The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (45 page)

  “Whit ye’re listening tae is somewan who hisnae a clue how The Corporation works.  She thinks The Corporation is a money pit...well, Ah’ve goat news fur her...it’s no!” JP hid shouted, acting like he’d scored a bull’s-eye, as they sheep ae his let loose wae a smattering ae clapping.

  “JP, don’t sit there and patronise me,” Helen hid spat back at him, before turning tae the audience.  “It seems tae me, that whit people hiv tae dae the night…because they might no get another chance before it’s too late…is tae take a right good look at that man sitting there.  Dis anywan sitting in this hall the night really see the answer tae aw oor ills in they wily auld eyes ae his?  Ah know Ah don’t.”

  The place hid erupted when she’d hit him wae that wan.

  “Right, then, if ye’re such an expert, tell us where the money wid come fae tae pay fur aw the work then?” JP hid shouted o’er the racket, his face the colour ae a beetroot and spit flying everywhere, as the other candidates sat nodding like the three stooges.

  “Put up yer haun if any ae ye hiv lived in the same tenement hoose fur mair than twenty five years?” Helen hid come back wae.

  Two thirds ae the hall, including some ae JP’s few wummin supporters, hid shot their hauns up in the air.

  “There’s yer answer.  Maist ae the people in this hall hiv paid fur the hooses they live in, twice o’er, yet they still hiv tae troop oot tae cauld landings in the middle ae the night tae use the lavvy.  Don’t tell me The Corporation cannae afford it.  Maybe you and aw yer co-accused cooncillors doon oan George’s Square need tae stoap exploiting their tenants and start prioritising...and realise whit side ae the loaf their breid is buttered oan, insteid ae telling us how grateful we should be tae them fur keeping a leaky roof o’er oor heids,” Helen hid retaliated, tae loud cheers.

  The straw that broke the camel’s back, as far as JP wis concerned, hid come when the expressway question hid goat raised.  Colonel Spicer and Sir Bob hid prattled oan aboot how drawing commerce intae the city wid benefit everywan and the poor wee Nationalist, who obviously hidnae learned his lesson, hid somehow managed tae bring the battle ae Bannockburn intae his response.  JP hid denied that there wis any plans...at least, none that he wis aware ae, tae plough an expressway through the heart ae Springburn.

  “Ah wid beware ae anywan that speaks wae a forked tongue oan this issue,” he’d harrumphed, looking accusingly alang the table towards Helen.

  “JP says he isnae aware ae any plans tae bulldoze an expressway through oor hooses and community.  That’s whit he telt everywan in the Toonheid, even though he wis wan ae the wans that sat oan the committee that gied the green light fur them tae move in and clear the people oot ae the hooses that they’d been born and brought up in.  He later blamed it oan some report that wis written by some professor or lord who’d never even visited the Toonheid, let alone asked anywan who lived there whit they thought.  Two years ago, that same man, who’s goat a bloody cheek tae accuse me ae hivving a forked tongue, wis still an elected cooncillor doon in George Square.  This is the man that claims tae know aboot everything that is gaun oan doon there.  Last year Ah spoke tae a few ae The Corporation boys who wur gaun aboot their business, measuring up and doon Springburn Road, who telt me, oan good authority, that a four-lane road wis being planned, starting fae the goods freight depot doon at Sighthill and finishing up at Colston.  The boy telt me that it wid be a spur aff ae the Inner Ring Road doon at Castle Street.  Noo, if ye want tae see whit happens when an expressway gets built in a built-up area like Springburn, Ah suggest ye aw troop doon tae whit’s left ae the Toonheid and ye’ll see fur yersel,” she’d retorted.

  Insteid ae the expected clapping and cheering that Helen wis expecting, there hid been a stunned silence.  A long, deathly minute later, everywan in the hall hid started jabbering and grumbling wae the people roond aboot them.  When she’d looked alang the table tae where JP wis sitting, he’d looked like he’d aged ten years in the space ae a minute.  Even though she’d derived a lot ae pleasure oot ae bursting a bag ae flour aff ae that napper ae his up in the Co-op, she’d actually felt a twinge ae pity fur the auld fox.  Efter that, wance the boos and howls hid died doon, JP’s answers tae the questions hid sounded hollow.  Even Sir Bob The Bore hid goat wan o’er oan JP when asked when Petershill FC wur gonnae turn professional.

