by Ian Todd
“Right, that’s us, boys,” The Inspector said, as baith doors in the front opened and the uniforms stepped oot.
He sat hesitating. He looked behind himsel again, peering oot the back windae. He couldnae see anything.
“Fur fuck’s sake, Shane! Whit ur ye waiting fur?” Dave McGovern growled, efter wrenching open the back passenger door beside him.
“Aye…Ah’m sorry, Ah’m coming,” he replied, snatching up his baton.
“Fox Skulk One, come in. Over.”
“Fox Skulk Three, hearing you loud and clear. Over.”
“That’s the stoats on the move towards the garage. Over.”
Silence.
“Fox Skulk One, there’s screaming coming from the garage. Over. Do you wish us to intervene? Over.”
“Fox Skulk Three, that’s a negatory. Repeat. A negatory. Over and out.”
Chapter Sixty Nine
Thursday 23th October 1975
Although Sharon wis feeling nervous, it suddenly struck her that there wis a point at some stage in everywan’s life that they ended up staunin at the crossroads. Looking alang the corridor at the organised chaos unfolding, she knew her and the lassies hid reached that point. Everything Helen hid telt them suddenly aw made sense. Even though they’d aw ran aboot wae Helen since primary school, that hidnae stoapped her encouraging them tae go and dae their ain thing. Of course, maist ae the time, none ae them hid hid a clue where she wis coming fae.
“Ye’re never too auld tae break away and dae it fur yersels,” she’d say tae them encouragingly, reminding them that they hid tae grab an opportunity whenever it raised its arse above the parapet.
Fur some ae the lassies in The Toonheid back in the fifties and sixties, that hid meant moving away fae the area, wae their weans in tow, tae a hoose wae an inside toilet or bathroom. Fur others, it hid been encouragement fur them tae follow their men tae take up a better paid job somewhere else, like oot in Cumbernauld or East Kilbride. Donna The Prima Donna hid telt her that efter Pat Molloy hid asked her tae start daeing his books, a world that hid been closed tae the likes ae them hid suddenly cracked open like a big pink oyster fur her. Donna hid approached Helen wae an idea, in fact, lots ae good moneymaking ideas during that period. Wan ae them hid been tae take o’er a couple ae fruit and veg stalls doon in the fruit market in Albion Street.
“Aye, we’re no jist talking aboot selling a few oranges, apples and carrots here, Helen, hen. We’re talking aboot wholesale supply, so we ur,” Donna hid telt Helen up in her and Jimmy’s hoose when they lived in Montrose Street.
Donna hid put thegither a wee four-man squad ae men wae two-wheeled barras in the middle tae late fifties, who’d gone roond the streets, selling vegetables, much cheaper than the local shoaps oan Parly Road, direct tae the wummin oan the doors bit Helen hidnae been interested in getting involved.
“Get some ae the other lassies involved,” she’d said tae Donna. “Ah’ll support them.”
Donna hidnae wanted anywan else. She’d wanted Helen. Helen jist couldnae see it, or could she? Helen and Donna hid always goat oan like a hoose oan fire. They’d been really friendly aw through primary and secondary school. At the time, Helen hid telt her that she might’ve been interested if she hidnae been messed aboot by Pat Molloy, The Big Man, who’d been financially bankrolling Donna’s moneymaking schemes.
“Think ae the money tae be made?” Donna hid pleaded wae her, years before the fruit and vegetable company hid become wan ae the biggest suppliers in the toon.
Helen hid probably reached her ain crossroads in life by then, partly because ae Donna’s persistence and partly because ae her experience ae living wae her auntie, Jeannie Smullen, who’d lost an election tae JP Donnelly back in 1935 when they wur aw wee snappers. That auld Aunt Jeannie ae hers hid been a real whirlwind when she goat started. She wis always at the front ae the mob when they’d been battling wae the Blackshirts and polis doon oan Glesga Green and at Dundas Street when they’d be confronting them coming aff the buses fae Hamilton, Coatbridge and Airdrie back in the 1930s. Helen hid telt her jist before she’d died, that although she hidnae realised it at the time, taking oan The Corporation and the Sheriff officers wis where she saw her future back then, even though she wis only in her mid-teens, strange though it may seem tae an ootsider.
“Ah always wanted tae take the fight tae they basturts rather than hiv people like us, constantly living in fear ae the next chap oan the door or the sound ae boots coming up the stairheid closemooth,” Helen hid said, laughing. “Look at me noo. Not wan bloody fit forward, bit hivving hid a bloody good time none the less.”
