queue. She’d jist managed tae see him nip intae the first close in Lister Street.
“Goat ye, ya wee scurrying rat,” she’d blurted oot loudly.
She’d known he’d be able tae see her wance she came back oot ae the shoap. He must’ve lit up a fag, because a blue puff appeared oot ae the closemooth where she knew the sleekit wee eejit wis hiding. She’d thought she even saw him take a wee peek oot tae make sure she wis still there.
“Helen, ma darling, is that ye talking tae yersel again? Whit hiv Ah telt ye aboot that, eh? Noo, whit side ae the coo dae ye want tae rob me oot ae the day?”
“Er, kin Ah hiv a marrow bone fur ma soup, Charlie?”
“Only if Ah’m getting an invite roond tae taste it.”
“Cheers.”
“Anything else before aw these wummin clean me oot,” Charlie hid said cheerfully, nodding towards the cackle behind her.
“Naw, bit kin Ah jist nip oot ae yer side door, Charlie? Ah think wan ae they Provi-cheque men is oan ma trail.”
“Ur ye sure that isnae an excuse tae clock ma good steak pie recipe that the boys ur working oan through there?”
“Ah promise no tae look.”
“In that case, ma wee darling, wance Ah get that thrupenny bit aff ye fur ma soup bone, ye kin jist go through they stripy curtains o’er there,” he’d said, shouting, “Wullie, hide they deid cats. There’s a customer coming through.”
“Hello, Wullie, Ah’m jist taking a wee short cut. There’s a Provi-cheque man oan ma trail, so there is,” Helen hid said tae Wullie, big Joan Scullion’s man, who wis staunin, covered in blood, like a mad axe man, wae a fag sticking oot ae his face.
“Nae bother, hen. Tell Jimmy Ah wis asking fur him, will ye?”
When she’d come oot oan tae Taylor Street, she’d heided up oan tae Ronald Street, across St James Road and o’er Canning Place Lane oan tae Cathedral Street. She’d jist sat doon wae her feet up tae hiv a fag, and wis watching the steam bubbling aff ae her fine pot ae soup, when she’d heard the chapping oan the door. It wisnae wan ae they official knocks like the polis wid’ve done. Whoever this wis, hid been too fly fur that. He’d chapped oan the door the same way as a neighbour or the weans up the close wid’ve done…the kind ae chap that people wid open the door tae. She’d known fine well it wis him as soon as she’d heard the first knock. She’d been swithering whether tae go and speak tae him or wait until she’d finished her fag, bit he’d spoiled the moment. She’d gone through and opened the door tae find him staunin there, gaun fae wan fit tae the other.
“Whit dae ye want?”
“Er, ma name’s Sammy Elliot and Ah’m fae The Glesga Echo,” the wee weasel hid said, trying tae haun o’er a wee card.
“And Ah’m Helen and if ye don’t get tae fuck doon they stairs right noo, Ah’m gonnae scream ‘Rape!’”
“Er, ye’ll whit?”
That’s aw he’d goat oot ae that rat’s mooth ae his. Whit a scream she’d let rip wae. Her tonsils hid jist aboot bounced aff ae his foreheid. He’d been hauf way doon they stairs before she’d even finished. When Betty hid showed up ten minutes efter the supposed rape hid taken place, he’d been long gone.
“Christ’s sake, Betty, ye’re far too late. Ah sucked the poor basturt in and blew him oot in bubbles.”
“Wis that you making aw that bloody racket? Aw the wummin in the street will no hauf be jealous wae ye hivving a strange man up at yer door who ye don’t owe money tae,” she’d said, wae a big grin oan her face. “So, whit’s up?”
Helen hid telt Betty whit Pat hid telt her aboot the polis setting the dookit alight. Like hersel, Betty hidnae thought there wis anything in it.
The next time Helen hid come across Roddy The Rodent hid been when she’d hid tae turn up at the Marine Juvenile Court o’er in Partick. Johnboy hid goat
“Goat ye, ya wee scurrying rat,” she’d blurted oot loudly.
