The Kellys of Kelvingrove

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to be worried like that. No, I’ll just carry on the way I’m doing. At least I’m happy with what I’ve managed to write.’

  ‘What’s bothering me, Paul, is the fact that you haven’t made him a minister – the Denby character, I mean. Why are you making him a two-faced bully of a husband in the book?’

  ‘It’s the emotional truth that matters, Clive. Our writer friends would agree about that, I’m sure. It’s the same with the gay characters in the book. They’re not teachers like us. They don’t live in a place like Waterside Way. But their suffering is true to life – our life – and that’s what matters.’

  ‘I suppose you know best. You’re the writer, not me. It’s certainly proving to be a gripping read anyway. Oh look, there’s Bashir.’ Clive waved at their Muslim friend who seemed somewhat agitated.

  ‘I’ve just seen the two old biddies walking towards the Gallery and I know Sandra and Mirza are there. I wanted to warn them in case they came out and bumped into the pair of old horrors.’

  ‘We saw them just a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Where?’

  Paul pointed. ‘Over there.’

  ‘Thanks, pal. See you.’

  ‘Aye. OK.’

  After Bashir had raced away, Clive said, ‘He’s a really good guy, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. If only everybody was like him. OK, he’s Muslim, not Christian like us. But he’s a good Muslim and it’s how people treat one another that matters. He treats people in a caring and loving way. What could be better than that?’

  ‘You’re right. I’d rather have him than the Christian Reverend Denby any day.

  30

  Jack Kelly said, ‘I haven’t even had time to do the shopping, what with all the extra work at the station.’

  Mae shrugged. ‘You’ll have more time from now on, won’t you?’

  ‘No, I won’t.’ Jack’s voice hardened angrily. ‘You’ll have to do the shopping. And come in and cook the meals.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Jack. I must stay here with Doris.’

  ‘And I’m telling you, you must come back to where you belong.’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘I am telling you. And if necessary, I’ll tell Doris as well. From now on, you’re only going to work part time seeing to her.’

  ‘Doris is ill and needing taken care of. You’re perfectly strong and healthy.’

  ‘You can take care of her part time after you do the shopping and while I’m at work. Once I’m at home, your duty is to come home and see to my meals.’

  ‘And those of all your police friends?’

  ‘Yes. It all worked out perfectly happily before.’

  ‘Perfectly happily?’

  ‘Yes. And there’s no reason why it should not work out perfectly happily again.’

  ‘Jack, how many times must I repeat myself? Doris is ill and needs to be taken care of day and night, and that is what I’m being paid to do.’

  ‘You’re forgetting something, Mae.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not in fact as perfectly strong and healthy as you’ve just said. I have an injured hip and I confess now, although you must have seen it with your own eyes, that I suffer constant agonising pain.’

  She couldn’t deny this and for the first time, she wavered. She might have tried to make whatever concession she could but seeing her hesitate and waiver, he immediately became aggressive again.

  ‘So stop all this bloody nonsense, pack up your things and come home. Now!’ he shouted at her, ‘before I completely lose patience with you.’

  Wasn’t that so typical of him. He was a stupid, selfish bully and always had been. He’d never change. All right, she missed his passionate love-making. There was no denying he was good at sex but that couldn’t, and shouldn’t, make up for all his faults, and all the other things he was totally ignorant about.

  ‘No,’ she said, in the nearest to shouting she’d ever managed in her life. ‘I will not pack up my things and come home. Forget it. From now on, you’ll have to manage on your own.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you any way I like.’

  ‘Did you not hear me?’ His voice and facial expression turned incredulous.

  ‘Yes, I heard you. You were shouting loud enough. It’s a good job Doris has had her sedative or she would have heard you as well.’

  ‘You will not talk to me any way you like. You will show me some respect, do you hear me? You’ll behave at least like a half-decent wife. That means you shut up now and do as you’re told.’

  She nearly laughed. It was so ridiculous.

  ‘Oh, Jack!’

  ‘Oh Jack what?’

  Did he expect her now to go down on her knees and apologise to him?

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘What?’ he yelled. ‘I’m being ridiculous?’

  ‘Yes. Almost Victorian. In case you haven’t noticed, women are free now, Jack. They are not slaves to their husbands.’

  ‘The bloody trouble with you is, you don’t know how lucky you are.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve provided you with a lovely home. Never kept you short of money …’

  She nearly gave a howl of hilarity at that.

  ‘Never been unfaithful to you. Don’t even smoke or drink. What more could any woman want?’

  ‘I want you to try doing what you expected me to do.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about now?’

  ‘Do the shopping for a start, Jack. That’ll be an eye opener for you. Come back and speak to me again after you do that.’

  ‘You’re raving, woman. What’s so difficult about shopping? If that’s all you’ve had to worry you, you really have been lucky.’

  ‘That’s what you’ve always thought, despite what I tried to tell you over and over again. I’ve tried to tell you the truth, Jack, but you’ve always refused to listen. I’m sick of telling you. I’m sick of talking to you. Just go away.’

