The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5

by Todd, Ian

  “Whit kept ye, ya wee prick, ye?” Biscuit hid demanded when he arrived.

  “Hoi, this is the tenth shoap that Ah’ve hid tae attend tae since eight o’clock last night, so it is, so we’ll hiv less ae yer cheek, pal, or ye kin sort the thing yersel,” the joiner hid growled back at him.

  It wis gonnae be a long day aheid ae them. He’d need tae get doon tae that dentist, bang oan nine and get his tooth sorted oot. There wis nae way he wis even gonnae attempt tae get up tae Endricks Street fur the sale at eleven if his jaw wis still gieing him trouble. It wis the worst task ae aw the jobs him and Biscuit hid tae carry oot. Why could The Corporation no jist hit the hairys wae some sort ae court order tae stoap them fae turning up at these hoose sales, he wondered. There must be somewan, somewhere, who could take them oan and stoap them fur good. They wur a pain in the arse. He actually pitied the poor unfortunate basturts that hid the misfortune tae be hitched tae any ae them. Hivving said that, the Taylor wan hid something aboot her. He couldnae quite put a finger oan it. There wis jist something aboot her when she wis aw fired up that he found attractive...sexy even. Back in the sixties, when she’d actually been civil tae him, they’d been staunin in the same queue wan day and, fur some strange reason, he'd hid a terrible urge tae ask her if somewan like her wid ever find somewan like him attractive. He shuddered noo, jist thinking ae the consequences, if he’d gied in tae that impulse. He’d spoken wae Father John aboot his feelings a few months back, which hid been a big mistake, never tae be repeated. He looked at his watch, no listening tae Biscuit gieing him a running commentary oan whit a useless, slow basturt, the joiner wis. Efter the warrant sale, him and his opposite number, Fin O’Callaghan, known tae aw and sundry as Bumper, hid tae be doon at Central fur a meeting, tae see whit the update wis oan the trouble brewing between Tony Gucci, wan ae the local up-and-coming gangsters and The Simpsons’ crowd, a mad bunch ae psychotic desperados who ruled Possil wae a heavy haun.

  “So, whit time’s that appointment then, Paddy?” Chic Thompson, the inspector asked, as himsel and Biscuit entered through the side door ae the station.

  “Ah’ll be doon there at nine oan the dot.”

  “And then up tae the hoose sale?”

  “If ye say so.”

  “Ah dae, and don’t be late fur the meeting at Central. Daddy hates anywan trooping in late when he’s in full flow, so make sure that ye’re there oan time, even if ye hiv tae leave the street party early. Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Don’t worry, Chic, we’ll be there, raring tae go, as usual.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Stalker wisnae in fine fettle at aw. Even though he wis a sergeant in Glesga’s finest, Duddy’s receptionist hid still made him sit in the waiting room, alang wae the rest ae the great unwashed.

  “Ah’m sorry, sergeant, bit as an emergency patient withoot an appointment, ye’ll jist hiv tae wait until there’s a gap in the queue before Mr Duddy kin deal wae ye,” the battle-axe oan the reception hid drawled at him.

  “Look, Ah’ve goat mair important things tae dae than hing aboot here, so Ah hiv. Ah’m still oan duty and people ur depending oan me.”

  “Aye, well, that makes two ae us then, so it dis,” she’d hit him wae, erms folded, nodding tae the group ae people, aw sitting roond the walls ae the waiting room behind him.

  “Well, Ah’d appreciate it if he kin see me as soon as. Ah’m in agony here and if yer dud ae a boss hid bloody-well done the job right in the first place, Ah widnae need tae be staunin here wae hauf ma face louping like a well skelped arse.”

  “If ye take a seat, Ah’m sure ye won’t be kept waiting fur long, sergeant.”

  It wis at times like this that wan became aware ae the prejudices against the polis, The Stalker thought tae himsel, as he nodded at the miserable faces sitting oan the chairs roond the walls, staring nervously at him. They aw looked guilty as sin, so they did. He wondered whit the reaction wid be if he asked them aw tae turn their pockets and bags oot oan tae the wee table wae the magazines oan tap ae it that wis sitting in the middle ae the waiting room. He picked up a wee Reader’s Digest book tae start aff wae, bit soon slung it back doon oan tae the scuffed and scarred coffee table. The pain wis driving him mental. He wanted tae run across and start battering the side ae his heid against the door post tae ease the pain, bit he didnae want tae upset a wee lassie who looked aboot five year auld, who wis sitting wae a white tourniquet wrapped roond her heid and cheeks wae a big knot tied oan tap ae her skull. She looked as if she’d a boiled egg stuck in her mooth that wis trying tae push oot ae the side ae her right cheek. She looked as miserable as he felt. He kept squinting at that watch ae his o’er and o’er as people came and went, maist ae who’d arrived efter he hid. He’d tae be doon in Endricks Street by hauf ten, at the latest, before the Sheriff officers arrived, or he’d be fucked. If they arrived before him, there wis a good chance that a riot wid break oot wae aw that poisonous hairy mob laying intae them. He wis shuddering, thinking aboot whit wid happen if any ae the buyers turned up early, when his name wis called.

