by Todd, Ian
“Father Leonard and Miss, er, Mrs Flaw, Governor,” Miss Beaker chirped fae the other side ae the door, as he managed tae grab the radiator tae stoap himsel landing oan that clumsy arse ae his.
“Uh, oh…ask them to wait,” he spluttered, dashing across the office tae the Kleenex box oan his desk.
It wis nae good. He’d hiv tae remain seated, he thought, dabbing at his crotch wae a haundful ae tissues. Before he went and anchored in that chair ae his, he quickly bent o’er and dragged the rug fae beside his coffee table and slid it under the windae tae stoap the noise ae the dripping water oan tae the polished flair boards. He sat back and closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, haudin it doon fur a full ten seconds before exhaling. When he opened his eyes, apart fae the floaters scattering in aw directions, he felt a lot calmer. He stood up and walked across tae the pot plants and lifted them up. Still dripping, he upturned the contents intae his green tin waste paper bin, before drapping the empty pots oan tap ae the wet soil. Efter repeating his breathing exercise, he placed his elbows oan the desk and rubbed his eyes wae the tips ae his manicured fingers. The breathing exercises helped him, as did the yoga classes him and Alison hid started attending a year earlier. The coonsellor hid encouraged them tae dae things thegither, tae go oot fur meals and walks, tae take up and share a hobby. Dumfries hid been perfect fur that. Very few people wur aware that he wis the cuckolded husband ae the senior social worker who’d hid a lurid affair wae a big–time Glesga gangster a few years earlier, or if they did, they never mentioned it in front ae him. Even though Alison hid made the initial move at a reconciliation, he’d spurned her advances, efter the children hid come tae him wae the article that hid appeared in The Glesga Echo, wae Alison expressing her guilt and sorrow at whit she’d done tae him. If they hidnae turned up wae it, he widnae hiv known aboot it. He’d stoapped reading the newspapers due tae the lurid stories highlighting aw the men she wis supposed tae hiv bedded during their twenty years ae marriage. Wan day it wid be a prison officer, the next a prisoner, then the milkman, coalman, fruit and veg man. God, there hid even been a claim by a wan-legged, wan-eyed ex-offender dwarf, who claimed tae hiv been there and back tae tell the tale. The humiliation hid been so overpowering, that he’d contemplated suicide oan numerous occasions. He hidnae opened his living room curtains fur four months due tae his shot nerves no being able tae cope wae the loud clinking ae the empty vodka bottles, every time he attempted tae walk across his living room flair tae open them. If it hidnae been fur his faith in God and the support fae Creeping Jesus, the Polmont Borstal minister at the time, he wis convinced that he widnae hiv made it. It hid been jist o’er a year previously, a month efter returning tae work, that he’d goat the Dumfries promotion. It couldnae hiv come at a better time. It hid been while he wis clearing oot the hoose that he’d come across the newspaper article that hid salvaged their marriage and saved his life. As soon as he’d read it, he’d decided there and then that he still loved her, despite her shameless, sinful adultery. It hid taken a further month ae gaun cold turkey, taking cauld baths and getting the hoose cleared oot, before the good Lord hid helped him tae track her doon. She’d been working wae deaf and dumb children, jist ootside Dumbarton. Efter a further month ae their two grown-up children acting as go-betweens, they’d finally met up. Although she wis noo semi-invalided, hivving lost the power ae speech, she’d made it clear that if she wis tae come back, he wid need tae dae a course oan whit she called ‘anger management.’ He’d been dumbfounded. Despite protesting that he’d never, ever, lifted his hauns in anger towards her and the children, she’d been adamant. Efter his initial resistance, she’d persuaded him that his anger and aggression wis whit the so-called professionals called passive. Wae trepidation in that open heart ae his, he’d eventually gied in and attended hauf a dozen sessions wae some useless American psychologist fae the Holy Loch naval base, who wis clearly a lesbian, if he’d ever seen wan. It hid been a complete waste ae time, of course, bit it hid allowed him tae ascertain whit no tae dae when he wis in her presence, that seemed tae upset her. Despite the fact that their sex life hid never rekindled efter getting back thegither, due tae him losing his erection every time he clocked the gunshot scar oan her neck jist before penetration, they’d persisted. He felt that it wid only be a matter ae time, as he’d been quite close recently tae getting that helmet ae his in before the inevitable flop occurred. He wis grateful that she seemed tae understaun where he wis coming fae psychologically. At first, when Alison came back, she’d worn a chiffon scarf roond her neck in bed, bit he’d discovered that he wis allergic tae the material. Even wae the light oot and the curtains drawn, he couldnae get the image ae some horrible, ugly, rough-palmed gangster hivving his awful way wae the mother ae his weans. Humiliation wis a nasty yet an inevitable consequence ae everyday life, bit being cuckolded by a big brute ae a gangster fae Glesga, and him being a prison governor tae boot, hid been the ultimate insult tae that manhood ae his. How could she…anywan…dae that tae somewan that they professed tae love, especially tae him, wae his standing in the community? Noo, jist as everything wis starting tae look peachy, Alison’s past adultery wis catching up wae him. He felt his anger rise as he quickly gulped doon some air, haudin it in fur as long as he could, before exhaling it slowly.
