Goodmans of Glassford Street (19 page)

She began the job of cleaning up as best as she could. She filled a bin bag with the rubbish and bottles, washed the dishes in the kitchen sink and hoovered the carpet. Then she searched through the wardrobe and cupboards, found a large suitcase and filled it with a suit, shirts, socks, underwear, shoes, a hat, a pair of gloves, a couple of pairs of pyjamas, a dressing gown, a coat, shaving gear and other toilet goods. Then she phoned for a taxi to take her to her flat. She would have been strong enough to carry the heavy case all the way back to the station, but she still had hours of work ahead of her and she had been off duty long enough already.

Thinking of strength and her karate made her remember a recent charity event she’d taken part in. It was for a children’s hospice to fund a party for the children and give them Christmas presents. One of the things she’d done was to break a pile of roof slates in two with one blow from the side of her hand. Another had been jumping, spinning back and kicking a pad. Quite a sum of money had been raised.

Once she reached her flat, she took Mr McKay’s case into the spare bedroom and unpacked it into empty drawers and a wardrobe. Then she fetched bed linen and blankets from the linen cupboard and made up the bed.

At last, everything organised, she went across the road to the station and caught a train going to Queen Street. George Square was busy but no doubt would get even busier once darkness fell and everything was lit up. Glancing at her watch, she hurried across the Square, down South Frederick Street to Ingram Street, then round to Glassford Street. She hoped Mr McKay had remained in his office and that Mrs Goodman had not seen him. And that no one else had seen him. He looked such a shabby wreck of a man.

On the way up to his office, she was stopped in her tracks by a woman going into the fitting room in Fashions. There wasn’t an assistant anywhere around. Annoyance made her shake her head in disbelief. She had lost count of the times she had told assistants always to watch anyone who went into a fitting room, and to check all garments that were taken in by customers.

The customer had disappeared into the fitting room carrying a pile of garments over one arm and a large shopping bag over the other. It was impossible to tell how many garments there were. Miss Eden loitered nearby, pretending she was examining some jackets. Eventually the woman reappeared and walked away towards the lift. What a bloody cheek, Miss Eden thought. Usually a fitting room thief would return some of the garments and just leave with one or perhaps two stolen items. She followed the woman into the lift and stood silently beside her as it plummeted down to the ground floor. Then, at a discreet distance, she whispered into her mobile. As a result, the security guard was waiting watchfully at the front door. As soon as the woman left the store, both Miss Eden and the security guard stood in front of her and Miss Eden said, ‘I have reason to believe you are carrying goods from the store that you haven’t paid for. I’d like you to accompany me to the manager’s office.’

The woman turned quietly back towards the front door. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, she started to race along Glassford Street. In a matter of seconds, Miss Eden had caught her, grabbed her elbow, and swung her back round towards the store.

‘The manager’s office, I said.’

Mr McKay was in his office and he quickly agreed to phone for the police after the woman’s shopping bag revealed several fashion garments which she hadn’t paid for. The usual routine was adhered to, and it seemed to take an age. Miss Eden was impatient, indeed anxious, for closing time to arrive so that she could get Mr McKay safely away to Springburn. At last he was locking up the front and back doors, and they were then on their way up to Queen Street. Mr McKay was silent until they were near the station.

‘Miss Eden, I really think I should just go to Bishopbriggs. From what you’ve told me, you’ve made the place habitable again. It’s really very kind of you but I believe I’ll be all right now, so …’

‘No, you will not, Mr McKay. You need time away from being alone in your house, and you need help to stop your drinking. As soon as my back was turned, you’d be back downing Buckie with those tramps.’

‘Really, Miss Eden …’ He tried to sound insulted and angry, but failed. He allowed himself to be hustled onto the train, then off again at Springburn.

‘Just across the road here,’ Miss Eden said. ‘Springburn used to be a really nice and friendly community, and a good shopping centre, but now it has no heart.’ She shook her head. ‘I remember the Co-op and Hoey’s. A whole line of good shops where you could buy absolutely everything. You never needed to go into town.’

