She gave herself a mental shake, lifted the phone and dialled the taxi number. The roads were surprisingly quiet and she reached George Square more quickly than usual. It was with gathering unease that she stood with her ear close to the intercom, listening for Douglas or Minna’s voice inviting her to come up to their flat. But it was the nanny’s voice that crackled in her ear. The door opened and Abi went into the hall and took the lift up to the Benson’s penthouse. She was relieved to find that Douglas and Minna had gone to a friend’s house for dinner and the nanny was alone with the children.
‘Just you leave them to me for a wee while,’ Abi told the young woman. ‘Go and watch the telly or something. Enjoy a rest.’
The nanny was only too happy to comply and wasted no time in disappearing away into her room.
The children were ready for bed but they danced around Abi in excitement.
‘Sing us a song, Granny.’
‘Tell us a story, Granny.’
‘Give us a poem, Granny.’
After giving them a hug and a kiss, she settled herself in a chair and the children sat on the floor at her feet. She started off with one of their favourites.
Oh, it ain’t gonna rain no more, no more,
It ain’t gonna rain no more.
I’m on the bureau, the parish too,
And it ain’t gonna rain no more.
After the children’s giggles had subsided, she told them some stories of the mischief she had got up to when she was young, and how, at holiday time, she’d sailed ‘doon the watter’ with her mum and dad on a paddle steamer, and she sang, ‘Sailing down the Clyde, sailing down the Clyde …’. She acted the paddles splashing round and had the youngsters copying her every move. After nearly an hour of talking and singing, she could see that they were ready to drop off to sleep, especially the twins. So she trooped them off to bed and tucked them in and kissed them goodnight. They were asleep before she reached the bedroom door on her way to tell the nanny she was returning home.
The worst of it was that, having had such a noisy, happy time with the children, the house at Huntershill seemed all the more silent and desolate. Not to worry, she told herself, in an effort to cheer herself up. It was off to CSI: Miami to meet her dear, kind Horatio again.
4
‘For goodness’ sake, Jimmy, not you again!’ Miss Eden’s voice strained with impatience. She had been ready to go home.
‘Och, well,’ the old man said, ‘you know me, hen.’
‘Yes, only too well. Give me back those jerseys and get away home.’
‘Ah hinnae got a home, hen. That’s why ah like tae get a decent bed in the polis office.’ His lined face, ingrained with dirt, lit up with pleasant thoughts. ‘The police gie me a great breakfast as well. They’re no’ bad lads.’
‘Yes, but you are.’ With a sigh, she used her mobile to call the police.
Mr McKay said irritably in passing, ‘Don’t let me see you in here again, you mucky old tramp. You’re giving this place a bad name.’
Miss Eden noticed that Mr McKay had become unusually irritable recently. Indeed, he seemed very tense and anxious. She wondered what was wrong with him. She had a naturally curious, indeed suspicious, nature. It went with the job. Something was definitely wrong with Mr McKay. She had had enough to bother her today, however, without thinking about what was bothering Mr McKay. Earlier on, she’d seen a guy coming out of one of the fitting rooms with a shop suit on. She’d followed him downstairs and alerted the security guard. By that time, the man had realised that they were on to him and at the door he suddenly dropped to the floor, gasping and groaning, his head flailing from side to side as he gripped his chest.
‘Ah cannae feel ma left arm. God, ma chest. Ah cannae breathe for the pain.’
A crowd was quickly gathering as Miss Eden pushed her way to the front. She knew in her heart of hearts he was faking it but she needed to follow procedure, just in case.
She couldn’t say, ‘He’s got a stolen suit on and he’s just faking it’, because in fact they couldn’t be absolutely sure that he was faking it. The first-aider was called and she wasn’t sure either. So the police and an ambulance were called and he was taken to the Royal Infirmary. She and the security guard and a policeman went with him in the ambulance and they all had to wait in a waiting area until the man was seen by a doctor. She explained to the nurse in attendance that he was wearing a stolen suit and, apart from anything else, they wanted it back. The nurse returned a couple of minutes later with the suit and said the doctor would be there as soon as possible to examine the patient.
