Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

‘Flora would never hit Beckie,’ Caroline said at once.

‘But you were there – you know I didn’t!’

But of course Caroline didn’t know any such thing. She’d only arrived on the scene after Jed Johnson had started shouting.

Caroline, though, was nodding. ‘I was there,’ she agreed. ‘Flora was hugging Beckie while your husband and sons were threatening her. She wasn’t hitting her.’

Rage filled Flora.

‘How dare you come here accusing me of God knows what on the say-so of that man ? A convicted killer ! Your husband is a convicted killer , and thank God Beckie doesn’t have to live with him any more, or any of your nightmare of a family! You’re not the victims here!’

‘And you know what? You’re in breach of the court order just by being on this property,’ Caroline added.

‘So just fuck off !’ Flora flung out a hand to point past them to the gate. ‘ Fuck off! ’

The girl took a tottering step back, and Lorraine Johnson put an exaggeratedly protective arm round her. ‘No need for that, eh?’

‘I think you’d better leave,’ said Caroline calmly, reaching past Flora to shut the door.

‘She’s got a gob on her, right enough,’ goes Carly.

‘Aye,’ I goes. ‘The brass neck of her. Giving it “You’re not the victims here.” It’s our wee lassie’s been taken off of us for no reason and we’re no the fucking victims?’

Jed shuffles his arse in the La-Z-Boy, and he doesnae open his eyes, but random sounds come out his gob. He’s fleein’ so he is. There’s a damp bit of piss on his joggers. Good job that La-Z-Boy’s wipe clean.

Travis goes, ‘Aye Da, my thoughts exactly’ and the kids are all ‘Aye, Father Jack,’ the cheeky wee buggers.

The dug grabs a bit pizza off of Jordaine’s plate, and she grabs it back and shoves it in her gob, and Mackenzie’s like that: ‘You wee minger!’ and I’m biting my tongue but Carly doesnae hold back, she’s ‘Dinnae you call your wean a minger, that’s gonnae undermine her confidence’ and Mackenzie’s: ‘Go and take your face for a shite Carly, and maybe come back when you’ve popped that wean and ken what the fuck you’re on about.’

I goes, ‘Shut it yous. When Bekki’s back I dinnae want none of this shite this and fuck that , aye? That wee lassie’s gonnae show all yous up so she is.’

Mackenzie makes a face, and Corrigan goes, ‘Aye, cos Bekki’s a fucking wee angel.’

‘Corrigan!’ I yell. That boy hasnae quit giving me grief since he took his first fucking breath, wickit wee red face yowling and looking at me like he was: Aye Lorraine, here’s me, another fucking mad Johnson bastard.

I’m needing outta here. I get my arse in the kitchen with the wee pay-as-you-go I bought yesterday. I put in the number for Social Services at Glasgow City Council.

‘Oh, hello,’ I goes when I’m through to the right fucker. ‘This is Lydia Ross from Police Scotland – I’m calling in connection with the Saskia Mair investigation?’

‘Oh. Right…’ And you can hear the bint thinking: Christ, am I in the shit here? What are they wanting to speak to me for?

‘I’m not sure if it was you or your colleague I spoke to yesterday?’

‘That must have been Teresa.’

‘Okay, well, no matter. We’ve just been to interview Saskia Mair again, but it seems she’s no longer at the same address, or at least that was the story – could you just check and see if the address at Bielside Road is her current one, please? We’re outside the property now, so if you could do that now, that would be great.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Relieved it’s no her arse in the shit. ‘Could you just hold on one second while I call up the file?’

Candy from a bairn.

‘When’s Bekki gonnae be here?’ says wee Kai when I get back in the lounge. He cannae wait. God love him, he asked me the other day if Jordaine was gonnae get swapped for Bekki, like he was hoping.

Bairns!

‘In a wee while,’ I goes.

‘I’m gonnae save this for Bekki,’ goes Kai, and he lifts up the slice of pizza he’s piled pepperoni on that he’s picked off of the slice he’s eaten. Kai doesnae like pepperoni. It all falls on the carpet and the dug hoovers it.

‘She willnae want pizza,’ goes Corrigan. ‘Bekki only eats organic shite made by beardy wankers cos she’s saving the fucking planet, the fucking wee snob.’

‘Travis!’ I goes. ‘Are you gonnae just sit there and let him aff wi’ that?’

Travis is on his tablet. He doesnae even look up, he just goes, ‘Shut it ye wee bass.’

Looks like Travis and Mackenzie are maybe getting back together, and I’m no sure how I feel about that. It’ll be barry seeing more of the weans, and they need taking in hand right enough, but that wee minger Mackenzie, I hate her fucking guts. She’s a shite mother. Puts Jordaine in wee crop tops and lets her wear make-up and Jordaine’s only five year old. Films her doing sexy moves, grinding her wee hips in time to Beyoncé. Gives me the boak. Gonnae end up a tart like her maw if we dinnae nip that in the bud.

Carly goes, ‘Do you reckon Ailish heard?’

‘Oh aye, darlin’. She heard all right.’

Timing was spot on. You could set your watch by that Ailish bint. Back home 2:30 every Thursday with her weekly shop from Marks and Sparks. So she’s out there unloading for two, three minutes, and no way is that nosy cow not earwigging when two gobby bitches roll up at the Parrys’ door.

‘Flora was bricking it,’ goes Carly.

‘“But I never hit Bekki!”’ I goes.

Ryan and Travis are pissing themselves.

‘You were ace, Maw,’ goes Carly. ‘Here, if I have this wean preterm, I could maybe sue those bastards, eh, make out like it was the assault caused it –’

‘Jesus Chutney! Dinnae even think about it!’

‘I’m joking you!’

Aye, but is she? God’s sakes, this fucking family.

And now Travis is going, ‘Aw Christ, look at the state of it,’ because Connor’s at the lounge door in his funeral suit, and Mackenzie’s cackling, and Corrigan goes, ‘Put a suit on a bampot, it’s still a bampot’ and Travis is leaning over to high-five the wee shite, and I’m, ‘Corrigan!’

‘Aye Corrigan,’ goes Connor. ‘You’ll maybe wannae reflect on the fact that when I was your age I could spell my own fucking name, aye? So if I’m a bampot, what does that make you?’

Corrigan’s giving him evils.

‘He’s fucking dyslexic ?’ goes Mackenzie.

‘Aye, and the rest,’ goes Ryan.

Connor eyeballs me. ‘You ready, Maw?’

‘Aye son.’ I get up off my arse. ‘Aye son, let’s us get outta here.’

I park on the street opposite 24 Turner Drive. It’s a nice area, a posh wee street with bungalows and gardens for folk that’s got nothing better to do than go at their lawns with nail scissors, and bonnie blossom trees, and it’s a right bonnie evening with the sun hitting the blossom, still as anything, and at the end of the street you get a wee keek at the sea with the sunlight dancing off of it.

I need a jobbie. Fucking pizza lying heavy.

We start with Number 22 next door, but the place is dead and no bastard answers. Number 26 but, a wee wifie comes to the door carrying a yappy wee dug, a manky Scottie with brown scliters down its gob.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I goes in a polite wee voice. ‘My name’s Susan Marchbanks and this is Kenneth Brown – we’re from a company called We-Locate that searches for heirs of people who’ve died intestate and left a sizeable estate…’

‘As featured on Heir Hunters ,’ goes Connor.