by Todd, Ian
“Ah’m no sure. When Ah’ve spoken tae her aboot aw the horrible press coverage aboot her, she wrote oan her pad that she’d dae anything tae put her side ae the story across, bit she disnae think she’ll ever get a fair shout.”
“Why dis she no jist get the press in or gie oot a statement or something?”
“As Ah said, she jist disnae trust anywan. She hisnae seen her man, the governor, since she goat shot, and her weans, who ur grown up noo, hivnae been near, so they hivnae. In fact, the only people she sees, apart fae the hospital staff ur the polis. It seems as if she’s been abandoned by her family, which is probably understandable seeing as whit she’s done tae them. Aw the papers kin see is some daft wummin who should’ve known better, who let her man, her family and her side doon. She says she disnae recognise the person in the papers that they’re writing aw this crap aboot.”
“So, whit dis she expect then? She wis shagging wan ae the biggest basturts in the toon. Look whit him and that brother ae his did tae poor Joe?”
“It’s the maw ae they Simpsons Ah feel sorry fur. No only wis her eldest boy shot tae death, bit the other wan is oan the run fur murder. Aye, and look whit poor Kate Simpson ended up daeing...bloody-well went and took an overdose. It’s a wonder Mrs Simpson is able tae get her arse oot ae her bed in the morning wae aw this gaun oan. If ye think poor Issie and Tam wur in a bad way wae Joe getting stabbed tae death, imagine whit it must be like fur her?”
“Aye, bit the point Ah’m making is that Tam Simpson wis a vicious, dirty liberty-taking psycho, as everywan knows, whose name only gets a mention in the passing. You go and read whit they’re saying every day in the papers and see if Ah’m wrang. Alison Crawford is being crucified every single day by the newspapers because she wis caught oot hivving an affair and because she’s a wummin, so she is. That’s the difference,” Senga said, silencing them.
“And that new boss ae yers, Pearl? Dae ye think she’ll go alang wae aw this withoot sensationalising her story?”
“Ah widnae trust Mary Marigold as far as Ah could throw her, bit fae whit Ah kin make oot, this new column ae hers is supposed tae be aboot wummin fur wummin, so it is...if only she’d believe that. The problem is, she’s so doon in the dumps, feeling sorry fur hersel...that and the fact that she sits there aw day slagging hell oot ae aw the management, who ur aw men, fur dumping her doon tae the second flair.”
“And papping you oan tae her?” Senga said, smiling.
“Christ, ye should’ve heard her when Ah telt her that it wis her man that goat me the job, working wae her,” Pearl said tae laughter.
“Ah still don’t get it,” Frances said.
“If Ah kin persuade her tae start daeing some good stuff, writing aboot whit wummin really like, then maybe people wid stoap and think, insteid ae harping oan aboot stuff they don’t know aboot.”
“Like whit?”
“Hmm, Ah don’t know...wummin’s stuff...that kind ae stuff.”
“Aye, bit whit?” Frances persisted.
“Like, how is Alison Crawford, who probably isnae gonnae talk again, by the way, gonnae cope in the future? If ye look at who’s writing aw the garbage aboot who she’s supposed tae hiv slept wae, ye’ll see that it’s aw men,” Senga said, jumping in tae help Pearl oot.
“Oh well, good luck tae the pair ae ye then...it sounds as if ye’ll need it,” Frances said, staunin up and heiding fur the toilet.
“Look, there’s a couple leaving. Let’s grab their table so we kin talk in peace, Pearl,” Senga said, picking up her drink, as the rest ae the lassies in the circle burst intae ‘Son Ae Ma Father’ by Chicory Tip.
“Right, Pearl, whit’s the score then?”
“As Ah’ve jist said, she jumped at the chance, bit she’s no tae be trusted. She’d sell her granny fur the right price, so she wid. Ah jist don’t trust her. She wis prattling oan aboot getting decked oot in a nurse’s uniform and getting ye tae slip her intae the room, so she wis.”
“Did ye tell her she’s goat a bizzy ootside her door?”
“Aye, bit that didnae put her aff wan bit. Ah’m telling ye, Senga, this wan is as mental as a hauf baked fruit loaf, so she is. Ah managed tae put her aff until Ah spoke tae yersel. If she disnae get her story, then Ah’ll probably be oot oan ma arse.”
