The Kellys of Kelvingrove

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  The old lady had chuckled and said, ‘The neighbours are going to have kittens having you lot beside them, especially that snobby woman in number five. But good luck to you, I say, and thanks for coming to see me.’

  He did not understand why the neighbours were going to have kittens but the visit had obviously pleased the old grandmother and made her happy. And so he was happy. His lean brown face stretched into a smile.

  He would never understand how the old lady’s son could have so cruelly given her away, instead of welcoming her into his own home. The prophet Mohammed (may Allah’s peace and blessings be on him) said, ‘The Lord has decreed … that ye show kindness to your parents. If one of them or both of them attain old age with thee, say not – fie – unto them or repulse them, but speak unto them a gracious word and lower unto them the wing of submission through mercy and say: My Lord, Have mercy on them both as they did care for me when I was little.’

  He wondered if she wanted them to visit her again to keep her company and pay their respects. He thought it might be cheeky of him and so he just waited for her to invite them. They hung around the bed repeating polite goodbyes but no invitation came.

  His house at number three was exactly the same in layout and proportions, he understood, as the other houses. All had a sitting room, a dining room and a kitchen downstairs. Upstairs there was a bathroom and three bedrooms. Each house had a garage attached to one side.

  He and Bashir had much painting to do before they moved in. Rasheeda much cleaning and polishing. But it was a good house with a garden at the front, something they thanked Allah for. Bashir used to live in a very good district with his wealthy parents far from the Gorbals and had a garden there. But Mahmood had never had a garden before. At the end of the garden was a path and a narrow stretch of the River Kelvin, then a line of trees. Beyond that was a rough slope which led to the back of the Kelvingrove Art Galleries and Museum.

  Oh, many a fascinating hour he and his family would spend in that beautiful place. His small frame trembled with pleasurable anticipation. He could hardly wait. The family at present, however, were busy cleaning the old house so that it was left in a respectable condition.

  Now the removal men had arrived at the back of the house in Museum Road. Mahmood rushed through the empty house to open the door, shouting and brandishing the keys. Already the removal men had the back of their van open and were punching and jerking at his furniture. In his excitement, Mahmood spoke quickly and loudly in Urdu.

  ‘Aye, aw right, dad,’ one of the men said, without looking round. ‘Keep your whiskers on.’

  Another man said, ‘Christ, the posh yins round about here are goin’ tae go a bundle on this!’

  Mahmood flicked a worried gaze around. No sign of his family yet.

  He felt naked without them. It was most strange to be on his own. And in such a strange place. It was almost as different from the Gorbals as the Gorbals had been different from his homeland. But at least the Gorbals had been noisy and had many children. Here, away from the main road and the noise of traffic, it was still and quiet. Nowhere had he ever been used to quietness.

  The removal men were staggering towards the back door, chins glued to a large, old-fashioned sideboard. They were cursing because of the muddy quagmire their feet were sinking and slithering into. Mahmood squeezed back against the wall and called to them instructions about where in the dining room to put the sideboard. At the same time he kept an anxious watch on his other possessions in case any thief came by.

  Next from the van appeared the bed settee. It had been covered in green cloth by his wife Rasheeda, who was very clever with the sewing machine. The bed settee was very useful as an extra bed. It would be a long time before they could afford to buy another.

  Chairs were balanced on the pavement of Museum Road and a rolled-up striped mattress tied tightly with string. He slithered down to try and lift a cardboard box. It was full of pots and pans and it rattled and clanged noisily.

  ‘Look, will ye jist leave everything to us, dad. Away ye go back into the house. Ye’re like a wee bird hoppin’ about out here.’

  He was not insulted. Everyone Scottish was all right to him and his family. They were happy with the Scottish people.

  ‘Excuse me. I give you much trouble.’

  ‘Aye, ye’re right, auld yin. Away ye go in and make yersel’ a nice wee cup o’ Pakistani tea.’

