'First up, you've got a 9:30 with Melanie Honeyfoot,' said Weirdlove, and JLM did a small thing with his lips to indicate disdain. 'She'll be pressing you for a further move on tax reform. Still looking to introduce a bill into this session. My sources tell me she has compiled some compelling evidence on the need for an introduction of a further levy on the Scottish taxpayer.'
He looked up and smiled wryly at JLM, who shook his head. Fortunately Barney was truly back at the helm, saw the movement coming, and made a smooth evasive manoeuvre.
'You're pencilled in for thirty minutes, but I'll get you out after five. Three if you really want. She's a no-show so far today, so I don't know what's going on there.'
'A no-show?' said JLM, and he did another thing with his mouth.
'Television studio at 10:20 for the link up with This Morning, which'll take place from 10:40 until approximately 10:45.'
'Christ, five minutes?' said JLM. 'Bloody cheek. Who do they think they're getting?'
'They're playing hardball. It was that or nothing. You're on between Mel C talking about her new tattoo, and a woman discussing what went wrong with her vaginoplasty.'
Weirdlove looked up. JLM closed his eyes but remembered not to shake his head.
'Tell me she's going to ask us about what we're doing for the arts and sciences and our plans for transport and the health service.'
'You can try and swing it that way if you can, but it's doubtful,' said Weirdlove. 'They're looking to ask you about your affair and if you're concealing any others. And they haven't said anything, but it's a fair bet she'll bring up Hookergate.'
'Oh, for crying out loud,' said JLM. 'Why am I doing this programme?'
Weirdlove ignored him. Because you're desperate to get your face on television, regardless of the circumstances, he could've replied, but didn't.
JLM engaged Barney's eyes, and gave him a knowing look.
'You'll know all about Hookergate, I suppose?' he asked.
'Never heard of it,' said Barney, who wanted to add, I'd never even heard of you until this morning, but thought better of it.
'Bloody nonsense,' said JLM. 'My secretary who just pegged it, Veronica, Mrs Walters, was a lovely girl, really super. She rented out the apartment above my constituency offices in Perth. All above board, splendid business, no one was getting bitten on the bollocks. Now, she was a lovely girl, big rosy lips, bit of a looker, really, really champion lips, smashing lips. Red and full, you know the way lips can be. Liked to sleep around and what's wrong with that? Anyway, there have been some ridiculous accusations floating around that she was a bit of a whore, and that she used the apartment for business purposes. Bloody nonsense. And of course, I'm getting dragged into the whole bloody shambles. Bloody shambles, the lot of it.'
'You've to be back at Holyrood,' said Weirdlove, interjecting, 'for an 11:25 with the chairman of the subcommittee investigating changes to the Freedom of Information Bill.'
'More bollocks,' said JLM to Barney.
'You're doing lunch in the members restaurant with the leader of the Scottish Coastal Forum and the Deputy Minister for Rural Affairs.'
'Chap called Applecross,' said JLM to Barney, 'complete wanker. Scottish Coastal Forum for Christ's sake. Do we even have a coast anymore?' he added, obscurely.
'You have to be in parliament for questions at 2:30pm.'
'The usual bollocks?' asked JLM.
'Absolutely,' replied Weirdlove, 'although the leader of the opposition is scraping the bottom of a whole new barrel. He apparently wants to know if it's true that you don't let your children watch Disney videos.'
'Jesus Christ,' said JLM, 'do I have to go? Can't Benderhook take care of it?'
'You're penned in, I'm afraid,' said Weirdlove. 'You don't answer it this week, you'll have to do it next week.'
'Couldn't we fix Benderhook up to do First Minister's questions every week? Don't know why I even have to bloody bother with parliament. Everyone knows it just gets in my way. Got much better things to do.'
'You've got a 4pm with the leader of the committee on GM trials.'
'Good God, it gets worse,' said JLM.
'He's going to lobby for you to visit the trial on the Black Isle.'
Barney had almost finished the razor work and was now moving with assurance and confidence round the ears. It might be a day or two before he could cut with verve, panache, style and élan, but this would do for now.
'You mean like Jamaica or something?' said JLM.
