The Wummin: The Glasgow Chronicles 5 (16 page)

Chapter Thirty Three

  JP sat impassively, clocking who wis coming through the hall door and taking their seats.  Every noo and again, he wid make a special acknowledgement ae the presence ae a particular influential key supporter wae a wee nod ae his balding heid.  It wisnae who he could see coming through the door that mattered tae him, bit who hidnae turned up.  He allowed himsel tae relax efter Weasel Smith, chairman ae The Journeyman’s Club, pulled o’er the door at the far end ae the hall and gied him a wee nod, then sat himsel doon.  He looked doon at the list ae names oan the sheet ae paper sitting oan the table in front ae Peter Dawson, chairman ae the social committee.  There wur five names fae the list that hid been drawn up o’er the Christmas period that hidnae been ticked aff as being present and correct, including Peggy Roy, who he knew wis up in Stobhill getting her bunions done and Joe the Snake, his right haun man and election manager, who’d been carted aff that very morning by ambulance wae a suspected heart attack.  Oan paper it looked a lot worse than it actually wis.  JP only wanted a campaign manager because it meant that whoever wis in that position, wid dae aw his donkey work, leaving him tae hiv a strategic overview ae who wis daeing whit, when and where.  JP hid been aboot long enough tae know that ye couldnae leave anything tae chance.  Ye hid tae put thegither a well thought oot plan and stick wae it and no mess aboot, changing this and that.  Ye either knew whit ye wur daeing or ye didnae.  There wid be nae fannying aboot either.  His word wid be law.  Whit he said went.  Anywan no prepared tae accept that wid be oot oan their skint arses...pronto.  JP began tae feel the foul tasting bile rise up fae the back ae his throat intae his gub.  He’d done everything possible tae get everywan in the club oan side...even the well-known shitehooses.  If anywan wis gonnae put a spoke in that wheel ae his, it wid be The Three Comrades, whose names didnae hiv a tick beside them.  He’d been relieved that none ae them hid turned up.  He’d tolerated John McGuigan, Bob Henderson and Charlie Mann o’er the years, against his better judgement.  Baith Peggy and The Snake hid been pestering him recently tae get McGuigan, Henderson and Mann evicted fae the club.  The Three Amigos consistently moaned like auld hens and contributed nothing bit sedition amongst the ranks.  When he’d heard that Charlie Mann hid been overheard in the bar, pontificating as usual, libellous shite aboot how JP hid shamefully conned Dick Mulholland tae staun in The Corporation election the year before, despite knowing Mulholland hid terminal cancer, he’d at long last made a move tae get Mann and his two cronies banned.  When he’d submitted his official complaint in writing, seconded by The Snake, it hid been too late.  Rab Patrick, chair ae the disciplinary committee, hid gone and drapped deid, face first, intae his bowl ae scotch broth the night before.  JP hid then been informed by Weasel, that any complaints couldnae be investigated until an election fur a new disciplinary chairman hid taken place.  When JP hid tried tae get an interim chairman elected, in the form ae Haddock Broon, Bob Henderson, Charlie Mann’s right haun loser, hid objected by quoting verbatim fae the club’s constitution that there hid tae be a fully elected chairman in place before any disciplinary matters could be dealt wae.  The other loser ae the threesome, John McGuigan, hid swiftly seconded Henderson’s objection and that hid been that.  Mann hid been gied the go-aheid tae continue oan his slandering way.

  “Ur ye right, JP?  Will Ah jist start then?” Peter asked him.

  “Aye, oan ye go, son.  Let’s get the baw rolling,” JP said, nodding tae his staun-in election manager.

