Here's the first page of a novel I'm writing and want to know if it catch's one's interest to comment and/or make a suggestion.
Glasgow Scotland 1950 -
Rain drizzled down the windows of a black taxi; eerily shrouding the riders inside as it deftly maneuvered its way around the bombed-out rubble and newly constructed tenement buildings in post-war Glasgow. Cathy MacDonald, the sole passenger, leaned her small blonde head against the misted window with her warm puffs of breath sealing her deeply into the cool taxi. She was bound for St. Andrew’s Infirmary to deliver yet another bairn.
Cathy’s delicate ivory fingers dug into the back of the driver’s seat as she readjusted her bulky body. No position seemed to bring relief to her discomfort. Her head fell forward onto the back of the driver’s seat. The smell of the old damp leather and the sweat of the driver caused her stomach to revolt. She forced back the bile. “Does he have to hit every stone in the road?” She asked silently as the taxi bumped along.
“Don’t you worry Missus. I’ll get you there in time.” The rough sandpaper voice of the taxi driver startled Cathy, and she wondered if he had heard her quiet question. “Your man’s Jimmy MacDonald, right?” the driver inquired trying to make conversation.
His attempt irritated her, but not wanting to appear unfriendly she tried to focus on what he had asked. Her response came as a muffled sound that could have been an answer or a retreat from the question. Cathy caught him peeking a glance at her in the rearview mirror. She braced herself for the next question, knowing what it would be.
“You Mr. B’s daughter?” The driver, along with so many others in Glasgow, deeply respected Willie Buchanan, or Mr. B, as he had been known for as far back as anyone could remember. Mr. B had earned a reputation for being a fair man. Quite a few years ago, he rallied a group of well-off citizens to provide funds to support youth soccer teams for the town’s underprivileged children. He had insisted that the football money be shared equally between Catholic and Protestant teams — a most unusual charitable act in Scotland since prejudice between the two religions was very intense. Although some people on both sides protested, most citizens supported his efforts.
The taxi swerved sharply to avoid a pile of building rubble, which brought forth a moan of protest from Cathy. The driver wished her husband were with them to take care of the situation. He asked, “Where’s Jimmy?”
“Working,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. She fell away from the driver’s seat and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath in and then blew out sharply as she tried to quietly suffer the jolting cramps that came one after another. If Jimmy hadn’t been so worried about getting to his second job, he could’ve been with me. He’d tell the driver to slow down, Cathy thought. She didn’t want this ride to be over too quickly. She wasn’t ready to walk up the four broad stone steps to St. Andrew’s to lie on a bed with her swollen belly making a ghostly tent-like image under the stark white sheet. She stopped short of asking the driver to slow down, not wanting to sound demanding. Instead she rolled her hands over her belly and whispering hoarsely said, “Wait, wee one, just a bit longer.”
Clearwater Lady
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