Glasgow Fairytale

by Alastair D. McIver

  ‘What, no even in training?’

  He laughed. ‘So what are we gonnae dae for a ball noo?’

  ‘Well if all else fails,’ said Ella, taking his hands and closing the gap between them, ‘we could aye just dance.’

  ‘I tellt ye,’ said Harry, ‘I cannae dance.’

  ‘And I proved ye wrang,’ said Ella. ‘Come on, it’s easy. Just put yer arms aboot me and walk slowly in circles.’

  He grinned. ‘That I can do.’ He slid his arms around her waist and she put hers around his neck.

  She couldn’t stop grinning. She was dancing with Harry Charmaine. He liked her as much as she liked him, and he was just an ordinary, nice guy; an ordinary, nice guy who happened to have an extraordinary talent. That was so much more satisfying to her than the god of her dreams.

  They followed the many eyes of the mirrorball in a slow circle. ‘This is nice,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Ella. ‘It’ll no win on Strictly Come Dancing, but it feels really nice.’

  ‘You’re amazing,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’d quite like to see you again sometime.’

  ‘Aye,’ she replied, trying not to tremble.

  But before she could say more, she felt a strange tickling sensation on her wrist. She looked past Harry’s neck and almost gasped in horror.

  She broke away from Harry.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  Gazing at her wrist, she suddenly knew too well what it was. Her watch was reappearing. Her watch was reappearing because it was almost midnight. Soon her whole outfit would be changing back to the way it was.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she breathed in a panicked tone.

  ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I … I cannae explain. I just got to go.’

  She backed away from him a bit, then turned and ran.

  She dived into the toilet in such a hurry that she didn’t realise it was the wrong toilet until she saw Reggie King at the urinal.

  ‘Hello again,’ said King, giving her a sidelong, puzzled glance.

  ‘Sorry, Archibald, cannae stop and talk the noo,’ she said breathlessly as she climbed on top of a wash-hand basin and hoisted herself through the window above. She gave a cry as her shoe got stuck in the window frame, and she fell down on the outside, the shoe on the inside.

  Harry burst in just in time to see the last of her disappear and the shoe clatter into the wash-hand basin.

  He climbed up and put his face to the window, ready to call after her … but she hadn’t told him her name.

  ‘I don’t even know your name!’ he called to the night.

  In despair he climbed down.

  ‘Women, eh?’ said King, zipping up his fly. ‘Wan minute they cannae get enough o’ ye, the next they’re diving oot the windae sideways.’ He clapped Harry on the shoulder without washing his hands. ‘Take my advice, lad. There’s plenty mair where that wan came fae.’

  Bruised, filthy, and back in her everyday clothes, Ella made her way to where the big, pink limo was parked.

  The chauffeur was beckoning her to hurry up and pointing at his watch.

  She ran towards the open door … but as she dived towards it, it shrank away from her and she landed in a puddle next to a courgette and a spider.

  She sniffled and wept, knowing that a long walk home followed by a difficult climb in through her bedroom window lay ahead. She was only wearing one shoe, which by this time had turned back into a manky, pink £5 trainer.

  She was wet. She was muddy. She was exhausted. She was in love with someone she would probably never see again.

  As far as she knew, her dream was over.

  CHAPTER 11

  Red found life with the Wolf to be not just tolerable, but pleasant. Life had never been like that for her before.

  He made, as far as Red was concerned, the best teacher ever, teaching as much or as little as she wanted, as and when she wanted. It struck her as strange that she wanted to learn now, having been such a persistent truant before. When education was forced upon her, she had avoided it. Now that it was simply there for her when she craved it, she found she craved it a lot.

  So she could eat as much or as little as she pleased of whatever she pleased. She could come and go as she pleased. She could swim in the surprisingly warm water of the Wolf’s fountain. She could watch whatever she liked on television, whenever she wanted. She could learn as much or as little as she liked about almost anything, for the Wolf was very knowledgeable. She was free.

