Goodmans of Glassford Street (2 page)

The children loved her and enjoyed having her look after them, just as she enjoyed being with them. But she believed the nanny was purposely given time off so that she would have to leave what she was doing in the shop and go to the luxury penthouse in George Square.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy these visits. She did. She sang and recited all the often daft things she remembered her father singing and reciting to her. As often as not, she had the children giggling or squealing with laughter, or trying to copy her and enthusiastically singing with her.

Emily, who was four, had learned quite a few songs and recitations and could proudly repeat them to her mother and father. Like the one that Tom used to sing:

I’ve got sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence

To last me all my life.

I’ve got tuppence to spend,

And tuppence to lend,

And tuppence to send home to my wife.

Minna and Douglas became all smarmy and praised not only Emily but her too, and they told her how she should spend more time with the children.

Even the ones involving drink and drunks that the children belted out were effusively praised.

No friends have I to receive me,

No pretty little wife to deceive me,

I’m as happy as a king, believe me,

As I go rolling home.

Rolling home blind drunk,

Rolling home blind drunk,

By the light of the silvery moooo-ooon.

Happy is the day,

When an airman gets his pay,

Rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling home, blind drunk!

It was good to see the children so happy and having such fun. It was tempting to be with them all the time, every day. But she was not going to let Douglas Benson take Goodmans from her and ruin everything she and Tom had built up.

She refused the last request to go and look after the children in the morning. ‘I’m working and I can’t take time off during the day any more than you or Minna can. In fact, if the children really need someone, it should be their mother who goes.’

‘Minna is needed in the store,’ Douglas insisted.

Ignoring him, Abi said calmly to Minna, ‘Take the morning off if you need to, dear.’

Douglas’s eyes acquired a steely glimmer and, for the first time, Abi knew for certain that he hated her. She felt a stab of fear but immediately quelled it. She was sorry for Minna. She loved her daughter but could have shaken her at times when the poor girl stood looking so miserable and anxious, not wanting to upset her mother but totally incapable of saying a word to Douglas on her mother’s behalf. She looked so plain too, with her hair pinned back in a small bun and wearing no make-up.

John once said, ‘Minna looks older than you, Mum.’

Certainly, Abi had always tried to look smart. She wore make-up and visited the hairdresser’s every week. A little grey was beginning to show and she had it regularly tinted away.

At the last minute, the nanny could work the necessary hours after all, which confirmed Abi’s suspicions. She went into the shop at the usual time, feeling slightly sad at first at missing another opportunity of seeing the children. The manager, Mr McKay, had already opened the doors. He always came in early to let the cleaners in and then the rest of the staff. All the staff came in by a special door so that they could be checked. Mr McKay was a keen man with a marvellous memory. He knew by name every employee, male or female, from the cleaners to the store detective. In Goodmans, everyone was called Miss or Mr or Mrs, and whatever their second name was – never by their first name.

Abi savoured the sights and sounds and smells of the place as she moved between the counters. The boys’ department, the glassware, the jewellery, the shoes, ladies’ underwear, the hosiery, the haberdashery. There was the dry sensation of dust in the wake of the cleaners and a mixture of floor disinfectant and counter polish. The perfumery department enfolded her in delicious aromas of Chanel and Armani. The jewellery department sparkled and twinkled as the staff there arranged their stock in glass cases and fixtures.

Abi said good morning to everyone as she passed, including the cleaner who was washing the stairs.

‘Watch your feet, Mrs Goodman.’ The woman moved aside to let Abi pass. ‘It’s still wet. Safer to hang on to the banister.’

‘Yes, I will, Mrs Andrews. Thank you.’

She always climbed the stairs instead of taking the lift. Good exercise, she told herself. It was so important to keep fit and well.

Upstairs, there was the children’s department. Upstairs again were curtains – there were long solid counters in front of fixtures holding the stock and large tables with stock on them. There were sloping counters with a ledge at the bottom that held rolls of material.

