The Kellys of Kelvingrove (17 page)

‘It was a really good night,’ Clive agreed. ‘And what a beautiful wife you have. Where is she this morning?’

‘Through in the kitchen with Rasheeda. I’ve already said goodbye to her. I was on my way out to work when you came to the door just now.’

‘We’d better go but we just wanted everyone to know Paul’s good news.’

‘Congratulations, pal. Your success is well deserved. And lots more books to come, I’ll bet. You’re not going to be a one-book-wonder.’

‘I suppose not,’ Paul said, somewhat worriedly.

‘Of course not,’ Clive said. ‘He’s full of ideas for other books. He’s a writer. Always has been and always will be.’

‘Yeah.’ Paul brightened and sounded more confident. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

Mirza and Sandra decided to try the night tour round the Art Galleries. They discovered that when the lights went down at night, it was a different place altogether. Shadows loomed, footsteps echoed round the empty marble halls and exhibits took on a life of their own. In the dim light, the knight on his armoured horse looked as if he was about to leap off his stand in a clatter of hooves and clashing steel. The Egyptian room, which was all about life and death, was especially creepy and it was easy to imagine that the lid of the sarcophagus was about to swing open and release the spirit of its ancient occupant – Pa-ba-sa.

Sandra clung tightly to Mirza.

‘It’s even creepier than I thought it would be. Especially in this Egyptian room.’

‘I know, and there’s a really macabre story connected with a sarcophagus. The Duke of Hamilton wanted to be mummified and buried in a sarcophagus. But it turned out to be a woman’s one that was sent for him and his legs had to be broken after he died to fit his body into it.’

Sandra shuddered. ‘He must have been a right weirdo.’

‘He was certainly eccentric. A story I like,’ Mirza said, ‘is that Dali got a Hollywood stunt man called Russell Sanders to model for his painting of Christ of St John on the Cross.’

‘You mean he painted a real person?’

‘Yes. He reckoned Sanders had the perfect physique for Christ and had him pulled up on ropes and dangled from the ceiling in his studio while he painted.’

Suddenly Sandra said, ‘I love you.’

Mirza laughed. ‘Where did that come from all of a sudden?’

‘You’re so clever, Mirza. No wonder your teachers think you’ll do well and get a great degree.’

‘So it’s just my mind you love?’

She nudged him. ‘No. You’re very clever in bed as well.’

He turned her towards him and kissed her. Then he smoothed his hands down over her thick curtain of hair.

‘You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life and I adore you.’

The guide cleared his throat to bring everyone’s attention back to the tour.

‘The Kelvingrove Art Galleries have the only complete set of horse armour in the world,’ he said. ‘It was made for Sir William Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke. He was one of the most powerful men in England but also a thug and a bloodthirsty murderer.’

Mirza whispered in Sandra’s ear, ‘So much for our Lords and members of the ruling classes. Give me an ordinary, hardworking man any day.’

‘Of course you’ll know,’ the guide went on, ‘that Kelvingrove is full of precious works of art, including paintings by the Glasgow Boys, the Scottish Colourists, Vincent van Gogh, Titian, Picasso, Monet and Rembrandt. These are all best seen during daytime visits. Now, at this late ghostly hour, we have different things to see and experience.’

Mirza and Sandra enjoyed their tour and they were especially happy as, later, they walked back to their new home. They loved their flat and the freedom it gave them. Already, they’d had some of their school friends visiting them. And they’d arranged for Mae Kelly to bring Doris over for a visit. It was good to see how Doris was getting physically stronger. Clinging on to Mae, she was able to take occasional short walks outside. To come to their flat would be her longest walk yet. She still could get confused, repeat things and forget things but everyone knew she was safe enough as long as Mae was along with her.

Mae and Doris were coming for morning coffee and next day, Mirza helped Sandra lay out the cups and the two tiered cake stand which they piled with buttered scones and biscuits. First though, they made the bed together and tidied the bedroom, after which they stood and admired the place and everything in it.

Bashir had been so kind and generous. He’d even allowed them to choose pictures from the Art Galleries gift shop. They had chosen several prints of the Old Masters and the Glasgow Boys and some of them hung in the bedroom. The best were on the sitting room walls for all their visitors to admire.

