The House: Dark Urban Scottish Crime Story (Parliament House Books Book 5)

by John Mayer

  ‘Ah yes. You may not know this Mr McLane, but from the side window of my Chambers, I can see the back of 142. I saw the caterers leaving after a couple of hours and took that as a good sign. It seems I was right. Am I not?’

  ‘Indeed so my lord, a very good sign. Now my lord, I’m sure my learned friend Miss Rodgers will not contradict me when I say that I now have every confidence that Glasgow City Council and the Government in London will get their motorway extension - though a two lane version and not a three - without demolishing the entire area of Glasgow known as the Calton. Indeed I have their assurance that more than half of the Calton will not, I repeat not, be demolished and - in accordance with the fundamental legal title deed - the name of the district will remain in perpetuity.

  My lord, I may say I’m indebted to the new Leader of Glasgow City Council for her most gracious approach to this matter and for the assistance which she and her very able staff have provided to me over the past six weeks. I’m also indebted to my learned friend Miss Rodgers for her able counsel and for drafting this agreement; which by the wonders of modern technology will be in your lordship’s clerk’s hands on Monday morning. What I propose today, is to outline the Heads of Agreement for your lordship and to Move the Court to interpone authority for both the Petitioners and the Respondents to proceed thereunder. I see that your lordship is sitting alone and presume that the authority interponed today will therefore be in the highest form; that is to say Ius Praesandum Dominorum, which of course binds all judges hereafter.

