[50] A Glasgow Dynasty: Part 3 - Broken Biscuits

Brenda sat behind the checkout at the Woolworth store in Dumbarton Road. The shop had only been open a few minutes and the first customers had yet to arrive. There were only two checkouts operating. The other was occupied by Jinty Campbell, Brenda’s lifelong friend.

“So is the money awright then?” asked Brenda.

“No tae start wi,” replied Jinty, filing her nails as she spoke. “But he says that the mair he sells the mair he gets. Commission like.”

“Well it’s goaty be better than bein idle innit. How long wiz Erchie oot o work then?”

“Three’n a hauf years. Aye it’s been murder so it hiz. But thon trainin scheme’s done’m the power o good. Ye know, confidence wise n‘at like. As a matter o fact,” she lowered her voice now. “It’s done wonders fur oor sex life, know whit ah’m sayin?”

Their schoolgirl giggles were interrupted as a customer approached Brenda’s checkout. It was an elderly man with white straggly hair which looked too long for his age. He held a walking stick in one hand and a packet of biscuits in the other.

“How much are these missus?” he asked in a hoarse, unsteady voice. Brenda ran it over the bar code scanner a couple of times before it registered.

“Thirty-nine pence,” she replied.

“How much is that in auld money?”

“Whit? I dunno mister.”

“Aboot eight shillings,” said Jinty, still filing her nails.

“Eight bob furra packet o biscuits. That’s a scandal,” the old man declared.

“D’ye want them then?” said Brenda, growing impatient.

“Ah loast ma wife. Ah don’t know aboot these things. She did aw the shoppin. Eight shillins ye say.”

He searched his pocket.

“Thirty nine pence.”

Brenda raised her voice as she tried to get the message home.

“Ye don’t need tae shout missus. Ah might be auld but ah’m no deef.”

Jinty walked towards the man who now held a number of coins in his hand.

“There ye are mister.”

She used her index finger to separate four ten pence pieces.

“That’s forty pence. A penny change.”

The man handed over the money, took the biscuits and the one pence and shuffled towards the exit.

“Sorry aboot yer wife mister,” Jinty called after him. “When did she die?”

“Twenty wan years ago.”

The two women shook their heads as they watched him shuffle towards the exit.

“Eight bob furra packet o biscuits,” he muttered to himself.

“Poor auld sowel,” said Jinty as she returned to her checkout and the nail filing.

“Ah wish ah hid your patience ye know Jinty,” said Brenda, swivelling her chair round to face her colleague. “Ah’ve got too short a fuse that’s ma trouble.”

“Och it’s aw part o life innit. Ye’ve jist goaty keep remindin yersel that wan day ye’ll be auld’n decrepit yersel.”

“Aye ah suppose ye’re right. So whit exactly is it your Erchie’ll be sellin then?”

“Och electrical goods, telly’s. videos, washin machines, vaacums, that sort o thing. Why, wid ye be interested?”

“Aw naw Jinty ah wisnae meanin that. It’s aw ah can dae tae feed that shower at hame never mind splashin oot on new toys. Nae offence but know whit ah mean?”

“Aye but he’ll gae ye terms.”

Jinty discarded her nail file as she let the idea take shape.

“Ye’d be his first customer. An ah’m sure he’d gae ye a rerr discount cos ye are his first customer. Aw gaun Brenda, whit d’ye say?”

“Aw ah don’t know Jinty. There’s that much ah dae need but, och ah jist don’t know.”

“Ye know when ah wiz a boy.”

The old man had returned and stood just inside the door.

“When ah wiz a boy, we used tae come intae Woolies’n ask fur broken biscuits an the wummin wid gae’s a big bag fae furra farthin.”