Southsiders Read online

  The bus turned down the Old Dalkeith Road and Ray gave up on the view. It didn’t feel right, leaving his stomping ground. His hands started to shake as he left his territory to enter the back of beyond. He pulled at his ear and felt the sting as the gash opened up again. Fingered his cheek and found it to be too tender to press. Dropped his hands under his seat to make sure his bags were still there.

  At Little France, he pushed the stop button and stood up. He climbed down the stairs, thanked the driver and headed towards the hospital doors.

  *

  They kept him waiting for a couple of hours, no doubt because the accident had happened the night before and because he was only walking wounded. It had given him far too much time to think. To panic about taking a plane and to worry about missing the damned thing.

  Maybe he’d been a little sudden in his decision to leave. Sure, he’d thought about it often enough, but carrying it out wasn’t like he’d imagined. He’d not accounted for the loneliness or the vulnerability of having no one there to protect him from the world. He’d not considered the guilt which was now eating away at his insides. Nor had he expected the panic that came every time he imagined Paula roaming the streets out on the pull, taking some young buck home for a quickie while Jesse dug his fingers into his ears at the other side of the wall trying to block out the sound.

  He could stop all of that. Make everything all right again by going back. Except Paula had gone too far this time. Said and done things that could never be put right. She’d already smashed his nose, so slashing at him with the tin-opener was completely unnecessary. And laughing while she did it was just sick.

  Everything was broken now. After years of limping along, they’d finally reached the end of the road.

  “You can put the case down, Mr Spalding.” The doctor had her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was soft and her voice gentle but firm. He realised he was clutching the bag to his chest. It’s the way he needed it to be. “I could put it next to the other one if you’d like?”

  He shook his head. Squeezed his arms more tightly around the case and stared into nothing. He should have taken the case down to storage before going to the hospital, course he should, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly and he’d just have to get down to Granton once he’d got this over with.

  “You’ve certainly been in the wars.” She didn’t know the half of it. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Paula happened.

  He’d first seen her fifteen years ago when he popped into the diner at the Hemsby rock’n’roll weekender. Her hair shone black and her skirt swished and swirled as some old-timer in full Edwardian garb had flung her up and down and in and out in time to the music. They’d looked good together, like they’d been working their routine for years. When the music stopped and Paula was adjusting the white flower in her hair, the old guy slipped his arm from round her waist and gave her arse a squeeze. Bad move. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it over until it looked like it was about to snap. Ray hadn’t heard whatever it was she snarled at the guy, but it seemed to work. He skulked off and fell into a seat where he patted his face down with a handkerchief, looking as if he was about to conk out on the spot. Paula carried on with the flower as if nothing had happened. Made sure it was where she wanted it and stepped over to Ray, grabbing his hand and pulling him over into the middle of the dance floor as the saxophone announced the next number on the jukebox. Their first number. “The Girl Can’t Help It”. Little Richard sang like a wild man. Told Ray that “she was born to please”. The liar.

  “I took a beating,” he told the doctor.

  “Were the police informed?”

  “No.” Taking a beating from a woman wasn’t something any man wanted to admit to, especially not to the police.

  The doctor pulled at his ear. The pain was sharp and hot. It quietened the turbulence inside him. “Your cartilage has been sliced. The lobe too. Luckily it’s a clean cut. We’ll have no problems sorting that out for you. You’ll be left with a scar, I’m afraid. But not a big one, if I get it right. It’ll be glued up in no time, then I’ll let the police know and you can tell them all about it. OK?”

  It wasn’t. He had a bag to deal with and a plane to catch. Wasn’t going to be hanging around to talk to anyone. Especially not anyone of the uniformed variety.

  Eight Miles High

  The plane to Belfast was only half full.

  Ray had a window seat and no one had sat next to him, probably put off by the stupid gauze bandage he was wearing around his head and the bruises that decorated his face.

