispered.

Bill stroked her long hair, spread out across the white pillowcase. ‘We could spend the night here. I’ve already said my farewells to my parents, as they’ve gone up to visit my grandmother in Aberdeen for a few days. But what about your mother?’

‘I’ll say I missed the last tram and stayed overnight with Brenda. She thinks that’s who I’m with tonight.’

‘Is Brenda the girl you were with the night I met you at the Locarno?’

‘Yes, we work together. Mum knows Brenda lives within walking distance of the dance hall so she won’t suspect anything.’

‘You’re sure Brenda will cover for you?’

‘I know she will.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he smiled and began to caress her once more.

* * *

The morning dawned crisp, with a bright blue sky.

Their steps slowed the nearer they got to the Central Station. It was time for parting, Bill on his train to Portsmouth and Jean to return to her work in Hamilton’s grocery store in Glenburgh.

They arrived at Jean’s tram stop in Union Street. ‘That colour brings out the green of your eyes,’ he said, cradling her in his arms.

She held the silk scarf with its Paisley pattern against her cheek, savouring the feel of it. ‘Thanks for buying it for me, darling. I love it. I could never have afforded to pay for it myself.’

‘I save lots of money when I’m away at sea; there’s nothing to spend it on except booze. You will write to me, darling, won’t you? I’ll miss you like mad but I can face anything if I know you’re waiting for me.’

‘You know I’ll wait and I’ll write every day.’

He pulled his kit bag further up on his shoulder. ‘The war will be over soon, darling, and then we can be together forever.’ The Glenburgh tram drew up, its brakes squealing to a halt, and Bill kissed her again before she went on board.

From the tram window she watched the winter sun strike his reddish/fair hair, turning it to burnished gold. She waved until the tram turned a corner, praying that he would be returned to her safely.

She got off the tram in Glenburgh High Street and bumped into Brenda. The two girls walked, arm in arm, towards Hamilton’s grocery store.

‘Brenda, will you say I stayed with you last night? I’ll explain later.’

‘Sure,’ Brenda said, turning the door handle. The door opened with its familiar jangling ring. ‘Hope he was worth it,’ she giggled once they got inside but she was silenced by Jean’s warning look.

‘Mr Green, I missed the last tram home and stayed overnight at Brenda’s house. Can I go and let my mother know?’ Bob Green was a fair man and a good boss; Jean felt guilty about lying to him but she convinced herself it was in a good cause.

Putting his pen into the top pocket of his white coat, her silver-haired manager looked at Jean over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. ‘Of course, Jean, you must do that straight away. Your mother has already come into the shop this morning. She’s very worried about you. Pity you couldn’t have contacted her.’

‘We don’t have a phone, Mr Green, nor does anyone else who lives in our tenement. The only phone in the building belongs to Mr Maxwell, the baker, but his shop was closed overnight.’ That at least was the truth, she thought, and hurried across the road to their tenement flat at No 80 where she told her well-rehearsed lie.

‘You should’ve watched the time for the last tram,’ Agnes McQueen roared at her daughter, more from relief than anger. ‘I’ve been worried all night, was going to contact the police this morning. How was I to know you were at Brenda’s?’

‘I couldn’t contact you. Brenda’s mum doesn’t have a phone, nor do we. Anyway, I’m nearly twenty and I can look after myself. You worry too much.’

‘Any mother worth her salt would have been anxious. There are lots of evil men out there looking for decent young girls. I don’t like you frequenting those dance halls. If only your dad was still alive.’

Jean shook her head at these words she’d heard so often since her father passed away ten years ago, but she kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Mum, I’m fine,’ she said and a few minutes later emerged from her bedroom dressed in her work clothes.

Back in the shop Mary Paterson, little dinky curlers peeping out from under her red tartan headscarf, was in full flow. The elderly housewife lived alone above the shop and came in daily to relay some piece of gossip she’d heard.

‘That John Baxter says he’s a conscientious objector but he’s leaving other boys to go into the services to die for him,’ she said, taking her bacon ration from Brenda. ‘He’s a coward and that’s an end to it.’

Later, as Jean attended to customers, she brooded about Bill becoming a conscientious objector. But Bill would always do his duty by his country, and Jean loved him all the more for it.

‘Please, please, keep him safe for me,’ she prayed to the God she had once believed in.