Miss Eden went along to The Granary for a late lunch of a bowl of soup and a sandwich. As she sat absently stirring the soup and waiting for it to cool, her thoughts strayed first to Andreas. She wondered what he was up to. Probably she’d had a lucky escape. Then her thoughts turned to Mr McKay and she wondered what was happening to him. The poor man was disintegrating before her eyes. She suspected that if Mrs Goodman had not been taking an unusual amount of time off recently and seemed to have things other than business on her mind, he would have been sacked.
She wondered what she could do to help him. She couldn’t bring his wife back, but surely there must be some way to give him the help and support he obviously needed. First she had to find out exactly what he was doing. And stop him doing it. Even if she had to stop him against his will. Drink had fuddled his brain and affected his health. The poor man didn’t know what he was doing. This was one of her early shifts and she had been busy all morning. No doubt she’d be kept busy for another couple of hours, and already she was tired.
Nevertheless, there was no time to waste as far as Mr McKay was concerned. She’d have to start right away – tonight. She wouldn’t go home. She’d have a walk about the town and go somewhere for a cup of tea, then she’d come back when it was store closing time and try to catch Mr McKay coming out, so that she could follow him. If she could follow him and find out exactly what he was doing, she would have a better idea of how she could help him.
After her lunch, she did her couple of hours and reported off duty to Mr McKay. He looked so miserable and pathetic, giving her a half-smile and barely managing his usual ‘Thank you, Miss Eden. Have a nice evening.’
She felt her determination strengthen. She was strong enough for both of them. She would get him back to normal if it was the last thing she did.
Once outside, she first of all took a walk along to Argyle Street, looking in Marks & Spencer’s window. She also looked at the plaque that commemorated the fact that Marks & Spencer’s stood on the site of the Black Bull Inn, where Robert Burns had once stayed and where he wrote to Agnes McLehose.
‘I’ve never had any romance in my life,’ Miss Eden thought, ‘and no doubt I never will.’ The thought didn’t depress her. She had a good life. She turned away from the plaque and began walking along towards the High Street, one of the oldest streets in the city. There were plenty of stories of romance connected with it. And other things too, of course.
Walking up the High Street towards Castle Street, she passed the site of the old university. The old university had been involved in sensational anatomical experiments. In 1818 Professor Jeffrey publicly showed the journey of electricity through the body using what he called the Galvanic Battery he’d invented. He sat a corpse in a chair and when the Galvanic Battery was switched on, the audience was horrified to see the body appear as if it had come to life. Apparently, the novelist Mary Shelley had been in the audience and it was said that it was this incident that inspired her to write her Gothic horror novel, Frankenstein.
Many famous writers originated in Glasgow, and in this area there was a plaque commemorating the poet Thomas Campbell, whose friends were among the greatest writers of the age, like Sir Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron and Keats. There was a statue of Campbell in George Square and he was buried in Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey.
Miss Eden did not read much poetry but she often found pleasure in books, especially novels. She usually read at night until she felt too sleepy and had to switch off her bedside lamp. Thinking of books reminded her of the first free library in Scotland. That was thanks to Walter Stirling, a Glasgow merchant who, in 1791, left to the city his house in Milton Street, a share of the Tontine South, his collection of eight hundred and four books and one thousand pounds for the purpose of maintaining ‘the constant and perpetual existence of a Public Library for the citizens or inhabitants of Glasgow’. After that, other generous folk of Glasgow donated books until the collection had grown, by 1891, from eight hundred and four to upwards of forty-six thousand.
Miss Eden now looked over at the St Mungo Museum of Religious Life and Art. She’d been there quite a few times and found it interesting. It was a great place for schools and other groups, of course, to find out about religion and art across the world and to promote respect between people of different faiths and of none.
Next to it was the Cathedral with its pre-Reformation Gothic architecture. It had survived intact from the ravages of the 1560 Reformation because it was defended by local Glaswegians who were fiercely proud of it. Moreover, St Kentigern, Glasgow’s patron saint, was buried there.
She supposed she came into the category of no religion. She had never gone to any church since she was a child and regularly attended Sunday School in her best clothes and shoes. Everybody did in those days. Nowadays, she had become too sceptical – caused, no doubt, by having to deal with so many crooks, liars, thieves and con artists. It was enough to make anyone lose faith – in human nature, anyway.
Across from the Cathedral was Provand’s Lordship, the only medieval house still standing in the city. This was where Mary, Queen of Scots stayed when visiting her husband, Lord Darnley, who was ill with the pox. She remembered reading about Mary. What a sad life she’d had.
Miss Eden suddenly felt exhausted. It had been a hard day. She turned to go back down the High Street and find some place decent to have a cup of tea and a sandwich before making for Goodmans. Or perhaps she would wait across the road in the multi-storey car park. She kept checking her watch as she drank a cup of tea and munched at a salad sandwich. She had to time it right. She had to be positioned near the store to watch for Mr McKay coming out.