They’d had lots of visitors so far, mostly their school friends. But Clive Westley and Paul Brownlee had been. Jack Kelly had brought them in his car because, although they were getting better and stronger, they still didn’t feel confident enough to walk very far on their own.

When Mae Kelly and Doris McIvor arrived for coffee, they were profuse in their admiration of the flat.

‘It’s got everything you need,’ Mae enthused. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.’

‘We’re already deliriously happy,’ Sandra said.

Doris gazed around. ‘And you’ve got it so nice. What pretty cushions and I love the pictures.’

‘It’s all thanks to Bashir,’ Mirza said.

Proudly Sandra poured the coffee. Mirza passed the cake stand around.

‘How’s Jack, by the way? I know they’ve been inundated with work at the police station recently. Bashir was telling me.’

‘Yes, I believe so, but I’ll be seeing him soon. He’s anxious to get back to his old routine.’

Mae looked away then, and quickly changed the subject. Mirza wondered if there was something wrong.

Jack Kelly fixed a dark stare on Mae.

‘There’s something wrong here.’

‘Where?’ Her eyes widened innocently.

‘I went to Marks & Spencer.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘They had all the steaks and fish and chip suppers that we always used to have.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘But it took the whole week’s housekeeping money, plus extra money I had on me, to pay for them.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Stop repeating that like an idiot.’

‘You’re the idiot, Jack.’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’

He looked as if he was about to strike her and she said quietly but firmly, ‘You’d better not lift a finger to me, Jack. I’ve already warned you what I’d do. I wouldn’t rest until I’d completely ruined you.’

‘That’s a terrible way to talk. How could you be so malicious, even to think such a thing? You were never like this when I first married you.’

‘No, indeed I wasn’t, Jack. I’ve changed a lot. That’s because I’ve suffered a lot.’

‘Suffered? What have you suffered?’

‘You haven’t a clue – even yet. That’s how it’s always been. You just close your mind to everything and anything you don’t want too know about, anything that’s too inconvenient to know about.’

‘You’re raving, woman.’

Mae shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, Jack.’

There was silence for a long minute. Eventually, Jack said, ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘What question?’

‘God, I could kill you, Mae. I’m talking about bloody Marks & Spencer. How was it they charged me so much, but never charged you so much.’

‘But they did charge me so much. Any other store would have charged the same. That was the normal price for what you and your pals ate every Sunday. And that’s what I had to pay every week.’

‘But how could you?’

‘I tried to tell you, Jack. I got into debt. You acted the big generous man. You gave me a few paltry pounds that didn’t even cover the price of one steak.’

A longer silence followed.

‘But you went on …’ Jack managed at last. ‘How …?’

‘I was scrubbing the floor in the cupboard and I found a loose floorboard.’

‘Oh no,’ Jack groaned.

‘Oh yes. The money I found there solved my immediate problem – the huge bill I was facing for the furniture and furnishings in the house that you seemed to think came free from fairy land. Talk about suffering? Oh, I suffered all right, Jack.’

‘Christ!’

‘Then there was the torment of trying to save up to replace the money under the floorboards. I managed it, but no thanks to you. I tried, and tried, and tried to tell you and plead for your help, but all you could think of and talk about was the next big juicy steak you were looking forward to enjoying.’

After another silence, Jack said, ‘Let me first of all think if there’s anything illegal you could be charged with.’

‘Good God, you’re putting your job first, even now.’

‘It’s for your sake …’

‘Oh shut up, Jack. All I want to hear from you now is goodbye.’

‘Don’t be like that, Mae. We can work this out and start again.’

‘You think so?’ As usual, her sarcasm was lost on him.

‘Yes, I do. And let me start by offering you my sincere apologies for all that I’ve inadvertently put you through. I’m terribly sorry, Mae. I really am. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid.’

She thought selfish was the more appropriate word but managed not to voice it.

He moved nearer to her, making her heart quicken. He had always oozed sex. Other women believed so too.

‘My word,’ someone had recently remarked, ‘that’s a real sexy hunk of a husband you’ve got, you lucky wee devil.’

Jack Kelly was sexy all right. There could be no denying that.

