Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “Skull? Is it really you?” she whispered, looking up, praying that Johnboy widnae hear her fae where he wis sitting.

  Nothing.

  It wis looking intently doon at her. She held her breath as it suddenly shifted ever so slightly, shaking its feathers in the hot breeze that hid quickly passed between the hoose and the shed where she wis staunin.

  “Skull?”

  Nothing.

  “So, whit dae ye really think then?” she turned and asked him.

  “Aboot whit?”

  “Aboot which ten-year-auld the crow could be?”

  “It’s hard tae say. If the crow his been involved in helping us up here, then it could be the wee boy that burnt tae death. Bit, when ye really think aboot it, it’s oor Glesga connections that ur gonnae resolve the situation and allow us tae live up here in peace, so Skull could still be in there,” he replied, as she turned and looked up at the bird again. “Of course, they could be working thegither. Mr Magoo always did see himsel as a leader.”

  They baith smiled at each another across the expanse ae the yard, as she made her way back tae her deckchair.

  “So, where ur ye wae the book then?” she asked him, sitting doon and taking a sip ae her drink, trying tae collect her thoughts, as she looked back across at the crow, who seemed tae still be staring at her.

  “Well, despite being oot there fighting the good fight oan behauf ae the oppressed, Ah’m nearly there, so Ah am.”

  “Nearly there. Whit is ‘nearly there’ supposed tae mean?”

  “It means Ah’m jist aboot finished ma first draft.”

  “Really?”

  “Ah wis hoping tae hiv it finished this weekend, if Ah manage a good run at it.”

  “This weekend?” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Bit, Ah thought…”

  “That it wid take me a lifetime?” he laughed.

  “Naw, bit wae aw that ducking and diving ye’ve obviously been up tae wae yer new pals, Ah thought ye’d jist been messing aboot oan the typewriter,” she admitted.

  “Aye, well, there ye go.”

  “So, ye’re still sticking tae yer love story then. Is that whit ye’re saying?”

  “As Ah’ve telt ye time and time again, it’s a love story that ye’ll be getting tae read.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Johnboy, bit fur the life ae me, you sitting there writing a love story jist disnae connect wae the image Ah hiv ae ye,” she admitted, looking at him.

  “Did ye ever go and see Ali McGraw and Ryan O’Neil in the film, Love Story?”

  “Me and the lassies went tae see it in The Odeon doon oan Renfield Street. We wur aw howling, so we wur. It wisnae jist us either, bit the whole ae the picture hoose, especially when she died at the end. There wisnae a dry eye in the hoose, so there wisnae. The lot ae us went back a few nights later. We aw made sure that we took men’s boxes ae Kleenex tissues wae us that time,” she replied, smiling.

  “Aye, well, thank fuck ma love story isnae like that wan,” he said tae her.

  “So, am Ah in it then?” she asked, exaggerating her annoyance as he laughed. “Well am Ah?”

  “Everybody’s in it, Senga, including you…especially you.”

  “Ah’m no sure Ah like the sound ae that, so Ah don’t,” she admitted, looking back across at the big crow. “So, why hiv ye called him Majestic then?”

  “Look at him. Dae ye no think he looks majestic staunin up there, taking everything in…plus, that’s whit Skull always called the tap doos in the cabin…no furgetting the wee boy MacLeod’s middle name wis Majestik…named efter his Dutch grandfather. Ye’re no saying that’s aw a coincidence, ur ye?”

  “Look,” she turned and said, the tone ae her voice changing. “Aboot us…whit Ah said earlier? Ah’m still no sure if you and…”

  “Look, why don’t we leave this conversation until efter Ah come back fae the sheep sale across in Lairg oan Sunday, eh? We kin talk aboot us then. There’s gonnae be a lot happening and Ah don’t want tae be hinging aboot here when it dis. As Ah said earlier, Iona’s asked me tae ask ye if ye want tae come alang.”

  “Ah’m no sure. The thought ae hinging aboot in amongst smelly sheep disnae exactly appeal tae me, so it disnae. Ah wis wanting tae tackle the rest ae they boxes we brought wae us. There’s stuff in them that Ah’ve needed fur ages. The weekend’s the only time Ah get the opportunity tae spend aboot the hoose.”

  “Suit yersel. In the meantime, finish that warm Irn Bru and Ah’ll go and get us a glass ae that chilled petrol, oot ae that fancy bottle in the fridge that ye goat conned in tae buying by that auld boyfriend ae yours, Van Dyke, the wan who’s been trying tae impress ye wae his spitfire stories, tae get intae they knickers ae yours.

