The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (46 page)

Chapter Seventy Five

   Helen lay listening tae the distant footsteps coming up the stairs.  Whoever it wis wisnae lifting their feet up oan tae each step, bit wis sliding each sole forward, causing an echoing scraping noise, like the sound ae a distant steam train.  She knew when the train reached a landing because there wis a momentary drapping ae the rhythm, before the scraping, chugging sound fae each shoe started up again.  She hidnae slept too well.  The excitement ae this being the last day ae campaigning hid caught up wae her and she’d felt anything bit tired.  The articles in the previous day’s Echo and Evening Citizen hid baith said that she wis heiding fur a win.  While some ae the lassies hid started tae get aw excited at the prospect, Helen wisnae that sure.  Her experience tae date hid been that if everything looked hunky-dory, then something wis guaranteed tae turn up and take the wind oot ae yer sails.  Efter the euphoria ae the debate hid subsided, she’d found it hard no tae be suspicious ae the fact that Bradley McLeod and that Sliver wan hid suddenly done a complete U-turn.  She reckoned they must’ve hid an ulterior motive lurking away in the backgroond.  Granted, things hid looked brighter since Mary Marigold’s spread oan her.  Everywhere she’d gone the day before, she’d been greeted wae big smiles and wishes ae luck fae shoapkeepers and shoappers alike.  Even the weans, heiding aff tae school, hid aw gied her the impression that they knew something she didnae.  The opposition volunteers, oan the other haun, seemed tae hiv that dejected look ae losers aboot them, which aw the lassies hid been eager tae point oot whenever the sides came in contact wae each other.  It wisnae Spring, bit everywan seemed tae hiv a spring in their step.  She cocked her ear.  Whoever it wis hid noo reached Soiled Sally’s landing.  It couldnae be Pete the Postie because he usually didnae manage tae reach Helen’s close until jist efter eight.  She looked at the clock oan Jimmy’s side ae the bed.  Ten past seven.  The feet wur noo starting tae come up the stairs tae her landing.  She swung her feet oot ae bed and straight intae her slippers.  Wance her dressing gown wis oan, she picked up her two-bar fire and heided fur the kitchen.  By the time she plugged it in, the train hid arrived oan her landing.  She popped her heid oot ae the kitchen door.  The shape ae somewan oan the other side ae the frosted glass seemed hesitant.  She walked alang the lobby and turned the lock and opened the door.  Sherbet wis staunin there wae a startled look oan that kisser ae his.

  “Aw, Christ, no you again.  Ye’ll need tae stoap this or people will start talking, so they will,” she said, staunin aside tae let him pass.

  “Here, ye better read this.  Ah wis gonnae jist put it through yer letter box, so Ah wis,” Sherbet said, wance she caught up wae him in the kitchen.

  Helen lay the paper flat oan the table as Sherbet filled the teapot wae water and switched oan the gas ring.

  “Oh Christ,” Helen groaned, sitting doon, eyes fixed oan the front page.

  The heidline read, ‘Journalist Found Hanged,’ and there wis a picture underneath it ae a smiling Mary Marigold staring up at her.  She looked up at Sherbet and then back tae the front page.

  “Aye, Ah know.  That wis ma reaction tae,” Sherbet said, lifting doon two cups fae the shelf.

  “Ah cannae believe it.  Ah wis jist talking tae her last Sunday there and she seemed, well...happy.  At least, that’s the impression Ah goat, so Ah did,” Helen said, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes as she started tae read.

  “Aye, it jist goes tae show ye,” Sherbet said, placing the cup ae boiling tea beside her.

  “It says here that ‘Miss Mary Marigold, wan ae Scotland’s brightest and best-loved journalists, hid left work jist efter lunchtime yesterday, withoot telling anywan where she wis guan.  Her husband, the paper’s motoring columnist, Benson Flaw, found her at hame when he returned fae a car exhibition in Birmingham late last night.  It is believed that Miss Marigold hung hersel.’  It also quotes the polis as saying there didnae appear tae be a suicide note.  It says that her man is being comforted by relatives.  Christ, poor Susan and Donald.  They’ll be absolutely shattered by this.  Her and Susan wur really close, so they wur.  It wis Susan that convinced her tae dae the article oan me.  Whit a shame...whit a waste.  Ah wonder whit made her dae a thing like that,” Helen whispered, stunned, lighting up a fag.

