Chasing Angels

by Meg Henderson

  Nigel Dewar didn’t know how to reply, he was the kind of man who did his dirty work through other people and rarely took the blame for anything. ‘I think you’re unsuited for this job, Miss Kelly,’ he replied, choosing his words with care, ‘and it was always going to be difficult to assimilate a Catholic into this business. Not that I’m biased, you understand, but as I said to Mr Liddell at the time, there’s never been a Catholic employed here before and some people could make it unworkable. Not that I approve, of course, but that’s the reality.’

  ‘I hate to rob you of one of your perfectly reasonable objections, Mr Dewar, but I’m not a Catholic.’

  He quickly turned his attention to his other objections. ‘And you have a kind of inappropriate over-confidence.’

  ‘You mean I don’t bow and scrape to you? I say what I think instead of trying to work out what you think and say? I’m not like daft old Ida there, I don’t wait for you to drip-feed me your golden thoughts?’

  ‘You see, that’s what I mean,’ he said, smiling tightly. He tried to ease past her to sit on Mr Liddell’s chair to give him some authority, but Kathy didn’t move and he was forced to say ‘Excuse me.’ She took a step back and sat on the chair herself, leaving him no option but to sit on the other, less well-upholstered chair meant for whoever Mr Liddell was talking to.

  ‘Again,’ he said, ‘you demonstrate the problem. You have absolutely no respect.’

  ‘Respect isn’t the same as fawning,’ she said, returning his smile. ‘And considering that I think you’re an arse, I think I do pretty well covering up and treating you civilly.’ He opened his mouth to speak again and Kathy raised her hand once more. ‘The difference is, Mr Dewar, that I’m saying this to your face, I haven’t sneaked around and put Mr Liddell in the embarrassing position of saying it for me. But that’s part of the plan, isn’t it? He’s only got a short time to go before he retires from here, and as for your good friend Ida – does your wife know you’re having an affair with someone from work, by the way?’ His eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open. ‘Obviously not,’ Kathy said. ‘Maybe somebody should tell her, poor woman. Does she know you’re, if you’ll pardon the expression, into older women? No doubt she’s sitting at home raising your weans while you’re knocking off old Ida in the basement at every opportunity. I’d be prepared to swear on a pile of Bibles that it’s common knowledge, by the way. As I was saying, this little empire will be all yours when Mr Liddell goes, won’t it? How wonderful if he should just go now and leave you to it, instead of hanging around, eh? But I’ll tell you something, he’s more of a man, more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be. You might sit in his seat one day, but I’ll tell you this, you’ll never fill his shoes.’

  With that she left Mr Liddell’s cupboard, headed back to the pharmacy and started working as though nothing had happened. Nigel Dewar had been left in an unusual position, he had been faced with the consequences of his own dirty work and would need time to work out what to do next. Once he had collected his thoughts he would, she knew, find a more effective way of getting rid of her than the pathetic nonsense about offending other people’s religious beliefs, but she would beat him to it by leaving. Her instinct was to walk out in a blaze of glory, but she decided instead to see out her shift, as a courtesy to Mr Liddell, who had stood against Nigel Dewar to give an overconfident Fenian shite a chance. The opportunity arose just before nine o’clock that evening. An agitated girl, younger than Kathy, had come in asking for something for a burn and, as was the custom, the counter assistant asked the duty pharmacist to advise her. Listening to the conversation, Kathy heard with mounting horror that the girl was a new first-time mother who had accidentally placed her two-month-old baby in a bath of water that had been too hot. The child had screamed before she had fully lowered him into the water, but both buttocks and part of his back were scalded. In a panic she had replaced him in his cot, and leaving him alone in her home in nearby Carmichael Street, ran to her local friendly chemist to seek help. Mr Dewar listened, bristling with pomposity, and then recommended several brands of ointment she could purchase.

  ‘Mr Dewar,’ Kathy called, ‘can I speak with you for a moment?’

  He came back into the pharmacy looking annoyed. ‘I’m with a customer, Miss Kelly.’

  ‘Look, you,’ she said, ‘why aren’t you telling that woman to dial 999 and get her baby to hospital right away?’

  ‘You’ve got to give them advice and sell them something,’ he replied, ‘or else they lose confidence in you, and if they lose confidence you lose future sales.’

