Cross Purpose

by Claire MacLeary

  Gilruth’s head inclined a fraction.

  ‘Then it’s iniquitous,’ she started forward, ‘trying to charge a dead man for an office he can’t occupy, services he never received.’

  ‘If you have a complaint,’ James Gilruth didn’t flinch, ‘I suggest you pursue it through the proper channels.’

  ‘And what might those be?’

  ‘My credit control people. You’ll find their details on the invoice.’

  ‘Credit control? Is that what you call them?’ Maggie drew herself up to her full five feet two. ‘You do realise there were a couple of men at my door recently, threatening me?’

  ‘Come now, Mrs Laird.’

  ‘Don’t you “come now” me,’ she was in full flow. ‘I bet it was you that sent them.’

  ‘Mrs Laird,’ the carefully modulated voice didn’t alter, ‘you have to understand I don’t personally oversee every aspect of my business. However…’ Behind the glasses, the fish-eyes shone. ‘Credit follow-up procedures must take their course.’

  ‘I understand that,’ she adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘Which is why I asked to see you today.’

  Gilruth’s right eyebrow gave a marginal twitch.

  ‘My husband’s death, as you’ll appreciate, has come as a great shock to me. I’ve teenage children to support, and…’

  ‘You’ll get by,’ Gilruth cut her short. ‘People do.’

  ‘I believe you’ve a teenage son yourself?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  Keep going! ‘So you’ll know how expensive…’ She ad-libbed desperately.

  ‘Mrs Laird,’ Gilruth took a step towards her, ‘I’ve said all I have to say on the matter.’

  Maggie’s shoulders slumped. ‘Won’t you even waive the notice period?’

  ‘Your husband signed a binding contract.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but…’

  ‘Drawn up to protect the landlord from, among other things, loss of rent.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Sadly, I now have a void to contend with.’

  Fight your corner! She straightened. ‘That’s hardly my husband’s fault.’

  ‘Quite.’ James Gilruth didn’t move a muscle. ‘But it doesn’t alter the facts.’

  Maggie stopped in her tracks. She knew she was defeated, that this mild-looking man had a core of steel. Still, she clung to straws. ‘Then can I ask a favour?’ The words hung suspended for what seemed an eternity.

  ‘A favour?’ Gilruth’s bland expression didn’t change.

  ‘A…a small favour.’

  The fish-eyes narrowed. ‘There’s no such thing as a small favour.’ The rasp in the man’s voice sounded more like a threat now than a cough.

  x

  Maggie sat in her car, hot tears of humiliation coursing down her cheeks as she played the encounter back in her head. It wasn’t just that she’d been shown the door, decanted back into the street without decorum. It was that she’d failed so miserably – shown herself up as the stupid, naive little housewife she indubitably was. She made fists of her hands. Roughly, she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. Her bravado had been born of rage, fury at the injustice meted out to her dead husband. But she’d failed at the first hurdle. Maggie had viewed the meeting with Gilruth as an initial assignment, a dummy run for the task ahead. Her remit was straightforward: make contact with the landlord, explain why his rent invoice was unfair, ask for its cancellation. It all sounded so simple when you put it like that. And it had started out so well. It was only when she came to face-to-face with the man himself that her resolve ebbed away. For James Gilruth may have been slight in stature, but he radiated power in a way she had never before encountered. Menace, too. She trembled in her seat as she pictured that expressionless face, those glittering eyes. Eyes that hadn’t registered her own divergent pupils, the realisation hit Maggie now. Hadn’t seen. Or been completely indifferent.

  All of a sudden, she felt terribly tired. She let her head droop onto her chest, her eyelids drift shut. Maggie snuggled down, savouring the soft warmth of her old wool coat. She let out a sigh. If she’d learned anything that morning, it was that James Gilruth – sitting on his dark empire at the edge of the self-same quarry that built the silver city of Aberdeen – was devoid of any vestige of human kindness.

