Goodmans of Glassford Street (26 page)

He told Miss Eden later on their way home, ‘Much to my surprise, I found the whole process both challenging and fascinating.’

‘Oh good. And you’ll enjoy it even more once you begin to master some of the techniques.’

‘I would never have thought of joining the club. Thank you for suggesting it, Miss Eden.’

They bought fish suppers on the way home as a celebration and savoured eating them straight from their wrappings with their fingers.

‘No use dirtying dishes at this time of night,’ Miss Eden said.

It was unlike her to do or say such a thing. Completely out of character for both of them. It was just an unusual, out of character kind of night. However, they both meticulously washed their hands afterwards and gave their usual polite goodnights before retiring.

After a few classes, Miss Eden said, ‘You are a quick learner, Mr McKay. You are getting really good at the karate.’

‘Well, I enjoy the exercise. I feel so much more positive. I should have done something like this years ago.’

‘Oh, I think you’ve always been positive, Mr McKay. After all, you’ve always been a good store manager.’

‘More confident too,’ he said as if he hadn’t heard her.

‘Well, karate certainly improves self-confidence, but I wouldn’t have thought you needed your self-confidence built up. I mean, not now. It was your physical health and strength I was thinking of when I suggested you join the club.’

‘Yes, I do feel physically stronger too. You’ll have noticed that even my appetite has improved.’

She laughed.

‘Yes, I think I’ll have to put up your rent or you’ll be eating me out of house and home.’

‘Yes, I’m not paying nearly enough, Miss Eden.’

‘Och, I was just joking. Of course you’re paying enough. More than enough.’

Sometimes they did a bit of karate practice at home. He would ask about a technique and she would explain it to him and demonstrate it.

Then one evening, just as he was going off to his room, he turned at the kitchen door and said, ‘I saw an advert in this morning’s
Herald
about dancing lessons. All kinds – ballroom, even salsa. I was thinking, how about us attending classes for that, Doris?’

For a minute, she was so shocked at the unexpected use of her first name, she couldn’t speak. Nor could she bring herself to reply using his first name. No way could she utter the word ‘Norman’. But eventually, she did manage to say, ‘Yes, I think I’d enjoy attending classes for that.’

‘Fine,’ he said and went away, smiling, to his room.

‘Now are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own, Mum?’ John asked.

‘Yes, of course, dear. I’m fine now.’ She wasn’t, but she could not expect John to stay with her any longer.

She waved him off with a smile on her face but fear in her heart. She made a determined attempt to quell the fear. At least the worst of the conflict with Douglas Benson was over. John had been with her when she’d told Benson about her move. His anger would continue to simmer, of course, and he would not give up trying to get rid of her from the store. But at least the first explosion of incredulity and rage had subsided.

Now here she was on her own and, as John had said, starting a new life. She didn’t feel she was starting a new life. She looked out of the big corner window of the sitting room. From one side, she could see people relaxing
al fresco
at the tables of one of the cafés. They were sipping coffee and eating cakes. From the other side, she could look down at busy Ingram Street. From the windows of the kitchen and the bedrooms, the view was of the inner courtyard and designer shops. Here, Glaswegians could wander through the emporia of Armani and Versace. The setting was a combination of Victorian façades and the sculptor Alexander Stoddart’s neo-classical statues with ultra-modern chic. There were Stoddart’s bronzes of Mercury and Italia sitting on top of the wall heads. There were also Shona Kinloch’s ‘Wee dug’ and ‘Wee man’. The ‘Wee man’ was a budding Romeo throwing a kiss to his imaginary sweetheart. There was also a small greenery and water feature in the middle of the courtyard. As John said, ‘What could be a more attractive and interesting place to live in the centre of a city?’

The flat itself was attractive, with its high ceilings and beautifully decorative cornicing. It had a dining room, as well as a fair-sized kitchen, with the latest modern fitments. She had no complaints about the flat or its situation. Except that it wasn’t ‘home’. It wasn’t Huntershill. Tom had never been here.

