What a worry it all was for her. If only John would take over, but John was just not a businessman. Never had been. Politics was his thing. He had been clever at school, and then at university, and always, from the very start, he’d dreamed about getting into politics. He’d told her it was one of the happiest days of his life, if not the happiest, when he was elected as an MSP.
She would never, could never, spoil John’s happiness. She would just have to hang on in there as long as she could. And try to find another solution.
8
Miss Eden was never at ease in the Sheriff Court. She spent a lot of time there, if whoever she’d caught pled not guilty. It always made her feel a bit afraid, because whoever was in the dock was seeing her giving her evidence as she was, without any disguises. They didn’t know where she lived but they knew where she worked. The funny thing was, though, she often became the best bosom buddy of the people she’d stopped, and they treated her with respect. The men at least, seldom the women. Women could be nasty, especially the young ones. She’d often caught them with a weapon of some sort ready to use on her. One woman had tried to stab her with a pair of scissors. She’d just stopped another in time, as she was trying to throw pepper in her face.
She’d been in court most of the day and still had to return to Goodmans for another hour or two. She had barely changed into an old coat and headscarf and made her way down to the first floor, when she saw a woman slipping a jumper into a Goodmans bag, which obviously held some other purchases she’d paid for earlier. She signalled to the security guard and they waited until the woman left the shop. Outside in the street, she stopped the woman, told her she had reason to believe she had stolen goods in her possession, and led her back inside and upstairs to the manager’s office. Never before had she seen such an extreme reaction. The woman was absolutely distraught, shaking violently with fear as she pleaded – at one point actually down on her knees – for them not to tell her husband.
Eventually, after she had returned the stolen jumper, Mr McKay let her go. This was unheard of and Miss Eden was not only taken back, but annoyed. What was the use of her working hard and keeping so eagle-eyed every minute of the day, and being so conscientious in every way at her job, if thieves could just walk away like that? If Mrs Goodman had been there, it would have been a different story. Mrs Goodman was a stickler for the rules. Normally, so was Mr McKay. She didn’t know what had come over him recently. He was like a different man. She was beginning to distrust him. Something she had not imagined she could ever feel. Not for Mr McKay. But to let somebody walk free like that! It was encouraging crime. If word got around there would be thieves flocking to Goodmans from all over the place. She felt aggrieved. Her work was difficult enough as it was, without the manager making it worse.
She had barely returned downstairs again, when she saw a woman acting suspiciously. Just my luck, she thought. Another woman, of course. Men would say when they were caught, ‘Fair cop.’ Women tried to run or fight back. However, the woman saw her and recognised her and decided not to try anything. She left the store empty-handed.
No sooner had that happened than she spied a man putting on a camel coat in the menswear department and calmly leaving the department still wearing the coat. She followed him, stopped him outside and escorted him back inside the store. There he said he needed the bathroom. He was desperate, he said.
‘OK, the security guard will take you upstairs to the toilet.’ Then to the security guard, ‘Take him up to the toilet and stay with him.’
But the security guard stood outside the door. As soon as she saw him standing there, she called out, ‘I told you to stay with him!’
‘He can’t get out unless he passes me. We’re three flights up.’
Nevertheless, she pushed her way past the guard and into the toilet. The toilet window was open and the man had gone. She looked out the window to the lane below, and saw him writhing in agony on the ground. There were drainpipes all around the building and grease was always put on the pipes to prevent people getting up them at night. Obviously, when the man had got on to the pipe to climb down, he slid down unexpectedly, and rapidly.
‘By the looks of him,’ she told the security guard, ‘he’s got a broken leg. Phone for an ambulance, as well as the police.’
She waited with the man, trying to make him as comfortable as possible until the ambulance came. Then she followed the usual procedure and went with him to the hospital. She was never nasty, never used unnecessary violence. She always treated the thieves as human beings. She supposed that was why most of them respected her and even became quite friendly. If they saw her in the street, they’d call out, ‘Hello there, hen.’
After returning to her office and filling in the necessary reports, she told Mr McKay that she was going off duty. Then she thankfully went for the train. It was good to get home and put her feet up and have a cup of tea and a read of the evening newspaper. She never ate much at night. She enjoyed a good meal at the staff canteen at lunchtime. It was store policy that she didn’t sit with any of the staff or become too familiar with them. This was a bit difficult at times, but it was a rule that had to be adhered to. Sometimes she had to deal with staff dishonesty. Spot checks on staff handbags had to be made. Sometimes she had to depend on information from staff, but even that had to be on a businesslike level.
It meant, of course, that she often felt a bit isolated and lonely, especially when she had to sit alone at home as well. Thoughts of a dating agency came into her mind again. In the paper tonight there was a page with a list of people seeking friends or partners. This wasn’t an agency, just people like herself needing a bit of company, she supposed. Some of the adverts were from men wanting to meet men. One she noticed said, ‘Gentleman aged sixty. Loyal, sincere. Hobbies – walking, swimming. Would like to meet similar gentleman for friendship, holiday. Can travel.’ And a box number was given.
