by Pat Young
Smeaton nodded again.
‘Whose fault is that, do you think?’ The voice left a pause. Then said, ‘I asked you a question, Thomas Smeaton. Who is to blame?’
‘Me.’
‘Who?’
‘Me. I am.
‘You are to blame. Not only for Liz’s death, but for wrecking countless other lives and careers.
Smeaton was nodding like the dog in the insurance ad.
‘You’re a bully. Thomas Smeaton. A workplace bully, of the very worst kind. But I’m telling you now, it has to stop.’
The word boomed and died away. When the voice spoke again, it was quieter, more threatening. ‘You will be given one more chance, Smeaton, which is more than you deserve, but know this. I will be watching you. Every moment of every day and if you wrong another human being ever again, your eternal fate will be so much worse than you could ever imagine. Consider this short spell in purgatory a taster of what awaits you. Remember, I will be watching.’
The voice faded and Joe switched back to white noise.
On screen Smeaton was lying face down.
‘Hope the bastard’s had a heart attack with the shock. How sweet would that be?’
‘No, he’s prostrating himself. It’s a way of showing total and abject humility.’
‘It’s all an act,’ said Joe.
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Sheila. ‘Anyway, playing that makes me feel better, so thanks, guys.’
‘You’re welcome, Sheila. It was a great idea. The last thing we want is for him to think he’s got off with it. And I don’t think that will have left him in any doubt.’ Marty clapped her hands. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘who’s hungry?’
They ate their meal in silence, the two women just picking at their food. When someone banged on the door, the three of them froze, each looking to the others for an explanation.
Joe said, ‘I’ll go. I bet it’s the lads again.’
Sheila tiptoed over and cut the power to the projector. Smeaton disappeared from the screen. Next she killed the volume and the white noise stopped. The room became silent for the first time in days.
Joe didn’t think it would be the lads. Might be Stan, back to cause trouble. Joe waited for Sheila to follow Marty into the dorm before he opened the door, then braced himself to face the angry young Bulgarian.
‘Good evening, sir. We’ve had a report of some lights up here at the bothy and been asked to investigate.’
Joe explained who he was and that he was putting in a lot of unpaid overtime to get the bothy emptied by the council deadline. ‘There should be nobody here after tomorrow, Officer,’ he said, adding, as an afterthought, ‘Sorry, do you need to see my ID?’
‘That won’t be necessary, sir. If you could just make sure you leave the property secure when you go? We don’t want vandals getting in and torching the place.’
‘That’s the last thing I’d want. I’m sad enough to see the old place shutting, never mind getting set on fire.’
‘Goodnight then, sir. We’ll leave you in peace and get back into town where we’re more needed.’
Joe said goodnight and closed the door.
Marty and Sheila sneaked back through but no one breathed until they heard the police car start up and move off down the track.
***
CHAPTER 91
Joe drove into town and parked in a dark, disused loading bay behind a closed-down department store.
‘Give me five minutes to find Dykesy and Dangermoose. Just to make sure they know what I’m expecting for my fifty quid.’
Marty kept an eye on the street. Apart from one solitary passing drunk, there was no one to be seen until a taxi cruised into view and dropped off two girls who looked like they should have been tucked up with their teddies. What were kids like that doing out drinking on a week night?
‘Ready?’ she said, when the taxi had moved off. Sheila’s nod was barely visible in the dark Land Rover. Marty pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and dragged it as far over her face as it would stretch. ‘Right, then. Let’s get him out and wait for Joe’s boys to do their stuff.’
Smeaton groaned as they moved his blanket. Marty felt sick. What if he woke up now? All she wanted was for this to be over. She took one end of the blanket and Sheila the other. ‘On my count,’ she said, like a casualty doctor in some medical drama.
On three, they heaved. He was lighter than she expected; he must have lost weight in captivity. The two of them managed to lift him out of the car and over to the corner of the semi-derelict building, where they gently laid him down.