She ended up against a wall in the shadows of the entrance to the car park, and eventually saw Mr McKay emerge dressed in his business suit, striped shirt, collar and tie. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag. He walked down to Argyle Street and she slipped from the shadows and followed him. He went to the nearest public lavatory and after a time emerged transformed into a shabby tramp. She wouldn’t have known him except for his glasses and the fact that she’d seen the shabby clothes in his carrier bag in the office. He took on a slow shuffling gait as he progressed along Argyle Street until he turned into an area of back entrances of surrounding shops. On drawing nearer, Miss Eden heard cries of, ‘Oh, it’s you, Mac. Come on in. Have you got the Buckie? Good man!’
She waited for a while before looking in. There was a little group of what would no doubt be homeless men. They were passing round a bottle and each of them, including Mr McKay, was taking his gulps of wine from it. Miss Eden walked quietly away.
As far as she was concerned, this was the last night Mr McKay would behave like this.
She would see to it.
21
As Abi was waiting for John, the tour guide was saying to a crowd of people, ‘Before we go on the tour, please come forward and look at the modern sculpture. It’s called “The Honours of Scotland” and the Queen gave it to Parliament when she opened the building. Some of you may have seen this on television – it was commissioned by the Corporation of Gold and Silversmiths of Edinburgh and was called “The Honours”.’ He looked around enquiringly. ‘What are these? The Crown Jewels of Scotland … you have to use your imagination. That’s the crown, the sword through the middle, and the gilded bit is the sceptre. So “The Honours of Scotland”, perhaps reminding us that when Scotland’s Parliament sat before the union with England, the crown was sometimes taken into Parliament Hall, the Parliament buildings, as a symbol of royal authority.’
Abi tried to peer through the crowd for a glimpse of John, but without success. She began to wonder if she was waiting in the wrong place, especially when she heard the tour guide saying, ‘For those who work in the building, there’s a coffee bar and restaurant. A lot of people work in the building. It’s not just MSPs. They have researchers and assistants. There’s security, catering, cleaning, computer services …’
Was it the restau
rant John had said to go to and wait for him? She was so upset and worried after he phoned, she couldn’t remember for sure. It was when she was walking towards the restaurant that she saw John. His tall figure came striding towards her.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Mum. It’s been one hell of a day in the chamber and what with this other horrible business …’ He took her arm. ‘Come on, we’ll go and have a cup of tea.’ Once they were settled with their tea at a table, she asked, ‘What on earth has been happening? Why should the police be pestering you?’
‘Oh, they’ve been questioning others as well, but you see, I’ve been closest to her. I mean, with her always being with me – in the office and travelling around. I even live near her. I suppose I can understand their attitude. But all the same …’
‘I know. The tour guide was just saying there’s lots of people work in the building. It’s not just MSPs.’
‘I’ve even been in her house. I had dinner with her there not so long ago. But there was nothing going on between us. Nothing personal. She was a nice girl but I just wasn’t interested in anything personal. To be honest, I didn’t fancy her. Anyway, we’ve been hell of a busy working towards the next election. She was so sure, so optimistic, that the Nationalists were going to wipe the board with Labour next time, and so was I.’ He rubbed his fingers through his hair.
‘Who on earth could have done this, Mum?’
‘Had she a boyfriend?’
‘As I say, neither of us had much time for a personal life. But now that you mention it, there had been somebody at one time. Oh, it was a good while back, though. She’d packed him in. But I did wonder at the time what on earth she saw in him. He was nothing much to look at – as bald as a coot. Of course that’s the fashion these days. I’ve never heard her speak of him for ages. I’d forgotten about him. I’m sure she’d never seen or heard from him. She certainly never mentioned him to me. I don’t think that can have anything to do with her murder. As I say, what happened with him was a long time ago.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘No.’
‘John, he might be one of these obsessive people who never give up a relationship, who just refuse to believe it when someone rejects them.’
‘I doubt it, Mum. After all this time?’
‘Son, will you please do as I say? Have a word with the police.’ She forced her voice to sound positive, even cheerful. ‘I’m sure that’ll help in their enquiries, dear. Now drink up your tea and tell me what’s been happening in the chamber.’
He hesitated. ‘Oh well, OK. I’ll speak to the police.’
‘Good. Now stop worrying and tell me what’s been going on in the chamber.’
He sighed. ‘Another argument about Trident. I’m against having it, as you know. And remember how the former diplomat, Hans Blix, warned Blair and Bush against thinking Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. Of course, they ignored him. They knew better. And the rest is history.’ He groaned and shook his head. ‘When I think of all the young men killed as a result. Not to mention all the innocent civilians.’
‘I know, son, it’s wicked.’
‘Blix was right about Iraq and I bet he’ll be proved right about Trident. He says some experts reckon it’ll cost us seventy-six billion pounds over thirty years. And how is that supposed to honour the non-proliferation treaty?’
He then listed all the countries that now had nuclear weapons and ended with, ‘No wonder the non-nuclear countries are showing enormous resentment.’
‘Yes,’ his mother agreed. ‘I remember seeing pictures of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.’ She shuddered. ‘Absolutely dreadful.’
