Glasgow Fairytale

by Alastair D. McIver

  But guilt still existed in Red and it caught up with her in dreams. So she did her best not to sleep.

  It wasn’t much of a life.

  So when the Wolf caught up with her she was dazed and bedraggled, wandering the streets of Glasgow, pestering people for change.

  ‘So this is what you are doing with freedom?’ he asked.

  ‘Go away,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, that’s gratitude for you,’ said the Wolf. ‘Tell you what … why don’t I take you somewhere better?’

  She shrugged and followed him.

  She wasn’t sure where the Wolf was leading her, but she wasn’t expecting it to be down a manhole.

  Nevertheless, she lowered herself down and followed the Wolf through a labyrinth of tunnels and holes in the floor.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked. She was becoming frightened. This was a wolf with no qualms about killing. What if she was about to share her grandmother’s fate? She shrugged when she realised she probably deserved as much, and struggled to pull herself through some of the tight passages.

  ‘Try to keep up, my dear,’ said the Wolf, who was navigating with ease.

  When she came to a large clearing, she had to blink a few times before she could take in what she saw.

  ‘This is where I live,’ the Wolf remarked casually. ‘It’s not much, but it’s home.’

  Red looked around her, awestruck. The room was circular and lit with several lamps. It was also huge; possibly the biggest room she had ever been in.

  In the middle was a fountain, splashing into a swimming pool. Furnishings included a cinema-sized television, a three-piece suite, several fridges and a very large beanbag.

  ‘This is amazing,’ said Red. ‘How …?’

  ‘Oh, it’s easy when you’ve got money and time. You see, my dear, as I have constructed my empire, one dirty job at a time … built my reputation as a force to be reckoned with, never messed with, and an uncanny talent for getting things done discreetly … I’ve managed to build my home from a single section of a disused sewer … to this, a bit at a time.’

  She looked around her, eyes wide, touching this, stroking that.

  The Wolf laughed softly. ‘You’re free to stay here as long as you please. To come and go as you please. To raid the fridges, watch the television, surf the Net … and if you have any other needs or desires, you have only to ask. I will treat you as I would my own cub.’

  A moment ago, Red had been just another anonymous ned; a nobody. Now, she lived in an underground palace, and more importantly … she meant something to someone. She was going to be looked after.

  Yet she had the queasiest feeling in her stomach. This was the creature who had killed her granny, after all. On her orders, true, but still … the Wolf was responsible for those horrible nightmares, as much as she herself was. She had almost convinced herself that she hadn’t done what she did, hadn’t really given him any signal, hadn’t really believed he would actually do it … it was entirely the Wolf’s doing and none of hers. Yet she was grateful to him. She felt no guilt over the death of her gran: why should she? She was born bad.

  And what of the favour she had promised, without really knowing what would be asked of her?

  ‘Mr Wolf,’ she said, slightly hesitantly. ‘You said I’d have to dae ye a favour …’

  ‘Oh, come, now,’ said the Wolf. ‘Let’s not think about that just yet. Let’s think about your new life! No school, no bedtime, no adults telling you what you can and can’t eat, what you can and can’t watch on telly. You must be starving. Would you like a slice of chocolate cake?’ He opened one of the fridges to reveal an endless landscape of sumptuous desserts, with a huge chocolate gateau as its centrepiece.

  ‘Perhaps,’ continued the Wolf as the child gaped. ‘You’d care for an entire chocolate cake? Or … several chocolate cakes?’

  ‘I’m gonnae like this new life,’ she breathed. ‘But … I think I’ll take the chocolate cakes wan at a time.’

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘It’s today,’ Ella breathed when the sunlight woke her up.

  The day had, indeed, arrived. The day of the ball.

  Nothing Kara, Clara or their father said sunk in. The ball was all she could think about.

  She, Ella McCinder, had a ticket to Harry Charmaine’s charity ball. She, wee Ella McCinder … was actually going to meet Harry Charming!

  She was still worried about her clothes. Her Fairy Godmaw had assured her it would be fine, but … what if the magic didn’t work? What if there was something else she had to do? What if she had completely misunderstood?