  “Right, ladies and gentleman, we’re jist gonnae get started, so we ur.  Ye aw know me and ye certainly don’t need any introductions tae the legend sitting up here beside me.  So, jist in case some ae ye hiv been in darkest China fur the past thirty five years, let me gie ye a wee resume ae who’s in oor presence the day.  JP Donnelly won his first election in the Toonheid in nineteen thirty five, when politics wur a lot dirtier than they ur nooadays.  Although he freely admits tae hivving been a wee bit wet aroond the gunnels at that time, it wis this naïve, honest integrity that prevailed and allowed the good folk ae the Toonheid tae put him oan the road tae a successful and illustrious political career.  As anywan here who knows him kin testify, JP his always stood up fur the wee man, spoken oan behauf ae the voiceless and his tirelessly fought injustice wae a passion second tae none.  Since winning that first election by a whisker and walking away wae the democratic endorsement ae the whole community, JP his won a total ae nine Corporation ward elections, before finally retiring efter his ward in the Toonheid wis obliterated wae the demolition ae the tenement slums that he’d fought so hard o’er the years tae get rid ae.  JP retired, knowing he’d left a legacy fur aw future politicians tae aspire tae, and that wis tae clear the slums tae gie the ordinary man whit they wur entitled tae wae a belief that we’re aw in this thegither.  Noo, since oor poor comrade, Dick, unfortunately passed away efter only eighteen months as oor cooncillor, JP his reluctantly, and under great duress, agreed tae take up the reigns ae this fine place we aw call Springburn and tae dae fur the people ae the Keppochhill whit he did fur the people ae the Toonheid.  Ladies and gentlemen, withoot further ado fae masel, it gies me great pleasure tae offer up oor great comrade and next cooncillor, JP Donnelly!” Peter Lawson shouted, tae claps and hoots fae the audience, as the door at the back ae the hall silently opened and the leader ae The Three Comrades, Charlie Mann slipped in and took up residence in the back row.

  JP wis an auld pro who’d been through the mill.  He knew aw aboot the rough and tumble ae politics in a place like Glesga.  Christ, he’d probably invented mair moves than whit he’d ever picked up fae his opponents.  Politics wis a dirty business...everywan knew that.  Tae survive, ye hid tae be prepared tae scratch a back or two or bare yer arse when yer opponents wur covering themsels up.  Connections made things possible.  Withoot connections, ye wur goosed.  Daeing a wee favour here and there never harmed anywan, especially if it wis tae the church, ae whitever persuasion, the polis or yer wee unsavoury backstreet criminal, who wis jist trying tae earn an honest buck or two.  Everything and everywan hid a price.  The trick wis tae find oot whit things cost and then make sure ye hid enough in the bank ae plenty tae cover yer ootlay...and tracks.  

