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Every so often, exploding fireworks could be heard in the distance, on the outlying housing schemes, beyond the motorway.
“So how have you reached a figure of seven hundred and sixty grand then?” Judith asked, intrigued.
Da
“I can only speculate, but, according to one of Fin’s newspapers a couple of weeks back, sales of The Squeaky Kirk’s back catalogue have gone through the roof since Bob’s arrest.” He rummaged in his dressing gown pockets. “I’ve got some figures somewhere.” Producing a crumpled paper cutting, he came back inside and handed it to Judith. On it was a list of the band’s seven albums and the corresponding worldwide sales tallies from July to the begi
“Oh! That’s not so bad then — have you decided which one?”
“Too bloody right I have.”
“Yea?” Judith was starting to warm to Da
“It’s a place up in the Highlands. Kids from underprivileged parts of Glasgow go there to learn about art and literature. Then they go on to complete their education at universities away from their hometown, so that they escape the hopeless environments that would otherwise stunt them. Hopefully, though, they’ll return some day to pass their learning on. It’s a beautiful wild place where they can fish, hike and sort their heads out in peace.”
“Arr, that sounds really nice Da
“I’ll tell you when I’ve found a suitable location. We should be able to get somewhere big enough with more than seven hundred grand, shouldn’t we?”
“What? You’re going to run your own private school?” Judith exclaimed. “You’re going to select who can and can’t attend?”
“Like I say, I’ve learnt to execute my principles within the context of the world in which I actually live. Rather than just moan about the poor provision of services, I’m actually going to provide alternative one’s and hopefully, become a model — a beacon for others. It’s not the way I want it, but the fact is, the poor are going to have to learn to educate themselves, because it’s more than apparent that the middle classes aren’t going to do it for them. Just as the Rochdale Pioneers had to open their own schools in the Nineteenth Century, we, the ‘underclass’, are going to have to do the same now. After all, if you’re not prepared to look after your own, you can hardly expect strangers to.” Just then, Fin walked tentatively into the lounge. “Fin, nip out and get a meal for five from the Chinese,” Da
CHAPTER: 9
After a jovial meal around the coffee table, Judith nodded off on the White’s couch. Next morning, she was woken at around eight by a whistling, clean shaven Da
Fergus Baxter slammed a briefcase on the glass coffee table moodily, sitting at the very edge of the couch to open it. The others, all nervous, remained on their feet. He produced a cheque and held it up in the air for Da
“A hundred and fifty thousand pounds?” Da
“You’re much better off this way — believe me,” Baxter interrupted.
Da
“I was under the impression you were more intelligent than to believe the newspapers.” Noting the anger in Da
“I don’t see how me receiving his royalties is any more conspicuous than the transfer of a hundred and fifty grand from his account to mine.”
Baxter smiled, cynically. “My client tells me you’re a painter, Mr. White — and a very good one too. So good in fact, that nobody would be shocked to discover somebody paying a hundred and fifty grand for some of your collection.”
“No!” Da
“If we could all just calm down a second,” Baxter appealed, so reasonably it was eerie. “Once news gets around that your paintings are valued in six figure sums you’ll literally be printing your own cash, for a year at the least.”
“And I suppose it’ll be tax deductible for you, won’t it?”
Baxter shrugged his shoulders.
Da
“I thought we were supposed to be punishing him for what he’s done to that poor girl?” she exclaimed indignantly, while straining to keep her voice down. “To me it seems he can’t lose. He’ll be able to claim tax back if he’s bought your paintings, and by artificially creating such a lucrative art market, he may even go on to sell them at a profit. Which means you get less than you originally asked and he ends up even richer. How’s that making amends? I mean, who’s blackmailing who here? On top of that, he’s dragging you into the mire with him. Your name will be synonymous with his forever.”
Da
“You’re right, he mustn’t get everything his own way. But me and Fin need that cash or we’re screwed. I’ll compromise and meet them half way: three hundred and sixty grand.”
“It’s seven hundred and sixty grand or nothing Da
They marched purposefully back into the lounge, interrupting Bob and Baxter’s whispering huddle on the couch.
“Err,” Da
“It’s like this, fellas: Da
Baxter looked to Bob, before plucking another already written cheque from his case. Along with this he arranged some paperwork out on the coffee table to be signed: receipts for the purchase of paintings at seven-hundred and sixty thousand pounds — a figure which, it was now obvious, they’d been willing to pay all along. Once Da