Goodmans of Glassford Street (16 page)

‘I’ll think about it, son.’

‘
Do
it, Mum.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, all right then.’ Though she wasn’t keen on computers and preferred to write in longhand.

‘Good.’

She enjoyed her visit, as she always did when she went to see John, despite the worrying side of their conversation on this occasion. However, now that she knew about Julie’s ex-boyfriend, she felt better, more confident. The police would be interested in him, she felt sure. They would do all they could to find him and bring him in to – as they say – ‘help with their enquiries’.

There had been several awful cases in the past reported in the papers where ex-boyfriends or ex-partners had tormented and even murdered the person who had rejected them. She had to smile, remembering John’s idea of making a book of all the nonsense she entertained the children with. She didn’t believe for a minute that any publisher would want to publish them. However, she’d promised John she would put them all together, so she’d try, just to please him.

She decided it was hardly worthwhile going back to the store. She would go to visit the children instead, and stay in the penthouse for a few hours. However, when she pressed the penthouse buzzer, there was no reply. She felt suddenly desolate. Of course, it was the run-up to Christmas and there was a lot going on in the city, including parties and pantomimes. No doubt they were enjoying themselves somewhere and didn’t need any entertainment from her.

The Square was beautifully lit up with lights in the shape of bells shining from high poles all along each side, and they swung back and forth as if they were ringing. The buildings were floodlit. There was a beautiful nativity scene in a glass house with a silver roof. Rather incongruously, there were shows nearby belting out raucous music. A shaky cakewalk and a funfair with roundabouts. Up and down and round and round they went. There were also stalls selling burgers and pink puff candy. The centre of the Square had been turned into an ice rink and it was crowded with squealing, laughing, woolly-hatted and scarved people whirling around on the ice and having a wonderful time.

The City Chambers was decked out in lights, the towers above spotlit in striking violet and blue.

Music blared out from the fairground, the various rides competing vigorously, causing a discordant clamour that was a constant backdrop to the activities that surrounded Abi.

Excited teenagers queued to get into the ice rink where budding Romeos sought to impress the girls by a combination of skating skills and tomfoolery, under the watchful eyes of the rink attendants. There was a happy buzz of conversation and laughter, punctuated by the occasional tearful outburst as a smaller child was ploughed under by zooming adolescents.

Abi stood for a few minutes watching them all before reluctantly making her way up to the Queen Street Station taxi rank. As usual, she dreaded returning to the empty house, but at this time of year, even more so. She couldn’t be bothered sitting down to think of the poems and songs and stories as John had suggested. She couldn’t stand being alone much longer. But she doubted if she would have the strength to organise selling up and buying a flat in the city, even if she could bring herself to part with all the memories of Tom that filled the house.

She put on a
CSI: Miami
DVD and collapsed back in her chair with a large glass of brandy.

Horatio, dear, gentle kind Horatio, would keep her company.

It wasn’t fair, Miss Eden thought. Many shoplifters made it big business and earned more in one day than she earned in a month or more. They came from all over the country to steal and if they got away with it, they stashed their stolen goods in the left luggage offices of Queen Street Station and Central Station and Buchanan Street bus station to be collected later when they were ready to travel back to wherever they’d come from. They even stole to order. They would have shopping lists. Gents’ suits, for instance, were a favourite and they stole them in specific sizes. Women’s fashion garments were another favourite, and jewellery. Even shoes would be on their lists.

She had got to know quite a few of these shoplifters and had caught them in the act. As a result, they didn’t ply their trade in Goodmans so often now. They knew she would be watching their every move. They were also aware that she would have alerted the security guard who would be keeping an eye on them as well.

As it turned out, even the security guards that she had trusted were not above suspicion. One man recently, a very popular and nice man, had really surprised her. His wife was expecting and all the staff in the ground floor departments who knew him best were busy knitting baby clothes. Then on one occasion she had to do a spot check of staff lockers – she had a master key and if goods were going missing it could be part of the procedure to check the lockers. Gents’ suits and trousers had been going missing and when she did her search, she found a pair of trousers with the tags and tickets still attached in the security guard’s locker. So she took the security guard to the manager’s office and he was questioned.

