Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (24 page)

  “If that wisnae a confession, then Ah’m Moby Dick,” Joe said oot loud tae nobody.

Chapter Thirty Four

  Helen could hardly move her eyeballs fur the pain.  She could feel the pumping ae her heart, pounding oan the side ae her heid.  Tae ease the pain, she focussed straight in front ae her, taking a sip ae whit wis supposed tae be tea, oot ae the white plastic pint mug that hid been haunded tae her when she’d reached the end ae the serving table in the breakfast queue.  The lassie sitting opposite her, her cellmate, wis spreading jam oan tae two slices ae breid.  Helen couldnae see her face because she wis concentrating, wae her heid doon, tongue hinging oot ae the side ae her mooth, making sure that the jam went straight tae the very edge ae the four corners ae the slices.  Her hair wis a dirty silver grey, the colour ae silver that hisnae been polished fur years.  It wis hinging doon in strands.  She looked up and smiled, before lifting up wan ae the slices and haudin it oot towards Helen.  Helen didnae think she could eat a thing.  She surprised hersel when she lifted up her haun and accepted the breid fae the ootstretched haun.  Later oan, she couldnae remember if she’d said thanks tae Gina or no, although she could remember snatches ae the conversation aroond the table.

  “That bloody stuck-up bitch, Maggie Tin Knickers.  Imagine her trying tae tell somewan like me that she knew how Ah wis feeling and that Ah’d jist need tae get that arse ae mine in gear meantime and wait and see whit’s gonnae happen wance Ah go up tae court in two weeks time.”

  “Maggie’s the Assistant Governor,” Gina whispered tae Helen, tae make sure she understood who wis getting spoken aboot.

  “So, whit did ye say tae her when she said that, Pat?” a wee lassie, who looked aboot sixteen or seventeen asked.

  “Not a jot.  Ah jist sat there wae ma erms folded and gied her wan ae ma ‘Oh, is that right, and ye’ll be the expert then’ looks.  That bloody-well sobered Steel Drawers up, so it did.”

  “Is that right, Pat?”

  “Oh, aye.  Ah knew Ah’d goat wan o’er oan her when she said, ‘Hiv ye nae self-respect, wae whit ye dae, and you a mother ae seven weans?’”

  “She did not?  The cheeky cow.  Ah cannae bloody believe that, the stuck up bitch that she is,” another lassie, who must’ve been ages wae Helen, harrumphed indignantly.

  “Ah’m telling ye…it took me aw ma strength no tae fly at her.  If it wisnae fur ma dabs gieing me gyp, Ah wid’ve telt her, ‘at least Ah’m getting ma hole, unlike some Ah could mention aboot here,’ bit, why should Ah waste ma breath oan the Virgin Mary sitting there as if she owned the bloody place, insteid ae working in it.”

  Helen’s heid wis too sore tae swing roond tae see whit the lassie, Pat, looked like, seeing as Pat wis sitting oan the same side ae the table as her.  When the shrill bell went aff, everywan started tae staun up.

  “We need tae go back tae oor cells noo,” Gina whispered tae
her.

  Helen managed tae get a good swatch ae the wan called Pat fae behind as she followed the lassies alang the hall towards the steel staircase that led up tae the gallery landings.  Pat wis wearing a tight skirt that advertised the arse underneath it as being three sizes too big fur it.  She wis wearing a black brassiere under her white see-through blouse.  Although Helen couldnae see Pat’s face at this stage, she knew it wis roond as she hid her hair cut in a short bob and the curve ae her face protruded fae where her hair left aff.  Fae the back ae her neck, right doon tae where the waistband ae her tight skirt dug intae the white bulging flesh, it looked as if Pat hid been collecting autographs.  Helen could see the signatures through Pat’s blouse.  Baith her erms were covered wae them as well, tae jist above her elbows.  Helen wis jist trying tae see if her legs hid any autographs oan them as well, when Pat disappeared oot ae sight wae her pals, as they hit the landing and heided intae the slop-oot area where the toilets wur.  Helen wondered how Pat kept the autographs fae fading or being washed away efter she took a shower.

  “Taylor?”

  “Me?”

  “Aye, you.  Whit’s wrang wae ye?”

  “There’s nothing wrang wae me.”

  “She says ye’ve goat a sore heid.  Is that right?” the screw asked, looking towards her cellmate, Gina.

  “Aye…Ah’ve…er, goat a bit ae a headache,” Helen said.

  “Aye, well, the sick box will be aroond aboot ten.  Ah’ll get it sent alang tae yer cell wae a couple ae aspirin.”