  JP didnae think ae himsel as a particularly bitter man, despite hivving hid tae abandon his political career at a time when the party bosses wur encouraging him tae move up intae the big league by becoming a member ae parliament.  Two things hid, unfortunately, conspired against him.  Wan wis in the form ae a blue folder that hid been passed tae the owner ae The Glesga Echo, which hid contained aw the names, alang wae the amount ae dosh that wis being passed back and forward, under the coonter, between cooncillors, Corporation officials, the polis and the criminal fraternity.  He’d been gied assurances by Pat Molloy, a Glesga gangster, also widely known in the city as The Big Man, that any documentation that hid his name oan it, hid been held back fae the batch that hid been passed oan.  Although his name hid come up in the subsequent graft investigations, including statements submitted in court, there hid been nothing oan paper tae directly implicate him.  It hid cost him his life savings ae thirteen thousand pounds tae buy his way oot ae Shite Street.  The Big Man hid, at first, said it wid cost JP twenty grand tae save his arse, plus The Big Man’s expenses fur intervening.  He’d finally accepted the reality ae how much JP could actually afford and hid agreed tae a cost ae five grand cash, up front, tae intervene oan JP’s behauf wae whoever it wis that hid the rest ae the missing contents ae the blue graft folder.  Efter paying that initial five grand up front tae The Big Man, JP hid spent a total ae six weeks extricating his life’s savings which he’d hid squirreled away in various locations, before the polis investigators managed tae catch up wae him.  The Big Man hid been able tae guarantee that wance JP haunded o’er the dosh, the papers implicating him wid be destroyed.  JP hid been dealing wae The Big Man fur years and hid nae reason tae doubt his guarantee.  The Big Man might be a crook, bit he wis a man ae his word and widnae double-cross an auld friend.  A few years before the graft came tae light, JP hid been sitting oan the bench as a Justice ae the Peace in the District Court doon in St Andrews square.  The bane ae his life, Helen Taylor, hid been arrested, alang wae a gaggle ae other hairys fae the Toonheid, fur assaulting the polis ootside a closemooth where a warrant sale hid been in progress.  Her and the rest ae the wummin hid aw been caught, bang tae rights, using the poles that they’d nailed their pathetic slogans oan tae, tae smash in the heids ae the polis who’d turned up tae arrest them fur breach ae the peace and blocking the Queen’s highway.  It hid been a carefully planned operation, involving the boys in blue fae the Central Division and some ae the boys fae the newspapers who’d been tipped aff that there wis gonnae be big trouble.  Efter the arrests, maist ae the wummin hid pleaded guilty, apart fae Taylor.  He could still remember the ecstatic euphoria that he’d felt in they auld hee-haws ae his when she insisted that she wis innocent ae the charges and wis pleading not guilty.  That hid been the excuse JP hid been looking fur.  He’d promptly remanded the bitch in custody, thus thwarting an investigative journalist who worked fur The Glesga Echo, who went by the name ae Sammy Elliot, or The Rat, as everywan called him, fae investigating the supposed involvement ae the Central Division polis in the death ae a young boy in a pigeon dookit fire up in Parly Road.  JP’s son-in- law, Crisscross, wis wan ae the polis who’d been under the rodent’s investigation.  In the end, it hid become clear that the polis hidnae been involved in the wee toe-rag’s death efter aw, bit the Taylor bitch hidnae been willing tae let things lie.  She’d somehow managed tae tempt a drunken bit brilliant lawyer oot ae retirement, who’d agreed tae defend her.  The brief...a nasty wee shitehoose by the name ae Harry Portoy...who wis a well-known, dirty, underhaunded, shifty wee basturt, hid managed tae somehow get a few incriminating photos ae JP and a lady friend ae his and hid surreptitiously slipped them across tae JP in his ain courtroom.  That hid been the day that his life hid changed furever.  He’d jacked in the bench efter being forced tae find the bitch not guilty.  Aw the income he’d been getting fae the defence councils fur letting their clients aff, hid dried up. Although the photos hidnae surfaced publicly, his life oan the bench, wis o’er.  Between the photos and the graft scandal a few years later, he hidnae really recovered until recently.  Enough time hid gone by and he felt he’d done his penance.  It wis noo time tae get his life back oan track, where it belonged and tae try tae recover any lost assets he could before he ended up in the poor hoose.  He stood up and looked at the upturned, expectant faces in front ae him.  He lay doon the notes that contained his speech, which he’d carefully crafted well before he'd goat Dick Mulholland tae staun as his stooge in the 1970 Glesga Corporation ward election eighteen months previously.  He’d known that it wid only be a matter ae time before Dick, a nice, bit ineffectual patsy, croaked it due tae his terminal bowel cancer.  The arrival ae Charlie Mann, who’d slipped intae the hall, hid gone un-noticed by the majority ae the people who wur sitting wae their backs tae the door.  JP smiled...he couldnae gie a monkey’s fuck whit Mann and his two loser pals goat up tae.  If Charlie Mann wanted tae regurgitate the past, then so be it.  It widnae be the first time that JP hid wiped Mann and his looney cronies’ arses aw o’er the flair.  JP awready knew that he hid the commitment ae aw the key players in The Journeyman’s Club, whose names he noo hid in his back pocket, who’d aw promised tae back him tae the hilt during the four weeks ae the campaign.  In some quarters, it hid cost him mair than whit he wid’ve liked tae hiv haunded oot, bit wance he wis ensconced doon in the city chambers, there wid still be plenty ae honey in the pot left o’er fur him.