Abi made for the other part of the stairway and climbed up yet again to the third floor, breathing in the musty smell of the carpet department when she reached it. On the third floor was a huge toy department. It had become quite famous. All children, but especially Emily and the twins, absolutely loved the place. There was an exceptionally good buyer in charge there, a Mr Webster, who would trawl to the other side of the globe if necessary, to find and buy the latest and most intriguing new toy.

Up again to the fourth floor where the offices, canteen and other facilities were situated. Her office, which she had shared with Tom, was of huge proportions, with tall windows looking out on to Glassford Street. Tom’s desk was still there at the other side of the room from hers. She liked to look over from her desk and see it, and imagine that Tom had just gone out to inspect one of the departments, or speak to the managers or a buyer, and he’d soon be back. Suddenly she experienced one of her little panic attacks. She felt unsafe without Tom. Sometimes she even wondered if Douglas Benson was right and she was going out of her mind. She had become forgetful at times. Names, for instance, were a problem. Often she couldn’t remember someone’s name, often someone she had known for years. There were times when she had just to say ‘Good morning’ to a staff member, instead of ‘Good morning, Miss Brown’ or whatever. Of course, there were a great many people on the staff. It was surely understandable not to be able to remember them all. But she used to remember them all. She had a horror now of forgetting the managers’ names or one of the buyers at the daily meetings they held in her office. Douglas and Minna were usually there too.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ she kept telling herself firmly. ‘Nothing at all.’

After unlocking the big front doors, the next thing Norman McKay did at eight o’clock sharp each morning was switch off the burglar alarm. The lights were then turned on, and then he let the cleaners in. He had been at the shop from just before eight. It was always a strange atmosphere at that early hour – empty, quiet, ghost-like. He found it depressing, especially now that he was so worried about his wife. The cleaners trooped in, then disappeared upstairs to hang up their coats and collect their buckets and mops and other equipment. The lift clanged. Then there was silence again. He was left gazing bleakly at the vast expanse of counters and glass cabinets. He turned to peer into the blackness of Glassford Street. Soon he heard the sharp tattoo of the store detective’s high heels.

‘Good morning, Mr McKay.’

He looked over his spectacles at her.

‘Good morning, Miss Eden.’

Miss Eden was a woman in her forties – a neat, attractive brunette when she arrived, but she could change her appearance very quickly into a shabby woman in a padded coat, headscarf and flat-heeled shoes. She disguised herself as an elderly woman by wearing spectacles and a smooth white wig pinned back in a bun. Or as a housewife clutching a purse and shopping bag. Or someone in a denim skirt and coloured shades. She could be all four on the same day. And if it rained during the day, she put on a raincoat and went out for a few minutes to get the coat wet so that she could blend in more believably with the customers. It was arranged that she came in at different hours each day but always reported to Mr McKay in his office if her arrival was later in the day.

There was a security guard in uniform as well. He mostly just stood at the door, or hovered somewhere nearby. Miss Eden went all over the place. She saved the store a lot of money. By Scots law, two people had to stop the suspected thief, and it had to be outside the shop, so the security guard always helped Miss Eden with that.

The staff began to arrive and Mr McKay wished them all a polite good morning. Then he greeted Mrs Goodman, who was always early, a very conscientious woman. Long may she last, he thought. He didn’t trust Douglas Benson. Jobs would be at risk, he felt sure, if Mrs Goodman gave up and Benson took over. But Mrs Goodman looked fit and well, thank goodness. She was a shapely, pretty woman with blonde hair, obviously dyed to hide her grey, but why not? His wife still struggled to look her best despite her debilitating illness. The hairdresser came to the house now to ‘touch up my roots as well as give me a nice shampoo and set’, as she always said. Dear Jenny. Always being cheerful. If only he could do more to help her.

Determinedly he swallowed over his distress, adjusted his spectacles, and concentrated on the next arrivals. After a time, Mr and Mrs Benson entered. He gave them the usual polite good morning. Benson nodded briefly and without interest. Mrs Benson gave a shy, nervous smile before lowering her eyes and hurrying after her husband. What a frightened little mouse she was. Not a bit like her mother. Or her brother, for that matter. He’d met John Goodman a few times when he’d called to see his mother and take her out for lunch. These were on his occasional free days from his Scottish Parliament duties. He was a really cheery, sparky type and an ardent Scottish Nationalist. Not a bit snobby either. He was always ready for a chat. Usually taking the opportunity to remind everyone to vote SNP, of course. But it was usually just a brief, throwaway cheery line before he left. Nothing prolonged or heavy. Everybody liked John Goodman.

