Ugly Puggly 87

‘Whit happened tae the camper van?’ I ran my hand across the bodywork and locked doors and looked in the windows.

‘I washed it,’ Dave said. ‘I got bored and jist gave it the once oer.’

‘Look’s great,’ I admitted. ‘I might need tae sleep in it again.’

‘You might,’ his voice was warm.

He took my arm and helped me up the stairs. We had to stop on the first landing for a breather. I leaned against the wall and made a joke about Everest. I heard Molly’s door opening. Her grey hair had been styled in a pixie cut which suited her. But she’d on grey and white polka dot onesie pyjamas with a hood which bounced up and down as she skittered down the steps. I was wary of what she’d say, but she flung her arms around my back and hugged me. ‘I wiz worried about yeh.’

‘I’m alright.’ But then started coughing and slapping my chest to get some air.

‘Let’s get you up and inside. I’ll get you a bowl of soup.’

Dave got in on the act, giving her a playful dig.  ‘Tomato by any chance?’

‘Aye, tomatoes are good for yeh.’

I tackled the steps myself and wheezed past them. ‘Member when yer Ma used to say hings like if you eat too many sweets you’ll turn intae a big sweetie?’

‘My mum never allowed me sweets,’ Dave said. 'She thought they were bad for yer teeth.’

‘Jesus,’ Molly replied. ‘Nae sweets. That’s like child abuse.’

‘Nae wonder yeh turned oot the way yeh ur. Yeh got ye ain back by being a big poof.’ I stood outside the door. I could see on his face he was hurt. ‘Sorry, yeh know me. I’m jist an arsehole.’ I sucked in a breath. ‘I jist want tae thank yeh for everythin yev done. Appreciated.’

Molly laughed. ‘What about me? Am I no appreciated?’

‘Nah,’ I shook my head. ‘Yer my wife. I’ve a long and painful history of no appreciating yeh. And when it comes tae the crunch, I let you doon. That’s whit marriage is aw about.’  

‘Yeh.’ She answered too quickly. She looked suddenly weary, as if she’d been at a hundred funerals of the women I’d cheated on her with, and she was the pallbearer and gravedigger. ‘Let’s get inside—and I’ll run a bath.’

‘I cannae.’ My eyes ran over her face and then his. ‘I cannae get my leg oer.’

Their eyes met as if they were chasing a bird across the sky and I’d missed it. She frowned and there was brightness in her eyes and hardness in her voice. ‘I might be yer wife, but I’m no offerin sex. You can forget that wan, Romeo. I’m offerin yeh a bath cause yer absolutely mingin. Like death warmed up. Only smellier and sadder.’

I leaned against the lobby wall and then slid down it until I was sitting on the floor. They hurried to help me up. Lifting me underarm. Dave took the bulk of my weight, until I regained my legs. They part-carried me into the living room and let me fall sideways, like a small fat tree, toppling onto the couch. The house smelled fresh and it was warm, but I rubbed my hands. They were cold. I tried to explain. ‘I didnae mean sex. Fat chance. I’ll leave that stuff tae the playboy. I  meant I couldnae get my leg up high enough tae step intae the bath.’

‘It’s jist that…’ she stared at my face. She started again. ‘It’s jist that if yer gonnae be staying yeh need tae take a bath. I’m sorry, but I cannae put up wae that.’  

‘I could sleep in the Bongo.’

‘Yer no stinkin up the Bongo. We jist cleaned it. That’ll be taking us tae France.’

‘It’s my van,’ I barked back at her.

‘Suit yersel, but yeh can hardly get doon the stairs. And when you go I’ll need tae clean that couch wae bleach.’  

‘Fine.’ I grabbed the arm of the couch to help myself get up, but slumped back down.

The playboy came between us and acted as mediator. ‘I’ll run a wee hot bath and help you get undressed and in and oot?’ He leaned over and gave me his arm to help me get up.

‘Nae funny stuff!’

He found that funny. ‘I’ve got certain standards. And let’s jist say. No way.’

‘Right then.’ I clung to his arm, suddenly weary and looking forward to a good soaking.

‘We’ll need tae burn yer clothes,’ she said. ‘Fumigating them would jist make them angry.’

I laughed. ‘Fire in. Jist make sure I don’t end up wearing any o yer best gear, wae flowers on them. I’m too pretty for that.’

The playboy ran the bath and with the stream I felt strength returning to my body. He didn’t know his own strength. Yanked the curtains so hard the rod broke. A joke was on the tip of my tongue about broken rods and rings. But I’d already said too much and pissed them both off. I just wanted to get into the water and forget about things.

He put in a load of stuff that made the water turn different blues and then bubbles. Dipping a hand in to test whether it was too warm was babying me. ‘Yev done enough,’ I told him.

‘Only wan thing left to dae,’ he replied.

‘Nah,’ I said, waggling a finger at him. ‘I don’t want a blow job.’

‘Funny,’ he said. ‘Yer funny. I was talkin about burning yer clathes.’ He picked them up and held them away from himself with the tips of his fingers.

I splashed my hand in the bath, checking the temperature. It was hot, too hot, just the way I liked it. ‘Better check the pockets,’ I told him. ‘I’m sure I’ve got a picture of Ugly Puggly and me when we were younger.’

His face softened and so did his voice. ‘I will.’

He shut the door quietly behind him. I leaned on the broken bath rail and stepped up and over. The water was lovely. I slid into the water and shut my eyes.