There were pictures of Swedish timber houses and aluminium bungalows that replaced the slums in some districts. Then came the development of the high-rise blocks of flats. His attention sharpened. He read that within months of completion, blocks of twenty or thirty storeys made teeming microcosms of places like Cowcaddens or Garngad. The Red Road blocks, because of the number of children and inadequate lift provision, created a blight of juvenile delinquency. Some blocks in Springburn and on the Balgray Hill had ‘deck access’ and were the focus of a variety of vandalism problems. The quarter-mile decks or corridors were also found by young tearaways to be ideal for motorcycle races.
He’d forgotten about Springburn and Springburn Park. He was almost choking with excitement as he opened the coloured maps.Yes, here it was and there, in front of the park, were several blocks of high-rise flats with a road in between. He would bet his life that there would be a bus stop immediately outside one of them.
8
Cheryl’s mother had got a job as a cleaner in Stobhill Hospital and was able to repay some of the money she’d borrowed from Cheryl for the rent arrears.
‘I don’t want it back, Mammy,’ Cheryl said. She knew that her mother was doing everything she could to stop her from leaving. ‘And you’re not fit enough to be cleaning in Stobhill, or anywhere else.’
‘Your daddy hasn’t had a drink for over a week now, hen. He’s really trying his best. He was that upset when I told him you were thinking of leaving and it was because of him. He said he was sorry and …’
‘I know, I know, he told me. He promised he’d never touch a drop again.’
‘He gave me all his wages – except for a few pounds he needed for cigarettes. It was such a help and what with my wages as well as your daddy’s, we’ll soon be able to pay you back the rest of the arrears money.’
‘I told you, Mammy, I don’t want it back.’
In fact she was very glad to get it back. She could at last treat herself to something to wear, something really fashionable. Already she was looking forward to having a good browse around the shops. So far there hadn’t been any luck in finding a flat to rent, or rather, one to share, because rent nowadays, at least for private flats, was ridiculously high. Especially if it was in a decent district like the West End. She’d always wanted to live in the West End. Lots of young people lived there, students mostly or actors and actresses and writers – interesting people. That was because of the BBC and the university being in the area. She would love to have gone to the university.
Apart from anything else, it was such an impressive building with its Flemish spire soaring up from the top of Gilmorehill. Once she’d mingled with the crowds of young men and women students, meaning to follow them into the building but, at the last minute, she lost her nerve. Instead, she’d just stood at the big iron gates wistfully watching them.
She might have become one of those students. After all, she’d done well at school. But of course she could never have afforded to go to university. Her mother needed her to go out and find a job as quickly as possible and earn some money.
‘Away you go and treat yourself to something nice, hen,’ her mother said now. ‘You deserve it. No, don’t you touch the dishes. I’ll do the washing up.’
‘Och, you must be dead beat, Mammy. I’m worried about you having to work in Stobhill. It’s far too much for you.’
‘I’m fine, hen. Honestly. I’m that pleased and happy that your daddy’s all right now.’
‘Oh Mammy!’ Cheryl groaned. But it was no use saying any more. Her mother was a born optimist. At least as far as her husband was concerned. He was on back shift this week and the pubs would be shut by the time he finished work on the railway, so he wouldn’t have the chance to drink. Cheryl felt sure, however, that come his change of shift next week, it would be a different matter.
She finished work at half past five but most of the shops in town were open until eight, sometimes nine o’clock at night. She would have plenty of time, not only to window-shop but to actually buy something.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked her mother.
‘Yes, away you go, hen. Enjoy yourself for a change. Go to the pictures as well or one of them disco places, eh?’
‘Maybe another night, once I’ve got something new to wear.’
‘Anything you say, hen. Be as late as you like. You’ve got your own key.’
It was pathetic how eager her mother was to please her and make her feel she didn’t need to leave home. She felt sorry for the older woman and gave her an impulsive hug before leaving.
