Red Alert, page 17
She waited until she could wait no longer. Cautiously she moved the packing case aside. Johnny needed her. She had to go downstairs and see what she could do.
She listened again. Still no sound.
She took a deep breath and heaved the packing case completely free of the hatch. Then, still leaning against it, she waited with a fast-beating heart.
They must be away. Surely killing her wasn’t so important now. Getting clear with the money before the police arrived was the most likely course of action Paul and Renee would have decided on by now.
Cautiously she knelt down beside the hatch. She hesitated for a long moment. Then her fingers reached out to ease the hatch very slightly open so that she could peep through the crack. When it unexpectedly opened wide, her hands flew up to cover her face, to muffle a scream of anguish.
There was nothing more she could do, she was trapped, completely defenceless.
‘Kirsty, it’s all right. It’s me. Greg.’
‘Greg, oh thank God!’ Her screwed up muscles relaxed. ‘I thought for a dreadful moment it was Paul.’
‘Don’t worry. My police pals were bundling him and his partner in crime into the police car while I was looking for you.’
He shone the powerful beam of his torch from one end of the loft to the other. Its yellow beam picked out the made-up camp bed, the little table beside it, the flasks and dirty dishes, newspapers, magazines and some of Johnny’s clothes.
‘He was here all the time, wasn’t he?’
‘Greg, he came to me desperately needing help. I couldn’t turn him away.’
For a brief second, Greg’s big hand rested comfortingly on hers. Then he quickly disappeared back down the loft ladder.
‘Come on, Kirsty,’ he whispered. ‘Right now, Johnny needs medical attention. There’s a policeman with him and an ambulance on its way.’
Johnny was still lying on the floor where he’d fallen, with a police officer kneeling by his side trying to stem the flow of blood by pressing on his wound with a pad. Kirsty gave a sob of distress when she saw him.
‘Oh Greg, shouldn’t you lift him onto the settee?’
‘No, darling. We mustn’t move him.’
Kirsty and Greg knelt down on the other side of Johnny. Johnny opened his eyes and looked at them.
‘Don’t worry now.’ Greg’s voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘Everything will be all right. The ambulance is on its way.’
Johnny managed a faint ghost of a smile.
‘No, I’m already dead and it’s better for everyone, including myself, if we leave it that way. Look after my Kirsty, won’t you, Greg. She’s always looked after me so well.’
‘Of course. You know I will. But you mustn’t talk like this, Johnny.’
But Johnny had turned his head towards his sister and wasn’t listening to Greg any more.
‘Kirsty …’
‘Yes, dear?’ She smoothed back his dark hair.
‘Thanks,’ he said, and his smile was loving. ‘Thanks for everything.’
Then he closed his eyes.
‘Oh, no, Johnny. No …’
The tears came all at once – pouring, streaming, tumbling down her face.
‘Sh, sh, darling, please.’ Greg’s strong arm encircled her, held her very close. ‘He wanted it this way. Look at him. See his face. He’s at peace now.’
Kirsty looked at her brother. And she saw the truth of Greg’s words. She nodded and tried to wipe the tears away. At least Johnny would never suffer any more.
‘From now on, you’ve no need to worry,’ Greg said. ‘I’ll see to everything. There will be a quiet private funeral. Your mother need never know anything about it, or any of this. Do you hear me, Kirsty? She’ll be away on holiday at your Aunt Jess’s cottage up north. I’ll see to it. I’ll arrange everything.’
34
Words crackled and trembled all day.
‘Fire service …’
‘There’s a terrible fire …’
‘Fire service …’
‘The whole house is ablaze …’
‘Fire service …’
‘My invalid mother is trapped in her room. The door’s on fire. She’s screaming and I can’t get in to help her.’