  The only clothes she had remotely clean were what she was wearing: her torn jeans, her last-season’s Celtic top, and her Velcro-fastening, tatty, pink trainers. Not exactly dressed to kill.

  Since she had stepped between her foster family and Upenda, they had indeed treated the child well … but had been particularly cruel to Ella. It was as if she had declared all-out war. She knew her clothes would get mankier as the day went on, for they would make her do the most disgusting jobs they could think of.

  Sometimes she felt so nervous she was almost sick. Other times she was so elated she could barely keep from bouncing, and she whistled while she scrubbed the gutters with a toothbrush.

  She was going to meet Harry Charmaine! What possible punishment could take the shine off that?

  In the cellar, which hadn’t been cleaned in years, she was sorting junk into boxes and scrubbing the walls and floor. There was a musty smell she barely noticed.

  A spider scuttled across the floor.

  ‘I’ll get ye oot o’ here soon, wee spider,’ Ella told it, kindly. ‘Soon as the coast is clear. If that lot saw ye, they’d step on ye soon as look at ye.’

  Suddenly, the cellar door creaked open, and her foster father cast his huge shadow across the floor.

  ‘I’m driving my daughters to the ball,’ he said. ‘I shan’t be long. I expect you to keep working down here.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Ella, thinking, Is it that time already?

  ‘Ugh,’ he said, ‘the smell in here is absolutely appalling.’

  That gave Ella a brainwave. She turned away so he couldn’t see her grinning from ear to ear as she realised that he wouldn’t return to the cellar at all that evening.

  ‘It’s going to take me all night to do this, you know,’ she told him.

  ‘So be it,’ he replied, slamming the door. Ella heard the giggling of Kara and Clara above, then heard the front door close and the family car start up and drive off.

  Ella stood in silence, waiting for … what was she waiting for?

  ‘Now what?’ she asked no one in particular. So much of her plan was finely balanced on a tightrope of faith.

  ‘Now,’ said the spider, expanding to her height and turning into a chauffeur, ‘You stick a courgette out front like you said you would. And don’t dilly dally, we haven’t got all day.’

  Ella hugged him and rushed upstairs, taking care to close the cellar door behind her.

  She rummaged in the vegetable rack for a courgette, and put it out in the driveway. Instantly it transformed into a big, pink limo.

  ‘That’s impressive,’ said Ella.

  ‘Not really,’ said the chauffeur. ‘If a spider drove you to the ball in a courgette … now that would be impressive.’

  ‘You’ve got a point,’ giggled Ella. ‘Oh, God, what aboot my claithes?’

  ‘Oh, ye of little faith!’ said the chauffeur.

  Ella felt her clothes moving, their fabrics wriggling and writhing against her skin. She felt her shoes change shape around her feet, and become quite uncomfortable. She almost fell over as they quite suddenly grew high heels. When she looked down, she was wearing the most beautiful, jewelencrusted, golden shoes she had ever seen in her life.

  Her clothes weren’t done changing shape. Her jeans and her Celtic top had merged, and were changing texture and colour. Soon she was wearing a grand, flowing dress that made its ma
gnificent way up her body in spirals, layer after layer, pink upon gold upon pink.

  The watch on her wrist, which was now ruining the look of the outfit, shimmered and vanished.

  Her hair lost its straggly, greasy inelegance, piling itself up high in lovely golden curls.

  The dress was far enough off her shoulders that she could prise open a space at her collarbone and have a sniff at an armpit. She did not offend herself in the least! The spell, it seemed, included a personal dry-clean.

  ‘Oh, this is good,’ she told the chauffeur.

  ‘Only the best for you, Madam,’ he replied, opening the back door of the limo.

  She got in, and found she had more room all to herself than she knew what to do with. There was a full-sized mirror straight ahead of her. Staring back at her was a beautiful woman, with poise and elegance, who was dressed just perfectly to go to the ball.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ said the chauffeur when he dropped her off. ‘You must leave the ball by midnight.’

  For the entirety of the delicious five-course meal, Ella found herself sitting next to Kara, who had Clara on her other side.

  They’re going to recognise me, she told herself, heart pounding, but her head stayed high, for once.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Kara. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being rude … I was admiring your dress. Where did you get it?’

