Goodmans of Glassford Street (3 page)

But look at the money they could save, Benson argued. Yes, indeed, Norman thought. Most of the staff would be ruthlessly cut out for a start. Mrs Goodman reminded him that they were all right as they were. And there was no denying that Goodmans of Glassford Street was not only famous, it was a very profitable business.

After the meeting, Norman went along the corridor to the staff canteen for a cup of tea, before returning downstairs. On the way down, he phoned home on his mobile to check on how Jenny was. He was in the habit of phoning several times a day to ask the carer how his wife was. Sometimes, if Jenny was well enough and was not asleep, the carer would put her on the phone and she’d be able to answer his worried queries. Mostly, however, she was so sedated with painkillers, she was unable to talk to him. Sometimes, when he was at home with her, she’d open her eyes and look lovingly, gratefully at him and she’d manage a smile.

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Distress was mounting in him so much that he could barely speak to the chargehands of certain departments he’d purposely come down to see.

The whole day was like that, a continuous struggle to carry on normally and control his fears about losing Jenny. It was a relief when at last it was time for him to make his first journey along to the bank. Some of the takings he carried in leather packets and satchels in a case to put into the bank deposit box. Several journeys had to be made and several different routes taken, and all at different times each day. This was on the advice of the police, who said that thieves soon found out if a regular time was used and so they knew when to attack. After that the times and routes were varied.

There was still plenty of money left in the counting house, of course, to cover the floats he took down to each department every morning to be used as change for any customers who paid cash. Nowadays, though, so much was done either by cheque or plastic card.

He already had an overdraft at his bank. He had a good salary. Nevertheless, it was a constant struggle to cover all the expenses he had. Every night he prayed for some miracle to happen that might make it possible for him to get Jenny into the special nursing home where she would be given the drug that would save her life.

He prayed now as he walked blindly along Glassford Street.

Abi went along to The Granary for lunch as often as she could. It was a healthfood shop with a few tables dotted around and high stools at the window shelf. She especially liked their home-made soup and macaroni cheese. But they had a variety of other healthy and tasty dishes she could choose from, as well as sandwiches and cakes. She bought vitamins there too, and calcium tablets and an iron tonic and dear knows all what, in her efforts to remain strong and healthy.

Ian, the owner’s son, served in the shop along with two or three pretty young girls. Ian was a tall, nice-looking young man, and always smiling, friendly and helpful. He was there when she arrived and greeted her with his usual cheery smile and ‘Hello, Mrs Goodman. It’s lentil or tomato soup today, and we’ve your favourite – macaroni cheese, freshly made just before you came in.’

She ordered the lentil and made herself comfortable at one of the small tables. She never went to the staff canteen at Goodmans in case it made the staff uncomfortable and unable to relax on their lunch break. Douglas and Minna usually went to the restaurant at the Italian Centre. More than once, she’d tried to persuade Minna to have lunch somewhere with her but Minna just became agitated and said that Douglas didn’t like going for lunch on his own. She didn’t know where all the buyers went to eat. Often she felt sorry for their wives. Buyers were away from home, travelling about on business so much. The manager – for a panicky moment she forgot his name. Then it came back to her, thankfully – Mr McKay, used the staff canteen. She was very fortunate to have such a conscientious manager. Most of the staff were good, conscientious workers. Only occasionally was it found that someone was letting the side down. If it was dishonesty, usually another member of staff would give Miss Eden a hint. Then Miss Eden would watch them and eventually catch them, and they would be dismissed. Miss Eden was exceptionally clever at her job. Once she’d even caught a former security guard committing a scam. He always came in very early, carrying a bag in which he kept his uniform. After changing into his uniform upstairs in the staff toilet, he’d put his civvy clothes into the bag and reverse the procedure every evening.

For a while, suits had been going missing from the menswear department. It was thought that men were going into the fitting room with perhaps three suits to try on and returning two, keeping the third on under their coat and leaving the store. Perhaps they knew how to remove the security tags. This had happened on several occasions. However, Miss Eden eventually discovered that the security guard was selling suits in a pub in Queen’s Park, and so one day she searched his bag and found a suit, as well as his uniform. He had been getting out of the lift at the menswear department every morning and lifting a suit, before proceeding further up to the top floor.

