McCann case 3

In a world of nothing, the social-work office was the centre. Being a social-work client stripped away humanity. Left a covering layer of dignity, which was more use than a five-leaf clover at a funeral. The cold took her voice away, but her daughter wasn’t listening. She’d heard it all before. Maggie McCann knew that better than most. Shuffled up to the door through the slush. Pale as an albino. Yet her thick black eyebrows and a glitter in her pale-blue eyes hinted that she wanted something.  

Strung-out. Shivering. Rattling in her seat. She could barely find her mouth with a roll-up. ‘You dae it.’

Siobhan, her daughter, squeezed in next to her, had to wet her lips, take a quick puff. She wiped at her mouth before feeding the fag into her mum’s mouth and falling back into the plastic chair as if exhausted, waiting.

‘You tell them, hen.’      

Siobhan’s eyes roamed around the room, meeting his gaze. A scrape of the chair and she was up striding towards him.

Barry had the phone receiver in his hand and he was talking, but he put it down. Her eyes were the colour of her mother’s, but Messianic with a proper shiner of a black eye. She’d always been out when he called around to meet the Higgin’s family.

His knees buckled and he gripped the desk. Her brother had told him she was fucking everybody. But nobody had told him she was fucking gorgeous. A once-in-a-lifetime beauty that crowded into his head, making it colder and darker and found its way into his bones. He’d need to be sent home with a note for his mum, telling her to put him to bed and shut the curtains. Instructions: ‘Let him out when he’s better—and not before.’

It was a haunting and he was the ghost. He turned loose-lipped. ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ he said, aloud.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked. Turning and looking behind her. ‘Where they in the queue before us?’

He put on his best face. ‘No, I think they’ve already been seen tae. It’s jist you and me. How can I help yeh?’

He looked over her head at her mum, cadging a fag from a guy with a beard.

‘I think it’s stopped snowing,’ he said.

‘Has it?’ She twirled around to look out the windows. A bright smile as an indulgence when she turned back towards him. He could hear the excitement in her voice. ‘I love it when it snows. It makes everything cleaner.’ She frowned struggling for the words. ‘Mair beautiful.’

‘Aye, exactly,’ he replied.

He was saved from reaching out and squeezing her hand by an old guy in his late fifties. A scar on his cheek and a glazed expression. At first it was a whisper. Then it was a twisted face. He kicked his chair over. ‘I want my social worker,’ he cried. ‘Fucking go and get ‘im’.

His accent was hard to place. Perhaps Aberdonian. Teuchter?

‘Who’s yer social worker?’ Barry asked.

‘Fuck knows.’ The old guy said, clenching his fists. ‘They’re aw the same kinda shite. Just go and get him, yeh ken?’  

Barry waved a hand to placate him. ‘I’ll jist go and get my supervisor, Archie McDougall. If yeh can sit doon for a minute, I’ll go and get him.’

‘I don’t want to sit down anywhere. Go and get him, cunty baws.’

Barry sighed. He took Siobhan’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I need tae.’ He didn’t let go of her hand but he was staring into her eyes and smiling. There was a slight smirk on her lips. ‘I need to get my supervisor.’

He pulled her along with him as if it was a kid’s game.

‘Where we goin’?’ she asked.

‘We’ll got intae the back office where we can talk and get a bit of privacy.’ He let go of her hand and stopped. ‘Whit was it yeh were here for again?’

‘I ne’er said.’

‘That’s right.’

‘We’re trying to get oor electricity back on. The leccie board shouldane cut us aff like that because we’ve got a kid at home. Wee Pattie’s only four.’

‘Aye, they shouldnae.’ He nodded. ‘That makes total absolute sense. Scottish Power. Whit can yeh say? They’re money grabbin’ bastards.’

The old guy kicked off again and Barry stood chortling.  

‘So can yeh help me?’

‘I can absolutely help you. Every cloud, Siobhan. Every cloud.’