  Ella was confused a moment. Kara was talking to her nicely … admiringly. She had identified Ella as somebody worth knowing. She has no idea who I am, she squealed inwardly.

  ‘This?’ said Ella. ‘Nothing special, I just threw it on. You should see the rest of my wardrobe.’

  Kara chuckled reluctantly.

  ‘I like your dress,’ said Ella.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Kara replied.

  ‘Very nice. Ye make it yersel’?’

  Clara sniggered at that, before an elbow from her sister made her think better of it.

  Still Ella’s heart wouldn’t slow down. Apart from Reggie King, she had never met a celebrity before. Now she was surrounded by them! And there, only a few seats down was Reggie King, who was staring at her in a way she didn’t like. Was her Fairy Godmaw wrong? Did he recognise her after all?

  Where was Harry?

  Soon the meal was over and the dancing began in earnest.

  Harry seemed to be … hiding in a corner, talking to the Scotland manager. He didn’t seem to want to mingle with his fans. For a moment, she thought she saw him looking at her, but when she looked up, he looked away.

  He was hissing to his manager, ‘Go find out who she is. Please.’

  The manager hissed back, ‘If you want to talk to her, go and talk to her.’

  ‘I cannae!’

  ‘How no?’

  ‘I just cannae!’

  ‘You’re unbelievable! You’ll happily slide-tackle Wayne Rooney, but you’re feart to go up and talk to a lassie?’

  ‘Too late noo, anyway,’ said Charmaine, a note of relief in his voice. ‘Look. There’s Reggie King asking her to dance.’

  Ella felt a touch at her elbow and spun to find herself facing Reggie King.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ King said, flashing her a charming smile. ‘I didnae mean to startle you. I just … I could see ye were here by yersel’, and I thought, “What’s a beautiful lassie like that doing here all by hersel?” So I thought I’d come over and say hello.’

  ‘Um, hello,’ said Ella, giggling girlishly. Her mind was racing. She realised that King had no idea who she was and decided the safest thing to do would be to excuse herself and get away from him. She also thought she would never get a better opportunity to wind him up.

  ‘Mr …?’ she asked, extending her hand.

  King seemed taken aback. ‘King,’ he said, frowning, and forgetting to shake hands. ‘You know, Reggie King, from The Reggie King Show. You must know who I am.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ella. ‘Are you on the telly, then?’

  King realised that he was just standing with his mouth open, so he began to dance with her. ‘Even if you don’t watch my show, you must read newspapers.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Ella, dancing half-heartedly, ‘but I tend to skim over the boring bits.’

  ‘Lipgloss magazine voted me sexiest man in Britain three years running,’ added King, determined to prove to this young lady that she had, indeed, heard of him.

  ‘Och, I don’t read Lipgloss,’ said Ella (who had a subscription to the magazine, and had voted for Harry). ‘It’s just for silly wee lassies fawning over plain-faced celebrities.’

  ‘Nae offence taken,’ growled King.

  ‘Och, I didnae mean you,’ Ella told him playfully, daring to press his nose. ‘You’re a perfectly awright-looking bloke, I suppose. You’re just no my type.’

  ‘What do you mean, “not your type”?’

  ‘Nae offence or that. I think you’re awright. I just don’t fancy ye.’

  King tripped over his own feet, thrown off balance by this entirely new concept. He forced a laugh. ‘Well, I think you’ll find you’re in a minority there, darling.’

  ‘Aye, probably,’ said Ella. ‘So never mind, eh? Ye can still have almost any woman ye want.’

  King tried to disguise his annoyance, but he twirled her a bit more fiercely than he was intending to and she almost lost her balance.

  ‘Seriously, though,’ said Ella, ‘See the lassies that vote for the Lipgloss poll? I wouldnae take it as that much of a compliment, know what I’m saying? Most of them are too young for ye.’

  They danced stiffly in silence for a time.

  ‘Hey,’ Ella cried suddenly. ‘You must know Harry Charmaine!’

  ‘Aye,’ said King. ‘I was interviewing him just the other week. On my show that everyone else watches.’