One from a woman said, ‘Woman graduate seeks gentleman to share interests. Classical music, ballet, theatre.’
What could she say if she put in an advert? She didn’t think it would be a good idea to say that she was a detective. That would put a lot of men off. Unless the man was a policeman, of course. But did she want to go out with a policeman? She didn’t think so. Their jobs would be too similar. It might work, but at the moment at least, she felt she’d had enough to do with crime and criminals. Something or somebody different to take her mind off the job might be a better idea and more successful.
Another problem could be her lack of a degree. She had done well at school and had passed all her Higher exams. Then she’d gone to a special college in England where she’d trained as a detective. Common sense was important, but how to stop thieves, how to do statements, go to court, and so on – you had to learn all that. And you must know the law. She’d started in another, bigger store at first, assisting the detective there. Eventually she’d got a better job and a bigger salary at Goodmans.
None of that would be of much use, she felt, in attracting a man. Maybe not being a graduate wouldn’t matter so much. It was the detective business. Perhaps she could just say she worked in a department store and it would be taken for granted she was a sales assistant. Or, at the advert stage at least, she needn’t mention anything about a job. So what could she say? How could she describe herself?
She wasn’t a woman who liked to boast. She didn’t believe she was anything special – unless at her job. She was special at that. Otherwise she was pretty ordinary. Hobbies? Karate was the only one. That might not make her sound very appealing to a man either. So what on earth could she say? ‘Very ordinary woman seeks nice, respectable man for company.’ Oh dear.
Unless she made something up. She couldn’t do that either. She was, and always had been, an absolutely honest person. That was essential for her work. Everything always came back to her work. Always her work. It was as if there was nothing else in her life – nothing else to her – but her job.
That was what d
epressed her. She liked her work and wouldn’t want to change it for any other. Nevertheless, there surely had to be another side to her life. All work and no play …, as the saying went.
Eventually she wrote, ‘Hard-working but lonely lady in her mid forties seeks respectable gentleman in his fifties or sixties for companionship.’ Or should she put friendship? Could companionship be misunderstood? Before she got so fed up and abandoned the whole idea, she lifted the phone, dialled the newspaper’s number and gave them the advert.
Then she had to go and search out the tranquillisers her late mother used to take. There were some left in the sideboard drawer. After her mother died, she had meant to throw out all the medication that was left but had forgotten. Now she needed one of those tranquillisers. Otherwise she’d never settle, even to watch her favourite TV programme, far less calm herself to sleep at bedtime. It was so unlike her to get so uptight and anxious about anything.
Of course, there might be no replies to the advert. Most men, she imagined, would be looking for a much younger woman. Somebody young and vivacious and glamorous. She was none of those things. Still, she tried to tell herself, there might be a few lonely mature men who would prefer an older, more sensible woman.
She could hardly wait next day to buy an evening paper. And there it was, her advert. Thank God it was just under a box number and she could not be identified. Then another thought struck her. What if she got a reply and it was from an elderly employee at Goodmans? How embarrassing that would be! Of course, she would remain anonymous because she wouldn’t – couldn’t – reply to him. She found herself looking at all the older men in the shop. There were a few who looked ready for retirement – two in the menswear department and one in Soft Furnishings and another in Electrical. But they were probably happily married. They all looked happy enough.
She struggled to put the whole thing out of her mind and concentrate on the job. Then she spied a good-looking, well-dressed man walk in and, in a confident, businesslike way, collect a pile of suits from one of the racks. None of the assistants questioned him, thinking he was a buyer.
She had to really spring through the department to get near to him and see what was going to happen next. She hardly had time to call to the security guard to follow her, before the man reached the door and was outside.
‘Excuse me,’ she called to him as soon as she reached him. ‘You are—’
He began to run then and she and the security guard belted after him. But the security guard was too overweight for running and it was she who caught up with him. It was most unusual for a man to fight her but he did. Big mistake. He swung round towards her, grabbing her jacket roughly as he tried to shove her back. She whipped her right hand across, grabbed his hand at the wrist with a soft twist, while pushing his elbow with her left, and spun him round into a wrist lock. She stabbed the edge of her foot onto the back of his knee joint to bring him to his knees in front of her. Grabbing his hair, she bent him back like a strongbow.
‘Enough,’ she said quietly into his ear. ‘Let’s just go quietly upstairs before this becomes really painful.’
By this time the security guard had reached them and they were able to continue with the usual routine. The man accompanied her back to the store and up to the manager’s office like a lamb.
A lot of time was always taken up waiting for the police and also writing up reports, and she had just got back to the ground floor when she noticed a part-time member of staff going into the fitting room with a pile of underwear. She was a nice wee girl who was studying at Jordanhill College, and of course there were times when staff could make purchases. All the same, there was not another member of staff on duty at the fitting room, and she felt a bit annoyed. She’d so often told the managers of every department always to have someone in attendance at the fitting rooms. Eventually she saw the girl come out and replace a pile of underwear on the counter. On this occasion, she didn’t like to – indeed felt guilty about doing it, but rules were rules.
