Such a Fool

‘I feel such a fool.’ Maggie sat, head in hands, in Wilma’s conservatory.

‘There’s nowt to be said.’ Wilma responded with a wry smile. ‘Woman fair took a ride out of you.’

‘You can say that again. I’ve been well and truly conned. And I’ve only myself to blame. Didn’t you warn me from day one it would be a rerun of the Argo business?’

‘That was different. Argo, she was a psychiatric case. Come to think on it, I haven’t seen her up at ARI for a good while. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been sectioned.’

‘You don’t think Sheena Struthers is mentally ill, then?’

‘No. If you ask me, the whole business was down to burnout.’

‘I don’t get you.’

‘In a word,’ Wilma replied, ‘it’s exhaustion. ‘Only emotional rather than physical. You’re that stressed out by the abuse, you completely lose the plot.’

‘How do you know?’

Wilma shrugged. ‘Been there.’

‘Oh, Wilma.’ Maggie raised her head. She looked searchingly at her friend.

‘Aye. In and out of the women’s refuge I don’t know how often.’

‘This was with Darren?’

‘Aye. Bastard! But by the time I got that length, he’d reduced me to an emotional wreck. And not just emotional, I suffered physical symptoms too: headaches, irritability. I was always tired, forever getting colds and urinary infections. It was like all my defences were shattered.’

‘You think it was the sexual abuse, not the menopause that tipped Sheena Struthers over the edge?’

‘Who knows? The change can have a massive effect on a woman, by all accounts.’ Wilma gave Maggie a nudge. ‘How long, do you reckon, before it hits us?’

‘Not for a long time, please God,’ Maggie responded with a grimace. She’d a hard enough time reconciling the chafing and the stomach cramps and mood swings of her ‘time of the month’ with the demands of her home and business.

Wilma grinned. ‘Watch this space. But, mentally,’ she ran on, ‘I reckon Sheena’s as sharp as they come. How else could she have planned all that? Mind you, she’s had plenty of time. That Gordon’s had it coming to him since they first got married, if her account’s to be believed.’

‘But that’s just it, Wilma. Right from our initial meeting, she came over as so authentic. So suburban, so unworldly, so… “straight” I suppose is the word.’

‘Bit like you, Maggie.’

‘Well, I have to admit the thought did occur to me. Sheena Struthers came across like how I used to be. Before,’ she cast Wilma a sideways look, ‘you corrupted me.’

‘Dinna lay the blame at my door.’

‘What do you think will happen to her now?’

Wilma snorted. ‘Bugger all. If he sticks by her, that is.’

‘You think that’s on the cards?’

Wilma shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened. As I said, if he stands by her… and she gets herself a fancy solicitor. And don’t forget the GP. If some smartass lawyer comes out all guns blazing, waving a medical certificate, it’ll likely go no further.’

‘All that time wasted for nothing!’ Maggie wrung her hands in despair. ‘That’s what I get for being a narrow-minded, snobbish, self-regarding idiot.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up. We’re none of us perfect.’ Sly grin. ‘Though some of us are more perfect than others. The way you were aye ticking me off when we first got started. Comes from working with teachers, I suppose. Still, it fair got my goat.’

‘Don’t rub it in. But, seriously, Wilma, I thought I had it sussed, this PI business.’

‘You and me both.’

‘Agreed. We’ve come such a long way from those first clumsy attempts at investigation. Learned such a lot. The experience has made me more savvy, that’s for sure.’

Wilma pulled a comic face. ‘Cynical’s the word I’d use.’

‘Less trusting, that’s for sure. And a better judge of character. At least, I thought I was all those things until…’ Her voice wavered. ‘Since this thing blew up, Wilma, I haven’t been sleeping. Lying in the night questioning everything. The whole point of us taking on the agency was to get justice for George. And we’re not there yet. Nowhere near. I doubt we’ll ever be there. If I’m honest, I don’t even know if it’s worth the effort, not anymore.’