“Oh, Pearl, Ah’m sorry. This is aw ma fault, so it is.”
“Ach, don’t worry. As soon as Ah clapped eyes oan her and she opened her gub, Ah knew ma days wur numbered.”
“So, when dis she need tae know by?”
“She wanted me tae phone her the morra, wance Ah’d spoken tae you, bit Ah put her aff until Monday. She sees this as a way ae getting back intae favour wae the high heid wans who’ve awready shat oan her. She obviously hisnae learned a thing.”
“Look, Ah’ll try and raise it wae Alison o’er the weekend, bit Ah’m no sure she’ll go fur it, despite saying she’d love the opportunity tae put her side ae the story oot withoot aw the shite attached tae it.”
“Well, the column goes oot oan Wednesday. It wid hiv tae be done and dusted by Tuesday efternoon tae make it intae the early edition that hits the pubs late oan Tuesday night. Whit dae ye think?”
“Ah’m working oan Sunday, so, whitever happens, Ah’ll let ye know oan Sunday night. If she says naw, then that’s it.”
“That sounds good enough tae me, Senga. So, did ye think Johnboy wis serious when he said he wis awready taken then?” Pearl asked, taking a sip ae her lager and lime, while looking towards the bar, where Johnboy wis staunin laughing wae the rest ae The Mankys at something Snappy Johnston hid jist said.
Chapter Fifty
Issie sat in her favourite pew, pleased that it wis sitting empty, considering the chapel wis two thirds full. It wis the fifth pew fae the back oan the left and although she only attended wance or twice a year, she’d taken ownership ae it when she’d been slung oot ae the Toonheid efter the bulldozers hid moved in. It wis in the ideal location. It wis as close tae the main door as ye could get away wae, withoot raising suspicion fae Father John that ye’d sat there intentionally so ye could make a quick getaway should ye find yersel gaun intae suspended animation through being bored tit-less wae aw the righteous pontificating gaun oan roond aboot ye. Helen’s next-door neighbour, Jemima Flint, sat tae Issie’s left, fidgeting uncomfortably, waiting fur the ceiling tae come doon roond aboot her ears, efter finding hersel back in the chapel, efter avoiding it since she’d left school thirty odd years earlier. Oan her right, Ann Jackson sat in awe, never hivving darkened the door ae a chapel, seeing as she wis a blue-nosed Proddy. Even though they wur sitting up the back, miles fae the alter, Issie could still feel Father John’s disapproving eyes boring intae them fur turning up and upsetting him. Issie hid thought he wis gonnae hiv a heart attack when he clocked them at the front door ae the chapel, haunin oot leaflets tae the congregation arriving fur mass.
“Issie, sure and it’s yourself, I see. I don’t think you should be distributing these about here.”
“Oh, hellorerr, Father, and why wid that be then?” she’d asked him, suddenly being ignored as he body-swerved aff tae her right and rushed across tae confront Ann as she wis swooping doon oan Mrs Simpson, Tam Simpson's poor auld maw, dressed like a black shadow fae heid tae toe.
“Here ye go, hen...save oor community...keep JP’s grubby fingers away fae the honey-pot...vote fur Helen Taylor, the only honest candidate ye kin trust,” Ann hid been saying, haunin o’er a leaflet, as the priest loomed up in front ae her.
“Er, excuse me, but there’s no place for politics at mass. This is a house of God,” Father John hid snarled tae her, failing tae keep his anger in check.
“Ah, Father John, here ye go...save oor community...keep JP’s grubby fingers away fae the honey-pot...vote fur Helen Taylor, the only honest candidate ye kin trust,” Ann hid said wae a big grin, ignoring him, clearly motoring away in automatic mode.
“Here ye go, son, save oor community...keep that JP’s grubby fingers away fae oor sta
sh doon in George’s Square. Vote fur the darling ae the masses, Helen Taylor, the only honest candidate that’ll make sure we’ll get whit we’re entitled tae,” Jemima hid said, confronting an auld codger who wis taking his bunnet aff ae that napper ae his as he crossed the threshold ae the chapel.
Father John, knowing he wis ootnumbered and outmanoeuvred, hid gied up withoot a fight, gieing Issie a dirty look as he disappeared back intae the bowels ae the vestry.
“Aye, me and mine ur aw coping wae oor loss, so we ur,” Issie hid shouted efter him, as his wee priestly legs and bobbing heid hid disappeared through the doors.
