The Kellys of Kelvingrove Read online

  He turned her towards him and kissed her. Then he smoothed his hands down over her thick curtain of hair.

  ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life and I adore you.’

  The guide cleared his throat to bring everyone’s attention back to the tour.

  ‘The Kelvingrove Art Galleries have the only complete set of horse armour in the world,’ he said. ‘It was made for Sir William Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke. He was one of the most powerful men in England but also a thug and a bloodthirsty murderer.’

  Mirza whispered in Sandra’s ear, ‘So much for our Lords and members of the ruling classes. Give me an ordinary, hardworking man any day.’

  ‘Of course you’ll know,’ the guide went on, ‘that Kelvingrove is full of precious works of art, including paintings by the Glasgow Boys, the Scottish Colourists, Vincent van Gogh, Titian, Picasso, Monet and Rembrandt. These are all best seen during daytime visits. Now, at this late ghostly hour, we have different things to see and experience.’

  Mirza and Sandra enjoyed their tour and they were especially happy as, later, they walked back to their new home. They loved their flat and the freedom it gave them. Already, they’d had some of their school friends visiting them. And they’d arranged for Mae Kelly to bring Doris over for a visit. It was good to see how Doris was getting physically stronger. Clinging on to Mae, she was able to take occasional short walks outside. To come to their flat would be her longest walk yet. She still could get confused, repeat things and forget things but everyone knew she was safe enough as long as Mae was along with her.

  Mae and Doris were coming for morning coffee and next day, Mirza helped Sandra lay out the cups and the two tiered cake stand which they piled with buttered scones and biscuits. First though, they made the bed together and tidied the bedroom, after which they stood and admired the place and everything in it.

  Bashir had been so kind and generous. He’d even allowed them to choose pictures from the Art Galleries gift shop. They had chosen several prints of the Old Masters and the Glasgow Boys and some of them hung in the bedroom. The best were on the sitting room walls for all their visitors to admire.

  They’d had lots of visitors so far, mostly their school friends. But Clive Westley and Paul Brownlee had been. Jack Kelly had brought them in his car because, although they were getting better and stronger, they still didn’t feel confident enough to walk very far on their own.

  When Mae Kelly and Doris McIvor arrived for coffee, they were profuse in their admiration of the flat.

  ‘It’s got everything you need,’ Mae enthused. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.’

  ‘We’re already deliriously happy,’ Sandra said.

  Doris gazed around. ‘And you’ve got it so nice. What pretty cushions and I love the pictures.’

  ‘It’s all thanks to Bashir,’ Mirza said.

  Proudly Sandra poured the coffee. Mirza passed the cake stand around.

  ‘How’s Jack, by the way? I know they’ve been inundated with work at the police station recently. Bashir was telling me.’

  ‘Yes, I believe so, but I’ll be seeing him soon. He’s anxious to get back to his old routine.’

  Mae looked away then, and quickly changed the subject. Mirza wondered if there was something wrong.

  42

  Jack Kelly fixed a dark stare on Mae.

  ‘There’s something wrong here.’

  ‘Where?’ Her eyes widened innocently.

  ‘I went to Marks & Spencer.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘They had all the steaks and fish and chip suppers that we always used to have.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘But it took the whole week’s housekeeping money, plus extra money I had on me, to pay for them.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Stop repeating that like an idiot.’

  ‘You’re the idiot, Jack.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’

  He looked as if he was about to strike her and she said quietly but firmly, ‘You’d better not lift a finger to me, Jack. I’ve already warned you what I’d do. I wouldn’t rest until I’d completely ruined you.’

  ‘That’s a terrible way to talk. How could you be so malicious, even to think such a thing? You were never like this when I first married you.’

  ‘No, indeed I wasn’t, Jack. I’ve changed a lot. That’s because I’ve suffered a lot.’

  ‘Suffered? What have you suffered?’

