Goodmans of Glassford Street (24 page)

Last thing in the evening, they would go out into the hall together. She would switch off the kitchen light behind her. Mr McKay would turn at his bedroom door and say, ‘Goodnight, Miss Eden. Sleep well.’

‘Goodnight, Mr McKay. See you in the morning.’

It was quite a pleasant routine and there was really no hurry.

Abi had over an hour to spare before lunching with John in the Parliament. She passed the time walking along the Royal Mile and peering down some of the closes. There had been three women murdered in this area but at night, not during the day, when it was one of the busiest streets in the capital. It was the favourite area for tourists. People came from all over the world to explore the Royal Mile.

She was particularly intrigued, as most people were, with Deacon Brodie’s Close. He was a great man of his time, highly regarded in the best of Edinburgh society. He was always a welcome guest because he was a very good singer and it was always regretted when the evening came to an end and the host and hostess had to say goodbye to him.

One of Brodie’s friends and an eager host had mentioned to Brodie that he was going off that evening to visit the country. Later, however, he was delayed by some business and decided to stay another night in the city. He had been lying awake that night when suddenly, out of the dark silence, he heard a creak, then a jar. Then he detected a faint light. He clambered out of bed and up to a false window which looked into another room. There, by the glimmer of a thief ‘s lantern, he recognised, despite the mask, his good friend, Deacon Brodie.

It was discovered that Brodie was leading a double life. By day, he was a dignified and most respectable member of society. At night, he was leaving the supper tables of his friends the magistrates and others and slinking about the closes by the flicker of a dark lamp, a sly and cunning burglar.

John kept talking about the book about old Scottish ditties, especially from Glasgow, but in her opinion a book on historical characters would be much more interesting. Abi wandered into another cobbled close, trying to think of more stories of characters from Edinburgh’s past – anything to prevent her thinking of what was happening in the immediate present in Glasgow.

She could never again go back to the house in Huntershill. When she returned to Glasgow this time, it would be to the flat in the Italian Centre. Mr Webster would be waiting for her there. Everything had been completed. As he said, ‘Everything is in its proper place, down to the last dish towel.’ Mrs Webster had helped him. ‘The woman’s touch,’ he had said.

Proper place? her thoughts echoed. Her proper place was in Huntershill.

Just then she was suddenly, violently, terrifyingly, jerked back into her present surroundings. Strong hands gripped round her neck. She screamed and hit backwards with one hand, while clutching at the tourniquet round her neck with the other.

A man’s voice cried out, ‘Shit!’

For a second, he let her go as his hand flew to his eye. She twisted free and ran, still screaming, towards the busy Royal Mile. She just caught a glimpse of the man’s face with blood pouring from his eye. Her ring must have jagged into it.

Two men came running towards her, shouting, ‘What’s happened?’

‘That man was trying to kill me.’

But by this time, the man was running off down the close.

The men ran after him and a woman dialled for the police on her mobile phone.

The police arrived within minutes and the woman ex-plained what had happened. Abi had to answer questions and give the police her name and address. By this time, she was seated in a chair, being comforted by another woman. The chair had been brought out from a nearby restaurant and a small crowd of bystanders had formed.

Eventually Abi saw, through the crowd, the police leading a man into their police car. The man was holding a blood-stained handkerchief to his face.

‘We’d better phone for an ambulance for you,’ one of the women said to Abi.

‘No, no. Thank you all the same, but I’m all right now. A cup of tea’s all I need. It was just the shock.’

‘All right, if you’re sure. But me and my friend will come with you into the restaurant. We could do with a cup of tea ourselves. Then we’ll see you home.’

The two men who’d caught her attacker arrived on the scene then.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, thank you so much. That was very brave of you.’ She shuddered. ‘He must be that man who’s been killing women around here.’

‘You’ve been lucky. You might have been the fourth.’

One of the women said, ‘You shouldn’t have been going down any of the closes on your own while he was on the loose.’

‘I know. My mind was full of other things, but who would have thought that anything could happen in broad daylight?’

‘Well, there you are, you’ve had a lucky escape.’

