Chasing Angels (26 page)

‘Aye, we were good pals when we were weans,’ Kathy replied. ‘But ye know how it is, ye don’t keep the same pals wance ye get up a bit. So, where do you live these
days?’

‘We’ve lived in Moodiesburn since just after we got married,’ Angela replied. ‘It was all open fields then, our house was one of the first on the estate. But it’s
better now, there’s houses all around, so it’s not so isolated.’ She smiled nervously. ‘The Albion works closed down, of course, but James got a nice wee job with a local
engineerin’ firm, an’ I’ve always been able to get some kind of work. I was a nursing auxiliary when we got married. Always said I wanted to do the full trainin’ to become a
nurse, it was a wee ambition of mine, but as James says, what does it matter as long as you’re earnin’?’

‘
Bastard
!’ Kathy thought.

‘We’ve only got the two children,’ she continued, delving in her bag and coming out with several snapshots. ‘Jane was the first,’ she said, handing over a snap of a
girl in her twenties.

Kathy felt her insides turn to liquid. This was the child Angela had been expecting at the same time as she had been carrying her own secret, doomed baby. This was what her baby could’ve
looked like today, should’ve looked like. That tiny, unfinished human being she had placed in the red box all those years ago. She could’ve been handing around snaps of her and saying
proudly, ‘An’ this is my Lily.’ If she hadn’t turned her out of her body before the child had a chance to grow to life, to be finished. If she, Kathy Kelly, hadn’t
been so
useless!
She closed her eyes for a second.

‘Then James Junior came along two years later,’ Angela trilled on. ‘We stopped after two. I’d have liked more, but as James says, you can look after two properly, three
might’ve stretched us financially.’

Jane and James Junior; how very predictable. The lassie should be grateful she didn’t end up as Jamesina. The boy looked like his father, down to the low hairline, and Kathy was glad of
the distraction. ‘He looks just like Jamie,’ she smiled, handing the photos back.

‘Oh, I know!’ Angela cried delightedly. ‘I always said to him, “You can’t deny
that
one!”‘

Kathy wondered if there had been some attempt to deny the first one.

‘But he’s always been a good man, a good earner,’ Angela said, as though trying to wipe out any hint of discord. ‘We had our silver weddin’ recently, see what he
got me.’ She held out her left hand to show off an eternity ring. ‘It’s only a half-hoop,’ she said. ‘As James says, what’s the point of wastin’ money on a
full hoop when nobody ever sees the diamonds on the inside of your finger!’

‘
Bastard
!’ Kathy thought again. ‘
He would!
’ Then she looked at the other rings, the plain wedding band below the half-hoop eternity ring, and above it
–
it couldn’t be! ‘It bloody well is!’
Kathy said to herself. Sitting proudly on top of the other two rings was the £66 solitaire diamond ring from H. Samuel
she had once so reluctantly worn herself! She took Angela’s hand in her own to look closer.

‘They go nicely together, don’t they?’ Angela asked.

‘Aye, aye, they do,’ Kathy replied.

‘Jamie picked my engagement ring himself, said he wanted it to be a surprise. Took me to Dino’s in Sauchiehall Street one night and gave it to me over dinner,’ she continued
dreamily. ‘He’s thoughtful that way. It’s not what I’d have picked myself, but I was quite pleased with it all the same. Not too flashy, just nice.’

‘Aye,’ Kathy said absently again, letting go of Angela’s hand. ‘
What a complete bastard he was
,’ she thought, wishing there was a better insult to use. He
hadn’t even had the decency to buy the girl her own ring, he had simply taken the one he had given to Kathy, placed it back in its box, and presented it to Angela! And in Dino’s too!
She wondered if he’d arranged to have the remnants of their last meal together re-heated and served to him and Angela, and had a hard time stifling the laughter.

Just then Jamie came back with a tray of drinks; Cokes all round.

‘
Tight git
!’ Kathy thought. ‘Angela’s just been showin’ me pictures o’ yer weans,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Yer laddie looks awfy like you,
Jamie, but yer lassie’s had better luck, she looks like her mammy.’

Angela laughed happily, Jamie less so.