  ‘Of course!’ cried Ella, letting go of her dance partner long enough to snap her fingers. ‘Sorry, I recognise ye now. You’re that bloke who was interviewing Harry Charmaine on the telly! I’ll watch anything he’s on, you know? Sorry, what did ye say yer name was again?’

  ‘King. Reginald King.’

  ‘Sorry, Archibald,’ said Ella. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance you could … introduce me to Harry? I’m such a big fan of his.’

  King had no chance to respond. He was flanked by Kara and Clara.

  ‘Reggie King?’ said Kara. ‘I do hope we’re not interrupting, but we are huge fans of yours and it is such an honour to meet you.’

  ‘Yes, such an honour,’ Clara echoed.

  ‘Well, you really must excuse me,’ King said to Ella, as much shoving her away as letting her go. ‘I have fans to attend to.’

  Ella turned away, a great big grin on her face, thinking, I’ve ruined his whole night for him!

  She heard a nearby voice hiss, ‘Look, just go and talk to her!’

  When she turned she saw Harry Charmaine being physically pushed towards her.

  ‘Um, hi,’ Harry said.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ella.

  Harry was staring at his shoes. ‘I’m Harry Charmaine.’

  Ella giggled and blushed. ‘Aye. I know that.’

  ‘I um … seen ye dancing wi’ Reggie. You here wi’ him?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Ella. ‘I’m here mysel’.’

  Harry smiled, but said nothing. He shifted awkwardly, wanting to talk to her, but no words came to him.

  Am I no the wan that’s supposed to get tongue-tied? she wondered. Aloud she said, ‘Do ye want to dance wi’ me?’

  Harry grinned, blushed and shook his head. ‘I cannae dance.’

  ‘Och, don’t talk daft!’ laughed Ella. ‘I see you dance every other week at Parkheid. Mair graceful than anyone on this flair!’

  ‘Aye, that’s different, but,’ Harry shrugged awkwardly. ‘If I’ve got a ball at my feet or that.’

  Even this exchange was being widely noticed and photographed. Ella wondered for a moment if people who didn’t recognise her in person would recognise her in a photo.

  ‘Kid on ye’ve got a b
all then,’ she insisted, shrugging off the thought.

  ‘I’m nae good at kidding on,’ Harry insisted. ‘I’ve nae imagination.’

  ‘Och, see you!’ cried Ella, thwacking his chest playfully. She pulled a balloon off the wall. ‘Here … this is the ball.’ She placed it under the toe of her golden shoe and worked it playfully this way and that. ‘Now, tackle me, but dae it in time to the music.’

  He took her hands and tried to snatch the balloon with his foot.

  She heeled it up behind her, twirled and nosed it towards him. Then, as he moved to take the balloon on his thigh, she got in his way and controlled it with her chest, backing into him.

  ‘You’re the best footballer in Scotland,’ giggled Ella, ‘and you cannae get the ball aff a girl in high heels.’

  ‘It’s no a real ball, though,’ said Harry.

  They danced around each other in graceful pirouettes, taking the balloon from each other, dribbling, tackling, headering the balloon; keeping it close so they didn’t move far from the spot. The balloon floated high into the air and slowly down again. It was like football in slow motion. It was dancing. It was beautiful.

  No one else was dancing. All eyes and camera-flashes were upon the couple. Harry Charming and his mystery woman would dominate the next day’s headlines, but they were oblivious.

  Harry moved round behind her and put his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her side. He got a knee through her legs and pushed her dress up to meet the falling balloon, knocking it into his hands.

  ‘Now, that’s definitely a foul,’ she said.

  She worked herself free, took the balloon from him, and playfully hit him on the forehead with it. Then she dropped it, rolled it under her foot, caught it on her heel …

  BANG!

  All the onlookers jumped and gasped. Then there was a roar of laughter, a thunder of applause and a flurry of flashes, and only then did the couple realise how much attention was focused on them.

  ‘Oops,’ Ella said, blushing furiously and wishing for a moment that her hair were loose so she could chew it a little … a habit she realised she ought to break.

  ‘See, that’s why we don’t play football in high heels,’ said Harry.