The three of them felt better after a cup of tea, and Abi said, ‘Actually, I’ve to go to the Parliament and meet my son for lunch there. He’s an MSP.’

‘What’s his name?’ one of the women asked.

‘John Goodman.’

‘The Scottish Nationalist?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gosh, you must be very proud. He’s one of the few honest ones in there. He’s got courage as well. He’s never afraid to speak his mind.’

Abi felt very proud indeed, and very pleased. ‘Yes, I am proud. He’s always been a good son to me. But he’ll be angry at me today. Just because he’ll be upset. He worries about me and he’s warned me more than once not to wander about the closes on my own. But they’re so atmospheric and interesting, aren’t they? And as I said, who would have thought that the murderer would be skulking around in broad daylight?’

‘Well, you did a good turn in a way, Mrs Goodman. The closes will be safe for everyone to wander about now.’

Abi had taken one of her herbal calming tablets with her tea and felt fine again. Or as fine as she could in the circumstances – the circumstances being what they’d been before. She’d lost the home she’d shared with Tom. It was like losing him again but this time it was really forever. There was nothing at all of Tom in the flat in the Italian Centre.

‘We’ve done our best to help you,’ one of the women said. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour in return, Mrs Goodman?’

‘Of course. If I can.’

‘We’d love to meet your son. Wouldn’t we, Evie?’

‘Oh gosh, yes. We’ve been admirers of his for ages. We voted for him, didn’t we, Mae?’

‘Yes, definitely.’

‘Of course I’ll introduce you. It’ll be my pleasure.’

After that, the three of them set off, to all appearances quite happily, down the Royal Mile towards the Parliament.

When they got to the entrance, Abi said, ‘What do you think of it? The building, I mean.’

‘Oh, very impressive,’ Evie said. ‘Really different. Out of this world.’

Abi was genuinely surprised at their enthusiasm. Personally she thought it was far too over the top. Except the entrance, which could be so easily walked past and missed from the outside. The entrance, she always thought, should have been much more impressive and noticeable.

John was waiting for her inside and, after giving him his usual hug and kiss, she introduced him to Mae and Evie and explained the circumstances in which they’d met.

John paled visibly. ‘Mum, you could have been killed. My God …’

‘Now, there’s no need to worry. I’m perfectly all right and the man has been caught.’ She laughed. ‘I gave him a punch in the eye and that finished him. I’m always telling you and everyone else that I can cope perfectly well.’

Wait until Douglas Benson hears about this, she thought. She smiled to herself. Not only was she perfectly capable of continuing to run the store, she was even capable of fighting off a murderer, and having him arrested. It would be in the papers. She would be made to appear quite a heroine. It was laughable, of course, but she could hardly wait to see Douglas Benson’s face.

In an unexpected way, it would help her to break the news that she had moved to the Italian Centre and would be handier for attending to any business in the store.

After John had recovered from his initial shock and had assured himself that she was none the worse for her experience, he was charming to Mae and Evie and even insisted that they join them for lunch. Mae and Evie were excited and delighted and later, when they parted, they were profuse in their thanks and promises to continue voting for John at every opportunity.

After they’d gone, John said, ‘Now, what are you going to do this afternoon? I don’t trust you at all being on your own now.’

‘Darling, there’s no danger any more. The man’s been caught.’

‘Yes, but God alone knows what other trouble you could get into.’

She couldn’t help laughing.

‘Johnny, I’m your mother, not your errant child.’

‘My errant mother. What am I going to do with you? You just won’t do as you’re told.’

‘Talking about children reminds me. I wanted to visit the Museum of Childhood. I might be able to get something for the children. Or at least I could describe it all to them. I’m sure it would interest them.’

‘Yes, all right. But have you been doing what I told you about compiling a book of verse?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Yes, honestly. Next time you’re in Glasgow visiting me I’ll show it to you. I’ve actually finished it. You will be coming through soon to visit me at the Italian Centre, I hope?’

‘Of course I will, Mum. How about if I go back with you tomorrow?’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful, John. I wasn’t really looking forward to going into the place for the first time on my own.’

‘Well, that’s what we’ll do and I’ll stay overnight if you want me to.’