  “Ye kin go in noo, sergeant,” the anti-bizzy bitch cooed pleasantly, as he covered the space between his seat and the dentist’s door in two seconds flat.

  “Right, Duddy, ya dud, ye, Ah’m through being pleasant, so Ah am. Being civil disnae seem tae get ye anywhere these days. When Ah wis in here a couple ae days ago, Ah specifically asked ye tae take this tooth oot, bit ye said ye’d rather try and save it. Well, the time his come fur decisive action, so it his. Get this bloody tooth oot pronto, before Ah dae something that Ah might regret fur the rest ae ma days,” he snarled, plapping that arse ae his doon oan the chair and opening up his gub.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Right, Paddy, that’s us, we’re here. Ur ye sure ye’re gonnae be awright,” Biscuit asked him, as he parked the car up against the railway line wall, across fae the closemooth, at bang oan ten thirty.

  “Ah’ll be fine, Biscuit. There’s only aboot hauf a dozen ae them and there isnae any sign ae that Taylor bitch. This should be a piece ae piss, so it should,” he said, gieing the wummin the wance o’er, as he opened the car door. “Let’s go.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, whit happened? Did some guy catch ye peeking through the curtains at his wife getting undressed again?” Sharon Campbell let rip at the arrival ae Glesga’s finest.

  “Is that another second prize Ah see ye’ve goat, Stalker? Whit hiv we telt ye aboot stalking roond the back ae people’s hooses at night?”

  “Noo, look, ladies. Let’s keep it quiet and lawful and everything will be okay,” The Stalker said, dribbling blood fae the side ae his lopsided mooth, which wis still feeling like a slab ae rubber efter Duddy froze up hauf ae his face.

  “Bloody hell, he looks like a car crash victim. Thank Christ it’s snowing and aw the weans urnae playing oot in the street,” wan ae the wummin shouted, as the car carrying the two Sheriff officers arrived.

  “Right, girls, let them past noo. They’re only daeing their jobs, jist like us,” Biscuit shouted, pushing two ae the wummin away fae the closemooth.

  “Hoi, Pig-face, keep yer hauns tae yersel. She lives here and it’s her furniture that’s getting punted, so it is. She’s entitled tae be here,” Betty Smith shouted indignantly, brushing Biscuit’s erm away before putting her erm roond Mary Porter’s shoulders.

  “Right, well, she’s the only wan that’s allowed in the closemooth then. The rest ae youse kin jist fuck aff, so youse kin.”

  “Or whit?”

  “Or Ah’ll hiv nae choice bit tae lift the lot ae ye fur breach ae the peace, so Ah will,” Biscuit warned, looking across at The Stalker.

  “Yersel and whose army?” some floozy demanded.

  “Me and him,” The Stalker shouted, spraying bloody droplets aw o’er everywan.

  “Listen, Dracula-mooth, ya dribbling pervo, ye...we might aw be poor defenceless wummin, bit yer scare tactics don’t work wae us. Don’t come roond aboot here, spluttering blood aw o
’er the place. We’ve enough blood suckers tae contend wae, withoot youse pair ae baw-heids adding tae it,” Sandra McClellan shouted at him, before waving her fist at the occupants ae a big black Zephyr that wis slowly driving past.

  “Don’t gie’s that auld stuck record. Youse aw know the law as well as we dae. If ye don’t disperse, ye’ll aw be huckled, so youse will,” The Stalker spat back.

  “Aye, see whit we’ve done tae him? If ye don’t piss aff, the same will happen tae aw youse, so it will,” Soiled Sally shouted, waving her haun and pointing tae The Stalker’s bloody mooth as a rusty white Commerce van crawled past the scene at the closemooth.

  “Right, that’s it, ye’re aw under arrest fur threatening behaviour, so youse ur,” The Stalker spluttered oot ae the side ae his gub, spraying everywan within a five feet radius ae him.

  He immediately realised his mistake when aw the placards, wae their misspelt messages oan them, suddenly turned intae lances like something oot ae an Ivanhoe film.