‘Oh no, Miss Eden, you’ve got it all wrong,’ he insisted. ‘My wife bought those trousers in the Trongate store and they forgot to take the tags off.’

And he stuck to his story. The police were called and the security guard stuck to his story. He was suspended right away and the security company were alerted. He went to court and still said the same. His wife went into the witness box and said she’d bought the trousers, as he’d said, and they hadn’t taken the tags off.

Miss Eden might have believed him, indeed wanted to believe him. She found it an ordeal having to stand face to face in court with a man she trusted and liked and felt sorry for. She couldn’t believe what he was doing. But someone had seen him selling suits. He knew the days she was in the store and nothing was going missing on those days. He also knew that, if she wasn’t in by eleven or twelve, she wasn’t coming in that day.

He was duly fined – quite heavily – but wasn’t sent to prison because he had no previous convictions. However, he lost his job with the security company and gave himself a bad name. How stupid, Miss Eden thought.

She had spent most of the day in court and then had to write up reports and answer phone calls in her office. As a result, she didn’t get a chance to do anything about Mr McKay. She knew without doubt, however, that if she didn’t do something very soon, he would end up getting the sack. Despite Mrs Goodman’s recent preoccupation with other matters, she was bound to notice Mr McKay any time now and issue him with a written warning.

Goodmans was an excellent place to work, if you were a good worker. The wages couldn’t be bettered anywhere. At Christmas, every member of staff, from the youngest junior in the departments and the apprentice joiner and electrician in the basement, received a generous gift. If buyers got married, they were given a wedding present. If a (married) member of staff became pregnant, they were told to choose whatever they wanted or needed from the children’s department. If they worked late, they were offered a free meal in the canteen. There was a rest room with a first-aider or nurse in attendance. In other words, the staff had every facility. But if they stepped out of line in any way and were not fulfilling their responsibilities or obligations, Mrs Goodman would be ruthless.

By the time Miss Eden had finished her work, Mr McKay had gone. An assistant manager was left to lock up. This was not supposed to happen. It was, and always had been, Mr McKay’s responsibility to lock up. It would have been different if he had been off sick. But he had been in the store all day and had been on duty.

She knew where he would be. Along Argyle Street with the group of tramps, drinking himself unconscious. There was no use confronting him in front of the others. She had to catch him before he got there – either earlier in the shop or as soon as he left the shop and before he had an opportunity to change. She would just have to make time to do that tomorrow.

She discarded the wig and baggy cardigan she had been wearing and changed into her neat navy trouser suit and white blouse. She left the store and walked up Glassford Street. Standing at the traffic lights in Ingram Street, she looked over at the Italian Centre. It was a block of luxury flats, offices and haute couture shops, cafés and classical and contemporary public art. She liked Sandy Stoddart’s bronzes of Mercury and Italia sitting on top of the wall heads. Further along was the imposing Hutchesons’ Hall or Hospital. It now belonged to the National Trust for Scotland and attractive, arty things could be bought there. It had been designed originally by two philanthropic brothers to give shelter to the destitute men of Glasgow.

Thinking of destitute men reminded her, perhaps incongruously, of Mr McKay. He wasn’t really destitute. He had, she believed, a very respectable villa in Bishopbriggs.

She crossed the road and walked along towards George Square. It was crowded with people strolling around chomping on burgers and fish and chip suppers from one stall and candy floss from another. Others were standing watching the skaters on the specially made ice rink. Long sparkling decorations hung from every lamp-post. Long strands of red lights hung from the high pillar on top of which stood Sir Walter Scott. The whole place had become a temporary fairyland.

Miss Eden loitered for a time to enjoy the antics of the skaters. Some were showing off by swooping and swirling. Others were staggering this way and that before bumping down to a sitting position and laughing helplessly.

