The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
A woman can do many things that a man cannot. Be unobtrusive, for instance
Kym squeezed her eyes shut against this unpleasantness. She knew fine she was supposed to register with the Social, but there was no way Social Services would let her look after two or three kids on top of her own lot in a two-bed flat. Besides, she’d had a bellyful of social workers sticking their noses in, and never the same one twice. They’d be running background checks on her, nosing into her fridge and her kitchen cupboards, asking about play materials and sleeping arrangements and safety locks.
Kym couldn’t be bothered with any of that. She’d worked out a wee system all by herself: let the kids run around all morning until they wore themselves out, plonk them in a row in front of the telly, dish up juice and biscuits when they got hungry, sit them on the toilet when they wanted to wee.
And if they needed a nap, well, she just stuck them in her own bed. Kids liked to be cosy, didn’t they?
Anyhow, Kym reasoned, she must be doing things right, for she hadn’t had a single complaint – not one in the entire 18 months she’d been childminding.
Not even the odd time she’d had a bevvy in her when the mums came to pick up their weans.
Kym knew that was down to the fact that her services came cheap, far cheaper than if the women had to put their kids into a nursery.
She knew that. And so did they. They didn’t have a choice, not if they were to hang onto their benefit and hold down a wee job.
“What are you saying to it now – my wee proposition?”
Kym jolted back to reality. Warily, she eyed the big lad. She wished she’d never let him over her door. “Well?”
Her voice faltered. “I-I’m not sure.”
“There could be something in it for you.”
She brightened. “Like what?”
“Let’s just say…” Fatboy leered, “a consideration.” He winked. “Payment in kind. Get it?”
Kym did.
“That’ll be OK, then,” her face broke into a grin.
Big it up
“Before we start,” the solicitor cleared his throat, “may I say how very sorry we at Kelman McRae were to hear of your sad loss.”
“Thank you.” Beneath the partners’ desk, Maggie began to ease her feet from her shoes.
The unaccustomed pair of high heels were chafing her skin already.
“Your husband was a fine man…”
Maggie bit down hard on her lip.
“And in his latter capacity provided our firm with a first-class service.”
She brightened. “George was always very thorough.”
“Thorough, yes. Conscientious. Perceptive too. Saved us a considerable amount of man hours.”
He lifted a piece of paper from the amongst the jumble on his desk.
“You say in your letter, Mrs Laird, that you’ve taken on the investigation business.”
“That is correct.”
“But from what I can establish, you have no experience in this line of work.”
Michie eyed Maggie enquiringly. Right, left, right. Dropped his gaze.
“No, but I’ve a… legal background.”
“In what capacity, may I ask?”
“I was a secretary.”
“Ah!” He looked up. “And when was that?”
She coloured. “Some years ago.”
“I would advise you that the profession has undergone seismic changes since then.”
“Yes, I know, but…” Maggie fussed with her scarf. A bright wisp of silk, she’d pulled it from the drawer at the very last minute. Anything to help lift her spirits.
“So I can’t quite see what you would bring to the table.”
Unobtrusive
“My administrative skills?”
“We’ve already touched on that.”
“My… ” Go on. Big it up! She took a breath.
“It is my view that, in the private investigation industry, a woman can do many things that a man cannot. Be unobtrusive, for instance.
“Nobody would think twice about a woman sitting in a car or following them in the street. She can more readily gain people’s trust, insinuate herself into situations…”
“Yes, yes…” Was that a smirk she saw playing on the young man’s lips? “I can see that.”
Donald Michie was much younger than she’d anticipated. Tall, and skinny with it.
A long drink of water, her mother would have called him.
Dark hair, cut so as to stick up in a point. Bad skin. A callow youth.
No matter, so long as the fellow had sufficient clout to put business her way.
“Plus my agency has significant resources. I’ve already taken on one operative. I have a solid client list, not least of which is your own firm, and I’m planning to expand.”
“Nonetheless, I thank you for your interest…” He dropped Maggie’s letter back on to the desk. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it there.”
Maggie felt her lip tremble. She’d made such an effort for this meeting: worn her best – indeed, her only – suit; brushed a sweep of blusher over her cheekbones, skooshed Kirsty’s scent behind her ears.
“I’ve two kids to feed, Mr Michie,” she threw the young man a beseeching look. “And a large mortgage. If you’d only give me a chance.”
“We-ell…” He picked up a pen, rolled it between finger and thumb.
“Tell you what, Mrs Laird, why don’t I have a word with my partners, see if we can put some bits and pieces your way?”
He rose. “Leave it with me.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.” She stood, extended a hand.
Appointment
Maggie dawdled back down Union Street. She’d taken the bus in to her appointment with the legal firm, partly for reasons of economy – petrol was such a high price these days – and partly for convenience.
She’d have been hard pressed to find a parking space in the city centre. Her spirits ebbed.
Despite her best efforts, she had scant confidence that she would be hearing from Kelman McRae anytime soon.
And the bills were piling up. Taking on the agency was all very well, but she needed a fallback position. And fast. Still… Think positive!
It was a lovely day, the pavements were dry and the air was crisp.
There was just a frisson of wind which was blowing from the direction of the Citadel, where Union Street terminates at the Castlegate and the road dips towards the Esplanade and the North Sea.
Maggie looked up at the tall buildings on either side of her. Their granite fasciae sparkled in the sharp rays of the sun.
More tomorrow.