  He’d never flown before. Hated the idea of being in the air with nothing to keep him there but forces he didn’t understand. His palms were itching and the core of his body was trembling like he’d just swallowed a nervous kitten.

  He fingered the key that he now wore around his neck on the thick, gold Prince Of Wales chain that was also home to his crucifix. The padlock for the storage locker down in Granton had cost him a tenner and the rental was fifty quid for three months. It made him feel easier knowing that he’d have to come back in the spring, but paying out that amount of cash before even leaving the country had him worried about his finances.

  In the aisle before him, a flight attendant was taking the passengers through the safety procedures. He turned his mobile off as instructed and then paid attention. She was tall and well put together, her uniformed blouse showing off plenty of curves beneath. Ray tried not to let her breasts distract him and to give the instructions his full attention while she worked. She lifted her arms and bent her wrists to indicate the emergency exits. Just the fact that a plane needed such things had Ray’s eyes filling with moisture, enough to blur his vision until he rubbed them dry. She put on her lifejacket, told them not to inflate until they were in the water. Showed them the whistle they’d need if they were stuck out there bobbing along in the Irish Sea. Like a whistle was going to make any difference.

  Something shifted in Ray’s mind. The futility of resistance filled all the spaces in there. The plane crashed, they were all screwed. There was no point listening any longer. He let himself concentrate on trying to see through the material of her blouse and to imagine just how beautiful the woman would be if she had all that makeup scraped off her face.

  The plane started to move. The cabin crew walked along checking lockers and seatbelts. When the woman he’d been watching came over to him, she stared at him for a moment longer than he’d have liked. Her smile was reassuring. The way her super-thin eyebrow bent as she leaned over to pull at the belt’s strap in order to tighten it made her look sympathetic. It was nice being looked after like that. He hadn’t been looked after for a very long time and here he was getting attention for the second time today.

  As she moved on, the lightness of happiness inside Ray disappeared and was replaced by the weight of misery. It was as though there were two holes in his heart. One was Paula-shaped, the other had Jesse’s outline. He pictured Jesse leaving school and wandering home to find him gone. Saw him breaking down into tears and hiding in his bedroom. Wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right, but he knew it wouldn’t be.

  He realised then what he needed to do. Stop the plane, go back home and take Jesse with him.

  His body was pressed back into his seat by the acceleration of the plane along the runway, but it still wasn’t too late. If only he could get to the flight attendants and tell them it was all a big mistake. They could put things right in a moment.

  He pulled up the release on his belt and unbuckled himself. As he stood, the plane tilted upwards. He was thrown back into his seat, the side of his head hitting the cushion hard and the pain in his ear shooting to his brain faster than the speed of light.

  That’ll Be The Day

  Archie Stevens was Jesse’s only good friend. Their friendship grew slowly, the boys both being on the fringes of things and eventually finding each other. Archie was huge. The kind of child the government pointed a finger at to w
arn the population that obesity was on the rampage on Scotland’s streets. He fit the bill perfectly – ate too much, ate all the wrong things, never exercised and was dropped off at school and collected at the end of his day by a 4X4 that would have been more at home on a farm than on the road. Because of his weight, his glands exuded an odour that apparently was similar to a ferret on heat, which meant nobody liked to go near him.

  Jesse didn’t mind the smell. They’d been buddies for so long that he only noticed it if they ever had to change next to each other when they were going to gym class.

  In an ideal world, Jesse and Archie would have been best pals outside of school as well as in. Unfortunately, living on opposite sides of the economic tracks put paid to that. Things might have been different if Jesse’s parents had stayed sober for his sixth birthday party. Mrs Stevens had caught them having a sneaky fag around the back of the church hall while a roomful of boys ran amok around the room and used the bouncy castle as an excuse to experiment with a range of death-defying dives and jumps. Archie’s mum took Jesse’s mate away without a word of thanks and that had been the end of that.

  When Jesse told Archie yesterday about being newly orphaned, Archie pulled a face and then scratched his head. “How the hell are you going to manage? Clegg’s always got his beady eyes on you and the social workers won’t let this one pass.”