‘Fire service …’
‘There’s flames all around us. There’s me and the children here … Oh God …’
‘Fire service …’
Greg’s work helped burn away past unease, past suspicions, and now more recent, dangerous and shocking events. The suspicion that something was going on but not knowing what. The shock of finding out. The efforts to protect the Price family. Telling Simon Price what had happened. They had succeeded in hiding the bloodstains on the sitting-room carpet from Mrs Price by covering them with a rug. With Simon’s help and cooperation, they had got her safely away to Simon’s cheerful sister, Jess, for a holiday, where Mrs Price’s attention was diverted to all the talk and preparations for the wedding, including putting the finishing touches to Kirsty’s dress. She shared a bedroom with Aunt Jess and was able to stop taking the strong sedation that had previously knocked her out every night. Instead, she enjoyed chatting to Aunt Jess until they both fell asleep.
There were still the desperate attempts by everyone to hide newspapers and every form of news from Mrs Price. There was blessed relief when their efforts were successful. Indeed, the holiday was so successful and Mrs Price and Aunt Jess got on so well together that Aunt Jess decided to sell her cottage up north and move in with the Prices, to live permanently in Botanic Crescent.
‘To tell the truth,’ she said, ‘it’s been a lonely life for me, living in such an isolated spot, since I was widowed.’
All their efforts had been successful, yet Greg knew that it would take much longer for the nightmare of it all to be completely forgotten.
Sometimes Kirsty would wake up with a sudden cry of anguish and he had to hold her tightly in his arms, stroke her hair, whisper soothing words.
‘It’s all right. It’s over. It’s all over.’
But he knew how she was feeling and he was glad he had his job to blot out his nightmares.
‘Fire service …’
‘For God’s sake, come quickly. There’s been a terrible explosion …’
‘Fire service …’
‘There’s flames shooting out a window of a tower block …’
‘Fire service …’
‘Oh my God, my children are in the bedroom. It’s on fire and I can’t get the door open. Oh dear Jesus, my children, my children …’
‘Fire service …’
35
Everyone agreed that it was great that Betty and Hamish had become an item. Both of them were so happy, they could hardly take their eyes off each other. And outside of the Life class, they chatted practically non-stop. They managed to concentrate on their work inside the art class because they both knew, as they all did, that it was vitally important to have good work ready for the show in the desperate hope that they would be awarded a degree.
However, on Sundays, Betty and Hamish travelled around. They’d been to Edinburgh a couple of times already, because, as Betty said, ‘There’s so many fascinating things to see there and Hamish knows all the history and everything.’
‘Well, not all the history and not everything,’ Hamish laughed. ‘But I do have an interest in Scottish history, right enough.’
Every Monday at break time, the rest of the class was regaled with their weekend adventures.
Hamish said, ‘Betty’s particularly interested in poets and writers. Even more so than the artists of a place. I could hardly drag her away from the Poetry Library.’
‘Oh, I’m interested in the artists too. In fact, I’d love to paint some of the buildings and views I’ve seen in Edinburgh. It’s such a beautiful city, even just to walk through and admire.’
‘You wouldn’t have thought it so beautiful to walk through in the early days. When it got dark, the closes would echo with the words “gardy loo” and then everybody would empty their chamber pots out of the windows.’
‘Och well, I suppose most big cities would do things like that when they’d no sanitation. But I’d rather think of what I read that one citizen said of the old town, “Here I stand at what is called the Cross of Edinburgh, and can in a few minutes take fifty men of genius and learning by the hand.”’
Tommy spoke up then. ‘There were plenty of clever men in Glasgow. Mostly in business and trade, I suppose. Tobacco lords made Glasgow. And if you’re interested in poets, Betty, you’ll know what Burns said about Glasgow.’
Betty shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Well, there used to be a John Smith’s bookshop in St Vincent Street in Burns’s time, and he had some dealings with them and discovered they gave him a much better deal than the booksellers in Edinburgh. He said, “They’re right decent booksellers in Glasgow, but oh they’re sair birkies in Edinburgh.”’
