Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

I goes, ‘Mair might have made a mistake an’ all. Left those bastards’ details on a document.’

‘Naw,’ says Connor. ‘Me and you’ve read through that shite how many times? I think we’d mebbe have noticed a minor detail like the folks’ names and address?’

‘Aye, well, we need to check again. And we need to check we’re no missing any documents – anything where Mair might have left crap uncensored. We need to check we’ve been sent everything we’re entitled to. Connor son, get all the shite out, aye?’

He goes to the sideboard and gets out the pile of papers and dumps them on the table next my chair. ‘Right then. See yous later.’

‘Throw a sickie, son, and gies a hand here. Get on the net and check what all we’re entitled to get sent.’

Connor sighs but he gets out his phone.

On top of the pile there’s my scrapbook with our articles. While Connor’s coughing down the phone, I take a wee look at the Daily Mail one with the big photy of me and Jed on the settee. Settee looks dead nice. That was right after we got it and it’s like something out a showhome, pure white and shiny. I’m in a black Laura Ashley top with lacy bits and Jed’s washed and shaved and in a brand new black cashmere jumper that covers his tats, most of them, and we’ve both got our sad faces on us. The caption says: ‘Devastated: Lorraine and Jed Johnson.’ The article goes on about how our wee angel was torn from our arms, just because our daughter was mentally ill, and quotes me saying how Social Work failed to inform us of meetings and that.

Media campaign turned out pish but.

And brought the nutters out the woodwork, mad bastards giving it You people should all be sterilised , and there was this Holy Mary kept posting on the Get Bekki Back page on Facebook wanting to know if we’d been saved by Jesus and saying we should pray for Bekki and trust in the fucking Lord.

I sort out all the letters and documents sent us by the Council, and Connor gets a list of what all we’re entitled to, and we read and cross-check all through the One O’Clock News and Reporting Scotland . I dinnae even bother turning over for Home and Away . I dinnae even stop for my lunch.

‘Looks like we’ve got everything, Maw. And there’s no address or that on any of this. That’s for definite.’

I goes, ‘Fuck it.’

‘Worth a try though, eh?’

‘Aye. Fuck it, but.’

Jed wakes back up and turns over and reaches for his fags, effing and blinding. Was a time, eh, when he’d no just limit hisself to mouthing off – he’d come at me. I was a fucking doormat by the way, daft wee bint that I was, but the first time he made to raise his hand to a babby I told him – you fucking touch that wean and we’re outta here. Aye he maybe skelped them when they was older, but only when they was out of order. Anything more than that and he knew I wouldnae stand for it. And any road, most of the time the kids were growing up, thank Christ, his arse was under lock and key in Barlinnie.

‘Wait a wee minute,’ I says to Connor. ‘Wait a wee fucking minute! This could still be the way to go. Forget Facebook. Forget the press. It’s the fucking system has what we want, aye? It’s the fucking system can tell us where Bekki is?’

Jed flicks his lighter, and says round his fag: ‘Like they’re gonnae go, “Oh aye Lorraine-hen, here you go, here’s Bekki’s address, you only had to ask, hen.”’

‘Shut it, you! What I’m saying is, we can get it out them if we’re a wee bit sleekit-like.’

‘Aw Christ, Maw.’ Connor’s sitting on the carpet with the Rotty, pushing his fingers through the dug’s hair. ‘Next time it’ll no be just a caution, eh?’

A couple years back I phoned up Mair pretending to be those bastards who’ve got Bekki, all Hello Ms Mair, sorry to bother you, it’s Bekki’s mum, I just wanted to check you’ve got our current address. But Mair goes To whom am I speaking, please? and course I didnae know their fucking name. And they traced the fucking call.

Jed goes, ‘Never mind all that shite. Give me five minutes with Mair. Five minutes. I swear to God.’

‘Aye, and that’s Mair got another excuse to get the polis on us.’

‘She’ll no be making any calls to the polis after I’ve paid her a wee visit.’

‘You cannae touch her, Da,’ says Connor.

‘No wonder folk cannae credit he’s a Johnson, eh? If he didnae have your fucking ears’ – I point at Connor – ‘I could maybe fantasize I’d been Rohypnol-ed by some fucker on this scheme whose DNA’s half way to fucking normal.’ I eat a bit scone. ‘Right then, listen up. The most successful scams, they Nigerian email scams and that – what is it they’re counting on?’

‘Folk being eejits,’ says Connor.

‘Aye, and ? This is the best ones I’m on about, the ones folk fall for.’

Connor shakes his head. ‘Maw, you’re no –’

‘They use. The fact. That every bastard is feart o’ scams .’

And now Connor’s got a wee smile on his face. He cannae help it.

He’s a Johnson right enough.

‘They’re all This is an urgent message from the Bank of Scotland. There is a possibility there may have been fraudulent activity on your bank account, and we need you to transfer all your funds to a new, more secure account immediately to prevent their misappropriation… They’re getting the bastards panicking, aye, and no thinking straight, they’re no giving them time to maybe be a wee bit sensible and check it’s for real.’

‘Belter!’

‘Right, son. Get me the phone numbers of all the adoption agencies in Glasgow. I’ll call some and you call some, making out we’re from the Council doing checks. Auditors or that – what’s the name of that fucking committee I sent my complaint to about Mair?’

‘Scrutiny and Audit Committee.’

‘We’re on the Scrutiny and Audit Committee and we’re needing all the names of the case workers who’ve had anything to do with Bekki Johnson. If they say Sorry, that’s not one of ours , we try the next agency, and the next, until we get the name of the bint at the adoption agency who’s been the main one on Bekki’s case.’

‘Aye, and then?’

‘And then, we’ve got Adoption Woman’s name and number. Let’s say she’s called Bunty. We wait a few days. Then I’m Mair, right? I’m shitting myself because I’ve just telt the Johnsons where Bekki is. The fucking Johnsons have been and scammed me for real this time –’

‘But how would we –’

‘Naw naw. We dinnae . But I calls up Bunty. I goes, “Oh, hi, Bunty. It’s Saskia from Social Work.”’

Jed and Connor are pissing themselves.

‘That’s Mair,’ goes Connor.

‘“Bunty, I’m just checking, sorry if I’m being paranoid here, but you just called me ten minutes ago, yes?” Bunty goes, “No.” I goes, “Oh shit. I’ve just had a call from someone saying they were you… saying you were checking that all stakeholders had up-to-date details for Bekki Johnson’s adoptive parents, and asking me which address I had on file, because some mail from the Council seems to have been sent to the wrong address. That wasn’t you who called me just now?” Bunty: “No.” “In that case, we may have a problem. I – I’m afraid I read out the address we have in the database…” “Oh my God. Saskia!” “Well I thought it was you! It sounded like you!” You know how Mair would, she’d make out like it was Bunty’s fault for having a voice any fucker could copy. “Shit. I think we’ve been scammed. I think it could have been Lorraine Johnson.” Bunty’s thinking, You stupid fucking bitch . But she just goes, “Oh God.” Mair’s up shit creek and she’s like that: “I’m going to have to call the police. There’s a real possibility the Johnsons will try to snatch Bekki. I’ll alert the parents too. The mobile number I have for them is oh-blah-blah-blah. Is that right?” Bunty checks her files. “No, it’s oh-blah-blah-blah.” Mair goes, “And do you have their landline number and a current email address?”’