Bill and the UFO20

There was smells. And there were smells. The tent was minging. There was no denying it. Bill sat half in and half out of the open door of the tent; a Cigar Store Injun with his nose crinkled up. He didn’t say anything at first, only watched, like smellovision, the writhing brown sleeping bag pupae of Rab and Wendy trying to get a bit of shut-eye.

Rab’s curdled breath escaped from his mouth like a puncture in a drawn out yawn. His forehead crinkled up like an OAP’s and he let out a sigh so deep it stopped Todger sniffing round about his feet for the cheese and onion crisps that had been spilled two weeks ago. Then he yawned again. ‘Look I’m knackered. I don’t care if you’ve got a photo of aliens, Angels or Jehovah’s. Just lie down and lets get some fuckin’ sleep.’

‘Ah’m shattered as well.’ Wendy shimmed from side to side into the warmth of her sleeping bag.

‘But I’m no’ tired.’ Bill peered at Rab, but all he could see was his black hair. He gave it a few minutes of contemplative, companionable silence, until his head hurt. ‘You sleepin’?’

Rab slammed his fist down into the ground; because it was inside the sleeping bag the resonance was muffled, as if the action took place under water, which made him madder and put an extra chill in his voice. ‘I don’t care if you’re tired or not, just get to fuckin’ sleep.’

Todger crawled over to Bill and flub-a-dubbed his square head into his master’s lap as if to reassure him.

Wendy’s back was bent like the Hunchback of Parkhall in a bow away from Rab, as if any point of contact was contagious. She whispered in a told-you-so wasp voice: ‘It’s all your fault for letting them stay in our tent in the first place.’

Rab flinched. There was no second place. He pulled his sleeping bag an extra inch away from Wendy’s, his nose almost hitting against the moisture of the side sheet, determined not to respond, but couldn’t help himself. ‘I didn’t say they could stay.’

‘Did.’

‘Didn’t.

‘Did.’

‘Didn’t. You’re just being childish.’

‘Did.’

Rab sat upright in his sleeping bag and looked over at Bill. ‘Look, did I say that you could stay?’

‘Nah,’ said Bill. Todger’s eyes looked up at him hoping that he was going to feed him.

‘See.’ Rab flung himself back down into his sleeping bag. ‘Just shut the fuck up and everybody go to sleep.’

Bill pulled the big coat around his shoulders and cuddled into Todger. Rab lay half sleeping on one side. Wendy on the other. The tent seemed to breath in and out with one mouth; one pair of lungs, on the cusp of dreams.

‘Psssst,’ Wendy’s tongue sneaked out, ‘did.’
****
Early in the morning, when all the birds were still whittering and singing, and auditioning for a David Attenborough programme Phil poked his head into the tent. ‘Poo-ee. It’s stinking in here,’ he talked through his nose as if that made what he said funny.

‘I can’t smell anything.’ Rab found himself looking at Todger’s arse. He pushed the dog violently away, but he only moved about two inches and sat down again. ‘It’s that fuckin’ dog.’

Wendy sighed. ‘I’m burstin’. I’ll need to go into the house for a pee.’ She slid fully clothed out of her sleeping bag and crawled towards the tent flaps of the door. She pushed past Todger, slalomed accidentally-on-purpose into Bill with her elbows and flicked the back of his pink ears as she left.

‘I’m burstin’ too,’ said Bill.

‘You cannae go outside,’ Phil spluttered, ‘everybody’s looking for you.’

Rab lit up what was left of a ciggie he’d smoked the night before. His mouth puffed away furiously, trying to get as much smoke in his lungs as he could before he burnt his fingers. ‘Who is looking for him?’ he coughed.

‘Everybody,’ Phil’s voice rose an octave. This was the most exciting thing to happen to him since-forever. As he crawled into the tent he kneeled on Todger’s leg.

Todger started barking.

‘You better shut him up or somebody will know that there’s a dog in the tent.’ Rab flicked his doubt out of the tent, but his aim wasn’t good and the lit fag bounced back against the groundsheet.

‘I thought Wendy went for a pee.’ Bill chortled his rubber face shifting into ha-ha mode.

