by Pat Young
‘You don’t have to apologise, Carole. It would be great to have your help but we’ll understand if you don’t want to get involved.’ Marty put her hand on the young woman’s arm and the glass stopped circling.
‘I’ve got too much to lose. My job for a start.’ She turned to Sheila. ‘You see, John and I are desperate to have a baby and things haven’t worked out so far. If we can get enough money together we’re going to the States for treatment, but we need to save every penny.’
Sheila leaned over and gave Carole’s hand a squeeze.
‘Also, there’s another reason. Our consultant has advised me to keep my stress levels as low as possible.’
‘How will you manage that, working for Smeaton?’
‘I’m used to him. Most of the time, it doesn’t bother me that he’s foul-tempered and impossible to please. But I hate it when he’s cruel to lovely folk like Liz Douglas. That’s why I’m here.’
Marty said, ‘We understand, Carole. Thanks for even considering helping.’
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d still like to help, but I can’t be directly involved in what you’re going to do to him. It would be too stressful. Sorry.’ Her face brightened. ‘Anyway, I might be pregnant by then.’
Sheila said kindly, ‘I hope so, Carole. You’ll make a wonderful mum.’
‘Look,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve got a suggestion. There might be a way for you to be out and still be in.’
‘Sorry? I don’t get you.’
‘We’re going to need someone on the inside.’
Marty nodded, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘What I’m thinking is, you could feed us information about his habits, his diary commitments and so on. What do you think?’
Before Carole could answer, Sheila said, ‘There’s something else Carole could do to help.’ Turning to the young woman beside her, she said, ‘I bet you could feed information from us to him.’
‘I see where this is going,’ said Marty. ‘That’s inspired. You could be our spy, Carole. Only if you want to, mind.’
‘If you think it would help.’
‘It will definitely help, and the beauty of it is, he’ll never suspect a thing. Can you make a start by finding out his weekly routine?’
‘To help us build up a picture of his hobbies, his social life and what have you,’ said Joe.
‘That won’t take long. He has no hobbies and apart from going to church, he has a non-existent social life, as far as I can tell. He seems to live for those two things, the church and his work.’
‘He’s a Christian and yet he spends his time ruining the lives of good, innocent people?’ said Joe. ‘How does that work?’
‘He goes to Mass, he confesses his sins, his conscience is clear,’ said Sheila. ‘You know how it works, Joe.’
‘Then he’s free to start harassing and bullying again. Seems wrong, doesn’t it?’ said Marty. ‘I’ve been thinking about that a lot.’ She gnawed on a fingernail. ‘You know what? I’m wondering if his devout Catholicism could also be his Achilles Heel. The missing piece of the puzzle.’
Without warning, the lights went down, the crowd hushed and the Karaoke was kicked off by the oldest Spice Girls Sheila had ever seen. As they belted out ‘Wannabe’, the noise level in the pub rose. It became clear that there would be no more planning tonight and no one looked surprised when Carole reached for her coat and shouted, ‘I’ve got to go.’
Joe emptied his glass and said loudly, ‘Time I was heading off too. Tomorrow’s another indoor meeting with the boys. Smeaton’s brainchild. Five indoor sessions for every outdoor session. That’s what he calls a fair compromise.’
Marty choked on her gin. ‘What in heaven’s name are you supposed to do with boys like that, if you have to keep them indoors?’ asked Marty. ‘They can’t cope in a classroom. That’s the reason they’re excluded from school and on your program.’
‘If they turn up, I’ve to lecture them on health and safety. Discuss the various types of equipment we use. Get them to keep a nutrition diary. There’s a joke. And you should see the documentation I’m supposed to complete. I’ve to fill in risk assessment forms for everything. I think he’s trying to bury me under paperwork.’
‘Do you think the boys will come to these meetings?’
‘No, I think it’s a clever way for Smeaton to justify shutting us down for good.’
Joe sounded more bitter than Sheila had heard him.
‘If the boys don’t come to these health and safety lectures, I’m not allowed to take them out on the loch or the hills. And if there are no boys, there’s no job for Joe. Simple.’
