‘Who else would?’
‘What about that work experience girl, McCinder?’
King shrugged. ‘Barely exchanged two words wi’ her. She’s nice enough … certainly doesnae seem the murdering type.’
‘Aye,’ said the mirror, ‘and you can aye tell the “murdering type” by their protruding brows, close-set eyes and heavy metal tattoos.’
‘Point taken,’ grunted King, stung by the mirror’s sarcasm.
‘The girl is precisely what you’re looking for. She’s confused, partly because she’s a teenager, and partly because her life has been turned upside down; her maw’s in jail, so she’s been taken into care, and her foster family are giving her a right hard time.
‘She picked your studio for work experience because she’s infatuated with that footballer Harry Charmaine, who you’re interviewing next week.’
King seemed startled. ‘I thought she was infatuated wi’ me.’
‘She’s attracted to his kindness and warmth.’
‘Ach, well,’ shrugged King. ‘She’s young.’
‘Also, when was the last time you scored against England?’
‘A very good point,’ conceded King, smiling. It was important to him to know that if a lady fancied another man more, it wasn’t on account of his looks.
‘The point is she’s confused, vulnerable and desperate. That makes her easy to manipulate. Talk to her. Be her friend. Tell her you have contacts in the judiciary who could get her mum released early. Tell her you can make all her dreams come true with Charmaine. Tell her you have contacts in the Social Work Department who could make her life even worse. Then, when she’s been carroted and sticked into submission, tell her to cut White’s heart out and bring it to you!’
‘That’s revolting! Why do I have to ask for his heart?’
The mirror drew a deep, exasperated breath. ‘Because, you glaikit-looking dunderheid, even once you have her cooperation, she’s bound to do less than you ask. Tell her to hurt him, she’ll scare him. Tell her to kill him, she’ll hurt him. If you want her to kill him, you must tell her to mutilate him.’
Dumbbell on the floor now, King was backing away from the mirror, his palms up in front of him. ‘This is insane. I’m no thinking aboot this. I’m no even thinking aboot thinking aboot this. This is just … no!’
‘Good for you,’ said the mirror. ‘I knew the decent streak was in ye. And look on the bright side … if ye learn to accept being the second-bonniest man in Glesga, folk might start praising ye for yer modesty.’
Percy Pig was blethering away on his mobile in the comfort of his straw house.
‘Och, he just wants to show aff his fancy new brick hoose, like he’s pure better than us or that! Still, it’s been days since we had a party, so I’m going. How about you? … Haud on a second, somebody’s at the door.’
The pig went to the door and called, ‘Who is it?’
‘Good evening, little pig,’ said the voice on the other side of the door, in a velvety, upper-class English accent, which sang of a gentleness altogether missing from the bearer’s nature. ‘Might I trouble you to let me in?’
The pig, seeing through the peephole that the visitor was none other than the Big, Bad Wolf, replied, ‘No, by the hair o’ my chinny-chin-chin, by the way.’
The Wolf answered, ‘I see. Then you leave me no option, I’m afraid, but to huff and puff and blow your house down.’
And he huffed. And he puffed. And he blew the house down!
Then he laughed to himself as the poor pig fled.
CHAPTER 2
‘Can yous at least haud the stepladder?’ pleaded Ella, scrubbing the ceiling furiously and becoming more and more worried about her balance.
Kara and Clara were waiting for their nails to dry and talking about boys.
‘We’re far too busy,’ insisted Kara.
‘And you’re not scrubbing hard enough. Put some elbow grease into it!’ added Clara.
‘Stupid girl! Can’t do anything by herself. Anyway … what were we talking about?’
‘Harry Charmaine,’ said Clara.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Kara. ‘He is dreamy! He does have a rather … coarse turn of phrase – tends to revert to talking Scottish and that – but a good wife should be able to train that out of him!’
‘He does have a rather … shapely bottom, doesn’t he?’
‘Oh, Clara, you are wicked!’ cried Kara, giggling wildly. ‘Still, one cannae help but notice these things.’