'The Black Isle is just north of Inverness. It's not actually an island.'
'Christ,' said JLM, 'I'm not going away up there. For God's sake. That mob only ever vote SNP or LibDem, so it's not like it's worth my bloody time.'
'And you've got a 4:45 with Nancy Hackenbush.'
'God, you're going to have to help me out there,' said JLM.
'You want her to chair the Committee on Racial Equality.'
'God,' muttered JLM.
He caught Barney's eye in the mirror, and was about to utter something abject about the horrendous lot of a First Minister, when Weirdlove concluded.
'And you've two day's paperwork to catch up on, as well as what arrives today. You wanted to be up-to-date before your visit to Brussels tomorrow.'
'See,' said JLM, looking at Barney. 'See the life I lead. Everyone thinks it's wonderful, all this power. But it's hassle, you know, a bloody hassle. It's like this wonderful parliament building we've just moved into. It's a thing of beauty. It's like a naked woman smothered in white, Hawaiian honey. Lovely. Grows out the ground, that's what Miralles said. It was Dewar who sanctioned the whole thing, of course, but I couldn't have chosen better myself. But is anyone happy? Course not. They just bitch about how much it cost, and I get all the blame. Bloody nonsense. Don't know why I bother.'
'Why d'you do it then?' asked Barney, and Weirdlove gave him a look.
JLM examined Barney's face for any signs of acerbity or sarcasm, but decided that none had been intended.
'I was called,' said JLM grandly. 'I truly believe I was called.'
Barney nodded. Weirdlove shot JLM another little glance. The Amazing Mr X, as he had throughout proceedings, kept his eye on the door and said nothing.
Blessed Are The Storytellers
Charlotte Williams arrived back in the office five minutes before Parker Weirdlove, Jesse Longfellow-Moses – who was sporting a quite delicious Frank Sinatra '62 – and The Amazing Mr X, trooped in, primed like coiled springs for their meeting with Melanie Honeyfoot.
And in those five minutes, Williams had made three calls, which were enough to ascertain that at the end of the previous evening, Honeyfoot had definitely returned to her apartment, on her own, and in a reasonably sober condition. There was no explanation as to why she had not slept in her own bed. In the claustrophobic world of Scottish politics, it would not be long before someone in the press got hold of the fact that Honeyfoot was unaccounted for and suddenly the story would blow up in their faces.
Weirdlove stood at Williams's desk, while JLM waited and looked around the other members of staff in the outer office, embracing them with the warmth of his munificence. The Amazing Mr X stood still, his hands clasped in front of him, a caged panther waiting to descend with awesome force and the opprobrium of high office upon anyone who might threaten his master.
'I take it Ms Honeyfoot has arrived safely?' said Weirdlove.
'She's not here,' said Williams, crisply, trying not to be daunted by Weirdlove.
'What d'you mean?' snapped Weirdlove.
'She hasn't, she's not,' said Williams, being daunted despite herself, 'she hasn't arrived this morning.'
'Where is she?'
'I don't know.'
'Do you think the First Minister's got nothing better to do with his time, Mrs Williams?'
'No,' she said, 'I mean, yes. I, eh, I've tried to contact Melanie.'
'How very wonderful of you,' said Weirdlove. 'The First Minister is leaving now. Should Ms Honeyfoot deign to sh
ow her face, please inform her that the meeting has been cancelled and, should she want another one, not to imagine that it will happen before the next session of parliament. Goodbye.'
Weirdlove turned quickly and walked from the office. JLM nodded at Williams, said 'Lovely, really lovely, thank you,' and followed Weirdlove. The Amazing Mr X made a quick scan of the office to see if anyone was regarding his employer with inappropriate levels of irreverence, then followed JLM a couple of paces behind.
*
Williams immediately phoned building security and informed them of the peculiarity of Honeyfoot's absence. Building security made a few initial inquiries, decided that Honeyfoot's absence was indeed very peculiar, and by 10:00am had called the police. By 10:30 there was a team of fifteen officers in place, and by 11:00 the press had been informed, and within another quarter of an hour the media was filled with wild explanations of why Honeyfoot was absent from both her apartment and parliament.
