by Todd, Ian
“Look, Paddy, Ah know ye’re only trying tae be helpful, bit ye’ll hiv tae slow doon. The other inspectors won’t take being lectured tae by somewan who’s jist goat their badge…ur ye wae me?”
“Aye, Ah suppose.”
“Ye’ll jist need tae accept that, as it’s Pat Molloy’s boys who ur dishing oot the punishments…tae let people know that Possil and Milton ur noo under new management...alang wae the evidence that Bobby Mack and the other boys in his team hiv come up wae so far, the new management in Possil disnae involve yer wee manky wankers fae Springburn.”
“If you say so, Daddy,” The Stalker hid mumbled, no convinced.
“Right then. Ye’ve goat a wee bit ae humble pie munching tae dae wae yer fellow inspectors. Ma advice tae you is tae keep yer heid doon fur a while till the dust settles. We’ve goat enough oan oor plate, withoot you upsetting everywan by letting it be known that you're right and everywan else his goat it wrang. Hiv ye goat that?”
“Aye, Daddy, Ah get the message, even though Ah’m still no convinced Gucci and his wee crew wurnae involved. So, if Ah’m no doon here fur the Tam Simpson briefing, why am Ah here, then?” The Stalker hid asked, moving oan.
“We’ve goat a wee spot ae…er…bother…that might be aboot tae raise its red heid and ye’ve been nominated tae help push it back doon where it belongs, if it dis.”
“Oh, aye?”
“Aye.”
“Okay, Ah gie in?”
“Right, there’s a by-election jist aboot tae kick aff up in Springburn.”
“So?”
“So, oor ex-pal, soon tae be oor best pal again, JP Donnelly, his decided tae throw his hat back in tae the ring. Word his it that he goat cleaned oot buying his way oot ae Shite Street during the corruption scandal a few years ago.”
“And...”
“And, we want tae make sure he his a smooth passage back tae where he belongs. Ye might say, it’s aboot, covering oor bets.”
“We?”
“Aye, we.”
“Fae where Ah’m staunin, he’ll walk it, so he will. It wis him that steered that dumpling, Dick Mulholland, through the last time in 1970. Ah cannae see why an auld fox like him wid need any help fae the likes ae us.”
“Aye, well, at least we agree oan that. However, as Ah’ve jist mentioned. There might be a wee pluke aboot tae appear up through the ointment.”
“A pluke?”
“Aye, something that might turn intae a festering boil unless we lance it before it goes anywhere where it’s no wanted.”
“Ah’m sorry, Daddy. It’s been a long day and Ah’m knackered, so Ah am. Ye’ll hiv tae spit it oot a bit clearer than that.”
“Helen Taylor?”
“Whit aboot her?”
“Some comedians hiv persuaded her tae staun against JP.”
“Whit? Nah, ye’re jesting me, so ye ur,” The Stalker hid scoffed, laughing oot loud.
“Dae ye see me laughing?”
“Ye’re telling me that Helen Taylor, bosom buddy ae aw things Sheriff officers and The Corporation, is staunin in The Corporation elections? Oor Helen Taylor? That Helen Taylor?”
“The very wan.”
“Fur Christ’s sake, Daddy, Ah’ve goat mair chance ae getting ma Nat King Cole aff ae Liz Taylor than Helen Taylor his ae getting elected.”
“Aye, ye’re probably right, Paddy, bit there’s a few wee sphincters twitching ever so slightly at the news, so there is.”
“So, whit the hell ur we supposed tae dae aboot it? Sling her arse in the clink until efter the election? It widnae be the first time.”
“Don’t go there. It wis straight efter she ran rings roond JP that he gied up the bench and politics. There wis a lot ae speculation that she’d stuff oan him behind the scenes.”
“So, whit dae ye want fae me then?”
“It probably won’t come tae it, bit at some point in the near future, ye might be asked by er…friends…associates…ae oors tae act as the go-between in haunin o’er wee bits ae, er…information…intel, that kind ae stuff.”
“Information? Intelligence? Whit kind ae stuff and tae who?”
“Look, Paddy, as Ah’ve said, it might never come tae it, bit if it dis, haun o’er whit’s being asked, and leave it at that. Don’t even think ae questioning the source that’s asking. Haun it o’er and furget it. It’ll aw be sorted oot by people a lot smarter than us. Hiv ye goat that noo, son?”
“Aye...Aye, Ah hiv,” he’d replied doubtfully, shrugging they shoulders ae his.