  My lord, that brings me to the Heads of Agreement which are as follows:

  ~~~o~~

  Chapter 59

  When buying their bread, milk and bottles of home-made hooch from wee Malky McMillan’s corner shop. When passing each other, on either side of Green Street. When staggering up the well-worn stone stairs to their tenement houses with a good drink inside them after a grand night in the Calton Bar. And especially when hearing the thud of their old pine doors closing behind them. The last few months had felt like a new beginning. And things, they were promised, could only get better.

  The cloudless bright blue sky above and the crisp morning air seemed to cradle the Calton like the return of a long lost mother. The notices from the Chief Medical Officer about drinking only bottled water and scrubbing children regularly had been taken down, the civil engineering marks on the pavements and walls had been scrubbed off and the compensation packages for those who wanted to move to nearby Bridgeton had been agreed by McLane.

  This morning as the dawn was breaking, the convoy of drivers in their trucks and vans had been welcomed with a wave by those on their way to work or who just wanted to see it all take shape. The news which had come the week before; the Bishop’s approval of Young Father Flaherty’s move and that Father Sean Mularkey would be his replacement had sent every heart soaring and wagged every tongue for days.

  On site, Tucker was busy with the lighting and Computer Generated Imagery crew, but after spending the last three weeks with them, he was well up to speed. Arab’s security guys were really only there to assist the caterers and help the elderly in and out.

  Stepping out of a taxi and holding the door open for Joanne and Ababuo, McLane took his wife’s hand. As they walked up the newly laid cobbled approach - named Hoey Street Way - the erection gang gaffer held out his left arm and called into a megaphone for everyone to hold their places. Giving the crane driver the signal, the gaffer kept a close eye on the hook as the crane simultaneously lifted up four sides of a steel-structured marquee. At his call to fix the corner bolts into place, Ababuo thought the crew of men who scaled this thing looked like monkeys scattering in the high tree tops. With their hands gripped tight, McLane and Joanne watched as the crane lifted the sign over the frontage. When the men pulled on the ropes and unfurled this massive canvas banner, Joanne turned to her husband, kissed him on the cheek and whispered into this ear:

  ‘My wonderful Brogan. You did that. Your mother and Bella would be so proud of you.’

  Blinking back tears, McLane filled with pride as he read:

  Glasgow City Council welcomes the Calton Residents' Association

  Out in the streets from tenement block to block they were packed twenty across and thousands deep. The official photographer would later be quoted as saying that he was only sorry his camera couldn’t capture the incredible feeling of community rising like warm air on a summer’s day from the bodies filling the streets. The marquee could only hold a thousand, but all would see every thing and hear every word on the big screens erected on its four sides.

  Only half an hour over schedule, wearing her heavy golden sash of office bearing the tree and the bird and the fish and the bell, a beaming Jennifer McDonald stood, looked out over the crowd and adjusted the microphone. Before she could say a word, to her immediate right, McLane stood and began to applaud. The rest of those on the Top Table followed causing the whole crowd, inside and out, to follow suit. Thunderous and heartfelt, the applause went on for well over a minute before she managed to have the crowd inside sit down and those outside stop cheering. Wiping the tears from her eyes, the Leader of Glasgow City Council patted her heart:

  ‘Oh my God! Oops sorry, Father. You know, standing here on the site of the Old Meat Market, I want to tell you something. After coming out of Court One in Parliament House, I said to Brogan - sorry, that’s Baron McLane of Calton QC to give him his proper title - I said …’

  Before she could get out another word, the crowd inside and out burst into ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Calton Man, For He’s A Jolly Good Calton Man, For He’s A Jolly Good Calton Maaaan, And so say all of us! And so say all of us! And so say all of us! For He’s A Jolly Good Calton Maaaan, And so … say … all … of … us! Hoorraaaaayyyy!’

  Looking at McLane, Madam Leader beamed: ‘Well I certainly agree with that. Now where was I? Oh yes, I said to him that our agreement was the beginning of a new era; not only in the Calton but throughout Glasgow as a whole. However, I can tell you now, those were only words. What I feel in my heart after your amazing reception today is the real beginning of that new era. Sorry, after the horrible … things that happened here … Sorry, I’m goin’ to have to cry a wee bit.’

  As Madam Leader wiped her tears, the ripple of applause was polite and respectful; but came from only those who weren’t drying their own tears:

  ‘OK. Here goes. I’d firstly like to formally welcome you all … I was about to say and introduce those to my left and right, but of course these people require no introduction to you. But for the historical record being kept of this event, I will just welcome firstly to my right, the Calton’s very own Brogan McLane QC: to his right the Chairman of the Calton Residents' Association whom you all know as Auld Faither: and to his right, the new Secretary of the Calton Residents' Association, Jessica Gilligan.’

  As one, the room rose to its feet. The wooden floor visibly shook the Top Table on its podium as the thunder of their feet stamped and a thousand voices cheered:

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much. To my left is a man whom many of you perhaps won’t know by sight, but believe it or not, without this man and one of his ancestors - who went by the grand title of the Fourth Earl of Mayfield - there might be no Calton left standing today. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Lord Mayfield.’

  Polite applause rippled around the room while outside heads turned to each other questioning who this guy might be:

  ‘Next to his lordship is Father Sean Mularkey who I’m sure will gladden your hearts and soften the blows in his days, weeks, months and many years to come here in the Calton.’ Through applause, she continued: ‘I’m especially glad to welcome onto this podium a woman I’ve recently come to admire and I’m delighted to see her hand in hand with one of her two sons. Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs Jean Mularkey!’

  McLane was first up, but only milliseconds before Big Joe, Fr Sean and everyone else in the marquee. Looking incredulous at her wee part in this whole saga, Jean clutched
