The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5

by Todd, Ian

  “And ye think it’s perfectly awright fur a wee wean ae her age tae be running aboot the streets in the middle ae the night, wae nothing oan bit her nightie during a snow storm then?” the wee fat ugly specky wan hid challenged her, clearly affronted.

  “Well, it widnae hiv happened if her da hidnae been in the jail at the time, bit being oan ma ain and no coping very well, there wisnae much Ah could dae aboot it. Bit, as Ah said, she’s a sensible soul, and given how bad the weather wis, Ah felt that she’d be safe enough. Ah mean, there wis hardly likely tae be anywan hinging aboot the streets at that time ae the night, wis there?”

  “Ah’m sorry, Mrs McManus, bit Ah’ve been a social worker fur ten years noo, and that’s the maist ludicrous excuse Ah’ve ever heard fae a parent,” Ginger Nut hid harrumphed, laying doon her chipped tea cup oan the erm ae the chair and shuffling her papers.

  “So, it probably disnae come as a surprise tae ye that we’ve turned up at yer door then?”

  “Look, Ah’ll be honest wae ye. Ah know people aboot here…ma ain pals even…think aw youse social workers ur a bunch ae shitehooses, bit if Ah ever hear them saying that again, Ah’ll be the first tae challenge them, so Ah will. Youse ur no aw bad, so youse urnae.”

  “Well, we’re glad that ye understaun oor position. We’re human, jist like everywan else and hiv a job tae dae. It’s nothing personal, bit when we get a phone call saying that a wee lassie is running aboot in the middle ae the night in the street hauf naked, it’s oor job tae respond, so it is,” Specky hid come oot wae.

  “Whit? Er, hing oan a minute. Ye’re here because some basturt phoned, saying ma daughter wis running aboot the street in the middle ae the night, hauf naked?”

  “Aye,” they’d baith chimed at wance.

  “She wis running across tae ma neighbour because ma son goat stabbed tae death oan Thursday night and Ah wis in such a state that she went tae fetch help!”

  “Yer son wis whit?”

  “Ma poor eighteen-year-auld boy,” Issie hid bubbled.

  “So, yer daughter wisnae oot playing in the street then?”

  By the time Helen hid arrived at the hoose, Issie hid been in a helluva state. Issie hid thought that the social workers hid come up tae ask her if she needed help tae cope wae Joe’s death. The pair ae eejits hid telt her that they knew nothing aboot whit hid happened tae Joe and that they wur responding tae a report ae child neglect. Apparently, death by violence wis dealt wae in another office in the social work building, they’d muttered, before making a hasty exit. Helen hidnae been sure whether tae laugh or cry when Issie hid telt her, before she’d burst intae floods ae tears again.

  “So, whit’s gonnae happen aboot Mary Porter’s warrant sale oan Christmas Eve, Helen?” Issie asked her, bringing her back tae reality.

  “Ah don’t know, Issie. Given whit’s happened tae Joe, it’s probably better if we gie that wan a miss, so it is.”

  “Gie it a miss? Why wid ye dae that? Poor Mary is in an awful state, so she is, at the prospect ae aw her furniture being sold, the day before Christmas. Christ’s sake, Helen, we cannae let her doon…she’s depending oan us tae try and get the sale cancelled.”

  “Bit, Ah jist thought that wae aw this gaun oan, it wid be better tae dampen doon the demos oot ae respect fur you and Tam at this difficult time. Maist ae the lassies think that as well.”

  “Look, Helen, even if Ah hiv tae be doon at that closemooth masel, Ah’m no hivving poor Mary staunin there oan her lonesome, seeing her weans’ beds being humphed oot ae that closemooth intae a van by maggots, oot fur an easy bob at her expense.”

  “Next!” a tired looking, baldy-heided, bearded man wae broon nicotine stained whiskers oan the right haun side ae his upper lip, wearing a broon shirt, a broon striped tie and a broon V-necked pullover, shouted fae his desk, ten feet in front ae them.

  “We wur telt doon the stairs tae fill these in and bring them up here tae yersel,” Issie said, passing the forms across the desk tae him.

  “Hmm, uhuh, hmm, uhuh, hmm, Ah’m sorry, no can do,” he said, finally gieing them eye contact, as he looked up at them through his broon-framed glasses.

  “Why, whit’s wrang?” Helen demanded tae know, feeling the dread creeping up through her stomach.

