by Todd, Ian
“Look, girls, Ah don’t want tae be cheeky here, bit there’s no way Cocky Miller is gonnae allow a bunch ae wee beautiful looking dolly birds tae buy him a drink. So, whit will youse be having…a wee hauf pint ae lager and lime or a wee shandy, is it? The same again, Rabbie, and gie me whit the girls ur hivving,” Cocky Miller slurred, grabbing the bar tae steady himsel, ogling Aggie McCoy’s big bosoms that wur jist aboot tae spill oot ae that blouse ae hers.
“Er, Simon? Is that you? How ur ye daeing?” a voice asked him, as the lassies began another Tequila slammer session oan the bar in The Bard’s Big Bugle, at the expense ae some auld sleazy guy sporting a gold silk cravat wae a diamond pin in the middle ae it, that hid tagged oan tae them in the bar an hour earlier.
“Er, aye, fine. Sorry, bit dae Ah know ye?”
“Aye, we met when Ah wis up staying in Glesga fur three months last year. Ah’m John Paul Jerome, the bookie fae Maryhill’s nephew, Jizz. Dae ye no remember me?” he asked, haudin oot his haun. “Tony intervened efter some big fat basturt punched me oan the mooth in a pub, when Ah wis up in Glesga visiting ma uncle.”
“Ach, of course Ah dae. How ur ye daeing, wee man?”
“Fine, fine…Ah’ve been allowed oot the night. Lochmaben United won the cup the day, so me and the team ur aw oot celebrating,” he explained, nodding tae the crowd at the far end ae the bar. “So, ur ye doon visiting Tony?”
“Aye. We’ve goat another visit the morra and then it’s back up the road. So, whit else ur ye up tae these days when ye’re no winning cups?” Simon asked him, as the auld guy wae the cravat shouted fur another line ae tequilas tae be lined up.
“Me and ma da run a wee garage jist ootside Lochmaben. It’s nothing much, bit we’ve always goat a waiting list fur an MOT and anything else that needs fixing, if ye know whit Ah mean,” Jizz said, tapping that nose ae his wae an oil-ingrained finger. “Look Simon, we’re jist aboot tae move oan. Kin ye gie ma regards tae Tony fur me? Ah’ll always remember that he sorted oot that wee problem fur me when Ah first arrived in the toon. Tell him if there’s anything Ah kin dae fur him, he’s jist tae send a letter tae The Lochmaben Garage. The posties aw know where we ur. If he’s efter any books or magazines, Ah’ll get them sent in tae him.”
“Aye, thanks, Jizz. Ah’ll pass oan the message,” Simon said, as the lassies screamed fur the barman tae line up another line ae tequila shots.
The poor basturt wae the cravat lay slumped oan the flair in the corner, looking as if he’d pished his troosers, jist tae the left ae where the lassies hid been sitting earlier.
Jizz burst oot laughing at Simon’s pained expression, as he heided back tae his fitba mates at the far end ae the bar.
“I love your trousers, Senga. Where did you get them?” Fanny asked, feeling the material oan the bottom ae Senga’s trooser leg.
“Oh, these? They’re American and made by a designer called Bobbie Brooks. Ah goat them discounted oot ae DIRTY JAKE’S BOUTIQUE doon in Buchanan Street. Wan ae ma…oor…best friends, Jake McAlpine owns it. It’s a really smart, upmarket shoap and attracts aw ae Glesga’s so-called beautiful people…the young toffs wae aw the dosh, as they say. He only deals in exclusive American designers like Bill Blass, Bobbie Brooks, Victor Joris, who’s a designer fur the Cuddle Coat Company, Evan-Picone, Halston, Ralph Lauren, Marie St John, Diane Von Furstenburg, Norman and Max Raab, who run The Villager Company. If yer taste is mair European, then he stocks Celine, Emanuel Ungaro, Givenchy, Armani, Gucci, Karl Lagerfeld, Westwood, Valentino and Versace, tae name a few. Christ, Ah couldnae afford tae buy a pair ae tights in there, let alone a pair ae troosers, wae the wages Ah’m oan. Even though Ah hivnae been part ae the Springburn crowd socially fur ages noo, Jake never forgets a friend, especially us lassies. Mind you, he’s pretty shrewd. He knows if he gies away cool stuff, it’s like hivving a walking advert. It wid amaze ye the amount ae people who’ve stoapped me and the other lassies in the toon centre, asking where we goat oor gear fae.”
“They’re beautiful,” Fanny said, stroking them.
“Well, ye kin hiv them, although, ye’ll need tae wait until the morra. There’s no way Ah’m heiding back tae that hotel in ma, wait fur it…John Kloss knickers,” Senga said, emphasising the designer’s name and putting oan a posh accent, as they aw burst oot laughing.