“And again,” he said oot loud calmly, taking a deep breath, before exhaling.
The Governor opened his eyes and looked across at his closed office door as he shifted uncomfortably in his damp seat. He jist couldnae fathom oot why the priest and the social worker hid been working in cahoots tae undermine him these past months. Hid he no goat enough oan that plate ae his? Why could they no jist get oan wae whit they wur supposed tae be daeing, insteid ae meddling in his attempt tae make Dumfries a model institution? He blamed the social worker. Since her arrival, things hid gaun fae bad tae worse. He’d always prided himsel oan being able tae control the prison officers, particularly the POA reps. He’d get them in fur a wee cup ae tea and a shortbreid finger every noo and again, while he feigned interest in their imaginary, irrelevant problems. It wis amazing how far a wee bit ae insincere flattery went. There hid been rumblings ae discontent in the ranks fur a number ae months noo. He could ill-afford tae hiv the staff grumbling. Grumblings wid soon become hysterics and before he knew it, he’d be fighting oan two fronts. Something wid need tae budge, and it certainly wisnae gonnae be George Crawford. There wid be nae resistance allowed tae ferment and fester in his jail, and certainly no fae a wee pishy-knickered lassie and a malformed Catholic priest fae the Bogside, that wis fur sure. He stretched oot his erm and pushed the white button wae his middle finger.
“Please show Miss, er, Mrs Flaw and Father Leonard in, Miss Beaker. I’m ready for them now,” he said pleasantly in tae the intercom box.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Midnight bus services in Glasgow are once again under threat after it was revealed that seventeen members of Corporation Bus staff have been assaulted over the past three months by drunken passengers accessing the services after midnight in the city’s George Square at weekends. A member of the Transport and General Workers Union is calling on management and police to take tougher action or be faced with industrial action…
Police have uncovered the body of a man in the boot of a car in Balmore Industrial Estate on the north side of the city. Today all roads leading to the scene of the crime were still cordoned off. It is believed that the man, who is understood to be in his late thirties, was found blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back…
Glasgow Business Association President Tom Goodman has praised Glasgow’s shoppers for their confidence which was demonstrated by increased spending in the city centre shops during the lead up to Christmas last year. Mr Goodman stated that this is further evidence that the association members are responding to what the public wants and are already preparing for another bumper turnover this year…
&
nbsp; An attractive typist told the High Court in Glasgow today that she thought she was going to die after twenty-five-year-old Brian Kennedy raped her over a period of two days after luring the pretty nineteen-year-old back to his flat in Collina Street, Maryhill, and plying her with drink and drugs before chaining her to a bed. It was only after a neighbour heard the girl’s frightened whimpering that she was rescued after Kennedy left her gagged whilst he went off to work….