  “Youse will hiv tae heid doon tae the mortuary in the Saltmarket and they’ll gie ye the death certificate and await the body tae be uplifted. Wance ye’ve done that, ye’ll need tae take it tae an undertaker’s who’ll then be able tae collect the body. Ah shouldnae really be saying this,” he said, drapping his voice and looking aboot, ”bit Ah’d recommend Clydeside Funeral Directors across in Tradeston, which isnae far tae walk fae the mortuary. Ye’ll get the best deal in the toon fae them. Wance ye’ve done that, come back here, and we’ll process the claim.”

  Silence.

  “Oh, and another thing, ye’ll need tae nip up tae the flair above me and go tae the section wae the letter M hinging doon fae the ceiling and get them tae stamp this form fur ye tae haun o’er tae the undertaker. Withoot it, the undertaker won’t be able tae put in a claim fur his costs, Mrs, er, McManus. They’ll also gie ye a form that lists aw the costs associated wae a funeral that kin be claimed. It won’t cover the full cost, though, Ah’m afraid.”

  Chapter Six

  “Ah see ye’ve goat a couple ae wee stoating Rob Roy’s yersel, Helen, then,” Betty said, tossing a fag across tae her.

  “Aye, a wee boy, aged aboot ten, appeared aboot an hour ago wae them. He’s wan ae Johnboy’s pals’ wee brother. Ah’m glad there’s cellophane wrapped roond them though. Ye should’ve seen the colour ae they hauns ae his. They wur mockit, so they wur.”

  “Aye, it’ll be the same wee manky toe-rag that delivered mine. Wan wee boy wis daeing the delivery, while his wee pal wis at the bottom ae the closemooth, looking efter the wans that wur packed intae an auld Silver Cross sedan pram. It’s jist as well they prams hiv big springs oan them wae the amount ae chickens they wur humphing aboot. Ah’ve jist been up at Issie’s and she goat hers delivered earlier oan.”

  “Aye, Ah’m jist gonnae let them defrost oan tap ae the sink. They’ll jist be right fur the oven oan Saturday, so they will,” Helen said, haunin Betty a cup ae tea before taking a seat at the kitchen table beside her.

  “Ye must admit, Helen, the boys ur aw good tae their maws and their maws’ pals. That’s three Christmases in a row that they’ve delivered a couple ae nice chickens, jist before the big day arrives. Ah must admit, Ah wis hinging oan tae see whit wid happen this year. That first year that Ah goat them, Ah’d awready bought mine.”

  “Ah’m never that comfortable taking them. They’re obviously knocked-aff. Imagine the polis coming tae yer door at this time ae the year. Ah mean, look at poor Tam, getting huckled while he wis sitting at his tea, fur no paying that fine ae his.”

  “Ach, it’s only a couple ae chickens, so it is. It’s no exactly the crime ae the century, is it? And it’s coming fae the boys themsels. Ah think it’s really lovely ae them. Big juicy Rob Roy wans tae, so they ur.”

  “Aye, bit if ye think how many chickens ur getting delivered, jist tae us lot. Apart fae us, there will be Sandra, Cathy, Mary, Sharon, Soiled Sally, Geraldine, Ann, Jemima, Christine, Brenda and Nan and God knows who else, as well as aw the other boys’ maws. That’s a lot ae chickens, so it is.”

  “Ah heard that auld Mary Flint and Elaine Hinky goat wan each delivered tae them, according tae Issie.”

  “Aw, that’s nice, so it is. How ur they coping?”

  “Issie said she went alang tae see them tae thank them fur gieing a statement tae the polis, efter witnessing whit happened tae Joe. She said they wur still in a terrible state, so they wur. Imagine seeing something like that, at their age, efter gaun oot fur a wee game ae bingo? Bloody liberty, so it is.”

  “So, whit’s happening wae yersels then, Betty? Ur youse still coming roond oan Christmas day night?”

  “Oh aye, ye’ll see us aboot five o’clock, wance Stan get
s a good swally, efter listening tae the Queen's speech. He’s a fly git. He says that ye cannae no hiv a wee toast or two efter the queen his made an effort tae talk tae the nation. See these bloody Orangemen...they’re bigger bums than ten arses, so they ur.”

  “Ach, as long as it keeps him happy and he’s no daeing any herm. Ma Jimmy usually waits until he’s done the dishes before his thirst really kicks in. He usually jist his a couple ae screw-taps tae wash doon Johnboy’s good knocked-aff chicken. He likes tae get everything squared up before you and Stan come roond.”

  “Aye, it’ll be a shite Christmas fur poor Issie and Tam this year, so it will,” Betty sighed, taking a puff ae her fag.