Ella dropped her scrubbing brush and climbed down the ladder to get to it.
‘Klutz!’ cried Kara.
‘She can’t do anything right,’ sneered Clara.
‘Normal people don’t scrub ceilings!’ insisted Ella, furiously.
‘Neither do we!’ said Kara, and both ugly sisters chuckled.
‘I’m going now,’ said Ella, more boldly than she usually dared. ‘I’m already late for school.’
‘You will come straight home?’ said Kara. ‘We need you to finish that ceiling tonight, because you need to bath the dogs tomorrow.’
‘I’ve got work experience.’
‘Very well,’ said Kara. ‘As long as you make sure the ceiling sparkles tonight. And we’ll be sure to lock your mattress in the basement, in case you’re tempted to go to bed before it’s done!’
Ella left, without a word.
‘Good afternoon, and welcome to The Reggie King Show,’ said King, giving his best smile to the camera. ‘Today we’re going to be looking at the real-life Hogwarts; how one school in Glasgow is teaching magic to its pupils. Church leaders say it’s a step too far.
‘But first … we’ve all heard of the adventures of Scottish pirate Robert MacGuffin. But how much of them are true and how much is myth? I’m joined by Colin McGarth, expert in piratology, who claims that MacGuffin’s treasure may be buried somewhere in Glasgow.
‘Now, Colin … buried treasure, in Glasgow? It’s the stuff of boys’ adventure tales, surely?’
‘Well,’ said McGarth, straightening his tie and clearing his throat, trying his best to look serious through his thick, black spectacles. ‘We know that there was a successful pirate called Robert MacGuffin, and that he did steal a lot more treasure than has been accounted for. We also know that he did bury his treasure at various ports around the world, and that Glasgow was one of his last ports of call before he was captured and hanged in Edinburgh.
‘We’ve recently uncovered his diary, which is a most remarkable find, and has been verified by experts, which suggests that he had, in fact, planned to retire from piracy and settle in Glasgow with his fiancée. So I think it’s very likely that there may be treasure here.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any idea of its precise location? I mean, if you did, you surely wouldn’t be sat here talking to me!’
McGarth laughed nervously. ‘Yes, that’s true. We don’t know exactly where the treasure is, but we’re uncovering new clues all the time, and I believe there will be a big find in the next few years, and I’m confident it will be right here in Glasgow.’
King laughed and addressed the camera. ‘Well, get out your spades, folks, because you could have pirate treasure buried in your garden! And remember when you find it, you heard about it first on the Reggie King show!’
Ella was busy taking coffee orders from the people in the office.
‘I’ll get that,’ came a kind voice from behind her.
She turned to find herself looking into the gorgeous smile of Reggie King himself.
‘About time I did some actual work in here,’ the TV star chuckled. ‘You go sit in my office. There’s a couple of things I’d like to talk to you about.’
So Ella sat in King’s private office, looking nervously around her: at the awards in the cabinet; at the neatly piled papers on the desk; at the comfylooking leather swivel chair.
Here she was, about to speak to one of Scotland’s top celebrities, who wanted to see her – wee Ella McCinder – for some rea
son. Of course, she’d rather be waiting to speak to Harry Charmaine, but maybe King could arrange that.
But what if she’d done something wrong? What if he was going to tell her to get out and never come back? Then she’d never get to meet Harry. Worse still, she’d have no excuse to avoid her foster family after school.
Excitement and dread filled her belly. For want of anything better to do with so much adrenaline, she began spinning in the chair.
‘Having fun?’ came a voice from the door.
Ella stopped dead to find herself face-to-face with Reggie King. She went bright red.
King laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. That’s what burly-chairs are for. Just between us, I cannae resist the occasional burl myself!’
Ella giggled as King sat on the desk.
‘How are you, Ella?’ asked King.
‘Fine, thank you, Mr King.’
‘Call me Reggie. I don’t want you treating me like I’m a celebrity, or I’m yer boss. I’m a mate, that’s all. Okay?’
