Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “Ah,” she sighed oot loud, nodding across at Mr Hopkins.

  She’d always wondered how that pair hid first goat in tow wae each other. Wee boys at his end ae the Toonheid, up roond aboot Grafton Square and Montrose Street, didnae usually venture up tae her end ae the Toonheid.

  ‘The next time Johnboy clapped eyes oan Tony Gucci hid been totally different. Johnboy and a fat basturt called Alex Milne, aw decked oot in his school uniform, shiny shoes and a face that looked like a Halloween cake, hid been sent tae the heidmaster’s office fur fighting in the corridor. They’d jist been oan their way back tae the class efter a fire drill. There wisnae really a fight. Tub Boy hid flicked Johnboy’s lug wae his fat pudgy fingers oan the way past, while Johnboy wis lined up ootside Olive Oyl’s class. It hid been a bloody sore wan. Johnboy hid swiftly answered that fat-faced baw-heid wae a twisting greaser straight fae the back ae his throat. It hid shot doon through his tongue, which he’d curved intae a tube shape, a second before it took flight. Johnboy and his pals called it ‘The Sticky Screamer,’ because it wis always followed by a blood curdling scream wance it landed. Aw the practice Johnboy and his pals hid been putting in tae see who could master it, hid paid aff. He couldnae hiv done it better if he’d tried and hid hauf expected applause fae everywan in the corridor who’d witnessed it. It hid flown through the air at the speed ae lightning and splattered oan tae the middle ae Fatty’s fat foreheid, like an egg hitting a cracked windae pane oan a stairheid landing. It hid been followed wan and a hauf seconds later by the expected howl ae shock and disbelief.

  “Take that, ya fat basturt, ye,” Johnboy hid taunted him, feeling fair chuffed wae himsel.

  When Fat Arse hid charged, Johnboy and hauf ae his class hid scattered oot ae his way and that’s how Fatty hid managed tae knock Olive Oyl flying, alang wae the pile ae jotters she wis carrying.’

  Oh my God…she remembered that day. It hid been her tenth birthday. The day that she’d knocked back the box ae Maltesers and birthday card that his ma hid made him turn up tae school wae, tae gie tae her. It hid been a total disaster, she remembered, looking doon at the page.

  ‘“You two! Down to the headmaster’s…now!” Her Thinness hid screeched, tottering oan they giraffe’s stick legs ae hers.

  “Whit hiv Ah done? Did ye no see whit he did tae me?” Halloween Cake Face hid howled, wiping his face wae the clean hankie his ma hid gied him that morning.

  “Ah never done anything tae him,” Johnboy hid protested, face a picture ae pure innocence.

  “Be quiet! You two, come with me now, and the rest of you, get your homework sheets out for when I come back.”

  “Bit, Ah’ve no done anything, miss,” Billy Fat Liar hid squealed through that fat lying mooth ae his.

  “Mr Smith, these two boys were fighting in the corridor and without my quick and decisive action, other pupils and property could have been damaged,” Joan ae Arc hid squealed indignantly.

  Batty Smith, so-called because he wis always oan aboot cricket, trying tae get the goody-goody wans interested, bit never hivving any luck, hid glared at Johnboy sternly and at Halloween Cake Face sympathetically. Johnboy reckoned it hid been the clean uniform that hid swung it.

  “Right, Alex, please explain what happened,” Batty hid asked in whit Johnboy thought wis a bit too friendly a fashion fae where he wis staunin.

  “Ah wis walking alang the corridor, minding ma ain business, sir, when Taylor spat oan ma heid and eye. When Ah fell back, Ah accidentally bumped intae everywan who then bumped intae Miss Hackett,” he’d whinged, feeling sorry fur himsel, as he stood there like a greedy, fat angel.

  “How did you know it was Taylor, Alex?” Batty hid asked, even mair gently than the first time, while gieing Johnboy the evil eye.

  “Because Ah clocked him dae it before it landed oan ma foreheid, sir,” Pinocchio pined back.’

  “Ha! Ha!” she laughed oot loud, slapping her knees wae baith hauns, startling Mr Hopkins, wondering whit hid become ae Alex Milne.

  He’d been a horrible wee overweight boy, she remembered. He wis always hitting and bullying aw the youngers wans in the school. She thought he wis in Tony Gucci’s class, above them. Back tae the story.

  ‘Fur a split second, Johnboy hid thought that Olive Oyl wis gonnae put Pinocchio’s heid oan they paps ae hers tae comfort him, the way they dae in the pictures, when the da gets shot doon o’er Germany, except, she didnae hiv any paps that Johnboy could clock fae where he wis staunin.

  Batty hid turned tae Johnboy.