  ‘Maybe you’d rather have action than talk. Maybe that’s what you need.’

  And with that he grabbed her and dragged her across the room, his fingers digging painfully into her arms.

  ‘You’re coming home right now.’

  ‘Let go of me, or I’ll scream the place down until every house in Waterside Way hears me. I’ll report you to police headquarters. What will all your precious police pals think of you then?’

  He loosened his grip.

  31

  Mae felt sad. Jack, for all his faults, had never been a violent man. He had always been kind and helpful to everyone. And of course he’d always thought he was kind and helpful to her. Despite the constant agony he suffered, he never complained or allowed the pain to keep him from going to any lengths to help neighbours or friends. Normally he was a patient man too. He had never lost his temper in the past. Was it her fault that he had changed to much? She struggled to be fair.

  Right from the start, should she have refused to buy all the equipment and furniture for the new house in Waterside Way? She had used up her savings. After that, should she have stopped, even if it meant moving in to bare floor boards, curtainless windows and empty rooms? She had wanted to please Jack, of course, but that should not have been used as an excuse to go to a wholesale warehouse and order everything the house needed to make it look first class. How on earth had she imagined at the time that she’d ever be able to pay the bill for all that?

  The money under the floor boards had obviously proved too much of a temptation for her in the circumstances.

  She had thought at the time that it had been put there by some previous eccentric tenant who had since died. It was sheer bad luck that it was money stolen from the Art Galleries.

  But she should never have touched it. She had only herself to blame for that. She couldn’t blame Jack. It was only natural too that he wanted to show his lovely new home to all his police
officer friends. She should not have gone along with buying expensive food for them, however. She should have stood her ground and refused.

  Things had just gone from bad to worse after that. Now she felt sad – sad that she had been at the root of changing Jack so much. Changing herself too. There were times when emotion got the better of her and she could even feel hatred for him. But in quiet moments she realised that fuelling the hatred were her feelings of frustration, regret and guilt.

  Deep down, she still loved him. She tried not to face that, or she tried to tell herself that it was purely sexual and she’d get over it. No, all of his life, Jack Kelly had been an honest, kind-hearted, courageous man. She had loved him for it and she loved him still.

  He had changed but it was her fault that he had changed. She had to face up to that unpalatable fact.

  32

  Jack had come apparently just for a cup of tea and a gossip about his work. Mae knew differently of course. Looking at him, she could understand what she’d always seen in him and how he’d always got round her in the past. His dark eyes had a sexual glimmer in them when he spoke to her. He was the most handsome man she’d ever known, with his sleek black hair, his strong cleft chin and broad, muscly shoulders.

  ‘So the lads took the two neds round and in through the back door. The reception desk where I work is for members of the public coming in.’ He took another sip of tea while his eyes glimmered at her over the tea cup. ‘If it’s a suspect or an accused, they get taken in through the back door to the charge bar. The lads had a good laugh in private afterwards. It was such a stroke of bad luck for the neds that they stashed the stolen money in a police officer’s house.’ He laughed, remembering. ‘They didn’t know at the time, of course. It was before we moved in.’

  Mae said to Doris, ‘Would you like some more tea, dear?’

  ‘No thanks, Mae. I’ll just go over and look out of the window. I like to see the flowers in our wee garden.’

  ‘Will you manage all right?’

  ‘Fine. Fine.’

  Jack watched Doris move away and then said, ‘She’s an awful lot better, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, I’m glad to say.’

  ‘I saw you walking her round to the Art Galleries the other day.’

  ‘Yes, she really enjoyed that. She had a rest in the tea room for a while, but she managed to see a couple of the exhibits.’

  ‘She’ll soon be completely back to normal.’

  ‘Physically, perhaps. But the years of stress she had to suffer have affected her mentally.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll get over that too. She sounds quite sensible to me.’

  Any minute now, Mae thought, he’s going to get round to the true reason for his visit. And sure enough, it came.

  ‘But for now, you’ll at least be able to get out with her to do the shopping.’

  ‘Yes, we do manage once a week. As well as hanging on to me, Doris sometimes uses a stick. Or she supports herself with the trolley I push. We use it to carry the shopping back home.’

  ‘No problem shopping then?’

  ‘We manage.’

  ‘So you could quite easily pop into the trolley the steaks, etc, I need for my dinners and the Sunday dinner for my pals.’

  There it was, at last. The true reason.

  ‘But I’m not going to, Jack.’

  His eyes hardened with anger. ‘What do you mean, you’re not going to?’

  ‘I’ve told you before that I want you to do the shopping. It’ll be a learning experience for you. Come back and tell me what you think afterwards.’

  ‘What’s to learn about shopping? And you’ve done it so often before, Mae.’

  ‘Oh yes. So often.’

  ‘You know the price of everything.’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed I do.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘Jack, I tried and tried to tell you about the shopping and the price of everything and you would never listen.’

  ‘Of course I listened. I gave you a raise in your housekeeping money. But don’t think that I’m going to give you any more. You’re getting no housekeeping money from me until you come back and do the housekeeping. Meantime,’ he commanded, ‘do the shopping!’

