by Morgan Rouge
“That’s Declan, Hamish: that is who I am protecting”.
Chapter Five
He drove away from Castle Street, with a light heart and a slight smile on his face. He recounted the events of what had occurred and he felt confused in his emotions: both angry and elated. Turning left onto Paisley Road West, he found himself chewing his lips as he thought back over the last couple of hours he had spent with Bryony. His opinion of her had definitely changed: but was it too late? From the pit of his stomach, he knew he had been too judgemental of her, too harsh on her. But, then, he felt, he had his reasons. Yes, I know I had my reasons, he thought emphatically.
They had sat there, in his car, for a long time after they had seen the teenager, Declan he was called apparently. The boy, who it turned out, was from a troubled background and whom Bryony was, as a result, extremely protective of. She had seen him grow up, from when she had first moved in with Pony, when he hadn’t even been a teenager, to now, when she saw him hanging around with the wrong people and taking part in the wrong extra-curricular activities.
Bryony had spoken for a long time about how he was a well-meaning boy, how he had his heart in the right place, but without the correct influence, he was going to go the wrong way and follow his antisocial, angry, violent, merciless and probably drug-addicted parents. Bryony saw them as the worst kind of people: they had brought an innocent being into this world and then had just left him, to fend for himself. Pony said that when her parents had first bought her the flat, all she had seen was those two ignoring him or shouting at him. She could count the times on one hand when she had seen them treat him with love and respect or had treated him to a special day out. Most of the time, Bryony and Pony could just hear his parents screaming at each other.
As she spoke to Hamish passionately about Declan and his homelife, Hamish could see she was genuinely worried about him. She spoke so kindly of him, of how good and friendly he was to her and Pony, how he had tried to work hard at school and avoid negative situations. She smiled when she told him happy stories of Declan. However, he could see that she disliked his parents intensely. She did not refer to them by their names and only referred to them once as his parents. Most of the time she practically spat the words ‘they’ or ‘them’ when she was forced to discuss them and how they treated Declan.
Bryony and Pony had tried to have a positive effect on Declan as much as they could: they had spoken to him in the garden or when they bumped into him in the local shop, they had been interested in his life and had even given him birthday and Christmas presents for the last couple of years. Although he had initially been scared and reticent around them, he had (after their perseverance) warmed to them and had helped them out, particularly with things he considered to be a man’s job: like helping them put their new fluffy sofas in the living room, or painting the bathroom for them when it was getting beyond redemption (he had been slightly bemused at the girly pink they had chosen, Bryony had said, laughing). He had shown himself to be good-natured and had always appeared embarrassed at his parents when they were screaming at each other or when someone dodgy had obviously just left his parent’s flat. As far as she was aware, his parents were not even aware of Declan’s friendship with her and Pony she said, somewhat quieter, that she wasn’t exactly sure how they would take it, either. She rather hoped that they wouldn’t find out because she wasn’t sure they would be entirely impressed.
Hamish had asked why they didn’t like her and Pony: perhaps they had done something to irritate them? Bryony was emphatic about this point: she knew they had done nothing. They had no loud parties, they were clean, tidy, kept themselves to themselves. The only part that Bryony could grasp was that perhaps they didn’t like them because they were different. Neither Pony nor Bryony were from Glasgow, let alone from Ibrox and as they had been students, they were treated as different. They hadn’t grown up on this street, didn’t know everyone’s name within two blocks and hadn’t attended any local schools. They were, in other words, an unknown equation: difficult to ‘work out’, to quantify, to sum up. No one knew much about them and for this they were treated with suspicion, and moreover, a little contempt. Worst of all, neither of them had said whether they supported Rangers or Celtic and therefore, no one knew if they really could be trusted.
All the while, Hamish sat in silence, occasionally asking a question, watching Bryony as she spoke, slowly telling her side of the story to this near stranger, her sort of employer. As every part of the story unfolded, Hamish became even more and more attracted to this beautiful woman who obviously had a kind and thoughtful personality. It occurred to him that she had been willing to give herself a criminal record so that this boy could have a second chance.
Bryony had gone on to explain how she had become embroiled in Declan’s life and how she had come to protect him from the law. Hamish had loved the way that she had told the story: embarrassed for Declan, and mortified that she had to tell this story to Hamish, as if it was her deepest and darkest secret. She was not proud of what she did but just seemed full of worry that Hamish wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain if she told her side of the story to him.
So she had been out one evening on a long walk after a long day of translating. Bryony loved going for an evening’s walk to allow her to unwind and deep breaths. Her favourite walk involved walking down to the Clyde, the main river which ran through the very heart of Glasgow. Here she would watch the sunset and try to see if she could smell the sea, which was just a few miles away down the river.
Here was also the place which she had caught Declan spray painting gang tags on to a wall. She had stopped to watch him for a second as he worked, quickly and slightly worried. After watching him for quite some time, she had called his name and asked him what he was doing. He had been shocked and quickly explained that one of his friends said that he had to do it, or else they were going to get ‘the heavy’ round, as he had put it.