‘An’ she’s been lettin’ me see that nice ring you got her for her silver weddin’, tae,’ Kathy continued. ‘Lovely ring, an’ it goes that well
wi’ her engagement ring, tae.’ She looked directly at him. ‘Just as well ye went tae a’ that trouble an’ got her somethin’ she really liked, it woulda been
terrible if she didnae want a solitaire, eh, Jamie?’

Jamie busied himself with the terrible responsibility of telling one identical can of Coke from another and making sure they got to their rightful owners.

‘To tell the truth,’ Angela said beside them, holding her hand out to admire the adornments on her ring finger, ‘I aye had a notion of a three in a twist. I used to look in the
jewellers’ windows, you know the way lassies do, Kathy?’

‘Aye,’ Kathy replied, still looking at Jamie, ‘that big wan at the corner o’ Argyle Street was a favourite. What was it called noo?’

‘H. Samuel’s!’ Angela said delightedly. ‘Did you look in there too?’

‘Oh, a lotta folk looked in there, Angela!’ Kathy replied meaningfully.

‘Well, I only ever looked at the three in a twists, but if I’d got that it would never have sat right with the half-hoop come the day, would it?’

‘Naw, ye’re right there, Angela,’ Kathy said kindly, still staring at Jamie. ‘It wouldnae have sat well at a’. So well done then, Jamie. When ye chose that nice
solitaire specially for Angela, ye certainly chose well.’

Just then her cousin arrived at the table and announced that his mother wished a few words. Kathy looked up at Jessie, sitting by herself, and grinned. ‘Don’t you go away afore we
get a few words thegither, noo, Jamie, son.’

Jamie made no reply.

When they reached Jessie’s self-inflicted isolation, she dismissed her son. ‘Me an’ Kathy has things tae talk about, Harry son, so away you and play. Yer public awaits
ye.’

Kathy watched in amusement as Harry was immediately swallowed up by the crowd; it hadn’t occurred to her till that moment that most of them had come to Con’s funeral to see a public
appearance by Hari, rather than to see Con away.

‘So,’ Jessie said. ‘Ye didnae find anythin’?’

Kathy shook her head.

‘Well, it woulda been nice, but ye’re right, it’s no’ really a problem. We can wave a bitta paper in the wee swine’s face, he’ll no’ know whether
it’s the real McCoy or no’. An’ we’ve got bigger guns than that anyway. But that was helluva stupid o’ ye blurtin’ it oot like that at the Linn! Ye gied him time
tae think!’

‘Ah know, Ah know, Ah’m sorry aboot that, Jessie, but ye know what Ah’m like—’

‘Aye, ye aye ran aff at the mouth, Kathy, hen. Ye aye hadtae have the last word, even if it was a daft wan. But Christ, hen, Ah thought ye might’ve learned better ower the years!
Still, as Ah say, it was never oor main weapon, so tae speak. When dae ye want to go roond and see the wee swine, then?’

‘The morra? He’ll probably have the place barricaded if we go roond the day, or else he’ll have taken care no’ tae be there. If we go the morra he’ll mibbe have
relaxed a bit. Eleven?’

‘Aye, OK. Ah’ll get Harry tae gie ye a shout at yer Da’s place at eleven. Noo, Ah needtae get away frae here, the place is polluted.’ She waved her hankie in the
smoke-filled air, swiftly covering her nose and mouth with her other gloved hand. ‘By the way, have ye heard anythin’ frae yer brother?’

‘Ah’ve no’ seen or heard o’ him since before ma Mammy died, Jessie. Wouldnae have entered ma mind tae try an’ find him, but even if it did, Ah would’ve nae
idea where to start lookin’.’

‘He’s in California, sure,’ Jessie replied.

‘Noo, how the hell dae you know that?’

‘Hari-bloody-Kari, that’s how Ah know, ya daft bugger! Everybody keeps in touch wi’ him, sure ye did it yersel’.’

‘Well, how did ye no’ tell me before this?’

Jessie shrugged. ‘Well, Ah reasoned that either ye knew or ye didnae want tae know, so it was nane o’ ma business. He’s in wanna they cult things oot there, or he was the last
time Harry mentioned it. They’re no’ penpals nor nothin’, Ah think it’s just the odd line here an’ there.’

‘A
cult?
’ Kathy asked incredulously. ‘
Peter
? Peter the Messiah is in a
cult?
’

‘So Harry says. Harry says California’s teemin’ wi’ them.’

Just then there was a great burst of laughter from the other side of the room.