Despite hivving hid five weans tae feed o’er the years and suffering grinding poverty like everywan else in the street, it wis as if she’d basked in being poor…a badge tae be worn proudly and used as an excuse tae hiv a go at authority. Poor Jimmy. He’d never stood a chance when it came tae competing wae The Corporation when a fight in the shape ae a broon envelope landed oan Helen’s doormat.
“It’s no everywan that gets a second bite ae the cherry, Sharon. Ah’m back at they crossroads again, so Ah am and this time, it looks like Ah’ll be let loose in the coot,” she’d said, as they’d sat in Helen’s kitchen hivving a wee fag and pishing themsels laughing, the day before she died. Even though she’d never came oot and said it, Helen hid known that she wis gonnae win the election.
Efter her chats wae Donna, Sharon now knew where Helen hid been coming fae. She looked alang the corridor. Squinty Alex wis jist coming through the landing door wae the last ae the tables. Nowan hid batted an eyelid doon at the reception when he’d arrived wae them earlier, that van ae theirs parked ootside oan double yellow lines. Mind you, none ae the bears in the reception hid offered tae gie him a haun up the stairs either. The corridor wis a hive ae activity. Soiled Sally wis quickly covering the tables wae the red chequered tablecloths as the others followed in her wake, setting oot row upon row ae cakes and scones. Everywan knew they hid tae hurry. A good few ae the typists wur awready hinging aboot nervously, looking at their wee wristwatches as the doors tae the corridors and offices started opening wae new arrivals rushing through.
Marybell and the other two fluffys clearly hidnae a clue whit the hell wis gaun oan. No only wur the tables in the reading room full up wae people wae files sitting in front ae them, looking as guilty as sin, bit there wis a loitering queue milling aboot in front ae the desk and o’er by the frosted glass doors. There wis also a fair bit ae excited whispering gaun oan as well. The last time she’d come across this wis when Hatchet Face, Princess Anne hersel, hid arrived tae open the new extension tae the back ae the building. She clocked wan ae they fluffys ae hers, Jean McGee, talking tae Penny Persil.
“Hoi, Jean?” she shouted quietly, no wanting Princess Anne or that maw ae hers, who wis obviously oot in the hallway, tae hear her. “Jean…Jean, c’mere the noo,” she shouted softly again.
“Aye?”
“Whit dae ye mean, aye? Whit the hell’s gaun oan?”
“Eh?”
“Ye bloody-well heard me. Who’s the important visitor?” she demanded tae know, pointing at the frosted glass doors tae the left ae them.
“Whit? Ye hivnae heard?”
“Heard whit?”
“The sanny lassies ur picking their winners the day.”
“Whit winners?”
“The winning cakes and buns that they’re starting tae sell fur the tea breaks fae noo oan in. They’re haunin oot freebies the day fur the wans that hiv filled oot their favourites oan the wee cards they’ve been distributing.”
“Eh?”
“Aye, everywan’s doon tae put forward their choices and walk away wae a wee tasty ditty, so they ur…free as well. They’ve been haunin o’er a different selection ae scrumptious wee cakes and buns fur the past week, so they hiv. It’s the final the day.”
“Why the fuck wis Ah no involved?” Marybell bleated, clearly affronted and annoyed that she wisnae wan ae the chosen wans.
“They wur targeting a cross-section.”
“And you wur wan ae them, Ah suppose? Why did ye no say so, ya disloyal wee toe-rag, ye?”
“Ah wisnae. Jean Persil jist telt me the score the noo, so she did.”
“Her? Thinks because she’s married tae a superintendent that we’re aw supposed tae be in awe ae her? Ah might’ve guessed she’d be in there somewhere,” Marybell tutted. “So, whit’s happening then?”
“Everywan here’s goat a wee score card tae put their tap three favourites doon.”
“Whit, dis that mean everywan else isnae gonnae get tae join in?”
“Oh…Ah’m no sure.”
“Well, if everywan is using ma reading room as cover, insteid ae working at their desks, then there’s a bloody price tag attached tae it, so there is. You come wae me hen,” Marybell growled, shifting that fat arse ae hers fae behind the desk.
