The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (48 page)
“Aw, don’t you start. Ah’ve jist come fae a morning ae bubbling at hame, so Ah hiv,” Sharon hid chided her, gieing Helen a hug.
Sharon hid said that she’d hid tae escape. Aw the lassies in their fancy costumes hid converged oan her hoose and hid made her feel frumpy wae aw that teenage bare flesh hinging oot aw o’er her good living room.
By the time nine o’clock at night hid come roond, Helen hid been aboot dying oan her feet. Everywan hid called it a day, apart fae the shifts that wur covering the entrances tae the polling stations. It hid been agreed that that wid continue straight up until ten o’clock.
By the time she wis able tae sit doon, put her feet up and eat wan ae Salty Tony’s fish suppers, she felt better. Although nervous, she couldnae wait until the coont. She looked aboot the living room. Everywan wis getting tucked intae whitever they hid ordered oot ae the chip shoap. Tony, another Toonheid refugee, hid refused payment fur the suppers, despite threats fae Helen. The smell ae malt vinegar and the silence, while everywan tucked in tae their suppers in their Echo and Citizen newspaper wrappers, balancing oan their knees, wis bliss.
Chapter Seventy Eight
“Fur Christ’s sake, Ma. Ur ye no ready yet?” Norma demanded, coming through tae the bedroom.
“Look, whit’s yer hurry? They said the coont widnae be in tae nearer twelve o’clock. It’s only quarter tae eleven,” Helen said, looking across at the clock oan Jimmy’s side ae the bed.
“Bit, we’re aw ready...apart fae you, that is. Hurry up, will ye,” she whinged, stomping oot ae the bedroom.
Helen finished putting oan her mascara. She stood up and went through tae the packed living room.
“Look, aw youse, heid doon tae the halls jist noo. Ah’ll be another ten tae fifteen minutes, so Ah will.”
“Look, don’t listen tae them, Helen. We’ll wait until ye’re ready, so we will. Whit’s yer hurry anyway, Norma?” Jimmy grumbled.
“Jimmy, get them aw gaun. Ah’ll be doon at yer back, so Ah will. Ah could be daeing wae a wee break tae masel, so Ah could. Ah’ve tae put the rest ae ma make-up oan and then Ah’m gonnae hiv a wee cup ae tea and a fag tae settle ma nerves. Go!”
Efter they’d gone, Helen went back through tae the bedroom and sat looking at hersel in the dressing table mirror. She slid open the tap drawer and fumbled under her pile ae brassieres, knickers and tights, until her fingernails managed tae hook themsels under the edge ae the patch ae wallpaper she’d lined the drawer wae. She lifted oot the broon envelope that hid Mary Marigold’s name oan it and hesitated, before slowly opening it and lifting oot the two photos. The first wan wis pretty disgusting looking. It wis a black and white photo ae the tap ae a wummin’s bare-naked thighs. Although ye could only see the lower hauf ae her body, the wummin in the photo wis Big Patricia Paterson, wan ae the wummin she’d met in Gateside prison back in 1965 when she’d been remanded by JP fur her involvement in the fight wae the polis at a warrant sale up in John Street. Although a mother ae seven weans, Big Pat hid been a lady ae the night fur o’er ten years by the time Helen hid met her. As she’d goat aulder, tae haud oan tae her regular customers, Big Pat hid started allowing them tae sign their name oan her body wae a pen before getting the signature tattooed o’er. Her body hid been covered in them. At the time, it hid been the maist disgusting thing Helen hid ever come across in her life, although, wance ye goat tae know Pat, ye soon found oot that she wis a living angel, wae a heart ae gold. Big Pat hid been wan ae the driving forces behind setting up a letter-writing support network amongst the female prisoners, who could read and write, fur those that couldnae. They’d found Pat’s body dumped beside the railway line across in Partick in 1967. Helen hid realised it wis Pat when she came across her name in the paupers’ column ae the death notices in The Evening Times, while she wis checking oot the warrant sales lists fur that week. Helen hid travelled across tae The Linn cemetery in Castlemilk fur her funeral. She hidnae realised that efter getting aff the bus, she’d hiv tae walk a further two miles tae the cemetery gates. It hid been raining and blowing a gale. When she’d eventually reached the grave, there hid jist been her, the minister and the two grave diggers present. The minister hid been surprised tae see her. He’d asked Helen if she’d like tae say a few words, bit Helen hid declined and hid stood there greeting at the injustice ae it aw. Big Pat’s weans hid been naewhere tae be seen. She looked doon. JP Donnelly’s tattooed signature oan the tap ae Big Pat’s bare-arsed thighs stared up at her. The other photo hid come through the post when her and Jimmy wur still living in Montrose Street in the Toonheid. There