‘Just a minute, dear,’ she said to the girl. ‘Could you come back into the fitting room with me for a minute?’
At the same time, she signalled for an assistant to come too. There she asked the girl to take off her top and skirt. The girl immediately burst into tears and before the top and skirt came off, it was obvious that she would be seen to be wearing several sets of Goodmans underwear.
She was immediately dismissed, and next day the girl’s mother was on the phone demanding to know why her daughter had been sacked. But it was decided that it was up to the girl to explain to her mother.
Then one of the customers complained to the manager that an assistant in the shoe department was smelling of drink. A check was made and some of the other staff agreed. ‘Yes, she’s always reeking of alcohol.’
The problem was to catch her drinking on the premises or bringing drink into the shop. This was proving very difficult. The assistant denied everything, of course. She was watched and searched several times. Her bag was checked. Nothing. She never even went out at lunchtime but always ate in the staff canteen. She did, however, go to the toilet. This was perfectly natural, but her detective’s instinct told Miss Eden to go to the toilet after the assistant, stand up on the seat and search in the high, old-fashioned cistern. Sure enough, a carefully wrapped bottle of whisky was discovered – which meant another sacking.
Big problems – and trouble – were to come as a result of that sacking, though.
9
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Abi peered down at the TV Times on her lap. Nothing much on tonight. She got up to gaze out of the window. The light from the standard lamp in the room barely touched the darkness, the ghostly swaying shapes of the trees and high bushes. The sight increased her depression to the point of fear. Maybe she shouldn’t keep the curtains open like this. Then she felt ashamed. She had never been a coward. She sat down again.
There was a programme on politics but she had no interest in politics except for anything John had to say or do. Indeed, she was completely disillusioned with the whole bunch of politicians. Except for John, of course. John was one hundred per cent honest and sincere. So much so that she had decided to vote Scottish Nationalist next time. A sudden loud creaking noise made her jump. But it was only the trees straining in the wind. There was quite a storm brewing. Better to shut the curtains to keep out the cold, and to muffle the sound of the windows rattling. At one time, they’d had a lovely big log fire in the sitting room. Now it was this artificial coal thing that looked so out of place in the beautiful big marble fireplace. It had just two electric bars and was not nearly enough to heat such a high-ceilinged room. It was at times like this that she wished she lived in a little flat somewhere in the centre of the city. Yet what a wrench it would be to leave the house she’d shared for so many years with Tom. It would feel as if she was deserting him for ever. Losing every last trace of him. Here, she could still imagine him relaxing on the big easy chair opposite her, his long legs stretched out. Sometimes, while they were chatting, he’d lean forward and toss a log on to the fire.
Thank God she could keep busy all day at the store. She couldn’t stand being alone like this. Depression kept creeping up on her. Sometimes, of course, she kept too busy at the store and exhausted herself.
One of the women buyers had noticed and said, ‘Forgive me for saying this, Mrs Goodman, but you look as if you’re overdoing things. You haven’t even taken any holidays this year.’
But what was the use of going away somewhere, anywhere, on her own? And it was into winter now. It would be even worse in some seaside town at this time of year on her own. She certainly didn’t feel inclined to travel abroad any more.
Thinking of the buyer and then seaside towns made Mr Webster come into her mind. He travelled all over the place, including seaside towns. One in particular was South Castle-on-Sea, where he had some old man invent the marvellous toys that were in such demand in the toy department. An idea was beginning to occur to her. S
he had long been curious about the inventor. It would be perfectly reasonable and understandable if she wanted to meet him. And what better way than to go with Mr Webster to South Castle? That way she could have company and be well looked after. Mr Webster was an excellent driver and a nice friendly man. He often spoke proudly about his daughters. Then there would be all the benefits of the sea air. Mr Webster would know all the best places to have coffee and meals on the journey down, as well as the best place to stay in South Castle. Abi had never learned to drive and couldn’t be bothered nowadays with trains and buses. She was beginning to feel her age, although there was no way she would ever admit it to anyone.
The more she thought about the journey in Mr Webster’s comfortable car and the bracing air of South Castle, the more cheered she began to feel. She would speak to him tomorrow. He couldn’t refuse to take her. She was his boss, after all.
As it turned out, she couldn’t speak to him the next day because he was up north visiting a wholesaler there. But he was due back in a couple of days and so she would speak to him then.
‘When are you off to South Castle-on-Sea again, Mr Webster?’ she asked him on his return.
‘In a couple of weeks.’
Good, she thought, that would give her something to look forward to.
‘I’ve decided to come with you on this occasion, Mr Webster. I’d like to meet your wonderful inventor.’
He looked not just surprised, but shocked.
‘Are you sure?’ he managed eventually.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
Goodmans of Glassford Street Page 5