Rab felt like slapping him, but couldn’t summon up enough whiz of early morning energy.

Bill picked the lit doubt up, before it could smoulder and do any damage. He was an expert, all his smoker’s life he’d been blending in, skulking behind smokers, waiting. He took one last drag and torpedoed it into the mudpack of grass outside the tent.

‘I need to go for a pee as well.’ Rab unzipped his sleeping bag.

Phil made a face at Bill and quickly looked away. It was worse than being naked. He’d worn white socks inside his sleeping bag, which was the tent equivalent of peeing in the corner of the tent and hoping it would seep into the ground.

Todger followed Rab’s wiggly denim arse out of tent, but quickly lost interest. There were far more interesting smells inside the tent.

Bill was next out. His coat and rucksack were inside. There was a blue haze and it was still cold when he went wandering. As he peed against the telegraph pole he looked up and down the street. The milk-float had just delivered and bottles sat on the back steps of every door in Dickens Avenue like babies’ teeth. He wandered across to Mrs O’Rourke’s. He picked up two bottles, but the clinking noise made him think better of it and he put one back. Instead he took another bottle from Mr Brodericks. He didn’t like him anyway.

Bill didn’t realize how thirsty and hungry he was until he’d taken the top off the silver foil and started drinking. Before he could wipe the cream moustache smile off his face and step back over the little privet hedge, back into the garden where the tent was, Todger pounced, almost knocking him over. If it was a wrestling match, Todger was the equivalent of two girls with kangaroo gloves, handbags and sticky toffee tongues. Bill kept the pint of milk up in the air like an Olympic torch, whilst Todger danced round about him. The worst part was the air raid siren of barks. If it had been dark all the lights in the street would have went on. Bill flung himself into the tent. Todger followed glad the game had finished and he was to be fed.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Rab darted from his back door and leaned into the tent, wearing a frown that started at his forehead and concertinaed down to his mouth and curled the toes on his sick coloured white socks.

Wendy was standing behind him still chewing on a bit of toast. She’d her hand up in the air, waving to her mum who was looking out of the back kitchen window. ‘Phil come out here and bring that fuckin’ dog with yeh.’ She talked as if someone had their hand up her cheesecloth shirt and was working the side of her mouth like a glove puppet.

Phil stuck his head out of the tent. ‘It’s no’ my dog.’

Wendy was still waving. She tried a little girl smile, but it froze on her mouth. ‘Just get the fuckin’ dog out here. She’ll no’ know the difference.’

‘But it’s Todger,’ said Phil.

Wendy looked at Rab. He shrugged.

‘Maybe we could disguise him.’ Phil had pushed himself out of the tent. He waved at Mrs Morrison.

‘Don’t be so fuckin’ stupid. No other dog looks like Todger.’

Wendy was tapping on her head, ‘Think, Think, Think,’ with her index finger. ‘Get the dog out and put it back in the tent quick. Ma’s no’ got her specs on yet.’

‘Pork-pies. Pork-pies. Pork-pies,’ shouted Rab.

Todger raced out of the tent and barked out the new game. Phil stood outside the tent and tried to blend in, like a man playing the triangle in the school Jamboree. Wendy pushed him back, towards the entrance to the tent because he was smiling too much. It was a heavy enough hint. Rab followed Phil in. Wendy shepherded Todger and tied the tent flaps like a Girl Guide with them all inside.

‘Where did you get the milk from?’ Rab asked.

‘Over there.’ Bill moved his head a fraction. ‘Mrs O’Rourke’s and Mr Broderick’s’.

‘Oh, well,’ said Rab, ‘they’ll never be able to work out who took the milk-ya fuckin’ numpty. Yeh, never steal aff your own doorstep. I thought you’d watched ‘The Sting,’ about fifty times. I’ll need to go up the street and steal some more milk.’

‘Steal us some rolls out of the shop, when you’re out.’ Wendy sniffed. ‘But don’t take too many or they’ll know it’s you.’

‘Get us a Daily Record. Phil lay back in Rab’s sleeping bag with his hands behind his head.

Rab looked from one to the other. ‘What am I? A fuckin’ packhorse? I’ll need a bit of help. Who wants to come?’