Marty crept forward till she had a clear view of the nightclub door and the bored-looking bouncer guarding it. At the sound of voices, he tossed his cigarette butt into the street and turned to stare at the two boys staggering towards him.
‘Aw right, mate?’ shouted Dykesy. ‘How’s it goin?’
The bouncer said nothing, but he spread his legs and crossed his arms, chin raised in challenge.
‘Any gorgeous burds in the club the night?’ asked Dangermoose. ‘I’m dyin fur a shag.’
The bouncer laughed. ‘In yer dreams, wee man. Away hame to yer mammy.’
Dangermoose drew himself up to his full five feet. ‘Ya cheeky basturt! Ah’m twenty-one.’ He turned to Dykesy and demanded, ‘Tell him.’
‘Aye, right, boys.’ The bouncer waggled his thumb in the air. ‘Get yersels hunted before ye get hurt.’
Dykesy squared up to the bouncer, who was at least twice his weight. ‘Wait a minute, man. You cannae refuse tae let us in.’
The bouncer uncrossed his arms and said, ‘Watch me.’
‘Naw, you watch me, ya bawbag!’ Dykesy aimed a vicious kick at the man’s testicles. The bouncer clutched at his groin with both hands, roaring his pain, shock and rage. Dykesy and Dangermoose capered around him, two chimps taunting a gorilla. He grabbed at Dykesy’s t-shirt but the boy squirmed out of his grasp and ran, stopping at a safe distance to laugh and jeer.
Dykesy shouted, ‘M’oan, wee man! Leg it!’ and the two boys sprinted off, the bouncer giving chase.
Once they’d disappeared, Marty said, ‘Let’s go, Sheila.’
‘You sure we’re doing the right thing?’
‘It’s what we agreed. Come on, don’t lose your nerve now. Lift him.’
They carted Smeaton towards the door of the club and unrolled him gently from the blanket onto the ground.
‘Careful. We don’t want a mark on him.’ They eased the blanket clear of Smeaton’s limp body and Marty bundled it under her arm. She sprinted for the shelter of the parking bay while Sheila headed up the lane to grab a taxi home.
Joe was waiting at the car, with the engine running. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, jumping in. Marty stood and watched, shaking her head. Joe leaned across to open the passenger door. ‘Get in, Marty, quick. We need to get going, before anyone spots us.’
She handed him the blanket. ‘I’m not going, Joe. I’m staying here.’
‘I’m not talking about Bulgaria.’
‘Neither am I. Go on. Get out of here.’
‘Come on, Marty, for God’s sake. Jump in. Hurry up.’
‘Sorry, I need to stay and see this through to the end, Joe. That was always my plan.’
‘So you had your own agenda too, Marty? All along?’
‘Maybe, but not as final as yours. No hitman in my plan. Quite the opposite. I want to make sure he regains consciousness.’
‘Marty? We could be eating in a beachside restaurant this time tomorrow night without a care in the world. Won’t you re-consider coming with me? Please?’
‘And who would keep my crazy dog from maiming poor innocent runners? Tell me that.’ She smiled at him. ‘Go on. Get going, will you?’
‘Remember you can always come and find me if you change your mind. On the hill behind Sozopol.’
‘Goodbye, Joe.’
‘Will you get home alright?’
She waved her hand, shooing him away. ‘Yeah, yeah. I�
�ve got a plan.’
Joe laughed. ‘I bet you have.’ He gave her a salute and drove off.
Marty made sure her hood was covering her face, took the can of super lager from her pocket and wandered out into the street.
A little crowd had gathered around Smeaton’s body. Keeping to the shadow cast by the wall, she watched. One girl was wailing hysterically, ‘He’s dead. He’s dead.’ Another, drunk no doubt, screamed like a banshee.
Smeaton must have heard the commotion. He moved. He was coming to. Marty watched him try to sit up. It was only a matter of time till someone decided to get a phone out and this would be all over Facebook.