‘But, Maggie…’

‘Don’t interrupt,’ she held up a hand. ‘I blamed myself for the mess I was in before. Laid it on false pride – wanting to keep the kids in their private schools, keep up appearances. But now I don’t know.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘What if it was largely down to George: his misguided loyalty in not speaking up about Brannigan’s interview tape, rolling over rather than squaring up to a disciplinary hearing, shutting himself away up that close in King Street with his tin-pot agency instead of sticking out for something better.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I have to face up to the fact that George, nice as he was, lacked imagination. Even if he’d gone before that hearing and acquitted himself well, chances are he’d have been happy to stick at sergeant, stay on in that tatty wee house next door, settle for pipe and slippers the minute the kids moved on. Whereas I…’ She drew a breath. ‘I’ve always wanted more, ever since I was a wee girl.’

‘Oh, Maggie, you can have more. Look how the client list is building. And they’re good clients. Gilt-edged.’ She grinned. ‘Some of them.’

‘That’s what I’ve been telling myself. But George is dead, Wilma. Whether I succeed or fail in this crusade of mine won’t make any difference to him. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I suspect I’m not doing this for George at all. I’m doing it for me. To stop the whispers and the pointed fingers and the snide asides.’ Her voice wavered. ‘False pride again. I’ll tell you what I think when I lie awake in the night: what the hell is the point?’

‘I’ll tell you what the point is. You’ve two kids, Maggie Laird. Young kids with their lives still ahead of them. There’s nothing will bring their father back. But you can get rid of the stigma attached to his name. So do it for them, Maggie. Your pride will recover soon enough. And you’re young enough, yet,’ stage wink, ‘to find someone else.’

‘I don’t want anyone else.’

‘Not now, maybe. But come the time Colin’s gone and you’re rattling around the house on your own…’

‘Even then.’

‘That’s what you’re saying now, but mark my words…’

‘Anyway, who would want a forty-something widow with a wall eye?’

‘Plenty.’ Wilma stuck out her boobs. ‘Look at me: a divorced wumman wi twa useless loons. I could have had my pick, let me tell you, before I settled on Ian Harcus. As for you, Maggie Laird, you’re a fine-looking woman. You only have to see the way that Brian Burnett hangs on your every word.’

‘Och,’ Maggie pooh-poohed. ‘Brian’s a pushover.’

‘That Chisolm, then.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ Maggie could imagine the inspector’s reaction to yet another faux pas from Harcus & Laird.

‘I’m serious. All through that Fatboy’s trial I caught him giving you sideways glances.’

‘Sure. If looks could kill…’

‘Might be the fella’s lonely. Didn’t he move up here from Glasgow? He’s sure to be missing the talent.’ She wiggled her hips. ‘Never mind a bit of gallus humour.’

Maggie pursed her lips. ‘If that’s the case, he’s more likely to get both from you than me.’

Wilma beamed. ‘There is that. But…’ She was serious again. ‘I was thinking…’

Maggie’s heart sank even lower. ‘Go on, then.’

‘The PI business is a helluva hard way to earn a crust. And I should know.’ Stage wink. ‘The things I’ve done. Now a pal of mine, he left school like I did with nothing to show for it show and went to work in an undertakers.’

‘Right…’ Maggie wondered where this was going.

‘And didn’t the old boy die. This was years later, mind you. And my mate got the lot.’

‘The business, d’you mean?’

‘On the nail. He’s driving a Bentley now.’

‘Nice story,’ Maggie observed, ‘but I hope you’re not suggesting we go into the undertaking business.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Other than the hearse, there wouldn’t be a great outlay.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘And you can likely lease the cars.’

‘Wil-ma, there’s more to undertaking than carting a body from A to B. And if you think the PI business is messy, put your mind for just one minute to the embalming process – all those bodily fluids.’ As she spoke, Maggie was back in that undertaker’s office in George Street, her dead husband being ‘processed’ downstairs.

‘It’s no science,’ Wilma scoffed. ‘More like plumbing. Bit smelly, but you get used to it. And you can make a packet.’ The big blue eyes were like saucers. ‘And make it fast. Not like us and our “baby steps” as you call them.’

‘I don’t need “a packet”. Just enough to see the kids through their education, pay off the mortgage and see me out.’

‘Fair dos, Maggie. All I was trying to say was, now we’ve done our apprenticeship, we could turn our hand to anything, you and me.’ She grinned. ‘Not that I’d say no to the Bentley.’