Bryony had been shocked. She asked him if he was part of the local gang: he said emphatically that he wasn’t. He was so embarrassed that she of all people had caught him, Bryony had said that she felt incredibly sorry for him. Just then, she had seen police coming down the side of the river. She had panicked.
“Declan, go right now, I will hide the evidence, don’t worry, just head back right now. I said it so angrily, he didn’t even stop to think why I might be telling him to go right away. So he left, straight away. When he saw me later getting dropped off in a police car, he was mortified. He wanted to go straight to the police station and hand himself in. But Pony managed to convince him. I am a translator. I work for people all over the world. I don’t need to tell anyone if I have convictions or not. So long as I produce the goods, no one asks any questions. I have regular, flexible and trusting employers with whom I have worked with for years. This wouldn’t be a problem for me. However, Hamish, it would be a problem for Declan. So early on, without any work experience and a criminal conviction at so young an age, he would have little to no chance of getting any work at all. So, I went to court, pleaded guilty and voila”.
Hamish, looked at her, she was clearly worried if he believed her story or not and whether he was going to tell the authorities at what she had done. She looked tiny in the seat next to him, staring up at him with a concerned and worried look on her face, her large eyes trying to take in his every facial look.
He knew his face had been stoic, quiet, unreadable. She had looked at him, trying to work out what he was thinking, what he thought of her. If only she knew! Watching her, listening to her story and her innocence in the entire situation, he had wanted to just take her there and then. She was not the criminal he thought she was! She was innocent!
He knew that it would be entirely inappropriate to touch her, kiss her, caress her and yet that was all he wanted to do. He wanted her to be his. Instead, it took every part of his strength to remain quiet and serious, to listen to her story and give her suggestions if she required any. Sitting there in sile
nce, the tension in the car was palpable: it could have been cut with a knife. Did she feel the same towards him? He didn’t know. She was also difficult to read. She was obviously worried, but did she perhaps like him a bit? He had no idea. No idea.
With a heavy heart, he realised that she probably didn’t: he had been silent and unfriendly to her for five days. He had his reasons but nonetheless, she had no idea about what they might be. After working with him, Hamish slowly admitted to himself that he had probably ruined whatever chance he had with Bryony. And, in a slight panic, he thought about Steve: would he ask out Bryony? Would he succeed? Hamish realised he had to change Bryony’s opinion of him before the week was out: what could he do?
After a while of silence, Bryony clearly was too worried to hear what his opinion was. Perhaps she thought he didn’t believe in the goodness of Declan? Perhaps he didn’t believe her story? She looked at him, said her goodbyes and shut the car door.
He watched her small, yet curvy body, wander off down the street, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. She did not turn to smile at him, did not wave, she just walked off. He hit his head off the seat. He realised he wouldn’t see her until Monday again. So long and far away! He felt worried: so much could happen in two days! Maybe she would meet someone over the weekend and that would be it: lost forever! He wondered what she was going to do: party? Go to the gym? What was he going to do? How was he going to keep his mind off her and her luscious body? How was he going to function for two days? What was he going to do?
As he drove away, he was certainly sure of two things. She wasn’t a typical criminal: her crimes had not been committed for herself but on the behalf of others. Whilst he did not necessarily agree with what she had done, he at least could understand why she had done it. She had somewhat changed his opinion of her. Second of all, he knew there was a way which he could change the situation and help out both her and her next door neighbour, Declan. He knew what he was going to do and it was going to help sort out Declan for her. He only wished it wasn’t too late for Declan and Bryony would have to watch as the young man whom she tried to save fell into a life of crime. With his foot on the accelerator, he decided that the first port of call would be to speak with his flatmate.
* * *
Later that evening, Bryony was sat by her computer dreaming into space. She wore a pink and fluffy dressing gown, with white spots to decorate it. She had a shower so her long blonde hair had been toweled dry and now was drying slowly in the evening warmth. She wore slippers which had white cats on them and wore a pair of gloves under which was moisturizer to soften her quickly hardening skin. Far away in the distance she could hear Pony scrubbing the kitchen worktops and disinfecting the cupboards: her favourite evening activity.
Back in the bedroom, Bryony was deep in thought, her mind wandering to Hamish. He had been so clever, working out her web of lies which she had created around about her and which no one else had cottoned on to. Clearly, he was more of a listener than he made out. When he had spoken to her in that quiet and serious tone, she had felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up by way of bodily communication. She realised, as she sat there, that it had been the first time he had spoken to her as a human being, as a person and not his glorified landscape-creating slave.