Ella nodded, relaxing a little, though she was still chewing her hair nervously.
‘Good,’ said King with his kindest smile. ‘Now tell me the truth. How are you, really? And don’t say “fine”, because you’re not fine.’
Ella shrugged.
‘Ella,’ said King, ‘I believe in looking after my staff. I don’t care if you’re just on work experience, I want to treat you like I would treat anyone else who works here. And if somebody here is maybe going through a rough time, or is upset about something, I want to know about it. I want to help.’
Ella nibbled her knuckles. ‘It’s nothing I can’t handle.’
‘I know, I know,’ said King. ‘It’s family business. You’re embarrassed about it. You don’t want anybody to know. I was the same when I was in care.’
Ella’s eyes went wide. ‘How … ?’
King laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked. I’m a journalist. I can find out stuff. I know you’ve been taken into care. I know your mum’s in jail, and I know the family you’re staying with is treating you like dirt.’
Ella seemed stunned, then thoughtful. Tears leaked from her eyes.
‘Oh, there, there,’ said King. ‘You cry as much as you need to.’
Ella sniffed, ‘Thank you. I never thought I’d find anyone I could talk to about this.’
‘Och, don’t mention it, I’m here to help,’ insisted King. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ he said, holding her face in his hands. ‘That I only want to help you?’
‘Aye,’ said Ella.
‘Do you trust me, Ella?’
‘Aye,’ said Ella.
‘Good,’ said King. ‘You see, some of my friends are social workers and it’s entirely possible I could manage to get you shifted to a family I know personally, who would be kind to you. I also have friends who are judges, lawyers … I’m a very powerful and influential man. I bet you thought I was just a pretty face! There’s an outside chance I could even help get your mother out early. How does that grab ye?’
Ella gasped. ‘That would be wonderful!’
‘Easy, now,’ he said. ‘Now don’t get yer hopes up, I’m no promising anything. Now … what were you hoping to get out of doing work experience here, hmm? What made you choose the Reggie King show?’
‘Um … because I’m such a big fan of yours.’
King laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Now, don’t you lie to me, Ella. I can always tell. You don’t need to flatter me. Now, come on … what are you really after, here?’
‘Well …’ Ella squirmed and wriggled in her seat. ‘I … to be honest I was sort of hoping to meet Harry Charmaine …’
‘Oh, aye,’ beamed King. ‘Good old Harry Charming. He’s an awfae decent lad, even if he does play for Celtic, and no much older than you. Actually, it’s funny you should mention him … he was in the office earlier going over some notes for the interview next week – you wouldnae have seen him – but he says to me, “Reggie, who’s that beautiful young lady going aboot there?” I think he was talking about you!’
Ella grabbed her now-red face in both her hands. ‘You’re kidding me on!’
‘No, I swear! I wouldnae joke aboot something like this. He’s a wee bit shy, so he asked me if I could maybe introduce you. How would you feel about maybe having dinner with him sometime next week?’
Ella was breathing hard, speechless. ‘That would be …’ she managed when she finally got her breath back, ‘that would be, like … wow!’
‘Aye, I’ll manage that. So, ye feeling a wee bit better?’
‘Aye,’ said Ella. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Don’t mention it. See, between you and me, I think you’re someone really, really special. Someone I can really rely on, you know? I need people like that working for me.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you trust me, Ella? I’m being deadly serious now. Do you trust me?’
She met his cold, hard stare, and for the first time since he had started putting her at her ease, she felt afraid. Still she answered, ‘Aye.’
‘Would you do anything for me? Absolutely anything?’
‘Aye,’ she replied.
‘Now don’t you answer a question like that lightly,’ said King. ‘Would you do absolutely anything for me? I need you to be absolutely sincere.’
‘Aye,’ said Ella. ‘Aye, I would.’
‘What I ask will no be easy,’ said King.
‘What is it you want me to do?’ Ella replied.
King handed her a photograph of a beautiful man with white hair, soft skin and a near-perfect smile.
‘Take a good look at that picture, Ella. What do you make of it?’
