The Silver Arrow by Ian Todd

hot tea and looked oot the windae.  The rain wis battering aff ae the road as passers-by wur getting their umbrellas entangled wae each other.  The wans nearest the road wur jumping back fae the ootside ae the pavement tae avoid the splashes ae the dirty water as the wheels ae the buses picked up speed efter turning left oot ae Dundas Street, heiding towards Castle Street and beyond.   She felt the throb and rumble ae the trains under her feet, coming and gaun fae Queen Street Station and smiled at the shapes that seemed tae be magically appearing and disappearing in the billowing clouds ae steam and smoke engulfing the bridge twenty or so yards alang fae where she wis sitting.  She thought she’d spotted Ben McCalumn oan the pavement opposite tae where she wis sitting, bit when she’d looked closer, the bit ae the pavement where she thought she’d spotted him, hid disappeared under a cloud ae white steam.  Efter it hid blown away, he’d disappeared, if it hid actually been him. Senga liked people-watching, especially oan summer days.  Oan dreich days like today, everywan wis huddled under their coats and umbrellas, scurrying tae wherever they wur gaun, wearing their best grim expressions that they kept in a drawer by their beds jist fur days when the wind and rain showed nae mercy tae auld or young, rich or poor.  In the summer, there wis nothing she liked better than tae be sitting oan a bench wae Kim Sui doon in George Square wae a sandwich, checking oot the cool gear that aw the lassies and guys wur wearing, wandering by.  Kim Sui wid sit and point oot the origins ae the copied designs oan display.
      “Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, shite Ralph Lauren, Roy Halston, a good Yves St Laurent, bad Gucci, Jaeger, Furstenberg.”
      Occasionally Kim Sui wid run efter somewan tae ask where they’d goat the piece ae clothing they wur wearing, which inevitably wid turn oot tae hiv been made by her or wan ae her design team.  Senga wis jist wondering whit mode ae transport Rory wid be arriving in when a taxi came tae a stoap right ootside the windae she wis sitting at, haudin up a frustrated bus driver oan a green light.
      “Senga, darling,” he exclaimed, looking at bit startled when his kiss landed oan her cheek insteid ae her lips when he sat doon.  “How are you?” he asked, sounding concerned, taking her hauns in his.
      “Oh, Ah’m fine, Rory.  Ur ye wanting tae order yersel something?” she asked, slipping her hauns oot ae his.
      “In a minute, darling.  I just want to make sure everything’s alright with you…with us,” he pleaded, the question left hinging in the air, expectation reflected in they saft, hazel-broon eyes ae his.
      “Look, Rory, Ah’m sorry, Ah know Ah should’ve been in touch sooner, bit there’s been so much happening jist noo…Ah’m sorry,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.
      “Hush…you don’t have to apologise.  You’re here now…the both of us are,” he replied…in expectation.
      “Look, Rory, Ah’m sorry…it isnae gonnae work…the baith ae us, Ah mean,” she managed tae say, feeling guilty at the disappointment flashing across they eyes ae his.
    “Why?”
    “Because it jist isnae…Ah’m sorry.”
    “But surely I’m entitled to know why?  What have I done?  Tell me and I’ll change,” he pleaded.
      “Rory, I don’t want ye tae change.  Ye’ve nothing that needs changing.  It’s me…Ah’m the wan that’s changed.”
      “It’s him, isn’t it?”
      “Who?”
      “The jailbird Lizzie told me about.”
      “Oh, she did, did she?  And whit else his she be saying?” Senga demanded tae know, cursing Lizzie under her breath.
      “Only that you recently went all the way down to Dumfries to visit him whilst I was down in Newcastle…the one that attempted to murder those two unfortunate police officers in that bank up on Maryhill Road.”
      “He’s innocent.”
      “Pardon?”
      “Ye heard me.”