‘Now you’re getting upset. I’m sorry, Mum, and I haven’t even offered you anything to eat. Let me get you a sandwich. Or something more substantial? There’s nice macaroni cheese. I know you like that.’
‘No, son. Thanks all the same. I don’t feel hungry.’
‘I shouldn’t be worrying you like this. What with my work and now my personal problems as well …’
‘Don’t be daft. Who better to talk to and confide in than your mother? No, no, dear. I want you always to feel free to talk to me. I’d be very hurt and upset if you didn’t.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I feel better already about the police questioning me. Maybe you’re right. About Julie’s ex-boyfriend, I mean. There’s no telling the extremes that some people will go to. It seems a bit far-fetched to me but as I say, you never know. I’ll certainly contact the police right away.’
‘Good. Now you can pour me out another cup of tea.’
He grinned at her. ‘You’re a right tea jenny. By the way, have you done anything yet about my suggestion?’
‘What suggestion?’
‘About getting a book made of all your songs and poems and stories.’
‘Those daft things? Who’d be interested in them?’
‘I was, and so are your grandchildren, and so were innumerable Scottish children of previous generations. It would be a pity to let them die out. To have them recorded in a book would keep them alive for future generations.’
‘But who would want to publish such daft things, son? And as far as the wee stories are concerned, I just make them up.’
‘That’s great. Scottish publishers would be interested. There’s quite a few of them you could try. You’ve got a computer in the office, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, get your stories and songs on to the computer, either in the office or at home. Especially at home. It would give you something worthwhile to do in the evenings, instead of always watching television.’
‘I’ll think about it, son.’
‘Do it, Mum.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, all right then.’ Though she wasn’t keen on computers and preferred to write in longhand.
‘Good.’
She enjoyed her visit, as she always did when she went to see John, despite the worrying side of their conversation on this occasion. However, now that she knew about Julie’s ex-boyfriend, she felt better, more confident. The police would be interested in him, she felt sure. They would do all they could to find him and bring him in to – as they say – ‘help with their enquiries’.
There had been several awful cases in the past reported in the papers where ex-boyfriends or ex-partners had tormented and even murdered the person who had rejected them. She had to smile, remembering John’s idea of making a book of all the nonsense she entertained the children with. She didn’t believe for a minute that any publisher would want to publish them. However, she’d promised John she would put them all together, so she’d try, just to please him.
She decided it was hardly worthwhile going back to the store. She would go to visit the children instead, and stay in the penthouse for a few hours. However, when she pressed the penthouse buzzer, there was no reply. She felt suddenly desolate. Of course, it was the run-up to Christmas and there was a lot going on in the city, including parties and pantomimes. No doubt they were enjoying themselves somewhere and didn’t need any entertainment from her.
The Square was beautifully lit up with lights in the shape of bells shining from high poles all along each side, and they swung back and forth as if they were ringing. The buildings were floodlit. There was a beautiful nativity scene in a glass house with a silver roof. Rather incongruously, there were shows nearby belting out raucous music. A shaky cakewalk and a funfair with roundabouts. Up and down and round and round they went. There were also stalls selling burgers and pink puff candy. The centre of the Square had been turned into an ice rink and it was crowded with squealing, laughing, woolly-hatted and scarved people whirling around on the ice and having a wonderful time.
The City Chambers was decked out in lights, the towers above spotlit in striking violet and blue.
Music blared out from the fairground, the various rides competing vigorously, causing a discordant clamour that was a constant backdrop to the activities that surrounded Abi.
Ex
cited teenagers queued to get into the ice rink where budding Romeos sought to impress the girls by a combination of skating skills and tomfoolery, under the watchful eyes of the rink attendants. There was a happy buzz of conversation and laughter, punctuated by the occasional tearful outburst as a smaller child was ploughed under by zooming adolescents.
Abi stood for a few minutes watching them all before reluctantly making her way up to the Queen Street Station taxi rank. As usual, she dreaded returning to the empty house, but at this time of year, even more so. She couldn’t be bothered sitting down to think of the poems and songs and stories as John had suggested. She couldn’t stand being alone much longer. But she doubted if she would have the strength to organise selling up and buying a flat in the city, even if she could bring herself to part with all the memories of Tom that filled the house.
She put on a CSI: Miami DVD and collapsed back in her chair with a large glass of brandy.
Horatio, dear, gentle kind Horatio, would keep her company.
22
It wasn’t fair, Miss Eden thought. Many shoplifters made it big business and earned more in one day than she earned in a month or more. They came from all over the country to steal and if they got away with it, they stashed their stolen goods in the left luggage offices of Queen Street Station and Central Station and Buchanan Street bus station to be collected later when they were ready to travel back to wherever they’d come from. They even stole to order. They would have shopping lists. Gents’ suits, for instance, were a favourite and they stole them in specific sizes. Women’s fashion garments were another favourite, and jewellery. Even shoes would be on their lists.
She had got to know quite a few of these shoplifters and had caught them in the act. As a result, they didn’t ply their trade in Goodmans so often now. They knew she would be watching their every move. They were also aware that she would have alerted the security guard who would be keeping an eye on them as well.
Goodmans of Glassford Street Page 12