‘Oh, Christ!’ Jessie moaned. ‘Ah bet he’s daein’ conjurin’ tricks! Away an’ find oot, hen, tell him Ah’m waitin’ here tae be taken
hame.’

As Kathy pushed gently through the throng she discovered that Jessie had been right. Harry was sitting at a table, three small, differently coloured plastic cups in front of him, while the
mourners tried to guess which cup had a coin concealed underneath. As each one got it wrong there would be another burst of laughter, then Harry’s hands would move swiftly to confuse the
issue even further.

‘Harry, son,’ she said quietly, ‘yer mother wants ye.’

Harry got up, disentangling himself from the hands of his admirers as they clung to any part of him they could reach, all imploring him to give them an appointment for a reading. Then, with
Kathy beside him, he made his way to where his mother was waiting impatiently for him.

‘Did Ah no’ tell ye no’ tae start any o’ that daft nonsense the day, Harry? Did Ah no’ tell ye no’ tae bring a’ that magic stuff in yer pockets? Dae ye
ever listen to a word Ah say?’ Jessie demanded.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the guru contritely, turning to Kathy. ‘It just seemed a bit gloomy to me, I thought the occasion needed to be brightened up.’

‘It’s a bloody
funeral!
’ Jessie hissed at him. ‘It’s meant tae be bloody gloomy!’ Then shaking her head she walked towards the door, leaving Harry to
follow behind.

Poor Old Con, Kathy laughed. If ever there was a man who wouldn’t have told those left behind not to grieve, it was him. He would’ve wanted weeping, wailing and tales of his brave
yet humble suffering to be endlessly recounted at his wake, and mourners so deeply affected by his demise that they would be unable to lift their heads for weeks at least. And what had he got?
He’d got Hari-Kari’s magic tricks, performed to an appreciative and highly amused audience, he got giggles instead of grief. He would’ve wanted to go out in a vale of tears, and
he’d gone out instead playing second fiddle to a game of Find the Two Bob Bit!

At the end of the event she made her way back to Con’s house, feeling depressed at having to stay another night. She had planned to collect her bags and leave immediately after the close
of play, finally go. Even if she couldn’t get a train back to the West Coast till the following morning, she would stay in an hotel overnight; she just wanted her business here to be
finished. But Jessie’s story of the money in Frank McCabe’s keeping had changed all that. Even after Jessie had left Con’s house the previous evening, Kathy had wondered if the
money was worth bothering about. She didn’t care how much there was, or had been, she had never cared. When Lily died all those years ago she had vaguely assumed there would be money, but she
had wanted no part of it then and wanted no part of it now. It was blood money, and apart from that, she didn’t need it, so why disrupt her life for even one more night? Because of Father
McCabe, the man who’d wanted to shoot a horse; that was why. She knew that had she shrugged her shoulders and gone it would always annoy her, she couldn’t rest while he remained a loose
end, while he thought he had successfully kept not one, but two secrets. She and Jessie would get the money back, even if it was only to burn it in front of his eyes and, as for the other secret,
well that was Jessie’s business more than hers, so she’d play that one by ear. It wasn’t the cash itself that was important, it was removing it from him; that’s what made
another night in Con’s house bearable, if only just. And there was a lot to mull over. There was Peter for a start. She couldn’t believe what she’d heard about him, and her
spider-obsessed cousin was hardly the most reliable witness after all. But still, what Jessie had said about everyone keeping in touch with Harry was true. She had long ago worked out Harry’s
allure. He was a blank canvas, he had no thoughts or opinions, no critical faculty, he simply said what others wanted to hear and listened to what they said. Harry made no judgements, put up no
arguments, because even that much mental ability was beyond him, and other people mistook this for the opposite of what it was, for something deep and meaningful. Everyone who encountered him
thought they had this bond with him, that his smiling response to whatever they told him had as much mystical significance as his spiders had to him. He listened to their troubles and dreams
without interrupting or introducing reality, therefore Harry understood them, only, as she had discovered herself, the whole point was that Harry didn’t understand anything. So if there was
one person in the world Peter would keep in touch with, it was bound to be Harry, that made sense, and being almost brainless, Harry wouldn’t have thought of volunteering this contact with
Lily and Con’s almost forgotten firstborn. He would’ve told you had you asked, but he wouldn’t have thought of telling you otherwise.
Thought?
A thought inside that
handsome head would’ve died of loneliness, she thought, the first time she had ever detected any likeness between him and his lovely, blank sister. Not that it mattered to her what Peter was
doing or where he was, she hadn’t seen him in over thirty years and had scarcely given him a thought in that time. But she would ask Harry tomorrow, she decided, out of curiosity, just to put
the matter to rest.