Even though it hid been a while, it wis strange being back in chapel, Issie thought tae hersel, as she murmured “Lamb ae God, who takes away the sins ae the world, hiv mercy oan us.”
She still hidnae furgiven Father John fur slinging her and her man, Tam, a deaf ear, efter poor Joe wis murdered, jist before Christmas ootside The Princes Bingo Hall. He’d eventually showed his face at their door well efter everywan else hid been roond tae help and comfort them, including the local Protestant minister, Donald Flaw. She’d never really taken tae Father John anyway. He wis far too sleekit fur her tastes. Issie always felt that there wis something ae a second-haun car salesmen aboot him, rather than a man ae the cloth. When her daughter, Wee Mary, and aw her pals hid goat scabies the year before, Father John’s absence hid been noted when he jist happened tae visit only hooses that didnae contain any weans. That meant walking past doors in the closemooth and visiting some, bit no others. Issie hid wanted tae confront him aboot it at the time, bit Helen hid persuaded her tae let it go.
“Whit’s the point, Issie? Ye’ll only get his hump up and ye won’t see him when something serious happens and ye really need him. Naw, leave it be,” Helen hid advised.
Issie sat, trying tae keep her eyelids open. Fur o’er two weeks noo, she’d been up at the crack ae dawn and oot oan tae the streets, trying tae persuade everywan that Helen Taylor wis the best thing since sliced breid. It hid taken her mind aff ae the death ae her only son. She started tae feel that well-known sensation ye get when ye’re finally forced tae gie up and shut yer eyes as ye feel yersel diving, heid-first, intae the twilight depth ae slumberville, helped by the droning voice ae a well-seasoned priest. She let oot a wee sigh ae pleasure and wis jist reaching oot fur her glass beside her bed tae put her teeth intae, when she wis violently interrupted by an elbow in her right rib cage.
“Eh? Whit the fuc...?” she mumbled in fright, frizzled brain trying tae sort oot where the hell she wis.
“Issie, listen-up, we’re getting a mention, so we ur,” Ann hissed through her gums intae her right lug.
“Whit? Er, Ah wisnae snoring, wis Ah?” Issie asked in horror.
“Naw, Shhhh, he’s talking aboot the election, so he is,” Ann replied, as Issie looked towards Father John, decked oot in his golden finest, staunin at the alter.
“...that politics are important, after mother church, of course, and do have a place amongst us. Now, with democracy comes responsibility. It is up to each and every one of us to ask ourselves, who of the candidates are good Christians and who are clearly not. This is not about the different denominations of the candidates, but about who has placed their faith and life in God. Now, there will be candidates outside of our own church, who we believe will, at some point in their lives, realise that there is only one true church, and come and join us. In the meantime, we owe it to ourselves and to our community to go out there and cast our vote for the person we truly believe is the right person to represent us. By that, I mean, someone who has the experience of public office, who has a record of accomplishment in representing us, who is a decent man...a man of the people. It would be wrong of me to stand up here and tell you all who you should vote for, but it would certainly be amiss of me, and mother church, if we ignored the needs of our flock, of those who are in much need of guidance in this by-election. All the priests in the area, including myself, have been instructed through guidance and divine intervention, to show the way to those of our flock that will be affected by the Keppochhill by-election. All the saintly brothers who are conducting services this morning are asking you all to think carefully, very carefully, on how you intend to cast your vote. As our dear lord and saviour says in the holy proverb number 6, verses 16 to 19. ‘There are six things that our holy father hates and seven that are an abomination to him: Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.' Now then, does this conjure up anyone who we know is running for elected office? Someone who believes we are blind and cannot see through her to the image of the devil himself? Does she really expect us to vote for someone who has never cast a vote herself, but who would cynically expect us to elect her up unto the altar of power and trust within The Corporation? As the disciple Matthew reminds us in proverb 24, verses 24, ‘For false Christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect.' Soon we will have to vote for an elected representative who we will expect to give their very best whilst acting on our behalf...someone who will be a father to us in our time of need, who we know is gentle and kind, but who will come out fighting against those who bear false witness against thy neighbours. We need a person who respects the sanctity of life, including the unborn child in the womb…someone who knows the ins and outs of the system, who will recognise the imposter bearing untruths and strike her down with the sword of justice. That person, with the will of God, will lead you and I to victory. Mother church urges you all to cast your vote for the compassionate candidate, the only candidate with all the attributes that I have just outlined. As a man of God, I will be casting my vote for JP Donnelly, to ensure the bedrock of our community remains as strong as ever.”
