Laidlaw

27

MacLaughlan’s was a small family-owned firm in York Street. It was all blank walls and windows blind with dust. Upstairs there was a big communal room that served as canteen, locker-room and fly smoke area. That was where Laidlaw and Harkness found themselves, waiting among oily jackets, the smell of print and abandoned tea-cups brown with tannin.

While they were waiting, a small man in a boilersuit came in.

‘Hullo therr, boays.’

It was a vaudevillean’s greeting to his audience. Instant theatre. He looked the part. The boilersuit looked as if it had been made for somebody else and he was just standing in. It had been washed far away from its original colour and it was covered in oilstains of varying intensity, like a collage of his past. The bonnet hung miraculously on the back of his head. His face showed whisky-veins.

‘Jist in fur a quick yin before we lowse. Ah only enjoy smokin’ in the firm’s time.’

He pulled up a leg of his boilersuit and fished in his ruler-pocket. A dowt black with oil emerged. He dusted some of the fluff off it and lit up.

‘Like smoking T.N.T.,’ Laidlaw muttered to Harkness.

‘Travellers, eh? Listen — Ah’ve got a story fur youse. See that press there?’

He pointed to a big walk-in cupboard with the door ajar.

‘This is gospel. No’ last week but the week before. Big Aly Simpson. Bloke in the work. He’s fond o’ his nookie an’ that, ye know? Me. Ah’d rather hiv a fish-supper. Anyway, there’s nane o’ us perfect. Dinner-time. The horn goes. Back tae the galleys. Except Big Aly an’ Jinty. Jinty’s a big lassie that works wan o’ the machines. Well, she’s no’ that big, but everybody’s big tae me. Ah yince broke ma leg fa’ing aff the kerb. But she’s gemme. So the two o’ them wait in the canteen here an’ lock the door. Jist gettin’ doon tae it, when they hear somebody tryin’ the door. Then there’s the voices talkin’ aboot gettin’ the key. Panic stations. Big Aly’s a mairrit man. Likes tae think that everybody else’s heid buttons up the back. So he hides in the press there. Jinty sorts herself an’ sterts yawnin’ an’ that. Goes tae the door an’ opens it. “Ah must’ve fell asleep,” she says, blinkin’ like Snow White. Well, Wullie Anderson comes in. Whaur dae ye think is the first place he makes fur? The press there. Tae get a new brush-heid. Opens the door. There’s Big Aly. Standin’ like Count Dracula. Ye widny credit it. Know whit Big Aly says? Cool as ye like. “Is this where ye get the bus for Maryhill?” An’ that’s the truth.’

Through the small man’s laughter, Laidlaw said to Harkness, ‘That’s what I love about Glasgow. It’s not a city, it’s a twenty-four-hour cabaret.’

As the foreman came in with Sarah, the small man stood on his cigarette and disappeared into the press in one movement. He emerged holding some rags and saying, ‘Jist up tae get the machines cleaned before we lowse, Charlie.’

The foreman had a hand on Sarah’s shoulder paternally.

‘This is the second time the polis’ve seen this wee lassie the day,’ he said. ‘Ah hope it’ll be the last fur a while.’

‘I hope so,’ said Laidlaw.

‘The polis!’ The small man stood holding his rags, staring at them. ‘Ah thought yese were travellers. Nae wonder ye’ve got nae sense o’ humour.’

Alone with them, Sarah sat down, looking at the floor. She was small and attractive in a way that was already hard. Her face was naturally bold but today a diffidence was detectable behind it, like someone moving beyond frosted glass.

She confirmed what her mother had told them. Yes, she had gone with Jennifer to the disco. But they had separated early on. No, she hadn’t seen who Jennifer left with. She had been very close to Jennifer at one time, but not so close lately. She told them what she knew about Jennifer. She remembered the time Mr Lawson had forbidden Jennifer to go out with the Catholic. Jennifer seemed to have got over it. She talked until Harkness lost concentration. There was nothing for them here. Then Laidlaw said something the harshness of which tuned Harkness in again.