Cupping his elbow in one hand, she guided Mr McKay up the stairs.

‘Here we are.’ She opened the door. ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’

‘Thank you,’ Mr McKay said faintly.

‘I had central heating put in so it’s nice and cosy. Just go into the kitchen. I’ve a wee dining table and some chairs there. And everything’s fitted.’

Mr McKay looked somewhat dazedly around the small kitchen.

‘It’s very nice.’

‘And cosy.’

‘Yes, and cosy.’

‘See where the table and chairs are? That used to be a hole in the wall bed.’

‘A hole in the wall …?’

‘Yes, that’s what a bed recess was called.’

‘Oh.’

‘But there’s two bedrooms and a sitting room and so I didn’t need a bed in here as well. It’s far more useful as a dining area. Don’t you think?’

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on. I’ve got a steak pie and mashed potatoes ready just to heat up in the micro. Is that all right for you?’

‘Yes, thank you. It’s very kind of you, Miss Eden.’

‘So you keep telling me. Just forget it. You’re a good manager and you’re needed at the store. It’s the least I can do. After all, the store has been good to us.’

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘Just sit down and relax.’ She put the food in the microwave oven and set the table. Then she said, ‘Come on through and I’ll show you your room and where I’ve put all your things.’ She also showed him where the bathroom was situated off the hall. Once they were back in the kitchen and she had dished up the meal, Mr McKay said, ‘That’s part of my trouble.’

‘What is?’

‘The store has been so good to me and …’ He hesitated and looked in danger of bursting into tears. ‘That money … all that money lost to the firm because of me. It was terrible what …’

‘Stop right there. The store is well insured and so they haven’t suffered one jot. They haven’t lost anything and it’s not a trouble for them. You really must, I said
must
, forget about that, Mr McKay. You must put it out of your mind. It’s in the past. Nobody has suffered because of it but yourself. You’ve obviously suffered mentally as well as physically. It’s time you stopped suffering. From this moment on, you have never to think of that incident ever again. Do you hear me, Mr McKay?’

‘But you see …’

‘Stop it, Mr McKay. What good do you think you’re doing to yourself or anyone else carrying on the way you are? What you need to do is get back to being the excellent manager you always were for the store and for Mrs Goodman. That’s all she needs and wants – she needs and wants you to keep the store in good order and flourishing. Is that pie all right for you?’

‘Oh yes, indeed. Very tasty.’

‘Right, wire in, as my mother used to say.’

Mr McKay managed a weak smile. ‘That’s a very old Scottish expression. I remember my mother saying that as well.’

‘There you are then. Now, afterwards, will we sit and chat or watch television? We could watch the news and then have a chat about all that’s been happening in the store. How’s that? Will that be all right?’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ Mr McKay said.

‘Oh, you didn’t, John!’

‘There’s no need to look so shocked, Mum. I can afford it.’

‘But a reward? Isn’t it the police who are supposed to do that?’

John shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. But anyway, I thought it might help if I put up a reward for any information that would lead to the arrest of the murderer. Also, I gave as good a description as I could of Julie’s ex-boyfriend and asked if he would come forward to help the police with their enquiries. Or if anyone knew of his whereabouts.’

‘Oh dear, I hope the police won’t be angry with you. You probably should have consulted them first.’

He shrugged again. ‘Well, it’s all over the newspapers now so there’s nothing much they can do about it. But they should be pleased. The chances are it’ll help them find the killer.’

Another thought struck Abi, a much more worrying thought. ‘Oh, John, what if it makes that man angry at you – Julie’s ex? And what if he is a murderer? He might come after you.’

‘Och, what would he want with me?’

‘If he was angry at you for giving his description. And if he is the killer, he must be mad and so there’s no telling what he might do.’

John laughed. ‘Well, thanks very much, Mum. You’re a great comfort to me.’

‘I can’t help worrying about you.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘In that flat on your own at night as well.’

‘Mum, stop it. I’m not a child any more. I can look after myself.’

