The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (31 page)

Chapter Fifty Two

  “Helen, it’s yersel, hen.  How’s the campaign coming oan?” Dizzy Gillespie asked her.

  “Oh hello, Dizzy.  Ah never knew ye wur oan the Springburn route, hen,” Helen said tae the bus clippie.

  “Aye, and Ah’m fair chuffed, so Ah am.  Ah usually dae the city centre tae Yoker run, so Ah dae, bit they shifted me tae this side ae the toon, so they hiv.”

  “Well, here ye go, Dizzy.  A single up tae Keppochhill Road,” Helen said, opening her purse and taking oot wan ae the new ten pence pieces.

  “Ach, away ye go, Helen.  Ah’m no gonnae take money aff ae somewan like yersel, hen.  If an inspector comes oan asking tae see yer ticket, jist tell him ye goat oan the stoap before him.  Ah’ll vouch fur ye, so Ah will.”

  “Aw, ta, hen.  So, how ur ye coping wae aw this new money then?”

  “They call it by some fancy word...decimalisation...aye, that’s whit it is.  Detrimental tae wan’s health, if ye ask me, so it is.  Whit wis wrang wae pounds, shillings and pence, eh?” Dizzy asked, leaning o’er and taking the fag fae Helen’s fingers, looking aboot tae make sure nowan wis watching before taking a few deep puffs.

  “Ur ye wanting a fag, Dizzy?”

  “Naw, If Ah’m caught Ah’ll be oot oan ma arse, so Ah will.  The Corporation disnae mess aboot noo-a-days, so they don’t.”

  “Aye, it’s aw rules and regulations these days, so it is,” Helen agreed, haunin her fag back tae Dizzy’s grateful, ootstretched fingers.

  “So, where hiv ye been oan a Sunday, aw dressed up like a tart fae Bishopton then?” Dizzy asked her.

  “Oh, that?  Ah’ve jist been o’er tae The Western Infirmary.  Auld Charlie Mann took no well, so he did, and wis carted oot ae The Journeyman’s Club oan a stretcher last night.  Ah never heard aboot it until this morning.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Suspected burst appendix, they say.”

  “Auld Charlie Mann?  Is he no too auld tae catch something like that?”

  “Obviously no.”

  “Is he gonnae be okay?”

  “Ah’m no sure.  They widnae tell me anything seeing as Ah’m no family, bit they let me in fur a couple ae minutes, bit he wis oot fur the coont wae aw sorts ae wires and tubes hinging oot ae him.  He looks really poorly.”

  “Bit, Ah thought he didnae hiv any family?”

  “Ah tried tae tell them that, bit they said they’d get oan tae a social worker first thing the morra morning.”

  “Whit, tae tell her whit’s wrang wae him?  And who is she gonnae tell?  Whit aboot they cronies ae his...auld Bob Henderson and John McGuigan?”

  “Ah wis oan ma way up tae Stobhill tae see Charlie, when Ah bumped intae them coming aff the bus oan Springburn Road.  Thank God Ah did.  It wis them that telt me he’d been transferred across tae The Western.”

  “In the name ae the wee man, the poor bugger will probably end up being shipped fae pillar tae post if somewan disnae keep their eye oan him.  Is there anything Ah kin dae?”

  “Naw, Dizzy.  Ah’ll keep in touch wae the hospital tae make sure he isnae shipped oot and furgoatten aboot.”

  “Right, gie’s another few wee fly puffs ae that juicy fag before Ah go and take money aff ae the crowd that’s jist come oan, Helen.”