  When her staunin ovation hid died doon at the end ae the meeting, she’d been confronted by her pal, Bradley McLeod, oan her way oot ae the hall, who’d wanted tae know if he could get a shot ae Aunt Jeannie’s diary fur a day or two.  Helen hid jist looked at him as if he wis mad.

  “Look, we’ll pay fifty quid fur a shot ae it?”

  “We?”

  “Aye, The Glesga Echo.  It’ll make ye famous, so it will,” the wee shite-hoose hid come oot wae, as Helen squeezed past him wae Jimmy and the lassies in tow.

  “Hoi, ur ye still alive in there?” Jimmy shouted, rattling oan the bathroom door.

  “Aye, Ah’m jist coming,” she murmured sleepily, turning the trickling hot tap aff wae her big toe.

Chapter Seventy Four

  There wis a cauld wind blowing and it wisnae jist doon Hope Street either.  Mary hid only been hauf listening tae Pearl, who wis obviously oblivious tae whit wis gaun oan, as she continued wae her incessant chatter aboot how Helen Taylor hid wiped the flair wae JP Donnelly’s arse the night before.  Wan ae the lassies fae the typing pool hid jist come across and telt Mary that Dandy Maclean, her editor, his heid still bandaged up efter his run-in wae a couple ae ton ae bananas, hid cleared oot his desk and hid last been clocked staunin ootside the main door, oan the pavement, surrounded by cardboard boxes, waiting fur a number forty seven bus tae take him hame tae his wee garden up in Milton.  She’d picked up that Lord Frank Owen and Hamish McGovern, the paper’s editor, wur back efter their wee jaunt tae South America.  Things wur no looking good.  The pair ae hauf-wits hidnae come across Che Guevara’s auld motorbike efter aw.  Mary sat nervously, smoking like a chimney, staring at the silent telephone.  Benson wis aff doon tae some show in Birmingham and wisnae expected back until later that night.  She’d jist aboot jumped oot ae her seat aboot a hauf an hour earlier when her phone hid shrilled fur the second time that morning.  She’d been scared tae pick it up and hid only done so efter Pearl’s carrot heid hid appeared o’er her cardboard box stockade.

  “Dae ye want me tae get that, Miss Marigold?”

   “Naw, naw, ye jist get back tae whit ye’re daeing,” she’d replied, picking up the receiver.

  It hid been Goody Two Shoes, her sister-in-law, phoning tae thank her fur the Taylor spread the day before.  Susan hid tried tae tell her aboot the flair show the night before, bit Mary hid cut her short and telt her that she’d awready read Bradley McLeod’s article in the paper that morning and hid heard every gory detail and mair, fae Carrot Heid.  Susan hid claimed that the feature hid turned roond the whole campaign and everywan in Springburn hid been talking aboot it…that and the gubbing that JP hid goat the night before.  Susan hid jist been starting tae tell her that nowan wis taking anything fur granted and everywan hid been oot oan the streets since eight o’clock that morning, when Mary hid butted in.

  “Look, Susan, Ah’m delighted fur you and Helen Taylor.  She’s an amazing wummin, so she is, bit Ah really hiv tae get aff ae this phone.  Ah’m waiting fur an important call, so Ah am.”

  The earlier call hid been fae Bradley McLeod, wanting tae know whit she thought ae his piece oan Superwummin.

  “Well, it’s certainly a bit ae a turn aroond fae yer last outing,” she’d replied.

  “Aye, well, that spread ye done oan her changed aw that.  It wid be a brave man that hid a go at her noo, so it wid.”

  “So, last night?  Wis she as good as Ah’ve heard she wis?”

  “Better.  She hid everywan eating oot ae her haun, so she did.  Wae a wee bit ae spit and polish, and the right support, she could go somewhere, so she could,” he’d replied.

  “And ye see yersel as that person, dae ye?”

  “Well, it’s funny ye should say that.  Ah wis jist talking tae Harold Sliver efter the debate last night and he wis saying the same thing.  He needs watching that wan, so he dis,” Bradley hid said unashamedly.

