by Ian Todd
“Ah’ll use her only when absolutely necessary,” he’d said tae her.
In Manky speak, that hid been Tony telling her in nae uncertain terms that she owed him wan, which wis fine wae her. Mind you, the favours wur starting tae mount up. She could well understaun Arty’s shock and dismay at Tony’s presence at the meeting, bit hid hardly been in a position tae tell him that withoot the young Atalian’s nod, she widnae be sitting looking doon at Superintendent Arthur Bruce’s ugly mug looking up at her fae the front page ae The Glesga Echo, Scotland’s biggest selling daily newspaper.
“Ah’ll hiv that,” Fraser growled, snatching up the paper efter drapping two slices ae toast oan tae her side plate.
She wanted tae say something, bit didnae. The basturt knew fine well she liked her toast well-fired. He wis deliberately noising her up, so he wis.
“Aw, fur fuck sake! Ten questions and the stupid basturts couldnae answer even wan ae them. Whit a pair ae fucking plonkers. These basturts deserved tae be hung oot tae dry, so they day,” Fraser hooted. “Oh, in case Ah furget. There’s a letter come fur ye. That wee Pearl wan’s something else, so she is. Ur ye sure you urnae running her?” he asked, back tae his reading, bit following her back oot ae the side ae his good eye, as she stood up and went in search ae her mail. “Ah hid tae sign fur it, by the way.”
She looked at the postmark. London. She hid connections in London, bit no wae anywan that wid want tae send her a registered letter, unless it contained a letter-bomb, she thought tae hersel. She knew he wis waiting fur her tae open it. Fuck him. She’d open it when she wis good and ready. She deliberately took her time in spreading the butter across her toast, before applying a wee healthy dollop ae marmalade. His breathing hid quickened. She wis getting tae him. Good. She reached across wae the teaspoon fur another wee scoop ae Dundee’s finest, when his big haun clamped itsel oan tae her wrist.
“Ur you fucking deliberately trying tae wind me up or something?” he growled.
“If you don’t let go ae ma wrist, ye’re gonnae get a teapot full ae boiling Earl Grey o’er that baldy heid ae yours,” she warned him, feeling her body shake wae fear, wondering if this wis it and she’d left it too late, then felt relieved when the vice grip slackened, before he withdrew his haun.
“Well, hurry the fuck up,” he snarled.
Silence.
She drapped the marmalade oan tae the toast and continued tae take her time spreading it, despite the painful throbbing fae her wrist, before she picked up his unused knife and slit open the envelope and withdrew the single, folded sheet. She looked doon and read it, before putting it back where it hid come fae.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, whit?”
“Who’s it fae?”
“It’s business.”
“Business?”
“Tae dae wae Pat Molloy.”
“The Big Man…that basturt? Whit the hell dis he want?”
“You’re well aware ae oor long standing arrangement, Fraser. If you want tae know whit’s in this letter, why don’t ye get oan the blower right noo and ask him yersel. He lives jist alang the road. Ah’m sure he’ll be happy tae oblige,” she replied drily, feeling a thrill go through her body as she saw the hesitation…and fear, in they bloodshot piggy eyes ae his.
“Aye, well, jist you remember wan thing, Donna, hen. You might’ve thought that ye goat a pass efter yer pals Wan-bob Broon and that ugly wee cretinous pal ae his copped their whacks, bit that basturt Molloy isnae always gonnae be aroond tae protect ye. And when he’s no, jist you remember, Ah’ll still be here. That’s when you and me ur gonnae hiv a wee get thegither, so it is,” he growled at her pleasantly, ugly hatred seeping oot ae they eyes ae his.
So you think, ya losing fuck-whit basturt, ye, she thought tae hersel, the pain in her wrist still pulsating in pain.
“Right, that’s me,” he suddenly announced, staunin up, looking doon at her fur a long five seconds, before disappearing oot ae the kitchen.
She sat eating her toast and refilling her wee China cup. It wis only efter she heard the ootside door slamming shut that she picked up the envelope again, ignoring the upside doon double spread ae Slipper’s photographs ae Hamilton’s arrest. She unfolded the letter. It wis the Buckingham Palace’s letterheid that jumped aff the page at her. It wis fae something called ‘The Honours Committee.’