  Mahmood laughed. Yet at the same time, it occurred to him that these men would not see anything funny or out of place about a man doing women’s work. It was the Western way.

  His son-in-law, Bashir, had obviously long since adopted Western ways. To hear Bashir talk with his Glasgow accent, no one would have guessed he was not a true Glaswegian. Only his brown face gave him away.

  It was then that he heard Bashir calling from the open front door. He must have left one of his assistants to look after the shop.

  ‘Are you there, Pop?’ No one else but Bashir ever called him by this Glasgow word.

  ‘Yes, Bashir. I am here helping the removal men.’

  Staggering past Bashir, one of the removal men said, ‘Will ye remove this auld yin. He’s gettin’ in oor way.’

  ‘OK.’ Bashir laughed. ‘Come on, Pop. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’

  Mahmood tutted. He had reprimanded Bashir about this before but it had not done the slightest good. Bashir was such a kindly, good-natured man. No one could be angry with him for long.

  Through in the kitchen, Bashir found the kettle and splashed it full of water.

  ‘Nice place, eh? Where’s Rasheeda?’

  ‘They are finishing off cleaning the old house. But it is time Zaida and Mirza were home from school. I hope they have not lost their way.’ He scuttled towards the front door. ‘I will see if they are approaching.’

  Bashir shouted after him.’ The tea won’t be a minute.’

  Mahmood stood in the small front garden and gazed anxiously beyond the river, trying to peer between the trees at the other side, until suddenly he spied the tall figure of Mirza (such a handsome boy) and his sister, Zaida. There was also another girl with them, a white girl with a thick cap of red-gold curls. She waved goodbye and walked further along the path.

  ‘Who was your companion?’ Mahmood asked once he had hustled brother and sister into the house.

  ‘Sandra. She lives with her mother at number five,’ Mirza said. ‘Her father is dead.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ Mahmood sympathised. ‘We must have her and her mother here for tea, after we are properly settled in. Rasheeda will make chapattis.’

  Zaida laughed. ‘Sandra Arlington-Jones. Double-barrelled, no less.’

  ‘Double-barrelled,’ Mahmood repeated in puzzlement. By this time, the removal men had finished their work and Bashir was offering them a cup of tea.

  ‘Och, we’ve another load to deliver and they’ll be waiting for us. We’d better get on with it, but thanks aw the same, pal.’

  And off they went. No sooner had their big van disappeared than Rasheeda arrived.

  ‘You look done in, Ma. Sit down and I’ll give you a cup of tea.’

  Mahmood tutted and shook his head but didn’t say anything. After the tea, they all had a look around their new home and felt well pleased and happy.

  ‘Such a nice area too,’ Rasheeda said. ‘Like being away out in the country.’

  ‘I can hear the river,’ Zaida put a cupped hand to her ear, ‘and footsteps echoing on the wee footbridge.’

  Mahmood thought his children were getting very westernised. He sighed and accepted the fact. His children were getting a good education. They had a nice new home, good prospects and good Scottish friends. He should feel lucky and grateful, and happy.

  And he did.

  8

  ‘It’s awful kind of you to come in,’ Doris McIvor said as she poured out cups of tea. ‘Is it all right if I call you Mae?’ Doris had a dark frizzy mop of grey-streaked hair that gave her a wild look.

  �
��Of course.’ Mae had felt worried about the bad effect Mrs Gardner might have on Doris and her mother and had decided to keep an eye on Doris and try to warn her about the awful hypocrite of a neighbour.

  ‘I seldom get out because of Mum. I mean, I can’t leave her alone and I don’t always feel welcome if I take her with me.’

  ‘I could see what you mean at the meeting. I didn’t like the way Mrs Arlington-Jones treated you and your mother. But we didn’t get a chance to talk then. I’d be careful about that Mrs Gardner too, Doris.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Gardner’s all right. Almost angelic, in fact. She’s been so kind to me. She visits me nearly every day.’

  Mae looked worried. ‘Really?’