  “Right, Bradley, whit ur ye efter?”

  “Me?  Why wid Ah be efter anything?”

  “Look, Ah’m no daft, so Ah’m no,” she’d persisted.

  “Well, seeing as we work oan the same paper, there’s probably wan thing ye could maybe help me wae.”

  “Oh?  And whit wid that be then?”

  “The diary.”

  “The diary?”

  “Aye, ye couldnae hiv a wee word wae that new pal ae yers tae get me a wee shot ae it, could ye?” he’d asked.

  “Bradley, fur the record, she’s no ma new pal...she’s jist another feature, like the wan the week before.”

  “Aye, right.  So, will ye speak tae her oan ma behauf then?”

  “Bradley, fuck aff and leave me alane,” she’d replied, hinging up the receiver.

  Mary knew fine well that Bradley hid gone and complained, no only tae Dandy aboot the Taylor piece, bit hid gone howling tae Tom Bryce aboot her undermining him by straying oan tae his patch and ignoring the paper’s policy which stated that only Lord Frank could decide whit political candidate could be endorsed by The Echo.

  She couldnae believe the bare-faced cheek ae the wee reprobate efter whit him and that bum-boy, Sliver, hid written in favour ae JP Donnelly previously.  She’d also heard it oan good authority fae Sheila Marshall, wan ae the telephonists, that JP Donnelly hid been oan the phone aboot twenty times the day before, no long efter the paper wae her feature in it hid hit the news-stands, tae try tae speak tae Bradley.  When he’d failed, he’d kept asking Sheila tae get Bradley tae phone him back at The Journeyman’s Club in Springburn, as it wis an emergency.  Ah’ll bet it wis, Mary hid said tae hersel.  Sheila hid also said that Bradley hid telt her that, under nae account wis she tae put JP’s calls through tae him. 

  Mary knew exactly who it wis when her phone jumped oan her desk.  The ringing seemed angrier and mair desperate than the last two calls.  She made up her mind tae ignore it.

  “Will Ah get that, Miss Marigold?” Miss Eager-beaver chimed.

  “Aye, er, okay,” Mary croaked, as Pearl picked up the phone.

  “Hello, Miss Marigold, Scotland’s foremost wummin journalist’s assistant speaking.  How may Ah help ye?” Pearl chirpily sang intae the moothpiece.

  “Ah’m sorry, Miss Marigold is busy at the minute.  Kin Ah take a message?” Pearl asked, staring at Mary, who wis busy making cut-throat signs wae they fingers ae hers across her gullet.

  “Right, Ah will dae,” Pearl said and hung up.

  “So?”

  “That wis Tom Bryce’s secretary.  Ye’ve tae go up tae see him...like as in the noo.”

  “Oh, right,” Mary croaked.

  “Is everything aw right, Miss Marigold?  Dae ye want me tae come wae ye?” Pearl asked, concern in her voice.

   Mary let oot a harsh, bitter laugh.  Whit wis Pearl like, she thought tae hersel.

  “Naw, Ah don’t want ye tae come wae me, Pearl.  Ye jist carry oan wae whit ye’re daeing here and Ah’ll be back doon shortly, hen.  He’s probably wanting tae know who Ah’m gonnae upset next week,” she replied, stubbing oot her fag in the Capstan ashtray oan her desk.

  Things appeared normal when she arrived up at the news desk, unlike the last time when she’d done the social worker article.  She thought that maybe she wis jist being paranoid due tae the fact that Lord Haw Haw and Quasi Modo wur back in the building.  Hardly anywan lifted their heid when she appeared through the door.

  “Jist go right in, he’s expecting ye,” Glamour Puss purred.

  “Ye wanted tae see me, Tom?” Mary asked, sitting oan the chair in front ae his desk.

  “How long hiv Ah known ye, Mary?” he asked, dispensing wae the niceties.

  “Ah don’t know...six or seven years or so, since Ah’ve been wae Benson,” she shrugged.

  “In aw that time, hiv Ah ever done anything tae upset ye?” he asked.

  “Well, ye did demote me by promoting me tae ma current position,” she replied warily.

  “So, that’s it, is it?”