Glenda Metcalfe, the procurator fiscal at Glasgow Sheriff court, appeared to fall out with Sheriff Clifford Burns today during an exchange of words between the two lawmakers. Sheriff Burns called for a ten-minute recess before court proceedings were allowed to continue on to the next trial of a serial housebreaker. The row appeared to centre on the sentencing of a man who the procurator fiscal successfully convicted of assaulting his wife. Sheriff Burns appeared to treat the offender leniently, after letting thirty-six-year-old Arthur Sinclair, an accountant, off with a ten-pound fine, after his wife convinced the sheriff that it was her fault that her husband had assaulted her. This was despite Sinclair having been previously charged and found guilty of assaulting Mrs Sinclair eight times over the course of their twelve years of marriage. Sheriff Burns reminded Miss Metcalfe that it was his court and his word was law. Miss Metcalfe was unavailable for comment after the busy days court sessions ended…
Health bosses have admitted that staff in the casualty department of Glasgow Royal Infirmary could barely cope last weekend due to the number of football drink-related admissions. The newsroom can exclusively reveal that the majority of the admissions were domestic violence related, after mothers, housewives and girlfriends were bussed, driven or dropped off at casualty to receive treatment after being assaulted in the family home…”
Chapter Thirteen
“My God! Whit the fuck hiv ye done tae him?” John Mackay, Longriggend’s Principle Medical Officer’s voice echoed in the cell, bending o’er the prisoner.
“Ah think he’s pished and shat his breeks,” the screw’s muffled voice replied through the prison issue scarf that wis covering his nose and mooth.
“How long his he been lying here like this?”
“Er, since Wednesday, Ah think.”
“Bit, no in this state…surely?”
“Aye, Ah think he’d hid a few wee skelps oan that napper ae his oan the way doon tae the digger. It wisnae aw done efter he arrived,” the digger screw retorted defensively.
The MO looked aboot. The inmate wis lying oan the groond, surrounded by a two-feet-wide puddle ae hauf dried blood aboot his heid and shoulders. He pulled oot a pen-torch and shone it oan the YOs matted heid as he attempted tae separate the crusted, congealed, blood-soaked hair oan the scalp. Although the hair wis short, it wis difficult tae make oot the extent ae the damage.
“Son, ur ye awright?” the MO asked, his voice bouncing aff ae the dark steel plate walls, as he bent closer tae the prisoner’s ear.
“He probably cannae hear ye wae aw that snoring he’s coming oot wae,” the other digger screw o’er by the door volunteered.
“Christ, Ah’m no sure if we’re too late, so Ah’m no. Apart fae batons, whit else wis used?” the MO demanded tae know, trying hard tae keep the panic fae creeping intae that voice ae his.
“He might’ve goat a few wee kicks oan that arse ae his or a couple ae slaps aboot the chops wance they goat him doon here.”
The MO stood up and rubbed his chin wae his haun, as he looked aboot the fetid cell. It wis then he noticed the food trays, the grub oan them untouched, sitting oan the flair beside the door.
“Wednesday, did ye say?” he asked, looking at the two digger screws, staunin there in the semi-darkness, faces hauf hidden by their scarves, glassy eyes reflecting the light fae the MO’s wee pen-torch, looking like a couple ae characters’ oot ae Great Expectations.
“Aye.”
“His he eaten or drank anything since then?”
“Ah don’t know…Ah doubt it. They take the tray away and replace it efter every meal. As far as Ah know, he hisnae touched anything since his arrival. The SO telt us no tae take his tray away last night and this morning, so as tae try and encourage him tae eat.”
“Tae eat?”
“Aye. He also said that he couldnae gie a fuck, and that he could go oan a hunger strike and die fur aw he cares.”
“Whit senior officer wis that then?”
“Bob Mackintosh.”
“Is he oan duty the day?”
“Aye.”
“Right, go and get him doon here…as in right noo,” The MO snarled. “And another thing, get PO Smith across at the reception tae phone fur an ambulance straight away. Tell them it’s an emergency, so it is.”
“Bit, er, the SO said the basturt wis at it, when Ah informed him earlier that he wis making snoring noises,” The Digger Screw replied, hesitating, nodding towards the YO oan the flair.
“Dae as Ah fucking tell ye!” the MO screamed, as his voice boomed aff ae the walls throughoot the digger, as the pair ae mufti’s disappeared.