He went round all the departments, checking that every department was adequately staffed and no one was off. Sometimes it meant drafting someone in from another department. Thankfully, he discovered everything was all right. He would have to repeat the procedure when the part-time staff came in. For the present, the staff were all accounted for and busy tidying, replenishing the fixtures, and dusting. Everything that nobody had had time to see to the previous night.

Quite often, because he was the keyholder, he could be called out in the middle of the night. He never knew what was going to happen. It could be a broken window or a fire, perhaps. The police were always in attendance when he arrived at the shop in response to a phone call, and if it was a theft or a burglary, the police went in first. Or at least they always had a dog with them and they sent the dog in first. Not thinking, he often stepped forward to open the door with his key and go in himself. He obviously did not realise what might have happened if he’d walked in then, they told him. He didn’t mind so much getting wakened in the middle of the night, but it did upset him to have Jenny disturbed or worried. If only they could have a nurse or maid or full-time carer who would live in. Or, even better, private medical treatment. He’d heard about a new drug that, if not a cure for Jenny’s type of cancer, certainly would stop it getting any worse and eventually killing her. It had even been claimed that it was a ‘miracle drug’ and could indeed cure the illness. But the treatment was only available in a special private nursing home and the cost was horrendous. He simply could not raise that amount of money. It was a big enough worry employing a daily carer, plus a cleaner. The carer had to be with Jenny every minute of every day. The cleaner cleaned the house and did the washing and shopping. He had tried to do more of the housework and shopping himself at first, the housework in the evenings and the shopping in his lunch hour, but it was too much. Anyway, Jenny liked him to sit with her.

‘I don’t see you all day,’ she pleaded. ‘I need to treasure every minute of your company while I can.’

There was an ominous ring in her voice that told him she knew she was dying and they didn’t have much time left together. He denied it, of course. Both to her and to himself. In his heart of hearts, though, he knew it was true. She was going to die – unless he could find the money to pay for this new private treatment.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was time to go upstairs to the usual morning meeting in Mrs Goodman’s office. It had become quite a tense affair, with Mrs Goodman in charge and talking with authority to the buyers and assistant managers, while for the most part Douglas Benson either openly disagreed with her or seethed in silence. The Bensons could have shared the big office with Mrs Goodman but she insisted that they remain based in their own smaller office room next door. He suspected that she was still clinging to the memory of her husband, and a fine man he was. No doubt she couldn’t bear anyone to sit in his large, ornately carved chair. No one else attempted to. Rows of ordinary chairs were brought in and lined up. Everyone in front of Mrs Goodman, the Bensons one on each side of her.

This morning several of the buyers were not there. They travelled around a lot. Sometimes they bought stock from warehouses in Glasgow or elsewhere in Scotland, but as often as not, they went down to Manchester or Leeds or Nottingham or London to buy from the big wholesalers and manufacturers there. Mr Webster, the buyer for toys, often went down to South Castle-on-Sea.

It was a lengthy meeting, with Douglas Benson getting his oar in as often as he could. Norman prayed that Mrs Goodman wouldn’t forget anyone’s name. It was something anybody could do, but it was obvious Benson looked triumphant when Mrs Goodman had a wee lapse of memory. He was trying to prove she was incapable. One of the main ideas he kept arguing for at every meeting was doing away with most of the counters and having stock, especially fashion, hanging on display for customers to rifle through and examine and take into the fitting rooms to try on. Then the customers could take the goods over to one central counter where they could pay. This, he pointed out, was done in every other department store now. True, but as Mrs Goodman said, they were not just another department store. They were different. They were special. They were Goodmans of Glassford Street and people came from all over, not just the city of Glasgow but further afield, to visit and purchase goods.