Marty shook her head. ‘You have to admire the man’s cunning.’
***
CHAPTER 29
Saturday had gone by in a blur, spent at Liz’s helping to clear the house. A niece Sheila had never met before was in charge of the whole sad business and Sheila was glad to lend a hand. She’d hoped it might help her heal and move on, but bagging up Liz’s clothes to send to the local hospice shop was one of the most depressing tasks she’d ever undertaken. Each cotton top and summer dress reminded her of holidays in the sun. Liz’s prized Gore-Tex walking jacket brought back memories of every Munro they’d bagged together. Worst of all, for some reason, was the daft Christmas jumper with the two huge puddings that sat right on Liz’s ample breasts. Sheila remembered the first time Liz had worn it, LED cherries flashing like electronic nipples. ‘Do you think I could get away with this at the school Christmas party?’ she’d asked, in mock innocence, just as Sheila took a mouthful of Prosecco. They’d shed tears of joy that night, once she’d stopped choking.
Now it was Sunday again and it was Sheila’s turn to deliver the flowers from St Gerard’s. There were a lot this morning, left by yesterday’s bridal party.
‘We’ve got enough for at least four bunches, Sheila,’ said Father Rafferty. ‘Would you like me to help with the deliveries?’
‘Not at all, Father, but thanks for offering. It looks like two bunches are going to the same place and one of the others is on my way home, so I’ll be passing anyway.’
Sometimes this job took ages and sometimes it was an easy task. It depended on the reason for the flowers being sent. If the recipient was ill, the flowers were often handed in with a note saying, ‘Get well wishes from all at St Gerard’s’, but if there had been a bereavement, Sheila preferred to go in and offer her condolences in person. Sometimes there was no need to stay long and that was the case at the first address on her list.
An elderly man answered the door. Sheila said, ‘I’ve brought you some flowers from St Gerard’s and I wanted to say we’re all very sorry for your loss.’
The old boy eyed her suspiciously then took the flowers without a word. Before he shut the door, he said, ‘She’s no great loss to me, hen. I never liked her much.’
Sheila stood on the doorstep for a moment, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She settled for a smile and a shake of the head. ‘Only in Scotland,’ she muttered, as she walked down the garden path.
Her next port of call was the big retirement complex by the cemetery. What a place to build a home for the elderly.
As she waited in the front hall for someone to come and let her through the security door, Sheila wondered for the hundredth time why these places all smelt the same. A heady mixture of boiled cabbage and pee.
A kind-looking woman, with a badge that identified her as Doreen, let her in.
‘Hello, I’ve got some flowers from the church for Miss McIvor and,’ Sheila checked the name on the second bunch, ‘Mrs Scobie.’
‘Oh, those look beautiful. Do I smell freesias? They’re my favourite, freesias.’
How could someone with such a strong sense of smell bear to work in an old folks’ home? She nearly asked but decided the better of it. ‘They’re lovely, aren’t they? We had a wedding in church yesterday and the bride was kind enough to leave the flowers.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. The l
adies will like that story. Do you want to take the flowers through to them, or are you in a hurry?’
‘No, I’ve time to pop in for a wee blether.’
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Doreen said again, turning to lead the way down the hall. ‘I’m sure both ladies are in the lounge. Come on through. You’ll make their day.’
The heat in the lounge was overwhelming. No wonder two thirds of the residents seemed to be asleep, their snowy heads hanging at improbable and no doubt, uncomfortable angles. Doreen pointed to the bay window. ‘There they are, sitting together as usual.’
Three old women sat in high-backed chairs, engaged in a loud conversation. Sheila sympathized. You’d need to shout to be heard above the huge telly that was blaring canned laughter from the corner. It was surprising anyone could sleep through that racket.
‘Mrs Scobie, Miss McIvor, here’s a visitor for you. Look at the gorgeous flowers she’s brought.’ As Doreen started to walk away she turned and laid her hand on the third lady’s arm. ‘Son not here yet, Ruby?’
The old woman shook her head, frowning.