  “Thank ye fur the kind words, Peter, and the endorsement ae everywan who’ve turned up here this lunchtime tae support me.  Before Ah start, Ah jist want tae welcome Charlie Mann, who ye probably didnae notice slipping in, up in the back row, while Peter wis flattering me wae aw they kind words.  It wis a pleasant surprise fur me tae see so many ae ye here, ma friends and comrades, especially Charlie, who goes aw the way back tae the thirties wae me.  Is that no right, Charlie?” JP said, wae a smug grin oan that coupon ae his, putting his nemesis oan the spot tae publicly declare his intentions, as everywan turned and stared at the auld yin sitting in the back row.

  “Oh, Ah’m no here tae support and endorse ye, JP.  Ah’m jist here tae weigh up the opposition,” Charlie Mann said calmly, taking oot his tobacco tin and rolling a fag.

  “Oh, opposition is it?  Whit, ye’re no backing another loser, ur ye, Charlie?  Dae youse auld Tankies never tire ae being oan the receiving end ae second prizes?” JP taunted, grin getting bigger.

  “Well, Ah think ye’ll find things will be a wee bit different this time roond, JP.”

  “Oh, aye?  And who’ve ye managed tae resurrect this time?  Karl Marx by any chance?” JP mocked, getting titters fae the seated audience.

  “Ach, Ah don’t think so.  We’ve somewan much livelier than him.  Helen Taylor his agreed fur her name tae be put forward as the only honest Independent candidate fur the Keppochhill ward,” Charlie said, lighting up, as the grin oan JP’s face froze and a buzz erupted fae the crowd sitting between JP and the cloud ae blue smoke at the back ae the hall.

Chapter Thirty Four

  Helen looked at the clock oan the mantelpiece.  She needed tae get a move oan or the shoaps widnae hiv anything left in them, she thought tae hersel, as she picked up the cups and heided through tae the kitchen sink.  The word wis oot and the shock and disbelief could be seen oan folk's faces and heard in their awed voices.  She smiled as she felt a thrill run through her body again.

  “Aye, and no before time either,” Betty hid said repeatedly, efter turning up at her door wae Issie McManus at twenty tae eight that morning, jist five minutes efter Sherbet hid disappeared.

  “Who wid’ve thought there wis a God and miracles did happen efter aw, eh?” Issie hid said, tears in her eyes, haudin Helen oot in front ae her and looking at her intently, before gieing her a big hearty cuddle.

  “Christ, Helen, swear tae me that it’s true aboot the rumour that wan ae us is gonnae be staunin tae be a cooncillor?” Sharon Campbell hid demanded, aw excited, hivving arrived ten minutes efter Betty and Issie.

  “Aye, ye’ve heard right, Sharon.  It isnae a rumour, so it isnae,” Helen hid said, as Sharon screamed and flew at her, hugging her so tightly that she’d thought she wis gonnae burst.

  “Aye, ye kept that wan a secret, so ye did, Taylor...and me living underneath ye as well,” Soiled Sally, fae doon the stairs, hid said oan her arrival.

  “So, how did ye hear then?” Helen hid asked her.

  “Sherbet telt me.  Ah thought tae masel, he’s either been up there pumping the arse aff ae Helen, or he’s telling me the truth, hard though it is tae believe,” Sally hid said, tae laughter.

  “Aye, wonders will never cease, eh?  We’ll see a darkie playing fur Rangers yet, so we will,” Sherbet hid said tae Helen, when he turned up at her door wae twenty Embassy Regals and a pint ae milk in his haun.

  “Aw, Sherbet, ye shouldnae hiv, son.  Is that no nice ae ye or whit?”

  “Listen, Helen, Ah’m a businessman, so Ah am.  Ah jist wanted tae get in there first before aw the big boys fae they fancy shoaps up oan Springburn Road start kissing yer arse and treating ye like the Queen.  And anyway, it wis clear that ye hidnae telt some ae yer pals as they looked at me as if Ah came fae some sub-continent country or something, when Ah mentioned aboot yer move intae politics.”