  “Is that whit?”

  “The reason why ye continually cause me tae wake up in the night in a cauld sweat...as if Ah hivnae goat enough oan ma plate, wae aw this carry oan wae the polis accusing us ae systematically undermining them.”

  “Tom, Ah hivnae goat a clue whit the hell ye’re oan about, so Ah don’t.”

  “Well, let me gie ye a wee clue then.  In the middle ae Lord Frank’s sensitive negotiations wae the polis, trying tae stoap hauf the crime desk boys fae getting arrested, whit dae ye go and dae?  Ye jump in there and dae an article oan that social worker bitch.”

  “So?”

  “So, in exchange fur access tae her, we wur gonnae let the polis interview wan ae oor boys, under strict supervision, tae prove that aw oor dealings wae the underworld ur above board…which they ur.  The boys in blue wur in negotiation wae The Virgin Mary Wae Hauf a Face, tae get us access tae her and oot ae the blue, that article ae yers blew a hole under the water line, so it did.”

  “How wis Ah tae know there wis separate talks gaun oan?  Nowan telt me, so they didnae.”

  “Nowan telt ye?  Is that it?”

  “Aye, that’s it.”

  “Well, fur Christ’s sake, Ah’m sorry ye wurnae invited in oan the master plan.  How could we hiv been so stupid as tae no involve yersel?  It must’ve been oot ae sight, oot ae mind, oan oor part,” Tom snarled.

  “Look, Tom, Ah thought we’d been through aw this last week?”

  “And noo ye’ve gone and done it again, so ye hiv.”

  “Ah’ve done whit?”

  “Ye’ve gone and shafted Bradley McLeod and endorsed somewan the paper widnae touch wae a bargepole in a hunner years, so ye hiv,” he shouted at her.

  “Ah hivnae endorsed anywan.  That article wis aboot wummin and equality and how it’s still near oan impossible tae get oan the first rung if ye’re a wummin, so it wis.  Helen Taylor his connections that go back tae the wummin’s movement at the turn ae the century, so she dis.  She his a historical document that proves that.  The fact that JP Donnelly is part ae that history, makes it even better fae a journalistic point ae view,” Mary replied.

  “And tae think ye even brought Lord Frank’s family intae the picture.  Fur fuck’s sake.  Hiv ye been smoking that wacky-baccy or whit?”

  “Whit's the problem wae that?  Jeannie Smullen’s sister did work fur the family.  Ah never wrote anything disparaging or that wid cause offence.”

  “Ur ye as fucking stupid as ye’re making oot, Mary?  He’s a bloody socialist, fur Christ’s sake.  Good socialists don’t go aboot advertising the fact that they or their families employ domestic help, so they don’t.”

  “Don’t call me stupid, Tom.  Ye might be ma man’s best pal, bit Ah won’t take any shite fae the likes ae you,” Mary shouted at him.

  “Well, lucky fur you, ye won’t hiv tae.  Ah’ve been telt tae tell ye tae clear that desk ae yers.”

  “Whit wis that?  Whit did ye jist say?”

  “Ye heard me.  Ye’ve goat fifteen minutes tae clear the premises,” her man’s best pal snarled, dismissing her.

  By the time Mary goat tae the dungeon landing where her desk wis, she’d managed tae compose hersel.  When she casually sauntered in, Pearl looked up at her and gied her a big friendly smile.

  “Everything awright, Miss Marigold?”

  “Aye, everything’s jist fine, Pearl.  Look, go and hiv yer lunch break jist noo and then when ye come back, try and put everything thegither oan whit we’ve goat, so far, fur next week’s feature.  Okay?”

  “Great.  There’s a sale oan in Dolcis that Ah want tae check oot,” Pearl said, grabbing her coat.

  Mary looked at her desk.  Although there wis work stuff aw o’er it, she couldnae see anything oan it apart fae wan object.  She picked up her favourite Capstan ashtray and tipped the crushed fag-ends intae her wastepaper basket before wrapping it in tissue.  She looked aboot tae make sure Pearl wis gone and the typing pool lassies wurnae clocking her.  She picked up her coat and haunbag and heided, withoot looking back, tae the door that led tae the stairs and the street.