  “Ye think ye know somewan, and then, snap...they’re offskie.  Who knows whit goes oan in somewan’s heid tae make them go and dae a thing like that, eh?” Sherbet  said, sitting doon opposite her.

  Helen turned tae page five.  There wur two pages devoted tae Mary, alang wae photos ae when she wis growing up until the present time.  Helen read that she’d studied at Glesga University where she’d met her man.  Efter being married by her man’s father, she’d raised eyebrows amongst family and friends by no taking her man’s name.  The paper said that that wis typical ae her...strong willed, independent, wae a free spirit and oozing talent.  Helen read her biography since joining the paper.  It said that she’d joined the paper straight fae University as a graduate tae gain experience and hid worked her way up the ranks through hard work and sheer determination tae become their tap crime journalist.  It also said that she wis the first wummin in the paper’s hunner and fifty year history tae attain that coveted job.  It went oan tae say that she’d recently been gied a mair prestigious position by becoming the papers first columnist ‘fur wummin by wummin.’  Almost immediately, she’d caused a sensation by getting the only interview wae the infamous social worker at the centre ae the murder love triangle, involving a cuckolded prison governor, his wife, the senior social worker, and a notorious gangster.  No only that, bit Mary hid resisted the temptation tae sensationalise the story and hid successfully won o’er management tae feature it as part ae her new wummin’s column.  Despite a lack ae pre-publicity, sales ae the paper fur that Wednesday hid broken aw previous sales records.  Oan the following Wednesday...the wan jist past, sales hid been oan a par wae the previous Wednesday due tae another sensational feature oan the Springburn by-election and the niece ae wan ae Scotland’s maist famous feminists and activists, Jeannie Smullen, Mrs Helen Taylor, who wis challenging long-serving Corporation cooncillor, JP Donnelly.  Helen smiled.  A couple ae days previously, nowan hid heard ae Jeannie Smullen.  She wondered whit Aunt Jeannie wid’ve made ae her sudden fame?  The paper then went oan tae describe how JP hid defeated Jeannie Smullen in a controversial and bitterly fought contest in the Toonheid in 1935, before she’d gone aff tae nurse and die in Spain’s Civil War.  Mrs Taylor hid claimed that Mr Donnelly and his supporters, amongst them the clergy and polis, hid been using dirty tricks similar tae whit hid been used against her aunt in 1935.  Mrs Taylor hid produced a diary that showed similarities between whit went oan in 1935 and whit hid recently been happening in Springburn.  Since publication ae Mary Marigold’s column oan her, the paper hid heard that the BBC wur considering daeing a documentary oan Jeannie Smullen’s life.  That wis news tae Helen.

She read that the paper’s chief accountant, Barney McQueen, hid stated that the phenomenal sales increases o’er the past two weeks hid been as a direct result ae the interest being generated in Mary Marigold’s choice ae topics tae write aboot.

  “Look, Helen, Ah’ll hiv tae go.  Abdul’s across at ma maw’s and Maisa’s oan her lonesome in the shoap.  Sorry aboot the bad news.”

  “Ach, it’s no yer fault, Sherbet.  Listen, thanks fur bringing the paper roond.  Ah wis supposed tae be meeting the lassies up at the manse at eleven.  Ah suppose that’ll need tae be cancelled noo,” she said, letting Sherbet oot.

  Helen went back tae the paper and read whit Mary’s colleagues hid been saying aboot her.  Her boss, Tom Bryce, said he’d been devastated when he heard the news.  Him and Mary’s husband wur the best ae friends and went back a long way.  It hid been him that hid gied Mary her first start and first assignment oan the paper.  It hid also been Tom Bryce that hid recently promoted Mary tae her ain column.  He said that he’d hid a meeting wae her jist before she’d left the offices in Hope Street fur the last time and that she’d been excited by the success ae her column and the response fae the readers.  She’d said that she’d nearly completed next week’s feature.  Dandy McLean, her newly retired editor, said, “I am saddened by her untimely death.  She wis a considerate and loving person wae strong views oan the role ae wummin.  Despite whit many people believe, being a journalist isnae aw glamour.  Stressful deadlines ur a constant pressure in a busy metropolitan newspaper, bit Mary always filed her copy oan time and wis a pleasure tae work wae.”

