The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (30 page)

Chapter Fifty

   Issie sat in her favourite pew, pleased that it wis sitting empty, considering the chapel wis two thirds full.  It wis the fifth pew fae the back oan the left and although she only attended wance or twice a year, she’d taken ownership ae it when she’d been slung oot ae the Toonheid efter the bulldozers hid moved in.  It wis in the ideal location.  It wis as close tae the main door as ye could get away wae, withoot raising suspicion fae Father John that ye’d sat there intentionally so ye could make a quick getaway should ye find yersel gaun intae suspended animation through being bored tit-less wae aw the righteous pontificating gaun oan roond aboot ye.  Helen’s next-door neighbour, Jemima Flint, sat tae Issie’s left, fidgeting uncomfortably, waiting fur the ceiling tae come doon roond aboot her ears, efter finding hersel back in the chapel, efter avoiding it since she’d left school thirty odd years earlier.  Oan her right, Ann Jackson sat in awe, never hivving darkened the door ae a chapel, seeing as she wis a blue-nosed Proddy.  Even though they wur sitting up the back, miles fae the alter, Issie could still feel Father John’s disapproving eyes boring intae them fur turning up and upsetting him.  Issie hid thought he wis gonnae hiv a heart attack when he clocked them at the front door ae the chapel, haunin oot leaflets tae the congregation arriving fur mass.

  “Issie, sure and it’s yourself, I see.  I don’t think you should be distributing these about here.”

“Oh, hellorerr, Father, and why wid that be then?” she’d asked him, suddenly being ignored as he body-swerved aff tae her right and rushed across tae confront Ann as she wis swooping doon oan Mrs Simpson, Tam Simpson's poor auld maw, dressed like a black shadow fae heid tae toe.

  “Here ye go, hen...save oor community...keep JP’s grubby fingers away fae the honey-pot...vote fur Helen Taylor, the only honest candidate ye kin trust,” Ann hid been saying, haunin o’er a leaflet, as the priest loomed up in front ae her.

  “Er, excuse me, but there’s no place for politics at mass.  This is a house of God,” Father John hid snarled tae her, failing tae keep his anger in check.

  “Ah, Father John, here ye go...save oor community...keep JP’s grubby fingers away fae the honey-pot...vote fur Helen Taylor, the only honest candidate ye kin trust,” Ann hid said wae a big grin, ignoring him, clearly motoring away in automatic mode.

  “Here ye go, son, save oor community...keep that JP’s grubby fingers away fae oor stash doon in George’s Square.  Vote fur the darling ae the masses, Helen Taylor, the only honest candidate that’ll make sure we’ll get whit we’re entitled tae,” Jemima hid said, confronting an auld codger who wis taking his bunnet aff ae that napper ae his as he crossed the threshold ae the chapel. 

   Father John, knowing he wis ootnumbered and outmanoeuvred, hid gied up withoot a fight, gieing Issie a dirty look as he disappeared back intae the bowels ae the vestry.

  “Aye, me and mine ur aw coping wae oor loss, so we ur,” Issie hid shouted efter him, as his wee priestly legs and bobbing heid hid disappeared through the doors.

   Even though it hid been a while, it wis strange being back in chapel, Issie thought tae hersel, as she murmured “Lamb ae God, who takes away the sins ae the world, hiv mercy oan us.” 

  She still hidnae furgiven Father John fur slinging her and her man, Tam, a deaf ear, efter poor Joe wis murdered, jist before Christmas ootside The Princes Bingo Hall.  He’d eventually showed his face at their door well efter everywan else hid been roond tae help and comfort them, including the local Protestant minister, Donald Flaw.  She’d never really taken tae Father John anyway.  He wis far too sleekit fur her tastes.  Issie always felt that there wis something ae a second-haun car salesmen aboot him, rather than a man ae the cloth.  When her daughter, Wee Mary, and aw her pals hid goat scabies the year before, Father John’s absence hid been noted when he jist happened tae visit only hooses that didnae contain any weans.  That meant walking past doors in the closemooth and visiting some, bit no others.  Issie hid wanted tae confront him aboot it at the time, bit Helen hid persuaded her tae let it go.