  “He died…this morning.”

  “Oh? Well, believe it no, Ah’m genuinely sorry tae hear that. Ah wid’ve liked tae hiv met the auld groper. Never mind. We kin always gie him a wee toast tae send him oan his way,” he said, as the cat followed him across the yard and the crow suddenly took flight and landed oan the chimney stack, jist above the front door ae the crofthoose, looking doon in expectation ae his reappearance.

  Chapter Sixty Eight

  Donna looked aboot the room as she lit up her fag. It widnae hiv been her first choice tae hiv as a base fur The Glesga Businesswummin’s Association. Too manly, wae aw they photos and paintings ae racing cars and AA and RAC badges hinging up oan the walls in between the cabinets full ae trophies. She’d miscalculated the time it wid take her tae walk up Bath Street fae her office tae The Royal Automobile Club oan Blytheswood Square. She preferred tae be bang oan time. Turning up early gied the people ye wur meeting the wrang impression that ye wur either desperate or unsure ae yersel. She wis sitting oan the green leather Chesterfield, facing the tall windaes, wae the wee panes ae glass in them. Ootside, the sun wis belching doon and aw the lassies fae the surrounding offices wur either sitting in wee groups oan the grass or under the shades ae the branches ae the trees, eating their sandwiches. So far, she hidnae joined in wae the chorus ae moaners who’d been complaining fur weeks noo aboot the stifling heat. The papers hid been reminding everywan fur days noo that 1976 wis the hottest summer since records began.

  “Christ’s sake, wait until the rain comes back. That’ll gie youse something tae moan aboot,” she kept telling the lassies in the office, who’d been sitting wae the windaes open and the fans blowing at full speed fae first thing in the morning till they left at the end ae the day.

  She liked the heat. The sun brought the goodness oot in everywan. Everybody in the busy toon centre strolled aboot, decked oot in their summer finest, smiling at wan another oan the way past. Fae where she wis sitting, she wis surprised tae clock a wee red and cream Scammell three-wheeled truck pull up ootside the windae. The driver quickly jumped oot ae the cab and nipped in the front door wae a broon cardboard box. He wisnae wearing a uniform, she noticed. She thought she’d bought the last ae them fae British Rail the previous August. She’d snapped up every wan she could lay her hauns oan, including tons ae spare parts, fur peanuts, before shipping four hunner and thirty seven ae them oot tae India. She could’ve retired oan the profits fae that wan deal alone, she smugly thought tae hersel, taking another drag fae the fag holder. She looked at the Bugatti clock above the panelled door. Five past twelve. The table wis awready set fur two, wae the rays ae the sun glinting aff the gleaming cutlery, sitting patiently oan tap ae the immaculate snow-white table cloth. It wis the perfect place tae be hivving a business lunch wae the person she wis waiting oan. There wis nae chance ae anywan lugging in, particularly those who shouldnae be privy tae who she wis meeting wae, despite Pitt Street being jist alang the road. She’d made a lot ae money sitting hivving lunch at that wee dining table, she reminded hersel. Despite the décor no being tae her taste, the businessmen she dealt wae oan a daily basis seemed tae relax quicker than if they wur sitting roond in La Tanterna’s oan Hope street. The Royal Automobile Club wis the wan place in the toon that she didnae mind picking up th
e lunch tab fae. Despite the protests, she knew she left the sharp-suited businessmen impressed by her insistence. She knew fine well that fur maist ae them, it wis a novelty tae allow a wummin tae buy them lunch. It wid make a good efter dinner story when they wur hivving a cigar wae the other stags in their private clubs. The fact that they didnae realise that The Businesswummin’s Association eventually covered the cost via her expenses, wis neither here nor there. It wis the flamboyant manner and the confidence she exuded when closing a complicated, bit mutually beneficial deal fur baith parties, in sixty minutes flat, o’er a plate ae posh soup, that her poor wee maw widnae hiv been able tae pronounce, that put a new meaning oan taking somewan tae the cleaners. By the time they wur back oot oan the street wae a full stomach, it wis too late. It wisnae as if they wur gonnae heid aff back tae heid office complaining tae the other stags that they’d jist been shaken doon by a wummin, wis it? She’d jist hid Arty Bruce, followed by Pearl, oan the phone, before she’d left the office. Arty hid been wondering whit wis happening.