  Bradley McLeod, who’d gied technical assistance tae Mary wae her latest feature oan the by-election up in Springburn, said that she’d been a pleasure tae work wae and wan ae the maist caring individuals he’d ever come across.

  Lord Frank Owen, the newspaper’s owner and Hamish McGovern, the paper’s editor, wur baith said tae be devastated by the news and wur too upset tae comment.  As a mark ae respect, they would, however, be printing her latest feature in the next Wednesday’s edition, oan the scandal ae wummin being prescribed barbiturates and other highly addictive drugs by family doctors. 

  Helen sat back and took a sip ae her tea and lit up another fag.  During their hours thegither, she’d remarked tae Mary that maist ae the wummin involved in her campaign wur oan prescribed drugs such as uppers and downers.  Helen hid described the local doctors as nothing mair than dope peddlers.  Mary hid said she’d be interested in maybe daeing a feature oan the issue the following week and Helen hid said she’d dae aw she could tae help her, irrespective ae whether Mary wrote anything complimentary aboot her or no.  Helen wisnae sure oan whit tae dae noo.  It wis the final day ae the campaign.  Wan side ae her wis saying that she should maybe no go oot and campaign, oot ae respect, bit she knew fine well that that wid be disastrous.  Although JP and his crowd hid their heids doon, they wurnae oot ae the game by a long shot.  She thought back tae her interview wae Mary the previous Sunday up at the manse.  Although people wur saying lovely things aboot Mary Marigold in the paper, Helen hid detected a hardness tae her that verged oan ruthlessness.  That wis probably why Helen hid taken an instant liking tae her, she thought.  She could see a lot ae hersel in the journalist’s make-up.  Oan the wan side, she’d been pleasant enough, bit oan the other, she’d come across as somewan who’d staun her ground, no matter how big or ugly the opposition wis.  The paper hid reported that she’d come fae humble beginnings.  Helen wisnae sure if that made a person mair determined tae succeed or no.  Helen wisnae that convinced.  She thought that ye wur either prepared tae staun up fur yer rights or ye wurnae.  The key thing fur Helen hid always been aboot how ye used that determination tae challenge and tae harness it tae help people worse aff than yersel.  Her aunt Jeannie hid channelled it tae help people who wurnae strong and needed a helping haun, and maybe Helen wis jist a chip aff the auld block.  Mary Marigold hid struck her as being somewan who’d staun and fight and eventually get whit she set oot fur in the long run.  When Helen hid spoken tae her, she’d sensed a lot ae frustration and anger in Mary, particularly towards men, or at least, men in positions ae power.  Helen recognised that frustration, bit she’d felt that Mary wanted the power fur power’s sake, no because she wanted tae make the world a better place.  Helen wis sure that Mary Marigold wid’ve laughed at her fur being a sentimental silly cow fur even thinking aboot haudin back oot ae sentimentality or respect fur the deid.  Helen knew that if she said tae the lassies that they shouldnae campaign oan the final day, oot ae showing a bit ae respect, they’d probably go alang wae that sentiment.  That wis jist who they wur at the end ae the day.  She looked doon at the smiling face oan the front page ae the paper.  She felt Mary wis mocking her wae they eyes ae hers and telling her tae get up aff ae her arse and get oot there tae finish aff whit needed tae be done.  Harry Bertram wis expecting her doon tae gie her hair a make o’er and Isabelle, Anne and Norma wur coming roond tae help oot oan this, the last day.  She wisnae sure where Johnboy wis.  Jimmy wis hoping tae get away sharp fae work tae get back up the road.  He’d even volunteered tae dae a bit ae door-knocking, so he hid.  She looked doon at the photo ae Mary again.