‘Do you think I should come through and stay with you for a while?’

He laughed again. ‘Oh, right. You’d be a great protection. Anyway, I work late here in the Parliament most nights. Or I’m travelling round the constituency on business. So it would just mean you’d be alone in the flat most of the time.’

Abi finished her cup of tea.

‘Well, you take care, do you hear?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘I’d better get back. Douglas is enjoying himself these days. He thinks I’m well on my way to giving up the store. I haven’t been paying much attention to it recently, what with one thing and another. That’s the only reason he encourages me to visit the children so often. If he gets the store, he wouldn’t care if I never saw the children.’

‘They’re your grandchildren. You’re entitled to see them as often as you like. Will you be calling in there tonight?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s not worth your while going back to work now.’

‘I know, and of course their house is on my way home. I mean, being just down from the station. And I do enjoy seeing them and making them laugh with all my nonsense songs and poems and all the stories I make up.’

‘Have you done anything yet about putting them together in a book?’

She shook her head.

‘Who would want to publish a book like that?’

‘A Scottish publisher, I keep telling you. And I’ve heard there’s some millionaire entrepreneur bought over one small Scottish firm. But there’s quite a few others. I’ll make a list out for you. You can try them all if necessary. I’m sure some Scottish publisher would be interested.’

‘Oh well, I’ll think about it.’

‘You said that before. Get down to it, Mum. It would give you something to do at night. It would be a good cheery way to pass your time.’

‘Yes, all right, dear.’

‘Promise me you’ll do it.’

‘I promise.’

She supposed he was right. At least it would give her something to do during the long dark winter nights. That was the only drawback about having concentrated every moment of her life on the store and on Tom in and out of the store. She had never been one for socialising at the best of times, and as a result, she had never really made any friends. Now she had noticed that even John had begun to think that working in the store was getting too much for her. Or was it her over-sensitive imagination? One thing was sure, he had begun to agree with her that there was no use clinging on to the past in the house in Huntershill.

‘It’s not good for you to be there on your own, Mum, especially during the long winter nights. It might be a good idea to sell the house and buy a flat in town. It’s not doing you any good clinging on to the past so much. It’s making you depressed.’

The next thing would be the store.

‘No use clinging on to the past in the store, Mum. We’ll have to face it. Times change …’ He hadn’t said it yet. Mainly, she suspected, because he hated Douglas Benson. But she was afraid he would say it one day.

Even he could see that she hadn’t the same interest in working in the store as she used to. Her heart wasn’t really in it since Tom was no longer there. There were so many worries in connection with it now. The latest thing was Mr Webster, who had come to her and told her such a hair-raising story. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Well, not so much for him, perhaps, but certainly for his family. She’d seen the day when she would not have felt in the least sorry. She would just have thought he’d brought it all on himself. Indeed, she would have told him so. Instead she had listened patiently and thought about how upset his wife and daughters must be, seeing their home go up in flames. She was thinking, of course, of her own home and what she would feel about losing it.

She ended up telling Mr Webster to take as much time off as he needed to find a new house, and she suggested the convenience of the Italian Centre or the big flats in the new conversion further along Ingram Street. No doubt she noticed these places because they had been at the back of her mind for herself.

Mr Webster was nearly in tears of gratitude. She had thought for a moment that he was going to embrace her.

‘Get back to your family and tell them everything’s going to be all right,’ she said abruptly and he turned away and left the office.

She sat at home that night, her mind still swirling with problems, other people’s as well as her own. Especially John’s, of course. She felt haunted by apprehension. She couldn’t bear the thought that he might be in danger.

She tried her best to do as he had told her and concentrate on writing down the wee songs that made the children laugh and at one time had made her laugh too.

Twelve an’ a tanner a bottle,

That’s what it’s costin’ today.

Twelve an’ a tanner a bottle,

Takes aw the pleasure away.

For if you want a wee drappie,

You’ve got to spend aw that you’ve got.

How can a fella be happy,

When happiness costs such a lot?