The sitting room was not nearly as large as the one at Huntershill, and neither were any of the other rooms. Mr Webster had said that the sitting-room suite, indeed most of the furniture from the house, would not fit in, and would make the flat look crowded. There would hardly be any space to move around it. He had persuaded her to sell it and buy a new smaller settee and two easy chairs, and a few other pieces of furniture. Mrs Webster had gone to Goodmans with her to get the new furniture. Mrs Webster was very enthusiastic about some of the things they looked at. At the time, they had pretended everything was for Mrs Webster, of course, in case Douglas Benson should find out sooner than they meant him to. They wanted to make sure Abi was properly settled in and everything was completed first.

Abi just went along with everything that Mrs Webster suggested. Admittedly, Mrs Webster had excellent taste. In the end, it turned out the old curtains didn’t match the new suite and so they had to be replaced too. There was nothing left of Tom any more. Nothing he had touched, nothing that had been handed down through the generations.

John had been carried along by the Websters’ enthusiasm. ‘Right enough, Mum. It’s time you let go of the past. The Websters are right. The old house was too isolated for you on your own. And far too big. This new place will be the making of you. You’ll soon be back to normal again. This is your new start in life. It’ll do you the world of good. It’s such a cheery, interesting place compared with where you were before.’

Where she had been before was with Tom. She tried to pass the time by looking out of the windows when she was in the flat. She couldn’t pass any time writing the book. John had taken it away with him, so eager was he to try it out with Scottish publishers. She hoped he would not be too disappointed when it was rejected, as she was sure it would be. She didn’t care.

John had taken Tom’s office chair away from his office in the store. He desperately needed a chair like that for his desk in the flat on the Royal Mile, he said. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mum? It would be just perfect for my desk. You don’t seem to be able to buy chairs like that nowadays.’

She could not deny John anything and on this occasion, what would be the excuse? But oh, it was the last straw. Not even in her office could she look across and remember Tom sitting in that chair any more. And all the time, more than ever now, she could feel Douglas Benson insidiously undermining her. The strength to fight him was seeping away. So this was what it was like to grow older? No energy, no capacity to meet challenges. At one time, she had enjoyed a challenge. Anything new and challenging in life had even felt like fun. She used to laugh. She never laughed now.

Now, she just slumped back in one of the strange armchairs and tried to seek comfort in the familiarity of her
CSI: Miami
DVDs. Horatio was still the same. He was still tall and loose-limbed. He still stood with his jacket open and his thumbs hooked in his trouser belt. He still wore his shades. And, when he peeled them off, his eyes softened and narrowed with concentrated tenderness and understanding.

Every morning Abi walked along to the store and tried to keep her usual routine. She had her managerial meetings. She noticed, and was glad to see, that Mr McKay was looking well. He had suffered terribly when his wife died and his suffering had been stamped on his face for all to see.

She did her usual round of the departments and had a few words with some of the staff. Everything and everyone seemed to be ticking over normally. There were no problems or complaints. Of course, she paid all the staff well and there were plenty of good perks. She would have worked late but there was no excuse to do so. There was no putting off the time when she had to return to the flat.

Once she went out to Huntershill for a secret look at the dear old place. To her shock and horror, it no longer looked like her old home at all. All the trees and bushes had completely disappeared. At the side of the house was a glittering glass conservatory and a large patio of garish coloured tiles. There was garden furniture of glass and metal. A glass table had a tall metal thing that looked like a silver lamp sticking up through the middle of it. The beautifully carved oak door at the front of the house had been replaced by a white painted door, over which hung a red and white striped awning.

Her beautiful home had gone. She could never come back here any more, not even to look at the place. Once she got back to the flat, she wept brokenheartedly. She had to take a sleeping tablet to knock her out and banish the awful place from her mind’s eye.

It still haunted her the next day. She could not get over it. Although she had left it, somehow she had always believed it would still be there, the same as ever. That day at the shop, Miss Eden had said, ‘Are you keeping all right, Mrs Goodman? You look rather pale.’

‘I didn’t have a very good sleep last night. I get like that sometimes. I have a bout of sleeplessness. I must take a sleeping tablet tonight.’