   “Aye, Ah know, Mary...ye’re right, hen.  There’s still work tae be done...a lot ae it, so there is,” Helen said, stubbing oot her fag and picking up her make-up bag, before heiding through tae the bathroom tae fill the tub.

Chapter Seventy Six

  The Stalker rubbed his eyes wae the knuckles ae baith hauns.  He looked up at the staffing rota oan the wall.  He’d jist managed tae work oot how he wis gonnae cover that day’s shift, before the start ae the weekend madness.  Three PCs wur aff sick...two wae injuries sustained efter being assaulted and wan hid pleurisy.  The staffing situation wis the least ae his troubles though.  It wis the last day ae the Keppochhill by-election and Daddy Jackson, in person, hid jist come aff the phone tae him.  Daddy hid been ranting aboot that daft basturt Fitz confronting Helen Taylor in the street recently.

  “That fucking bushwhacking cretinous ugly basturt better no show his face doon at Central any time soon, so he better no.  Ah’ll kill that basturt if Ah get ma hauns oan him.  And another thing, ye tell that thick basturt that if Ah kin, Ah’ll be suspending they baws ae his, the first chance Ah get, so Ah will,” Daddy hid raged.

  “Look, Daddy, Ah’ve awready hid words wae him.  He’s genuinely sorry, so he is,” The Stalker hid said, trying tae placate him.

  “Oh, is that right?  Well, Ah widnae be too supportive ae that thick tadger, Paddy.  If that Taylor bitch gets in the night...and it looks like she will...we’re aw well and truly fucked, so we ur.”

  “Fur whit?  Fitz did hiv words wae her, bit it wis nothing tae dae wae the election.  It wis tae dae wae that boy ae hers.”

  “Paddy, ur ye as thick as that bushwhacking haufwit ye’re trying tae defend?  Did ye no read that article by that selfish deid cow ae a so-called journalist?”

  “Aye, so?”

  “So, the bit aboot yer pal...Taylor’s brief...haunin o'er sensational evidence during her trial, claiming that we set her up?”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Daddy...that wis years ago, so it wis.”

  “It disnae matter how bloody long ago it wis.  The fact that aw the key players, like JP Donnelly, Taylor hersel and me, ur still oan the go, means there’s a danger that aw this will blow up in oor faces, so there is.  Ah’ve jist hid Jack Fuck-face Tipple, the assistant chief constable, oan the phone, asking whit the evidence wis that Taylor’s lawyer haunded oor tae JP at the trial.  When Ah telt him Ah didnae know, he telt me tae find oot.  He wants JP interviewed and a copy ae whit Taylor’s lawyer haunded o’er tae him within the next few days.”

  “So, whit’s that goat tae dae wae Fitz then?”

  “Tipple asked if it wis true that we wur harassing her.  He wanted tae know whit the score wis wae that thick bushwhacking basturt and how far we’ve progressed her recent official complaint, so he dis.”

  “Oh, right.  Christ, Ah’d furgoat aw aboot that, so Ah hid.”

  “Well, ye jist better start putting something thegither tae show that we’re taking her harassment allegation seriously.  If Tipple finds oot we’ve hid access tae her intelligence files, we’re fucked...or rather, you ur.  Ye better pray fur a miracle, Paddy.  Fae whit Ah’m picking up doon here, she's gonnae romp it, so she is.  She might jist be a wee scummy cooncillor, bit she’ll be in a position tae dae us a lot ae damage, so she will,” Daddy hid growled, slamming doon the phone.

  He knew he shouldnae hiv passed that file oan tae Father John.  Noo, it wis coming back tae bite him oan that spotty arse ae his.  He looked at the clock oan the wall and double checked it wae the time oan his wristwatch.  Hauf ten.  He stood up.  He’d take a car and nip oot tae see whit wis happening doon oan Keppochhill Road.  It wis gonnae be a long day.  He’d banned Fitz fae guan anywhere near The Springburn Halls that night.  It wid jist be him and Biscuit that wid be there fur the coont.  Hopefully, a low polis profile wid be noticed and appreciated.  He felt the need tae go tae confession, bit he wis scared ae whit he’d dae tae that angry wee disturbed basturt ae a priest if he found himsel oan his lonesome in a confessional box wae him.