  “Whit’s the point, Issie?  Ye’ll only get his hump up and ye won’t see him when something serious happens and ye really need him.  Naw, leave it be,” Helen hid advised.

  Issie sat, trying tae keep her eyelids open.  Fur o’er two weeks noo, she’d been up at the crack ae dawn and oot oan tae the streets, trying tae persuade everywan that Helen Taylor wis the best thing since sliced breid.  It hid taken her mind aff ae the death ae her only son.  She started tae feel that well-known sensation ye get when ye’re finally forced tae gie up and shut yer eyes as ye feel yersel diving, heid-first, intae the twilight depth ae slumberville, helped by the droning voice ae a well-seasoned priest.  She let oot a wee sigh ae pleasure and wis jist reaching oot fur her glass beside her bed tae put her teeth intae, when she wis violently interrupted by an elbow in her right rib cage.

  “Eh?  Whit the fuc...?” she mumbled in fright, frizzled brain trying tae sort oot where the hell she wis.

  “Issie, listen-up, we’re getting a mention, so we ur,” Ann hissed through her gums intae her right lug.

  “Whit?  Er, Ah wisnae snoring, wis Ah?” Issie asked in horror.

  “Naw, Shhhh, he’s talking aboot the election, so he is,” Ann replied, as Issie looked towards Father John, decked oot in his golden finest, staunin at the alter.

  “...that politics are important, after mother church, of course, and do have a place amongst us.  Now, with democracy comes responsibility.  It is up to each and every one of us to ask ourselves, who of the candidates are good Christians and who are clearly not.  This is not about the different denominations of the candidates, but about who has placed their faith and life in God.  Now, there will be candidates outside of our own church, who we believe will, at some point in their lives, realise that there is only one true church, and come and join us.  In the meantime, we owe it to ourselves and to our community to go out there and cast our vote for the person we truly believe is the right person to represent us.  By that, I mean, someone who has the experience of public office, who has a record of accomplishment in representing us, who is a decent man...a man of the people.  It would be wrong of me to stand up here and tell you all who you should vote for, but it would certainly be amiss of me, and mother church, if we ignored the needs of our flock, of those who are in much need of guidance in this by-election.  All the priests in the area, including myself, have been instructed through guidance and divine intervention, to show the way to those of our flock that will be affected by the Keppochhill by-election.  All the saintly brothers who are conducting services this morning are asking you all to think carefully, very carefully, on how you intend to cast your vote.  As our dear lord and saviour says in the holy proverb number 6, verses 16 to 19.  ‘There are six things that our holy father hates and seven that are an abomination to him: Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.'  Now then, does this conjure up anyone who we know is running for elected office?  Someone who believes we are blind and cannot see through her to the image of the devil himself?  Does she really expect us to vote for someone who has never cast a vote herself, but who would cynically expect us to elect her up unto the altar of power and trust within The Corporation?  As the disciple Matthew reminds us in proverb 24, verses 24, ‘For false Christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect.'  Soon we will have to vote for an elected representative who we will expect to give their very best whilst acting on our behalf...someone who will be a father to us in our time of need, who we know is gentle and kind, but who will come out fighting against those who bear false witness against thy neighbours.  We need a person who respects the sanctity of life, including the unborn child in the womb…someone who knows the ins and outs of the system, who will recognise the imposter bearing untruths and strike her down with the sword of justice.  That person, with the will of God, will lead you and I to victory.  Mother church urges you all to cast your vote for the compassionate candidate,  the only candidate with all the attributes that I have just outlined.  As a man of God, I will be casting my vote for JP Donnelly, to ensure the bedrock of our community remains as strong as ever.”

   Issie couldnae believe her ears.  She wisnae sure if she’d heard right and could feel her body shake wae rage at the blatant political bias ae Father John.  If she thought Jemima hid been fidgety before the sermon started, the poor cratur wis noo sitting scratching as if a caravan ae fleas hid moved oan board and wis settling in fur the duration.

  “Christ, ur aw priests always as entertaining as this, Issie?” Ann whispered, impressed.