Betty laughed, and Tommy added, ‘There’s a plaque at the Virginia Street side of Marks & Spencer’s in Argyle Street. It used to be the Black Bull Inn on that site and Robert Burns stayed there when he visited Glasgow.’
‘Gosh, I must go and have a look at that.’
Sandra shook her head. ‘Have you never even been around Glasgow, Betty?’
‘No, just to and from the Art School. I was a prisoner in my mother’s house, I realise now. That’s why I’m enjoying freedom so much.’ She gazed adoringly round at Hamish, oblivious to the fact that he had pimples and he was a bit overweight. ‘And I’m so lucky.’
‘Well, if your mother gets better,’ Sandra said, ‘don’t you allow her to make you a prisoner again.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson. Nothing and no one will ever do that to me again. I’m a completely different person now.’
‘Well, I think we could all agree with that. Here, look at the time! We’d better get back to work.’
They all hurried back to the art room as fast as they could. Only Tommy dragged his feet. Sandra had been quite cheered for a few minutes because Tommy had contributed to the conversation. He had got so much worse recently and hardly spoke at all, even to her.
He no longer showed any interest in painting her, and now even in the art class he just sat for most of the time staring hopelessly, miserably, at his canvas without even lifting a brush. Simon Price was away teaching a course down south, but they had heard that he was due back soon. Sandra dreaded his return, for Tommy’s sake. Personally, she didn’t care a button for Simon Price, or what he said. At least, she didn’t care what he said to her. But oh, she wished with all her heart that she could say something or do something to stop him picking on Tommy again.
She’d spoken to Tommy about how she felt.
‘I don’t care what he says to me, Tommy. Why do you care what he says to you? For pity’s sake, have some faith in yourself. Since that monster has been away, the other tutor hasn’t criticised you or your work, has he?’
Tommy shook his head.
‘Well then. It’s just Simon Price’s horrible nature. I’ve told you before. He only picks on you so much because he’s a bully and you let him get away with bullying you.’
Tommy shook his head again.
‘Why? Why are you letting him do this to you, Tommy? Honestly, I could shake you, anything to get you to see sense.’
‘We’ve been over all this before, Sandra. You know perfectly well why I’m depressed. Simon Price is a brilliant artist. He knows talent when he sees it and he doesn’t see any talent in my work. I respect him for being so straightforward and truthful.’
‘Oh God,’ Sandra groaned. ‘When will you ever learn? I told you, everyone has told you, that you’re a brilliant artist. You have enormous talent.’
‘Simon Price knows what he’s talking about.’
‘And we don’t? Oh, thanks very much.’
Tommy didn’t say any more and, feeling depressed herself now, Sandra also fell silent. What else could she do? She had tried everything. But nothing had been any use. At least Tommy already had enough work to put into the show. Maybe once he got his degree, his self-confidence would return. She had never been a religious girl, but now she found herself praying.
‘Oh God, please look after Tommy and make him see that he is a very talented artist. Please help him to get out of this terrible depression he’s suffering from. I’ll suffer anything for his sake. I’d rather not get my degree if it would mean he would get his and make him more confident and happy again. Please, oh please, don’t let Simon Price torment him any more. Let him torment me instead and leave Tommy alone. Oh please, please, God. Help Tommy.’
36
‘There’s plenty of interesting history about Glasgow as well as Edinburgh,’ Hamish told Betty.
‘Glasgow used to be a wee fishing village. Although even then it had a stone cathedral. St Kentigern settled in Glasgow and called it Glas-cu. That meant the dear green place.’
‘The dear green place,’ Betty echoed with pleasure.
‘He became Glasgow’s patron saint. He was so popular that people called him Mungo. That meant dear one.’
They were walking arm in arm through Glasgow Green.
‘Women used to do their washing here and dry their clothes. Can you imagine clothes flapping about in the wind all over the Green?’
‘Didn’t they have sinks and water in their houses?’