  “Bit ye dae come fae some sub-continent country, so ye dae, Sherbet.”

  “Ach, ye know whit Ah mean.  Ye’ll probably be getting invaded, so Ah thought Ah’d nip roond wae a wee pint ae milk and a packet ae fags tae see ye through the morning.”

  Helen dried her hauns oan her apron efter the last cup wis washed and put away before plapping her arse back doon oan tae the chair at the kitchen table.  She looked aroond, satisfied that the place wis spick and span. 

  “Ach, tae hell wae it,” she said oot loud.

  She switched oan her wee red two-bar electric fire and lit up wan ae Sherbet’s good fags.  She’d been trying tae collect her thoughts ae the past twenty four hours, withoot much success.  She’d known Sherbet and his brother, Abdul, since the early sixties, when they’d taken o’er the paper shoap that sold everything anywan could ever need, in McAslin Street in the Toonheid.  Sherbet hid acted as a translator and go-between when a couple ae the Asian wummin who lived in Grafton Square, jist roond the corner fae where Helen and Betty stayed in Montrose Street, hid found themsels oan the wrang side ae a warrant sale.  It wis quite unusual fur the Pakistani or Indian families tae find themsels in that situation, so, it hid been relatively rare fur Helen and the lassies tae hiv tae lend a haun o’er in that quarter.  Although the crisis caused by the debt hid been the same as whit it wis fur everywan else in that situation, the language barrier between the wummin meant that they couldnae read or understaun the letters fae The Corporation, informing them that their hoosehold goods wur aboot tae be flogged fur peanuts.  That’s where Sherbet hid come in handy.  Wan day, he’d accosted Helen in his shoap and asked her if she could help oot wan ae the wummin, whose man wis stuck in Pakistan fur some reason that she’d noo furgoat aboot, bit whose wife and snappers wur noo oan the verge ae eviction.  Efter that, if any ae the local Asian wummin came tae her, needing a haun wae something like dealing wae The Corporation, she’d get Sherbet or his wife, Maisa, tae translate fur her roond in his shoap or up at the wummin’s hoose.

  “Right, Helen, Ah hiv tae be up front wae ye fae the start, so don’t get yer knickers in a twist.  Ah cannae vote fur ye, even though Ah know ye’re a good person and aw that,” he’d confessed.

  “So, why no then?  Am Ah no wan ae yer best customers?”

  “Ah’m sorry, Ah hear whit ye’re saying, bit Ah’m a true blue-nosed Tory, that’s why.”

  “Christ, ye’ll be telling me ye want an ae yer boys tae play fur Glesga Rangers next.”

  “Ah dae.”

  “Sherbet, tell me how many Tories hiv walked intae yer shoap since ye moved up tae Springburn and put any money across yer coonter, eh?” Helen hid demanded.

  “Ach Helen, don...”

  “None, that’s how many.”

  “Look, it’s nothing tae dae wae yersel.  It’s bigger than a wee poxy local election.  This is aboot the Tories daeing whit’s right fur the country, so it is.”

  “Sherbet, this by-election his naff-aw tae dae wae running the country.  This his tae dae wae Springburn and the people who live and work in it, including you, Abdul and Maisa, so it his.”

  “See, that’s ye started awready.  Look, don’t take offence when ye don’t see me and Maisa storming the barriers wae yersel and the rest ae the lassies in the coming weeks.  It’s nothing personal.  And Ah won’t be able tae put up any ae yer posters in the shoap windae either,” Sherbet hid mumbled, looking embarrassed.

  “Why?”

  “Because Ah’m the secretary ae the local Conservative and Unionist party, that’s why.”

  “Whit?  Up here?  In Springburn?” Helen hid scoffed, slapping her knee and laughing.