‘Dear Mrs Jeffs. It gives me great pleasure, on behalf of Her Royal Majesty The Queen, to inform you that Her Majesty is considering awarding you the British Empire Medal in the forthcoming New Year’s Honours list for 1976, for services to business, enterprise and charity. This correspondence is not confirmation of the award, as the proposal will have to be formally approved before a recommendation be made to Her Majesty. Could you, in the first instance, please inform my office, in writing, as to whether you would be honoured and willing to be considered for the award?
May I also bring to your attention that confidentiality is paramount at this early stage in the process and that should the identity of the proposed recipient of the award become public, any further consideration will be withdrawn.
Your humble servant,
Sir John Humphrey Bogart,
Secretary to Her Majesty The Queen’s Honours Committee.’
“Christ,” she gasped. “It’s actually gonnae happen.”
She read the letter again, ignoring the hauf eaten slice ae toast. She didnae feel that peckish noo. She wis too excited.
“Aye, and up yours tae, ya murdering, evil basturt,” she spat, thrusting her middle finger upwards towards the back ae the front door that wis jist visible through in the lobby, as she leaned across and picked up The Glesga Echo, using her good wrist.
Chapter Seventy Five
It wis her shrieking laughter fae doon below and the empty space he encountered when his erm drapped doon oan tae the mattress oan her side ae the bed, that brought him roond. It took his brain a few seconds tae register that she wis awready up. He smiled, wondering whit part ae the story she wis reading. He hidnae meant it tae be funny, at least no tae start wae. He’d intended tae tell her that the book wis finished when he arrived hame, bit hid held back, still swithering whether tae bring up the fact that he’d hooked up wae Paul McBride again efter aw these years. The last time they’d been in the same company thegither hid been when him, Tony, Silent and Pat hid come up tae Inverness back in 1970. Pat, oan some bit ae business tae dae wae high quality jewellery and them tae get oot ae the toon fur a while efter Silent hid shot Bootsy Bell doon in Waterloo Street wan Saturday efternoon. Paul hid gied them a demo on how tae use The Poacher’s Retreat, in some woodland copse ootside the toon. Even before it hid been used oan Tam Simpson, up in his shagging shack in High Possil oan Hogmanay the following year, Tony hid known fine well how lethal it wid be. Him, Tony and Silent hid jist aboot shat themsels where they’d stood, efter it blew a big turnip tae smithereens, efter Paul hid positioned it underneath a bush and tripped the wire. Auld Innes, who Paul hid been living wae at the time, hid been lucky tae survive efter being shot wae the same contraption. He smiled tae himsel, folding his hauns behind his neck. She wis aff again.
“Aw, no! Ha! Ha!”
Fuck, it jist went tae show ye. Here wis him, trying tae write an entertaining wee story and there she wis, sitting doon there pissing hersel laughing at his attempt at literature. He wondered if it wis his spelling mistakes that she wis laughing at. There hid been a few dodgy looking words that he wis sure wur wrang. Her understanding ae where he wis coming fae wis extremely important tae him. Of course, whit he’d written wid never be published, despite whit she believed. That hid never been his intention. It hid been written fur her eyes only. He’d been careful tae make sure that certain people who mattered wid still hiv their identities protected. He wanted it tae shine a light intae that darkness ae his where she’d never walked. He knew she’d be annoyed, angry and upset at some ae the things he’d written, bit it wis time fur her tae know the truth…efter aw, wis t
hat no whit she’d always demanded…the truth aboot him and whit he’d been up tae o’er the years? It hid been a long and painful journey since that day, back in the classroom oan her tenth birthday. That hid been the day that he’d known fur certain that he wis gonnae be wae her fur the rest ae his life. Quite a statement ae intent at the time, fur a manky-arsed wee Toonheid toe-rag. There hid been times o’er the years when he’d allowed the doubts tae creep in, especially when he’d been doon in Dumfries, when options and opportunities tae pursue his dream hid seemed like a million miles away. It hid been Skull and Silent that hid kept him gaun, no Tony, Snappy or Pat. Their presence hid kept the fire flickering when it looked as if the pilot light hid gone oot. Silent hid been a good sounding board and Skull, the whisperer in the back ae that heid ae his, hid kept telling him no tae gie up, tae keep looking forward, especially when everything looked black. Despite their recent ups and doons, he wis confident that they’d break through tae the other side thegither. The crofthoose wis theirs. The irritation that wis the local opposition wis oot ae the game, and the road ahead seemed clear. Father Harry wis right. Love did transcend everything that life hid tae throw at ye. When two became wan, then nothing could stoap ye. Nowan needed tae tell him that he wis lucky. He awready knew that back in St David’s as a manky ten-year-auld. There wis nothing left fur her tae tell him aboot hersel that he didnae know. He knew aw aboot her hopes, fears, disappointments and past lovers. Despite that, she wis still the free wan between them.