  “Right, that’s it, Ah’m getting tae hell oot ae here.  Ur youse wans coming?” Issie declared, picking up her bag ae election leaflets and making little effort tae hide her departure as she stomped towards the entrance.

Chapter Fifty One

  Senga entered the room.  Alison Crawford appeared tae be sleeping, sitting up in bed, her heid resting back against her pillows.  The Sunday newspapers wur lying spread oot oan her lap.  Senga silently moved across the room and started tae gather them up, trying tae ignore the lurid heidlines that screamed up at her, implying whit a slutty cow her patient hid been before she’d been shot.  ‘Ah’m Lucky Tae Be Alive, Claims Frightened Ex-Con Lover ae The Black Widow.'  ‘The Truth Aboot Me and The Horny Social Worker Claims Milkman.'  ‘Ah Went Back Fur Seconds Claims Retired Prison Officer.'  Senga felt sick.  The best, or the worse wan, Senga noticed, hid been in The Sunday Echo.  Splashed in bold, it said ‘Ah Cannae Help It If Ah Like A Bit Ae Rough, Dear,' and then underneath, in smaller print, ‘Saucy Social Worker Tells Cuckolded Prison Governor Hubby When He Visits Her In Hospital.'  Unless the prison governor hid been up tae the hospital tae visit his wife the day before, Senga wisnae aware that he’d ever darkened the door ae the place.  She took the newspapers and laid them doon oan the chair by the door.  As she straightened up, she heard movement fae the bed.  When she turned, Alison Crawford wis staring at her.

  “Oh, ye’re awake, Mrs Crawford.  Sorry, Ah didnae mean tae disturb ye.  Ah thought ye wur finished reading these.  Ah didnae want tae leave them lying aboot, upsetting ye wae their awful heidlines,” Senga apologised, as her patient motioned fur her tae come closer tae the bed.

  Senga watched her pick up her pen and pad.

  ‘I thought we agreed that you should call me Alison?’ she wrote.

  “Aye, Ah know, Ah’m sorry.”

  ‘What have you been up to since I saw you on Friday?’ she scribbled, turning the pad so Senga could read her question.

  “Ach, nothing much.  Ah went intae the toon oan Saturday tae spend whit wis left ae ma Christmas money and went tae the pictures last night.  Nothing too exciting.”

  ‘And boys?’

  “Too complicated.  We...ma pals and me...run aboot wae a bunch ae scallywags.  They’re funny tae be wae and ur always oan the make, bit they’ve aw goat hearts ae gold… despite whit some people might think ae them.”

  ‘Like who?’

  “Oor mas and das fur starters, and then there’s the bizzi...er...the polis.  They aw think they’re up tae nae good aw the time...which they probably ur,” Senga said smiling, seeing a rare glimpse ae laugher in the eyes ae her patient.

  ‘Sit with me for a while, unless it will get you into trouble,’ her patient wrote.

  “Naw, naw, that’s fine.  Sister said that Ah could spend time wae ye...seeing as ye don’t get many visitors...apart fae the polis, that is.  Oh, sorry, Ah shouldnae hiv said that,” Senga said, looking away, embarrassed.

  ‘Why?’ the pad asked.

  “Ah don’t know.  It sounded a bit as if ye didnae hiv anywan, if ye know whit Ah mean?”

  ‘Yes, but it’s true.’

  “So, yer husband visiting ye didnae happen then?” Senga asked, waving tae the stack ae newspapers sitting oan the chair by the door.

  ‘I would be surprised if George, or the kids for that matter, will ever speak to me or want to see me again,’ she wrote, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “If they love ye, they will.  Blood’s thicker than water, at least it is where Ah come fae.  Ah suppose everywan will jist need a bit ae time tae get o’er the shock.”

  ‘Do your friends ever talk about me, my situation, Senga?’ the pad asked.

  Senga looked at her patient, hesitating before replying.

  “They read the papers like everywan else...or at least some ae them dae.”

   ‘What do they say?  That I’m as bad and wicked as I’m portrayed in the papers?’

