The Kellys of Kelvingrove Read Free Page A

Gardner said gently, ‘They come from the Gorbals, dear, and we all know what a rough place that is. I wish them no harm, of course, but I do believe they won’t be happy here, being so out of place. It’s just not right for them.’
    The Reverend Denby called things to order rather tetchily.
    ‘But what about the poofs? Surely someone else noticed them.’
    ‘I think you’ll find their house immaculate and if I may say so, in rather good taste,’ Mrs Gardner said in her quiet, gentle tone. ‘They are both teachers, you know. And artists. Mr Clive Westley is an art teacher in a private school.’
    ‘They are wicked, dirty poofs. They get up to disgusting perversions behind their closed door. They are worse than those non-believers you’re on about.’
    After more arguing and deliberation, it was decided that they should protest discreetly about all of the new tenants.
    Doris gave in because her mother was beginning to misbehave and repeat everything endlessly to everyone’s annoyance.
    Mae’s mind was so desperately worried about her own business that she just agreed for peace. She even agreed to Mrs Gardner’s suggestion that she should ask Jack to write a letter to the Council because, being a police officer, his letter would be taken notice of more than a letter from any of the other tenants.
    The meeting closed on that ‘satisfactory note’. She kept her promise and said to Jack, ‘There’s been a meeting and the woman in number five wants you to write a letter to the Council asking them to get rid of the Pakistanis in number three and the two gay men in number four. Mrs Arlington-Jones says, and I quote her, “They are totally unsuitable and unacceptable.”’
    Jack flicked her an impatient glance from over the top of his newspaper.
    ‘Tell them to go to hell. The Pakistanis and the gay blokes haven’t broken any laws.’
    She tried to keep an active mind, filling it with garbled prayers about somehow being able to pay the warehouse bill. She tried to keep her body active as well. She scrubbed floors all over the house, over and over again, as if by keeping so wildly and frantically active, she could scrub her terror away.
    Then, as if by some miracle, her prayers were answered. As she madly thrashed about with a scrubbing brush in the hall cupboard, a splinter of wood shot up under her fingernail, driven by her frantic scrubbing. Eyes watering with the pain, she furiously battered at the split wood on the floor to relieve her anger and pain. It was then she noticed she had loosened one of the floorboards. She thought she caught a glimpse of something coloured through the crack. After sucking her finger free of its hurt, she gingerly lifted the loose board.
    She would never forget her astonishment at what she saw underneath. There were several neat bundles of used £5 notes. Hysterical gasps of joy careered around the cupboard in which she was kneeling. God had answered her prayers after all. She snatched the piles of notes and stuffed them into her apron pockets. She got up and gave a wild dance of delight.
    Then gradually, caution crept over her. She mustn’t tell Jack, or anyone else, about her find. Not yet. Not until she’d paid her warehouse bill and then saved up and conscientiously put back every penny she’d taken. Then she could tell Jack, as if she’d just newly discovered the money. The police could then make the necessary enquiries as to how it got there and who it had originally belonged to.
    Probably it was the previous tenant of the house who had died, some old miser perhaps, or an eccentric who didn’t trust banks. She’d heard of people like that.
    Replacing the board, she struggled to her feet. She would pay the warehouse bill immediately. Her terrible problem was solved, that was the main thing. She felt joyously, hysterically relieved and happy.
    And yet … Not only caution but a strange uneasiness darted about like mice in the darkest corners of her mind.
    With a hasty,