Lesley sat at the crowded table wae her file closed o’er in front ae her. She hidnae been expecting the scene being played oot in front ae her. Although she wis shitting a brick and sweating like an auld navvy, her hopes hid risen. She hidnae slept fur God knows how long. Although aw the uniformed and plain-clothed polis officers sitting at the scattered table hid files in front ae them, nowan wis in the least bit interested in reading the contents. Aw eyes kept focussing across oan the crowd ae typists by the doors. She wis too scared tae ask whit the hell wis gaun oan. She could see Marybell Raminsky gieing Jean McGee a right auld flea in her ear across at the signing oot and in desk.
“Ah think they’re ready, so Ah dae,” she heard wee Agnes Cochrane say tae the wummin behind her as she peeped through the wee gap in the double doors. Whit wis she supposed tae dae? She couldnae turn back noo…it wis too late. How wis she supposed tae get that file fae the desk she wis sitting at across and oot ae that door? Marybell and her two fluffys wur staunin growling at everywan hinging aboot, looking guilty.
“Hiv ye filled oot yer ticket?” Agnes McBride asked Carol Titch, beside her.
“Aye.”
“Whit hiv ye gone fur?”
“Ma first choice is the Paris bun, then the treacle scone and the clooty dumpling last. Whit’s yours?”
“Same first and second as you, bit Ah’ve gone fur the gingerbread third.”
“Really?”
“Aye.”
“Right, Ah agree. That’s whit Ah’m gonnae choose as ma third as well, so Ah am,” Agnes said, taking the pencil oot ae her shirt pocket and scoring oot the clooty dumpling, replacing it wae the gingerbread.
“Oh, oh, there’s movement,” Carol whispered excitedly, as Marybell and her two fluffys heided fur the door.
“Ah heard they’d avoided telling Marybell because she wid’ve demanded tae taste the whole lot in wan sitting, so she wid’ve,” Agnes whispered as the baith ae them started giggling, as everywan at the tables, except fur Lesley, stood up in expectation.
“Er, excuse me, is there something Ah should know aboot?” she heard Marybell ask as everywan rushed forward tae the flung-open double doors, leaving Lesley sitting there oan her lonesome.”
“Right, ladies, oan ye come,” Sharon shouted, jist as the fat sergeant appeared, blocking oot the natural light behind her, demanding tae know whit wis gaun oan. “Try and form a single line,” she shouted as the fat hacket sergeant wis carried past her in the rush.
A commotion broke oot aw aroond her, wae everywan wanting tae haun o’er their favourites card before walking away wae big smiles oan their faces wae their free cake or bun, in triumph fur getting in there early. Sharon scanned the faces in the crowd, bit couldnae see the blonde bizzy. She knew she wis aboot, because they’d watched her gaun in a hauf an hour earlier. She looked alang the tables. The lassies wur up tae their shoulders wae demanding faces. Where the hell wis she? She moved tae the left and squeezed through the throng. The doors wur held wide open wae the mass ae bodies. She clocked the blonde. She wis sitting, looking across at the door. Sharon noticed some ae the uniformed lassies, bent o’er, using the tap ae their heids tae pincer their way back in tae the reading room. She followed suit. Still bent o’er, she beckoned the blonde tae get her arse, and mair importantly, the file, across tae her, before doubling back oan hersel and dodging her way back tae the end ae the table where their file wis sitting oan the flair underneath. It wis only when she’d arrived back that doubt started tae creep intae that heid ae hers. Hid Blondie clocked her? Christ, they wur so close, bit so far apart.
It hid taken Lesley a second or two tae realise that somewan wis waving across at her, telling her tae get her arse moving. By the time she’d come oot ae her stupor, the face attached tae the heid hid disappeared. She looked aboot in a blind panic. She noticed some ae the WPCs arriving back in the reading room clutching their cake in the wee fancy Original Jeely Piece Company bags. Bit even better, some ae them wur clutching files in their hauns. Of course, she jist aboot screamed oot, jumping up. Ye wurnae supposed tae leave the files and reports lying aboot unattended. She heard a gargled, sobbing sound, emitting fae they lips ae hers as she joined the affray. Before she knew it, the lassie who’d been waving her across wis staunin in front ae her, steady in her eyes, a wee grateful smile at the edges ae her mooth. She wis sure she felt the file slip fae her fingers tae be replaced by another wan, although she couldnae be sure. She looked doon tae check. It wis still the same wan wae The Showgirls 2 label wae the torn bit at the corner wae a date scored oot and another felt-tipped wan in its place. She started tae panic noo. When she looked back up fae the file, the lassie hid disappeared. Before she could squeeze her way through in hot pursuit, wan ae the wummin, the big hacket-looking wan called Soiled Sally loomed up in front ae her.
