Goodmans of Glassford Street Read online

  Mrs Webster smiled. ‘We might just do that, Mr Goodman. I’ve never seen the Parliament except on television. I’d be most interested to pay it a visit.’

  ‘Just give me a ring,’ John repeated.

  Eventually they got away to drive along to the High Street. Once in their own flat, they had a meal and packed an overnight bag. They left early the next morning and it was still light when they arrived in South Castle-on-Sea.

  Sam had already booked them into a hotel he’d stayed in before. He would have been quite content to sit in the conservatory and look out at the sea from there. However, like Mrs Goodman when she’d been with him, Moira wanted to walk along the front and also explore the pier.

  ‘We’ll have to pass The Floral,’ Sam told her.

  ‘Well, why not? We’re not going into the place. After dinner, I insist we have a walk along the front. I don’t want to sit in the hotel for the whole evening.’

  ‘Fine. Fine.’

  They enjoyed a delicious meal and after a leisurely drink, Moira said, ‘Well, come on then, Sam.’

  Reluctantly, he rose and accompanied his wife outside. A breeze was ruffling over the sea but it was a pleasantly warm evening. They strolled along arm in arm. They had never felt so close and happy in years. Sam was so grateful that Moira had forgiven him. Now he tried in every way he could to make up for his previous unfaithfulness.

  ‘That’s it over there.’ He squeezed Moira’s elbow. ‘It’s called The Floral because of the pots of flowers around it.’

  Moira stared at it. ‘Very pretty. I wouldn’t think she’d want to ruin that place, if it’s a good, money-making business, and I expect it is with that location. Oh look, is that a variety theatre on the pier?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think we’d get in to tonight’s show without having booked in advance.’

  ‘I could maybe spend an hour at the matinee tomorrow while you’re doing your business with the warehouse people. I’ll have a look around the town in the morning and then take in a show in the afternoon. It would be better than hanging around waiting for you in the hotel. I suppose you will be most of the day doing business?’

  ‘Yes. In the morning certainly, and probably a good part of the afternoon. I’ll get a ticket for you and we can arrange to meet afterwards. I could call for you at the theatre. We could have a meal somewhere. And I know a nice pub where we could have a drink afterwards.’

  ‘That sounds fine. I’ll look forward to tomorrow. If I find a nice little boutique in the morning, I might even treat myself to a new outfit.’

  He laughed. ‘I might have know there was a reason behind you wanting to visit South Castle-on-Sea. I can only be thankful that the girls aren’t here as well. It would have cost me a fortune.’

  They walked along the pier and he purchased a ticket. Then they walked further along the seafront until Moira said, ‘I’m not used to all this exercise and fresh air. Do you mind if we turn back now, Sam?’

  ‘No, of course not. Come on.’

  Still arm in arm, they walked back to the hotel. That night, they made love with both passion and tenderness.

  ‘Oh Moira, I’m so lucky to have you – especially after …’ She pressed her fingers against his lips. ‘I don’t want to hear any more about that. Not one word. It’s in the past. We’re both so much luckier than Mrs Goodman. We’ve still got each other.’

  The next morning, after breakfast, he said, ‘You know, you could have come with me, Moira.’

  ‘What? Hang about in the background while you talk toys for hours? No thank you, darling. I’d rather do a tour of the boutiques. I’ll see you later.’

  They had arranged a time when they’d meet on the pier. He looked forward to being able to relax after his business meetings were over and to enjoying a meal and a few drinks with Moira.

  Everything went according to plan until he returned to the pier. He found he was a bit early and he was standing gazing down at the sea when he heard a voice say, ‘Couldn’t keep away from me, could you?’

  It was Viv. He turned to face her.

  ‘Are you determined to end up in the jail? Because, if you don’t get out of my sight right now, I’ll report you.’

  ‘Now, you don’t mean that, darling.’

  This was the real Viv. The weeping and apologising in court had just been an act.

  ‘How many times must I tell you? Will you never be able to get it through your thick head? I don’t want anything to do with you. I think you’re mad. You tried to ruin my life. You ruined my home and everything I had. But you couldn’t – and never will – ruin the thing that means most to me, Viv, and that is the love I have for my wife.’

  Suddenly another voice cut in. ‘And the love his wife has for him.’

  ‘Moira, darling, I’m so sorry about this. I was just waiting …’

  ‘You don’t need to explain, Sam.’ She turned to Viv. ‘Now you heard what he said and, if he doesn’t report you, I certainly will. You’ll end up in jail, your business will be ruined. You’ll be ruined. For God’s sake, have a bit of sense, woman, and forget about Sam. You’ll surely be able to find another man. A single man. You’re not a bad-looking woman.’

  Without another word, Viv turned away. She walked towards The Floral and disappeared inside.

  Sam said, ‘Good for you, darling. I must bring you down to South Castle-on-Sea more often.’

  Moira linked her arm in his. ‘I don’t think she’ll be bothering you again, Sam.’

  He had a joyful feeling that Moira could be right.

  ‘Certainly not if she thinks you’ll always be here with me,’ he laughed.

  34

  Miss Eden didn’t know how Mr McKay managed to rent out his villa in Bishopbriggs. She always watched him as much as she could in the store, and she had a private arrangement with the security guard that he would report to her if he saw Mr McKay leaving. He had not reported any such sightings. Mr McKay could have left by the back door, of course. But he never used the back door except for the very occasional times he used that route to go to the bank.

