The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5

The Wummin

By Ian Todd

The Wummin is dedicated tae aw the wummin who’re oot there fighting injustice and inequality.

The Wummin is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

  Helen tried unsuccessfully tae stifle a yawn as Issie McManus burst intae tears fur the umpteenth time.  She put her erm roond Issie’s bony shoulders and drew her closer, ignoring the stares fae the other passengers.  They wur sitting oan the thirty seven bus as it crossed Glesga Cross fae the Saltmarket intae the High Street.  She wanted tae staun up and scream at the gawkers tae get oan wae whit they wur supposed tae be daeing, insteid ae looking across and staring at them, bit she didnae hiv the strength.  She wisnae too sure whit the time wis, though she thought it must’ve been mid-efternoon.  She tried turning roond tae see if she could catch sight ae the blue clock oan the Tollbooth Tower at the cross, bit the view through the back windae fae where they wur sitting only stretched up two thirds ae it.  She shuffled her hauns intae her jaicket pockets and pulled oot her Embassy Regals.

  “Here ye go, Issie, hen.  Hiv a fag.  It’ll make ye feel a bit better.” 

  “Aw, thanks, Helen.  Ah don’t know whit Ah wid’ve done withoot ye, so Ah don’t,” Issie sniffed, accepting the lit fag that Helen took fae beside the wan awready sticking oot fae between they lips ae hers.

  “Nae problem, Issie, hen.  Ye jist get that doon intae yer lungs.  Ye’ll soon be up the road and we’ll get ye intae yer bed fur a wee kip.”

  Helen took a deep puff ae her fag and yawned.

  “Ah’m so sorry fur aw this, Helen, bit Ah jist didnae know who else tae turn tae, so Ah didnae.”

  “Listen, Issie, don’t let me hear ye apologising again.  Ah wid’ve been upset if ye hidnae come tae me in the first place,” Helen shushed, as Issie lay her heid oan Helen’s shoulder.

  Helen thought back tae the early hours ae that morning.  Her and her man, Jimmy, hid been in bed since jist efter the news at ten o’clock the night before.  Jimmy hid an early start maist mornings oan account ae him hivving tae get doon tae the lorry depot across in Tradeston before he started his shift at seven and she wisnae wan fur sitting up watching shite oan the telly oan her ain.  She hidnae heard the banging oan the ootside door.

  “Aw, fur Christ’s sake!  Who the hell kin that be?” Jimmy hid snarled, swinging his legs oot ae his side ae the bed.

  “Leave it, Jimmy.  Ah’ll see who it is,” she’d managed tae blurt oot, hauf asleep, as she slid her feet intae her slippers and stood up.

  She’d plenty ae experience ae chapping oan her door in the middle ae the night, and it wis always grief that came wae it.  Between her eldest, Charlie, noo living and working in Jersey, and her youngest wan, Johnboy, the polis hid never been away fae her door o’er the past ten years.  She’d felt the panic welling up in her as she stumbled alang the lobby tae the door.  The chapping hidnae hid the thumping ring tae it that the polis usually used though.  This hid been mair erratic.

  “Mary?  Christ, hen, whit ur ye daeing up and aboot at this time ae the night?”  Helen hid exclaimed tae ten-year-auld Mary McManus, who’d been staunin there greeting, wae tears streaked doon her wee, pale, frightened face and wae a jumper pulled o’er her thin cotton nightie.

  “Helen, Helen, come quick.  Ma maw is aw o’er the place, howling and greeting, so she is,” she’d wailed.

  “Christ, come in aff the cauld landing and tell me whit’s wrang, hen.”

  “Ah cannae, Ah’ll need tae go back.  She’s in an awful state, so she is,” Mary hid bubbled, looking behind her and doon the stairwell.

  “Right…oan ye go, hen.  T…tell yer maw that Ah’ll be across in a minute,” Helen hid said intae thin air as Wee Mary disappeared doon the stairs.

  “Whit’s wrang noo?” Jimmy hid murmured fae the bed.

  “Nothing…go back tae sleep.  That wis Wee Mary.  She said Issie’s in a bit ae a state, so she is,” Helen hid replied, pulling her nightie o’er her heid.

  “Whit?  Again?”

  “Jimmy, leave it.  Ah’ll deal wae it.”

  “Kin it no wait until the morra?  It’s hauf three in the bloody morning,” he’d growled, lifting his heid aff the pillow and looking at the clock oan his side ae the bed.

  Issie hid been roond at theirs the night before in a bit ae a state.  Her man, Tam, hid goat lifted as he wis jist sitting doon tae eat his tea.  The polis hid lifted him fur no paying aff a twenty-pound fine that he’d goat a few months back and he wis noo sitting up in the Bar-L.  Unless Issie could pay aff his fine, he’d be spending Christmas and the New Year in the jail.

