Goodmans of Glassford Street (7 page)

‘Enough,’ she said quietly into his ear. ‘Let’s just go quietly upstairs before this becomes really painful.’

By this time the security guard had reached them and they were able to continue with the usual routine. The man accompanied her back to the store and up to the manager’s office like a lamb.

A lot of time was always taken up waiting for the police and also writing up reports, and she had just got back to the ground floor when she noticed a part-time member of staff going into the fitting room with a pile of underwear. She was a nice wee girl who was studying at Jordanhill College, and of course there were times when staff could make purchases. All the same, there was not another member of staff on duty at the fitting room, and she felt a bit annoyed. She’d so often told the managers of every department always to have someone in attendance at the fitting rooms. Eventually she saw the girl come out and replace a pile of underwear on the counter. On this occasion, she didn’t like to – indeed felt guilty about doing it, but rules were rules.

‘Just a minute, dear,’ she said to the girl. ‘Could you come back into the fitting room with me for a minute?’

At the same time, she signalled for an assistant to come too. There she asked the girl to take off her top and skirt. The girl immediately burst into tears and before the top and skirt came off, it was obvious that she would be seen to be wearing several sets of Goodmans underwear.

She was immediately dismissed, and next day the girl’s mother was on the phone demanding to know why her daughter had been sacked. But it was decided that it was up to the girl to explain to her mother.

Then one of the customers complained to the manager that an assistant in the shoe department was smelling of drink. A check was made and some of the other staff agreed. ‘Yes, she’s always reeking of alcohol.’

The problem was to catch her drinking on the premises or bringing drink into the shop. This was proving very difficult. The assistant denied everything, of course. She was watched and searched several times. Her bag was checked. Nothing. She never even went out at lunchtime but always ate in the staff canteen. She did, however, go to the toilet. This was perfectly natural, but her detective’s instinct told Miss Eden to go to the toilet after the assistant, stand up on the seat and search in the high, old-fashioned cistern. Sure enough, a carefully wrapped bottle of whisky was discovered – which meant another sacking.

Big problems – and trouble – were to come as a result of that sacking, though.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Abi peered down at the
TV Times
on her lap. Nothing much on tonight. She got up to gaze out of the window. The light from the standard lamp in the room barely touched the darkness, the ghostly swaying shapes of the trees and high bushes. The sight increased her depression to the point of fear. Maybe she shouldn’t keep the curtains open like this. Then she felt ashamed. She had never been a coward. She sat down again.

There was a programme on politics but she had no interest in politics except for anything John had to say or do. Indeed, she was completely disillusioned with the whole bunch of politicians. Except for John, of course. John was one hundred per cent honest and sincere. So much so that she had decided to vote Scottish Nationalist next time. A sudden loud creaking noise made her jump. But it was only the trees straining in the wind. There was quite a storm brewing. Better to shut the curtains to keep out the cold, and to muffle the sound of the windows rattling. At one time, they’d had a lovely big log fire in the sitting room. Now it was this artificial coal thing that looked so out of place in the beautiful big marble fireplace. It had just two electric bars and was not nearly enough to heat such a high-ceilinged room. It was at times like this that she wished she lived in a little flat somewhere in the centre of the city. Yet what a wrench it would be to leave the house she’d shared for so many years with Tom. It would feel as if she was deserting him for ever. Losing every last trace of him. Here, she could still imagine him relaxing on the big easy chair opposite her, his long legs stretched out. Sometimes, while they were chatting, he’d lean forward and toss a log on to the fire.

Thank God she could keep busy all day at the store. She couldn’t stand being alone like this. Depression kept creeping up on her. Sometimes, of course, she kept too busy at the store and exhausted herself.

One of the women buyers had noticed and said, ‘Forgive me for saying this, Mrs Goodman, but you look as if you’re overdoing things. You haven’t even taken any holidays this year.’

But what was the use of going away somewhere, anywhere, on her own? And it was into winter now. It would be even worse in some seaside town at this time of year on her own. She certainly didn’t feel inclined to travel abroad any more.

