Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

‘How am I no gonnae worry, eh son, with shite-for-brains weans giving me fucking grief twenty-four-seven? Aye, and another thing: Wendy fucking Burns is in that gaff.’

‘Fuck. She clock you?’

‘Naw. She was in the wee bit garden having a fag when the screws was herding us down the corridor to the Visit Room. She was too busy mouthing off to another bint to pay us any notice. But even if that fuckwit had of clocked me – which she didnae – she wasnae gonnae go Here, that’s fucking Lorraine Johnson. All she’d be thinking as I walked on by in Caroline’s white Jigsaw jeans that cost seventy-five fucking quid and her wee Joules top and jacket would be Fucking up-herself bint .’

‘Aye, likely,’ Ryan chuckles. ‘But next visit, how about wearing shades and that, eh Maw?’

‘That mentalist fucking slag isnae gonnae rumble Caroline, son, shades or no fucking shades.’

Even my ain grandkids have a hard time getting their heads round how their Nana’s gone anorexic and wearing snobby crap. No way Burns is gonnae rumble Caroline.

But I’m no happy.

Wendy fucking Burns.

I’m no fucking happy.

Now I’m in the door, and I’ve no even got my jacket off and here’s Bekki coming down the stair giving it, ‘Did she like the card? Did she read my letter?’

I kick off my boots. Hall carpet in the wee newbuild’s dead gorgeous, a wool blend in barley with a pile that thick you could use it as a fucking trampoline. After three fucking hours in they fucking fashion-victim boots, my feet think they’ve died and gone to heaven.

‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ I open my bag and take out the bits of ripped-up green card. And the letter, still sealed in the envelope.

Bekki takes the bits like they’re wee hurt animals, the poor darlin’.

‘Aw, come here, Bekki.’ She lets me coorie her but she’s no leaning in. ‘I’m sorry. She says she doesn’t want to see you and she doesn’t want to have any contact with you. It’s not your fault, sweetheart, okay, it’s nothing you’ve done.’

‘But why…’ It’s a wee whisper.

‘What’s that, sweetheart?’ I’m stroking her hair.

‘Why doesn’t she?’

‘Aw Bekki, I don’t know. She’s under a lot of stress at the moment and probably not thinking straight. But I’m here. I’m always going to be here for you.’

‘I want my mum!’ And she’s pushing me away and running back up the stair.

Connor’s coming down and he catches her and goes, ‘Whoa, Bekki, where’s the fire?’ and she’s going, ‘I want my mummm !’ in his face, and he’s ‘Aye, I know, hen,’ and she’s pushing past him.

‘Dinnae you start,’ I go as I puff past him up the stair.

But I’m no feeling great about it neither. It’s a wee shame for Bekki so it is, and if I’m honest, if I’m a hundred per cent fucking honest with myself, I’m feeling bad for fucking Flora. Me and that bitch, in another world maybe, in another fucking universe where bairns dinnae get taken off of folk for no reason, maybe me and that bitch coulda been pals.

‘What’s up?’ Carly yells from through the house, and then her fucking wean’s bawling.

God’s sakes.

‘See t’your fff… Please see to Willow, Carly!’ I yell back.

If the social worker could see us now, eh?

Had a wee visit from the bint a week past, checking on Beckie Parry’s welfare. Caroline’s decided to move back to where she’s from, Bearsden, because after everything that’s happened, both she and Beckie need to get away from Gardens Terrace. Beckie’s attending the local primary. Caroline’s two children have moved back in with her, and they’re one big happy family.

Checks on Caroline all came back fine, thank God – I dinnae know who the real Caroline Turnbull is and where she’s at now, and I dinnae want to know, but looks like Ryan’s contact Skeeter’s done barry getting us a clean identity there.

‘Can I come in, Bekki?’ I goes, and I push open the door to her room.

She’s lying under the Frozen duvet, greeting her wee eyes out, coorying that fucking lemur. I cannae see Shrek. On the windowsill there’s the tank with the wee trees in it Neil had in his study. When I asked her what all she wanted to take with her, that was top of the fucking list.

I sit down on the bed and touch her back.

After a bit I leave her be, and she’s up in that fucking room all afternoon, but then five o’clock comes round and I’ve fired up the fryer and Connor’s got burgers on the go, and here’s Bekki coming in the kitchen giving it ‘I feel sick.’

‘Aw, course you do sweetheart, but don’t you worry, everything’s going to work out fine.’

She’s looking at Connor. He’s got a face on him like he’s chewing a wasp.

‘Isn’t that right, Connor?’ I goes.

‘Aye Maw. Fine and dandy. You want a chicken burger or a hamburger, Bekki?’

‘I don’t want anything, thank you.’

‘Just some chips?’ I goes. ‘Or how about a milkshake? Got to keep your strength up.’

‘Okay.’

‘Banana or strawberry?’

‘Banana, please.’

Aye, it’s all please this and thank you that with wee Bekki, the wee darlin’.

And then suddenly it’s coming out her: ‘Will I have to go and live with the Johnsons now that Mum’s in prison?’

I get out the mixer and a pint of milk. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart. If you want to stay here with us, then that’s what’s happening.’

‘But the Johnsons might try to get me back again.’

I get the nicest banana out the bowl. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, Bekki. The Johnsons aren’t bad people.’

‘They must be, or I wouldn’t have been taken away from them, would I?’

I sit down at the table. ‘Come here, Bekki.’

Bekki takes a seat next me.

‘That was a mistake. Connor son, get the Mair sh… The press coverage of Saskia Mair’s death.’ While Connor’s in the front room, I finish making the shake and pour it in a tall glass.

Bekki takes a big swally.

‘Is that nice?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

Connor’s back with the Mair shite. ‘Now, Bekki,’ I goes, ‘Saskia Mair was the woman who took you from the Johnsons, but the authorities have found out she was lying. The Johnsons never hurt you. See, it says here Saskia Mair admitted to hurting the children so people would think it was their families that did it…’

Bekki’s reading the article on the laptop. ‘One of those children was me?’

‘Yes. The Johnsons never hurt you.’

‘But they’re still horrible! You were there, when they tried to grab me outside your flat!’

‘But they didn’t try to grab you, did they? They were just trying to talk to you, I think. I know I’ve got ninja skills and everything, but if they’d really wanted to grab you, how could Flora and I have stopped those big bbb… those big men?’

Bekki frowns. ‘But… that old man was horrible.’

‘Was he? What did he say to you?’

‘He kept saying “Wee Bekki”.’

‘Well, that’s not too horrible, is it?’

‘But he was horrible!’

‘In what way?’

‘He was… dirty. And I think he was drunk.’

‘Oh. Well, maybe he has problems. You know, like Edith’s mum? Medical problems.’

‘Like depression?’

I nod. ‘Yes, maybe depression.’

‘But even if he’s got depression I don’t want to live with the Johnsons! I want to stay with you, and Connor and Carly and Willow, until Mum gets out of prison!’

‘Aw, and we want you to stay with us, more than anything, sweetheart! We’re made up to have you living with us. And you know Flora and Neil made me your guardian in case anything happened to them, so it’s all legal and everything. So don’t you worry, Bekster, you’re staying right here.’