hidnae been a letter wae it, bit she’d known that it hid come fae Big Pat. This wan wis in colour and it hid JP lying slouched oan a couch, naked, wearing nothing bit a nappy, a bib and a baby’s bonnet oan that heid ae his. He wis sucking oan a plastic dummy-tit. In a lot ae ways, this wan wis mair disgusting than the wan wae Big Pat’s naked arse oan show. How could anywan want tae brand another human being, she wondered in disgust, peering doon at JPs face. Big Pat hid telt her that JP hid been wan ae her regulars and demanded punishment fur being naughty efter he’d been trussed up in a giant nappy. JP hid sneered at her when they’d bumped intae each other doon in Vulcan Street earlier in the campaign when she’d tackled him aboot his dirty tricks. He’d telt her politics wis a dirty business and if she couldnae staun the heat, then she should get oot ae the kitchen. Soiled Sally and Sharon Campbell hid hid tae haud her back fae strangling the auld git, as him and his pals, Haddock Broon and Peter Dawson hid stood there laughing at her, staunin at the back ae their van, haunin oot their plentiful, professional, coloured posters and leaflets, tae aw their male supporters fae The Journeyman’s Club. When Mary Marigold hid asked her whit she’d dae if JP goat elected, she’d telt her aboot Big Pat and the photos. Mary hid laughed and telt her that Harold Sliver wid be the man tae talk tae. Efter the shenanigans ae the past month or so, she at last fully understood whit JP wis talking aboot …although it hid taken her a wee while. Well, whitever happened at the coont later oan, wan thing wis fur certain, JP Donnelly wisnae gonnae be allowed tae rip-aff and sell Springburn doon the pan…the way that he hid in the Toonheid. If it wis dirty business in politics JP wanted, then Helen wid see how he’d get oan efter she’d haunded o’er the photos tae Harold Sliver. Ah’ll gie the auld basturt dirty politics, she thought, smiling, slipping the envelope back under the wallpaper and closing the drawer, as she looked at hersel in the mirror wan last time, before staunin up tae slip oan Norma’s red high heels.
Jimmy looked at his watch. He wis starting tae get worried. It wis twenty tae twelve. Susan Flaw hid jist come across and telt him that they’d be announcing the results in the next five tae ten minutes. The place wis heaving. Jimmy looked across at JP, who wis getting his haun shaken by that wee impartial snake, Father John, in amongst aw his campaign supporters…maistly men…aw looking grim. JP looked like death warmed up, while aw the wummin involved in Helen’s campaign, including aw the young wans, still
done up in their fancy dress costumes, wur shouting, screaming and cackling thegither, as if the bells hid jist gaun aff fur the New Year. They wur aw cuddling, hugging and kissing each other. Jimmy saw that a lot ae the wummin wur in tears. It hid been a roller coaster ride fur them aw. Helen hid said that whitever the result, life wid never be the same efter this. The tension in the hall wis electric. Unfortunately, Soiled Sally wisnae in attendance because she’d hid tae pull oot at the last minute due tae wan ae her weans being no well.
“Ah bet Helen’s bloody well nipped in tae see if everything’s okay wae the wean. See that wife ae mine,” he muttered oot loud tae himsel, looking at his watch again.
There wis movement up at the front ae the stage. He looked across at Susan who wis oan the other side ae the barrier wae the other campaign managers and candidates. She wis mouthing ‘Where is Helen?’ tae him. Jimmy noticed JP and the other candidates moving towards the stage.
‘Ah’ll be back in a minute,’ he mouthed back tae Susan, and heided fur the door.
It wis starting tae drizzle as he heided back alang Gourlay Street in the dark towards Carlisle Street, hauf expecting tae bump intae Helen at any second. A party wis oan the go in wan ae the hooses in the tenement oan the opposite side ae the street. He could make oot the ootlines ae shadowy couples behind the curtains, dancing cheek tae cheek, tae wan ae Helen’s favourite songs, that wis being played loudly. He tried tae remember who the singer wis as the plaintive voice sang ‘Jist Wan Look.’ He’d jist come up wae the name ae Doris Troy, when he clocked somewan in the distance at the far end ae the street, stumbling towards him.
“Thank Christ fur that,” he said oot loud, as he quickened his step.
The dark shape wis definitely a wummin, bit he wis soon disappointed tae see that it wisnae Helen. He heard his name being shouted as the figure stumbled under the glow ae a street light. It wis Soiled Sally and she only hid wan shoe oan. He started tae run towards her. By the time he reached her, she wis bent o’er wheezing, wan haun oan the street lamp post tae steady hersel. A polis squad car suddenly skidded tae a halt beside the pavement.