‘The dancing seems to have changed a lot since my day, hen. Poppies isn’t a big place, is it?’

‘Naw. No’ bad.’

‘But you didn’t see the fella she left with? I don’t believe you, love.’

Sarah looked up aggressively but her eyes flickered. It was as if the slightest gap had appeared between her expression and her feeling. Into it Laidlaw drove a wedge of words, and prised.

‘When I was there, lassies used to like letting their mates see that they had made a conquest. They kept tabs on one another. Jennifer would’ve let you see who was taking her home. You would’ve made sure that you saw him. She must have danced with him. You’re lying, love. Now why would you tell a silly wee lie like that? No reason except to hide a bigger lie. What is it you’re hiding, Sarah? What is it, love?’

It was like opening a shellfish. Inside, it was mush. Her face went pulpy with tears. Harkness could hardly bear to look at her.

‘It’s the truth,’ she blubbered.

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Lea’e me alane!’

‘Like hell I will. With best friends like you, we could all be in terrible trouble. Jennifer’s dead. In fact, she’s as dead as I’ve ever seen anybody. Have you seen her, hen? Well, maybe I could arrange to show you.’

‘Ma daddy’ll murder me,’ she said through the tears.

‘No. That won’t do, Sarah. They’re all living that your father’s killed. But somebody did murder Jennifer Lawson. So why don’t you forget your own wee worries and tell the truth about her? The two of you were working some ploy together, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Weren’t you?’

‘She didny go tae Poppies.’

The admission really broke the dam. She started to cry hysterically. Laidlaw gave her a handkerchief and waited while she soaked it.

‘All right. Tell us, love,’ he said.

Jennifer had used Sarah as an alibi. She had a date with someone called Alan. Sarah couldn’t remember the second name. But she thought it was Macintosh or MacKinley. She had never met him. Since her father had stopped her going out with the Catholic, Jennifer had kept everything secret from her parents. Sarah didn’t think Alan was a Catholic but she wasn’t sure. Jennifer had told her that she met Alan in The Muscular Arms. It was where he almost always drank, she had said. Sarah had been too frightened of what her father would do to tell the truth before this, and because she only knew Alan’s first name she didn’t think it was worth getting into trouble about. She thought that if it was him they would get him anyway. He worked at the airport, she was sure. She was still sobbing quietly.

‘I’m sorry I had to do that, love,’ Laidlaw said. She offered him his handkerchief. ‘No. That’s all right. But you’ll have to learn the difference between domestic problems and the kind of thing we’re dealing with.’

In the corridor the foreman passed them and nodded. When he saw Sarah, he doubled back and shouted.

‘Hey! Jist a minute, you two. Whit’ve yese been daein’ tae this wee lassie? She’s greetin’.’

As the foreman was coming towards them, Harkness felt the wind of Laidlaw turning.

‘Stay there!’ Laidlaw was pointing at the foreman, who found himself stopping about three yards from them. ‘Save yourself the fucking journey. She’s greetin’ because I made her greet. Because I made her tell me the truth about a girl that’s dead. She canny greet. Now you go and oil your fucking machines or something. And don’t interfere with my job. It bugs me enough without folk like you shoving your Sunday Post sentiments in.’

When they turned away, the foreman was doing a fair imitation of Lot’s wife. Laidlaw’s anger carried him into the street. They crossed the road and stopped.

‘Listen,’ Laidlaw said. ‘You’d better report in now. See Milligan. Rather you than me. You better use a burnished shield. The way Perseus did with the Gorgon. And get yourself something to eat. Pick me up at the Burleigh. Tell them about Poppies and Alan MacThingwy. And see what else they’ve got. Ach! This job would depress the hide off you.’ He looked across the street. ‘Still, that helps a bit, doesn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘That.’

The workers were coming out of MacLaughlan’s. They were jostling and laughing. Somebody dropped a piece-tin and a neat inter-passing movement developed along the pavement before the tin was recovered. Harkness looked at Laidlaw, who was smiling.