  Jesse had tried his best to imagine a world without his parents. Once he’d overcome the shock, the idea of living alone didn’t seem so bad. He spent the whole of his first evening giving the kitchen an early spring clean. The cooker and the cupboards hadn’t gleamed like they did now since they’d first moved in. Another week with no one there to trash the place and he’d have the whole flat in the condition of a show home.

  The two boys were sitting under the arches where they were usually to be found, enjoying the last of their lunch break.

  Archie checked around to make sure no one was paying them any attention and passed over a shoe-box with a piece of string tied around it. “A tin of beans, a pork pie, a bag of macaroni, two packs of salt and vinegar and a Twix. Well, half a Twix to be exact – I got hungry in the car this morning.”

  “Thanks,” Jesse said. He knew Archie would come through for him. Which meant there was a chance he might manage the next request. He cleared his throat and went for it. “There’s something else I need. It’s a bigger favour.” He looked at his watch to get a reminder about the date. “It’s the thirteenth today.”

  “Unlucky for some.”

  “And the rent’s due on the eighteenth.”

  Archie closed his eyes, like he knew what was coming.

  “I need five hundred and sixteen pounds to take along. Cash.”

  When Archie opened his eyes his jaw dropped, like he’d just witnessed a train crash. “Five hundred quid? You’re having me on.”

  “You don’t have it, then?”

  “No I bloody well don’t.” It was no surprise, but it was still disappointing.

  Jesse put the box of food inside his coat and zipped it up as far as it would go. “There’s no way you can get it?”

  Archie didn’t answer. His eyebrows twitched as if to signal that there was thinking going on and then he shook his head. “Have you tried emailing your mum like I suggested?”

  He’d thought about it and couldn’t. Would rather cut his hair off than get in touch with her ever again. He shook his head to let Archie know that he hadn’t.

  Archie pursed his lips and took a new angle. “And your Uncle Cliff? How did that go?”

  “He’s not my real uncle and I have no idea what his surname is. Or whereabouts he stays in Belfast.”

  There was silence for a moment which was broken by the snap of chocolate as Archie chewed off the end of a Yorkie bar. “You could mug a granny,” Archie joked.

  Jesse didn’t laugh. It wasn’t such a bad idea. He could probably manage purse snatching or smash and grab. Nobody would be able to blame him for turning to crime. It was just the way it was. He’d spend the afternoon making a plan while the rest of the class did their topic work. If all went well, he’d have his cash flow problem solved in no time at all.

  It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue

  The taxi dropped Ray off at the door with the big number six on it. When he handed over the fare, he noticed that his hands still hadn’t stopped shaking. Worse, the sense that he was empty inside had intensified.

  As the cab pulled away, Ray took in his surroundings. It was a street full of old red-brick terrace which looked like little Lego houses that had been glued together, a string of two-up, two-downs built to house the workers for some factory or other. At the corner of the street, the lights from a tiny shop shone in the darkness. Ray’s eyes fixed on it for a moment. The windows were covered so he couldn’t see in. He thought about filling the empty spaces that kept crying out to him with cigarette smoke. Going in to the shop and picking up some tobacco. A roll-up might do him the world of good. Thing was, this was supposed to be a fresh start of sorts and he hadn’t had a cigarette when he was sober since the night he wet Jesse’s head in The Southie all those years earlier.

  While he weighed the pros and cons of starting again, the door opened and his old friend’s face appeared.

  “Ray Spalding. Good to see you mate.” Cliff held out his hand and Ray shook it hard. Held onto it like it was a lifeline. “Get yourself in here and tell us how you’re doing. The wife’s dying to meet you.”

  Ray wiped his shoes on the doormat while Cliff took his bag and threw it down into the corner.

