The Barbershop Seven (111 page)

*

W
illiams immediately phoned building security and informed them of the peculiarity of Honeyfoot's absence. Building security made a few initial inquiries, decided that Honeyfoot's absence was indeed very peculiar, and by 10:00am had called the police. By 10:30 there was a team of fifteen officers in place, and by 11:00 the press had been informed, and within another quarter of an hour the media was filled with wild explanations of why Honeyfoot was absent from both her apartment and parliament.

And as she watched BBC24 in her boss's office, where one political 'expert', of whom she had never heard, expounded his theory that Honeyfoot had been kidnapped by Glasgow drug barons, she wondered if Honeyfoot was currently on her way into work and would be mad as Hell at her for starting this whole thing off.

***

'W
hat do you do all day?' asked Barney.

It was almost eleven-thirty. Barney had been sitting doing nothing for two hours. And now that he had cut the First Minister's hair for the month, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd be doing for the next few weeks.

The Rev Alison Blake, with whom he had fallen into conversation, laid down her Bible on a table and stared at the carpet.

'He more or less expects us to be here for him when he needs us,' she said. 'That's about it. You can fill your time as needs be.'

'So, are we stuck in this office?' asked Barney.

'Just about,' said Blake. 'This is our workplace.'

'But,' said Barney, 'I've cut the guy's hair. He's not going to need me for weeks.'

Blake laughed and smiled.

'You don't know him very well, do you? Take a look at that wall.'

Barney followed her gaze and took another look at the sermon on the mount; although Father Michael, who had not moved since Barney had first entered, partially obscured his view of the principal character.

'You think the man who had that painted on the wall of his office will not want his hair attended to several times a day?'

Barney shifted slightly so that he could get a better look at JLM's likeness. True enough, before he had gone off to the television studio, he'd had Barney give his hair a quick check over.

'It's madness,' said Barney. 'What do the rest of you do?'

'Madness ain't the half of it,' said Blake. 'Well, Veron fusses constantly over those damned outfits.' Barney turned to look at the dresser, hands on his hips, worrying over a tassel. 'JLM wears about one in twenty, they all look so ridiculous. In fact, Minnie ends up wearing more of them than he does. The two doctors sit at their laptops all day,' she continued, raising her voice to make sure they could hear, 'trawling the internet for sicko porn sites.' Blackadder smiled, Farrow flicked her the bird. 'Dr Farrow has to administer to the patient every time he has a sore throat and thinks he has a malignant cyst on his tongue. Dr Blackadder does psychological profiles of various people. She just makes stuff up, and throws in a few medical techno-terms to make it look good. He buys any old shit.'

Blackadder was still smiling and Barney felt a little out of place, as any newcomer would, not in on the in-jokes.

'They don't have to wear those glasses, by the way,' said Blake, 'he just thinks female doctors should look intelligent.'

'That's, em...' said Barney.

'The measure of the man,' said Blake. 'And the Father and I are here for spiritual guidance, which is a load of shit. Really, we're just here to advise on what reaction he's likely to get from the two churches when he does something moderately controversial.'

She stared at Father Michael and Barney followed her gaze. His head was inclined at the same angle; the hands were clasped in the same manner.

'Michael's a bit of a troubled soul, to tell the truth,' said Blake. 'Completely at odds with the whole priest thing, really.'

'Oh, aye?' said Barney.

'Yeah,' said Blake. 'Can't blame him. I'm always on at him to come over from the Dark Side, but then, I suppose if he did, he'd lose his job.'

'The Dark Side?' said Barney.

Blake laughed.

'You know what I'm saying. Probably shouldn't call it that.'

'You, eh,' said Barney, 'don't talk like your usual minister. The First Minister doesn't mind?'

Blake shrugged at first, then lowered herself slightly in the seat and her voice with it.

'Well, you know, I kinda balled him a while back, so I've pretty much got free-reign, what with him being scared I go public 'n' all.'

Barney nodded. Balled. Right. Got you. That made sense. In as much as anything made sense to him.

'So,' he said, 'we don't get involved with anyone else in government?'

'God, no,' said Blake. 'We're JLM's people, and that's it.'

'Right,' said Barney.

And he stared at the floor and wondered about this preposterous set of circumstances into which he'd been thrown.