The Stalker ignored Bumper’s questioning oan the way back up the High Street. His heid wis burling. Helen Taylor, staunin as a cooncillor? Christ, somewan must be taking the piss oot ae her, surely. And whit aboot aw this haunin o’er ae information and intelligence shite? Whit wis that aw aboot? Bumper and him must’ve been walking aboot wae their eyes shut aw these years, no tae hiv hid a clue as tae whit hid obviously been gaun oan, The Stalker thought tae himsel, as Bumper tooted the horn at a bus driver who wis trying tae run o’er the tap ae an auld age pensioner crossing the street.
Chapter Forty
Helen knew that her nerves wid kick in, the nearer it came tae two o’clock. The day hidnae panned oot the way it hid been supposed tae. Efter spending hauf the night before wae aw the lassies, making up their banners, Shirley Temple’s daughter, Champagne, hid appeared oot ae naewhere, at Helen’s door, jist before nine o’clock that morning.
“Christ, Champagne, should ye no be at school, hen?” Helen hid asked, when she’d opened her door.
“Helen, that maw ae mine telt me tae tell ye that somewan fae the Sheriff officers’ office doon in Bath Street his jist appeared up at oor door tae tell us that the sale his been cancelled this morning,” Champagne hid panted, efter running aw the way alang fae Adamswell Street, jist aff ae Springburn Road, tae Helen’s hoose oan Carlisle Street.
“Whit? Ur ye sure, hen?”
“That’s whit the man said. Ah heard him masel, so Ah did.”
“Did yer ma manage tae put anything towards paying aff the debt?”
“Ah doubt it. When Ah asked her fur a penny fur a gobstopper this morning she said she wis that skint, the door wis coming in tae meet her, so she did.”
“Hmm, so whit dae ye think yersel, hen?”
“Ah don’t know, Helen. He looked like an official, so he did.”
“Did he noo?”
“Aye, he wis wearing a dark suit, so he wis. The arse ae his troosers hid a shine oan it that wid’ve put Granny Bella’s good hall mirror tae shame, so it wid’ve.”
“Aye, there’s nae question there, Champagne, hen. That definitely sounds like somewan fae The Corporation. Look, kin ye nip back and tell yer maw Ah’ll pop alang tae see her wance Ah alert the other lassies?”
“Er...”
“Oh, whit’s wrang, hen?”
“Ah’m supposed tae be at school by noo, Helen. Ah’m reciting Tam o’ Shanter in front ae some important people fae The Corporation who’re coming tae visit oor school this morning at hauf nine. Ah widnae want tae let Miss Peterkin doon, as she’s been gieing me a haun wae ma extra homework tae get it right fur the important people coming, so she his.”
“Christ, Ah’m sorry, hen, Ah furgoat. Yer ma telt me and the lassies that ye sounded jist like some wee Jean Armour, fae way back yonder. Look, ye jist get oan yer way and Ah’ll get alang tae see yer ma shortly.”
“Thanks, Helen.”
“Nae problem, hen.”
“Oh, er, Helen?” Champagne hid said, turning, looking back up the stairs fae the mezzanine landing below.
“Aye, doll?”
“Thanks fur helping ma ma and da oot. Ah’m so glad ma stuff is gonnae still be there when Ah get hame fae school later oan the day,” the nine-year-auld hid said, before disappearing doon the stairs.
Helen hid grabbed her coat and nipped roond tae Issie’s. When she’d goat there, Sharon, Jemima, Betty and Brenda hid awready arrived. Helen hid relayed Champagne’s message fae h
er ma.
“Something’s no right, so it’s no. Whoever heard ae a sale being cancelled withoot the debt being squared up, eh?” Sharon hid asked everywan.
“Peggy Farrell’s sale, up in Cowlairs Road, aboot two years ago, remember?” Betty hid said.
“Aye, bit if ye cast yer mind back, wis that no because her maw wis lying, still warm, through in the bed press, efter hivving croaked it the night before, Betty?” Sharon hid reminded her.
“Oh, right, aye, noo that ye mention it.”
“Whit dae ye think yersel, Helen?” Brenda hid asked.
“Ah’m jist no that sure. Champagne said that it wis definitely somewan fae The Corporation. She described him doon tae a T, so she did.”
“Ah think they’re trying tae work a flanker oan us. Ah think we should aw still pile up tae that closemooth this morning, jist in case,” Sharon hid persisted.
“Ah know they’re dirty basturts, bit Ah’m no sure they’d stoop that low...wid they? Look, Ah’ll tell ye whit. Ah’ll nip roond tae see Shirley and see whit the score is. If she’s been telt by somewan, bogus or otherwise, that her warrant sale isnae gonnae take place, it means she disnae hiv tae be at hame during the appointed time. Ah’ll nip up jist noo and speak tae her. Youse, meanwhile, need tae get the word oot and tell people that the sale’s been cancelled. It’s nae use getting people tae trudge aw the way alang tae Adamswell Street if they don’t hiv tae,” Helen hid said.