her beloved first-born son and waved out at the sea of faces cheering and calling her name. While they clapped, whistled and sang, unsure what, if anything, she should say, it was what was in her heart that sent Jean’s eyes upwards. Following his mother, Fr Sean too looked up towards Heaven above. On the screens, Tucker had moved in tight for a close up of Jean where it was clear to all that she was mouthing ‘Hello Agnes. Hello Bella. Will ye’ look at what our boys have done?’

  Unable to stop herself, Madam Leader left her place in the centre, tottered in her high heels for a few yards and hugged Jean Mularkey. The applause was loud, meaningful and respectful:

  ‘Right! Now that you know who’s up here, I have a special introduction to make. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me enormous pleasure to ask you to look up at the screens in the corners. What you see will also be shown outside. Mr Queen, please.’

  Face after smiling face appeared along with their name: some as young as thirty, others far, far older. Each man and woman took a few seconds to wave at those who could be present. They were followed by a few of the dear departed recorded in photos and video. After the last photo had been shown, Tucker featured all twenty one of them in a collage:

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in warmly welcoming those we’ve managed to track down who can’t be here today: Every one of them born in St Clement’s House to a Calton girl and deprived of their life here in the Calton.’

  As the mighty applause ebbed away, a spotlight picked out a white-haired woman who stood in silence. Then another picked out an old man who was helped to his feet by his daughter. Then another woman stood, followed by many more men and women until forty eight were standing. Hushed and wondering, no-one knew these people who seemed to be getting pride of place. Then Madam Leader said reverently:

  ‘These people were also born in St Clement’s House - please hold your applause - but their mothers were not from the Calton. Ladies and gentlemen, they have not come here to be applauded. Rather they have come to applaud you.’

  Their bony hands and slack muscles made little sound but the feeling as Father Sean rose to bless them all, felt like the Holy Father Himself had come among them. When this group of strangers slowly took their seats, each one was greeted with a handshake or a kiss from another stranger; but a stranger from the Calton:

  ‘Thank you. Thank you all. Now. We’d better get on or we’ll never get to the buffet. Mr Queen, lights if you please.’

  Across the roof of the marquee, black drapes unrolled dimming the room down to a level where everyone could see the presentation sort of emerging in front of the Top Table.

  ‘I’m going to ask Brogan McLane to explain all this to you. So over to you Brogan.’

  Right at the back of the room at the wide blinking lighting desk, Tucker’s fingers hovered over the keys which would send the well-practised commands to make this CGI performance something the people of the Calton would remember for a very long time. Clipping on a lapel mic, McLane lifted the laser pointer and looked out at the crowd:

  ‘Thank you, Jennifer. OK Tuck, let’s see it.’

  The collective drawing of a thousand breaths sent a shock wave out into the streets. Women crossed themselves while their men furrowed brows and looked this way and that. Is it real? Is it really there? What is it? Standing some ten feet high and nearly as wide as the marquee itself, the hologram of what looked like a granite wall hovered in space in front of the crowd.

  From the side, McLane continued: ‘This, I’m pleased to say, is a hologram of something that’s taken a phenomenal amount of legal strategising and practical planning to achieve and I don’t mind telling you, I’m more than a bit relieved to see it working here today. Pull back please, Tucker.’

  As Tucker pulled back, it became clear that this was some kind of 3D representation. The blocks of stone on either side of two high iron gates looked very like the blocks from which their tenement houses were built. Above the gates, chiselled in stone was the legend:

  New Calton House

  The Agnes McLane Atrium

  Under a glass dome, the eye was led into a wide space where Agnes McLane’s old piano sat newly polished and tuned, ready to bring music to the ears of residents. To either side, high doors led left and right; each one bearing the name of its wing: the Theresa Gilligan Wing to the left and the Bella McLane Wing to the right.

  Leading through to a cobbled square courtyard about eighty yards wide, in the centre at the far end, a monument stood bearing the chiselled names of all who had died in the recent epidemic. Below on a plinth of its own, another legend said: These are the Fields of May. Below, the ashes of those named lie in hallowed ground. Above, the eyes of the Dear Departed watch over us.

  All around this courtyard were two-storey terraced houses; all with green doors and window frames and all larger than the tiny houses in the streets surrounding New Calton House. Pointing with his laser, McLane explained:

  ‘Lord Mayfield has kindly donated the stones which will form the frontage of New Calton House; a very generous donation indeed. So this new structure will fit right into the Calton. Glasgow City Council has agreed to build what lies behind those fronts. I’m very pleased to say that as many roof timbers and slates as can be salvaged from the part of the Calton which will soon form the new motorway extension will be used to build the roofs of New Calton House. Each house will be let according to the needs of Calton residents, such as those with three generations to accommodate. That process will be overseen by Jessica and her team, all of whom will be from long standing Calton families. Auld Faither will be Honorary Chairman ex officio - sorry, that means whoever is Auld Faither from time to time, will also be Honorary Chairman of the Calton Residents' Association. Friends and neighbours, it’s very important to know that forever more, you, the people of the Calton, after generations of paying rent, will own New Calton House. So I think it’s time to show our special appreciation to two people who made that possible.’

  Calling out as though hitting the four corners of Court One in Parliament House, McLane threw out his arms and cried:

  ‘The newly elected Madam Leader of Glasgow City Council and Lord Mayfield!’

  Whoops and skirls, yells and screams filled the air while a smiling Fr Sean stood and blessed the whole cheering assembly.

  As though from thin air, a team of girls in black uniforms and snow white caps and aprons had begun distributing trays filled with champagne for the women, whisky for the men and orange juice for the kids. Lifting one for himself, Baron McLane of Calton raised his glass to the crowd who needed no instruction. Raising their glasses, as one, every man, woman and child called out:

  ‘New Calton House’.

  The New Beginning.