  “Naw, Ah’m no sure that that’s whit wid sway them.  They aw know fine well that yesterday’s papers ur the day’s fish and chip wrappers, so they dae.”

  ‘I’m surprised.’

  “That’s jist who they ur.”

  ‘So, what do they say then?’

  “They come at it fae a different angle, so they dae.  Yer...er...boyfriend’s brother stabbed somewan who we aw know...and loved.”

  ‘I’m sorry, Senga.  I shouldn’t have pried.  I read that the police were trying to apprehend Thomas’s brother, Toby, for involvement in the murder of a young lad in Springburn.  Was that the boy?”

  “Aye,” Senga replied, drapping her eyes.

  Silence.

  ‘All your friends must really hate me,’ Senga read on the pad that wis pushed under her nose.

  “Why dae ye write that?  If ma friends hate ye, it certainly isnae because ye went oot wae a baddie, so it isnae,” Senga blurted oot, cursing hersel fur letting her tongue loose wae whit wis in her brain.

  ‘Oh?’

  “Look, don’t listen tae me...Alison.  Ah’m well known fur putting ma fit in it and upsetting the apple cart, so Ah am.”

  ‘So, if they don’t hate me for my choice of man to have an affair with, what other reason would there be?’

  Senga telt hersel tae watch oot.  She wis letting her guard doon.  She’d furgoatten that this wis a social worker...an injured wan...bit still a social worker.  She could feel the social worker’s eyes oan her, expecting a response.  She hesitated, before taking a deep breath and looked at her patient. 

  “Look, Ah don’t want tae upset ye so maybe we should change the subject, eh?” she said.

  Silence.

  “Right, Ah’ll be honest wae ye...ma job here is tae try and help people get better...no make things worse.  If ye really want tae know the truth...it widnae put ma friends up or doon who you, or anywan else fur that matter, went oot wae, unless they wur in a rock group or wur a film star.  In fact, running aboot wae a bad boy wid probably score ye points wae maist ae them.”

  ‘And?’

  “Ah think their problem wae somewan like yersel isnae who ye sha...er...went oot wae, bit who ye ur.  Ah’m finding this hard tae put intae words and Ah’m sorry fur saying this...no that it’s me that feels that way...bit where Ah come fae, social workers and shite oan the heel ae yer shoe ur wan and the same thing, so they ur.  Ah’m no saying that’s how Ah feel, bit fur the majority ae ma pals, that wid be the general feeling,” Senga blurted oot, wishing she’d been born a Catholic so she could make the sign ae the cross and ask fur furgiveness.

  Silence.

  ‘But why?’ the pad finally asked.

  “Well...apart fae being a social worker, which is bad enough...being a female social worker...well, that jist takes the biscuit, so it dis.  Ye’ve nae chance,” Senga said, apologetically, shrugging they shoulders ae hers and grimacing.

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Right, how can Ah put it, withoot upsetting ye any mair than Ah hiv awready?  Let’s see.  How come it always seems tae be wummin social workers that come and take weans fae their maws?  How come people don’t see male social workers daeing that kind ae dirty work?”

  ‘What’s the difference?  If a child needs to go into care, it’s because they’re at risk and in danger of some sort.’

  ‘Fae where Ah come fae, and Ah’m no saying Ah’m wan ae them, bit people, especially the wummin, find it hard tae understaun why another wummin, social worker or no, wid dae that tae another wummin...rightly or wrongly...so they dae.”

  ‘I can understand that, but I can assure you that being female is never a consideration when a decision has to be made regarding something like that.’

  “Aye, Ah’m sure,” Senga said, noticing the haunwriting hid deteriorated intae a squiggle.

    ‘No, really.  It’s nothing to do with gender or what sex you are.  It’s a difficult part of the job, but it’s done with compassion and sensitivity.  We always try to be professional.  We are professional.’

  “Aye, well,” Senga sighed, nodding and staunin up.

  ‘You’re going?’ the pad asked.

  “Ah’m sorry, bit Ah hiv tae get back...Ah’ve goat jobs Ah hiv tae dae.  Ah’ll try and pop in by later.  If ye need anything in the meantime, press the button and somewan will come.”