Going down on the lift, she met a woman from one of the refuge flats. Alice Donaldson, her name was. Alice was not much older than herself, a pretty girl with fair curly hair. They’d chatted a few times on the lift and recently they’d bumped into each other in town and had gone for coffee. It was on that occasion Alice told her what had brought her to the refuge. Her husband had been physically violent and the last time when she’d been pregnant, he’d punched her so viciously on her stomach that she’d lost the baby. It was while she was in hospital she’d contacted the Women’s Help number on her mobile phone. She’d gone to the office in town as soon as she was able. She’d immediately been introduced to Betty.
‘Betty, God bless her,’ Alice said, ‘took me to the flat and has kept her eye on me and helped me at every turn since. She’s taken me to the Housing Department and my name’s on the waiting list for a house of my own now. I don’t know what I’d have done without her.’
‘Your husband doesn’t know where you are?’ Cheryl asked.
‘No and I hope to God he never finds out.’
At least, Cheryl thought, her father had never been violent, had never once ‘lifted his hand’, as her mother said, to either of them. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
They emerged together from the lift into the entrance hall. A couple of children were throwing stones at the concierge, who dashed out to chase them. They were too quick for him, however, and he turned back as the girls reached the street.
‘Don’t even belong to this block,’ he growled. ‘Evil wee devils. I’ll throttle the pair of them if I get my hands on them.’
‘I’m going into town to see if I can get something new to wear,’ Cheryl told Alice. ‘Fancy coming with me?’
Alice hesitated.
‘If it was earlier in the day, while he was at work, but I’m terrified he’d be on the loose at night and see me. I’d die with fright.’
‘Another time then?’
‘Yes, thanks, Cheryl. I’d love to. I’m just popping down to the local shops. I’ve run out of porridge and I love it for my breakfast.’
‘See you.’
Cheryl gave her a cheery wave before sprinting across the street to the bus stop. A bus was coming along and she swung on to it. She felt quite optimistic. OK, Amy Sutherland had already got a tenant to share her flat but there would be other chances, other flats. Meantime, she’d just enjoy her wee bit extra money.
She was free. There was no man to bother her and make her life a misery. Not like poor frightened Alice, anyway, and the other girl she shared the refuge flat with. Well, not so much a girl. Black-haired, dark-eyed, Rita was in her thirties and had two young children. It couldn’t be easy for Alice stuck in the same flat along with someone else, especially someone with children. The children, a boy of five and a girl of seven, were nervous wee souls and clung to their mother. It was an awful job to get them to school. Alice said Rita had to drag them there every morning and be at the school gate every playtime to reassure them. Then she had to be waiting there when school finished to collect them and see them safely back. They absolutely refused to go out to play and there were such great places across in the park. God knows what they’d all suffered before escaping to the refuge.
Dorothy, the children’s worker, said not to worry, the children would be all right. She’d got some lovely toys and games for them to play with in the playroom. If she wasn’t around, Betty, the ot
her Women’s Help girl, would play with them or read them stories. Cheryl could see how they were becoming all right. At least they trusted Betty and Dorothy. Dorothy especially was great with them. Her normally sad face would change completely with her dimpled grin and daft antics to make the children laugh. They had gone over to the park with Dorothy recently, holding tightly on to her hand all the time but still …
‘They obviously feel safe with the girls and no wonder,’ Alice said. ‘Talk about angels? I don’t know about the new woman – Janet, I think her name is – but wee Mary and Rita and me love those girls. We hate to see them go off duty at night and don’t feel really safe until they come back next morning. Then we all relax again. It maybe sounds daft to you, Cheryl, but it’s the truth. That’s how we all feel.’
Cheryl didn’t think it was daft at all, although she couldn’t help feeling a bit amused. The Women’s Help girls were the most unlikely-looking angels. Betty was tall and well-made with straight auburn hair that she had a habit of tossing defiantly back. Dorothy was small and thin, with blonde hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. The two of them had other things in common, though. They were both caring and hard-working. They not only cleaned the office and meeting room in their place but they also cleaned the flats each time a woman was rehoused and had the flat all clean and fresh in time for the next woman arriving.