  “Ah cannae take aspirin.  It’ll need tae be an Askit powder or something.”

  “Listen, hen, ye’re no at hame noo.  If ye get an aspirin, ye’ll be daeing well in here.  Whit cell ur ye in?”

  “Number twenty wan,” Gina chipped in, seeing the confusion oan Helen’s face.   

  Helen wis trying hard tae remember where the hell her cell wis, never mind its number.

  “Right, piss aff,” the screw grunted, dismissing the baith ae them by turning away and walking in tae where Pat, the autograph hunter, wis loitering aboot wae her mates.

  The cell Helen shared wae Gina wis aboot the same size as the wan she’d been put in efter being remanded by JP doon in Central.  The only difference wis that this wan hid a wee table and a rickety chair wae a steel basin oan tap ae it, a steel bunk bed and a plastic chanty pot sitting in the corner that Helen hid heard Gina using in the middle ae the night.  It must’ve been some pish that she’d done, as the pot wis full tae the brim when Helen hid woken in the morning.  Gina hid spilt some ae it oan tae the concrete flair ae the cell when she’d lifted it up wae baith hauns tae take it alang tae the slop-oot area when they wur opened up.

  “Aye, that wis a wrist-breaker, that wan wis,” Gina hid said wae an apologetic smile, when she’d come back wae the empty chanty in wan haun and a cloth in the other tae wipe up the puddle ae pish that she’d left lying.

  Gina slept in the bottom bunk while Helen wis up oan tap.  There wis nae ladder tae help her get up and Gina’d hid tae push Helen up by the arse before she could settle back oan her mattress the night before.  Efter breakfast, Gina tried tae strike up a conversation wae her, bit Helen made oot she wis sleeping.  At wan point, she felt Gina getting oot ae the bottom bunk, as the whole bed frame swayed at the slightest movement fae whoever happened tae be lying oan it.  Helen knew Gina wis staunin looking at her oan account ae the wheezing that wis hissing oot ae her.  Helen breathed easy wance she felt her cellmate retreating back intae the bottom bunk.

  Ah’ve goat tae keep masel thegither, Helen kept repeating tae hersel, as her cellmate reached the peak ae her snoring crescendo, before returning back tae the beginning and building up tae her next wan.  Helen wondered whit Jimmy and the girls wur daeing and if Johnboy hid goat hame okay fae Larchgrove Remand Centre, the day before.  It wis Saturday morning.  Johnboy wid’ve been up and oot the door tae collect the washing fae the bag-wash up in Glebe Street before getting the week’s messages fae Curley’s oan Parly Road by noo.  Everywan else in the hoose liked a long lie-in, except him.  She smiled, thinking aboot his song and dance routine.

  “C’mone Ma, hurry up.  Ah need tae get gaun,” he’d howl, staunin there as if his life depended oan her telling him whit she wanted fae the shoaps.

  “Whit’s yer hurry?  Rome wisnae built in a day.”

  “Rome widnae even be there if it wis waiting fur the likes ae you.”

  “Go and find ma purse fur me.”

  “It’s oan the mantelpiece, beside ye.”

  “Ah’ll need tae write oot a list ae whit Ah want.”

  “Ah know exactly whit ye’re efter. It’ll be the same as last week and the week before that.  Gie’s the money and let me get gaun?” he’d whine in frustration.

  “Hing oan, where’s ma fags?”

  “Aw, Ma!”

  “Johnboy, don’t ‘Aw Ma’ me.  Ah need a fag before Ah kin think straight oan a morning.”

  “Ye’ll die ae cancer, so ye will.”

  “Fags?”

  “They’re doon the side ae yer chair where ye leave them every night.”

  “Oh, aye, so they ur.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Is that whit?”

  “Aw, Ma!”

  “Right, here ye go.  Remember, Ah’ll be coonting ma change.”

  “Ye don’t know the price ae anything, because ye never go tae the shoaps.  Fur aw ye know, Ah could be charging ye double and ye widnae even know it, so ye widnae.”

  He’s wis right, thought Helen.  She’d rarely been in Curley’s or the City Bakeries since he wis aboot four or five years auld.  Whit wid’ve taken her aw day took him a fraction ae that time, and that wis aw the week’s shoapping done and dusted.  The bag-wash, Curley’s the grocers, the butchers and then back wae the vegetables, aw in the space ae aboot an hour and a hauf.

  She must’ve fallen asleep.  The rattle ae the keys in the lock and the crash ae the door swinging open nearly sent her tumbling oot ae her bunk.

  “Taylor?” the screw wae the white coat oan o’er her uniform shouted fae the door.