  ‘You haven’t a clue – even yet. That’s how it’s always been. You just close your mind to everything and anything you don’t want too know about, anything that’s too inconvenient to know about.’

  ‘You’re raving, woman.’

  Mae shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, Jack.’

  There was silence for a long minute. Eventually, Jack said, ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘God, I could kill you, Mae. I’m talking about bloody Marks & Spencer. How was it they charged me so much, but never charged you so much.’

  ‘But they did charge me so much. Any other store would have charged the same. That was the normal price for what you and your pals ate every Sunday. And that’s what I had to pay every week.’

  ‘But how could you?’

  ‘I tried to tell you, Jack. I got into debt. You acted the big generous man. You gave me a few paltry pounds that didn’t even cover the price of one steak.’

  A longer silence followed.

  ‘But you went on …’ Jack managed at last. ‘How …?’

  ‘I was scrubbing the floor in the cupboard and I found a loose floorboard.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Jack groaned.

  ‘Oh yes. The money I found there solved my immediate problem – the huge bill I was facing for the furniture and furnishings in the house that you seemed to think came free from fairy land. Talk about suffering? Oh, I suffered all right, Jack.’

  ‘Christ!’

  ‘Then there was the torment of trying to save up to replace the money under the floorboards. I managed it, but no thanks to you. I tried, and tried, and tried to tell you and plead for your help, but all you could think of and talk about was the next big juicy steak you were looking forward to enjoying.’

  After another silence, Jack said, ‘Let me first of all think if there’s anything illegal you could be charged with.’

  ‘Good God, you’re putting your job first, even now.’

  ‘It’s for your sake …’

  ‘Oh shut up, Jack. All I want to hear from you now is goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mae. We can work this out and start again.’

  ‘You think so?’ As usual, her sarcasm was lost on him.

  ‘Yes, I do. And let me start by offering you my sincere apologies for all that I’ve inadvertently put you through. I’m terribly sorry, Mae. I really am. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid.’

  She thought selfish was the more appropriate word but managed not to voice it.

  He moved nearer to her, making her heart quicken. He had always oozed sex. Other women believed so too.

  ‘My word,’ someone had recently remarked, ‘that’s a real sexy hunk of a husband you’ve got, you lucky wee devil.’

  Jack Kelly was sexy all right. There could be no denying that.

  But he was not going to get round her or win her back that way, or any other way. She’d had enough of him. More than enough.

  Just then, Doris came downstairs from her bedroom, where she’d been having an afternoon nap.

  ‘Who is that?’ She pointed at Jack.

  ‘Jack Kelly,’ Mae said. ‘My ex-husband.’

  ‘Not ex-husband,’ Jack said firmly. ‘I’m Mae’s husband – past, present and future. Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’

  ‘And a nice juicy steak?’ Mae said. Jack gave a roar of laughter. He actually laughed.

  43

  It all turned out just as Clive and Bashir had prophe
sied.

  Here he was, the famous writer Paul Westley, sitting at a table in one of the biggest bookshops in town, signing copies of his novel. As he bent over the books, his long dark hair slid forward, hiding most of his face. He seldom looked up to stare at the long queue of people waiting at the front of the table. Clive, who was standing at his elbow, eventually bent over and whispered,

  ‘For God’s sake, Paul. They’ve been good enough to come. At least look up now and again and give them a welcoming smile.’

  Paul immediately looked up to smile, if somewhat shyly, and with some embarrassment, at the crowd of people. Soon he even managed to repeat, ‘Thank you for coming.’

  When Bashir turned up in the queue, Paul couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘For goodness sake, Bashir, I was going to call in at your home with a gift of an autographed copy. You didn’t need to come in here and stand in a queue and buy one.’

  ‘I was looking forward to seeing you sitting there just as I’d dreamt and prayed you would.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s what got me here.’ Paul laughed again and for the first time, he looked happy and relaxed. ‘Muslim prayers.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Paul picked up a book from one of the piles and wrote in it,

  ‘To my dearest friend, Bashir, with heartfelt thanks, love and admiration.’