'So, how did you get here?' asked Blake. 'Everyone's got a story.'

Barney turned and looked into her eyes – deep, dark, impenetrable, and very, very attractive – and tried to think if he knew what that was.

'Not sure,' he said a while later, after he'd managed to draw his gaze away from hers, a look which had threatened to swallow him up. 'Been around a bit. Cut some hair. To be perfectly honest, I haven't a bloody clue. I'm kind of hoping someone's going to sort me out. Some of the past seems a bit dodgy, but I can't pin anything down.'

'Yeah?' said Blake. 'Sounds interesting.'

'Maybe,' said Barney. 'It's all a bit vague. Been a lot of murder in my life, I think.'

'Ooh, yummy,' she said, 'that sounds right up my street. Very biblical. Do tell?'

Barney determined not to look into her eyes again, as it disconcerted him to his core.

'Can't really remember. It's just a haze.'

'Yeah,' she said, enthusiasm drifting from her voice, 'I get like that sometimes as well. I'll see if I can find anything out for you.'

'Thanks,' said Barney.

They lurched into silence. Eventually Blake lifted her Bible and began to read once more the story of Jesus changing water into wine; but no matter how often she read it, no matter how she tried to view the story in her head, or what symbolism she felt she should be attaching to it, she couldn't help thinking that all it amounted to was the Big Fella helping out at a piss-up where they'd run out of booze. Barney looked up at the face of JLM, preaching to the converted, his eyes brighter and more radiant than in real life. Eyes that followed you around the room wherever you went.

***

A
nd across the city, across the old town and the new, over the traffic and the sweltering pedestrians, past the docks and out into the water, at the bottom of the Firth of Forth, a few hundred feet underwater, legs weighted with stones, stood the body of Melanie Honeyfoot. To remain on the sea bed, to sway with currents, and to barely move an inch, for months and years and decades.

––––––––

T
he Slammer Bar was busy and smoky. Who'd have thought? In darkest Leith, at the corner of Coronation and Queen Charlotte Street, no one in the parliament even knew it existed. More to the point, political journalists would've licked a new born calf clean rather than have been seen dead in the place. So it was perfect for two people to meet in a quiet corner, surrounded by men and women who lived in the real world and gave nothing for their existence.

It was noisy in the bar, so that Winona Wanderlip had to lean across the table, her mouth no more than a few inches away from Parker Weirdlove's face. He could smell her skin and the lotion she had used to clean her face before coming out; he could see the tiny dimples in her nose, breathe in the white wine from her breath, so close that he could tell she was drinking an Australian chardonnay, crisp and full, delightful length in the finish, with hints of thyme, lavender and a double cheeseburger with regular fries and a large soft drink.

Wanderlip could smell nothing of Parker Weirdlove.

Wanderlip and Weirdlove went back a long way, long before Weirdlove's association with JLM. A distant past when bonds were forged and secrets created that each would take to the grave. More or less.

'He's cocking the whole thing up, Parker, you've got to see that,' she said to him, shortly after he had returned with her second glass of Australian white and his third mineral water.

'I know,' he said, defensively.

'And no one can challenge him. It's as if the entire party's completely impotent. It's frightening.'

'He's a charismatic man, Winona,' said Weirdlove. 'They all listen to him in parliament...'

'When he bothers to show up.'

'When they see him on the TV, I'll grant you, they hate him. He comes across as this patronising, condescending, ignorant clown.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' she muttered bitterly.

'As soon as they meet him in the flesh, they cave in. You've been there at cabinet. There's no end of times that one of them's turned up intending to take the guy to the cleaners and he just schmoozes his way through it. Half an hour later his intended assassin walks out of the meeting, wondering why it was he detested JLM in the first place. The man is smooth.'

'But it's bullshit!' she said forcefully.

'Who cares?' said Weirdlove. 'It's not about that. Politics isn't about substance and policies and forward thinking. It's about sharp suits, rhetoric, ball-busting confidence and knowing when to stab someone in the back. JLM has it to a tee.'

Wanderlip rested her back against the beleaguered wall cushion, let out a long sigh, and tapped her fingernails against her glass.

'And the economy goes to pot, the nation goes to pot, London laughs at us and the rest of Europe laughs at us. He looks bloody stupid, and we all look bloody stupid with him.'