Hamish shrugged. ‘There was a Town Council order in … I think it was as far back as 1623, outlawing the washing of clothes anywhere other than in private houses. But no one paid any attention. It carried on as a public washing green until 1977.’ Hamish pointed ahead. ‘You can still see the iron posts for ropes over there.’
Betty gazed round at him in admiration. ‘I’m amazed at how much you know about history, Hamish.’
He gave a half laugh. ‘Oh, I always had plenty of time to read up about it. I practically lived in libraries. The first thing I did when I found myself in a new town or wherever was to find the nearest library. It was a nice warm place to sit as well.’
He laughed again.
‘By the way, the English visitors to the city all went to look at the washing being done.’
‘Why on earth was that?’
‘Well, the washerwomen used to stamp on the washing with their bare feet and hold up their skirts as they were doing it. That was something no one ever saw south of the border, apparently.’
Betty laughed along with him.
‘So it was the bare feet and legs they came to watch.’
‘Then it became the place for all sorts of games and sports. An open-air gymnasium, a golf club, a bowling green, a tennis courts, a hockey pitch, and always there was football. That’s where and how Rangers Football Club started. And of course, it was like Hyde Park in London with all its preachers and politicians and all sorts of speakers bawling the odds every Saturday and Sunday.’
‘It all sounds fascinating.’
‘Yes, I enjoyed reading about Glasgow Green. The powers that be often tried to take it over for one commercial reason or another, but each time, the people of Glasgow fought them for the right to keep it as a public park for the use of every Glaswegian. And they always won. Now it’s not only the oldest public park in Glasgow, but the oldest public park in the whole of Britain.’
‘Hamish,’ Betty said suddenly, ‘would you like to come back home with me for tea and to meet my mother?’
‘Gosh, from what you’ve told me about your mother, she’s not going to be pleased to see me.’
‘I’ve told her about you and said I was going to invite you. And I admit she looked furious but she always looks furiously at me now. She’s obviously full to overflowing with hatred of me. She’ll hate you even more. She’s always loathed and detested anyone of the male sex.’
‘Well, then …’
‘Well, I’m always honest with her now. I try to be as kind as I can, but totally honest. I need to have my own life now. I think I have a right. She controlled me and made me live a lie for so long. Too long. Will you come, Hamish?’
He squeezed her arm. ‘Of course I will. We’ll face her together.’
‘Oh, thank you, Hamish.’
They made their way then to a bus that would take them along Great Western Road to Anniesland Cross, near Betty’s home. Once there, he followed her into a clean and well-maintained close, so different from his own. Betty opened the door and led Hamish along the lobby and into the sitting room. Her mother was sitting watching television. She turned a malevolent stare on them.
‘Mother, this is Hamish I was telling you about.’
Hamish went over with his hand outstretched to shake the older woman’s hand. He jerked quickly back when she spat at him.
Betty said, ‘I told you what a nasty, horrible old woman she was but even I didn’t realise she’d be that bad. I’m so sorry, Hamish.’
He shrugged and wiped the spittle off his jacket with a handkerchief.
‘It’s OK. Don’t worry.’
‘Come on through to the kitchen with me and I’ll put the kettle on and make us a pot of tea.’
In the kitchen she said, ‘I know you’re miserable in your digs, Hamish, and I was going to suggest that you move in here but now I suppose you’ll think that here would be even worse for you. But you must be disgusted by my mother’s behaviour.’
‘Well, yes, but I could put up with your mother, Betty, and I’d love to live with you …’
‘Oh Hamish …’ Betty interrupted, throwing her arms around his neck in delight.
‘But wait a minute. I wouldn’t move in with you unless we were married first. I had enough of the insecure kind of life my mother led. She never married, never seemed to want to settle down anywhere with anyone for any length of time. I vowed I would never be like that. I’d like a happy, settled life with a wife and family. And I’d make sure my family had a secure and loving home life. That’s always been my dream.’
Betty’s face glowed with happiness.
‘Was that a proposal, Hamish?’
He grinned. ‘I suppose it was.’