  ‘She could lose her wean!’ Kathy said. She had never thought much of him, but now she thought considerably less. She went out into the shop. ‘I’m a doctor, dear,’ she calmly lied to the girl. ‘I’m overseeing the training of Mr Dewar here.’ He tried to interrupt but she rushed on. ‘Now he’s given you the wrong advice I’m afraid. It’s not really his fault, he’s recovering from a nervous breakdown and he’s not long out of a mental hospital, that’s why I’m here, to supervise him as he gets back on his feet. I don’t want to frighten you, but burns are very serious and small children can die from them.’

  The girl’s shocked eyes went from Kathy to Nigel Dewar, who was looking flustered in the background. ‘You just wanted me tae buy somethin’, didn’t ye?’ she demanded.

  ‘Your baby needs to be taken to hospital as soon as possible,’ Kathy continued. ‘If you give me your address I’ll call 999 and get an ambulance to take him to the Sick Kids.’ The woman quickly reeled off her address which Kathy repeated on the phone. ‘Now you dash off home to your baby and the ambulance will be there almost before you are.’

  The woman immediately burst into tears and thanked her, then turning to Nigel Dewar she spat at him, ‘An’ you, buster, you should’ve stayed in the funny farm. Ma man an’ ma da’ll be doon lookin’ for you the morra. If Ah was you, Ah wouldnae be here!’

  Kathy collected her coat and bag from the pharmacy and as she walked out for the last time she smiled sweetly at Nigel Dewar and his good friend Ida standing behind him.

  ‘Just do me one final favour,’ she said. ‘Don’t listen to her – be here when her man and her da come looking for you, contemptible wee swine that you are!’

  In different circumstances she would’ve been bereft at having to leave her job, but she at least would’ve known why it had happened. She did, as the besotted Ida and her hero had said, have an air of confidence about her; she had never felt unequal to anyone and, whatever the circumstances, she always seemed self-assured, though she rarely felt it. Her mother, Lily, had been a gentle soul, her father, Con, a useless one, and her brother Peter had long ago abandoned everyone to save himself. Kathy had always had to be the strong one. Even when she felt neither sure nor strong she had to pretend to be able to fend for herself; it was how she had got by all her life and that protective veneer had become part of her. But youngsters were supposed to be unsure, everyone knew that, they were expected to be overawed by older people, especially those in authority, and if the people in authority were unsure of themselves they preferred youngsters to be even more so. It was why the old harridan at Hodge’s Printworks had picked on her, because she was young, female and new, and harassing that combination of individual had made Miss Smith feel superior and more secure in her position of very little power. Only Kathy didn’t react as Miss Smith expected, as all the others before her had reacted, and the only thing the woman could think of doing was to pile on more of the same until Kathy called it a day in her own inimitable style. That same quality, or failing, depending on your point of view, had irritated Nigel and his follower Ida, because they too were very little people with very little power, and they resented anyone who didn’t help them enhance it by cowering. Even at the age of twenty Kathy knew, or at least sensed, that this was how she annoyed insignificant people, but there was nothing she could do about it; she was who she was. Had her present circumstances been different she would perhaps have fough
t for her job at Wilson’s, but she had to leave anyway, just as before too long she would have to leave Moncur Street too, and at least there had been some unexpected satisfaction in departing in the way she had.

  Often she thought back to those days and tried to work out what had been going on in her mind. Somehow she had closed off any thoughts of the developing child inside her; she would have to leave the life she had and find another, that was her all-consuming obsession, without admitting the reason even to herself. At no time did she give a conscious thought to the child, she dealt with that reality by simply ignoring it, by almost going on to autopilot. Jamie Crawford was now safely married to his Angela and living elsewhere, so there was thankfully little chance of bumping into him on the stairs as they went to and from their homes. The only embarrassment was meeting his mother and feeling sorry for the older woman, because she knew old Mrs Crawford didn’t know what to say to her. She had been fond of Kathy all of her life, and she had no knowledge of what had happened between her and Jamie, but being his mother she naturally sided with him, so when they met face to face Mrs Crawford became flustered. Kathy wanted to put her arms round her and tell her it was OK, but she feared that might open up dialogue between them and that was the last thing she needed or wanted. But even though she was in a predicament and had no idea how she would get out of it, she still knew that getting rid of Jamie and his H. Samuel ring was a great relief. If only she had managed to extricate herself before – well, just before.