Of course, she had been nervous as they had driven in silence back to her street: she hadn’t been sure what his reaction was going to be. Was he going to be shocked at the choices and decisions which she had made in her life to try and protect Declan? Was he going to tell the police without a moment’s hesitation? She was worried, however Hamish had been honest with her (or it felt like anyway): if he felt she wasn’t in danger or if she had done it for the right reasons, he wouldn’t tell the authorities. She had told her side of the story, the reasons why she had decided to protect Declan and Hamish had even seen the young man whom she was trying to protect from life. She hoped dearly that Hamish wouldn’t tell the authorities. If anything, she felt that Hamish was actually trying to protect her: a feeling which gave her a small warm feeling, deep inside. Maybe he didn’t hate her quite so much anymore?
But then, she thought ruefully, I am now a criminal. Hamish’s living is to help criminals improve: he knows what they do is wrong and wants to help them improve. He won’t want to date someone with a criminal conviction.
From behind, she heard Pony’s soft voice
“Hey, Bry, what are you doing?”
“Just daydreaming”
“About.... that fine specimen you call Hamish?”
“Mmmhmm”
“Do you want to help me...” Pony was away to ask Bryony to come and help her move some boxes in the kitchen when suddenly they both heard angry voices outside.
“Wait a minute, what on earth is ....” Bryony said as she looked out the window to be met with a familiar face. “Oh god!” she said in a horrifically shocked voice as she ran out of her bedroom and straight out the front door. She felt the cold, sharp air on her face and shook slightly as she stopped running to behold the scene before her. Pony was close behind her to see exactly what was going on and to protect petite Bryony.
“Gerry!”
“Oh hey, Bryony!” Gerry turned around, obviously involved in a deep conversation with Declan’s parents, Mandy and Tony. Their faces were a mixture of fear, dread and slight anger as they looked at Bryony. Bryony could understand why. Although it was extremely cold outside, Gerry had decided to wear a sleeveless vest top, in order to show off all his tattoos, a pair of jeans and a baseball bat.
“You know him?” Mandy spat, angrily and yet with a slightly quavering voice.
“Who, Gerry?” Bryony said casually “yeh, ‘course”. Mandy’s eyes rested on Bryony in order to establish if she was telling the whole truth and then she returned them more definitely to Gerry.
“So Bryony, I have brought you this gift: a little baseball bat. I wanted these pair to witness the gift and also be rest assured that if there is any more trouble, you will just phone me straight away. Agreed?”
“Yeh, no problem Gerry”, Bryony said, casually again. Gerry smiled at her, then returned to the pair stood on the doorstep and said quieter
“I hope for your sakes that I don’t hear from Bryony about you two”. Mandy’s eyes widened and then Gerry was off in a car waiting for him.
Bryony and Pony returned to the house, speechless and gobsmacked.
“Bry, who did you say that was?”
“Gerry: he’s a friend. From the roundabout.”
“Really? He is terrifying!”
“Oh, not really, he is a sweetheart actually. He just got in touch with his son whom he never knew, he’s a kind person who just fell on the wrong side of the tracks a little bit”.
“Well maybe he is but Mandy and co aren’t going to be causing us any problems any time soon!”
“Yeh, I think even though Gerry wants to reform, he still has the ... credibility of a gangster. I think”.
“Certainly seems that way”. Bryony suddenly felt a pang in her heart: more revelations.
“Pony, I have to tell you something.” Bryony found it difficult to look at Pony. What would Pony think? One look at a hot man and she had bared all?
“What?” Pony looked worried.
“Hamish knows,”
Chapter Six
“So” Gerry stood up slowly just as Hamish announced it was lunchtime and addressed the group stiffly, “not as young as I used to be... has everyone been collecting sponsorship money for the hill walk on Saturday?” He looked expectantly around him as did everyone else: trying to work out who had a guilt-free conscious and those who did not. Looking around her and trying to avoid Hamish’s piercing gaze, Bryony could see that most of the group felt the same numbing guilt that she did: how could we have possibly forgot? She thought. It must have been the business of everyone’s weekends, the fullness of the experience of being away from digging flowers and such like.
After a short pause from around the group, Gerry
said “Alright, well never mind if you didn’t get much done at the weekend, I was having a laugh this weekend, too. But! Ask friends and family to sponsor you this week! It’s on Saturday, so the quicker the better! I want to raise as much money as I can and your help would be good, especially that I have just met you last week”.
Phew! Bryony felt relieved that Gerry wasn’t angry at them and that he understood why everyone had forgotten. She had also had a busy weekend, a weekend in which the sponsorship had been completely forgotten.
On the Saturday evening, Pony in all her excellence had demanded that they went out for some food, some drinks and chat to some random people they didn’t know. They both had showers, Bryony felt it was an extra requirement for her after being covered in dirt all week. So they showered, dried and straightened their hair and chose their outfits. Pony opted for jeans, high heels and the lowest cut top in existence. In a light blue almost turquoise colour it began high at her shoulders and fell all the way down to her cleavage. She had chosen to leave her glasses off and had opted for the natural look on her face, with a little blusher and rouge on her lips just to add to the detail. With her hair up in a sleek ponytail, Pony looked hot!