  As disappointment turned to anger, a fat gobbet of bile rose in her throat. She snapped her eyes open. Coughed it into her open palm. Maggie eyed the pool of slime. She’d find out every last thing there was to know about the man and his business dealings, she resolved. More than that, if she could prove Gilruth had the least involvement in her husband’s death, she’d find some way to make him pay.

  III

  Rock Bottom

  ‘Would you like to come through?’ A leggy brunette in a stretch miniskirt and ballet flats beckoned from an open doorway.

  ‘Oh…’ Maggie fumbled for her handbag, ‘yes.’ As she did so, the magazines she’d been leafing through slipped from her fingers and landed in a heap at her feet. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Pink in the face, she stooped to pick them up, then followed the girl into a small office.

  ‘I’m Tracy,’ the tall girl smiled as she settled herself behind the desk. ‘Have a seat.’

  Maggie dropped onto the chair on the other side. After her less-than-satisfactory meeting with Kelman McRae, she’d made an appointment with a recruitment agency in the West End. She’d been shaken by her encounter with James Gilruth, and hot on the heels of those two bruisers. But no matter how feeble she felt, she knew she’d have to put a brave face on things, earn a living, hold everything together for the sake of her kids.

  ‘Now,’ Tracy scanned the form that Maggie had filled in earlier, ‘let’s see what we can do for you.’ She paused, pen poised. ‘You’re looking for a secretarial position, is that right?’

  Maggie nodded.

  ‘From what you’ve filled in here, you don’t appear to have worked as a secretary since…let me see…1999?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Tracy frowned. ‘So what have you’ve been doing since then?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean,’ Maggie stuttered, ‘I’ve been at home, bringing up my kids.’

  ‘Oh, right. Haven’t you worked at all?’

  ‘On and off. Seasonal stuff. But I’m back in permanent employment now, part-time, as a Pupil Support Assistant in Seaton.’

  ‘How long have you been doing that?’

  ‘Just over a year.’

  ‘And you’re still employed in that capacity?’

  ‘Yes. No,’ Maggie felt herself getting flustered, ‘I’m on leave at the moment.’

  ‘I see,’ Tracy scribbled some notes on the form in front of her. ‘And your children, how old are they now?’

  ‘Oh,’ Maggie smiled, ‘my daughter’s in her second year at uni, my son’s in fifth year at school.’

  Tracy’s pen hovered over the application form. ‘So you’re free to work full-time?’

  ‘Well…’ Maggie wondered how much time the agency might swallow up. ‘I was really hoping for something that would fit in with school hours.’

  ‘That will severely limit your options.’

  ‘I suppose. But don’t a lot of places offer flexitime these days?’

  ‘Let’s establish what you have to offer an employer first, shall we?’ Tracy fixed Maggie with a steely look. ‘Then we’ll see what we have available.’

  Maggie crossed her legs. Uncrossed them again. This wasn’t going at all how she’d expected.

  ‘Right,’ Tracy flipped the form over, ‘can we just run through what you’ve put down here? Six O-Levels. Secretarial Certificate. Five years as a secretary to a legal firm, followed by eighteen months as a personal assistant. Is that correct?’

  Maggie inclined her head.

  ‘A
nd you can get references from both employers?’

  ‘Yes, though they may be…’ Maggie stopped mid-sentence.

  ‘Not all that relevant at this juncture,’ Tracy’s intervention spared Maggie further embarrassment. ‘What’s more important is what skills you bring to the table. You are computer literate, I take it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie brightened, ‘I’ve taken a course.’

  ‘Oh, which one?’

  ‘PCs for the Terrified.’

  Tracy raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, well, can I put down that you’re familiar with Microsoft Office Suite.’

  ‘Office Suite?’

  ‘Word, Outlook and Excel?’

  ‘I’m OK with Microsoft Word.’

  ‘Good. What about the others?’

  Maggie hesitated. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Tracy made a series of small doodles on the form in front of her. ‘To be honest with you, Mrs Laird, I don’t know that I’d be able to put you forward for a secretarial position. Not with such a limited skill set and no recent experience.’