She enjoyed watching skating but had never had any inclination to take part. She didn’t like to feel helpless in any circumstances. She always liked to feel strong and in charge. Last year, coming home late from the staff Christmas party at Goodmans, she had been set upon by a couple of youths who had tried to rob her. Before they knew what had happened to them, they were flying through the air and crashing to the ground. As soon as they managed to pick themselves up, they ran.

She was glad that tonight was her karate night. It passed an enjoyable couple of hours. She preferred to be active rather than just sit gawping at the television. She read quite a lot of, course, usually in bed before settling down to sleep.

Eventually she made it through the noisy crowds to Queen Street Station and caught the train to Springburn. As the train rocked her gently from side to side, her thoughts turned to Mr McKay again. No doubt he would already be downing Buckfast wine in the dark, dingy cul-de-sac with the group of flea-ridden tramps. It was really dreadful that a smart, efficient, perfectly normal man like Mr McKay should degenerate into such a state, in such a place, and with people like that.

Come what may, tomorrow, she determined, she would do something about Mr McKay. Mr McKay would be tomorrow’s priority even if Goodmans was invaded by hordes of shoplifters.

Mr McKay looked worse than ever when she saw him the next morning and she prayed that Mrs Goodman wouldn’t see him. If she did come into the store and held the staff meeting, there would be the usual big crowd packed in her office and hopefully Mr McKay would keep to the back out of sight.

In the event, there was a meeting and Miss Eden noticed him slipping into a seat at the back where Mrs Goodman would probably not be able to spot him. She watched him leave the meeting and return to his office. Then he went downstairs to do his usual round of the departments. She slipped into his office, confiscated the plastic shopping bag and took it away to hide it in her own office. That should stop him in his tracks. But she would have to do more than that. He might be so desperate and far gone that he would go drinking with the tramps in his smart suit. Or go drinking anywhere with anyone. It looked as if he was fast becoming an alcoholic.

The day was quite busy. A suspicious-looking woman came in with a big bag and Miss Eden had to watch her and follow her around all the departments, never taking her eyes off her for a second. She saw the woman eventually slip a designer label jacket into the bag. She whispered a warning to the security guard into her mobile phone as she followed the woman towards the front door. Once outside, she stopped the woman and, as expected, she turned nasty and delved into her handbag for a pepperpot. Before she could try to blind Miss Eden with the pepper, however, Miss Eden delivered one of her karate chops. The woman screamed out with pain and fury. It was quite a struggle to get her upstairs to the manager’s office. Miss Eden didn’t want to risk doing any karate in full view of other customers in the store, so she and the security guard held the woman and helped her along with as little force as they could manage.

Then there was the wait for the police. Even during this time, the woman had to be restrained.

Mr McKay looked grey-faced and on the verge of collapse. By this time, of course, the poor man would have discovered that his bag containing his tramp clothes had gone. He would be feeling confused and anxious. Probably desperate too. He’d be thinking, ‘Where has it gone?’ and ‘What am I going to do?’ After the police had come and gone and the security guard had returned to his post, Miss Eden wondered if this was her chance to speak to Mr McKay and make some sort of move, but decided it would be better to wait until nearer the end of the working day. Perhaps the moment he had locked up, she’d catch him. Yes, best to get the day’s work over and both of them safely out of the store. No danger then of being interrupted or found out by any other person in the shop. After all, she did not know how Mr McKay would react. He just wasn’t his normal self at all these days.

And so she waited outside but Mr McKay never emerged. She raced round to the back entrance but it too was locked and there was no sign of anyone in the lane. She couldn’t understand it. For a time, she searched the nearby streets. She even went to where the tramps and Mr McKay had sat drinking together. The tramps were huddled under pieces of cardboard but there was no sign of Mr McKay. Defeated, she eventually pushed her way through the crowds towards the station. She was no longer interested in watching the skaters or admiring the decorations. She kept thinking about what had happened to Mr McKay. The only answer she could come up with was that he had remained in the store. It seemed ridiculous. Unless, of course, the poor man just couldn’t face going home alone to an empty house. He was obviously still devastated over the loss of his wife.