“Ye need tae open up if we’re tae survive thegither as a couple. Nothing ye ever say tae me will come between us. Ah want tae share where ye’ve been and where ye’re gaun.”
It wis a pity he’d missed Pearl the day before. He wid’ve liked tae hiv caught up wae her. She wis another wan that hid played an important part in his journey...alang wae the rest ae The Mankys. He couldnae write his part in their love story withoot them being in the mix fae the start. He hid nae regrets that The Mankys’ journey wid continue doon a different road fae the wan that he wis noo oan. Despite whit anywan believed, he’d been planning his journey fur a long time. If his ma hid been alive, she wid’ve no doubt reminded him that her and Ann Jackson, Senga’s ma, hid planned their union long before their tenth birthdays. Of course, he wid’ve dismissed her argument and she wid’ve reminded him that he wis jist too stupid tae know whit hid been staunin there in front ae him aw these years and that it wis nae wonder it hid taken the pair ae them so long tae walk alang the path thegither that led tae the Highlands. There hid been quite a few times recently when he’d regretted telling Miss Laughter, doon the stairs, that the theme ae the book wis a love story. He knew that her concept ae a love story and his wur always gonnae be at odds wae each other.
“Why dae ye hiv tae complicate things that ur actually quite straightforward?” wis wan ae the echoes that rang in his ears, where she’d be staunin there wae her erms folded, foot tapping, while he’d tried tae explain something uncomplicated tae her.
That probably summed them up. If it hid been easy, she wid’ve probably been married tae some doctor and he wid’ve been…whit? He wondered if she’d end up accepting that whit she wis reading doon the stairs actually wis a love story. Okay, it probably couldnae be classed as a love story in the Cinderella sense, where the lassie meets her prince charming, falls in love and the baith ae them skip aff and live happily ever. Oan the positive side, it did hiv a wee bit ae drama thrown in. Hopefully it widnae come as a surprise tae her that his version ae a love story wid start oot fae the word go wae an x-certificate slapped oan it, where by the age ae ten, his life hid awready been shaped by circumstance, and that the chaos roond aboot him wis awready passing itsel aff as normality, where blood, snot and tears flowed freely and anywan wae any responsibility wis busy fighting injustice and leaving chaos in their wake. Shit. That aw sounded quite poetic. He’d need tae try and remember they lines, he telt himsel, as the sound ae laughter filtered up through the flair again. It still felt a bit surreal and hid done fae that first day, when he’d finally sat doon and put pen tae paper, or in his case, fingers tae the keys. He’d still been annoyed that she’d forced his haun. He’d hid plenty ae time tae reflect oan whit he wanted tae write aboot, bit it hid still been a bit ae a revelation, taking they first tentative steps, before spewing the words oot, feeling frustrated that his fingers couldnae keep up wae the flow fae that brain ae his. Deep doon, he knew fine well that he hidnae wanted tae accept a walk oan part in a wee fictional melodrama, efter convincing himsel, and her, that aw he wanted tae dae wis write jist another wee romantic, bad boy meets good girl, bad boy becomes good, and they live happily ever efter story. No wae the amount ae time he’d spent contemplating life, lying in the digger ae some ae the shittiest manky holes that the Scottish prison system could come up wae tae try and upset him. If only they knew. He’d hid plenty ae time tae take stock, tae appreciate the circumstances that he’d found himsel in, and work oot a way ae turning back the pages tae catch up wae where he’d left aff fae back in Olive Oyl’s classroom that day. It hid taken him a wee while tae figure oot the reasons behind the many ‘whit ifs’ and ‘whys’ that wur always gonnae make their journey last mair than jist a few chapters. He thought aboot Skull. The last time he’d spoken tae Mr Magoo hid been jist efter the episode between them in the white room. This time, they’d been in the operating theatre up at The Royal, looking doon oan everywan. Despite everywan wearing masks, they’d recognised Geraldine Baker by the sound ae her voice. Although she’d sounded quite professional, she hidnae been able tae hide the tremor in her voice, when she wis asked tae pass a clamp across tae the surgeon’s bloodied ootstretched haun. That’s when Skull’s wee ramble hid started…in fits and starts. It hid taken a while, aye, months, fur it aw tae come back tae him in dribs and drabs. He’d wasted a bit ae time, before trying tae find oot exactly whit Skull hid said at the séance wae the lassies. He should’ve known that he wisnae gonnae find any answers efter the lassies said that Skull hid been talking through Madam Elektra. Even noo, whit Skull hid been talking aboot in the operating theatre that day wis still a bit hazy. It hidnae been until his conversation wae Flintlock McBean and the story aboot ten-year-auld Sam Majestik MacLeod’s death, that the hazy pieces ae the jigsaw hid started tae fall intae place. Back in the theatre, the burning in his chest hid been slowly getting hotter and sorer. Skull hid always needed watching. If any ae The Mankys hid challenged him too much when they wur snappers, he’d gone straight oan the defensive.