After enjoying her lunch and a chat with Ian, Abi walked back along Glassford Street to Goodmans. She glanced further along across the road at the gay bar. She’d never actually seen anyone going in or out of there and she was curious. Did gay men look different, she wondered. Could you tell right away? She knew she was a bit innocent and naïve about some things. And all right, she might be a wee bit eccentric sometimes. But that surely didn’t make her stupid or mean she was losing her marbles.

Oh, Tom, she kept thinking.

The shop was busy as usual when she pushed open one of the glass doors and went in. There were metal gates in front of the glass doors that Mr McKay folded back on both sides like a concertina every morning. Every evening he clanged them shut and securely locked them. Mr McKay was standing talking to a customer at Books and Stationery, no doubt recommending one of the rows of novels on display. He had to spend a lot of time in his office every day, as she had to in her office, answering the phone and making phone calls, but he still tried to keep in touch with all the departments in person.

Today she couldn’t be bothered tackling the stairs and instead caught the lift going up. She crushed in among a crowd of customers. The crush thinned out on each floor and only a couple of people were left to emerge on the third floor. She went up to the fourth floor. The lift door pinged and the soulless voice that always made her think of
Doctor Who
’s Cybermen announced, ‘Fourth floor. Doors opening.’

She looked down the rather sombre corridor, doors breaking up the brown and cream wall at regular intervals. The parquet floor, dark brown with years of polish, clicked beneath her heels with metronome regularity as she headed towards the door at the end of the corridor. She cast a brief glance at the staff canteen on one side, as she passed the various offices, her tread slowing slightly as she neared Tom’s office. The office was suspended in silence and Tom’s empty chair reawakened the panic inside her that would never go away.

Every night she went home to his empty armchair beside the white marble fireplace, above which was the gilt-framed picture of Tom’s father, the proud founder of Goodmans. The house, like the store, had belonged to Goodman Senior and she loved it as much as Tom did. The three padded armchairs and large sofa were all covered in pretty floral prints with a cushion on each chair and three on the settee, picking out one of the colours of the print material. At the moment, the cushions were in a warm rust colour. But there was also a set of pale green cushion covers in the linen cupboard. The ceiling was high, with ornate plasterwork in a pale cream like the curtains. The carpet was in a delicate shade of fawn, with a darker fawn fireside rug. It was a large room. So were the dining room and the kitchen and the five double bedrooms upstairs. The drawing room, however, was the most splendid-looking room, in true Victorian style. After a long tiring day at the store, she returned home and sank into her usual armchair beside the fire. The fire used to be alight and glowing with logs. Now there was an electric imitation coal thing in the fireplace. It looked completely out of place framed in such marble splendour, with the brass fender across the front and tall ornamental vases on the mantelpiece above.

Heaving herself up, she went through to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She couldn’t be bothered cooking anything and so she just absently crunched through a bowl of cereal. The evening stretched bleakly before her. She dreaded facing one of her
CSI: Miami
DVDs. She decided to go and visit the children. She felt a bit guilty at turning down the chance to be with them earlier. Douglas hadn’t been pleased then. Maybe he’d be all right now.

It was a thought to trail away back into town. Even to travel there and back by taxi seemed daunting. Was she really getting old and tired? Sometimes she was tempted to sell the house in Huntershill and buy a flat in town. Near the store perhaps? That would save so much travelling to and fro. The house in Huntershill was so isolated, surrounded by trees and a wild garden of bushes and shrubs. Huntershill, of course, was famous because Thomas Muir had once lived in the area. He had been a reformer in the eighteenth century who had been transported to Australia, captured by pirates en route and ended up fighting in the French Revolution.

The sensible thing would be to sell up and buy a flat in the city. Moving house would be a terrible upheaval, though, and it would be such a wrench leaving this old house that had always meant home to the Goodmans.

