Under the Bridges by Anne Forsyth

crossing the Forth.’
    Shona looked a little surprised to see him.
    â€˜Oh, hello, Mr Logan.’
    Walter paused, waiting for her to introduce her chap, prepared to make some other comment about the bridge. Everyone wanted to know how much it was costing, how long it would take to build, and so on. He could hardly go into the pub for a quiet beer without someone cornering him and asking questions.
    But Shona and her boyfriend seemed disinclined to talk.
    â€˜I’d best be getting on, then,’ Walter said at last, a little embarrassed.
    As the passengers streamed off the ferry, he could see the man helping Shona into his car.
    He wondered where they had been and what sort of income could let him afford a motor like that. Then he shook himself. It was none of his business. Miss McAllister seemed fine pleased with him, anyway.
    He turned away to have a word with Joe and to thank him for the trip.
    But, later on, Walter felt a little uneasy about Shona’s boyfriend, and he wondered why. He’d never met the man, never spoken to him. He looked respectable enough, although a bit flash.
    There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all. So why, Walter asked himself, did he get this uneasy feeling about him?
    * * *
    â€˜Surely they’ll not be working today!’
    Nancy paused, dishcloth in hand, to look out of the kitchen window There had been another snowfall overnight, and a glance at the sky showed heavy clouds.
    More snow on the way, she thought.
    It had been like this for weeks, and now it was the coldest January she could remember. She went through to the living room to bank up the fire.
    â€˜We’ll remember nineteen-sixty-three,’ she said to herself.
    At least they had plenty of coal, unlike some. Every day the papers carried stories of hardship—there was no part of the country, it seemed, that had escaped.
    But it wasn’t just the weather that made Nancy feel down in spirits. She was constantly fretting about the family. Except Roy, she thought with a smile. He was in his element—sledging, snowball fights, building snowmen. She remembered how cross Joe had been when Roy borrowed his favourite pipe to put in the snowman’s mouth.
    And, of course, best of all from Roy’s point of view, school often closed early because of the weather.
    No, it was Matt—oh, Joe had told her time and again, and so had Walter—that safety was the prime concern on the bridge. Still . . . she glanced out of the window again. She began peeling and coring apples. Apple pie was Walter’s favourite and it was a pleasure to cook for someone so appreciative.
    Not just Matt. But Lorna—what had happened to her bright, affectionate daughter? These days she was often surly—snapping at Nancy, and being short-tempered with Matt. Sometimes she flared up over nothing, and there were constant arguments with her father.
    * * *
    Nancy sighed, wishing Joe wasn’t so heavy-handed with her. It was no use laying down the law, not with today’s young people!
    It wasn’t many months since Lorna had brought friends home—they would spend hours up in her room, looking at teenage magazines, and trying out make-up. But now she rarely brought anyone home.
    â€˜We don’t know who her friends are,’ Joe complained one evening.
    Nancy felt a wave of sympathy that evening for her daughter. Of course all young people wanted to be fashionable. It wasn’t Lorna’s ever-changing hairstyles and make-up that worried Nancy. She’d become secretive.
    Nancy sighed as she rubbed the fat into the flour, and added water, then brought the mixture together, wishing, not for the first time, that Joe was more patient with Lorna. Not that he wasn’t a good, caring father. He would do anything for his daughter. Look at the trouble he had taken, building a lovely dressing table for her bedroom.
    She set the pastry aside and began to chop the apples. They were Bramleys from