  “Aye, up here in the socialist republic ae Springburn.  Don’t sound so surprised. There might only be five ae us, bit we’re game as lions, so we ur.  We’ve goat the support ae maist ae the shoapkeepers in the area.”

  “Ach, Ah know it isnae personal, Sherbet.  Don’t worry oan that score...jist so long as Ah don’t see that baldy basturt, JP Donnelly’s ugly mug, smiling oot at me fae between yer Mother’s Pride and Bilsland loaves ae breid in yer front windae.”

  “It’s a deal,” he’d said, smiling, taking a fly puff ae her fag.

  Helen hid sussed oot that something wis up as soon as Susan Flaw, the minister’s wife hid opened the front door ae the manse and motioned her in oot ae the cauld, the day before.

  “Helen, I don‘t know how to say this, but I’ve got an unexpected visitor in the kitchen,” she’d whispered, stepping fae wan fit tae the other.

  “Oh, right.  Dae ye want me tae come back later?”

  “No, not really, but I can’t seem to get rid of him.  He’s been here for over an hour and I still don’t know what he’s after.  It might be something to do with you or Donald though.”

  “Me?  It’s no the polis or a Provi-cheque man, is it?”

  “No, no.  I think he said his name was Mr Mann, or Charlie.  Do you know him?”

  Did Helen know Charlie Mann?  Too right, Helen knew Charlie.  The Three Comrades hid been in Spain wae her aunt Jeannie back in the thirties.  He’d driven an ambulance.  Poor Charlie and her Aunt Jeannie hid been tae hell and back…only, in her case, she hidnae come back.  No long efter her and Jimmy hid moved up tae Springburn, he’d turned up at her door wan morning.  Efter letting him in, he’d stayed fur aboot six hours.  O’er the years, when she’d brought Aunt Jeannie up in conversation wae her maw, Aunt Jeannie’s twin sister, her maw hid nipped the conversation in the bud and refused to speak aboot her.  It hid been the first direct connection between her and her aunt Jeannie, ootside ae the family, since the nineteen thirties.  Charlie hid asked her if she remembered him fae back in the thirties when she’d helped Aunt Jeannie in her failed election campaign.  Charlie hid been Jeannie’s campaign manager. Fur some reason, JPs name hidnae come up as her opponent. Other than Jeannie hersel, she could only remember blurred images ae people’s faces.  She’d only been aboot ten years auld when Aunt Jeannie hid left.  He’d hid her in tears and laughter in equal measure aboot the Toonheid ae her childhood back in the day and whit the pair ae them hid goat up tae across in Spain.  When she’d asked him if he’d been in Barcelona when Aunt Jeannie hid been killed, he’d murmured that he didnae think that’s where she died.  Despite pressing him, he’d jist clammed up efter that, which she’d found strange.  Wance he goat up oan that soap box ae his, ye couldnae get him tae shut up.  It wis aw proletariat this and Karl that, wae a few wee Engelberts thrown in fur good measure.  And that wis jist when he wis sober.  Helen hid smiled, thinking aboot Charlie Mann oan the loose, pished as an auld fart.

  “Oh, Ah know Charlie, Susan.  Dae ye want me tae deal wae him fur ye?” Helen hid whispered back.

  “I’m not sure.  He wouldn’t be violent towards us, would he?  He's not been sent by JP, has he?”

  “Charlie?  Sent here by JP Donnelly?  Somehow, Ah don’t think so.  Look, why don’t ye leave auld Charlie tae me, eh?” Helen hid replied, laughing quietly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t worry, Susan, Ah’m sure Ah’m sure,” Helen hid whispered, walking past her towards the kitchen, putting oan her best stern expression.

  “Helen, ma wee prairie flower, baby doll.  If it’s no yersel, so it is.  Ah wis jist saying tae the good reverend’s wife here, whit a lovely day it is when somewan like yersel shows that beautiful mug aboot the place.  Is that no right, Mrs Flaw?” Charlie hid said, wae a twinkle in his eye.