‘Well, I hope you’ll feel better tomorrow.’

‘I’m sure I will. But thank you for your concern, Miss Eden.’

Miss Eden had sharp eyes. She was an excellent detective. She missed nothing. Abi felt lucky in having her as an employee. It helped to know that, with such good employees, the store could keep running smoothly and successfully. Thinking of good employees made her remember Mr Webster. He’d been back down to South Castle-on-Sea and had experienced no more problems with the woman from The Floral. This was a great relief to both him and Mrs Webster, but apparently Mrs Webster occasionally went down with him for company. They seemed a very devoted and happy couple. She envied them.

Then something surprised her. John phoned to say that the book had been accepted by the very first publisher he had offered it to. He didn’t just say the words in a normal manner, of course. Being John he was almost hysterical with joy and enthusiasm. He shouted so loudly, she had to hold the phone away from her ear.

‘Mum, your book’s going to be published. It’s been accepted by the very first publisher I gave it to. I told you, didn’t I? I told you.’

She shook her head at the phone. ‘What on earth would anybody want to make a book of all that nonsense for, John? And who on earth would want to spend good money on it and read it?’

‘The publishers know their business, Mum. They must know it will sell, otherwise they wouldn’t have taken it on. Now you must come through and speak to them. I’ll come with you to their office. It’s not far from my flat.’

She felt a bit confused, partly because John was shouting so loudly. But a time was arranged for her to go and meet the publishers.

‘They’re going to bring it out very soon, Mum. It’s just in time for their summer list, apparently. And there will be a launch party and everything. It seems the firm was about to go bust but it was saved by that guy I told you about.’

‘Yes, you said he was eccentric and he must be, right enough,’ she said, ‘to fling his money about like that.’

‘Och, it happens all the time, Mum. Taking over different businesses, expanding them, and so on.’

Oh yes, like what Douglas Benson wanted to do. There were too many Douglas Bensons in the world – in the business world at least.

Abi felt harassed more than excited when she travelled to Edinburgh for the meeting with Mr Thomas, the publisher. It turned out to be pleasant and businesslike. John was still simmering with excitement but the elderly man behind the desk in the office was quietly spoken and, after they discussed and then signed the contract, he took them out to lunch.

A launch party was arranged and at John’s suggestion, it was to take place in the courtyard of the Italian Centre.

‘There would be no room in the book department in the store,’ John explained to Mr Thomas. ‘With all the counters and shelves and show cases. But there’s such a beautiful big courtyard in the Italian Centre. We could have a great party there.’

And so it was arranged. John enthusiastically offered to help. So did the Websters. Even Douglas Benson seemed pleased, as well as astonished. ‘Now there’s something new to concentrate on. There’s a whole new career for you. A writer, who would have thought of that?’

‘I did.’ John laughed. ‘I had quite a job persuading her but I managed it.’

‘Good for you,’ Benson said. Then to her, ‘Well, well, so now you’re a writer.’

She didn’t bother replying. It was so ridiculous. The arrangements for the launch, however, kept everyone, including herself, very busy. Mr Thomas did not come to Glasgow to see what they were doing but his young woman assistant did, and reported back to him.

John persuaded Abi not only to purchase a new outfit for the event and have her blonde hair cut and styled, but to have a special facial as well. And on the big day, he cried out, ‘You look wonderful, Mum!’

John had always been the same. He allowed his enthusiasm to completely carry him away.

Official invitations from the publisher had been sent out but members of the public could also join the party and hopefully buy a book. That, apparently, was the whole purpose of the event. Fortunately it turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day.

Abi sat at a table in the bright sunlight with a pile of books at her elbow which she signed as people queued up in front of her. The girl from the publisher’s stood at the side of the table, ready to keep passing more books for her to sign.

At one point, Abi said, ‘Is the publisher not coming?’

‘Not Mr Thomas. But see over there – that’s the guy who saved the company. I’ll introduce you when he comes over. He’s going to take you to dinner afterwards.’