  “Ah’m seeing Bison, the chief superintendent, at three o’clock,” he’d said. “Ah cannae put it aff any longer.”

  He’d been stuttering, which meant he wis feeling the pressure, which wis understandable. She knew whit that felt like.

  “Look, Ah’ll gie ye a buzz, bang oan two o’clock, Arty. Where kin Ah get a haud ae ye?”

  “Central. It means if the files ur here, then Ah kin get access tae them. If they’re up in Pitt Street, then Ah kin nip up there jist efter you phone and hiv a quick swatch ae the contents before Ah go in tae see him.”

  “Listen, don’t worry. Everything will be fine,” she’d cooed, even though she wisnae that sure hersel.

  Wae Pearl, it hid been a totally different story. She wis a wee charmer that wan.

  “Donna? How ur ye feeling the day? Ah wis fair worried aboot ye efter helping ye oot ae the taxi and intae the hoose last night, so Ah wis.”

  “Aye, Ah’m right sorry aboot that, hen. It must’ve been they wee glasses ae Guinness oan an empty stomach. Ah hidnae eaten the whole day, so Ah hidnae. Ah also didnae think Ah’d be sitting there hauf the night oan ma lonesome while you gabbed a heap ae shite tae somewan like Hamish McGovern. Christ’s sake, Pearl. Aw ye hid tae dae wis gie him a flash ae they freckles oan yer tits and ye could’ve heided right back across tae me and helped me polish aff they two bottles ae bubbly that Ah ordered up fur us.”

  “Bit ye’re feeling better?”

  “Oh, aye. Ah wis up wae the starlings first thing, daeing ma exercises that Senga showed me, before she eloped wae that skinny Johnboy wan, so Ah wis,” she’d lied.

  “Wow. If Ah’d heided hame in that state last night, Ah’d still be under the blankets wae a bucket beside the bed, so Ah wid.”

  “Ach, well, Ah’m a veteran at this game, so Ah am. Ah wisnae as bad as ye probably thought Ah wis,” she’d lied. “Champagne and pills don’t mix. Wait until Ah see that doctor ae mine. Ah only found that oot efter Ah read the bloody label when Ah goat up oot ae ma bed this morning.”

  “Oh, well, that’s awright then.”

  “Anything else, Pearl, hen?”

  “Naw, naw. Ah wis jist wanting tae know that ye wur awright.”

  “Okay, doll, Ah’ll maybe catch ye later,” she’d said, wondering if she’d goat the wrang end ae the stick as she wis jist aboot tae hing up, before Pearl jumped in there, no disappointing her assumption aboot why the fly wee thing wis phoning.

  “Oh, Ah…Ah, er jist remembered something,” Pearl said, still sounding sweet and innocent, as if it wis an efterthought.

  “Aye?”

  “Er, ye widnae hiv any word oan that wee package we wur looking fur, wid ye? It’s jist that, Ah’m meeting Hamish and The Rat later oan this efternoon.

  “Whit time?”

  “Hauf two.”

  “Ah’ll gie ye a phone at two minutes past two. How dis that sound, Pearl, hen?”

  “Fab. Brilliant. See ye, Donna,” she’d sung, hinging up, sounding genuinely happy.

  She looked up. Martin, the concierge, wis haudin open the door tae allow her guest tae enter.

  “Donna? How ur ye daeing? Whit a heat, eh?” Wee Peggy McAvoy, PA tae Glenda Metcalfe, the city’s newly promoted deputy heid ae the Procurator Fiscal Service, said. “Ah’m sorry Ah’m late. Ah hid tae go intae ma work this morning, despite it being ma day aff. It’s bedlam doon there jist noo, so it is.”

  “Ach, never you mind that, Peggy, hen. Jist you come and grab a seat while Martin here goes aff and grabs us a wee aperitif before we hiv oor lunch. Whit ur ye hivving, hen?”

  “Ooh, let me see. A dry Martini?”

  “Make that two dry Martinis please, Martin.”

  “It’s been a while,” Wee Peggy said, eyeing up the smartly dressed businesswummin o’er the flame ae her lighter.

  “Too long, hen. Bit then again, wae yer new job, that’s probably no such a bad thing these days. The toon is still like a bloody sieve, so it is. There should be a law against gossipmongers, so there should,” Donna tutted and the baith ae them chuckled, as Martin lay the drinks doon and disappeared, leaving them tae it. “Ah wis talking tae a wee pal ae yours a wee while ago, jist before Ah left the office.”