“Oh, I couldn’t for one moment accept them,” Fanny protested.
“Why?”
“They’re just too gorgeous. I would be scared to wear them, in case I spilled wine on them. And anyway, we don’t go anywhere where they would be appreciated.”
“Fanny, ye don’t need tae go anywhere. Jist wearing something that’s been beautifully constructed by haun by a craftsmen fur us wummin is enough, especially when ye cannae afford them. It’s like getting yer hair done.”
“Well, maybe someday, but C & A’s will have to do for now,” Fanny sighed, smiling.
“Ah never did get roond tae telling youse why Ah came doon tae visit the man who’s never loved me, or should Ah say, the boy who’s never kissed me, so disnae know whit he’s missing,” Senga said tae them, voice slurring, haudin oot her glass fur Fanny tae top it up.
“You don’t have to, Senga,” the pad advised, although it wis obvious that Alison and Senga wur interested.
“Naw, naw, it’s okay. It sounds as if we’re aw oan the same wavelength, or in the same leaky ship, depending oan which way ye want tae look at it, and Ah know it’ll be kept within these four walls,” Senga replied, looking o’er the rim ae her glass at them. “A few weeks ago, Ah learned that he wis innocent, so Ah did.”
“Who? Johnboy? Johnboy Taylor’s innocent?” Fanny exclaimed, astonished, looking across at Alison before putting doon her glass.
“Noo, Ah know whit ye’re thinking…they aw say that…bit Ah hiv irre…irre…irrefutable evidence that he’s as innocent as anywan in this room. Ma mission, if ye could call it that, wis tae come doon here and tell him tae his face,” Senga slurred. “God, Ah’m so drunk, so Ah am.”
“How?” the pad asked.
“Well, it’s a long story and Ah don’t really want tae go intae or o’er aw the fine details other than tae say that ma flatmate, Lizzie, who’s also a nurse, overheard a dying man…sort ae a gangster type…make a deathbed confession that included saying Johnboy wisnae in the bank the day the two polis wur shot. So, there ye go…whit dae ye baith think ae that wan?”
“He actually mentioned Johnboy by name?” the pad asked.
“Johnboy Taylor wisnae in the bank the day they two polis wur shot. That wis his exact words…gie or take a word here or there…bit whitever, ‘Johnboy Taylor’ and ‘no being in the bank when the polis wur shot’ wis good enough fur me,” Senga slurred, hiccupping, as she took a sip ae her wine.
“Oh Senga, that’s wonderful. He must have been delighted that you were able to tell him,” Fanny cooed, clapping her hauns and nearly sliding aff the couch oan tae that arse ae hers wae drunken excitement, as she beamed across at Alison.
“Who did he…the patient…gangster…confess to, Senga?” Alison asked, scribbling furiously, despite visibly swaying.
“It’s funny ye should ask me that, Alison, bit it wis tae none other than that Stalker wan, the wan who always gets his man. Christ, that sounds like a line fae a country and western tune, so it dis,” Senga said, smiling, surprised at her poetic talent. “Ah wis never that good at poetry in school either, so Ah wisnae.”
“Has he reported this to his superiors?” Fanny enquired.
“Fanny, Fanny, ye hivnae been listening tae a word Ah’ve been saying, hiv ye? It wis The Stalker. Why wid somewan like him go and dae something as decent as that fur? He cannae staun any ae The Mankys. He isnae gonnae dae Johnboy Taylor any favours. As far as he’s concerned, he’s jist another thug aff ae the streets.”
“But surely he has a duty and an obligation to report something as serious as this to the appropriate authorities?” Fanny persisted, looking at Senga and Alison, an enquiring lo
ok oan her face, wondering why they’d laughingly scoffed at whit she’d jist come oot wae.
“So, what was Johnboy’s reaction?” the pad asked, getting tae the heart ae Senga’s confession.
“Dae Y’know whit, Alison? Ah hivnae goat a bloody clue. Ah’ve been kicking masel since Ah saw him this efternoon. Here’s him sitting there aw bleary-eyed, looking as if he’s jist been let oot ae some bloody dungeon, aw innocent looking and Ah’m sitting there, like Lady Godiva, raving like some banshee because it never happened tae enter his heid tae apologise fur aw the hurt he clearly disnae know he’s inflicted oan me o’er the years. Ah cannae believe the cow Ah’ve turned oot tae be,” Senga whimpered, the curse ae The Drunken Guilt Trip raising its ugly heid gleefully.
“Oh, Senga, it’s been a long day…I’m sure he understands,” Fanny cooed soothingly, taking Senga’s haun in hers.
