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With Love and Squalor Page 6


  It was even more different when Mum was young. There wasn’t a road, the toilet was outside, the washing was done by hand, things like that. Mum said that the only things that hadn’t changed were Gran’s tabard and the weather.

  Whatever time we get up Gran’s always ready with a pan or two frying. We have a big cooked breakfast “to keep the wind out,” Gran says, and we go out and explore. When we get back we wash our hands and by the time we get into to the kitchen there’s a plate of fresh scones on the table and a jug of milk from Nancy the cow, all warm and creamy.

  We explore a bit more and it’s lunch, then dinner, then supper for the weather forecast, and in the evenings we listen to stories. I think some of them are true because they have real people in them and some are made up because they’ve got fairies and giants in them.

  ***

  Mum’s the best storyteller though. Perhaps that’s because she reads so much. She was reading when we were down by the sea last week - ‘A Perfect Day For Banana Fish’. She’s been reading that lots recently; it must be her favourite.

  Thinking about banana fish makes me laugh because I start to think of other fish: orange, grapefruit, kiwi, potato… Maybe there’s a pineapple shark out there too. The one I like best of all is the onion fish. It’s always crying, even if fish can’t cry, not really.

  When she finished it she put the book face down on the rock, pulled her knees to her chest and held them there, “giving herself a hug,” she said. She didn’t move for a long time, staring out over the water into the distance; perhaps that’s what distant means. I played with Davy till it began to get chilly and went for a cuddle to warm up. This was a safe place. Old Man’s Jaw it’s called. If you stand on top of the hill behind you can see the face and this long, flat rock sticking out. I’ve seen it in a photo at home, Mum pointing across the bay to where she was born. She had one more story for me that day, about how I was made in that very place almost eight years ago. This is where I started out as a tiny seed.

  “Just look at you now,” she whispered and I wondered how big I’d been when I began and how big I’ll be in the end.

  ***

  A few days after that we went out to collect peat. A tractor came along and we all helped to load the trailer. The midgies kept biting everyone so we put on this cream to keep them away. It’s for moisturising the skin really and smells like perfume, so it’s not for the midgies at all, but they didn’t come near me after that. Uncle Tam’s hands were green from the string by the time we’d finished and Bob had a bad back. The children got to sit on the trailer all the way home, and we piled into the kitchen when it was unloaded for cakes and biscuits or whatever you wanted.

  Most of us went for a walk after that. We turned round when the dark clouds started rolling in and got back just before the storm. I don’t know how she’d managed, but Gran had moved all the peat into the shed by then. The stacks in front of all the other houses were getting soaked through and Uncle Tam was struggling with a tarpaulin in the gale and the gale was winning.

  “He’s only himself to blame, now. They said the rain would be coming,” said Gran shaking her head, wiping her hands on her apron and putting on the kettle. We all had tea to warm up our hands, which made Davy and me feel very grown-up. We watched the flames thinking about how much we deserved to be cosy, especially me with my blister and Tam with his green skin.

  ***

  Then yesterday happened.

  Gran took off her tabard and put on her wellies so that she could take me and Davy to the shore. Mum couldn’t make it. She stayed in bed because of a headache. She kissed us goodbye and said she’d join us later, and reminded me to look out for the banana fish.

  It took about twenty minutes to get there.

  There were lots of people with bags so they could tidy up the beach. For the children it was going to be a competition. Whoever collected the most rubbish would get to light the bonfire later. Second prize was a toffee apple.

  We put on our huge rubber gloves, took a handful of bags and walked over to where no one else seemed to be. Uncle Tam was just over the way collecting whelks. He’d sell them later on and said he’d make a pretty penny.

  ***

  I found the rusty bit of an old spade, a plastic bottle, a long metal stick and a burst football. Davy spent most of his time digging a piece of rope from the sand. It looked small at first, but the more he dug, the longer it got. In the end it filled up half the bag. Daddy was always asking how long a piece of string is when we asked him things; I didn’t think it would be that long. Gran had sawn off a gill net from the post in the water using the blade of her penknife and that filled the bag. Just think of all the birds we were saving and how nice it would be for all the walkers to see it so wonderfully clean.

  We started another bag. The first thing we found was an old bike tyre. Davy was trying to stuff it in when it went all quiet; he stopped what he was doing. This is the bit I don’t want to say because it sounds stupid, but you can ask Davy and Gran if you like. I couldn’t hear the sea or the birds and it was creepy, then there was music, soft at first, then louder and louder. It was like a choir in church. It was all high voices and ladies singing and it was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. There weren’t any words, just tunes. Davy held my hand tightly and then the sound was suddenly the wind again. Just like that.