  ‘But my qualifications…’ Maggie had pinned her hopes on this interview.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Tracy splayed her hands on the desktop. ‘But what I’m saying is it’s all computer-based nowadays, office work, and I can’t see, quite frankly, that you’d be up to the mark.’

  Not a hope in hell of picking up a PA job, then. Maggie felt a flush creep up her neck. Bit of temping, maybe, and that’s if she was lucky.

  ‘If you’d just give me a start.’

  ‘I would if I could,’ Tracy leaned towards the older woman. ‘But given the current economic climate…’ She offered a conspiratorial smile. ‘And besides, the agency has its reputation to consider. We’ve worked hard to develop a good relationship with our clients, and we wouldn’t want to jeopardise that in any way.’

  ‘No. No, I understand. But,’ Maggie was running out of options. ‘If I could just get the chance to show you…’

  ‘You’ll have that opportunity when you complete our aptitude tests.’

  ‘Aptitude tests?’ Maggie had thought things couldn’t get any worse, but this Tracy woman had reduced her to zero. Less than zero. She felt fit to faint.

  ‘Yes,’ Tracy continued smoothly. ‘They fall into four categories: Microsoft Office Skills, Attention to Detail – that’s filing, typing and so on – Language Skills and Customer Service.’

  Maggie’s stomach clenched. She covered her face with her hands.

  ‘There’s no need to be alarmed, Mrs Laird. You’ll do them on the computer, and they’re mostly multiple choice. Though I do have to warn you,’ Tracy’s voice dropped to a whisper, ‘they’ll be timed.’

  ‘Timed?’ Maggie’s hands fell away.

  ‘Yes.’

  Tracy lifted the phone. She pressed a button. ‘Ange, if you’d like to take Mrs Laird through.’

  Seaton School

  ‘Classroom assistant my arse,’ Maggie caught the snatch of conversation through the open door. ‘How come Learning Support gets all the resources?’

  There was a muttered response.

  ‘Waste of space, some of those kids. Doomed from the day they were born.’

  She squared her shoulders, breezed into the staff room. ‘Morning, everyone.’

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Eyes averted all round. ‘We were just talking about you.’

  ‘Me?’ She assumed an innocent face. ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s not that you don’t do a good job, Maggie,’ the voice came from behind.

  Needs must, Maggie thought. She hadn’t intended to go back to her Seaton job so soon, but she still hadn’t heard back from Kelman McRae, so her hopes for the agency remained in limbo. As to the prospect of more gainful employment, the recruitment agency debacle had been the final straw.

  ‘We’re so sorry about…’ This from Julia.

  Maggie looked at her feet. ‘Yes, well…’

  ‘There’s nothing any of us can say, really. Still, you’ve done well to get back so soon. And the kids…’

  Maggie looked up. ‘I’ve missed them.’ And she had.

  She crossed the room. Switched on the kettle. Stood waiting for it to boil. For some moments, she reflected upon the things her pupils had brought to her life. Then she thought back to the bust-up she’d had with George.

  I saw a job in the paper today.

  Who for?

  Me.

  But you don’t have to work, Maggie.

  No? A bit extra would save you putting in for so much overtime.

  I don’t mind, pet, you know that. But this job you saw – what is it?

  A teaching assistant.

  Don’t be daft. Glorified skivvy, that’s all they are. If you must get a job, why not get a nice job?

  Such as?

  A secretary, like you were before.

  Don’t think I haven’t looked.

  This teaching assistant post, where is it anyway?

  Seaton.

  You’ve got to be joking.

  Why’s that?

  It’s as rough as you get.

  Oh, come on. There are a lot of decent people living in Seaton, George, you know that as well as I do – people who’ve lived there for years, who have extended family in the area, people who have a real will to make things better.

  That’s as may be. But it’s not those poor sods I’m thinking about. It’s the others – the ones who make their lives a misery with their drug dealing and their benefit fraud and their antisocial behaviour.