“Tell her tae come roond tae ma hoose, Helen. Ah’ve jist put a big pot ae tottie soup oan tae simmer. She kin gie me a haun tae sample it. Tell her tae bring a couple ae ginger bottles or hot water bottles so she kin take some back hame fur her and the weans fur their tea the night,” Brenda hid volunteered.
“Well, Ah’m still planning tae nip up tae check things ur whit they seem. If the sale his been cancelled, it won’t take me long tae get back up the road tae get ready fur yer launch this efternoon,” Sharon hid said, smiling at Helen.
“Christ, Ah’m dreading it, so Ah am. Whit happens if nowan turns up? Whit a showing-up that wid be,” Helen hid said, blushing and biting her bottom lip.
“Helen, we’re aw gonnae be there, so we ur. Ye’ve nothing tae worry aboot, so ye hivnae,” Betty hid said, smiling, as aw the lassies nodded their heids.
She’d managed tae catch Susan Flaw jist as she wis leaving the manse.
“Helen, I didn’t expect to be seeing you this morning. Is anything wrong?”
“Naw, naw, Susan. We’ve jist goat word that Shirley Temple his goat a stay ae execution this morning. Wee Champagne, her daughter, nipped roond tae tell me before she hid tae get tae school.”
“Oh? Is that normal?” Susan hid asked.
“Naw. Ah’m no sure whit’s gaun oan. Ah cannae remember the last time a warrant sale wis cancelled oan the morning ae it happening, unless the family managed tae get doon tae Bath Street and pay aff the debt. According tae Champagne, Shirley and Randolph hivnae a penny tae rub thegither.”
“I was just going to pick up some of the ladies. I’m delighted for Mr and Mrs Temple, but I think Mrs Jamieson, Thompson and Johnston will be disappointed. They haven’t stopped speaking about the sale since the last one and have been recruiting all their friends to become involved. Who would have thought a group of old Tory widows would have been keen in joining in with the campaign? It’s extraordinary,” Susan hid laughed.
“Ach, maybe they’re Tories because their men wur. Maist people Ah’ve spoken tae in the last week hiv telt me that if they ever vote, it’s usually the same party as who their man or faither voted fur, so it is.”
“Oh, I never thought of that. Look, Helen, I better get on and put the word around that the sale is off. I’m delighted for Mr and Mrs Temple. Can I do anything for them?”
“Naw, Sharon Campbell’s awready making her way up there. Ah’ll go roond tae see Shirley jist tae make sure Sharon hisnae convinced her otherwise. Brenda’s made a big pot ae her famous soup that wis intended fur ootside Shirley’s closemooth. Ah’ll catch ye later, Susan,” Helen hid said, aboot-turning tae heid back doon Springburn Road.
“Oh, Helen?” Susan hid shouted.
“Aye?”
“Mr Bertram asked me to ask you if you would pop in by to see him, when you’ve got a minute.”
“Harry? Did he say whit he wanted?”
“No, I bumped into him last night, in passing.”
“Right, well, if Ah’ve goat time, Ah’ll go and see whit he wants. See ye at two o’clock, Susan,” Helen hid shouted o’er the wind, as the snow started tae fall.
Helen smiled and waved back at Shirley and Sharon, as she entered the hall. Helen hidnae managed tae get tae Shirley’s. She’d been oan her way when she'd goat hijacked by Harry ‘The Bouffant’ Bertram oan Springburn Road. Helen hid her heid doon and hid been striding alang at a fair pace when she’d heard her name being called fae across the road. When she’d turned tae see who it wis, she’d clocked Harry staunin, flapping his erms like a flightless turkey, in the doorway ae his salon, motioning her across tae him.
“Cooee? Is that no ma favouritist person in the whole wide world that Ah kin see, trying tae sneak past her Uncle Harry’s? Hoi, ur ye wae us the day, Helen?”
Helen liked Harry. He’d been part ae her social crowd when she wis gaun oot wae Pat Molloy when she wis in her teens. Her Maw and hauf the wummin in Glesga hid been getting their hair done by Harry fur generations. He’d hid a shoap oan Parly Road, doon in the Toonheid, before the bulldozers hid flattened it, alang wae everything else in the area. Stanley Baxter hid written a hilarious story called The Queen ae The Blue Rinse Brigade aboot him. Harry wis mair camp than Billy Butlins, bit hid a heart ae gold. When she’d turned and started tae cross the road, dodging the bus drivers, she’d noticed that he wis dressed in an outrageous orange and purple flowing floral silk shirt, white sparkling Spandex troosers that wur held up by a four inch wide gold belt, the large buckle ae which wis covered in fake sparkling diamonds. As if that wisnae outrageous enough, Helen noticed that he wis sporting a red and white spotted bandana wae its two ends stuck oot the side ae his neck like two giant fingers. Tex Ritter wid’ve gied his left eye tae be the proud owner ae that neck-tie, Helen hid thought tae hersel, as she arrived oan the other pavement, jist as a bus flew past, inches fae the pavement, narrowly missing her.