And then there was Jamie Crawford; he had taken care not to speak to her before he left. She had watched him going round the others, the old neighbours and Barras worthies, and they all smiled
upon him. He was the local lad who had made something of himself, a favourite son of the East End who had worked hard and fought his way out of his circumstances to become a respectable member of
society, though not of East End society, of course. As he left with the nervy Angela, Kathy noticed that he was holding her firmly by the upper arm, not holding her hand, not with an arm about her
shoulders, not even with her arm possessively linked through his. He was holding on to her, propelling her through the door, not escorting or accompanying her. When he reached the door he had
turned and glanced briefly at Kathy, then within an instant he was gone. ‘
An’ good riddance tae you tae!
’ she thought bitterly, sure that she was reflecting his thoughts.
She hadn’t really wanted to speak to him, she had only said so as a threat, knowing it was the last thing
he
wanted. But had they managed to have a few words she would’ve told
him a thing or two, given him his character! She thought back to when they were children; she had never noticed that he was tight-fisted. Fair enough, he had very little as a child, but neither had
anyone else, they were all in the same boat. Maybe that was why his meanness hadn’t registered, maybe he had to get £66 to be able to afford to be mean. But she had no more than him,
she probably had less, yet she didn’t constantly think of ways not to spend what she now had. And that poor woman he was married to! He wasn’t her husband, he was her keeper and she was
his possession. That was why she would never be allowed to become a qualified nurse, to stop her straying outwith his control. That wavering, high-pitched voice, the nervous movements and deference
to everything ‘James says’; she’d probably been on Valium for years. And what had she got in return? A twee little Wimpey house in Moodiesburn with lots more twee houses all
around to hem it in, the regulation two kids, one of each, naturally, and a half-hoop eternity ring to go with someone else’s engagement ring, as a reward for sticking it out for twenty-five
years! But why was she so angry? Angela wasn’t a friend, she was just someone who’d turned up at the funeral of someone she never knew – ‘Lucky sod!’ – as an
accessory to her husband, and though she wished the woman no harm, she knew that they could never have been close friends, and that had nothing to do with her marrying Jamie. She was angry because
that was what Jamie Crawford had in mind for
her
, she realised. What he had wanted was the exact same captivity, only with Kathy imprisoned in the Wimpey house instead of Angela, and not
from any kind of deep love either, but because she had been there, a handy, available female. He hadn’t married Angela on the rebound, or as second choice to the love of his life, he married
her because the nearest candidate had retired from the contest. Not that she could ever have surrendered as meekly as Angela, but she was angry at herself too for not getting out sooner. What if he
hadn’t arranged for a pregnant substitute to be waiting in the wings? Would she have been so reluctant to hurt Jamie’s feelings that she might even have gone through with it? Everyone
wanted it, everyone expected it, so there was certainly pressure to marry him; he was, by popular acclaim, ‘a good man’, after all, who’d ‘never gie her ony trouble’.
The thought that she might’ve settled for that enraged her almost as much as the certainty that he had wanted her to do so. And, of course, there was that other reason for her anger: he had
won, and ratfinks had no business winning, it wasn’t fair. He had achieved exactly what he had planned all his life and had escaped scot-free. Jamie Crawford hadn’t suffered, he had
felt no pain, and that just wasn’t fair. She cast her mind back to that night in Moncur Street, when the child he would never know about had been born, and she thought of the pain she had
carried ever since. Then she thought of the smiling, healthy twenty-something daughter in Angela’s family snaps. She thought of her growing up in her family, talking, laughing, going to
school, getting up to all sorts of mischief, while her daughter, her tiny scrap of a baby had never even made it to full term. All these years, as Jamie’s other daughter had been living and
growing, the baby she had called Lily after her mother, had been lying in the cold earth. She lay down on her folding bed and sobbed. That night, in Kathy’s dreams, the child cried louder
than ever, and who could blame her?