  We looked at each other then sprinted over to Gran. Davy was first and grabbed onto her leg. I got the other.

  Davy was telling her about the music and I joined in until she couldn’t tell who was saying what, so we had to start again one at a time. He’d heard the same as me.

  She went quiet for a moment and said, just like it was nothing important,

  “That’ll be bad news at sea; someone won’t be making it to supper tonight.” She looked up, touched her forehead and shoulders and chest and said something Gaelic.

  “I heard it once when I was a girl a long time ago. My mother heard it too. Like the sound of heaven itself, and yet it was a horrible thing that happened when it came to me. Two boats collided. Full of men they were - fathers, husbands, brothers – none of them seen again.” It sounded a bit like the start to one of her fairytales, but she didn’t take it any further.

  “Now don’t you worry, there’s nothing to be done. Let’s get this bag filled up,” she said, and so we did.

  The bags were heavy, but we managed to drag them to the pile.

  I couldn’t believe what was there: lobster pots, a bicycle, tubes, bottles, netting, a doll’s arm, crates and rope. The twins had brought a bag of seaweed even though the man at the start had told us that seaweed wasn’t rubbish, so that couldn’t count for the competition.

  Angus got to light the bonfire. He’d found a whole carpet, but he didn’t carry it back himself so I don’t think he should have been the winner.

  Mum hadn’t arrived. Now it was later and I wanted her to be there.

  It turned into a party. There were guitars, fiddles and songs. The people who weren’t playing were mostly dancing. The only ones who didn’t look happy were the twins, because they’d had a fight, and Gran. She was gazing into the flames, the light seeming to make her look strangely old and tired. I guess she is pretty old, really.

  Eventually we had to go because my eyes wouldn’t stay open. The music could be heard from the cottage till we shut the door behind us.

  ***

  She wasn’t in bed. It was the first thing we did, go and see if she was better.

  I cried and Davy told me to stop being a baby, but I think he was nearly crying too, so Gran made us hot chocolate. We got into Mum’s bed, wrapped ourselves up in the blankets and she told us cheery stories until I fell asleep.

  ***

  I had a funny dream. I walked down to the sea and could hear the church music again. I could see my mother sitting in the things we’d collected, except the bicycle was like brand-new. She was staring again and brushing her hair and we smiled at each other for ages.

>   When I woke up, I tried to keep that picture in my mind and when it faced I pulled my knees up and gave myself a huge hug.

  Chapter 1

  from SMOKE (a novella)

  Jimmy

  Sean Mulligan started it outside the school dining hall.

  Jimmy was minding his own business when Sean jumped him, pinned him to the floor and tried to undo his trousers. He fended him off a couple of times. Only made things worse.

  Sean punched him. Caught the corner of his eye then smacked him on the nose. By the time his brain stopped fizzing the trousers had gone. So had his boxers.

  He lay surrounded by hysterical S4 girls, his tackle and dignity exposed.

  “Tosser,” he shouted, standing and running to the fire doors.

  Bursting through, he headed for the High Street.

  Without waiting for the green man, he crossed the road.

  The Edinburgh bus screeched on its brakes and the driver leaned out to scream obscenities.

  Jimmy pirouetted majestically, raised his middle fingers and was off.

  Horns beeped at him like injured animals, but didn’t turn round once.

  Moments later he was banging on the window of ‘The Golden Fry’.

  Mrs Edgar looked up, straightened her back and ambled over to unlock the door.

  “Jesus. Ethel, will you look at this.”

  Ethel stopped and leant on her mop. “Go and put on some breeks or we won’t be able to help ourselves, will we Bonnie?”

  “Aye, it’s been a while since I saw such a fine figure of a man.” Mrs Edgar winked and started over to the counter.

  Jimmy was too quick. A hop and a skip and he’d vaulted it like a gymnast.

  Upstairs, he rooted around in his wardrobe. Decided on a pair of jeans. Felt better as soon as he’d slipped them on.

  Looking into the mirror, he pulled at his skin. The wound was like a new mouth, its lips moving without making a sound.

  Sean Mulligan would to have to pay for what he’d done, big time.

  He went downstairs where the two ladies were ready with the first aid kit. Laughed their heads off when they dabbed on the antiseptic and he screamed.

  ***

  Next morning was the first since starting High School that Jimmy arrived on time.

  Facing up to the kids was like falling off a bike, his dad said. You needed to jump into the saddle straight away or you lost your nerve.

  A small group of first-years were looking up.

  Flying high over the school for everyone to see, where the Eco flag usually fluttered, Jimmy’s trousers. It was the straw that broke Jimmy’s back.