‘Perfect,’ she whispered, ‘my job here is done.’ With a tug at her hood, she staggered away towards the town centre. No one gave her a second glance. After all, she was just another drunk hoodie with a can of lager.
***
CHAPTER 92
He’d resigned himself to his fate when he heard the banshee wailing. There would be no redemption for him after all. He had done all he could, had truly repented his sins, and named all the people he’d wronged, but it seemed that no one had been listening. He was damned to lie naked in this cold dark place forever. He would never see God’s radiance or feel the healing power of his forgiveness.
Then he became aware of people speaking.
‘That’s gross. Somebody cover him up.’
‘No, wait, I want to get it on my phone. YouTube here we come. This could go viral.’
Something soft landed on him, and he coiled into a tight ball underneath it, trying to protect himself.
‘No photos, folks,’ said a deeper, older voice. ‘The poor guy’s got issues. Give him a break.’
Strong arms helped him to his feet and wrapped a blanket around him. He staggered but before he could fall, he was caught and steadied. When his legs could support his weight, his saviour led him away into the darkness.
The man helped him into the seat of a car, tucking the blanket securely around him and fastening his seatbelt.
He stayed shrunk down inside his fleecy cocoon, teeth chattering with fear and cold.
As the car accelerated the man said, ‘You must have had some night of it to end up in this state.’
His face and voice muffled by the thick material, he tried to speak and found he was sobbing. ‘Am I alive?’
‘That’s a weird thing to say, but aye, you’re alive alright.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve no idea where I am. I thought maybe I’d died.’
‘You’re every bit as much alive as I am, mate.’
‘Can you tell me where I am, please?’
‘Well, when I found you, you were lying naked outside Branigan’s. Another five minutes and the cops would have turned up. You’re lucky I came along before you got lifted for indecent exposure.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘Absolutely no need for thanks.’
‘Do you think you could possibly give me a lift home? I think I live out at Monksgate. If you wouldn’t mind taking me, I’d be so grateful.’
‘No problem, mate.’
‘This is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.’
‘Don’t mention it. I’m sure you’d have done the same in my shoes.’
Keeping his face buried in the security of the blanket, he confessed to this stranger that his old self would never have gone out of his way to help another human being. He went on to tell the man that he had just experienced an epiphany and vowed he’d be a changed person from now on.
He shivered under his blanket, from cold, shock or both. ‘I know I must sound mad to you, but I really feel I’ve been to hell and back.’
The man said nothing, but it didn’t matter.
‘Purgatory, to be precise.’ He babbled on, keen to share his experience. ‘I thought I might have died in a car smash recently, I’m not sure. On the A77. Did you see anything about it in the papers, or even the TV, by any chance?’
Not waiting for a response, he went on. ‘Anyway, for some reason, I ended up in purgatory. I remember praying for forgiveness so my soul could be released into heaven, and when I woke back there and heard all the screaming I was convinced I’d gone to hell instead.’
‘I don’t really believe in all that stuff myself,’ said the man.
‘Well I do, and now God has given me a second chance. He’s even sent you, a good Samaritan. I intend to make the most of it, believe you me. I plan to change the way I live my life. I’ve done some terrible things to people, you know. I’m so ashamed. The first thing I am going to do is reward you for rescuing me.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Oh, but I do. And then, I intend to seek out every person I have ever wronged. I mean to give them a genuine, humble apology and ask them to forgive me.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘And do you think they will, Mr Smeaton?’
***
CHAPTER 93
Smeaton’s head shot out of the blanket like a tortoise startled from its shell. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.
‘You should.’
‘Sorry, I don’t recognise you. I can’t really see your face and I feel a bit woozy to tell you the truth.’
‘Take a look at the scenery. Might give you a clue.’
Smeaton looked out of the window and said, ‘I think you must have taken a wrong turning somewhere. My mistake, I thought you knew where we were going.’