  Helen watched Dizzy heid aff alang the tap deck tae the stairs calling oot ‘Fares please’ as she went.  Dizzy wis right.  Helen wid hiv tae keep in touch or Charlie might end up lost in the system, given his age.  It wid be bad enough fur a young wan in hospital withoot any family, bit an auld codger like Charlie wid hiv nae chance.  Helen hid tried tae get the auld bugger tae slow doon.  His two pals hid agreed tae take a breather, bit Charlie hid been oot there in the snow and rain fae morning tae night.  When she’d spoken wae him the day before, she could see his shoes wur soaked aw the way through and his face wis blue wae the cauld.  She hoped he’d pull through.  Age or no, he wid be sorely missed.  She wondered how Issie hid goat oan at St Teresa’s.  Helen wis glad Issie wis gaun back tae the chapel.  Fur aw its faults, and there wur plenty, it gied comfort tae somewan like Issie and some ae the other lassies.  In fact, if the priest hidnae been that wee shitehoose, Father John, she might’ve trooped alang oan a Sunday hersel tae accept communion.  The thought ae receiving absolution fae a nasty wee sleekit gnome like him wis a non-starter as far as she wis concerned.  God only knew, she could be daeing wae a wee bit ae spiritual support, so she could.  She couldnae remember the last time she’d taken communion...probably the late forties, early fifties.  Hersel, Sharon Campbell and her daughter, Pearl, hid aw took a Proddy church each tae leaflet that morning.  Pearl hid said the rest ae her pals wid be coming oot tae help dae the evening services later that night.  Helen wondered whit time it wis.  She hoped Jimmy wid hiv her tea ready fur her when she goat back, although she wisnae gonnae haud her breath oan that score.  She might even get time tae soak her poor feet in a basin ae salted water before heiding oot the door again.  Helen smiled thinking aboot Jimmy.  He wis daeing his dinger, so he wis, wae people coming tae the door at aw hours ae the day and night.

  “Helen, who the hell ur aw these waifs and strays ye’ve taken oan?” he’d asked oan Friday night, efter arriving hame fae his work.

  “They’re no waifs and strays.  They’re jist like us, people trying tae get by.”

  “Aye, bit wid ye no be better telling them tae come back wance the election is o’er?”

  Helen supposed he hid a point.  There wisnae much she could dae, hivving tae be oot pounding the streets.  It hid aw started efter her name hid appeared in the paper efter the launch.  People hid started tae accost her in the street and then started appearing up at the hoose.  It hid been heart-breaking.  Maist ae them wondered if she could dae anything fur them by getting in touch wae The Corporation, The Gas or Electricity Boards or the Provi-cheque Company oan their behauf.  If they hidnae been in the process ae being evicted or their names being put up fur a warrant sale, then the axe wisnae very far away.  She couldnae believe the extent ae some ae their debts either.  She felt totally helpless and wis as honest as possible wae them.  She started taking their names and addresses, promising tae get back in touch whether she won the election or no.  Everywan seemed satisfied wae that.  Helen goat the feeling that jist hivving somewan tae talk tae made them feel better.  Some ae them hid spent Christmas and the New Year sitting huddled wae their families aroond candles, so they hid.  Helen hid tae keep telling hersel tae keep her chin up.  She wisnae too sure whit she’d dae if she beat JP Donnelly, bit she knew fine well that a lot ae people wur depending oan her tae gie her best.  Fur some, her losing the election wid probably mean they’d end up oot oan the streets, and she wisnae prepared tae even think aboot that.  As far as the election wis concerned, Helen felt the tide wis beginning tae turn in her favour, despite the well-oiled machine and manky tricks that JP and his crowd goat up tae.  She wondered how Issie and Susan wur getting oan wae trying tae get some sponsorship so they could get some mair leaflets done.

  “Helen!  Helen, that’s you, hen,” Dizzy shouted fae doon the stairs, breaking intae her thoughts.

  Helen goat up and gingerly walked tae the stairs, avoiding putting pressure oan her feet where the blisters and corns wur.  She smiled.  Dizzy hid goat the driver tae stoap at the junction ae Carlisle Street tae save her a walk.  Her feet wid appreciate that.

Chapter Fifty Three

  JP hid jist finished speaking tae the key players ae his election team when Weasel Smith popped his heid roond the door and gied him a wee nod.  He wis satisfied, bit he hidnae overdone it wae his praises.  He’d reminded them that they wur only hauf ae the way through the election and he didnae want them tae start becoming complacent.  He’d gied them a good spiel aboot how winning the election wisnae the issue noo, as even a blind man could see that there wis nae opposition, bit it wis noo aboot margins.  He’d explained that the bigger the majority he goat oan the night wid decide the amount ae spoils up fur grabs.  He wanted tae maximise the message that wid be sent tae the party big-wigs doon in George Square.  He telt them that, even as he spoke, the party bosses wur making room fur his arrival by looking at shifting some ae the big boys aff ae the important committees tae make room fur himsel.  There hid been satisfied laughter when he’d telt them that he’d refused any overtures.  He wisnae prepared tae negotiate like some wee rookie starting oot in the political game.  He’d earned his spurs many times o’er and the administration knew fine well whit wis expected, if they wanted his support.