  However, she supposed he could have arranged the whole thing by phone with an estate agent. Anyway, as he eventually explained to her, he still had his mortgage payments to meet, plus other expenses connected with the house like the Council Tax. (And of course, although he didn’t mention it, there was the money he was giving to her for his board and lodgings.) It was understandable that he would want to rent out his house. It had just been a surprise, that was all. No, more than that. How long, she wondered, were his tenants to be there? Had they a contract for a certain length of time, or what? She didn’t like to press Mr McKay on that point in case he thought he had become unwelcome, and she was trying to get rid of him. He had been with her for a considerable time now and he seemed his old self again. Indeed, he seemed very content and happy.

  They had long since got into the regular habit of sharing all the work in her flat. They even went together to do the food shopping and had lunch together during the week in the Marks & Spencer’s café. They had their main meal in the flat in the evening. They shared the preparation and the cooking. On Sundays, they even went out for the Sunday newspapers together and made it the occasion for a little walk to get ‘a breath of fresh air’. Often, they went in the afternoon and had a walk around Springburn Park. Sometimes they sat on a park bench and read the papers.

  It was surprising how much they found to talk about – what had happened in the store, and what the staff were like, and what they were getting up to. They also had discussions and exchanged opinions about what was in the newspapers.

  She was getting a bit worried that they were spending too much time with each other. He was definitely, to all appearances, perfectly all right now. One day, she suggested he should go out for the papers while she did something in the house. He agreed and went out, but as if he knew exactly what she would do, he turned and waved cheerily up at the window. She had not been able to resist the temptation to
peep out to see if he was all right. He was safely back in no time, with the papers tucked under his arm. She had just got into the habit of worrying about him, she supposed. She had always treated any job she took on with great concentration, loyalty and seriousness. Nowadays, though, they laughed quite a lot, sometimes about what happened in the shop, sometimes at some comedy programme on television.

  Now he went out regularly for the Sunday papers while she got the breakfast started. They heard that Mrs Goodman was writting a book, of all things. They both found that highly amusing, especially when Mrs Webster, who worked a couple of afternoons a week in Books and Stationery, told Miss Eden what it was about. It started her and Mr McKay remembering some of the poems and jingles of their childhood. They had quite a few laughs over that.

  One day recently, she had seen him leaving the shop and she had discreetly followed him. Her heart sank as she saw him making his way along Argyle Street. He surely wasn’t going along to see the group of tramps he’d once known? No, surely not. It was such a long time ago now. Then he had gone into a florist’s, an Interflora place, and she realised he must be ordering flowers to be sent to someone. She wondered who the lucky person was.

  First thing on her birthday morning, however, before she set off for work, a beautiful bouquet of flowers was delivered to her. Attached was a card which said simply, ‘Happy Birthday, Miss Eden, from Mr McKay.’

  She was quite touched at his thoughtfulness and that he had even remembered the date of her birthday. She never normally bothered about flowers but they certainly made the flat look cheerful and pretty.

  That evening, Mr McKay insisted that he took her out for a birthday dinner. He had already booked a table at Café Gandolfi. It was really a most enjoyable evening. The food was excellent and the surroundings most interesting, with carved wood furniture and stained glass windows.

  After the meal, Mr McKay splashed out on a taxi back to the flat. Altogether, it had been one of the best, if not the best birthday she’d ever had.

  Eventually, she was tempted to say to Mr McKay that he didn’t need to accompany her to her karate class any more. It must have become an awful chore to him. He had been going regularly twice a week for ages now. Then a thought occurred to her. He did look as if he was quite interested. Perhaps he would like to join. The physical exercise would be good for him. He really didn’t get enough exercise. None at all, except for walking about the store and going shopping. The next time, on the way home from the karate meeting, she said to him, ‘You’ve been coming along to the classes for so long now, Mr McKay. Why don’t you join?’

  He laughed. ‘For goodness’ sake, Miss Eden. A man of my age? Away with you!’

  ‘No, I mean it. Age doesn’t matter. Anyway, you’re in your prime.’

  He pushed his glasses further up his nose. ‘I’m even short-sighted.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter either. Even if you never get to black belt standard, think of the advantages. It would give you a focus and targets. It would help you get the old heart and lungs fired up, basically stretch you physically and mentally …’

  Mr McKay shook his head. He looked uncertain, but good-humoured. Miss Eden went on, ‘It’s all done in stages, teaching you how to stand, breathe, balance, and move. Come on, Mr McKay, try it, please. Just for me. Please!’

  That made it a done deal. Next time, there he was, sheepishly shuffling from a chilly bare foot to a chilly bare foot, decked out in jogging trousers and a big, baggy T-shirt. He looked both nervous and embarrassed. Before long, the class was called to order and he was sent away from where he was standing with Miss Eden to the far end of the back row. There a young black belt in his twenties came to stand beside him.

  ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Just do your best to copy me through the warm up. If you’re puffed or can’t do anything, don’t worry. It’ll be a gradual process. Everyone has their own pace.’ The class was called to attention, backs straight, heels together, toes pointed out at a forty-five-degree angle, hands smartly by their sides.

  On the command to bow, they knelt – left knee first, then right – and sat back on their heels. Then, as one, they leant forward – left hand first, then right, head briefly touching the floor, before they sprang to their feet. The bow he could manage with ease; the springing to the feet bit was more of a challenge.

  Then it was straight into a sequence of bounces and bending and stretching that certainly gave his cheeks an unaccustomed glow. Slightly out of breath and most definitely warmed up, he was taken aside with two other newcomers by a slightly older black belt for the more tricky learning process, as individual techniques were broken down and explained.

  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.

  35

  ‘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 sta
rting 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.