‘Never you mind,’ said Doreen. ‘There’s time enough yet. Oops, Nellie needs the toilet. Hang on Nellie, wait.’
‘Wee bastard never turns up,’ hissed Ruby, when the carer was out of earshot.
Her two companions tutted. Mrs Scobie shook her head, ‘Wash your mouth out, Ruby Smeaton.’
***
CHAPTER 30
Joe hadn’t expected the estate agents to respond quite so promptly to his call. Three of them were coming round later, each sounding desperate for the sale, especially when they heard he was keen to offer an early entry date. Apparently the houses in his street were ‘prime properties’ and he could expect to sell quickly. That was a surprise. It certainly wasn’t a ‘much sought-after locale’ when he and Sally bought the flat all those years ago.
Joe finished tidying the kitchen, took several bags of rubbish down to the bins and fluffed up the cushions in the living room. That would have to do for now. If he didn’t get a move on, he’d miss Marty and he wanted to know if her plan was going ahead.
He spied Chance trotting along the canal path, like a dog with somewhere to go. Chance saw him too and came lolloping up to greet him. ‘Hiya, boy. Where’s Marty?’
Chance trotted off and looked over his shoulder, as if to check that Joe was following. ‘God, that is one smart dog. I swear he understands English.’
Marty ruffled the dog’s coat. ‘Of course he does. He’s bilingual. We’re the stupid ones who don’t understand dog language, not the other way around.’
‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’
They both laughed then Joe’s face turned serious. ‘Have you worked out how we’ll snatch Smeaton yet?’
‘No, and it’s doing my head in. Sometimes I wonder if we should just forget the whole thing.’
‘Don’t say that. Not without considering every possibility.’
‘I’ve been scrutinising that list Carole gave us, and I’m so glad she’s in, by the way. I think the clue has got to be on there. But I can’t come up with anything that will work.’
‘We’ll have to intercept him when he’s doing something routine, but the problem is, he doesn’t seem to do many things on a routine basis. I think he spends most of his time indoors, plotting evil schemes.’
‘And then going to confession to purify his soul?’
‘Probably,’ said Joe.
‘You know, I’d never have guessed he was so devout. It doesn’t make him a good person, but it does make him a prime candidate for the type of revenge we have in mind.’
*
Only three boys turned up. That was three more than Joe had expected, to be honest. The last session had been so dry, he’d ended up boring himself.
‘Good to see you, lads.’ He looked directly at TJ as he spoke. The boy smiled, looking young again, if not quite care-free. The drug-dealer’s death had gone reported but unsolved. Joe suspected Police Scotland’s finest had more pressing priorities on their to-do list. He also suspected the general public approved of this ranking of crimes, a sort of law-enforcement equivalent of the triage system at A and E. Most serious goes to the top of the list.
The tabloids had said as much when the ‘murder’ was reported. ‘Dealer found dead - big deal’. A national red top went so far as to say what Joe was thinking. ‘One less scum-bag on our streets.’
It looked like TJ had got away with his moment of madness. Alibi unnecessary, as it turned out.
‘Any more coming today, lads?’
Dykesy looked up from his phone. Slug barely raised his head from the desk.
‘Nae idea, Big Man. Smithy’s girlfriend’s due this week. He’s got a lot on his mind.’
‘Ach, there’s nothing to it,’ said Joe. ‘Babies are born every second. Smithy won’t feel a thing.’
The boys smirked and TJ laughed loudly, as if he was keen to please Joe.
‘Thing is, he’s no sure the wean’s his and he cannae decide if he should go on Jeremy Kyle for a DNA test.’
Joe decided not to comment. ‘What about Dangermoose? Where’s he?’
‘He’ll defin-ate-ly no be here. He got lifted on Sunday night.’
Joe couldn’t help being curious but had long since learned not to ask questions.
Slug came to life. ‘Ah heard he bottled a guy twice his size.’
‘Aye, he did, but the arsehole was pure asking for it.’
Joe wondered what you’d have to do to deserve a face slashed with a broken bottle.