  “Aye, Ah know. Me and Jimmy hid a row aboot it last night. Ah suggested that we should maybe invite them and Wee Mary roond tae join us fur the meal. He wisnae a happy-chappie, Ah kin tell ye. ‘And where ur they aw gonnae sit, eh? Ye know fine well that Isabelle, Anne and Norma will aw be here, plus the weans,’ he moaned. Ah jist telt him that Ah’m sure we kin fit them in. He came back at me wae, ‘Look, Ah don’t want tae sound horrible, bit Tam will be pished as a fart and Issie will be like Doctor Death...miserable as fuck. It’s Christmas, and aw the family and Betty and Stan will be here. Ye don’t want tae spoil their Christmas as well as oors, dae ye?’”

  “So, whit did ye say tae him fur that bit ae cheek then?”

  “Ah jist bloody telt him straight that Issie, Tam and Wee Mary wid be roond here later oan wae you and Stan, wance we’ve hid oor dinner and that wis that.”

  “Good fur you, Helen, hen. These men think they bloody-well own us and that we should dae whit we’re telt. That Stan ae mine is the same. Gie them an inch and they take a bloody mile, so they dae.”

  “Okay, Ah kin accept that it wid be a tight fit roond ma good extending table, so Ah wis willing tae compromise there, bit Ah’m no hivving Issie and poor Wee Mary sitting roond in that hoose, feeling shite, oan their lonesome oan Christmas Day…no efter whit’s happened tae poor Joe. They kin come roond and dae that here, in amongst people they know and feel comfortable wae.”

  Chapter Seven

  Issie and Helen hid hunkered doon, wae the tap ae their heids ploughing intae the gale that wis howling alang Keppochhill Road and hid caught the number thirty seven oan Springburn Road which took them aw the way back doon tae the mortuary in the Saltmarket. It hid been another hectic morning. Jist as Helen hid been putting oan her coat in the lobby, a loud knock oan her door hid startled her. When she’d turned roond, she’d clocked the ootline ae two big bizzys’ heids through the frosted glass. She’d frozen oan the spot. Fae where she wis staunin, she could see the two plump Rob Roy chickens sitting oan tap ae her draining board oan the sink, still hauf frozen fae the day before, due tae the cauldness ae the hoose. She’d held her breath and wondered how long they’d been staunin there and wondered if they could see her ootline. The bedroom door behind her hid been open and the sky fae the windae at the front ae the hoose lit up the far end ae the lobby. She’d felt hersel jumping as the door rattled wae the force ae the chapping. Eventually, wae her mooth as dry as the sole ae an Arab’s sandal, she’d made up her mind, buttoning up her coat as she heided fur the door. When she’d opened it, The Stalker hid been staunin there wae Biscuit Smith, his partner.

  “Mrs Taylor?”

  “Ah’m in a hurry, so Ah am,” she’d telt them.

  “Aye, well, Ah wis wondering if we could hiv a wee word?”

  “Whit aboot?”

  “Kin we come in fur a minute?”

  “Ah telt ye, Ah’m oan ma way oot,” she’d replied, barring the way wae her body, while tying a knot in her heid scarf under her chin.

  “Ye widnae want us tae staun oot here oan this cauld landing, discussing yer business in front ae aw and sundry, wid ye?” PC Shiny Buttons, The Stalker's partner, hid asked, voice echoing oan the empty stairheid landing.

  “Anything youse hiv goat tae say tae me won’t put me tae shame. Ah’ve nothing tae hide or fear fae ma neighbours,” Helen hid retorted, expecting the chickens tae jump aff her sink any second and run oot clucking that they wur saved at last.

  “It’s aboot the warrant sale roond in Endricks Street this coming Friday,” The Stalker hid said, attempting tae saften his original growl.

  “Christmas Eve, the season ae peace and goodwill tae aw men,” PC Plod hid reminded her.

  “And wummin,” Helen hid shot back, no being able tae contain hersel, despite jist being aboot tae be huckled fur chicken kidnapping.

  “We’ve jist come up tae hiv a wee friendly chat aboot how it’s tae be conducted. We wur wondering if there wis any way we kin come tae some kind ae wee arrangement where everywan kin get something positive oot ae the situation,” The Stalker hid said soothingly.

  “In this so-called season ae peace and goodwill tae aw men, including aw us wummin and weans, cancelling the warrant sale oan Christmas Eve wid be the best ootcome fur aw concerned. If ye think we’re gonnae staun by and let youse sell the beds fae under the feet ae Mary Porter and her weans, then ye’ve another think coming, so youse hiv,” Helen hid retorted, bristling, as she unhooked her hoose keys fae the string that wis dangling behind her door.