‘What would we have done without them?’ Alice had said.
Apparently there were refuges all over the country. Were there no happy marriages, Cheryl began to wonder? It was enough to put anyone off men, although she still nursed romantic dreams of meeting some handsome young guy who would think she was marvellous and treat her like a queen. The local talent wasn’t much use. Most of them had already been banged up, graduating from borstal-type detention centres to Barlinnie Prison. A lot of them were into drugs. If it wasn’t drugs, it was drink. She wanted none of it.
Once in the town, she walked along Sauchiehall Street, then down the hill of Buchanan Street. Buchanan Street always made her feel happy and exhilarated. It was a really great street. Especially on a Saturday. At the top end, there was the big Concert Hall building with an enormous screen perched high up on the roof. In front of the building and leading up to it was a half-circle of a couple of dozen or more steps. Sitting on the steps was a rainbow of brightly dressed young people. At one side, a trumpet player was blowing his hardest and swinging energetically around.
Looking down the hill, Cheryl enjoyed the sight of the great swarm of people milling about. A few small tables were dotted here and there. They were draped with slogans, one against the Iraqi war, one against the Israeli conflict, one against cruelty to animals. Young people at each table were handing out leaflets. Further down, two men with moustaches in cowboy boots and big hats with the brims turned up at each side were strumming guitars and belting out ‘Cigarettes and whiskey and wild, wild women …’. Further down again, about six or eight young men and girls in scarlet T-shirts were enthusiastically bouncing up and down and banging on different sizes of drums. The noise was terrific. Cheryl felt excited and was tempted to jump up and down herself. Down near the Argyle Street end, a man resplendent in a full Highland outfit was adding to the cacophony of noise with the bagpipes. It always reminded Cheryl of how much she loved Glasgow. And how loving Glasgow was loving life.
Cheryl decided not to go into Princes Square shopping centre. It was known as Buchanan Street’s ‘jewel in the crown’. It had once been an enclosed courtyard. Now it was an elegantly glass-roofed and multi-floored shopping mall. Its shops were exclusive and chic, with lots of designer label clothes.
Not my scene, Cheryl thought. I’ve a bit more money just now but not that much. It maybe wasn’t quite as pricey as the Italian Centre in Ingram Street with its Armani and Versace but it was still too pricey for her.
She crossed over Argyle Street to St Enoch Square and went into the St Enoch Centre. She enjoyed herself wandering in and out of the shops there. A pair of high wedge-heeled sandals looked and felt good when she tried them on and so she bought them. Then a lovely white linen trouser suit caught her attention and she couldn’t resist it. She could just imagine wearing it with her bright red, figure-flattering boob tube. A flimsy white scarf decorated with pink hearts was her final purchase.
She walked on air back up Buchanan Street, then ran to the bus station to catch the bus home. Getting off the bus, she saw her father trudging up the Balgray Hill. Not staggering and taking up the whole width of the pavement but walking neat and straight. It was at times like this when he was sober that she couldn’t help loving him. He was a slightly built man with thick grey hair under his railway cap. His hands were stuck in his overall pockets until he saw her and gave her an eager wave.
‘Hello, hen.’
‘Hello, Daddy.’
He linked arms with her as they entered the building.
‘If I wasn’t so tired, I’d take you for a walk in the park. It’s such a grand night.’
‘I haven’t the energy either. I’ve been trudging around the shops.’
‘A young lassie like you. That shouldn’t be any bother.’
‘I’ve been on my feet all day down in Springburn, remember.’
‘Aye, right enough. We’re lucky having such a nice park so near, though. Mind we used to catch minnows in the pond? And I played footie with some of the lads.’
‘Uh-huh.’
They had to squeeze into the lift and they nodded to some of the occupants, only recognising them by sight as being neighbours. Once they got into the house, her mother greeted them both with a kiss and then wanted to find out what was in Cheryl’s shopping bag. Cheryl could see that her mother had a struggle not to show her disapproval of the purchases.
Looking at the sandals, she murmured worriedly, ‘Will you no’ fall over in them, Cheryl? I mean with such thick soles and high heels?’