Thinking of the buyer and then seaside towns made Mr Webster come into her mind. He travelled all over the place, including seaside towns. One in particular was South Castle-on-Sea, where he had some old man invent the marvellous toys that were in such demand in the toy department. An idea was beginning to occur to her. She had long been curious about the inventor. It would be perfectly reasonable and understandable if she wanted to meet him. And what better way than to go with Mr Webster to South Castle? That way she could have company and be well looked after. Mr Webster was an excellent driver and a nice friendly man. He often spoke proudly about his daughters. Then there would be all the benefits of the sea air. Mr Webster would know all the best places to have coffee and meals on the journey down, as well as the best place to stay in South Castle. Abi had never learned to drive and couldn’t be bothered nowadays with trains and buses. She was beginning to feel her age, although there was no way she would ever admit it to anyone.

The more she thought about the journey in Mr Webster’s comfortable car and the bracing air of South Castle, the more cheered she began to feel. She would speak to him tomorrow. He couldn’t refuse to take her. She was his boss, after all.

As it turned out, she couldn’t speak to him the next day because he was up north visiting a wholesaler there. But he was due back in a couple of days and so she would speak to him then.

‘When are you off to South Castle-on-Sea again, Mr Webster?’ she asked him on his return.

‘In a couple of weeks.’

Good, she thought, that would give her something to look forward to.

‘I’ve decided to come with you on this occasion, Mr Webster. I’d like to meet your wonderful inventor.’

He looked not just surprised, but shocked.

‘Are you sure?’ he managed eventually.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

He smiled and looked more like his normal self again.

‘You are always so busy here. I’m truly amazed that you can spare the time, Mrs Goodman.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I know how to delegate. And the change will do me good. Not that there’s anything wrong with me,’ she hastened to add. ‘But variety is the spice of life, they say, and a visit to South Castle-on-Sea will add a bit of variety to my working day.’

‘We can’t get back on the same day, you understand. I’ve business to do with …’

‘Of course! Stay as long as you have to. The store won’t suddenly collapse if I’m not here for a few days.’

‘Right.’ He smiled again. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’

She had been talking to him in the toy department. Now she returned to her office with a spring in her step. John kept telling her she ought to get out and about more, and as usual, he was right. She phoned him. Not to tell him about her proposed visit to South Castle-on-Sea, but just to say she was coming to Edinburgh for one of her visits to have lunch with him and enjoy her usual short spell in the gallery of the debating chamber. She looked forward to surprising him and she hoped he would be pleased with her news.

One thing was for sure, Douglas Benson would be delighted to get rid of her when she went off to South Castle-on-Sea. He would encourage her to stay as long as she liked. Not because, like John, he wanted the visit to do her good. Only because he’d have free run of the store while she was away.

She went over that evening to announce her news. Every time she passed through George Square, whether in a taxi or on foot, she could not help admiring the City Chambers building. It had taken seven years to build and craftsmen from places as far away as France and Italy had helped to build it. She had often been inside the building too, sometimes at events to which she had been invited. At other times she had taken a guided tour or just gone in and looked around by herself. By now, she knew most of the guides and other staff. She never failed to feel a sense of awe at the imposing and beautiful marble staircase and the wonderful Venetian mosaic that the roof was composed of. It had a million and a half different pieces of mosaic, half-inch cubes, each of which had been inserted by hand. However, most of the interior decoration was carried out by Glasgow men employed by Glasgow firms.

In the summer in her lunch hour, she often sat on one of the benches in George Square admiring the flowerbeds or the statues. It always annoyed her, though, that the statue of Sir Walter Scott was so much bigger, higher and more imposing than that of Robert Burns. (It was the same in Edinburgh.) She’d read somewhere that there wouldn’t have been a statue of the poet at all if it had not been for the citizens of Glasgow, who managed to raise the money for it themselves.