  “Ooh, JP, Ah cannae wait, so Ah cannae.  Ma Joe wis starting tae get a wee bit worried aboot whether he’d still be in line fur getting a job efter reading whit that Taylor bitch said in the papers last week,” Peggy Roy hid beamed oan the way past.

  “You jist go through tae that bar and tell that man ae yers he’s no tae worry aboot a thing, Peggy.  There will be a job waiting fur him a week efter Ah get in.  Jist remind him he’ll hiv tae stay aff the drink noo.  They’ve tightened up oan men drinking oan the job since Ah wis last in, so they hiv.”

  “Don’t ye worry aboot that, JP.  Joe’s learnt his lesson efter that last unprovoked sacking, so he his.”

  JP hid deliberately waited until the room wis empty before he gied Weasel the nod tae gie Tam Barnet, The Corporation’s Democratic Election Officer, a shout tae come through fae the bar, where he’d been skoofing a pint and chomping oan a couple ae free pies while waiting fur JP’s meeting tae finish.

  “JP, how ur ye daeing, ma good friend?” Tam asked, as he swanned in tae the room.

  “Tam, it’s good tae see ye.  Weasel, get Tam a drink, will ye?”

  “Ah’ll jist hiv a wee pint ae heavy, if that’s okay, Weasel...and another wan ae they lovely pies, if there ur any mair oan the go.”

  “Ah’ll hiv a Bells and a wee drap ae water in it while ye’re at it, Weasel,” JP said, motioning his good pal tae take a seat.

  “So, how wis yer meeting, JP?”

  “Ach, the same as usual.  They’re aw good people, bit maist ae them ur as thick as two four by fours, so they ur.  Ye’re always hivving tae remind them whit this is aw aboot.”

  “Aye, bit withoot them, it wid be difficult tae get that auld arse ae yers oan a seat doon oan George’s Square.  That’s democracy fur ye.”

  “Aye, if Ah wis a nervous man, Ah widnae be able tae sleep at night if Ah knew ma future wid be dependent oan some ae the people Ah hiv tae put up wae, Ah kin tell ye.”

  “So, JP, whit wis it ye wanted tae speak tae me aboot?”

  “Helen Taylor.”

  “Whit the hell ur ye bothering aboot her fur?  Ye're wiping the flair wae her, so ye ur.”

  “Aye, Ah know that, bit she comes fae a family ae persistent cows, so she dis.”

  “Well, Ah’ve hid my boys oot and aboot, taking the pulse up here in Springburn.  Ye really don’t hiv anything tae worry aboot, so ye don’t.”

  “And?”

  “The Tories and the Liberals hiv aboot five percent between them. The Nationalists and that Daft Dave, the minimum wage eejit, ur well oot ae the game, so they ur.”

  “And Taylor?”

  “We reckon she’s sitting wae aboot twenty per cent, wae a margin ae error ae five percent oan either side.  Everything else is yours.”

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Tam, ur ye telling me that Helen Taylor...that trollop...could be sitting wae twenty five percent ae the ward electorate in her purse?” JP asked incredulously.

  “It’s no an exact science, JP.  That’s the best case scenario, fur her, so it is.  It’s hard tae make an educated guess, bit her sitting wae twenty five percent ae the vote wid be extremely unlikely.”

  “Ah cannae believe this,” JP fumed, as Weasel brought in the drinks and a mince pie.

  “And remember, JP, this is the results fae two days ago...oan Friday...that’s two days before the churches did their bit this morning.  Ah’m telling ye, she’s peaked early, shot her load too soon, so she his.  It’s aw doonhill fae here oan in fur the hairy.”

  “And whit if she hisnae?”

  “Whit?”

  “Shot her load too early?  Whit dae we dae then?”

  “JP, Ah’m telling ye, that isnae gonnae happen.  Christ, everywan doon in George Square wur up in erms efter that piece in The Echo by Bradley McLeod, so they wur...and Ah’m no jist talking aboot the wans that hiv everything tae lose if she get’s in either.  Ah’m talking aboot the cleaners, doormen and the wee typists.  Christ, ye wid’ve thought the devil hid announced that he wis taking up residence, so ye wid’ve.  Naw, jist you concentrate oan that positive image ae yers, JP.”

  “Right, let’s say, hypothetically, that she becomes a real challenge tae me.  Whit’s the fall-back position?” JP asked, biting oan his bottom lip and staring at his dram.