They were standing in the long ‘corporation green’ corridor, discussing the shoplifter, nurses bustling to and fro into the various cubicles where a variety of patients waited, in various states of undress, for attention and medication.
Suddenly, the calm efficiency was destroyed as their charge burst out from behind the curtain, pushed the young policeman – from behind – headlong over a hospital gurney, and made a mad dash for freedom. He burst through the swing doors, his blue hospital gown billowing around him as he disappeared from view.
Miss Eden and the policeman dashed off in hot pursuit. They chased after him but lost him in the myriad of streets outside. Probably he was hiding in bushes somewhere. It was both exhausting and frustrating, and she felt glad when her duties for the day were finished and she was ready to leave. Until she’d seen old Jimmy snatch a pile of jumpers, of course. She waited until a policeman came and escorted a happy Jimmy away to his usual B. & B. at the police station. Then she left to walk up through George Square to Queen Street Station to catch a train to Springburn.
Within minutes, she was alighting at Springburn and crossing the road to her tenement flat. She had been born and brought up there and seen a lot of changes in the area – none of them good, in her opinion. Springburn used to have a heart, but since the motorway had cut through most of it, everything had changed. The atmosphere wasn’t the same. It had none of the warmth and close community and neighbourliness that there had been in her parents’ day and in the childhood that she remembered. To her at least, it had a strange, even a dangerous feel now. In the small covered shopping centre with its empty echoes, women had had their bags snatched by boys in hoodies. Or so she’d heard. Not that anything like that frightened her. She met with law-breakers of all kinds every day and was very confident and capable in dealing with them. Her black belt in karate helped, of course. She still attended a karate club every week.
Her flat had two bedrooms, a kitchen, a ‘front room’ as the sitting room had always been called, and a bathroom. Gone were the days when the lavatory was out on the landing and there was no hot water on tap. At least that had been a welcome change when the flats had been converted and modernised. The kitchen used to have a recessed or ‘hole in the wall’ bed. Now the bed was gone and in the recess was a round dining table and six chairs. Not that she entertained much. The table was rarely used for guests. It was bad policy to become friendly with the staff at work, and the neighbours were all out at their work during the day and she seldom even caught a glimpse of them. She supposed for most people, modern life meant a lonely life. One sign of this was the proliferation nowadays of dating agencies in newspapers and magazines and on television.
The karate club was her only social life, but it was a small club and as far as she knew, everyone was married. She’d had one or two couples from the club to dinner and had been invited back, but only a very few times. A single person always proved awkward at dinner parties or any other kind of social occasion. Sometimes she was tempted to try one of the dating agencies. Not that she was desperate for a man. She liked her job during the day. It was never dull and she enjoyed the weekly visit to the karate club and the television on other nights. It wasn’t a bad life. She supposed, though, that it could be of extra interest to have a bit of companionship, especially as one got older. Someone to talk to about things. Her job, for instance, was so full of variety and interest, s
he often felt it would be nice to share her experiences with someone at the end of the day.
‘You’ll never guess what happened today,’ she’d eagerly confide. And he would listen, fascinated. Then of course he’d tell her about his day. Yes, that would be enjoyable. Maybe she would try a dating agency. Of course, there could be dangers in that. It was the suspicious detective in her surfacing again. There had been cases of women being fooled by strangers they’d met through some of these dating agencies and ending up being robbed, raped or even murdered. She tried not to think in this suspicious way, but realised it was the penalty she had to pay for being such a good detective. She was very good at her job and she knew it, as well as everyone else.
This was the night for her karate club so, after having something to eat, she got ready, then made her way to the club. Once there, she bowed slightly from the waist as she entered the dojo. The sensei was already there, collecting fees. She hurried over and paid her mat fee, as the sensei called the class together.