  ‘I don’t want any housekeeping money from you any more. I’m well paid for the job I do here.’

  ‘This is ridiculous. You’re my wife. Your first duty is to me.’

  ‘You’ve a lot to learn, Jack, and your first lesson will be when you do the shopping for all the steaks and fish suppers for your Sunday dinner.’

  ‘Are you jealous of my police friends coming to visit me? Is that your problem?’

  She could have laughed but instead she just shook her head.

  ‘No, that’s not my problem, Jack. Now, if you’ve finished your tea, I’d like you to leave.’

  He got up, nearly knocking the chair over.

  ‘Right, I’ll do the bloody shopping but I’ll be back.’

  ‘Yes, Jack, I do believe you will.’

  33

  Paul hadn’t got very far with his novel yet but he had a poem ready to show the crowd of writers who came to have a meeting in house number four.

  It was called ‘Wounded Knee’ and he read it to them when it was his turn to contribute something to the meeting.

  Wounded Knee

  My black trousers stumbled to a point half way

  to the skull-grey cap of my knee

  while I steered my way through the corrals

  of school playtime, avoiding the gunslinger

  glare of bullies, who’d queue

  to lassoo with threats.

  Pencil point stabbed between my shoulders,

  Beef-jerky breath in my face

  And a low growl in my ear …

  … as soon as the bell rings, you’re dead.

  I was faster than any of them

  knees and fists pumping the air,

  I was the best rider

  the Pony Express never had.

  A half-breed scout, I wore

  a Colt pistol under my belt

  and an eagle’s tail feather in my hair.

  A fall … and the bony plate of my knee

  became a wound with hard baked gravel

  ground under the torn and grieving skin.

  I grew my thumbnail especially

  for that moment when the scab was ripe,

  when the blood had hardened

  to a brown as deep as the colour of apache skin.

  I would tease off the scab …

  … until baby pink skin winked in the sunlight,

  fresh for the next gallop across the prairie

  and the race into the unreachable horizon.

  ‘Where did you get the idea for that one?’ Eric Summers asked. ‘Were you bullied at school because you were gay?’

  ‘I don’t know if it was because I was gay but I was certainly bullied.’

  ‘Were you bullied as well where you were young, Clive?’ Pat Jenners asked.

  ‘Yes, I used to be terrified to go to school. Unfortunately I hadn’t the release of being able to write poetry. I suppose it was a release, Paul, to express your feelings like that.’

  ‘Yeah, definitely. I didn’t have a clue then about how to write a novel, but I was a great reader and always dreamed of writing books like the ones I read and enjoyed.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Eric said. ‘You’ll soon be able to get back to working on your novel. It’s got such potential, Paul. We’ve all been enjoying what you’ve read to us so far.’

  ‘Here,’ Pat cried out. ‘How about sending the first three chapters out to a publisher. Or to half a dozen publishers. Multiple submissions are allowed now.’

  ‘I know,’ Paul said, ‘but in the Writers and Artists Yearbook, it tells you to send three chapters and a synopsis. How can I write a synopsis when I’m only half way through the book. At this stage, I don’t know how it’s going to work out, how it’s going to end.’

  Sally Men
zies piped up then. ‘Och, just make a guess at how it could work out. Each of us can come up with a suggestion. Then you can cobble them all together. It’s worth a try. Think of the excitement if a publisher accepted it.’

  ‘I could faint with excitement at the mere thought.’

  ‘OK. Let’s do that. We all want to come to your book launch party, remember.’

  One of the others said, ‘I’ve got a gut feeling, Paul, that at least one of the publishers you submit to is going to make an offer, is going to want to buy and publish it. I mean, it’s so good, Paul. It’s written with such genuine feeling and authenticity.’

  They were now all fired up with enthusiasm and excitement and before the meeting was over, a believable synopsis had been written. One of the members typed it out, with copies, and put each into an envelope, ready for posting the next day.

  Paul said, ‘Don’t forget the stamped addressed envelope in each, in case they’re not wanted.’

  ‘OK. OK. And I’ll go to the post office first thing tomorrow, get them all posted and get receipts for them as well.’

  ‘It’s so good of you. Good of you all. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘You’d do the same for us, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, definitely.’

  ‘There you are then. Now I think a cup of tea is due now. Don’t get up. We’ll make it. We’ve brought a packet of biscuits so we’re OK.

  ‘Bashir, one of our neighbours, did a whole lot of shopping for us. Everyone’s been so kind.’

  ‘Good.’

  Over drinking down good, strong cups of tea and crunching happily at biscuits, they all enjoyed planning Paul’s celebration party.

  By the time their writer friends left, Clive and Paul felt so much happier and better. They could have danced around the room. Clive said,

  ‘No more poetry, Paul. Every minute of your time now, every ounce of your energy, must be spent finishing your novel. If they accept the first three chapters and the synopsis, they’ll want you to send them the whole book right away.’