The MO wisnae too sure whit he should dae next. The prisoner wis awready lying in the recovery position, although that wis probably mair a fluke, than anywan putting him like that. He’d meant tae ask the digger officer whit the boy’s name wis. Wan ae them hid said that the YO hid been slipping in and oot ae consciousness since Wednesday. It wis noo Friday. Christ, two days wis a long time if ye hid a heid injury, he cursed tae himsel. He bent doon again and lifted the YOs haun and felt fur a pulse oan his wrist, bit couldnae detect anything. He’d been a prison medical officer fur fourteen years noo. Although he walked aboot wae a white coat o’er his uniform, the coat didnae signify anything special. None ae the prison MO’s in Scotland’s jails hid any training other than basic first aid. Every couple ae mornings, a doctor arrived up at the establishment and delegated whit YO wis tae get whit medication and it wis the MO’s job tae ensure that they goat it under supervision. He’d heard talk aboot MO’s maybe getting trained up tae Health Service Staff Nurse level, bit that hid goat binned when the management widnae talk tae the POA aboot enhanced payments. He’d been disappointed as maist ae the MO’s that hid been asked aboot training up, hid said they wanted it as they felt totally inadequate in carrying oot even the basics in first aid. Enhanced payments wisnae an issue. He could’ve done wae that training noo, he cursed tae himsel, as he looked doon at the lifeless body. The digger officer hid been right in wan respect. The boy hid certainly shat and pished himsel. The MO looked towards the cell door and beyond the dark shadow ae the muffled officer, hinging aboot at the bottom ae the dungeon steps, looking like a spare prick at a wedding. The sound ae tackity-boots, stomping doon the stairs tae the cell-hoose, underneath the bottom landing ae the wing wis drawing closer.
“So, whit’s the score, John?” the SO barked, wheezing intently efter the long walk, fae wherever he’d been tracked doon tae.
“This boy’s in a bad way, so he is, Bob,” the MO replied.
“So, fix him up then.”
“Ah cannae. We’ll need tae get him doon tae Monkland’s General…as in pronto.”
“Oan who’s authority?” the SO demanded, leaning o’er and peering at the noisy, snoring prisoner.
“Mine’s.”
“Bit ye’ve jist said ye don’t know whit’s wrang wae him.”
“Ah said, he’s in a bad way and he needs professional help that Ah cannae gie him,” the MO retorted, feeling the anger welling up.
“He’s at it. He’s kidding oan he’s sleeping. Listen tae him,” the SO sneered, using the sole ae his tackity-boot tae shove the YO oan the shoulder tae try and revive him as he waved his haun in front ae his nose, while the two digger officers sniggered behind him.
“Ah think that’s the blood in the back ae his throat. He’ll choke or get blood in his lungs if we don’t get him oot ae here. If he’s been lying here since Wednesday, he’s probably goat a fractured skull…or worse.”
“So, whit ur ye sayi
ng then?”
“Fur fuck’s sake, Bob, dae Ah need tae spell it oot?” the MO shouted in disbelief, nearly being deafened by the sound ae that voice ae his bouncing aff the steel walls in the confined cell.
“Aye, ye bloody well dae!” The SO shouted back. “So, whit the fuck ur ye saying then?” he asked, his voice lowered this time.
“Ah’m saying ye’re gonnae hiv a deid prisoner oan yer hauns if ye don’t get him tae fuck oot ae here and doon tae that hospital. There’s nothing in this nick we kin gie him that’ll help him.”
“Hmm, Ah don’t know,” the SO murmured, taking aff his peaked hat tae scratch that heid ae his.
“Bob, Ah’m telling ye, ye’ll hiv a lot ae explaining tae dae if this boy dies doon here,” the MO pleaded, fear in his eyes, as a snottery, blocked up, gurgling sound escaped fae the body lying in the dark puddle oan the flair between them.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Major hoteliers in the north of the city have become alarmed following a third armed hold-up in as many weeks when a shotgun wis fired and blew a hole in the ceiling in the front reception of The Galloping Beauty Hotel in Bishopbriggs, at nine twenty this morning. It’s believed that a four-figure sum was stolen after the receptionist was forced at gunpoint to open the safe to the raiders. The young, pretty nineteen-year-old female receptionist on duty at the time has been kept in overnight at Stobhill General Hospital for observation, suffering from shock. Police have asked all hoteliers in the city to transfer money to banks rather than keep it in hotel safes…
A mother, whose son was sentenced to life in prison in January of this year for the murder of fourteen-year-old missing Stirlingshire schoolgirl, Ann Brown, in the village of Cambusbarron, has petitioned all of Scotland’s MPs, pleading her son’s innocence. Mrs Flora Connor claims that her son was with her at the time of the youngster’s disappearance. The schoolgirl, whose body has never been found, disappeared on the way back…