‘Oh, yes please, Johnny.’

‘Right, that’s what I’ll do. We’ll definitely travel to Glasgow together tomorrow and I’ll stay in your new home – make sure you’re happily settled in.’

Mr Webster was glad of the opportunity to help Mrs Goodman. In a way, it salved his conscience. It kept him busy and his mind fully occupied. Strangely enough, it brought his wife and him closer together. For the first time in their marriage, they worked together. There had been a great deal to do, first of all in clearing the house. Moira had gone through all the drawers, emptying them and packing the contents into boxes, which she labelled so that they would later know what each box contained. Over innumerable cups of tea, they discussed each find. A whole life was revealed. It was both embarrassing and sad. Mrs Goodman had kept every card her husband had ever sent her or given her on birthdays, anniversary days, Christmas Days, New Year’s Days. Or just days when he wanted to tell her how much he loved her. When he had been away on business, he had written love letters to her every day.

Moira said, ‘No wonder the poor woman didn’t want to face all this. It must have been a terrible blow when he died. They were obviously very much in love right to the end.’

‘Yes, you didn’t know her then.’ Sam said. ‘You never met her, did you? Not until all this happened.’

‘No.’

‘She has changed such a lot. You wouldn’t believe how capable and efficient she was. Quite brusque as well. She didn’t suffer fools gladly.’

‘What was her husband like?’

‘Much the same. Strong and efficient. A hard worker. They were well matched.’

‘She must miss him terribly.’

‘Yes, and I can imagine how she must be feeling now, giving up the home they shared so happily together.’

‘It’s an awful spooky place. I mean, with all those trees and high bushes so close to the house.’

‘I know. I told her that. It wasn’t a happy place for her to be on her own. I think, by the way, that we shouldn’t unpack these boxes of cards and letters. We’ll keep them in the sealed boxes. To be honest, I’d like to destroy them.’

‘Oh, Sam, you couldn’t. That would be dreadful.’

He shrugged. ‘What’s the use of living in the past? It’s not doing her any good and it’ll never bring him back.’

‘I know, but still …’

‘Anyway, we’ll leave them in the sealed boxes and maybe she’ll do it herself. Destroy them, I mean. Give up the past and start afresh. That’s what she needs to do. Get herself a new life.’

‘Not so easy at her age.’

‘I’m not sure of her exact age but I think she must be nearing the official retirement age, judging by the way Douglas Benson’s going on at her.’

‘He doesn’t sound like a very nice man.’

‘He isn’t. But I can understand where he’s coming from. Talk about the past! Goodmans is a good example of that.’

‘It’s a lovely old shop. And customers get immediate and individual attention. Where else do you get that nowadays?’

‘Yes, I know, but the profits could be doubled, according to Benson, if he got rid of all the counters and just had pay points. Customers could then search through rails, in the clothes department, for instance, and then take their chosen goods over to the nearest pay point. Think of all the staff he could get rid of and the money he could save that way.’

‘Oh, I can see why that idea won’t be popular.’

‘Yes, I think I’d be all right, being a buyer, but I can appreciate how the rest of the staff feel.’

‘And the regular customers. He might lose a lot of customers and not make as much profit as he imagines.’

‘Could be. But one wonders how long it will be possible for Mrs Goodman to hold back progress.’

Mrs Webster smiled. ‘She might be tougher than we think. She certainly fought back at that Edinburgh murderer, according to the papers. They made her out to be quite a heroine.’

‘That must have been a terrible shock to her, all the same. I wonder if she’ll stay for a while with her son in Edinburgh. She doesn’t seem to be able to keep her mind on the store nowadays. Yet if she did retire, I wonder what she’d do with her life. She doesn’t seem to have any friends or even any outside interests. We’re talking about her starting a new life but I don’t know exactly what kind of new life she could have.’

‘Yes, by the looks of things, her life has been completely tied up with her late husband.’

‘Oh well, you never know. Living in the flat might make all the difference to her. It’s so much cheerier, isn’t it? And such an interesting outlook. A great view of life in Ingram Street and Glassford Street on one side, and the courtyard and all those lovely shops and restaurants on the other.’