Dykesy provided the answer. ‘He made a move on Danger’s bird, then when the wee man steps in, the basturt asks her why she’s brought her wean to the pub.’
Joe laughed, couldn’t help it, then remembered himself and his role as mentor. ‘Come on now lads,’ he said gravely, ‘You’re not going to tell me a man should get his face slashed for that.’
‘Naw, Sur. Danger’s used to that kinda talk. He knows he’s wee. It’s whit the guy said next. Liam heard it and everythin, man.’
Slug seemed keen for details, ‘Whit did he say?’
‘Danger’s girl tells him to fuck off, an the guy’s like, ‘Ye can keep her, wee man. She’s had mair hands up her than Sooty.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Sluggo. ‘Ah would’ve done the same if some wanker had insulted ma girlfriend.’
Dykesy hooted. ‘Whit girlfriend, Slugster?’
Joe decided it was time to start teaching, before he heard any more depressing updates. Looking at TJ, he said, ‘Violence rarely solves anything, boys. Please try to remember that.’
He changed his tone, tried to make it upbeat and motivating. ‘Right lads, today we’re going to talk about nutrition.’
Slug’s head went back on to the desk and TJ said, ‘New whit?’
‘Nutrition,’ said Dykesy, ‘the stuff we eat and drink.’
Slug grunted and TJ laughed. ‘Whit we drink?’ he said, sniggering, ‘Trust me, Sur, you don’t want tae know.’
When pushed, TJ said that his favourite food was his granny’s brownies, and the other two went into hysterics. Joe could only shake his head and wonder. After an hour spent arguing about whether Irn-Bru was made from girders and if Buckfast was a health drink, Joe felt like shooting himself. And he hadn’t got to the worst bit.
‘Boys, do you think you could do something for me?’
All three replied without hesitation, making Joe feel good for the first time that session.
‘No worries, Big Man.’
‘Anythin fur you, Sur,’ said Slug. ‘Are you wantin us to get ye some puff?’
Joe’s despair must have shown in his face and maybe a wee bit of impatience too. ‘That’s ridiculous, lads. You know how I feel about drugs. All drugs.’
‘Aw right, Big Man, cool the beans. We’re only trying to help. We can get you ab-so-lootly any gear you want, by the way.’ Dykesy tapped the side of his nose like a spiv.
It was hard t
o be cross with them. Joe took a bundle of photocopied sheets out of his bag. ‘Could you keep these nutrition diaries for me? Note down everything you eat and drink for a week?’
The boys exchanged looks, then burst out laughing. Dykesy spoke for the three of them. ‘No problemo.’
When Joe left the building, he wasn’t surprised to see the ‘diaries’ sticking out of the bin by the front door. At least his lectures about litter had been effective.
***
CHAPTER 31
‘Hello, it’s Carole from HQ. Can I speak to Miss Scott, please?’
‘Speaking. Carole, can you hang on a sec? What is it, Megan?’
Sheila hoped Carole wouldn’t mind waiting a few moments. She left the line open so that Carole could listen, knowing the conversations that went on in school offices were often priceless.
‘Please may I have my mobile phone back, Miss Scott?’
‘Didn’t I say you could collect it at home time?’
‘Yes, but I need it now. I have to make an urgent phone call.’
‘If it’s urgent, I can phone your mum for you. Are you not feeling well?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. But I have PE later and Mummy packed the wrong shorts. Those ones make me look fat.’
When Sheila had sent the child packing, without her mobile phone, Carole asked, ‘What age was that kid?’
‘Megan? Nine going on nineteen. A right little princess. You should see the mother.’
‘Should we expect a letter of complaint at HQ?’
‘Yes, I would think so, and no doubt Mr Smeaton will agree with the parents that we’ll have damaged the child’s self-esteem by making her do PE in the wrong style of shorts.’
Carole laughed. ‘Speaking of style, how did the pupils react to your makeover?’
‘Typical kids. Most of them didn’t notice. As far as the rest are concerned, it’s nothing more exciting than a new haircut and a bit of lippy.’