  Downstairs, a wall had been knocked through that either created a lounge that had a kitchen at one end or a kitchen with a lounge attached. A huge, flat-screen TV was fixed onto the wall so that it dominated everything even though the sound was switched down. In the corner, under the white lights of the tiniest Christmas tree Ray had ever seen, a woman sat feeding a baby with a bottle.

  “Izzy, this is Ray.”

  Izzy offered a thin smile by way of greeting. When Cliff had said she was dying to meet him, he hadn’t realised he probably meant it literally. There were dark rings under her eyes and her cheeks were sunken. Her arms were stick thin and her complexion whiter than the milk her baby was drinking.

  Ray stood in the middle of the room and remembered the state he was in. He pointed up at the bandage around his head. “I’ve had a wee accident. Sorry if it scared the baby, me looking like this.” The baby just carried on sucking noisily as if nothing had happened. He held out his hand and Izzy gave it a shake. Her hands were bony to the touch and Ray didn’t dare to give the usual squeeze in case he broke something.

  “Welcome to Belfast,” she said. “This terror here is Rose.”

  Ray lent over, put his finger into Rose’s hand and enjoyed the gentleness of her grasp as her hand closed around it. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”

  “Congratulations,” Ray told Izzy. “She’s beautiful. I meant to get flowers at the airport, but...” But he’d forgotten.

  “You must be starving,” Izzy said quickly. It was like she was saving Ray’s blushes instead of leaving him there hanging. Squirming. “There’s tea in the oven for you. Cliff, will you get your man something to eat?”

  “Sure thing,” Cliff said, turning round and grabbing a pair of oven gloves. “Pie and chips all right for ya, Ray?”

  It might have been if it hadn’t looked like it had shrunk and dried out in the middle of the plate and if the gravy on the pie hadn’t solidified into a brown crust.

  Cliff used his free arm to sweep a newspaper from the table and put the meal down in the clear space. He plonked down a knife and fork and pulled out a chair for Ray.

  A generous application of ketchup solved the problem of the pie’s flavour. Not that it would have mattered much. Ray hadn’t eaten since breakfast and the food was exactly what he needed to help settle his nerves.

  As he mopped up the filling with the last of his chips, Cliff winked at him as if they were playing on the
same team. “Swallow that lot and we’ll be off to the pub.” Ray hadn’t finished chewing and decided it might be better not to answer until Izzy had given the OK.

  She was busy juggling, putting down the bottle and trying to get the baby upright at the same time. “Don’t leave me, Cliff. Not by myself with the baby all night. Please.” Her voice was feeble. The look on her face told a story Ray didn’t want to know.

  The baby started to cry. It was a little outburst at first, but it soon grew into a call of the wild. “Please, Cliff.”

  Cliff didn’t seem to be listening. He was too busy putting on his coat and wrapping a scarf round his neck.

  Izzy managed to get the baby over her shoulder, rubbing her back to release any trapped bubbles of air. The infant just kept up the noise, shouting for all she was worth.

  The noise pierced Ray’s skull and zapped him in the middle of his brain. He couldn’t stand it. Over he went, gently wrapping his fingers around the baby’s ribs and picking her up as carefully as he could manage. She was tiny. Weighed next to nothing. He tightened the blanket around her, took her into his chest, nestled her into his shoulder and began tapping her back. His body took on the rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat as he bobbed quickly up and down. In no time at all, the crying slowed and quietened until it had soon disappeared altogether. He whispered hushing noises and felt completely at one with the world for the first time in an age. It was just like the early days with Jesse, only without the music in the background. “You could try having some tunes on. Bairns like that kind of thing,” he told Izzy.

  Izzy wore a relieved smile that seemed to come from some great depth inside her.

  “When you’ve finished doing the woman’s work, Ray, let’s be getting down to the pub, will we?” Cliff emphasised the need to go by putting his hand on Ray’s shoulder and turning him ever so slightly in the direction of the door.

  “You’re a magician, sure you are,” a grateful Izzy declared. She reached out and took her daughter back, cradling her into the nape of her neck.