  She couldn’t wait much longer, though. Four months had passed and she would have to go soon. But go where? Just go, that’s all; that would do for the time being. It was as if she had a mental check list of loose ends to be tied up, with the most important and pressing items way down at the very end, along with the reason, the child. She had finished with her job. Tick. She had a tidy sum in the bank, with her bankbook safely hidden away under the lino in her bedroom, beneath the tan case containing the red satin workbox she had bought for her mother’s birthday, the birthday Lily had never reached. The bankbook had to be safely hidden lest Con get his hands on it, because he would’ve found a way of releasing the cash. Tick. He had sold and pawned everything in his time to get booze money, even Lily’s wedding ring had been hawked so many times during her brief life that she probably lost track of when it was on her finger and when it wasn’t. And Kathy knew there had been money around after Lily’s death, donations from a shocked public that was shared between the families of the dead, and compensation too, but she had left her knowledge of it vague because she wasn’t interested in it. However kind the intentions, it was blood money and it wouldn’t bring Lily back, the only thing she wanted. So Con was just as well pissing it against various walls as far as she had been concerned. The next task on the list was to tell Aggie she was going away.

  She sat in a chair at one side of Aggie’s hearth and as she looked around the familiar sitting room it struck her that it could be the last time she would ever see it. She didn’t know whether to dance or sing. The old beast was sitting in her usual chair, glowering at her granddaughter, waiting for the onslaught.

  ‘Yer ship’s come in, Aggie,’ Kathy said brightly. ‘Ah’m goin’ away.’

  ‘Away?’ Aggie asked, as though Kathy was speaking a foreign language. ‘Whit dae ye mean “away”?’

  ‘Gone, vamoosed, left, shot the craw,’ Kathy smiled. ‘That “away”.’

  ‘Away frae Moncur Street?’

  ‘Christ, ye’re fast!’

  ‘This you gettin’ yer ain place, like?’

  ‘Aye, Ah suppose so. Ah don’t know where it is yet, Ah’ve just decided to get away frae here. An’ before ye ask, aye. Ah’m brokenhearted ower Jamie Crawford an’ Ah’m runnin’ away tae sea. Ah’m happy for ye tae spread that aroon’, a’right?’

  Aggie glared at her. ‘Ye’d havtae find a heart first for that,’ she said with sour glee. ‘If ye’d had a heart ye wouldnae’ve lost him in the first place. A’ they years ye put in wi’ him an’ ye let somebody else have the benefit! Ye’ll rue the day, lady, mark ma words, ye’ll rue the day!’

  ‘Ah canny help markin’ them, Aggie, ye’ve said them often enough.’

  ‘Ye’re a hard wee bitch!’ Aggie spat with feeling.

  ‘An’ ye’ve said that afore tae,’ Kathy replied amiably. ‘Ye should hoist yer arse oota that chair an’ get oot wance every ten years, Aggie, it might gie ye merr tae talk aboot. It’s like listenin’ tae a gramophone that only plays wan record, haudin’ a conversation wi’ you. Aye the same borin’ tune.’

  ‘So where are ye gaun’, then?’ Aggie sniffed.

  ‘Dunno. Thought Ah’d travel the world for a while.’

  ‘Away tae hell! Who d’ye think ye are?’ Aggie chuckled.

  ‘How aboot ma brother’s sister?’ Kathy replied slyly.

  ‘Oor Peter’s different,’ Aggie said with pride. ‘Oor Peter was made for better things.’

  ‘An’ Ah’m no’?’

  ‘Coorse ye’re no’!’ Aggie laughed. ‘Ye only think ye are! He was the real thing, you’re only copyin’ him. Ye’ve aye thought ye were somethin’, an’ Ah’ve tellt ye afore this –’

  ‘Aye, aye, Ah know,’ Kathy replied. ‘Ah’m nothin’.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Aggie stated with utter conviction. ‘Besides, ye’re flyin’ a kite, Ah know that fine. You’ll no’ go away, ye’re tryin’ tae wind me up. Think Ah don’t see that?’

  ‘Dear Sweet Jesus, Aggie!’ Kathy said with mock surprise, knowing how much Aggie hated her to use the expression. ‘So there’s a key somewhere that winds ye up? Ah never knew that! So does some bugger come in here every mornin’ and get ye workin’, then? The dirty swine! Tell me who it is an’ Ah’ll slap his ear!’

  ‘Oh, aye, very clever. An’ Ah’ve tellt ye afore, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in ma hoose!’ She blessed herself.

  Kathy grinned. ‘Well, anyway, Aggie, whether ye believe it or no’, Ah’m off.’

