Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

We’ll tell Bekki the Morrisons stole her off of us, and we didnae know where she was, but now she’s safe home and no fucker’s taking her off us ever again. If she starts with I want Mummy and Daddy , we’ll be like that: They don’t want you hen, they gave you back. They’re no your real mum and dad. We’re your real family.

‘Stupid fucking bitch!’ He pulls his head back and spits right on my lips.

I spit it right back at him and he takes a hud of my shoulders and slams me back against the wall. I knee him in the baws.

He doubles over. ‘Ah fuck. Ah fuck.’

‘Maw,’ says Travis. ‘They’re no here.’

Travis, God love him, was at the back of the queue when they were handing out the brains in the Johnson family.

It’s another fucking wee Teuchterland hovel, roses round the door maybe, but Christ, the windaes and the door are from nineteen-canteen. Like they think they’re in a fucking stately home preserved for the fucking nation, draughty shite windaes an’ all.

Needs gutting.

I ring the door again. It’s 6:30 in the morning. They cannae be out.

Door opens and a woman’s standing there. She’s up herself, long shiny hair and long legs in designer jeans.

‘I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning,’ I goes with a polite wee smile. ‘I’m hoping you can help me. I see Backhill Croft is empty now, and I’m just wondering if maybe it’s for sale?’

‘Oh. Well. I imagine it will be. But it’s not on the market yet or anything…’ She’s got a voice like she’s Scottish, aye, but she wishes she wasnae.

‘You wouldn’t happen to have contact details for the sellers?’

‘No. Sorry.’

‘They’ve moved away, have they?’

‘Yes. Sorry, I can’t help.’ And the bitch goes to shut the door on me.

I breenge against it and go, ‘Come on yous,’ and Jed and the boys are in and through the house.

I push the bint down on the floor and she’s all ‘Oh, oh, oh’ and I’m ‘Tell us where they are and I’ll no touch you,’ and then Jed and Travis are back with a man in boxers and a wee lassie in her jimjams, eyes like saucers, poor wee bairn, and Travis dumps her down on a chair and I’m ‘Tell us where they are and they’ll no hurt your bairn’ and she’s ‘I don’t know where they are, they’ve just gone, they never told us they were going even, men with a removal van just came and took all their stuff but they wouldn’t tell us where they were taking it or why the Morrisons had left so suddenly or anything, and I’ve tried calling them but their mobile numbers are unobtainable –’

Shit.

‘What’s their names? Alec Morrison, aye, and what’s his wife called?’

‘Ruth,’ says the man. ‘And their little girl’s Rebecca. They call her Bekki.’

They call her Bekki?

‘You’re friends with them, aye?’

‘We thought we were,’ says the bint. ‘But they just up and left without a word –’ And she clamps her mouth shut and stares at me, and it’s pure comical so it is.

‘Aye. The explanation? You’re looking at it, hen.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘ Oh my God ,’ goes Travis.

I goes, ‘Right. You’re going to tell us all you know about your good pals the Morrisons, aye? Where they work. Where their friends and relations stay at. What they have for fucking breakfast.’

‘And if you tell anyone,’ says Ryan, leaning against the wall, ‘if you tell the polis or Social Work or that, if you tell anyone and I mean anyone that we were here…’

‘ We’ll be baaaa-aaaack ,’ goes Travis.

The kitchen’s like something out a museum. The sink’s one of they old china ones and there’s no even any proper units, there’s shite like my grannie had, one of they cabinets with a front you pull down for a shoogly wee worktop, and cupboards and that that dinnae go, all chipped and stained. There’s a nice big dresser but, like something off of Antiques Roadshow , and bonnie cups and plates on it.

Table’s massive, with chairs round it that are no even the same, some wood and some painted sweetie colours like sherbet lemon and candyfloss. Ryan pushes the man at one of them and goes, ‘Anyone fancy a wee bit breakfast?’ and he’s opening cupboards.

The lassie suddenly turns round and runches her teeth down on Travis, and he goes ‘Ah ye bass!’ and she’s legging it out the door and Jed’s ‘Fuck’ and going after her, and Ryan’s got the bint against the cupboard and she’s yelling, ‘Emma, Emma!’

Then Jed’s dragging the bairn back in by the hair and she’s greeting and he’s shoving her at the bint and going ‘Keep that fucking wee animal under control, aye? Fucking went and tried to get the fucking phone,’ and he throws the phone at the dresser and some of the cups and that smash, and the bint’s going ‘Oh God !’ and she’s backing into the corner between the Aga and the cupboard coorying her bairn and going ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone!’ and hubby’s just sitting there with a big glaikit face on him.

‘Fucking wee bitch,’ goes Travis. He’s running the tap on his hand. With the other hand he points at the bairn. ‘Needs a fucking muzzle on her.’

Ryan’s pissing himself.

‘Please don’t hurt her,’ the bint’s going, and Jed’s in the wee lassie’s face going, ‘Any more shite from you and you’re getting more than a wee nip and a slap, aye?’

God’s sakes. The fucking prick. He’s got that radge look in his eyes like he’d get when he used to go for me. He’s loving this so he is.

‘Get away from her!’ goes the bint, and she’s pulling the bairn round into the corner, she’s got her back turned to Jed, and the wee lassie’s got her face pushed in her maw’s chebs.

I go, ‘What’s the wee lassie’s name – is it Emma, aye?’

Bint doesnae say nothing. She doesnae turn round.

‘You come here to me, Emma-hen. I’ll no let they buggers touch you, eh? Come here to me. My name’s Lorraine.’

Wee lassie huds on to her maw. Jed grabs the bint and Travis pulls the bairn off of her and round the table, and the bint’s going ‘Do as they say, darling, just do as they say’ and then I’ve got my arm round the bairn and I’m going ‘It’s okay hen, it’s okay wee Emma,’ and Jed’s got the bint’s arm up her back.

Emma’s standing staring at her maw and Jed. I pull her closer and I go, ‘Come and sit on my knee, hen,’ and I sit down on a chair and pull the bairn down on top of me and smooth her hair. She’s got awful bonnie hair. Dark and shiny.

The bint’s still going, ‘Do as they say, darling, do as they say,’ and Jed gives her arm a yowk for no reason, the mentalist, and she’s ‘Oh God oh God please.’

Hubby’s no said a fucking thing.

I goes, ‘This’s your bairn, by the way? That’s your bint? You gonnae just sit there giving it Whatever ? You. Are. A fucking disgrace.’

He goes, ‘What do you want?’

Wee Emma’s shaking. I give her a coorie. ‘Dinnae you worry, hen, dinnae you worry. Maybe your da’s a gutless fucking wonder, but no one’s gonnae touch you. Ryan son, take a seat, aye? Travis, get us some coffees.’

‘Please –’ goes the bint. ‘Please let her come to me.’

‘Och, she’s fine where she is, eh, wee Emma? What’s your name, doll?’

‘Pam.’

‘Take a seat, Pammie. We’ll be out your hair soon enough. Soon as you’ve telt us all about your pals the Morrisons. Let’s us start with where they work at and where they’re from, eh?’

‘Do yous take milk and sugar?’ goes Travis.

‘And get the lassie a juice, son.’

Emma goes, ‘I don’t want any juice!’ She’s sitting on my lap with her wee toes pressed against the chair next us and her legs lifted up off of me, balancing on her wee arse like she’s no wanting any more of herself touching me than she has to.