  “Charlie, yer patter’s like water and it runs, so it dis.  Whit ur ye up tae, ya auld blether, eh?”  Helen hid asked him, grabbing him by the ears and gieing him a kiss oan that bald napper ae his.

  “Me?  Nothing...at least nothing that’s gonnae get me intae trouble, that is.  Ah jist came roond tae ask the minister’s wife here whit she wis intending tae dae tae get ye elected intae Dick Mulholland’s vacant seat.  There’s nae herm in that, is there?”

  “Noo, whit makes ye think that Ah’ve decided tae staun, eh?  Ah’ve never showed you or anywan else that Ah wis inclined tae even consider daeing something as stupid as that, so Ah hivnae.”

  “Because it’s in yer blood, that’s why...that and the fact that if ye don’t, there’s nowan else who kin stoap that wily auld fox, JP, fae sauntering back doon tae George’s Square, tae steal the last ae the family silver that he didnae manage tae blag before he wis forced tae leave in a hurry, the last time.”

  “How did ye know Ah wis coming here this morning?” she’d asked him, eyes narrowing.

  “Me?  Ah never knew ye wur coming roond here.”

  “Look, if ye’re gonnae be involved in ma campaign, Ah need total honesty fae you and they auld sojer pals ae yers, Charlie,” Helen hid scowled, smiling, as big grins appeared oan Charlie and Susan’s faces.

  “Oh, Helen, that’s wonderful,” Susan hid cried, gieing her a cuddle.

  “Jist ye sit where ye ur...ye’ve awready hid aw ye’re getting, ya auld pervert, ye,” Helen hid warned, as Charlie sank back doon oan his chair.

  “This calls for a celebration,” Susan hid said, taking a bottle ae whisky doon oot ae a cupboard.

  “Aha!  Ah knew ye hid a sneaky wee bottle ae that tucked away in here somewhere,” Charlie hid beamed.

  “Right, Charlie, spit it oot.  Ah’m serious.  Who telt ye Ah wis coming roond here this morning, eh?”

  “Squinty Alex.”

  “Squinty Alex?”

  “Aye, that’s right.  Alex and Nan wur in the club last night, so they wur.  They wur jist saying how chummy ye’d become wae The Reverend and his wife.  Nan said that she’d asked ye roond this morning fur a cup ae tea, bit that ye’d said ye wurnae too sure whit time ye’d be able tae manage roond, as ye wur coming up tae see Mrs Flaw.”

  “See this place?  They wid get ye hung, so they wid,” Helen hid said tae Susan, eyes rolling.

  “Anyway, whit’s the big deal, hen?  Ye’re staunin and that’s aw that matters, isn’t that right, Mrs Flaw?”

  “If I call you Charlie, will you call me Susan, Mr Mann?”

  “Ah think that wid be acceptable tae me, hen.”

  “Then, Charlie it is,” Susan hid beamed.

  “Right, it wisnae how Ah envisaged it happening, bit Ah wis wondering if the offer ae helping me tae beat JP Donnelly in Dick Mulholland’s seat wis still open, Susan?”

   “Why, Helen, of course it is.  I would be delighted to help in any way I can.”

  “Well, in that case, Ah’d jist like tae officially announce ma candidacy...whitever that means.”

  “It means ye jist hiv tae fill in this form and Ah’ll dae the rest, hen.  The closing date fur nominations is this Friday,” Charlie hid beamed, lifting his jaicket aff the empty seat beside him and whipping oot a folded election nomination form.

  “Dae Ah no need some sort ae election agent or something?” Helen hid asked them.

  “Charlie can do that.”  Susan hid said.

    “Look, while Ah’d love tae take oan that responsibility, ye’re gonnae need somewan wae a broader appeal than me, hen.  Let Susan dae that.  Ah’ll probably end up being mair ae a liability than anything else.  And anyway, Ah’m mair yer dirty tricks department, if ye know whit Ah mean?” he’d replied, a wee smile appearing at the corner ae his mooth.