‘He’s gorgeous,’ said Ella, without the slightest hesitation.
‘Yes,’ King echoed darkly, ‘he is, isn’t he? But don’t let that fool you! This man is the heart of darkness in Glasgow. He is pure evil.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘I wish I were! His name is Karl White, known as “Snowy”. He must be destroyed.’
Ella laughed. It was so ridiculous! It had to be a joke. It had to be one of those hidden camera shows. ‘You cannae be serious.’
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, shook her and roared: ‘I’VE NEVER BEEN SO SERIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING IN MY LIFE!’ He calmed down abruptly. ‘I’m sorry. I didnae mean to frighten you, but you absolutely must take this seriously.’ He pressed a knife into her hand. ‘On the back of the photo is the address of a flat in Partick, where he lives. The Number 62 bus stops right outside. There’s nae secure entry system or anything. Just walk up and knock the door. When he answers … don’t even look up, or your courage will be gone. Just plunge the knife straight into him, and cut out his heart and bring it to me.’
Ella’s head was spinning. She couldn’t make any sense of any of this. She whispered, ‘What if I refuse?’
‘If you refuse you will have broken your promise. You’ll have let me down, you’ll have let yourself down, and you will have let all of Glasgow down.
‘Moreover, if you refuse I will be disappointed and that means I will make your life a living hell. Not all young people in care get put with families. Some get put in secure units where you’ll be the only one there who’s no a hardened criminal; where they don’t bother flushing the plug before they stuff yer heid doon the lavvy! And that’s just the staff! They’d make your ugly foster sisters look like the Care Bears!
‘And as for yer maw … well, I can pull strings to help her get early release … or I can pull strings to make sure she suffers inside! And I mean suffers.
‘I’m a very powerful man. I am Reginald King, and Reginald King always gets what he wants.’
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I don’t want to sound harsh. But I need to impress upon you how serious this is. There’s no one else I can turn to, Ella. No one else I can trust. I promise you I can get you together with Harry Charming. I promise you I can make your life better, but you ha
ve to trust me and you have to do what I ask. Will you?’
She felt sick. She felt humiliated. She felt hatred and love towards King all at once. And through it all, she felt herself nodding. ‘Yes. Yes I will.’
‘Good girl. Now don’t stop and think about it or your courage will be gone. Go now!’
Nodding frantically and tucking the knife under her armpit, Ella left the building.
The soft-faced, white-haired, sparkly-eyed Karl ‘Snowy’ White sat alone in his flat, drinking tea and reading his comic books. There was a knock at the door.
He carefully bookmarked his comic with a sweetie wrapper from the floor, hoisted himself up and made his way to the front door.
But when he opened it, he heard footsteps running away, and a sound echoing through the close that he took for giggling, but could have been sobbing.
‘Welcome to Glasgow,’ he mused, then closed the door and went back to his comic.
CHAPTER 3
‘Haw, mirror,’ said King, thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance the treasure of MacGuffin actually is in Glasgow?’
‘Not a chance, Mr King, but a certainty.’
‘Now that is interesting,’ replied King. ‘And would you happen to know its exact location?’
‘Aye,’ said the mirror, sounding slightly hurt to be doubted. ‘It’s in Easterhoose.’
King punched the air. ‘Ya dancer! And I, Reggie King, King of Scotland, shall dig it up live on the Reggie King show, and my beautiful face will be on the front pages of newspapers across the globe!’
‘That would be a fine achievement,’ said the mirror. ‘Too bad it’s no gonnae happen.’
‘What?’ growled the TV star.
‘There is an obstacle in your way,’ the mirror informed him coolly.
‘What kind of obstacle?’
‘I’m afraid the treasure of MacGuffin lies directly under a stick house, where two little pigs dwell, and they can’t be shifted for any money.’
‘Couldn’t we dig down near the treasure, then burrow along horizontally?’
‘Not without doing major structural damage to surrounding buildings,’ said the mirror. ‘It is in the middle of a housing scheme.’
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