“So, if he wasn’t in the bank, where was he?” The pad asked.
“That’s wan ae the questions that’s been gaun aroond in ma heid since this efternoon. It’s the obvious question tae ask, bit he wis too busy noising me up, asking aboot ma current boyfriend, Rory, that Ah totally furgoat tae ask him. He actually hid the cheek tae ask me when Ah wis getting married and when Ah telt him Ah wisnae, he then asked if Ah wis pregnant, wid ye believe? Is that no a good way tae throw somewan aff the scent that’s come aw this way wae good news? Whit dae youse think?” Senga asked them, hiccupping, covering her mooth wae her haun, a frown appearing oan her foreheid.
“It sounds to me as if he’s still got lot of feelings for you, Senga,” the pad replied.
“Dae ye think so? So, aw that baloney aboot whether Ah wis pregnant or getting married wis jist his subtle way ae making a pass at me? And they say the art ae dancing the auld fandango is deid and buried in Glesga? Well, they’ve obviously goat that wan wrang, so they hiv,” Senga said tae smiles, as she raised her erms and did a wee dance wae imaginary castanets, clacking between her fingers. “Well, it wis quite clear he wis aware ae Rory, or auld Gory, as he called him…ma boyfriend. He actually hid the cheek tae ask me why the hell a nurse like me wid go oot wae a doctor called Gory and that Ah should think ae the kids, wid ye believe?” Senga shouted oot, as they aw burst intae fits ae giggles. “Ah must admit, even though Ah wis so angry towards him, Ah hid tae smile.”
“I shouldn’t laugh, but I can just hear his dry, deadpan voice say that to you,” Fanny agreed, smiling.
“Aye, he’s goat a good sense ae humour…they aw hiv, even if it is jist a wee bit oan the sick side. Ah wis actually dreading meeting him face tae face. Jist efter he wis sentenced, Ah sent him a letter telling him that Ah wis moving oan wae ma life and that Ah widnae be writing back tae him.”
“The YOs call that a Dear John,” Fanny informed her.
“Aye, Ah know, bit Ah thought a Dear John wis if ye wur actually intimately involved wae somewan. Christ, Ah’ve barely held his haun, never mind been oan the receiving end ae a kiss or a cuddle. Ah still feel terrible aboot it though, especially noo Ah know he’s innocent. Loyalty means everything tae them.”
“He’s serving fourteen years for a serious crime, Senga. He was found guilty by a jury, after all. It’s understandable for you to have believed he was guilty,” Fanny said reassuringly.
“Aye, Ah know, bit he swore oan his mother’s grave tae me that he wis innocent when Ah went up tae visit him while he wis oan remand in Barlinnie and Ah still didnae believe him. Ah still feel like a right shit, so Ah dae.”
“So, what happens now?” the pad asked.
“Ah’m no sure. He said he’d talk tae me the morra as he needed time tae reflect oan whit Ah’d telt him.”
“I mean concerning you and him,” the pad asked, as Alison tilted her heid, searching fur a reply, haudin up the pad towards her. “Fourteen years is a long time.”
“Ah don’t know, Alison…Ah jist don’t. I always believed that the baith ae us wid end up thegither. This probably won’t make sense tae somewan like yersel, living doon here, Fanny, bit being a wummin, working and living in a city like Glesga, even in 1974, kin be a very scary experience. Violence against wummin is so endemic. I used tae think it wis because Ah wis being exposed tae it daily, working in casualty, bit it’s mair than that. Everywhere ye go, the newspapers, the news, music, comedians, the jokes they come oot wae that everywan finds funny, aw perpetuate the myth that wummin…us…are somehow second class citizens…refugees in oor ain skin. And it’s no only me that thinks like that either. Ah come across lots ae wummin who ur jist as scared ae whit’s oot there. Even gaun oot wae Rory, lovely though he is, Ah jist don’t feel safe. Ah hidnae realised it before noo, bit as soon as Ah sat doon opposite Johnboy, Ah felt safe fur the first time in years. It wisnae because he wis the type ae person who wid staun up physically tae somewan who’d dae me herm…which he wid…bit…it wis because Ah knew that if Ah could get a commitment, an acknowledgement, that perhaps he felt the same aboot me, as Ah’ve always felt aboot him, then Ah wid hiv nothing tae fear bit fear itsel,” Senga said, trying, bit failing tae keep the bitterness fae her voice. “Look, Ah know that disnae make sense, bit there ye go…”
“Senga, I said it back when I was your patient in The Royal, and I’ll say it again. Whoever you love will be the luckiest man in the world,” The pad said supportively.
“Aye, well, try telling somewan like Johnboy Taylor that.”
“He must have been really pleased, at least hearing the news from you, Senga,” Fanny said supportively.