The various grades shuffled together, organising in rows with senior grades to the right. The sensei called brusquely, ‘Sei Sa’, and the class kneeled in unison. The senior student then called out, ‘ Sensei nee rei’, and as one, the class solemnly bowed heads to the floor in mutual respect. Then they sprang to their feet and immediately started into a vigorous warm-up.
She felt totally confident now. She felt she could tackle anything or anyone.
5
Sam Webster felt pleased and proud as he left the meeting. Mrs Goodman had praised him and his work, and rightly so. His toy department had become famous all over the country for its marvellously innovative toys. Mr McKay had echoed everything Mrs Goodman had said. His secret, of course, was the little old guy down in South Castle-on-Sea, who was a genius of an inventor. Sam had found him quite by accident when he had taken a wrong turning on his way to visit a toy wholesaler in South Castle. He found himself in a dead-end street and his attention was caught by a dingy shop front with a man working on a machine in the shadow beyond the grimy window. Sam decided it must be a workshop, not a retail business. On closer inspection, he felt intrigued by what the man was working on. It looked like some kind of robotic man. He’d felt excited as he watched and eventually he went inside. It turned out that the man made toys as a hobby. He just enjoyed inventing things and he didn’t need to earn a living doing it. Long ago he had inherited money from his father. He wasn’t interested in money. He was a real eccentric and Sam had blessed the day he’d found him. It had taken a bit of persuading and every ounce of charm he could muster to get the man to sign a contract to make toys for Goodmans.
‘Think of all the pleasure you’ll give to children’ was one of his lines. ‘Think how you’ll stimulate children’s curiosity and imagination’ was another. ‘You owe it to them,’ he kept stressing.
So the inventor came up with each original model and then each model went into limited production. Another great thing about the deal was the fact that, because the inventor wasn’t interested in money, costs could be kept to a minimum and profits were sky-high. No wonder Mrs Goodman et al. were so pleased with him.
A lot more than a good business deal resulted from the visit to South Castle-on-Sea. The B. & B. on the seafront that he’d booked into was owned by a very tasty lady, who had taken an immediate shine to him, and had invited him to share her bed, as well as providing an excellent breakfast. Of course, he supposed he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He was six foot four in height, with jet-black hair and dark eyes. His impressive appearance always helped in the business side of the job. It could also get him perks like Viv in the South Castle B. & B. He never went too far, of course. By that, he meant he was not like a sailor with a girl in every port. He succumbed to the occasional lady’s advances, but only very occasionally. He loved his wife and was proud of his two daughters, who had recently started university. It could be lonely, however, being away from home so much, and he was often tempted.
Viv was a sexy lady devoid of any inhibitions. Sometimes he was almost shocked by her. At the same time he enjoyed himself. That situation was becoming a worry, though. He had never made a secret of being married, but now Viv was trying to persuade him to leave his wife and make South Castle his base. He reminded her that he’d been honest from the start and he’d made it clear that not only was he happily married, but he was employed by Goodmans of Glassford Street, an old-established Glasgow firm. At first, Viv said that they were only having a bit of fun. She was lonely, she said, and he was far from home and must be lonely too.
Now she had turned serious. Really serious. He tried to extricate himself from the situation but it only made things worse. Viv was a very determined woman. If she wanted something, she went after it, and there could be no doubt that she wanted him. He definitely could not go back to her B. & B. next time he visited South Castle. Yet it was necessary that he did visit South Castle on a regular basis to see his toy supplier. He began looking around the back streets for another place to stay. Somewhere he could hide away from Viv. It was annoying that he was forced to skulk around and it was difficult to be inconspicuous because he was six foot four. Difficult in any place, in any circumstances. He remembered a previous occasion when he had a lady on his arm and he spotted Miss Porter, a buyer in Ladies’ Underwear, across the road. Fortunately she didn’t see him. Very fortunately, because she knew his wife.