And as she watched BBC24 in her boss's office, where one political 'expert', of whom she had never heard, expounded his theory that Honeyfoot had been kidnapped by Glasgow drug barons, she wondered if Honeyfoot was currently on her way into work and would be mad as Hell at her for starting this whole thing off.
***
'What do you do all day?' asked Barney.
It was almost eleven-thirty. Barney had been sitting doing nothing for two hours. And now that he had cut the First Minister's hair for the month, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd be doing for the next few weeks.
The Rev Alison Blake, with whom he had fallen into conversation, laid down her Bible on a table and stared at the carpet.
'He more or less expects us to be here for him when he needs us,' she said. 'That's about it. You can fill your time as needs be.'
'So, are we stuck in this office?' asked Barney.
'Just about,' said Blake. 'This is our workplace.'
'But,' said Barney, 'I've cut the guy's hair. He's not going to need me for weeks.'
Blake laughed and smiled.
'You don't know him very well, do you? Take a look at that wall.'
Barney followed her gaze and took another look at the sermon on the mount; although Father Michael, who had not moved since Barney had first entered, partially obscured his view of the principal character.
'You think the man who had that painted on the wall of his office will not want his hair attended to several times a day?'
Barney shifted slightly so that he could get a better look at JLM's likeness. True enough, before he had gone off to the television studio, he'd had Barney give his hair a quick check over.
'It's madness,' said Barney. 'What do the rest of you do?'
'Madness ain't the half of it,' said Blake. 'Well, Veron fusses constantly over those damned outfits.' Barney turned to look at the dresser, hands on his hips, worrying over a tassel. 'JLM wears about one in twenty, they all look so ridiculous. In fact, Minnie ends up wearing more of them than he does. The two doctors sit at their laptops all day,' she continued, raising her voice to make sure they could hear, 'trawling the internet for sicko porn sites.' Blackadder smiled, Farrow flicked her the bird. 'Dr Farrow has to administer to the patient every time he has a sore throat and thinks he has a malignant cyst on his tongue. Dr Blackadder does psychological profiles of various people. She just makes stuff up, and throws in a few medical techno-terms to make it look good. He buys any old shit.'
Blackadder was still smiling and Barney felt a little out of place, as any newcomer would, not in on the in-jokes.
'They don't have to wear those glasses, by the way,' said Blake, 'he just thinks female doctors should look intelligent.'
'That's, em...' said Barney.
'The measure of the man,' said Blake. 'And the Father and I are here for spiritual guidance, which is a load of shit. Really, we're just here to advise on what reaction he's likely to get from the two churches when he does something moderately controversial.'
She stared at Father Michael and Barney followed her gaze. His head was inclined at the same angle; the hands were clasped in the same manner.
'Michael's a bit of a troubled soul, to tell the truth,' said Blake. 'Completely at odds with the whole priest thing, really.'
'Oh, aye?' said Barney.
'Yeah,' said Blake. 'Can't blame him. I'm always on at him to come over from the Dark Side, but then, I suppose if he did, he'd lose his job.'
'The Dark Side?' said Barney.
Blake laughed.
'You know what I'm saying. Probably shouldn't call it that.'
'You, eh,' said Barney, 'don't talk like your usual minister. The First Minister doesn't mind?'
Blake shrugged at first, then lowered herself slightly in the seat and her voice with it.
'Well, you know, I kinda balled him a while back, so I've pretty much got free-reign, what with him being scared I go public 'n' all.'
Barney nodded. Balled. Right. Got you. That made sense. In as much as anything made sense to him.
'So,' he said, 'we don't get involved with anyone else in government?'
'God, no,' said Blake. 'We're JLM's people, and that's it.'
'Right,' said Barney.
And he stared at the floor and wondered about this preposterous set of circumstances into which he'd been thrown.
'So, how did you get here?' asked Blake. 'Everyone's got a story.'
Barney turned and looked into her eyes – deep, dark, impenetrable, and very, very attractive – and tried to think if he knew what that was.
