Ugly Puggly 88

I’d put on an old pair of my pyjamas. But I had to cinch them tighter at the waist when I went to bed. Cotton and thin stripes reminded me of the way they used to dress convicts in black-and-white movies. The only thing missing was a number on my back. And a daft stripey hat on my head. I’d have to take off and stand at attention by my bed when Molly came into the bedroom. Only she didn’t, which was my rotten luck, but I could hear her knocking about the house. Then I didn’t hear her and must have fallen asleep.

I’d have slept later, but I needed to pee. Molly was already up and hauling the covers off the bed to wash before I’d locked the toilet door. My head felt like a blocked lavatory. One flush of the drink and I’d feel better, but I knew I wouldn’t.

‘How’d you sleep?’ she asked.

I told her about the dream I had while she made a fried breakfast neither of us would eat, but it smelled great. And I managed to chew a bit of black pudding with my tea.

Her phone went. She held it to her ear and walked into the hall. While my hands shook as if I was asking a pretty girl to dance when I was younger, I picked over the mushrooms. But she came back in holding out her phone for me to take. ‘It’s Jim,’ she whispered.

I’d the phone cupped in my hand, but I made that face.

‘Jim fae the AA,’ she added in an exasperated manner.

Wee Jim didn’t like phones. I imagined his serious expression. ‘Who’s deid noo?’ I asked him, the phone pressed against my ear and smiling.

‘Very funny,’ he replied. ‘I’ll pick yeh up for a meeting at hauf eleven. Tenant’s Hall. Be ready.’

‘What if I’m no?’

He sighed. A sigh on a mobile phone wasn’t like real life. It was more personal. Like a grudge that was trying to hit you on the nose. He personalised it. ‘You got anythin better to be daeing?’

Molly was listening and I put a bit of a whine into my voice. ‘But I’m no that well.’

‘Pish,’ he said. ‘If I was askin yae tae meet for a couple of pints, you’d find yersel well enough. I’ve hud an education yeh couldnae get at Oxford or Cambridge. An education yeh couldnae pay for unless yeh lived it. Yev hud it tae. It’s called being an alcoholic. And wan hing we’re good at is pickin up bullshit. You gonnae be ready or no?’

I felt the phlegm in the back of my throat. Waved the phone at Molly to take off me. My knees knocked against the table as I got up. But I wasn’t quick enough. Ducking my head down and spewing bile and black pudding onto the carpet tiles.

She eased the phone from my hand and gave a tight smile. ‘I’ll get a mop.’ But she held the phone to her ear and walked away, talking to wee Jim.

I coughed another few times, but nothing more came up. Waving an arm, I signalled to her and crocked, ‘Tell im I’ll go tae the meetin.’

Disinfectant was Molly’s friend. If you’d put her in the sea after an oil spillage, she’d have had it cleaned up by lunchtime and put all the dead seagulls in plastic bags on the beach for the cleansing to take away. I studied a picture she’d put up in the kitchen as she knocked about my feet and legs with the mop.

An amateur effort, but good enough to frame. Glasgow cross and an old tram juddering through the city centre. Auchenshuggle shown in the headboard as its destination. Shops spilling light onto the pavement. Pedestrians strolling, clothes and bodies blending into the blue spill of life. Somehow remembered, while time was forgotten. Then I noticed the signature. It had been painted by my son, who’d married early, had children of his own and avoided me as diligently as I avoided him. His canvas drew me into the past and somehow suggested a better world in which we all lived. James Junior as creator was father of us, yet son.

I was proud of how he’d turned out. Not like me. Tears prickled my eyes. Coming off the drink made me over emotional. I blinked them away and swallowed them down. ‘I need tae go tae bed and lie doon.’

‘I’ve jist cleaned the sheets.’ Molly wasn’t for letting my presence dirty the place. ‘Jist sit there and I’ll get you another cup of tea.’

I let my head fall onto my chest and nodded. Leaning forward, I risked a deeper breath. She was away getting a red plastic bucket and basin, and had one of my lap and the other sitting guard at me heels, before I could breathe out. Coughing hurt my throat, but I brought nothing more up. ‘I’ll need tae get somethin,’ I mumbled, wetting my lips. ‘Tae stop me fae takin fits.’

She rubbed my shoulder. ‘Yeh need tae see a doctor?’ Considering it she came up with her own prescription. ‘That’ll be the wrang side of impossible. I’d need tae drive yeh tae A & E in the Bongo. And yeh probably need tae sit about two days before yeh see anybody.’

I slapped at my chest and spluttered. ‘I’ll drive.’

She laughed through her nose. ‘I don’t think so. I’ll jist get some diazepam aff my sister. And if yeh need to get any mair I’ll get Dave tae get it.’

I straightened up. ‘The playboy. Where’d he get it fae?’

‘Och,’ she waved me away. ‘He’s got contacts.’

It made sense. He’d his hole in every port. But I’d another favour to ask. ‘Don’t tell wee Jim.’

‘Don’t tell im, whit?’

‘I might need Valium.’

‘Whit’s it got tae dae wae him?’

‘Nothin,’ I was quick to assure her. ‘But he doesnae like that kind of thing.’

She’d a nip in her voice. ‘Whit is he yer doctor, noo?’

‘No, he jist doesnae like drugs, or drink…or jist about anythin…he’s jist like you. You should have married him.’