Weirdlove smiled ruefully and also drummed his fingers on the table. He looked at the scratches and grooves that had been made over the years. He tried to let his face show his agreement with her, without uttering the words. For all their precautions, there might be someone listening after all.

'You heard what he's doing about the World Cup 2014 bid?' he said, looking up. He knew fine well that she hadn't, because the only person with whom JLM had discussed it was Weirdlove.

'Let me think,' she said, running her finger round the rim of the glass, 'he's going to commit to building ten new stadia in Scotland, and they're all going to be called The Jesse Longfellow-Moses Memorial Stadium?'

Weirdlove laughed. Winona Wanderlip was just about the only one who could make him laugh anymore.

'No' he said, smiling, 'but only because I haven't suggested it to him.'

'Don't,' she said.

'He's working out a deal with the Faroe Islands to do a joint bid,' said Weirdlove.

'The Faroes?' said Wanderlip. 'He's expecting a place with a population of sixteen to build two or three 30,000-seat stadia? What planet's he on?'

'He's not expecting them to do anything,' said Weirdlove. 'He knows by conjoining with them, we won't get selected. Even if we do, they'll fall flat on their end of the bargain, then we won't have to spend any money on it. Bingo. Everyone knows he doesn't give a shit about football, yet he looks like he's trying to do something noble and grand for the people. When it falls on its arse, it's not his fault.'

She shook her head and took another long drink.

'Why am I not surprised?' she said, voice a perfect New York take-off.

'I thought of it,' said Weirdlove, smugly. 'Rather clever.'

'Why am I not surprised?' she repeated in the same voice.

'Takes genius to get to the top,' he said, still smiling, and finishing off his drink.

'Not in Scotland it doesn't,' she retorted, then she leant forward again, pushing her drink to the side. 'Look, we have to get some momentum going. We have to start something, and you know it can't come from me. You know what the Hell Melanie's playing at?'

Weirdlove stared at the table again, where the initials KT had been rudely carved, then he placed his glass on top of the carving and lifted his eyes.

'No idea,' he said. 'Look, I'd better go. You sniff around the cabinet, see if there's enough unrest there to get anything going...'

'You're kidding me, right?' she said. 'To see if there's
enough
?'

'I'll sniff around the benches, gauge opinion, see if the time's right. We good?' he asked.

'Yeah,' said Wanderlip, settling back. 'We're good.'

Weirdlove rose from his chair and pushed it back. In doing so he bumped into a man with his pint of McEwan's. A drop spilled, the man turned and gave Weirdlove the eye; but as usual, with people squaring up to the First Minister's ADC, his opponent merely grunted and turned away again.

'See you, Winnie,' said Weirdlove, starting on his way. 'Oh, and Winnie,' he added, turning back, 'I think he's going to add a little something to your portfolio.'

Wanderlip's jaw genuinely dropped. She already had more on her plate than anyone else in the cabinet.

'I won't let him,' she said, indignantly.

Weirdlove shrugged, smiled and turned and walked quickly through the bar, leaving Winona Wanderlip and the rest of her Australian chardonnay alone at the table.

––––––––

L
ate at night, and Barney Thomson was sitting in a large comfy chair. He was back in his apartment, or prison cell, as he had begun to think of it, even though the door was not locked. He had watched television for a while, but nothing had grabbed him. Nothing seemed relevant, nobody on television seemed to exist in the world in which he existed. Now he sat with his hands on his knees, looking straight ahead, listening to Hoagy Carmichael, and waiting for tiredness to come over him so that he could go to bed.

He hadn't really spoken to anyone else, after his brief flirtation with the Reverend Blake. Father Michael had spent almost the entire day in awe of the mural; the doctors had buzzed away at their laptops; Veron had buzzed away at his dummy. JLM, Weirdlove and The Amazing Mr X had returned intermittently, and each time Barney had had to check JLM's hair. On the last occasion, before being dismissed, JLM had asked Barney if he could do a nice shave, and Barney had said he thought he could, although he couldn't really remember, and JLM had booked him in for a seven-thirty the following morning, and by the way, Barney would be travelling to Brussels with him. The First Minister needed good hair for his meetings with other influential diplomats.