“Whit happened tae me the last time we spoke? Wan minute Ah wis staunin there talking tae ye and then the next, Ah wis gone, so Ah wis,” he remembered saying tae him, the burning in his chest getting hotter by the second, the echo in they ears ae his sounding as if they wur in an empty toilet block.
“Ach, they brought ye back. It’s happens.”
“Who did? Why?”
“Who knows? Maybe somewan’s goat a plan,” he’d suggested, a twinkle in they beady eyes ae his, sounding shifty.
“Plan? Whit plan?”
“Agnes?”
“Whit aboot her?”
“She’d be so mad at ye, leaving her behind, efter everything that’s happened,” he’d shrugged, changing tack, gaun tae the other extreme by sounding far too innocent this time.
“Skull, whit the hell ur ye up tae?” he vaguely remembered challenging him suspiciously, as the baith ae them stood there looking doon at the gowned people in masks working oan the redheaded heid ae the body lying oan the table, surrounded by blinking monitors and gas bottles. “Ah’m feeling really sore, and a wee bit sick, so Ah am,” he remembered gasping aw ae a sudden, clutching his burning chest.
Silence.
“There’s a pal ae yours…ae us. He could be daeing wae a wee haun, so he could.”
“Who?”
Silence.
“Plus, it wid gie me a wee excuse tae help oot somewan else…that needs tae get hame, so it wid,” the sly wee confusing basturt, looking aboot, hid whispered
conspiringly, lowering his voice. “So, it’s goat me thinking, so it his.”
Silence.
He couldnae be sure ae the exact words that Skull hid come oot wae next.
“There’s a big majestic looking thing. People don’t like it…him. They’re feart ae him. Like me, he upset a right few people a while ago,” the wee escape merchant hid come oot wae, chuckling.
At least, that’s whit he thought he’d said. He couldnae remember anything else efter that. The next thing he knew, Tony and Simon hid been staunin doon at the bottom ae his bed, speaking tae him in the post-op recovery ward. He’d wanted tae tell her the story aboot Skull’s appearance in the operating theatre, especially efter he’d suddenly popped up at the séance fur Rose Bain. Even then, he hidnae been sure if the dream hid been exactly that and that he’d jist made it up in his heid. It hid been efter reading a wee leaflet that Flintlock hid jist been aboot tae burn, that the realisation aboot whit Skull wis up tae hid suddenly oan him. He’d recognised Paul in the wee photo straight away. He’d been trying tae recruit local volunteers tae help him oot. In the interview, he’d been oan aboot crofters’ rights up in Sutherland and how everywan should be sticking thegither. Things hid started tae make sense, which hid been a relief. He knew that he wis where he wis supposed tae be. The only problem hid been wae Paul himsel. He’d awready been well warned tae keep The Mankys away fae Little Vestey’s Croft. He wisnae sure if she’d still class somewan like Paul McBride as a Manky, despite him hivving moved oan tae another life back in 1969. Paul and Skull hid goat oan great thegither. They’d sat and spoken aboot Skull o’er their pint in the beer tent. It hid been obvious that Paul wis still traumatised and upset by whit hid happened tae Skull. He’d wanted tae tell Paul aboot his recent run-in wae Mr Magoo, bit hid decided tae leave that fur the time being. Paul and his other hauf, Morven, hid two kids noo. A wee boy and a lassie. He’d named the boy Sam, in memory ae Skull. He wondered if Skull knew that? Paul hid said that it wid be good fur them aw tae catch up. He looked across at the door. It wis time tae make a move. She wis back tae pissing hersel laughing at his expense.