  “Oh shite!” he heard Biscuit exclaim behind him.

  “On what charge, sergeant?” a strong commanding voice called oot, as everywan instantly swung roond tae see where it hid come fae.

  “Oh, er, Reverend, it’s yersel. Whit the fu...er, ur ye daeing here?” The Stalker dribbled, looking confused and surprised.

  “I’ve been standing here for the last few minutes and I haven’t seen any disturbance that wasn’t provoked either by yourself or the constable standing there beside you,” The Reverend Donald Flaw said, as two cars pulled up and ten ae his elderly flock, aw wearing fancy hats, spilled oot ae them, some carrying placards.

  “Well, if ye wur staunin there fur as long as ye claim, ye wid’ve seen and heard aw the threats that wur being made toward us, Reverend,” Biscuit retorted indignantly.

  “I’m sure this can be all sorted out peacefully and calmly, sergeant?” The Reverend suggested, ignoring Biscuit.

  “Look, everywan is aw heated up here. Maybe we jist need tae calm oorsels doon and catch oor breath fur a bit, eh?” The Stalker announced, looking aboot, wondering where the hell Helen Taylor hid managed tae recruit this new crowd fae.

  “Aye, well, ye kin stoap spitting blood aw o’er us, fur a start. Spitting is a criminal offence, so it is,” Sharon shouted, hivving been charged wae assault in The Battle ae John Street in the mid-sixties fur spitting oan a sergeant.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Helen, followed by Issie, turned the corner fae Keppochhill Road intae Endricks Street and let oot a loud groan when she clocked The Stalker wae blood pouring oot ae his mooth and a row ae placards sticking oot in front ae the lassies like lances. She wis furever drilling intae them that using the poles wis a last resort before being lifted. The last time they’d used them, back in the sixties, they’d aw goat lifted and she’d ended up across in Gateside Wummins’ nick oot in Greenock. Even though she’d wanted tae stoap and hiv a fag tae get her breath back, and despite nearly keeling o’er wae exhaustion a few times efter practically running aw the way fae the NAB wae Issie, she knew in her heart that they’d miss the start ae the sale.

  “Christ, whit hiv they done?” she wheezed at Issie, as they baith hurried up the street tae the staun-aff.

  “Aw, fuck! Er, sorry, excuse me, Reverend,” The Stalker groaned, his heart sinking when he clocked Helen Taylor rushing up the street towards them.

  “And you must be Mrs Taylor. I’ve heard a lot about you...all good things, of course. My name is Donald Flaw,” The Reverend said, haudin oot his haun fur her tae shake, while waving wan ae her leaflets in front ae her wae his other wan.

  “Oh, er, pleased tae meet ye, sir,” Helen replied, curtsying, no too sure how wan went aboot addressing a Proddy minister.

  “Mrs McManus? How are you?” he asked Issie, who wis staunin bent o’er, her hauns resting oan her knees, behind Helen, wheezing like a burst pipe.

  “Oh, Reverend, nice tae see ye again. Ah’m sorry ye’ve hid tae meet me and aw ma pals in a situation like this. Hiv ye jist been up tae ma hoose then?” Issie panted, apologising, dreading tae think whit kind ae state Tam hid been in if he’d opened the ootside door and found the minister staunin there.

  “No, no...myself and the ladies have come down to join in with your peaceful protest,” he replied, stressing the word 'peaceful' as he looked at Helen.

  “Right, girls, let’s line up like we usually dae, leaving enough room tae let members ae the public hiv access tae walk up and doon the street,” she ordered, as aw the wummin, including the auld dears fae the church shuffled amongst themsels, as if they wur oan a parade ground.

  “Noo, Ah don’t know whit went oan before me and Issie arrived, bit we’ll hiv nae mair violence or abuse being thrown aboot in this here street, gieing anywan any excuse tae lift us. Hiv youse aw goat that?” Helen shouted tae them aw, while rummaging in her bag until she located the blue McEwans Lager bar towel.

  Efter finding whit she wis looking fur, she slung it across towards The Stalker, who gratefully caught it and put it up tae his bloody mooth.

  “Here, here,” Betty seconded, scowling across at Biscuit.

  “Right, you and you, you and you, and you, hen, get yersels intae a wee circle and start marching wae they banners held up as high as ye kin oan this pavement. Let’s show Springburn and the world that we’re no happy wae aw this flogging ae poor wee weans' and wummins’ furniture fae under them. Right, aw youse wae the banners, haun them o’er tae the marchers,” Helen rasped, walking alang the line ae wummin, aw staunin tae attention, eagerly awaiting her command.