'Not sure,' he said a while later, after he'd managed to draw his gaze away from hers, a look which had threatened to swallow him up. 'Been around a bit. Cut some hair. To be perfectly honest, I haven't a bloody clue. I'm kind of hoping someone's going to sort me out. Some of the past seems a bit dodgy, but I can't pin anything down.'
'Yeah?' said Blake. 'Sounds interesting.'
'Maybe,' said Barney. 'It's all a bit vague. Been a lot of murder in my life, I think.'
'Ooh, yummy,' she said, 'that sounds right up my street. Very biblical. Do tell?'
Barney determined not to look into her eyes again, as it disconcerted him to his core.
'Can't really remember. It's just a haze.'
'Yeah,' she said, enthusiasm drifting from her voice, 'I get like that sometimes as well. I'll see if I can find anything out for you.'
'Thanks,' said Barney.
They lurched into silence. Eventually Blake lifted her Bible and began to read once more the story of Jesus changing water into wine; but no matter how often she read it, no matter how she tried to view the story in her head, or what symbolism she felt she should be attaching to it, she couldn't help thinking that all it amounted to was the Big Fella helping out at a piss-up where they'd run out of booze. Barney looked up at the face of JLM, preaching to the converted, his eyes brighter and more radiant than in real life. Eyes that followed you around the room wherever you went.
***
And across the city, across the old town and the new, over the traffic and the sweltering pedestrians, past the docks and out into the water, at the bottom of the Firth of Forth, a few hundred feet underwater, legs weighted with stones, stood the body of Melanie Honeyfoot. To remain on the sea bed, to sway with currents, and to barely move an inch, for months and years and decades.
When My Blue Moon Turns To Fungus
The Slammer Bar was busy and smoky. Who'd have thought? In darkest Leith, at the corner of Coronation and Queen Charlotte Street, no one in the parliament even knew it existed. More to the point, political journalists would've licked a new born calf clean rather than have been seen dead in the place. So it was perfect for two people to meet in a quiet corner, surrounded by men and women who lived in the real world and gave nothing for their existence.
It was noisy in the bar, so that Winona Wanderlip had to lean across the table, her mouth no more than a few inches away from Parker Weirdlove's face. He could smell her skin and the lotion she had used to clean h
er face before coming out; he could see the tiny dimples in her nose, breathe in the white wine from her breath, so close that he could tell she was drinking an Australian chardonnay, crisp and full, delightful length in the finish, with hints of thyme, lavender and a double cheeseburger with regular fries and a large soft drink.
Wanderlip could smell nothing of Parker Weirdlove.
Wanderlip and Weirdlove went back a long way, long before Weirdlove's association with JLM. A distant past when bonds were forged and secrets created that each would take to the grave. More or less.
'He's cocking the whole thing up, Parker, you've got to see that,' she said to him, shortly after he had returned with her second glass of Australian white and his third mineral water.
'I know,' he said, defensively.
'And no one can challenge him. It's as if the entire party's completely impotent. It's frightening.'
'He's a charismatic man, Winona,' said Weirdlove. 'They all listen to him in parliament...'
'When he bothers to show up.'
'When they see him on the TV, I'll grant you, they hate him. He comes across as this patronising, condescending, ignorant clown.'
'Tell me something I don't know,' she muttered bitterly.
'As soon as they meet him in the flesh, they cave in. You've been there at cabinet. There's no end of times that one of them's turned up intending to take the guy to the cleaners and he just schmoozes his way through it. Half an hour later his intended assassin walks out of the meeting, wondering why it was he detested JLM in the first place. The man is smooth.'
'But it's bullshit!' she said forcefully.
'Who cares?' said Weirdlove. 'It's not about that. Politics isn't about substance and policies and forward thinking. It's about sharp suits, rhetoric, ball-busting confidence and knowing when to stab someone in the back. JLM has it to a tee.'
Wanderlip rested her back against the beleaguered wall cushion, let out a long sigh, and tapped her fingernails against her glass.
'And the economy goes to pot, the nation goes to pot, London laughs at us and the rest of Europe laughs at us. He looks bloody stupid, and we all look bloody stupid with him.'
The Barbershop Seven Page 85