  Still all was not perfect. There was still that mysterious promise she would have to fulfill looming over her. There were still the nightmares. And she felt very uncomfortable when she learned that the Wolf dragged homeless people down to force them to do his chores at toothpoint.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ said the Wolf. ‘I am the Big, Bad, Wolf after all. And in any event, I seldom actually have to carry out my threat: most people choose to cooperate.’

  ‘But that’s like slavery and that!’

  ‘Hardly,’ replied the Wolf. ‘I let them go after they’ve done a few simple tasks. Slavery is full-time. This is more … labour-robbery.’ He chuckled. ‘Come now, Scarlet, are you telling me you’ve never stolen anything?’

  ‘Aye, but … but …’

  The Wolf sat on the sofa next to her, his elbow slung over the back and his feet up on a golden coffee table. He sat quite as a human would.

  ‘Let me explain my philosophy to you, as plainly as I can,’ said the Wolf. ‘Suppose I were to tell you that somewhere, thousands of miles away, a child your age was killed in one of your human world’s many war zones. Would you feel upset about that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure. I suppose the question is … would you lose any sleep over it?

  She shrugged.

  ‘No, of course you wouldn’t. Why would you? Why should you? You’d feel a pang of sorrow … then forget about it.’

  ‘Aye. So?’

  ‘Now suppose I were to bring the tragedy a bit closer. Suppose a car accident on the M8 wiped out an entire family? No one you know. How would you feel about that?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Would it bother you more than the distant death in a distant war in a country you couldn’t point to on a map?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Why? Because it happened to Scottish people? Or because there’s more chance that you know someone who knows someone who actually saw it happen?’

  She shrugged again.

  ‘Suppose I told you that someone killed themself earlier today directly above the spot where you are sitting.’

  Red stood up and moved to another seat. ‘I don’t think that’s very funny.’

  The Wolf cackled. ‘No, but your reaction is. Do you think that moving a few feet further away from the event changes the reality of it?’

  She crossed her arms, frowned and shrugged. She didn’t understand what the Wolf was driving at, and was reluctant to risk making a fool of herself by saying anything.

  ‘In any event, you can relax: I made it up.’

  Red did seem to relax a little, uncrossing her arms and breathing a sigh of relief.

  ‘Why are you relieved?’

  Red shrugged, but the Wolf’s continued silence told her he expected an answer.

  ‘’Cause that person didnae die.’

  ‘So what?’ said the Wolf. ‘You don’t know who I was or wasn’t talking about. Somebody somewhere is bound to have killed themselves. So why does it bother you if I was telling the truth or not?’

  ‘I don’t see what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Tell me, Red, are you a vegetarian?’

  ‘No!’ she cried. She stretched the word over two syllables, seeming almost offended by the suggestion.

  ‘I thought not.’ He gave her a sly, toothy grin. ‘But I wonder if you’d enjoy a chicken nugget quite so much if you actually saw th
e poor bird die?’

  She cringed at the thought.

  ‘You see, my dear, human beings are by far the strangest creatures on the planet. You love to think that you’re so moral, so decent, so … nice … that you don’t want anything bad to happen to any living thing. The reality is that you just don’t want to see it, think about it or be told about it.’

  Red’s eyebrows knitted together in thought. Her brain was aching because she had never been asked to think about or argue about these things before. She was finding it difficult to think of an argument against what the Wolf was saying, even though she knew in her heart he was wrong.

  ‘Aye, but … see if ye got all, like, upset and that every time someone dies anywhere in the world anywhere … well, ye’d go mental!’

  The Wolf laughed. ‘You, my dear, are considerably smarter than you look. You’re right, of course. It is impossible to care about everyone, though humans like to pretend to. Which leaves us with a simple choice: to be a monster or to be a hypocrite. Being a noble sort, I choose monster.’

  ‘I … still don’t quite understand.’ What ye on aboot? she would have said to anyone she didn’t fear.

  The Wolf laughed softly. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t expect you to, but I’ll tell you what … you can do as many or as few of my everyday household chores as you please, because you are free. But the more you do … the less my borowees have to do. If you really care about such thoroughly anonymous people, I daresay you can scrub the odd floor for them?’