  “Right, Taylor, what have you got to say for yourself?”

  “Ah never done it.”

  “Please, sir, it wis him. Ah saw him wae ma ain two eyes,” Pinocchio hid whined like the right good actor that he wis.

  “Miss Hackett?”

  “Well, whilst I did not actually see what happened, I did see Taylor laughing mockingly at Alex just before I was knocked over, Headmaster,” she’d said.

  “Wait outside in the corridor, Taylor.”

  Johnboy didnae know whit hid been said efter he left, bit suspected that they wur deciding no tae invite him tae help himsel tae Batty’s Mint Imperials, which he’d clocked sitting in a wee bowl oan the heidmaster’s desk, pleading wae Johnboy tae eat wan ae them. A wee while later, the door hid opened and the uniform wae the shiny shoes hid come toddling oot, looking like he’d jist been gied a medal.

  “Ah’ll see ye doon at the school gates later, Taylor,” Fat Face hid snarled oot ae the side ae his gub oan the way past.

  Johnboy could smell the Mint Imperials oan Fat Boy’s breath as he passed him. He could also see murder in they piggy eyes ae his.

  “Cannae wait, ya fat greaser-faced bampot,” Johnboy hid replied, feeling brave as fuck.

  Olive Oyl hid then come scurrying oot ae Batty’s office and hid telt Johnboy tae go in, as she heided back up tae the class.

  “Right, Taylor, you’ve one chance and one chance only to come clean and own up and accept your punishment like a man,” Batty hid come oot wae as Johnboy stood in front ae his desk.

  “Bit Ah’ve only jist turned ten and he’s twelve,” he’d whined, as if that hid anything tae dae wae it.

  “Well?”

  “Bit, Ah didnae dae anything,” Johnboy hid pleaded.

  “You are not going to carry on where your brother left off, Taylor,” Batty hid shouted, as flecks ae spit peppered Johnboy’s coupon.

  Johnboy hid jist aboot finished protesting his innocence again, when tae his amazement, he’d clocked Lord Charles, his favourite ventriloquist’s dummy, peering suspiciously in through the bottom corner ae the windae behind Batty. No only that, bit he wis making funny faces at Johnboy.

  “I have to ensure that the rules of the school are adhered to. That means no running in the corridors, talking back to staff, spitting or any other forms of violence...” he vaguely remembered Batty wittering.

  “...therefore, you will receive four of the best,” Batty hid announced tae nowan, as he slipped oot the famous ‘Black Prince’ that he kept o’er his shoulder, tucked under that auld man’s jaicket ae his.

  There wis no way Johnboy could’ve held it in any longer withoot pishing himsel. He’d burst oot laughing while struggling tae keep an apologetic expression oan that coupon ae his, trying tae show Batty that his laughing hid absolutely nothing tae dae wae whit Batty wis prattling oan aboot.

  “Right, explain to me what you find so funny, Taylor?” Batty hid snarled, eyes slitted, face turning greyer by the second.

  “Ah cannae help it, sir,” Johnboy hid moaned, smiling broadly as the face at the windae carried oan making faces at him.

  “You’re not making it easy for yourself with this behaviour, Taylor,” Count Dracula hid warned fur the umpteenth time.

  It wis then that the face at the windae hid turned intae Tony Gucci. He’d still hid Lord Charles’s eye-glass oan his left eye and wis grinning like a mangy auld cat, bit Johnboy hid suddenly realised that it wis definitely him, bob
bing up and doon like some demented dummy.

  “Put your hands up, one under the other,” Batty hid ordered, looking at him in disbelief and rage, as Johnboy cackled away apologetically.

  “Ah cannae help it, sir,” he’d whined, giggling like wan ae Tony’s floozies fae the picture hoose.

  “Right, I’ve had enough of this. Don’t bother turning up for school tomorrow. You’ll be expelled until you accept your punishment. Before you go home today, come to this office and collect a letter from me, which will explain your unacceptable conduct to your parents. In the meantime, go back to your class and do not…I repeat…do not let me hear that you are causing any more disruption in my school. Do I make myself clear?” Batty hid roared, telling Johnboy tae get tae fuck oot ae his office.

  Before he’d heided back up tae his class, Johnboy hid nipped oot ae the doors beside Batty’s office that led intae the boys’ playground, tae see where Lord Charles hid disappeared tae. There hid been nobody there, apart fae a couple ae scabby doos wandering aboot in circles and a big seagull being chased by an even bigger wan, trying tae get the Smiths’ crisp packet that it wis carrying in its beak aff ae it.