  “What would you like me to do, Mrs Taylor?” Reverend Flaw asked her.

  “A wee prayer widnae go amiss, so it widnae, seeing as it’s Christmas, Father...Ah mean, Reverend, sir.”

  The Stalker and Biscuit retired tae the squad car across the road. By hauf twelve, the show wis o’er. The Sheriff officers, wae nae buyers hivving turned up, efter being spooked by the arrival ae the minister and the racket fae the cat’s choir singing ‘Silent Night’ doon at the closemooth, appeared and nodded o’er tae the squad car, tae let them know they wur calling it a day. When they goat intae their cars and drove aff, aw the wummin cheered and clapped their hauns, before aw hugging each other. Jist as Biscuit started up the engine, Helen Taylor came across tae them. The Stalker rolled his windae doon.

  “Look, Ah don’t know whit happened before Ah arrived. Ah tried tae get here before everywan else, bit Ah jist couldnae get oot ae an important appointment. Ah hope that bloody gub isnae too serious and ye’ll let aff whoever done it tae ye…seeing as whit time ae the year it is,” she begged, before turning and walking away.

  “Er, excuse me, hen?” The Stalker shouted, stretching his haun oot ae the windae tae haun the bar towel back tae her.

  “Ach, you keep it, Sergeant, ye look as if ye need it mair than Ah dae,” she said, smiling, as she turned tae join the celebration that wis in full swing oan the pavement.

  “Right, Biscuit. Ah’ve an important meeting that Ah cannae afford tae be late fur, so get this car intae gear and get me doon tae Central, as fast as ye kin,” The Stalker said, pressing the bar towel intae his gub tae try and stoap the bleeding fae the hole in his gum.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Done!” Helen announced tae nowan.

  She laid doon her pencil and reached fur her fag packet. Efter lighting up, she picked up the shopping list that she’d written oan the inside ae a Scott’s porridge oats packet that she’d chopped up fur that very purpose. Everything looked tae be in order. As well as the usual fags, breid, marg, eggs, lard, milk, sausages, bacon, broth mix, biscuits, totties, tumshie and sugar, she’d added Brussels sprouts, Madeira cake, custard powder, flour, Bisto, Christmas cake, tinned pears and tinned mandarins…no furgetting sweeties fur the weans. She wis meeting the lassies up at the Co-op oan Springburn Road at aboot hauf four. Betty said she’d keep her a place in the queue. It wis always a mad rush oan Christmas Eve and a bit risky. Ye couldnae always get w
hit ye wanted, bit whit there wis left, ye’d get cheaper, especially the breid. The shops widnae be open again until Monday or Tuesday, so they’d be glad tae get shot ae everything that wis perishable fur pennies or whit widnae sell efter Christmas day...like the sprouts. She smiled, thinking aboot the year before. Sharon Campbell hid goat intae an argument wae big Jemima Cooper o’er a sultana cake, the only wan left oan the shelf. Wan thing hid led tae another and before anywan could get in between them, Sharon hid bounced the cake aff ae big Jemima’s nose. The pair ae them hid goat slung oot and Helen and Sandra hid ended up hivving tae dae Sharon and Jemima’s shoapping fur them, efter Sandra hid gone ootside tae get their shoapping lists and stamp books aff ae them tae pay fur whitever they wur wanting.

  “If that big fat cow even looks at me the day, Ah’m gonnae swing fur her,” Sharon hid said tae the lassies earlier at the sale, efter arranging a time tae meet up wae everywan.

  Helen wis noo looking forward tae Christmas Day. The year before, Jimmy hid jist finished decorating her wee kitchen. Oan Christmas Eve, two days efter he’d finished it, hauf the ceiling hid drapped doon oan tap ae her, ruining aw the work he’d done. She’d phoned The Corporation and they’d said that they’d get somewan up as soon as they could. She’d been in bits. Insteid ae buying each other Christmas presents, they’d decided tae buy paint. When Jimmy’d come hame, him and Issie’s man, Tam, hid gone up oan tap ae the roof and fixed the slates as best they could before covering the big hole in her ceiling wae polythene sheeting. Despite Helen threatening tae kill every last wan ae them, the clerk ae works fur The Corporation hidnae appeared until three weeks efter the damage hid been done. Even though she’d sworn that she widnae keep looking up at her ceiling every time she entered the kitchen, she’d been like a moose being hypnotised by a python and couldnae help hersel. The polythene wis still stuck up there waiting fur The Corporation tae come and fix her ceiling.