  Handing the book to Bashir, he read out what he’d written, then added, ‘But no words can convey the extent of my love and admiration for you, Bashir.’

  ‘For pity’s sake! You’re embarrassing me.’

  As Bashir turned to leave, Clive caught his arm. ‘That goes for me too, Bashir. To know you is to love you.’

  ‘My God!’ Bashir almost ran from the queue but he gave a friendly backward wave as he hurried away.

  There had been a photographer present earlier and the photos he had taken appeared in several newspapers. When Paul and Clive arrived back home after the signing, photographers and journalists were waiting in Waterside Way. Paul was forced to stand for a few minutes to have pictures taken before he could escape into the house.

  ‘Did you see that snobby woman watching?’ Clive asked. ‘I wonder if she’ll change her attitude to us now.’

  ‘You never know. Nothing would surprise me any more.’

  ‘Anyway, I don’t care if she does or she doesn’t.’

  ‘Nor do I. We found out who our real friends are long ago.’

  ‘Bashir’s the best one, of course, but Jack and Mae Kelly are close runners up. It’s been a help, Jack being a police officer as well.’

  ‘By the way, if that snobby woman suddenly approaches us, trying to be friendly, I’d freeze her out, wouldn’t you? She could never be a true friend. Talking of Jack and Mae Kelly, is everything all right between them, do you think?’

  ‘You mean because she’s working and sleeping at Doris McIvor’s place?’

  ‘Yeah. Seems strange, that.’

  ‘But he goes in there every day. I’ve seen him.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Seems to me a strange set up but I suppose if they’re all right with it …’

  ‘I wonder how Bashir’s getting on with his new wife.’

  ‘You’ve seen her. She’s gorgeous. He’ll be getting on great with her. Seems a nice girl too. How about if we slip next door just now with a special signed copy for Mahmood?’

  ‘Good idea. I can’t settle after all that excitement.’

  ‘How do you think I feel?’

  ‘You’d better get used to it, Paul. Already there are plans in place for you to travel all over the country doing signing sessions.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m getting worried I’ll never have enough free time to write another book. However, I’ve kept my hand in with doing something creative. I’ve written a poem and before you object, Clive, it’s a good one.’

  ‘I know it’ll be a good one, Paul. That’s just because you’re a good writer. But somehow, in the not too distant future, you must find enough time to write another book. Meantime, read me your poem.’

  Paul unfolded the sheet of paper he’d produced from his jacket pocket and began to read:

  Conference Dinner

  At the long table we sat

  seven women and me, strangers linked

  by the attentions we pay to words.

  Talk began its stream with the weather

  meandering into food

  then pooled at ‘Men’.

  Sluice gates opened with a rush

  ‘the dirty, lying, lazy

  bastards – present company excepted

  of course.’ Seven pairs of teeth

  gleamed in shared mirth

  ‘Of course,’ my smile unforced.

  Seven pairs of feet were exposed

  skirts and trousers lifted

  as the women waded into conversation.

  It was as if a tide of oestrus

  flowed in concert around me.

  … bereavement … breast cancer

  … how silly a penis looked …

  seven pairs of eyebrows raised.

  ‘Present company agrees,’ I said.

  Now completely immersed

  hair waving weightless

  around each head like a halo of kelp

  conversation was in spate

  … childbirth … work … adoption

  rather than imposing their own story

  on what they heard

  or wearing a listening mask

  while composing a reply,

  the women used both ears.

  I would have paddled knee deep

  and offered a solution

  welcome as a leaking oil tanker

  in a crystalline sea.

  Afloat on a raft

  dry of their experience

  I was invited by dint

  of gesture and smile

  to lean forward, rest my chin

  on hairy forearms

  to listen and learn.