  Aggie studied her for a moment. ‘Jesus Christ! –’

  ‘Aggie!’ Kathy reprimanded her. ‘Is that you takin’ the Lord’s name in vain? Noo, Ah’ll no’ have that!’

  ‘Ye’re serious, aren’t ye?’ Aggie demanded. ‘Ye’re just gonny bugger aff an’ leave yer poor faither behind like some auld used rag!’

  ‘Aye, Ah’m serious! An’ ma Da isnae some auld used rag, he’s a permanently wet wan, as well you know. Ah’ve no’ seen him conscious for years noo, he won’t even know Ah’m no’ there.’

  ‘Selfish!’ Aggie roared, rising from her chair.

  ‘Oh, Christ, here we go,’ Kathy moaned. ‘Get the holy watter oot, she’s gonny curse me again.’

  ‘Selfish an’ rotten tae the core, just like yer mother!’

  ‘Whit?’ Kathy asked in amazement.

  ‘She was just the same! She left poor Con tae!’

  Kathy laughed. ‘Aggie, listen tae me, hen,’ she said kindly, ‘an’ try tae concentrate whit brain cells ye have oan this, it’s kinda important. Ma Mammy died. Dae ye know whit that means? Is nae merr, doesnae exist, deid for God’s sake! She’s lyin’ up in Springburn. Mind when we put that box doon the big hole an’ covered it wi’ dirt? Well, she was inside the box, hen. Did ye no realise that? Have you been waitin’ a’ this time for her to come an’ dae yer washin’ an’ go for yer messages? Did naebody explain it tae ye?’

  ‘Shut yer mooth, you!’ Aggie yelled back, all control gone. ‘Ah never wanted her in the first place!’

  ‘Ah know that, Aggie,’ Kathy said. ‘Ah always knew it. But Ah never knew why. Why did ye no’ like ma Mammy? She was yer ain wean, an’ she couldnae dae enough for ye!’

  ‘She was like him!’ Aggie said darkly.

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Her faither, that bastard, the Orangeman! He got me pregnant an’ Ah hadtae marry him!’

  ‘Wait a minute, Aggie,’ Kathy chuckled. ‘Ah think there’s a wee discrepancy here. When Auld Con knocked ma mother up, it was her fault, accordi
n’ tae you, but when ma Granda knocked you up, it was his fault. Somethin’ no’ strike ye as odd there, Aggie?’

  Aggie swayed on her feet with rage, frantically blessing herself over and over again, like a tic-tac bookie gone mad.

  ‘An’ he married ye tae, didn’t he?’ Kathy reminded her. ‘Ye were never any oil paintin’, but he didnae hop it an’ leave ye wi’ his wean.’

  ‘They like daein’ that,’ Aggie replied, her eyes blazing. ‘It’s a’ parta their plan tae get rid o’ the Catholic religion! They get respectable Catholic lassies pregnant an’ marry them so that their weans willnae be Catholics!’

  ‘Yer arse, Aggie!’

  ‘Wis him called yer mother Lily!’ Aggie responded with passion. ‘Orange Lily! An’ she looked like him tae, right frae the start.’ She looked at her granddaughter laughing at her. ‘An’ so dae you!’ She pointed an accusing finger at Kathy. ‘Peter looks like his faither, but you an’ yer mother were aye the double o’ the Orangeman. Ah’ll never forgive ye for that!’

  Kathy had always accepted Aggie’s daftness, but she was exceeding all boundaries. ‘An’ whit aboot yer precious Jessie then? She was his as well. Why was she aye the favourite?’

  ‘Because she wasnae his!’ Aggie shouted. ‘She was special!’

  ‘Special?’ Kathy asked, delighted with this turn of events. ‘Was she conceived by Jesus Christ himself then?’

  ‘Naw, but nearly!’ Aggie replied, her face suffused with ecstasy as she blundered on. ‘Her faither was a priest!’

  Kathy nearly fell off her chair with surprise. ‘Ach, ye’re makin’ it up, Aggie,’ she laughed. ‘It’s a’ wishful thinkin’, ya daft auld bugger! Next ye’ll be tellin’ me wee McCabe’s her faither!’

  There was a sudden and total silence, as Aggie realised how far she had gone and knew that all roads of retreat were blocked.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Kathy asked quietly, her eyes fixed on Aggie’s face. Aggie nodded and sat down again, almost disappearing into her chair. ‘You an’ wee Frank McCabe, Parish Priest o’ St Alphonsus, a’-roon’ saint and saviour o’ the wan true faith? That Frank McCabe, Aggie?’