  “Wid ye jist listen tae yersel?  Ah’ve awready telt ye, ye’ve nothing tae worry aboot.”

  “So, there isnae a fall-back position?  Ah’m telling ye, Tam, don’t underestimate this bitch.  Remember, Ah’ve awready hid a run in wae her maw’s sister and that wis too close fur comfort.  Ah widnae put ma worst enemy through whit that trollop put me through.”

  “JP, listen tae me.  That wis a different time and place...a different era, and mair importantly, a different persona.  Ah knew Jeannie Smullen as well as anywan and believe you me, Helen Taylor is no a patch oan that auntie ae hers.  Ye’ve awready goat the vote ae maist people who traditionally vote.  She his tae try and get non-voters tae get up aff their lazy arses, so she his.  That wullnae happen in a month ae Sundays up here in a place like Springburn.  If it dis, it’ll be a first.  Ma wee labrador, Twisted, knows mair aboot politics than she ever will.  Naw, she’s jist a street rabble-rouser wae nae substance, who won’t fucking know whit’s hit her come election night.   Ah’ve still goat the city’s death register lists fur Springburn covering the last two years that we decided no tae use during Dick's campaign eighteen months ago.  If Mohammed should come doon fae the mountain tae lend her a haun, we’ll soon raise the deid and that’ll gie us a good thousand mair votes, at least.”

  “Whit aboot the ballot boxes?  Kin we hiv somewan stationed tae blag wan or two oan the night before they start the coont, if need be?” JP asked, ignoring the reassurances.

  “Too dodgy.  This is jist a ward election.  There ur only hauf a dozen ballot locations in the area wae aboot a dozen boxes in each.  We widnae want tae risk a challenge...and anyway, Ah’ve telt ye, the death register will gie us enough tae swing it, even if Jesus Christ stood.  Ye’ll probably get through wae the biggest percentage in any ward in the history ae the city, so ye will.  Dick Mulholland’s tally fae 1970 will look like sweetie numbers, compared tae whit ye’re gonnae get this time aroond.”

  “Did ye hiv any bother aboot suspending the warrant sales up here?”

  “Naw, Big Paul knows fine well that we need tae choke the oxygen fae the bitch and no gie her a platform tae spout aw that shite she’s famous fur.  Ah’m telling ye JP, ye’re probably gieing her too much credit.  Efter Bradley's piece, she’s a hate figure, so she is.”

  “Aye, ye’re probably right.  It’s jist that Ah don’t trust that minister’s wife.  Who the fuck asked her tae come up here and butt her nose intae things, eh?  She’s no even bloody Scottish.  Wance Ah get in, Ah’ll deal wae her and that limp-wristed man ae hers.  He’s pretending he’s no involved, bit he isnae fooling me wan bit.  He tried tae tell me that he’s no in a position tae keep her nose oot ae things.  Ah wis dying tae tell him jist tae go hame and gie her a few slaps aboot the chops...that wid put her in her place, bit Ah goat the distinct impression that she wears the troosers.  He even lets her loose wae a welding torch.  Kin ye believe that?”

  “Ah blame aw this wummin’s lib shite, so Ah dae.  Ah remember a few years ago when it wis aw the rage and the typists started making noises aboot better pay and equal rights.  They soon changed their tune when we slung a few ae their arses oot the door.  Ye never heard shite aboot equal rights efter that.”

  “Kin ye imagine somewan like Helen Taylor being let loose in amongst them?”

  “Christ, it disnae bear thinking aboot.  Naw, JP, don’t ye worry aboot a thing.  We’ll soon sort oot that uppity cow.  Ah’ve arranged tae meet up wae Harold Sliver fae The Evening Citizen oan Tuesday lunchtime fur a wee swally or two.  Harold will gie her a sore wan.  It’ll also gie us time tae see whit effect the priests hiv hid.  Ah’ll get a couple ae the boys oot oan Tuesday, during the day, tae find oot whit people ur thinking and pass it oan tae Harold, although he probably won’t need it.”

  “Ach, ye’re a good friend, Tam, so ye ur.  We’ll need tae make sure ye’re awright wance Ah’m back in.  Right, whit ur ye fur?”

  “Ah’ll hiv another wee pint ae heavy and wan ae they stoating mince pies, if there’s wan oan the go, JP,” Tam Barnett said, slurping doon the dregs fae his glass.