‘Oh, I know precisely where we’re going. In fact, we’re almost there.’
‘But we’re miles from nowhere.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Sorry. I don’t understand.’
‘You will in a minute.’ Joe slowed down as the bothy came into view and directed the headlights towards it. ‘Remember this place?’
‘I think it’s the bothy Logiemuir runs for outdoor education.’
‘Used to run, Mr Smeaton. Until you ordered its closure, remember? Same as you shut down the kiddies’ orchestra in Bankside. You threatened their community centre too, didn’t you? You’re a great man for taking from people who’ve got nothing.’
‘Listen to me, my friend. I don’t know who you are, or what we’re doing out here, but please understand, I had no choice in these things. I had to make savings. That’s my job. Honestly, I really didn’t have any choice. But can I tell you this? I regret the way I did it and I intend to make changes when I get back to work.’
Joe cut the engine and the headlights died. Darkness engulfed the car, making it impossible to see Smeaton’s face. ‘Your changes will come too late for some folk. What about them?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about Liz Douglas. You remember? The head-teacher of Cadenhead Primary, who committed suicide? Being sorry isn’t going to be much help to her, is it?’
‘That was regrettable. A terrible tragedy.’
‘You could say that. Some folk would say she was driven to suicide and you’re the man responsible.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true but I am sorry the woman died.’
‘Then there’s poor Marty Dunlop. A truly good person, doing a great job, till you blackened her name and robbed her life of any meaning.’
‘That was unfortunate, you’re right. I regret the way I handled that situation.’
‘It’s too late for your regrets. They’re worth nothing.’
‘I’ve said I’m sorry. And I intend to change my working practice. I don’t know what more you’d like me to do.’
‘I’d like you to bring my wife back.’
‘Your wife? Look, I’m sorry if your wife’s left you, but I don’t see how I can help. I don’t even know you.’
***
CHAPTER 94
Joe reached out and switched on the interior light. Smeaton’s face registered recognition and shock at the same time.
‘Joe Docherty,’ he whi
spered, his eyes never leaving Joe’s face. ‘I might have known.’
Joe said nothing. There was nothing for him to say.
‘I’m very sorry about what happened to your wife, Joe. But I hardly think you can blame me for her death. It wasn’t my fault you couldn’t cope.’
Joe waited, sure there was more to come.
‘Not my fault either that you turned to drink, was it?’
Joe said, ‘I never, ever touched a drop in school or came to work drunk or unfit to teach. You know what I went through with Sally’s illness. Back and forth to the Beatson, nursing her at home for as long as I could, then practically living in the Hospice.’
‘We gave you some time off, didn’t we?’
Joe ignored that; concentrated instead on keeping his temper. ‘Then my lovely Sally died.’
‘Yes, and I’m sure Carole sent a wreath or something. What more did you expect us to do?’
‘You knew I was struggling to come to terms with her loss. Couldn’t you have cut me some slack?’
‘Cut you some slack?’ Smeaton’s voice rose to the high, outraged pitch that was familiar to Joe. ‘I’ve been cutting you slack for years. You must know I could easily have sacked you a few months back for whistle-blowing to the papers? But I didn’t. You’d have lost your pension, but I cut you some slack, as you say. Then, when you didn’t get your own way about your blasted bothy, you resigned and I accepted your resignation. Remember? So don’t try to pin the blame on me, just because your life didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to.’
Joe had heard enough. ‘You haven’t changed one bit, Smeaton. I knew it. I should have shot you when I had the chance.’ He reached for the keys and turned them in the ignition. The big jeep roared into life and the headlights lit up the stone walls of the bothy.
‘What are you talking about? Should have shot me? Don’t be ridiculous. Look Joe, why don’t you take me home now? There’s a good man. Just take me home, I’ll sling you a few quid for your trouble, and we’ll say no more about this.’