  “Aye, their timing’s perfect, Issie, so it is,” Jimmy hid said tae her when they’d heard, trying tae be helpful and failing. 

  The cauld blast ae the wind hid taken the breath away fae her as she’d exited the closemooth.  She’d hauf ran alang the pavement and crossed the road through the horizontal sleet that wis blowing doon Gourlay Street.  She’d heard Issie howling as soon as she’d goat oot ae the wind and snow.  She’d tried tae take the stairs two at a time, bit hid gied up when she’d reached the first flair landing, and hid proceeded tae walk wan step at a time up tae the third flair.  She’d need tae stoap smoking, she’d telt hersel.  When she’d gone through the door tae the living room, Issie hid been lying oan the flair screaming and banging her heid aff ae it.  Wee Mary hid been staunin above her maw, helplessly looking across at Helen, fear and desperation in her eyes.

  “Issie, Issie, whit’s wrang, hen?  It’s me…it’s Helen,” she’d said soothingly, swiftly kneeling doon and taking Issie’s heid in her hauns.

  “Oh ma God, Helen, they’ve killed him.  They’ve finally gone and done it and killed ma baby.  Oh God!  Naw!” 

  “Who his?  Whit baby, Issie?”

  “Two big polis came and said that Joe goat killed...stabbed alang the street there,” Wee Mary hid blurted oot, wringing her fingers roond the frayed hem ae the jumper she wis wearing that wis three sizes too big fur her, fresh tear streaks showing up oan that wee face ae hers.

  “Oh ma God, Helen, nawww!”  Issie hid wailed, trying tae shake her heid free fae Helen’s hauns.

  “Mary, whit polis?  When?”

  ”It wis the same two who lifted ma da,” Wee Mary hid sobbed.

  “Issie?  Look, c’mone, hen…we’ll get ye up oan tae the couch.  C’mone, ye’ll be mair comfortable sitting up.  Gie’s a haun, Mary-doll,” Helen hid commanded, lifting Issie up as Mary sprang intae life tae help her.  “Right, go and put the teapot oan and Ah’ll see tae yer maw.”

  “Oh, Helen, Helen, they’ve killed ma boy!  Ma boy…whit am Ah gonnae dae noo?” Issie hid groaned, sobbing and sniffling.

  Helen hid wiped Issie’s eyes and nose wae the sleeve ae her cardigan.

  “Ur ye sure, Issie?  Ur ye sure they said it wis yer Joe?”

  “A…aye, th…they said th…they wur sure it wis him.  It fitted his description.  Th...they said wan ae the detectives recognised him.  He hisnae been hame the night.  Oh ma God, Helen…Helen, whit am Ah gonnae dae?  Ma boy, ma boy,” Issie hid bubbled, her body wracked wae her sobbing as Helen held her closer.

  Helen’s brain hid been scrambled.  She hidnae expected this, even though she knew Joe hid been getting assaulted regularly noo, oan and aff, fur months.  Although the beatings hidnae needed hospital treatment, they’d been getting worse.  It hid only been aboot three weeks earlier that he’d come hame wae a burst lip and a swollen eye and the shirt hauf ripped aff ae his back.  He widnae tell, or wisnae able tae tell Issie who’d done it.  He’d jist kept saying that he’d fallen, even though a blind man could see that he’d been assaulted.  Helen couldnae take it in.  She’d known young Joe McManus since he wis a wee boy.  He wis a pal ae her ain boy, Johnboy.  They’d ran aboot wae each other since they’d been in primary school.  They’d even been in Thistle Park…the approved school oot in Paisley…thegither.

  “That’s the teapot boiled, Helen, bit we’ve nae milk, tea or sugar, so we’ve no,” Wee Mary hid said fae o’er at the living room door.

  “Look, hen, nip across tae ma hoose and take the milk, tea and sugar oot ae the cupboard in the kitchen.  Jist put yer haun through the letterbox and ye’ll be able tae pull the key oot.  It’s hinging oan the end ae a piece ae string.  Oh, and take across some breid and jam while ye’re at it, Mary,” Helen hid instructed her.  “And don’t stoap fur anywan, if ye see anywan oan the go.”

  It hid been a terrible night.  She’d managed tae get Wee Mary intae her bed and Issie hid cried hersel tae sleep oan the couch, clutching her rosary.  Helen hidnae wanted tae leave them, bit she’d left her fags across at the hoose and she’d been dying fur a smoke.  She’d looked aboot, bit it wis obvious that Issie wis skint.  Wee Mary hid telt her that her maw hid used wan ae the end pages oot ae her bible and used that tae smoke the last ae the tea leaves in the Typhoo packet in the kitchen before the polis hid arrived earlier wae the news aboot Joe.  Helen hid sneaked oot and ran across tae her hoose.  Jimmy hid been up and away by the time she’d reached hame.  Because the buses wurnae running at that time ae the morning in Springburn, he hid tae be oot the door, heiding doon Pinkston Road tae catch the hauf six bus oan Parly Road, doon in the Toonheid.