  But some of those people just need a hand to pull themselves up. Their kids need someone to give them time, one-to-one attention. Kids who’ve never had the start in life our children have. Anyhow, you needn’t worry. I’ll hardly be there. The job’s only for a few hours a week.

  That won’t bring in much.

  It’s not about the money.

  But my overtime. I thought you just said…

  I need to get out of the house, George. Rebuild my confidence.

  Confidence? Is that what this is all about?

  You’ve no idea, have you?

  Men! Maggie fumed. They hadn’t the least notion how your children ground you down, sucked out the life force till there was nothing left but a shadow of what you’d once been.

  The kettle switched itself off with a loud click. She dropped a teabag into a mug. Splashed water on. Seaton had been a revelation to Maggie. In that, at least, George had been right. Since she’d gone back to work, she viewed her life through fresh eyes. Critical eyes. Could hardly credit that she’d been content to sit at home all that time, striving to be the perfect wife and mother.

  Too perfect. Fiercely, she squeezed the teabag against the side of the mug. She’d read somewhere you weren’t meant to do that. Let out the bitter tannins, the article said. Bitter? With all her heart, Maggie wished she hadn’t been quite so wilful when she was young. Kept her head down at school. Gone to college instead of settling for a secretarial course. Waited a few more years before she married George. Since then she’d determined no son or daughter of hers would miss out on any opportunity that was going. She let out a sigh. Then again, if she hadn’t insisted Kirsty and Colin be educated at private schools, if George hadn’t had to work all the hours to keep them there, she probably wouldn’t be in the mess she was in now.

  ‘These no-hopers,’ she jolted back to reality, ‘are you thinking of anyone in particular?’

  ‘How about Willie Meston, for a start?’

  A subdued titter ran round the room.

  ‘I’ll give you that one,’ she capitulated, ‘but only because the lad’s hardly ever at school.’

  ‘Too busy running after his da.’

  ‘Not this week,’ someone else chipped in. ‘Meston senior’s banged up. Read it in the P & J.
’

  ‘Hasn’t made a whit of difference. Willie Meston’s been in trouble twice this week already. Community bobby was round here. Couldn’t raise anyone at home.’

  ‘Bit of a soft target, don’t you think?’ Maggie crossed the room and sat down.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well,’ she played devil’s advocate, ‘if I were a community police officer and my station was adjacent to the school, I might want to be seen as proactive.’

  ‘I suppose…’ Grudging voice. You have a point.’

  ‘What sort of trouble was it anyway?’

  ‘Bobby wouldn’t say.’

  ‘OK,’ Maggie allowed, ‘Willie Meston’s been in trouble again. But Willie’s just one pupil out of many.’

  ‘Ryan Brebner, then.’

  ‘Ryan? How come?’ She stuck her nose in the steaming mug, took a tentative sip.

  ‘Sees himself as Willie’s lieutenant. Won’t be long before he goes the same way.’

  ‘Doesn’t follow.’ Maggie was pleased to be back at work, but she’d forgotten just how entrenched the attitudes of some of the older teachers were. Not that the atmosphere in the staff room was always so febrile. Maggie enjoyed the banter, normally. It was probably her enforced absence that had caused her to view her workplace in a more detached light.

  ‘Oh, come on. There’s no point defending him. That boy dogs Willie Meston’s footsteps. His attendance is already dropping off.’

  ‘I thought that was because he had his wee brother to…’

  ‘Ah. Kyle, isn’t it? In my opinion the wee chap’s just a convenient excuse for Ryan to play truant.’

  ‘Well,’ Maggie took another sip, ‘I’ll keep a close eye on the pair of them.’

  ‘Waste of time. Far better spend it on kids who want to learn.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  ‘Like Lewis McHardy?’ somebody suggested, quickly followed by, ‘Joke.’

  ‘Bad joke, in my opinion,’ Maggie banged her mug down. ‘Lewis can’t help it if he’s a bit…’

  ‘Challenged?’ A sarky voice offered.

  ‘Yes, but look at the time you’ve spent in the classroom on that boy. And he hasn’t improved one bit, you have to agree.’