  In time, Red actually grew to like doing the Wolf’s chores. It made her feel worthwhile for the first time in her life.

  She was not entirely happy, though. Every so often she felt an unpleasant pang of something close to guilt. A little voice inside her that said she had done wrong and was doing wrong. She could silence the voice by reminding it that she was simply born bad, as her granny had been so fond of telling her. She didn’t like herself, but she had long since accepted herself as a bad person.

  She told the Wolf about the nightmares once, and he said, ‘Now, listen closely, Scarlet. Those nightmares are being given to you by your conscience, and the conscience serves no useful purpose whatsoever. Your conscience will make your life a living hell if you let it. Your conscience will always hold you back. It hates your freedom.’

  ‘I cannae make the nightmares stop,’ said Red.

  ‘They’ll stop,’ said the Wolf. ‘You’re growing up, dear child. The more time we spend together, the more adept you will become at resisting your bothersome conscience. Trust me … one day the nightmares will stop.’

  * * *

  ‘The press are still speculating aboot Harry Charming’s mystery woman,’ King told his mirror from behind his newspaper. ‘Apparently it’s affecting his performance. Celtic coach is dead worried. He cannae get the woman oot his heid! Pathetic if you ask me.’

  ‘Indeed, Mr King,’ replied the mirror.

  ‘Still, it would be great for ratings if we could reunite them live on the Reggie King show, eh? Who is she, anyway?’

  ‘Didn’t you recognise her, Mr King?’

  ‘No,’ King droned impatiently. ‘That’s why I asked.’

  ‘The belle of the ball on that fateful evening,’ said the mirror, ‘was none other than that McCinder wimp.’

  ‘Surely not,’ frowned King. ‘That … gorgeous woman in the stunning dress? But wee Ella’s … well, wee … and a bit … rodent-like; feart o’ everything.’

  ‘I understand she was treated to a free makeover; attitude as well as clothes. She’s not a wee girl anymore.’

  ‘No. Far from it.’

  ‘In any event, I’m afraid getting her on the show is out of the question –’

  ‘So she was winding me up, then? Aboot no recognising me and no fancying me and that?’ A boyish grin was beginning to spread across King’s face.

  ‘Mr King, if that’s the sort of thing that can make or break your day, have you considered that there might be something missing from your life?’

  King shot the mirror a poisonous look. ‘The only thing missing in my life … is a magic mirror who is any use to me whatsoever!’

  ‘I’m hurt, Mr King.’

  ‘Didnae know you could be.’

  ‘Well, I do hope you’re prepared to eat those words, Mr King. Because I’ve broken through your ex’s cloaking spell.’

  It took a moment for that to sink through King’s thick skull. When it did, he leapt into the air and let out a roar of triumph. ‘Yes! Oh, yes! I shall be the bonniest man in Glasgow once more! The bonniest man in the Greater Glasgow area! The bonniest man in Scotland! Maybe even the bonniest man in the Universe!’ He leapt forward and kissed the mirror. ‘You’re brilliant!’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the mirror. ‘Now would you be so kind as to wipe your smacker-prints off me? That is a bit disgusting.’

  King skooshed his only friend with Windowlene and wiped it clean. ‘So … what’s the plan?’

  ‘Later in the day,’ said the mirror, ‘I will direct you to the exact spot where the annoyingly beautiful Snowy is hiding. What you do to him is up to you.’

  One day, the Wolf said to Red, ‘Do you remember … it must seem like a long time ago now … you promised to do me a favour?’

  Red’s heart skipped a beat, but she tried not to show it. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘There are three little pigs,’ said the Wolf. His features darkened and he pointed to the patches of missing fur and burnt flesh. ‘They did this to me!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Red, for want of anything better to say.

  ‘Oh, I don’t want sympathy,’ said the Wolf. ‘I want revenge.’

  She gulped. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Simple,’ said the Wolf. ‘I will give you a knife. You will go to the brick house where the three little pigs live. You will say that you have run away from home, that you have heard of the famous pigs’ hospitality, and wondered if they would give you a bite to eat.