  Didn’t bother going in. Instead he hurried home and waited for the integration team to call.

  ***

  At midnight he got out of bed, already dressed, and crept downstairs.

  His dad, as usual, slept in front of the telly.

  It was perfect. No need to explain why he was going out with a hammer and Stanley Knife in his bag.

  Out on the street were a group of kids. Couldn’t tell who they were on account of the hoods. Jimmy pulled the cord in his own hood tight, blew into his hands and took a detour through the back yards.

  Came out on Kennedy Street and took out the piece of paper with the address just to make sure. Number 36 Grinton.

  Jimmy crept around the back.

  All was quiet.

  He tried all the windows and doors. Everything at ground level was locked.

  He slung his bag onto his back and gave the drainpipe a test.

  Satisfied it was sound, he took hold and pulled himself up.

  When he got to the top the pipe’s fixings loosened in the wall, damp, brick dust raining down to the ground. No way he’d be able to leave the way he got in.

  He took the biggest screwdriver from his bag, tried it between the window and the frame.

  The softwood gave-way under the pressure.

  A few quick jabs and he’d exposed the whole rotten mess. Council should be ashamed of themselves letting good property go to seed like that.

  Not that Jimmy was complaining.

  One small push and it was open.

  He slipped in through the window as if it were something he did every night of the week.

  The place stank. Like the toilet hadn’t been flushed for a year and the potpourri was rotting vegetable.

  With his torch he scanned the room. The shower curtain was covered in mould and fungus grew where the walls met the ceiling.

  Jimmy’s body responded to the air. His head itched, his eyes puffed up and his lungs were struggling to work.

  He checked the bag for his inhaler.

  “Daft sod,” he said. Hadn’t thought about putting it in.

  He took slow, deep breaths that wheezed into his chest. Washed out his eyes and took a sip of water until he felt he was back in control. Eased open the door and tiptoed into the hall.

  It smelled stale. Body odour and urine like the alley by the bookies.

  Wanted to leave right then, but remembered why he was there.

  All he had to do was find the room, beat the crap out of Mulligan and get out in one piece.

  The layout was the same as his house. Made things easy.

  First bedroom on the left Ramie Boyle had told him.

  He walked to the top of the stairs, remembered the joke about leaving the landing light on and chuckled.

  Then he stopped.

  A door opened.

  Light spilled onto Jimmy like he was on the stage.

  A spectral figure appeared before him.

  Beneath a full-length nightie, an old woman’s silhouette was all too clear. The way her tits sagged and her skin drooped was enough to put him off sex for life. Her skinny arms were all wrinkles and sores and her face cream looked like it had been bought for Trick or Treating. And she stood right in the way of Jimmy’s exit.

  “Declan. Darling,” she said, her hand reaching out. “I knew you’d be back.”

  She touched his cheek. Jimmy freaked.

  “Paedo!”

  He threw his head forward with all the force he could muster. It connected with the bridge of her nose.

  The lady dropped at his feet like he was the Messiah.

  “Bloody hell. He knew better than to hurt a woman unless she was attacking him. His dad would kill him if he found out.

  Springing over the banister, he saw the door ahead as he came to land.

  If the floor hadn’t given beneath him, the foundations hadn’t swallowed his legs, if his ankle hadn’t busted and his head hadn’t caught the joist, he might have got away with it.

  ***

  By half past twelve, Jimmy had usually had enough of being educated.

  Double history and French had sapped his patience.

  Picking up a burger and chips at the Fry, he ate as he walked to the estate.

  Entering his street, he screwed up his chip papers, threw them over a hedge and noticed someone in a wheelchair heading in the opposite direction. Too far away for him to see who it was. Might have been Carlo, might not.

  He turned into his garden and entered the house through the back door and found his sister sitting at the table in tears.

  “What the fuck?” He stood and stared at Kylie. Her eye swelled visibly as he watched and he could practically feel the heat from the welt of the handprint throbbing on her cheek.

  “Bloody hell, Jimmy, you gave me a fright.”

  “What the fuck?” he said again.

  “Fell on the stairs.”

  Jimmy dropped his bag onto the floor. “Dad’ll kill him and I’ll be cheering him on.”

  “Kill who?” She blew her nose and gave her eyes a wipe.

  “Wise up sis. Your boyfriend’s a prick.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “If you’re sticking to the stairs story, you’d better get some ice on that face otherwise Dad’ll be dusting for fingerprints.” Jimmy went over to her and put his arms around her shoul
ders. “Joe sleeping?”

  “Just down.”

  “You should get some rest.” There was no point pushing it further. If she was going to tell him, she’d have done so straight away.