  “Aye, that’s me.”

  “Whit’s wrang wae ye?”

  “Ah’ve goat a sore heid.”

  “Here ye go then,” Dr Kill-ye–if-Ah-dare said, turning tae a convicted prisoner, who wis wearing a jail uniform and staunin behind the screw, wae a square wooden box attached tae a strap that looped roond her neck, jist like the ice cream usher in The Grafton picture hoose.  The prisoner slid open the lid and haunded two aspirins o’er tae the screw.

  “Right, get them doon ye, where Ah kin see ye.”

  “Er, Ah’ll need a drink ae water tae wash them doon.”

  “Whit, is there nae water in here?” Florence Nightingale asked, clearly irritated, looking aboot the cell.

  “We’ve nae mug tae put any in,” Gina volunteered fae her bunk.  “Ah’ve been asking fur wan fur aboot a week noo.”

  “Right, Ah’ve nae time tae be hinging aboot.  Swally them doon the noo or Ah’m aff.  Make yer mind up?” the screw growled at Helen, haudin oot her haun wae the two wee white pills, waiting fur a decision.

  Helen tried tae soak them in spit, before swallowing them.  They stuck in the back ae her throat as she swung her legs o’er the side ae her bunk, gagging.  She wisnae too sure who thumped her oan the back, bit it did the trick.  Baith pills went flying, bouncing aff the brick wall opposite the bunk beds.

  “Right, that’s it.  Let’s go,” The Lady Wae The Lamp announced, stamping oan the pills and drawing the sole ae her shoe back, leaving whit looked like two chalk marks oan the concrete flair, before disappearing, slamming the door shut behind her.

  “Ur ye aw right, hen?” Gina asked, staunin wae her face level wae Helen’s knees and looking up at her, concerned.

  “Aye, bit ye’re no gonnae believe this. Ah think ma heidache’s jist disappeared,” Helen said wae a grin.

  “She’s a right bloody cow, that wan.  In fact, aw the wardresses in here ur rotten pigs, so they ur.  It’s hard tae believe that, under that uniform, there’s a female lurking aboot.  Ah think she thinks she’s paying fur aw the medicine we’re supposed tae be entitled tae.”

  “Aye, she’s definitely goat something gaun fur her that disnae match up wae helping the sick, eh?”

  “Wan ae the younger lassies, Morag, asked her fur extra sanitary towels last week because she’s a heavy bleeder and goat totally ignored.  When the young wan saw her daeing her roonds a couple ae days later, she tore alang the gallery landing and whipped a blood-soaked towel oot fae between her legs and lassoed it roond that face ae hers.  Whit a shriek she let oot, efter unwrapping the towel and clocking whit it hid been getting used fur.  She looked like something that hid jist crawled oot ae a car crash.  She fainted oan the spot,” Gina whispered in hushed tones.

  “So, whit happened tae the wee lassie then?” Helen asked, in horror.

  “Oh, she’s still lying in the digger.”

  “The digger?”

  “Aye, solitary confinement.  Three ae the screws goat her by the hair and literally dragged her doon fae the tap landing, screaming, as they wur slapping the hell oot ae her.”

  “Did nowan jump in tae help her?”

  “In here?  If ye want tae survive, ye need tae keep yersel tae yersel.”

  “So, whit aboot people like Pat?  She looks like she widnae take any shite aff ae anywan.”

  “Aye, bit she’s no in a position tae get involved, is she?  Ye heard her yersel.  She’s goat seven weans and she’s due up tae court shortly.  She’s been in the jail a few times before.  That’s why she goat remanded this time.  She’s shiting hersel that they’ll put her away fur longer this time, insteid ae her getting the usual fine that she’s been used tae in the past.”

  “Whit’s she in fur?”

  “She’s a lady ae the night.”

  “Whit?  Big Pat?  The wan wae aw the signatures scribbled aw o’er her body?”

  “Aye.  And they’re no signatures…they’re tattoos.”

  “Get tae fuck.  Ye’ve goat tae be kidding me.  Tattoos?”

  “Aye.  She says that she gets a tattoo every time some dirty basturt becomes wan ae her regulars,” Gina laughed nervously.

  “Ah’m sorry, Gina…Ah jist cannae get ma heid roond this.  Ur ye trying tae tell me that every guy who comes back fur second helpings gets tae get their name tattooed oan Pat’s back insteid ae getting a book ae Green Shield stamps?”

  “If God should strike me doon deid, Helen, that’s exactly whit Ah’m saying.  And it’s no only her back.  She’s goat them aw doon her front, back and aw o’er her arse, legs and erms.”