“Did ye get ma message, Helen, sweetie?”
“Ah’ve jist spoken wae Susan Flaw this very minute, Harry.”
“Well, let’s no hing aboot oot here in this foul weather, then. In ye come, quick, jist in case anywan clocks us talking,” Harry hid commanded, taking a step back, as wan ae his wee dolly-bird assistants held open the door and ushered Helen in.
Before Helen hid known whit wis happening, her coat hid been whisked aff ae her, alang wae the plastic rain-mate that she’d been wearing tae keep her hair dry. Wan ae the wee lassies...Trina...Helen seemed tae remember her name wis...hid awready hid her tight wee arse clamped doon oan tae a fitstool and wis getting tore intae Helen’s fingernails.
“Aw, Harry...honest...Ah’m fine. Please...Ah don’t hiv any money tae pa...”
“Look, Helen Taylor, or should that be, Hairy Mary? Christ, look at the state ae ye! Thank the lord and aw who sails in her, that Ah jist managed tae clock ye when Ah did. Ye’re like an auld bag, so ye ur, the way ye slouch aboot, up and doon that street as if ye’ve goat nae mates...and let’s be honest, ye’ve hid that hobo look fur a while noo, hiven’t ye? Who in their right mind wid want tae be seen talking tae a scarecrow like you, eh? Tell me that,” Harry hid tut-tutted, his bouffant swaying up and doon like an overhinging mattress.
“Harry, please, let m...”
“Right, girls, chop, chop!” Harry hid shrieked, clapping his hauns thegither wae fingers splayed, as a bunch ae young dollies sprung intae action and converged oan her.
There hid been nothing else fur it. Helen hid lain back in the chair and let Harry and the lassies dae their magic. Her hair hid been washe
d, cut and blow-dried. The only compromise Harry hid accepted wis when he agreed no tae turn her natural red hair intae the flame coloured Helen Shapiro bob that aw the local auld wans could be seen wearing when they wur trooping up and doon Springburn Road. While she hid been lying back, partaking ae a full manicure, Harry hid been fussing aboot her.
“Christ, imagine wee Helen Ferguson becoming a politician, eh? Who wid’ve thought that aw they years ago when ye wur running aboot Parly Road wae the arse ripped oot ae they knickers ae yours.”
“Aye, well, who wid’ve thought that lisp ae yours wisnae real if they didnae know ye, Harry,” Helen hid retorted.
“See, Ah telt ye it wis fake,” wan ae the lassies daeing Helen’s finger nails hid said tae her pal, who wis working oan some auld bird in the next chair.
“Ah wis born wae that withsp, so Ah wis, ya cheeky cows,” Harry hid pouted, clearly enjoying the banter.
“So, ye reckon Ah’m in wae a shout then, Harry?”
“Helen, even Jesus H Christ couldnae help somewan like you tae get elected.”
“Oh, and why is that then?”
“Because JP will wipe that arse ae yours aw o’er the pavements, so he will. Christ, ye cannae see the graffiti oan the buildings anymair because ae the amount ae posters he’s goat up awready. And then there’s Colonel Barr-Owen. As fine a man as ye’re ever gonnae meet, so he is.”
“Aw, Harry, don’t tell me ye’re another wan?”
“Whit?”
“Ah wis talking tae Sherbet and he wis saying he’s voting Tory as well. Whit is it wae youse people?”
“We’re business...it’s expected ae us tae vote Tory, whether we want tae or no. That’s whit happens. Everywan tae their ain, and aw that,” he’d tutted.
Helen felt the butterflies in the pit ae her stomach. As she'd entered the front door ae the hall, an ugly wee man, wae a familiar face that she couldnae put a name tae, hid stepped oot in front ae her and taken her photo. She still hid spots floating aboot in her eyes fae the flash ae the camera. She smiled and waved tae auld Elaine Hinky and Mary Flint, fresh fae Harry’s, as they took their seats in the back row. The room wis filling up noo. People wur picking up her election leaflets that hid been placed oan their seats, before sitting back and reading the contents while they waited fur the latecomers tae arrive and join them.