“Sally! Sally, whit’s up? Whit’s up, hen?” Jimmy shouted, as the erm ae The Stalker reached doon tae help him haud her up.
“Jimmy, Jimmy, Oh ma God…Ah…don’t…don’t know. Ah think there might be…some…something wrang,” she spluttered and wheezed, through her matted hair, which wis soaked wae the drizzling rain.
“Slow doon, hen...take yer time. Whit’s the matter?” The Stalker asked her gently, bit firmly, as the sound ae the rain rattled aff his waterproof jaicket.
“Helen...Ah think…Ah think there might be something wrang,” Sally managed tae repeat, before blurting, “Ah heard a thump or a big crash. Ah tried tae get in tae see if she wis awright, b…bit…bit…the door wis locked fae the inside, so it wis.”
“The door? Locked? Bit the key should be hinging fae a bit ae string through the letterbox,” Jimmy squealed, looking aboot, feeling the panic welling up inside ae him, no sure whether he should leave Sally wae The Stalker, or whit.
“Look, let’s get her intae the back ae the car, Jimmy. We’ll get there quicker oan four wheels,” The Stalker said, taking command.
Wance they wur oan the road, blue light flashing, The Stalker radioed fur an ambulance tae go tae the tap flair hoose ae number 11 Carlisle Street, Springburn.
“Aye, it’s an bloody emergency,” he shouted intae the haundset.
By the time the car skidded tae a halt at the closemooth, Jimmy wis awready oot the door and disappearing up the closemooth.
“Ladies and gen-tel-mennn! Kin Ah hiv a bit ae peace and quiet, please. As the returning officer fur the Keppochhill Springburn ward by-election, Ah noo hiv the results ae the votes cast oan this, Friday the 29th ae January, nineteen hunner and seventy two. If Ah kin hiv a bit ae wheesht, please!” Tam Burnett, The Corporation’s Democratic Election Officer frostily shushed the noisy wummin across in Helen’s corner, before continuing. “In nae particular order, the results ur as follows. Barking Bob, Sir, Liberals, three hunner and twenty three...”
“Helen? Helen? Ur ye there, hen? Open the door!” Jimmy wis screaming, banging oan the door, as The Stalker caught up wae him oan the tap flair landing.
“Dae ye hiv a key, Jimmy?” The Stalker shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders wae baith hauns.
“Naw, it’s usually hinging oan a string through the letter box,” Jimmy wailed back in full panic mode.
“Right, oot ae ma way,” The Stalker warned, pushing Jimmy tae the side, taking two steps backwards.
“McTavish, Balfron, Scottish Nationalist Party, two thousand and seventy five...”
The Stalker ran at the door, twisting slightly at the last moment, so as tae hit it wae his shoulder. There wis a massive crunch as the door flew aff ae its hinges and disappeared intae the lobby.
“Barr-Owen, Spicer, Colonel, Scottish Conservative and Unionist Party, wan hunner and twenty nine...”
The sight that confronted him and Jimmy Taylor wid remain wae The Stalker fur the rest ae his life. Helen Taylor wis lying flat oan her back, erms ootstretched, blood hivving gushed oot ae baith nostrils ae her grey, ashen face. Jimmy wis soon bent o’er her, her heid in his erms, screaming fur somewan tae help his wife.
“Donnelly, Peter, James, Independent ‘Labour Born and Bred,’ three thousand three hunner and fifty two...”
Two ambulance men arrived literally seconds efter the door hid landed oan the flair ae the lobby. The Stalker gently helped wan ae them tae prise Helen’s heid fae Jimmy’s erms, while the other wan swiftly moved doon tae try and resuscitate her. Efter a minute, he stood up. It wis clear that there wis nothing he could dae tae help or revive her.
“Ah’m so sorry, mister...Inspector…bit Ah’m afraid she’s gone. There’s nothing mair Ah kin dae. Ah think she might’ve hid a massive cerebral haemorrhage, so Ah dae. Ah’m nae expert, bit Ah’ve come across this mair than a few times before. The doctors up at the hospital will need tae confirm that though,” he said, looking shattered, as Jimmy Taylor drapped oan tae his knees, wae his erms hinging at his side, howling the place doon in grief.
“Taylor, Ferguson, Helen, Independent Community Candidate, fourteen thousand, nine hunner and sixty two. Ah noo declare Helen Ferguson Taylor the duly elected cooncillor fur the Keppochhill and Springburn Ward,” Tam Barnet announced, sick as a parrot, as the hall erupted with deafening cheers and Susan Flaw looked across tae the entrance ae the hall wae a puzzled frown spread across her face.