  ‘They are stupid, so they will invite you in and tell you to make yourself at home. They will feed you and put you up for the night. I want you to kill them as they sleep.’

  ‘I cannae dae that!’ gasped Red.

  ‘You promised, Scarlet. You cannot break a promise, especially not after everything I’ve done for you.’

  Red felt dizzy. All she wanted at that moment was to be home; her real home, with her abusive grandmother, who was all the family she had.

  But that home didn’t exist anymore. That life wasn’t hers to live. She had murdered her gran, moved in with the Wolf, and nothing could ever go back to the way it was. She was trapped.

  ‘It’s … it’s evil,’ she stammered.

  ‘Oh, come, now, child. Have I taught you nothing? Good and evil are abstract human ideas that don’t have any real meaning.’ He sighed. ‘Do you know what an MSH certificate is?’

  Red shrugged.

  ‘MSH stands for Minimum Standard of Humanity. You see, most people think that in Europe, animals with the power of speech have human rights automatically. Utter balderdash! What about parrots?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘To get human rights, an animal with the power of speech must sit a test. To make sure they have the Minimum Standard of Humanity. Then they get the certificate that lets them get certain basic human rights. Now, isn’t it funny that it’s not called Minimum Standard of Goodness or Minimum Standard of Worthiness, or even Minimum Standard of Non-Evil? No. What is required is a Minimum Standard of Humanity. Stop me if I’m going too fast for you …’

  ‘Naw, it’s fine.’

  ‘Now, the test looks for several things to see how human-ish the animal has become. Can they understand complicated ideas? Can they use their imagination? Can they resist their animal instincts? In other words, most humans would fail. But a human being doesn’t have to pass a test to get human rights. A human being just has to be born. So where’s the equality?’

  Red shrugged. She was finding it harder and harder to pretend she kn
ew what the Wolf was on about.

  ‘One of the things they test you on,’ the Wolf went on, ‘is moral accountability. Do you know what “moral accountability” means?’

  ‘Like, right and wrang and that?’ shrugged Red.

  ‘Indeed, the concept of right and wrong. Also, your understanding of the importance of choosing right, and the consequences of choosing wrong, you see?’

  Red shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘So, I have an MSH certificate. I passed their little test because I understand moral accountability. I understand it … I just don’t agree with it.

  ‘Throughout history, human beings have been very, very nasty to creatures and people who aren’t like them: different races, different sexes, different species, whatever. “Right” has always meant being nice to “us” and nasty to “them”; “them” being everyone else. But slowly people have grown to accept the whole human race as “us”. Some people have. Others remain convinced that their own race, religion, gender, whatever, is superior to all the others. But still animals don’t count. It is considered less wrong to harm an animal than to harm a person, is it not?’

  His deep gaze bore into her and she shifted uncomfortably, aware that she had to give some sort of an answer. ‘Depends,’ she shrugged.

  The wolf laughed his deadly yet gentle laugh. ‘Yes, indeed. I think you’ll find that everything always “depends”.

  ‘Look after your own kind, Scarlet. That is the only morality that has ever truly existed. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and she did … but she didn’t want to.

  ‘It’s the same in nature. The cat doesn’t feel compassion for the bird it eats. The bird doesn’t feel compassion for the spider. The spider doesn’t feel compassion for the fly. You don’t feel compassion for the cow your double cheeseburger used to be. That cow never felt compassion for a blade of grass. Every living thing only cares about its own kind. That’s the way it should be. It’s natural.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Red, trying to puzzle out what she was supposed to make of all this. ‘But, um … so what?’

  ‘Scarlet, my dear, you are looking at the only known MSH wolf. It is a very lonely existence, but one I have become used to. When I take care of my own, I take care of just myself, because I am the only one. Everything I own, everything I have achieved is down to looking after Number One, and doing terrible things to anyone who gets in my way.’ He pointed to his wounds once more, and all trace of gentleness left his voice when he growled, ‘THEY DID THIS TO ME! I can’t have that, they must pay. If I don’t take my revenge, with your help, my reputation will be ruined and I will have nothing. Which means you will have nothing.’