  ‘The meeting was embarrassing,’ Doris admitted. ‘Mum wasn’t always like that. She was wonderful to me and my brother when we were younger and when she was in good health. I must never forget that.’

  ‘What day is it?’ Mrs McIvor suddenly asked. She had smooth white hair, pinned severely back with kirby grips.

  ‘Tuesday, Mum.’

  ‘I was just thinking,’ Mae said, ‘anytime you need to get out for a break, I don’t mind coming in for an hour. As long as it’s while my husband’s at work.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much.’

  Mae was taken aback to see how Doris had suddenly taken a fit of violent trembling.

  ‘I’m so lucky having such a good neighbour. You’re a lovely person, Mae Kelly.’

  ‘Are you all right, Doris?’ Mae asked anxiously.

  ‘Your husband’s a lucky man. You’re lovely looking as well.’

  ‘What? Me? I’m wee and fat.’

  ‘You’re a curvaceous blonde and I bet your hair’s naturally curly.’

  ‘Well, yes. But have you seen my husband? That’s what I call good-looking.’

  ‘What day is it?’ Mrs McIvor asked.

  ‘Tuesday, Mum,’ Doris answered, obviously struggling to be patient.

  ‘Where’s your brother. Can he not help out?’

  ‘Australia.’

  ‘Oh dear. Anyway, I could come in for an hour each Thursday morning – say ten thirty to eleven thirty, just to let you have a wee break on your own. Even a walk around the Art Galleries and maybe a cup of tea in the café might do you good.’

  ‘You don’t know what that would mean to me, Mae. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’

  ‘Och, don’t be daft. It’s nothing. Just an hour a week. I’d like to help more but I’ve so much to do in the house and an awful lot on my mind just now.’

  ‘Ten thirty on Thursday morning.’ Doris repeated the words as if saying a prayer.

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday, Mum.’

  ‘You said Thursday.’

  ‘No, Thursday is when Mae is coming to visit you. Today is Tuesday.’ Then to Mae, ‘She’s on tranquillizers during the day and sleeping tablets at night but she nods off quite a lot during the day. I’ve to be so careful never to forget her tranquillizers, otherwise she’d get out of the house, even if I locked the door. It’s a worry if I’ve to leave her even when I need to go to the bathroom.’

  ‘I didn’t get my tablets today.’

  ‘Yes, you did, Mum.’

  ‘You didn’t give me my tablets today.’

  ‘Yes, I did, Mum.’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday, Mum.’

  Mae detected the mounting stress in Doris’s voice and posture.

  ‘You see,’ Doris went on, ‘she’d be out of the house and away without somebody here to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I was a nurse for a while after I left school.’

  ‘I’m not a bit surprised. You’re such a capable, caring person.’

  Mae could have laughed. Caring, yes, but definitely not capable. If she had been capable of managing her affairs, she would not have got herself into such a mess of debt, and now theft. And her the wife of a police officer. She felt so desperately ashamed, she could have wept.

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday, Mum. I could give her an extra tranquillizer before you come in. It wouldn’t do her any harm, just make her more likely to doze off for a wee while.’

  ‘I didn’t get any tablets today.’

  ‘Yes, you did, Mum.’ The stress in Doris’s voice had begun to make Mae feel nervous. It was as if Doris could explode at any minute. Her frizzy hair was practically standing up on end.

  ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘You see, she could be liable to wander out of the house and away without someone here to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday, Mum. I could give her an extra tranquillizer before you come in. It wouldn’t do her any harm, just make her doze off for a wee while.’

  Doris obviously didn’t realise that she’d begun to repeat herself.

  ‘I didn’t get my tablets today.’

  ‘Yes, you did, Mum.’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday.’

  Mae felt truly sorry for Doris. It was enough to drive anyone mad listening to the old woman, all day and every day.

  She hesitated. ‘Have you ever thought of – you know – a home?’