  “While Ah agree wae yer sentiments, we’re no in a position tae cancel the sale. Oor job is tae ensure that nowan gets hurt, that the sale proceeds smoothly and the Sheriff officers kin go aboot their official business, unmolested.”

  “Look, we’re no interested in the Sheriff officers. We’ll be there tae make sure maggots and leaches who turn up tae benefit and profit aff ae other people’s misery and misfortune, reconsider whether this is the maist appropriate way tae earn a few bob, particularly at this time ae the year,” Helen hid telt them, pulling the door shut behind her as she brushed past them.

  “Aw we’re asking ye tae dae is ensure that ye’re no blocking the closemooth or hindering people gaun up and doon the street, gaun aboot their lawful business. Is that too much tae ask fur?” The Stalker hid pleaded wae her, as the two ae them followed her doon the stairs.

  “Aye, well, don’t ye worry aboot that...the only people that’ll be gaun up and doon that street will be people coming tae show how angry they ur at whit’s happening tae a single mother and her weans, the day before Christmas. Ah’m sure we’ve goat God oan oor side oan this wan,” Helen hid grunted, leaving them staunin at the front ae her closemooth, as she hurried up towards Gourlay Street and Issie’s hoose.

  If that hidnae been bad enough, she’d come across Issie trying tae lift Tam up aff the stairs below her landing where he’d tripped, heid first, pished as a fart, heiding oot tae the licensed grocer’s tae get another bottle ae Auld England sherry.

  “Ah tried tae tell the eejit that it wisnae open fur another two hours, bit he widnae listen,” Issie hid said apologetically, as the baith ae them managed tae manhaundle Tam back up oan tae his feet and hauf drag him back up the stairs and intae the hoose.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Tam, whit a state ye’re in,” Helen hid admonished, haudin him steady oan the seat beside the kitchen table, as Issie dipped a dish towel intae the basin in the sink, before pressing it against the bloody gash oan his foreheid.

  “Dae ye think he’ll need tae go and get it stitched, Helen?” Issie hid asked, as the baith ae them peered at the wound.

  “Probably, bit Ah don’t think they’d entertain him in the state he’s in. Ye’d be better wrapping a towel roond that heid ae his and see if the bleeding stoaps.”

  “Right, Tam, ya bloody bampot, ye...Ah’m gonnae wrap a towel roond yer heid tae stoap yer bleeding. Ye’ll hiv tae go back tae yer bed. If ye move aboot, it’ll only get worse, so it will,” Issie hid shouted at him, as the baith ae them humphed Lawrence Ae Arabia through tae the bedroom and slung him doon oan tae the bed.

  “Oh, Ah think Ah’ve fractured ma skull, doll,” Tam hid slurred and groaned. “Ye couldnae nip alang tae the LG’s and get me a wee bottle tae stoap the pain, could ye?”

  “Ah’ve telt
ye, Tam, the bloody licensed grocer’s disnae open tae eleven.”

  “Christ, Ah don’t know how ye put up wae it, Issie. If that wis ma man, Ah wid’ve taken a stick tae his bare back long before noo,” Helen hid said wance they wur back through in the kitchen, hivving a fag o’er a cup ae tea.

  “He’s still in mourning, so he is. Ah’m sure he’ll come roond in a day or two, Helen. Between getting huckled by the polis and then wae poor Joe, it’s a wonder Ah’m no lying through there pished as well. Ah’m glad Wee Mary his goat school tae go tae. Her and her wee pal hid tae walk doon his back tae get past him this morning. She wis so upset efter he started yelping that the heels ae their shoes wur digging intae his ribs.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Will ye dae aw the talking, Helen? The thought ae poor Joe lying somewhere in here is gieing me the heebie-jeebies,” Issie sobbed, as they went through the glass panelled door ae the mortuary.

  “Hello, Ah’m Mrs Taylor and this is Mrs McManus. We’re here tae pick up the death certificate ae Joe McManus,” Helen informed the receptionist.

  “Okay, let me see...McManus, ye said?” asked the receptionist, picking up a clip-board before starting tae rustle through the sheets.

  “Aye, Joe, er, Joseph McManus…a young boy…” Helen said, haudin Issie up as the baith ae them stared at the thick sheaf ae paper oan the clipboard.

  “Johnston, Murphy, Ralston, Baker, McLeod, another Ralston…nae relation,” the receptionist murmured, looking up at them wae a wee apologetic smile, in case she hid confused them. “Sweeney, MacDonald, Mitchell, Henderson, McCauley, Thompson, Gibb, Sing, McGregor, Fredrico…he’s Atalian, that wan,”