  “Aw Christ!” she’d cursed oot loud, as she saw his note oan the kitchen table. ‘Fucking nice wan, Helen,’ it hid said in his spidery haunwriting, as she clocked the cupboard door, ajar, minus the milk, tea, breid and jam.  She’d snatched up her fags and matches and hid started fur the door, and then hid hesitated.  She’d turned back and gone across tae the gas meter and lifted up the two wan bob bits sitting oan tap ae it and slipped them intae the pocket ae her cardigan as she heided oot the door.  Insteid ae heiding straight across Gourlay Street tae Issie’s, she’d turned right and heided doon by Sherbet's oan Endricks Street, tae the phone box oan Keppochhill Road.   She’d dialled the operator and hid asked tae be put through tae Springburn polis office.  Her first coin hid gone straight through the machine and come oot intae the coin cup at the bottom.

  “Hello, Springburn Police.  Hello?”

  “Aye, hello.  Ah’m phoning up aboot ma neighbour,” Helen hid blurted, relieved when the box hid accepted her reserve coin.

  “Whit aboot him?”

  “It’s a her.  Her name’s Issie McManus.  Ah believe her boy wis in an accident the night…last night, Ah mean.”

  “Aye, and?”

  “And well, she’s in an awful state, so she is.”

  “Ur ye a relative?”

  “Naw, Ah’m her neighbour...her pal.”

  “And whit’s yer name then?”

  Helen hid felt like screaming a moothful doon the phone, bit hid kept calm and gied her name and address.  She’d been shivering uncontrollably and hid been bursting fur a pee.

  “Well, seeing as ye’re no family, Ah cannae confirm anything tae ye.”

  “Ah’m no asking ye tae confirm anything.  Ah need a bit ae help, that’s aw.”

  “Like whit?”

  “Like, ye lifted her man the night…last night, fur no paying aff a fine.”

  “Aye, and?”

  “And, well, Ah believe ye shipped him aff up tae Barlinnie.”

  “Did we?”

  “Aye, and Ah wis wondering if there wid be any chance ae ye gaun back up tae pick him up and get him back hame, seeing as his boy wis murdered alang in Gourlay Street the night…last night.”

  “Us?  Oh, we widnae be able tae dae anything like that.  It’s oot ae oor hauns noo, so it is.  Ye’d need tae nip up tae The Bar-L first thing this morning and pay his fine and they’ll let him oot.”

  Helen hidnae been able tae haud it in any longer.  Her teeth hid been chattering wae the cauld and she’d been dancing fae wan fit tae the other.  She’d squinted oot through wan ae the wee, cauld, frosted covered panes ae glass and seen that there wisnae anywan aboot.

  “Hing oan a minute,” she’d said, leaving the phone tae dangle doon as she knelt doon and did a pee in the phone box.

  “Hello?  Hello?  Ur ye still there, hen?” the tinny voice, sounding like it wis coming fae across oan the other side ae Keppochhill Road hid called oot fae the dangling mouthpiece ae the receiver, swinging in front ae her face.

  “Aye, er, sorry aboot that.  Ah’m still here,” she’d said, bringing the haundset up tae her ear and mooth

  “There’s nothing we kin dae, hen.”

  “Bit, she’s oan her ain and she’s in some state, so she is.  She’s goat a ten-year-auld wee lassie wae her and there isnae any food in the hoose.”

  “Ah’m sorry, bit oor hauns ur tied.”

  “Right, maybe ye kin help me wae another question then.  She said something aboot hivving tae go doon tae the Saltmarket the morra...the day...tae identify the body.  She isnae in any fit state tae dae that.”

  “Aye, that’ll be the mortuary.  It’s doon the far end, near the High Court, jist before the Albert Bridge.”

  “Bit how is she gonnae get there?  She’s skint and she’s in a terrible state.  Is there any chance somewan kin come and pick her up?”

  “Oh, Ah’m sorry, hen.  That’s no oor job.  She’ll hiv tae get doon there oan her tod, so she will.”

  “So, wis it a stabbing, right enough?”

  “Ah’m sorry.  Ah’m no at liberty tae tell ye anything, seeing as ye’re no next-ae-kin.  It wid be mair than ma job’s worth.”

  “Look, fur Christ’s sake, there’s a poor wee wummin wae a ten-year-auld in bits up here in Gourlay Street.  Kin ye tell me anything?”

  “Oh, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, hen, bit as Ah said, ma job is oan the line here.”