But he was not going to get round her or win her back that way, or any other way. She’d had enough of him. More than enough.

Just then, Doris came downstairs from her bedroom, where she’d been having an afternoon nap.

‘Who is that?’ She pointed at Jack.

‘Jack Kelly,’ Mae said. ‘My ex-husband.’

‘Not ex-husband,’ Jack said firmly. ‘I’m Mae’s husband – past, present and future. Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’

‘And a nice juicy steak?’ Mae said. Jack gave a roar of laughter. He actually laughed.

It all turned out just as Clive and Bashir had prophesied.

Here he was, the famous writer Paul Westley, sitting at a table in one of the biggest bookshops in town, signing copies of his novel. As he bent over the books, his long dark hair slid forward, hiding most of his face. He seldom looked up to stare at the long queue of people waiting at the front of the table. Clive, who was standing at his elbow, eventually bent over and whispered,

‘For God’s sake, Paul. They’ve been good enough to come. At least look up now and again and give them a welcoming smile.’

Paul immediately looked up to smile, if somewhat shyly, and with some embarrassment, at the crowd of people. Soon he even managed to repeat, ‘Thank you for coming.’

When Bashir turned up in the queue, Paul couldn’t help laughing.

‘For goodness sake, Bashir, I was going to call in at your home with a gift of an autographed copy. You didn’t need to come in here and stand in a queue and buy one.’

‘I was looking forward to seeing you sitting there just as I’d dreamt and prayed you would.’

‘Ah, so that’s what got me here.’ Paul laughed again and for the first time, he looked happy and relaxed. ‘Muslim prayers.’

‘Of course.’

Paul picked up a book from one of the piles and wrote in it,

‘To my dearest friend, Bashir, with heartfelt thanks, love and admiration.’

Handing the book to Bashir, he read out what he’d written, then added, ‘But no words can convey the extent of my love and admiration for you, Bashir.’

‘For pity’s sake! You’re embarrassing me.’

As Bashir turned to leave, Clive caught his arm. ‘That goes for me too, Bashir. To know you is to love you.’

‘My God!’ Bashir almost ran from the queue but he gave a friendly backward wave as he hurried away.

There had been a photographer present earlier and the photos he had taken appeared in several newspapers. When Paul and Clive arrived back home after the signing, photographers and journalists were waiting in Waterside Way. Paul was forced to stand for a few minutes to have pictures taken before he could escape into the house.

‘Did you see that snobby woman watching?’ Clive asked. ‘I wonder if she’ll change her attitude to us now.’

‘You never know. Nothing would surprise me any more.’

‘Anyway, I don’t care if she does or she doesn’t.’

‘Nor do I. We found out who our real friends are long ago.’

‘Bashir’s the best one, of course, but Jack and Mae Kelly are close runners up. It’s been a help, Jack being a police officer as well.’

‘By the way, if that snobby woman suddenly approaches us, trying to be friendly, I’d freeze her out, wouldn’t you? She could never be a true friend. Talking of Jack and Mae Kelly, is everything all right between them, do you think?’

‘You mean because she’s working and sleeping at Doris McIvor’s place?’

‘Yeah. Seems strange, that.’

‘But he goes in there every day. I’ve seen him.’

Paul shrugged. ‘Seems to me a strange set up but I suppose if they’re all right with it …’

‘I wonder how Bashir’s getting on with his new wife.’

‘You’ve seen her. She’s gorgeous. He’ll be getting on great with her. Seems a nice girl too. How about if we slip next door just now with a special signed copy for Mahmood?’

‘Good idea. I can’t settle after all that excitement.’

‘How do you think I feel?’

‘You’d better get used to it, Paul. Already there are plans in place for you to travel all over the country doing signing sessions.’

‘Yeah. I’m getting worried I’ll never have enough free time to write another book. However, I’ve kept my hand in with doing something creative. I’ve written a poem and before you object, Clive, it’s a good one.’

‘I know it’ll be a good one, Paul. That’s just because you’re a good writer. But somehow, in the not too distant future, you must find enough time to write another book. Meantime, read me your poem.’

Paul unfolded the sheet of paper he’d produced from his jacket pocket and began to read:

Conference Dinner

At the long table we sat