  Johnboy hid heard his class getting louder as he’d goat nearer. When he’d opened the door and stepped through, Olive Oyl hid been staunin oan tap ae a chair, waving her hauns aboot as if she wis trying tae fly. Withoot breaking her rhythm, she’d sent him tae his seat wae nods fae her chinless chin. The racket hid been a cross between cats getting lollipops stuffed up their arses and Johnboy and his mates being made tae take a bath mair than wance a fortnight. She’d hid the first row singing ‘London’s Burning.’ Wance they wur oan their way, she’d goat the second row tae start, and then the third and then the fourth. Hauf the class wur seriously enjoying it, while the other hauf wur seriously taking the pish, by deliberately becoming a fifth, sixth and seventh row. Olive wis flapping her erms aboot like a banshee and glowering at the wans who wur deliberately sabotaging her music session. Normally, Johnboy wid’ve been in his element, bit he’d hid three things swirling aroond in that heid ae his at the time.

  First aff, the love ae his life, Senga Jackson, who wis sitting oan the seat next tae him, who’d gied him a wee sympathetic smile when he’d sat doon, hid caused him a bit ae grief earlier that morning.’

  Senga Jackson? Who? Wis that supposed tae be her?

  “Oh my God! He’s called me Senga Jackson in the book,” she exclaimed tae Mr Hopkins, before returning tae the page.

  ‘It hid been her tenth birthday and when Olive hid asked them aw tae sing ‘Happy Birthday’ tae her, Johnboy hid made an arse ae himsel by singing at the tap ae his voice. The place hid gone silent and then everywan hid aw pished themselves laughing at him.’

  Ha! Ha! She remembered that as well. Whit an embarrassment fur the baith ae them.

  ‘Senga’s ma worked wae Johnboy’s as a school cleaner. Under threat ae violence, his ma hid made him buy a card and a box ae Maltesers, tae gie her as a birthday present, fae the scramble winnings that he’d picked up aff the pavement at the weddings doon at Martha Street Registry Office. When he’d tried tae gie them tae her earlier, efter making a right arse ae himsel, she’d refused point-blank tae take them and aw her mates hid laughed at him. Olive Oyl hid made the situation worse, as usual, by making a big deal oot ae it in front ae everywan in the class, trying tae persuade Senga tae take them. Baith ae their faces hid been bright red and Senga widnae look at him efter that. He jist couldnae understaun why she didnae want the good Maltesers though. He’d turned and looked at her when he sat doon and wondered whit she’d say if he asked her if he could stick that tongue ae his doon the back ae her throat.’

  “Ha! Ha! He wid’ve goat a right good slap across the lug, that’s whit he wid’ve goat,” she assured the cat.

  ‘The second thing oan his mind that morning that hid distracted him fae enjoying Olive’s sing-along hid been whether he’d been imagining seeing Tony Gucci doon at the windae in Batty’s office. He’d wondered if it actually hid been Lord Charles that he’d clocked efter aw, although he couldnae figure oot how a dummy wid come tae be peeking in the windae ae Count Dracula’s office.

  The third thought swirling roond in that napper ae his hid been how he wis gonnae escape wance school finished? There wur two main escape routes oot ae the place. Wan wis the wee gate doon the side ae the dining hut, which took ye oot oan tae McAslin Street and the other wan wis the front gate, which took ye oot oan tae St James Road. Tony, being pretty sharp and an ugly tae boot, wis bound tae be waiting fur him at the dining hut entrance, he’d reckoned. That left the Fat Fingered Flickerer at the front. There hidnae been any debate as far as he wis concerned. He wid rather get beaten up by Blubber Boy than by Tony Gucci, any day ae the week.

  When the school bell hid gone aff, he’d heided tae Batty’s office tae grab his letter. He’d known something wis gaun oan when Fat Boy’s pals hid avoided eye contact wae him and he wis getting funny looks fae everywan else. By the time he’d been shouted intae Batty’s office, the school hid emptied.

  “Right, Taylor…one last chance. Are you going to accept your punishment like a real man?” Batty hid challenged.

  Johnboy hid jist looked at him, bit hidnae really been taking any heed ae whit he’d been rabbiting oan aboot. He’d been too busy wondering aboot the best escape route oot ae the place.

  “Have it your own way then,” Batty hid growled, haunin o’er the broon envelope.’

  She sat back in her chair and looked at the stack ae typed sheets she still hid tae read. If this wis supposed tae be a love story, then why the hell wis somewan like Tony Gucci in it, she wondered. And where the hell hid he come up wae the name Senga Jackson fae?

  “Senga…Senga,” she repeated, mair loudly the second time, listening tae the ringing tone it made.

  She’d known a Senga wance…at her work. She’d been lovely. Hid left tae hiv a baby and never returned.

