Love Story 13

Da came through for his dinner. He glanced at us talking and laughing, grunted something, as he drowned the fish in salt and vinegar. Picked up his plate  ‘Whit’s so funny?’ he asked us before he skedaddled into the living room to eat his fish tea on his lap while watching Nationwide.

We fell apart with even more laughter.

Shaking his head, he left us to it, but he’d a smile on his face. Sharing our joke, even though he didn’t know what the joke was.   

In the afterglow of our shared hilarity I asked her, ‘Is Mrs Connolly rich?’

She blew her cheeks out in exasperation. ‘Why would yeh say that? She’s got nothing, like the rest of us.’

‘Well, how can you borrow money aff her then?’

‘Who told yeh that?’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘It’s yer father. He used to have a good job. A fitter. Yeh could get by without worrying too much wae his wages. Then he gets paid aff. Aw airy fairy. Still goes oot as if he’s goin tae work, but gets nae wages. Nae buroo money. But instead of telling me, he hides the mail—in case it worries me.’

‘That’s just stupid.’

‘Don’t call yer faither stupid,’ she warns me. ‘Although he can be stupid, but in an awful nice way.’ She scrambled for her fags and lights one. Blowing smoke in my face to blow away my stupidity.

‘I told Mrs Connolly about it.’ She glared at me as if warning me off about thinking it was charity. ‘Well, she’s no rich. She’s jist careful. She’s got her pension and she had her man’s pension. And no much to spend it on. Anyway, she’d a wee bit put by. And she tried to gee me it, but I said no. But she kept going on at me. All the things I did for her.’

Mum stared into the curling fag smoke. ‘Anyway, I took some money off her, but only as a loan.’ She sat up straighter. ‘And I paid back every penny in jig time.’

‘Has she no got any family?’ I asked.

Mum put her cigarette into the ashtray and let it smoulder. ‘No really.’

‘Just you then?’

‘I’m no family,’ she laughed.

‘Aye, but you’ll get all her money and jewellery.’

‘Och, that’s jist tat.’

‘Is it?’

‘Course.’

‘I thought it was real.’

She picked up her fag, but chocked on her laughter. ‘Jesus, I’ll need tae borrow a helmet. So they can take ye oot wae they o’er kids that make funny faces.’  

‘You’re cruel,’ I said. ‘And that’s no very Christian like.’  

‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Ask yerself, whit God made them that way?

She poked me in the chest. ‘There’s no enough room in the house for mair than wan goody-two-shoes wae bells on their arse.’

‘Mum, you don’t need to be like that.’

‘Like whit?’

‘Pastor Colin said we’d need to be like a flock of lambs among slavering wolves.’ I nodded to let her take in God’s truth. ‘But be not of the world.’

‘Och, away and shite,’ she said. ‘He would say that. But jist remember, I went tae school wae him. Bugsy wee nyaff. The most miserable wee shite yeh’ve ever seen in yer life. Could peel two oranges in his pocket and ne’er thought to gee yeh a bit. And he’d steal the teeth oot yer mooth jist tae get a sook.’

I pushed back in my chair. Not afraid, exactly, but uncomfortable. ‘Maybe, he was just hungry, like da’s family?’

Mum didn’t allow me or him off that easily. ‘We were aw hungry. But he got free school dinners. Meat, two veg, steamed pudding and custard. He wasnae that hungry. He was jist miserable. And he couldnae keep his hauns tae himself. Nane o’ them could. And fae whit I seen, he’s no changed any.’

I had to sit and let what she said settle in my head. I wetted my lips. ‘I didn’t think you knew him, Mum, you never let on.’

‘Unfortunately, I did know him. But it works both ways. Why didn’t he mention that he know me? Cause he knows, I know, he was a wicked wee bugger. And aw his sanctity and piety is jist a big act. He’s still full o’ shite.’

‘Mum, you’re awful crotchety, all of a sudden.’

She held up a hand and turned her head as she sneezed. ‘Sorry,’ she said. She stabbed out her cigarette. And went to stand up and clear up.

‘Mum, what do you really think of Ali?’

She plonked down again side-saddle on the end of the seat, as if just resting, but ready to spring back into action. She rubbed at the back of her neck. ‘She’s got a very good appetite,’ she finally said.

I smiled. ‘She said she eats for two.’

‘Or more.’

‘Mum don’t say that.’

‘I’ve had a child.’ Her finger pointed at my midriff. ‘But I sometimes wonder.’

‘Oh, Mum, don’t say that. That’s rotten.’

She mimicked my voice. ‘That’s rotten…will I go to the bad fire? No more terrible than the child that said he didn’t ask to be born. And claimed he’d kill himself if I bought those sandshoes instead of Adidas Samba, if I’m not mistaken.’

I played her at her own game. ‘That sounds like someone I vaguely know.’

She nodded. ‘Does it?’ She waved a hand. ‘That begs another question. Flesh o my flesh. A decent enough pair of lungs. Mostly, non-smoking. A solid enough pair of legs. I’m sure we could sell a kidney or two. Strip oot the veins. Put them on the market and see if any self-respecting American wae deep-vein thrombosis wants a two-for-wan deal.’

‘Mum,’ I held my hands up. ‘That’s enough. You win. I’m sorry.’

She shook her head and rubbed her chin. ‘I’m sorry tae. It’s jist stupid. Yer jist a kid and yer having a baby. It doesn’t make any kinda sense.’

‘I’ll hold my end up.’

She closed her eyes and when she opened them, squinted at me and muttered. ‘I’ve tried.’

‘I’ve tried to Mum.’

Her smile wasn’t really joined up, but she squeezed my knee. ‘I know yeh huv, son.’ She sighed. ‘But it would probably be better if Ali thought about huving an abortion.’

There was a catch in my voice. ‘What are you saying, Mum?’

‘I’m saying, whit I’m saying. Yer too young.’

‘But she wants to have the baby.’

‘That girl doesnae know whit she wants. If her parent had any sense, they’d get a hold of her and talk her oot of it.’

‘No mum,’ I shook my head. ‘You don’t know Ali the way I know Ali. She doesn’t give anything up that’s hers.’

Mum drummed her fingers on the table. And stood up, patting me on the shoulder. ‘Och well. A wee baby isnae the worst thing in the world. I bet he’ll look jist like you.’

I open my mouth, but can’t tell her. I make a joke about it. ‘Maybe it’ll have a funny wee voice like mine.’

‘Maybe it will,’ she said, gawping at me.