“Hiv ye goat yer choice card, hen?” she asked fae somewhere in the distance.
“Eh?’ she replied, confused, hearing the same echoing sound in her ears.
“Never mind. Here ye go, hen. Enjoy it,” Ugly Features said, as she wis pushed aside.
Lesley fell back. She wis oot in the open noo. She’d be spotted if she tried tae pursue the lassie. Christ, she couldnae remember whit wan it wis, as they wur aw wearing the same coverall. She turned and stumbled back intae the reading room followed by Marybell. Her seat hid been taken by somewan else.
“Here ye go, Lesley, hen. C’mone, plap that arse ae yers doon here,” she said, steering her fae behind tae wan ae the tables in front ae the desk. “Whit did ye get?”
“Er, eh?”
“Cake?”
‘Oh, er, this,” she replied, haudin up a treacle scone.
“Nice wan. Look whit Ah managed?” Marybell laughed, squealing in delight as she held up three bags wae a treacle scone, clooty dumpling and a fresh cream bun in them. “Ah hope aw youse ur watching oot fur they files noo, girls” she shouted oot, ripping open wan ae her bags.
Lesley laid the file flat oan the table. She felt desolate. Her, Teddy and Junior wur goosed. Everything she’d worked fur wis gone. Aw because ae that wee poisonous Collette. She wanted tae greet. She opened the folder jist as Marybell bit intae her fresh bun. She jist aboot shat hersel at the sight that confronted her. A thick wad ae newspaper cuttings the size ae typing sheets ae paper sat where The Nurse’s files should’ve been. She quickly slammed the cover shut and looked across at Marybell, whose haun wis jist retreating fae that chubby face ae hers. She hid a big curly blob ae fresh cream stuck tae her tap lip at the side ae her mooth.
“Whit?” Marybell asked, laughing, her hauns held oot in front ae her, looking fur something tae wipe her face wae.
“Here ye go, Marybell,” Lesley said, laughing, haudin oot the wet, tearstained paper hankie fae her shirtsleeve, haunin it o’er tae her.
“Aye, ye’re sounding a lot better than the last time Ah spoke tae ye, Lesley,” Marybell said, as Lesley smiled, starting tae open her treacle scone poke.
Geraldine stood oan her side ae the white lines in the middle ae the street, tae allow the squad car tae pass efter it hid turned oot ae Hyndlan
d Crescent. Her heart wis thumping aff her collar bone as the two bizzies in the front gied her a good looking o’er. She relaxed, efter the driver, a sergeant, gied her a wee wink and a smile oan the way past. By the time she’d reached the pavement oan the other side, jist ootside St Peter’s oan Hyndland Street, her heart rate hid started tae subside. Although she could see the chapel fae her flat, she’d never darkened the vestry entrance. This time wisnae gonnae be any different as she hurried past the big doors towards the red sandstone priest’s hoose, tae the right ae them. The front door opened at the same time as she pushed her way through the wrought iron single gate.
Sister Liz fae The Sisters ae Redemption and Mercy looked efter the four priests who lived in the big hoose. There hid been an article in The Glesga Echo aboot her no long efter arriving in the city. She’d attended a public meeting, where a few ae The Showgirls hid been in attendance, gieing wan ae the housing managers a really hard time. The stupid eejit hid lost the rag at the bating fae the flair.
“A wummin’s place is in the hame,” he’d reminded the audience full ae wummin.
“And where do the women go who don’t have a home?” she’d shot back in that Irish lilt ae hers, as the place erupted in cheers and clapping.
She hid a wee room and kitchen up two flights ae stairs at the back ae the hoose. It hid taken a while tae start wae, bit everywan hid soon come tae appreciate that dry humour ae hers. She’d been nursing aw o’er the planet fur the past thirty-eight years until the diseases that hid followed in her footsteps hid finally caught up wae her. Some days wur better than others since she’d been slung oot ae Vietnam by the Americans fur upsetting them a few years earlier.
“A domestic slave without the wedding band,” she’d come oot wae wan night at a Showgirls meeting doon at the Tear Drap efter being asked how she spent her time.
And oan her accommodation roond the back and up they vertical stairs?