Issie couldnae believe her ears. She wisnae sure if she’d heard right and could feel her body shake wae rage at the blatant political bias ae Father John. If she thought Jemima hid been fidgety before the sermon started, the poor cratur wis noo sitting scratching as if a caravan ae fleas hid moved oan board and wis settling in fur the duration.
“Christ, ur aw priests always as entertaining as this, Issie?” Ann whispered, impressed.
“Right, that’s it, Ah’m getting tae hell oot ae here. Ur youse wans coming?” Issie declared, picking up her bag ae election leaflets and making little effort tae hide her departure as she stomped towards the entrance.
Chapter Fifty One
Senga entered the room. Alison Crawford appeared tae be sleeping, sitting up in bed, her heid resting back against her pillows. The Sunday newspapers wur lying spread oot oan her lap. Senga silently moved across the room and started tae gather them up, trying tae ignore the lurid heidlines that screamed up at her, implying whit a slutty cow her patient hid been before she’d been shot. ‘Ah’m Lucky Tae Be Alive, Claims Frightened Ex-Con Lover ae The Black Widow.' ‘The Truth Aboot Me and The Horny Social Worker Claims Milkman.' ‘Ah Went Back Fur Seconds Claims Retired Prison Officer.' Senga felt sick. The best, or the worse wan, Senga noticed, hid been in The Sunday Echo. Splashed in bold, it said ‘Ah Cannae Help It If Ah Like A Bit Ae Rough, Dear,' and then underneath, in smaller print, ‘Saucy Social Worker Tells Cuckolded Prison Governor Hubby When He Visits Her In Hospital.' Unless the prison governor hid been up tae the hospital tae visit his wife the day before, Senga wisnae aware that he’d ever darkened the door ae the place. She took the newspapers and laid them doon oan the chair by the door. As she straightened up, she heard movement fae the bed. When she turned, Alison Crawford wis staring at her.
“Oh, ye’re awake, Mrs Crawford. Sorry, Ah didnae mean tae disturb ye. Ah thought ye wur finished reading these. Ah didnae want tae leave them lying aboot, upsetting ye wae their awful heidlines,” Senga apologised, as her patient motioned fur her tae come closer tae the bed.
Senga watched her pick up her
pen and pad.
‘I thought we agreed that you should call me Alison?’ she wrote.
“Aye, Ah know, Ah’m sorry.”
‘What have you been up to since I saw you on Friday?’ she scribbled, turning the pad so Senga could read her question.
“Ach, nothing much. Ah went intae the toon oan Saturday tae spend whit wis left ae ma Christmas money and went tae the pictures last night. Nothing too exciting.”
‘And boys?’
“Too complicated. We...ma pals and me...run aboot wae a bunch ae scallywags. They’re funny tae be wae and ur always oan the make, bit they’ve aw goat hearts ae gold… despite whit some people might think ae them.”
‘Like who?’
“Oor mas and das fur starters, and then there’s the bizzi...er...the polis. They aw think they’re up tae nae good aw the time...which they probably ur,” Senga said smiling, seeing a rare glimpse ae laugher in the eyes ae her patient.
‘Sit with me for a while, unless it will get you into trouble,’ her patient wrote.
“Naw, naw, that’s fine. Sister said that Ah could spend time wae ye...seeing as ye don’t get many visitors...apart fae the polis, that is. Oh, sorry, Ah shouldnae hiv said that,” Senga said, looking away, embarrassed.
‘Why?’ the pad asked.
“Ah don’t know. It sounded a bit as if ye didnae hiv anywan, if ye know whit Ah mean?”
‘Yes, but it’s true.’
“So, yer husband visiting ye didnae happen then?” Senga asked, waving tae the stack ae newspapers sitting oan the chair by the door.
‘I would be surprised if George, or the kids for that matter, will ever speak to me or want to see me again,’ she wrote, tears welling up in her eyes.
“If they love ye, they will. Blood’s thicker than water, at least it is where Ah come fae. Ah suppose everywan will jist need a bit ae time tae get o’er the shock.”
‘Do your friends ever talk about me, my situation, Senga?’ the pad asked.