She’d known he’d be able tae see her wance she came back oot ae the shoap. He must’ve lit up a fag, because a blue puff appeared oot ae the closemooth where she knew the sleekit wee eejit wis hiding. She’d thought she even saw him take a wee peek oot tae make sure she wis still there.
“Helen, ma darling, is that ye talking tae yersel again? Whit hiv Ah telt ye aboot that, eh? Noo, whit side ae the coo dae ye want tae rob me oot ae the day?”
“Er, kin Ah hiv a marrow bone fur ma soup, Charlie?”
“Only if Ah’m getting an invite roond tae taste it.”
“Cheers.”
“Anything else before aw these wummin clean me oot,” Charlie hid said cheerfully, nodding towards the cackle behind her.
“Naw, bit kin Ah jist nip oot ae yer side door, Charlie? Ah think wan ae they Provi-cheque men is oan ma trail.”
“Ur ye sure that isnae an excuse tae clock ma good steak pie recipe that the boys ur working oan through there?”
“Ah promise no tae look.”
“In that case, ma wee darling, wance Ah get that thrupenny bit aff ye fur ma soup bone, ye kin jist go through they stripy curtains o’er there,” he’d said, shouting, “Wullie, hide they deid cats. There’s a customer coming through.”
“Hello, Wullie, Ah’m jist taking a wee short cut. There’s a Provi-cheque man oan ma trail, so there is,” Helen hid said tae Wullie, big Joan Scullion’s man, who wis staunin, covered in blood, like a mad axe man, wae a fag sticking oot ae his face.
“Nae bother, hen. Tell Jimmy Ah wis asking fur him, will ye?”
When she’d come oot oan tae Taylor Street, she’d heided up oan tae Ronald Street, across St James Road and o’er Canning Place Lane oan tae Cathedral Street. She’d jist sat doon wae her feet up tae hiv a fag, and wis watching the steam bubbling aff ae her fine pot ae soup, when she’d heard the chapping oan the door. It wisnae wan ae they official knocks like the polis wid’ve done. Whoever this wis, hid been too fly fur that. He’d chapped oan the door the same way as a neighbour or the weans up the close wid’ve done…the kind ae chap that people wid open the door tae. She’d known fine well it wis him as soon as she’d heard the first knock. She’d been swithering whether tae go and speak tae him or wait until she’d finished her fag, bit he’d spoiled the moment. She’d gone through and opened the door tae find him staunin there, gaun fae wan fit tae the other.
“Whit dae ye want?”
“Er, ma name’s Sammy Elliot and Ah’m fae The Glesga Echo,” the wee weasel hid said, trying tae haun o’er a wee card.
“And Ah’m Helen and if ye don’t get tae fuck doon they stairs right noo, Ah’m gonnae scream ‘Rape!’”
“Er, ye’ll whit?”
That’s aw he’d goat oot ae that rat’s mooth ae his. Whit a scream she’d let rip wae. Her tonsils hid jist aboot bounced aff ae his foreheid. He’d been hauf way doon they stairs before she’d even finished. When Betty hid showed up ten minutes efter the supposed rape hid taken place, he’d been long gone.
“Christ’s sake, Betty, ye’re far too late. Ah sucked the poor basturt in and blew him oot in bubbles.”
“Wis that you making aw that bloody racket? Aw the wummin in the street will no hauf be jealous wae ye hivving a strange man up at yer door who ye don’t owe money tae,” she’d said, wae a big grin oan her face. “So, whit’s up?”
Helen hid telt Betty whit Pat hid telt her aboot the polis setting the dookit alight. Like hersel, Betty hidnae thought there wis anything in it.
The next time Helen hid come across Roddy The Rodent hid been when she’d hid tae turn up at the Marine Juvenile Court o’er in Partick. Johnboy hid goat
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