The Benson penthouse looked down on the Square. Sometimes when musical or other events were held there, it was fascinating to watch everything going on from such a good vantage point.

Douglas and Minna had friends in for dinner, and when she arrived, give them their due, both Minna and Douglas invited her to join the company for a meal. She refused, however.

‘Thank you, but I have eaten. I’ll just go to the nursery and spend some time with the children. I’ll see you both at the store tomorrow.’

As usual, the children were delighted to see her and the usual cry went up, ‘Tell us a story, Grandma. Sing us a song.’

John said she should write a book with all the songs and poems and her made-up stories in it.

‘If you don’t, they’ll probably all die out,’ he told her. ‘It’s only the likes of you that keep them going. And your stories are really good, Mum. They deserve to be published.’

She had laughed at him. All her songs and poems were silly and daft things that very few people nowadays would even understand. And half the stories she made up were equally daft. Perhaps a few elderly Glasgow people, especially people who had lived through the war, would recognise some of the silly songs. But that was all.

She remembered all the ones her mother used to sing to her.

Whenever there’s an air raid on

You can hear me cry,

An aeroplane, an aeroplane, away up a kye,

So don’t run helter skelter,

And don’t run after me,

You’ll no’ get in my shelter,

For it’s far too wee.

The children always enjoyed another one, particularly.

Wee chukie birdie,

To lo lo,

Laid an egg on the window sole,

The window sole began to crack,

And wee chukie birdie roared and grat.

After telling them a story about a clever fairy, she noticed them getting so sleepy that they could hardly keep their eyes open, and so she ended by singing softly:

Show me the way to go home,

I’m tired and I want to go to bed.

I had a little drink about an hour ago,

And it’s gone right to my head.

No matter where I roam,

Over land or sea or foam,

You can always hear me singing this song,

Show me the way to go home.

A book indeed! She smiled to herself as she slipped away from the house. John had such faith in her. For a start, a lot of people nowadays would think her songs and stories were unsuitable for children. Well, they had never done her generation any harm. Children were too coddled nowadays. They weren’t even supposed to compete with each other in school sports in case those who lost would suffer trauma or something or other. What nonsense! Life was competitive. How did the powers that be think they were preparing children to face life? She pitied teachers because they were not even allowed to raise their voices to children now. One of the customers she’d spoken to the other day in Hosiery was a teacher and had told her that when she tried to correct a youngster in her class, he refused to be told anything and said cheekily to her, ‘I know my rights!’ Another, who had been caught stealing, sneered, ‘You can’t do anything. I’m under age.’

In her day, if you were cheeky to the teachers (and who would dare?), you got the belt. And if you told your mother that you’d got belted, your mother would say, ‘You must have done something to deserve it.’

And she would box your ears for good measure. It had never done her any harm. And you learned everything by rote. The arithmetic tables, especially. As a result, she’d never forgotten them. That kind of learning was not fashionable now – not PC, to use the in-phrase. As a result, she’d read that many students were leaving school unable even to spell or understand the most basic maths. Fancy!

Well, one thing was certain – university or not, they wouldn’t get a job at Goodmans of Glassford Street. Not while she had anything to do with it. As for cheek or any lack of politeness, any bad manners – especially to customers, God forbid – it would be an immediate sacking.

She got a taxi home and, as she went into the dark and empty Victorian house, it was like stepping back into another kind of world. Everything was different when you were alone. No more childhood pals. No mother or father, no teachers, and worst of all, no husband and lover.

She could have wept but didn’t. She switched on the lights and went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She struggled to concentrate on her proposed visit to South Castle-on-Sea. Mr Webster would look after her well, and it would be interesting to meet his clever inventor and any wholesalers he had there. He had been dealing with others in South Castle-on-Sea before he’d had the good fortune to meet the inventor, and he still dealt with the others. The toy department catered for all tastes and ages. Mr Webster was one of the most trusted and able of her staff. She had always had faith in him and his abilities, and he had built up the department until it was the most successful financially, and in every other way, in the store.