Sentence The Sixhundredandninetyfifth

 

Which was when Bernie Cohen and Sadie Glenfinnan were sitting in a pub opposite the Café where, as Mhairi, she had met Betty Singer: "so what did you think of her?" asked Bernie, but Sadie waved his question away: "no, you first, how did you get on with Donna Bambona?" and he laughed: "oh, she's quite the 'Female of the Species' much more deadly than her Pa!" at which Sadie eyed him suspiciously; "explain," was all she said; "well, she remembered me from Uni, and in a way she still looked the same – I mean, obviously, her height, and the hair – but there's a hardness to her eyes      

which her make-up and silky scarves don't disguise, I'm no psychologist, but she's Bambona's only child and I'm guessing that he was disappointed at not having a son so she's toughened up to prove she's every bit as strong as any son would have been; I saw her in court a couple of years ago, just by chance – I was handing in papers for a client and looked in to see what was going on and she was getting tore into some poor woman who'd had the temerity to let a passing stranger walk off with her handbag, or as Donna put it, dropped the bag for this wee nyaff tae pick up out of the goodness of his heart, only to find himself falsely accused of bag-snatching! by the time Donna finished, oh, it was a tour-de-force, she had the jury greetin fur the puir wee man's puir wee wife an seven puir wee weans in a single-end in Toonheid wi only twa coppers tae the end o the month see'n as hoo her puir wee

man's been jugged in the Clink waiting fur his trial an noo his honesty's been defiled by the nasty nasty Procurator wi his fat weel-fed paunch an his fat quiverin jowls an his slicked back, Brylcreem'd hair – oh, what a fanfaronade, I truly expected the jury to award the puir wee man damages against the wummin fur causin him aw this grief, but then Donna went in for the kill, she accused the wummin and the polis and the procurator an the judge o aw bein in cahoots tae deprive the puir wee faimly o the breadwinner, when wan o the weans sittin in the public gallery wi their mammy cried oot: 'mister, mister, ma da's doon at the close bookie evry day wi his line an he's nevver hud a winner in his life, never mind a loaf o breid, ma mammy gets they fae ootside the licensed grocers afore it

opens, she's pure dead brilliant at liftin!' well if the jury didn't smell a rat before the interjection, which Donna protested aboot and which the judge telt the jury to ignore – as if they could: what's that line about babes and sucklings? well Donna's face was like fizz and she stormed out, abandoned the puir wee man tae the ministrations of his solicitor and a unanimous Guilty verdict without the jury even retiring to think about it, and a three-stretch in Barlinnie, I doubt she'll not take him on again in a month of wet Sundays!" and Sadie laughed so hard she almost missed catching sight of Mrs Singer walking past the window, accompanied by a man who looked like a professional boxer (well, loser anyway, with his jeely nose and cauliflower ear) who Bernie identified for her as Chick Cowcaddens!