She gave herself a mental shake, lifted the phone and dialled the taxi number. The roads were surprisingly quiet and she reached George Square more quickly than usual. It was with gathering unease that she stood with her ear close to the intercom, listening for Douglas or Minna’s voice inviting her to come up to their flat. But it was the nanny’s voice that crackled in her ear. The door opened and Abi went into the hall and took the lift up to the Benson’s penthouse. She was relieved to find that Douglas and Minna had gone to a friend’s house for dinner and the nanny was alone with the children.

‘Just you leave them to me for a wee while,’ Abi told the young woman. ‘Go and watch the telly or something. Enjoy a rest.’

The nanny was only too happy to comply and wasted no time in disappearing away into her room.

The children were ready for bed but they danced around Abi in excitement.

‘Sing us a song, Granny.’

‘Tell us a story, Granny.’

‘Give us a poem, Granny.’

After giving them a hug and a kiss, she settled herself in a chair and the children sat on the floor at her feet. She started off with one of their favourites.

Oh, it ain’t gonna rain no more, no more,

It ain’t gonna rain no more.

I’m on the bureau, the parish too,

And it ain’t gonna rain no more.

After the children’s giggles had subsided, she told them some stories of the mischief she had got up to when she was young, and how, at holiday time, she’d sailed ‘doon the watter’ with her mum and dad on a paddle steamer, and she sang, ‘Sailing down the Clyde, sailing down the Clyde …’. She acted the paddles splashing round and had the youngsters copying her every move. After nearly an hour of talking and singing, she could see that they were ready to drop off to sleep, especially the twins. So she trooped them off to bed and tucked them in and kissed them goodnight. They were asleep before she reached the bedroom door on her way to tell the nanny she was returning home.

The worst of it was that, having had such a noisy, happy time with the children, the house at Huntershill seemed all the more silent and desolate. Not to worry, she told herself, in an effort to cheer herself up. It was off to
CSI: Miami
to meet her dear, kind Horatio again.

‘For goodness’ sake, Jimmy, not you again!’ Miss Eden’s voice strained with impatience. She had been ready to go home.

‘Och, well,’ the old man said, ‘you know me, hen.’

‘Yes, only too well. Give me back those jerseys and get away home.’

‘Ah hinnae got a home, hen. That’s why ah like tae get a decent bed in the polis office.’ His lined face, ingrained with dirt, lit up with pleasant thoughts. ‘The police gie me a great breakfast as well. They’re no’ bad lads.’

‘Yes, but you are.’ With a sigh, she used her mobile to call the police.

Mr McKay said irritably in passing, ‘Don’t let me see you in here again, you mucky old tramp. You’re giving this place a bad name.’

Miss Eden noticed that Mr McKay had become unusually irritable recently. Indeed, he seemed very tense and anxious. She wondered what was wrong with him. She had a naturally curious, indeed suspicious, nature. It went with the job. Something was definitely wrong with Mr McKay. She had had enough to bother her today, however, without thinking about what was bothering Mr McKay. Earlier on, she’d seen a guy coming out of one of the fitting rooms with a shop suit on. She’d followed him downstairs and alerted the security guard. By that time, the man had realised that they were on to him and at the door he suddenly dropped to the floor, gasping and groaning, his head flailing from side to side as he gripped his chest.

‘Ah cannae feel ma left arm. God, ma chest. Ah cannae breathe for the pain.’

A crowd was quickly gathering as Miss Eden pushed her way to the front. She knew in her heart of hearts he was faking it but she needed to follow procedure, just in case.

She couldn’t say, ‘He’s got a stolen suit on and he’s just faking it’, because in fact they couldn’t be absolutely sure that he was faking it. The first-aider was called and she wasn’t sure either. So the police and an ambulance were called and he was taken to the Royal Infirmary. She and the security guard and a policeman went with him in the ambulance and they all had to wait in a waiting area until the man was seen by a doctor. She explained to the nurse in attendance that he was wearing a stolen suit and, apart from anything else, they wanted it back. The nurse returned a couple of minutes later with the suit and said the doctor would be there as soon as possible to examine the patient.