Goodmans of Glassford Street Read Online Free Page B

friend’s house for dinner and the nanny was alone with the children.
    ‘Just you leave them to me for a wee while,’ Abi told the young woman. ‘Go and watch the telly or something. Enjoy a rest.’
    The nanny was only too happy to comply and wasted no time in disappearing away into her room.
    The children were ready for bed but they danced around Abi in excitement.
    ‘Sing us a song, Granny.’
    ‘Tell us a story, Granny.’
    ‘Give us a poem, Granny.’
    After giving them a hug and a kiss, she settled herself in a chair and the children sat on the floor at her feet. She started off with one of their favourites.

    Oh, it ain’t gonna rain no more, no more,
    It ain’t gonna rain no more.
    I’m on the bureau, the parish too,
    And it ain’t gonna rain no more.

    After the children’s giggles had subsided, she told them some stories of the mischief she had got up to when she was young, and how, at holiday time, she’d sailed ‘doon the watter’ with her mum and dad on a paddle steamer, and she sang, ‘Sailing down the Clyde, sailing down the Clyde …’. She acted the paddles splashing round and had the youngsters copying her every move. After nearly an hour of talking and singing, she could see that they were ready to drop off to sleep, especially the twins. So she trooped them off to bed and tucked them in and kissed them goodnight. They were asleep before she reached the bedroom door on her way to tell the nanny she was returning home.
    The worst of it was that, having had such a noisy, happy time with the children, the house at Huntershill seemed all the more silent and desolate. Not to worry, she told herself, in an effort to cheer herself up. It was off to CSI: Miami to meet her dear, kind Horatio again.

4
    ‘For goodness’ sake, Jimmy, not you again!’ Miss Eden’s voice strained with impatience. She had been ready to go home.
    ‘Och, well,’ the old man said, ‘you know me, hen.’
    ‘Yes, only too well. Give me back those jerseys and get away home.’
    ‘Ah hinnae got a home, hen. That’s why ah like tae get a decent bed in the polis office.’ His lined face, ingrained with dirt, lit up with pleasant thoughts. ‘The police gie me a great breakfast as well. They’re no’ bad lads.’
    ‘Yes, but you are.’ With a sigh, she used her mobile to call the police.
    Mr McKay said irritably in passing, ‘Don’t let me see you in here again, you mucky old tramp. You’re giving this place a bad name.’
    Miss Eden noticed that Mr McKay had become unusually irritable recently. Indeed, he seemed very tense and anxious. She wondered what was wrong with him. She had a naturally curious, indeed suspicious, nature. It went with the job. Something was definitely wrong with Mr McKay. She had had enough to bother her today, however, without thinking about what was bothering Mr McKay. Earlier on, she’d seen a guy coming out of one of the fitting rooms with a shop suit on. She’d followed him downstairs and alerted the security guard. By that time, the man had realised that they were on to him and at the door he suddenly dropped to the floor, gasping and groaning, his head flailing from side to side as he gripped his chest.
    ‘Ah cannae feel ma left arm. God, ma chest. Ah cannae breathe for the pain.’
    A crowd was quickly gathering as Miss Eden pushed her way to the front. She knew in her heart of hearts he was faking it but she needed to follow procedure, just in case.
    She couldn’t say, ‘He’s got a stolen suit on and he’s just faking it’, because in fact they couldn’t be absolutely sure that he was faking it. The first-aider was called and she wasn’t sure either. So the police and an ambulance were called and he was taken to the Royal Infirmary. She and the security guard and a policeman went with him in the ambulance and they all had to wait in a waiting area until the man was seen by a doctor. She explained to the nurse in attendance that he was wearing a stolen suit and, apart