  “Senga? Whit dae ye think, Mr Hopkins? Wid ye say Ah come across as a Senga?” she asked, smiling, as the cat continued tae sit there, staring at her, clearly wondering whit madness wis possessing her this time.

  She stood up and went through tae the kitchen tae switch the kettle oan. Why the hell hid he started the book when he…they…wur ten years auld, she wondered. He’d mentioned many a time that she wis the love ae his life, even at that young age, bit it wis some leap tae where they wur noo, eleven years later. Despite using different names, including hers, she recognised everywan. Wis this some sort ae biography…a love story biography…a…a whit?

  Chapter Seventy Four

  “Morning,” Fraser grumbled, leaning o’er and lifting wan ae the cheeks ae his arse up aff the chair and letting rip, withoot looking up fae the paper spread oot in front ae him. “There’s a couple ae boiled eggs waiting fur ye, so there is.”

  Even though he’d shaved and showered, she could still smell the slapper fae the night before aff ae him. She wondered if he paid fur the pleasures ae a young lassie across in wan ae The Big Man’s brothels? The fact that the murdering basturt hidnae looked up as she slid oan tae the chair opposite him suited her jist fine. She looked wistfully across at the radio, while Donovan sang aboot trying tae catch the wind and leaving aw his blues behind, the lucky bugger. Never mind, her turn wis fast approaching, she reassured hersel.

  “Toast?” she reminded him, trying no tae sound irritated, hivving tae repeat the same line that she’d asked him at this exact same time every morning since the lazy basturt hid retired.

  “Phhfft! Ah’m reading that, so Ah am,” he bleated, staunin up and walking across tae the toaster, as she reached o’er and picked up The Glesga Echo, shaking it before folding it shut tae the front page.

  “Wur,” she reminded him, as she looked doon at the heidline as she poured her tea intae her china cup.

  ‘SHOCK EXCLUSIVE - DOUBLE LIFE OF ‘LAIRD’ AT CENTRE OF £700,000 STRATHCLYDE POLICE ENQUIRY

  The Deputy Director of Finance with
Strathclyde Police, Robert Hamilton, a long and supposedly trusted serving civilian accountant, has sensationally been arrested in a dawn raid at his plush Highland estate in Lochinver, North West Sutherland. Hamilton, known to locals as ‘The Laird’ and who was also responsible for signing cheques to allow ‘undercover’ serious crime squad detectives here in the city fight against organised crime over a number of years, was snared after an investigation by The Glasgow Echo’s award-winning young crime journalist, Pearl Campbell and Superintendent Arthur Bruce, a senior officer within the force’s Fraud Squad. It’s only in Scotland’s best-selling daily newspaper that readers will discover how a senior member of Strathclyde Police Force managed to operate an illegal internal budget account over a number of years and embezzle hundreds of thousands of pounds of tax payer’s money, to live a life most of us could only dream about. Please turn to page 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 to read how this corrupt senior police official, who employed over 40 locals in the village of Lochinver, managed to get away with his crime for so long.’

  Efter reading the splash, Donna looked at the main photo under the heidline, as she took a sip ae her Earl Grey. It wid be difficult no tae be impressed. It looked like a right royal rammy, so it did. Arty wis oan wan side ae Hamilton and his big sergeant oan the other, as the crooked basturt struggled wae them. Hamilton’s face wis screwed up like a contortionist. It wis hard tae tell if it wis in anger or fear, as his wife hid her hauns clutched roond his neck fae the back ae him. Behind the tussle, a young uniformed PC, wae his hat lying upturned oan the ground, wis being attacked by two young lassies, presumably the daughters. Johnboy hid telt her that aw the wummin wur posh Glaswegian. Good fur them, she smiled tae hersel. Despite their lavish upbringing, the wummin wurnae letting the side doon. Slipper hid caught the expressions oan the main players’ coupons perfectly. She reckoned that he’d be in wae a shout ae The Photographer Ae The Year wae this wan. She hoped so. Pearl hid telt her he wis due tae retire. It hid been Slipper that hid captured The Battle ae John Street, back in the mid-sixties when Helen and aw the other wummin hid been attacked doon at the entrance tae auld Madge Morrison’s closemooth during her warrant sale. Poor Helen hid ended up in the jail fur that wan. She wis a funny wee crater, wis Pearl. While the rammy wis being played oot at whit wis obviously a big, posh front door, she wis jist staunin there, looking oan nonchalantly, as if she wis looking at a pavement busker. She didnae look too fazed at aw. Tony wis a lucky boy tae hiv somewan like Pearl in his stable. The last time she’d spoken tae him, efter the planning meeting earlier in the week, he’d telt her that he wis deliberately taking his time in cultivating her as a business asset.