  ‘Often. But my brother would be furious with me. He doesn’t understand. He hasn’t been over for a while and Mum was fine then – a bit forgetful, that was all. When I suggested it, he was so shocked. I thought he was never going to stop going on and on about how cruel and selfish I was.’

  ‘Tell him to come over now and see her for himself.’

  ‘Oh, I have. But he’s got a really important and responsible job, and a young family to consider. He can’t just walk away from everything at the drop of a hat or on one of my whims, he says.’

  ‘Whims!’ Mae echoed. ‘I’d teach him. I’d do it anyway.’

  But of course she knew she wouldn’t. She’d be just as stupid as Doris was with her brother. And just as soft as Doris was with her mother.

  Wasn’t she being stupid and soft with Jack? She adored him, of course, but she had been suffering hell over the warehouse account and trying to be as economical as she could in order to save up to pay it. Then there was the worse hell of worrying about how she’d save enough to pay back all she’d stolen from under the floor boards.

  And all the time, Jack kept happily inviting all his police officer pals to show off his new house and to have a meal in his lovely new dining room.

  Mae rose to go. ‘I’ll see you on Thursday.’

  ‘You said it was Tuesday,’ Mrs McIvor complained.

  ‘Today is Tuesday, Mum. Mae is just telling me that she’ll be back for another visit.’

  Mae gave Doris a sympathetic hug before leaving.

  Reaching her own front door, she relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. As she did so, she noticed two scruffily dressed young men approaching towards the footbridge. Then they stopped on the bridge lighting cigarettes as soon as Jack’s Mini appeared. In a couple of minutes, Jack was at the front door, grabbing her into his arms. As usual, she marvelled at his handsome appearance. He especially suited his police uniform.

  ‘Darling.’ He hugged her enthusiastically and she noticed, as she glimpsed over his shoulder, that the two men had disappeared. She had noticed them in the first place because it was so unusual to see anyone at this quiet end of the river. Everyone came from the many streets beyond the front of the Art Galleries and they walked along and into the Galleries by the front entrance. If they used the back entrance, and lots of people did, there was plenty of room for parking cars or walking about. She had never seen anyone venture beyond that wide area to scramble down the rough slope and make for the river’s edge. She felt increasingly uneasy, frightened even.

  Soon she was busy serving up the evening meal. As usual, it was food from Marks & Spencer. Jack insisted she always shopped there for food. It was delicious, of course, and they enjoyed it but she couldn’t help saying, ‘I’ll have to stop doing this.’


  ‘Doing what?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Buying so much food from Marks & Spencer. We can’t afford it. After this I’m going to the nearest supermarket.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mae.’ Jack hitched up his jacket and pushed two pound notes across the table to her. ‘There’s a raise in your housekeeping money.’

  She suddenly had an unusual and violent urge to stuff the paltry pounds down Jack’s throat but just at that moment, the telephone jangled. She answered it.

  ‘It’s for you.’ She held out the receiver and Jack heaved himself out of his chair. He had admitted before now that at the end of each day, he suffered agonising pain with his injured hip. His limp certainly became more obvious. It made her feel guilty that she had allowed herself to even think impatient thoughts about him.

  ‘Harry! Of course you can join us, old son, and welcome. See you on Sunday. We can catch up with all the news then.’

  That meant, she knew, that yet another steak pie or fish and chip supper had to be purchased for the Sunday police get-togethers. She was about to object but watching Jack limp back to his chair, she hadn’t the heart. Her anger fizzled out. She loved the stupid, thoughtless man. That would always be the trouble. In bed at night, enfolded in his arms, experiencing him plunging deep inside her, she didn’t care about anything else he did, as long as he kept making such passionate love to her.

  She struggled for control.

  ‘Had a busy day?’

  ‘Yeah. The lads have been questioning a couple of neds about a robbery at the Art Galleries but they released them eventually.’

  ‘The Art Galleries?’

  ‘Yeah. We know it was them. It had their fingerprints all over it. As well as giving them the third degree, the lads searched their pad, but with no luck. They didn’t expect any, of course.’