Eventually, he found a place and made a booking in advance for his next visit to South Castle. He usually texted Viv beforehand to tell her on what date and at what time he would be coming, but this time he certainly would not do that. He was especially attentive and loving to his wife, taking her a present from South Castle and telling her truthfully that he was very glad indeed to get back to Glasgow, and to her. She was so appreciative and so loving in return, it made him feel even more guilty. Moira was a good woman, and had always trusted him completely.
‘Never again,’ he vowed to himself. But of course, he’d promised himself that before. It was true what Viv said. There were times when he was lonely so far away from home or in some of the bleak and cheerless B. & B.s he’d stayed in. But it was his job and Goodmans was an excellent firm to work for. Mrs Goodman had also given Betty, his daughter who was a student at Glasgow University, a summer and weekend job in Books and Stationery. His other daughter, Alice, was at Edinburgh University and she worked in an Edinburgh supermarket in her spare time in order to make money for clothes and so on. Alice often said she wished she’d got a place at Glasgow University so that she too could have worked in Goodmans. Goodmans paid their staff exceptionally well.
He didn’t know what would happen if Mrs Goodman retired, though. He supposed his job would be safe enough, but other staff members were worried about what would happen to them. Still, Mrs Goodman looked as if she had quite a few working years in her yet. She had a sense of humour, too.
‘I’m having a senior moment,’ she’d said to him recently. ‘What the hell’s your name again?’
‘Webster, but no need to worry,’ he’d assured her, ‘I’m beginning to get these moments myself.’
Nobody could put anything past Mrs Goodman, though. She was nearly as good as Miss Eden at ferreting out anything wrong in any of the departments. If there was any neglect, laziness, inefficiency or dishonesty, she was on to it right away. (He suspected she wouldn’t think much of adultery either.)
Not only were the wages excellent, but she was very good at giving time off if someone took ill or was pregnant. However, she was no soft mark and if she found out that someone was swinging the lead or cheating her in any way, she could immediately and ruthlessly sack them. But surely no matter what anyone found out about the odd flings he had while he was away from home, his job would be safe, because he had created such profits and such a good reputation for the toy department.
The big worry was that Moira would find out, or even Betty. While Betty worked in Books and Stationery, there was always the chance that if somebody
– anybody – from Goodmans found out what he got up to on his travels, it would reach Betty’s ears. He would feel ashamed and embarrassed if that happened. And of course, even worse, Betty would be sure to tell her mother.
He must make certain that he was completely disentangled from Viv and he must never allow such a relationship to develop again. He had not, thank God, told Viv where he lived. Then he remembered that, of course, she knew he worked for Goodmans and Goodmans was situated in Glassford Street in Glasgow. Surely though, after he had turned her down and then not contacted her again, she would realise that the affair was definitely over. And she would never be so foolish as to contact him at work. He did receive a great deal of mail but it was all on business matters, and usually opened first by his assistant in Toys. He kept assuring himself that Viv would not be so foolish as to write to him. What would be the point? He’d told her it was over and no way, and for no reason, would he ever leave his wife.
Yet still his anxiety grew.
6
Jenny managed to raise her hand as he bent over her. She touched his receding hair.
‘You’re going grey, Norman. That’s with all the worry you’ve had with me. I’m so sorry, dear.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He tried to laugh. ‘What does it matter what colour my hair is? All I care about is you.’ He kissed her gently on the brow. ‘I want you to get better. That’s the important thing.’
She sighed. ‘We both know that’s not possible, dear. You know and I know what the doctor said.’
Oh, he knew what the doctor said, all right. He had sent her home from the hospital to die in her own bed.
‘I’m sorry, Mr McKay,’ he’d said, ‘there’s really nothing more we can do for your wife. She has only another few months, perhaps only a few weeks.’
Goodmans of Glassford Street Page 3