  Clive laughed. ‘I like that. I really do. But that’s enough poetry now, do you hear me? From now on, you must focus only on novel writing. These signing sessions will finish eventually. Then you must sit down full time to write another novel. OK?’

  Paul said, ‘OK.’

  ‘Promise. On your honour.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Paul laughed. ‘You’re a hard taskmaster, Clive, but I promise – no more poetry.’

  44

  ‘Look,’ Jack Kelly said to Mae, ‘I’ll drive you and Doris to the Art Galleries and that means she’ll have more energy left to walk around and see the exhibits.’

  ‘All right. All right,’ Mae said, just to get a bit of peace. She was seeing more of him now and getting more attention from him now than she’d ever done in the past.

  Happily he went to get the Mini and once it was parked on Waterside Way, he came in to take Doris’s arm and her arm and lead them both outside.

  Mae and Doris sat in the back seats of the car and Doris whispered to Mae, ‘He’s so handsome, isn’t he. But he limps. It is arthritis?’

  ‘No, an injury he got at the Ibrox football disaster.’

  ‘Oh dear, poor man. He’s so handsome, isn’t he?’

  Mae thought, ‘If she says that again, I’ll scream.’ She was beginning to realise the true lasting effects of the stress Doris had gone through with her mother’s condition. Although Doris was very much better and in fact really quite able to be on her own, she still suffered from occasional bouts of repetition and forgetfulness.

  They had a cup of tea in the Art Galleries’ café and then a look round the gift shop. After a rest and another reviving drink of tea, they went to view the Italian art display. Jack kept putting his arm around Mae’s waist and she had to keep pushing him off – not because it was unpleasant, but because it was too pleasant.

  Doris said, ‘Isn’t that lovely?’ And she read aloud, ‘Madonna and Child with Angels – Tempera and gold on a wooden panel.’

  Doris particularly liked The Annunciation b
y Sandro Botticelli. It was a wonderfully realistic depiction of three-dimensional space where the Angel Gabriel hurries to tell the Virgin Mary that she is to bear God’s son, Jesus. Doris admired too Bellini’s Madonna and Child but by the time they reached Titian’s The Adulteress brought before Christ, Mae was exhausted, although more with the strength of her emotions rather than physical fatigue.

  ‘It’s time we went back home, Doris.’

  Jack could be a selfish, thoughtless fool, almost to a comical degree at times, but damn it all, despite the anger, the fury at times, he’d aroused in her, she still loved him with all the passion she’d always felt for him. Despite all his faults, he was such a lovable man. And he had plenty of good points. He was honest, courageous, kindly, friendly and well-meaning. Everybody loved him. Why shouldn’t she? After all, as she’d already decided, she had been thoughtless and foolish. She couldn’t put all the blame on Jack. Another thing, despite the constant agony the poor soul suffered, he managed to keep cheerful and eager to go out of his way to help friends and neighbours.

  Suddenly, she didn’t just love Jack Kelly; she was proud of him.

  Then, as they were making for the outside, Mae noticed that Jack was using the public phone in the foyer.

  As soon as he caught up with them, he said to Mae, ‘I’ve phoned our neighbours and invited them round for drinks at our place.’

  It was so typical of him. He’d never think of saying, ‘Is it all right if I phone our neighbours …’

  What could she do now but go along with the idea? Everyone else would be there and Doris was particularly keen. Everyone, including Jack, seemed to have forgotten that she hadn’t lived in Jack’s house for quite a while.

  Once in her old house at number one, Mae helped lay out the glasses and plates of nibbles and crisps.

  ‘It’s just like old times,’ Jack said, and put both arms around her waist.

  She sighed. ‘Jack, are you going to behave yourself in future?’

  He grinned at her. ‘You mean – no sex?’

  ‘You know fine that’s not what I mean. You’ll have to face facts, especially about the cost of everything. Especially the cost of feeding half the police force every Sunday.’