Of the white suit, she asked, ‘Will that no’ get awful quick dirty, hen? That’s a lovely wee scarf,’ she added hastily.
Cheryl laughed and took the things through to her room. She could hear the water splashing in the bathroom as her father tried to wash away some of the railway grease and grime before sitting down to his supper. He worked hard and her mother used to say, ‘He deserves a wee drink after a hard day’s work.’
She didn’t say that any more because the trouble was it was never a wee drink. It was a bucketful. He didn’t seem to know, or to be able, to stop once he started.
‘I got fish suppers. Is that all right, hen?’ her mother asked with the note of anxiety that her voice never seemed free from these days.
‘Great, Mammy. Thanks.’
Her earlier happiness still clung to Cheryl. Life wasn’t so bad after all.
9
Springburn Park was a forest of evergreen and flowering trees, riotous rhododendrons, heathers and alpine plants. It had one of the most beautiful rockeries in Scotland, a garden of peace and three wildlife ponds. The peace garden was beautifully laid out with heather beds, memorial seats, pergolas and a ‘Peace Pole’ donated by Japanese atomic bomb survivors.
Alice Donaldson sat on one of the seats. It was good to escape from the flat for a time and get some peace. Rita’s children were on holiday from school and were in a squabbling mood. She could understand it and sympathised with Rita and the children. The children were frightened to go out in case their violent father saw them. Rita shared their fear and couldn’t hide it. She tried, of course, for the children’s sake and her voice could be bright and she’d say things like, ‘Don’t be silly. Daddy can’t find us here. Daddy’s away in Aberdeen. Miles and miles away.’
As she said the words, sometimes even with a scoffing laugh, Alice could see – and she was sure the children could also see – the haunted look of fear in Rita’s eyes. Alice discovered one day when she’d been chatting to Rita on her own that her husband was a commercial traveller and could be anywhere, any time, including Springburn and Balornock. When she
’d asked Rita what her marriage had been like and how her husband had treated her and the children, Rita struggled in silence for a moment or two and then shook her head.
‘I can’t bear to talk about it, Alice. It’s too awful. He was really disgusting – the things he did to me …’
She began to tremble violently and Alice became quite upset herself at the sight of Rita’s distress.
‘I’m so sorry, Rita. I shouldn’t have asked. Try to forget about him. You’re safe now. That’s the main thing.’
‘That’s what Betty and Dorothy keep telling me and I try to feel safe. But I can never quite manage it. It’s a nightmare that’ll always be with me.’
‘I know it’s a well-worn cliché, Rita, nonetheless it’s true that time heals. It’s been proved over and over again.’
Alice also pointed out that the children were getting better – showing little bits of improvement.
‘Look how they can stay with Dorothy when you need to go out shopping or to the doctor’s since they’ve been off school.’ The problem was in the evenings once Dorothy and Betty went off duty. They were all stuck in the flat together night after night in the close proximity of the small sitting room. It wasn’t the children’s noise or bickering that was the problem for Alice. It was the ache that she suffered in the company of any youngsters. She had always longed so much to have children of her own. Now, because of her husband, she could never have any. Paul had injured her so badly … Her eyes and mind closed at the thought. She couldn’t bear it.
She had come, this summer evening, to sit in the Garden of Peace to see if the beauty of the place might ease the pain in her heart.
To think that she had loved Paul once. She had loved him for a long time and she had tried so hard to please him. She thought he’d loved her too. He’d told her often enough. He’d said as a loving married couple, they didn’t need anyone except each other. He’d made it seem that she was hurting him or insulting him if she had any contact with anyone else. Gradually she was persuaded to drop all her friends. She could see now that he was purposely isolating her. It was all right for him. He was at work all day mixing with other men and probably women too in his office. She was alone all day, feeling lonely and depressed. Then he began criticising her, humiliating her, belittling her, undermining her self-confidence. Then mental torture turned to physical abuse as soon as he found she’d become pregnant.
A Deadly Deception Page 5