“Tae be honest, Fanny, Ah’m no sure whit he wis thinking. He didnae really say much like ‘Ah telt ye so’ or anything like that. He seemed mair concerned that Ah shouldnae feel bad aboot sending him that stupid let…er…Dear John. Christ, that expression sounds horrible, so it dis, and him called Johnboy as well,” Senga groaned, screwing up her face, trying, bit failing no tae burst oot laughing.
“And Rory?” Alison scribbled, efter the three ae them hid composed themsels again.
“He’s actually in Newcastle oan some course at wan ae the hospitals there. He’s absolutely lovely, so he is. He’s a clinical psychiatrist and works wae maistly female patients. Ye couldnae meet a kinder, mair laid back person in aw yer life. He’s a good bit aulder than me at 32, bit he’s attentive, a good listener, maybe a bit too touchy-feely fur somewan like me…bit in a good way…always caressing ma erm or haun if we’re sitting in the pictures, very sporty…bit no muscle-bound…yuk…if ye know whit Ah mean? Ah think he wis aboot tae propose tae me recently until his da went and hid a stroke when we went doon tae visit his parents in Helensburgh. And before ye ask…naw…he didnae hiv a heart attack when he saw who his son hid taken hame wae him tae meet them,” Senga said drily, as the other two burst oot laughing.
“Do you love Rory?” the pad asked, as Fanny and Alison baith looked across at her.
“Ah wis trying tae contact him earlier the day, before the visit, wae the thought ae maybe heiding across there tae spend a wee bit ae time wae him, seeing as Ah don’t hiv another shift until Tuesday, bit Ah couldnae get a haud ae him.”
“Do you love him?” the pad insisted, two sets ae eyes still oan her.
“Who’s this ye’ve goat oan noo, Fanny? It’s so beautiful,” Senga asked, looking across at the tape deck, ignoring the pad.
“Do you love Rory, Senga?” Fanny interjected.
“Ah honestly don’t know,” she replied, turning back tae face them. “Ah thought Ah did until Ah met up wae Johnboy again this efternoon. Fae where Ah come fae, wummin like me traditionally staun by their men through thick and thin. Ah used tae laugh and dismiss aw that stuff as claptrap, so Ah did, bit tae be honest, in ma heart ae hearts? Ah don’t think Ah could ever abandon Johnboy Taylor ever again…no noo…no ever, even if Ah wanted tae,” she whispered, a tear suddenly making a bid fur freedom, dashing doon that cheek ae hers, as Gordon Lightfoot sang aboot whit a tale his mind could tell if she could read his mind. “Ah telt ye that music wis bloody lethal, Fanny,
” Senga sobbed, smiling, swiping the tear away fae her left cheek wae the fingers ae her right haun, as Fanny and Alison rushed across tae join her, aw bubbling at wance thegither.
Chapter Fifty Three
Sunday
“How dae ye feel the day?” Johnboy asked her warily as he sat doon, still feeling the effects ae the tongue-lashing fae the day before.
“A wee bit hung-over, if Ah’m honest,” she replied, slipping a Polo mint intae her mooth.
“Aye, Ah think Ah kin still smell a faint trace ae the drink,” he said, smiling.
“Well, if it’s no the booze, it’ll be the ton ae garlic that wis smuggled intae ma meal last night…sorry,” she apologised, smiling faintly.
“Ach, Ah’m sure Ah’ll cope. Ye look beautiful, no that Ah could say that aboot the rest ae them, mind ye,” he said wae a wave ae his haun, glancing across at Silent’s table.
“Aye, there’s hardly been a word oot ae anywan since we goat up this morning, other than Paula telling Simon tae stoap braking every fifty feet. Aggie accused him ae gaun o’er the bumps in the road intentionally.”
“She’s probably right,” he replied, grinning.
“His Senga said anything?” Pat asked.
“Aboot whit?” Paula groaned, feeling the sweat break oot oan her foreheid, wanting tae puke up where she wis sitting.
“Oh, nothing in particular,” Pat replied casually.
“Naw, she hisnae said anything,” Paula mumbled, as another fainting wave came o’er her.
“Kin Ah ask ye a question that Ah meant tae ask ye yesterday, Johnboy?” Senga asked.
“Fire away.”
“If ye wurnae in the bank that day, then where wur ye?”
Silence.
“Dis it matter?” he finally asked.
“Well, according tae Lizzie, that poor man said ye hid something tae dae wae Shaun Murphy being shot,” she replied, haudin her breath.
“Ah wisnae away shooting Shaun Murphy, if that’s whit ye’re getting at,” he curtly replied, dismissing whit she’d said wae a wave ae his haun.