Loch Lomond 3

The butterflies in John’s stomach felt like flying elephants. ‘Get a grip,’ he told himself. ‘I need to think this out a bit. What if the police are waiting for me to show up here?’

He looked up and down the street. There were no police vans and all the parked cars seemed empty. To be on the safe side he walked back out Vanguard Street and along Alsatian Avenue. He worked out that if he cut through the backs he could enter his mum’s flat without being seen.

Five minutes later he entered the close. As usual, there were no lights working in the stairway. There was no handrail either, after being ripped off years ago by a drunken neighbour. He put his hands down in front of him and crawled up the stairs. By the time he reached the top floor his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and he could make out the shapes of two doors. His was the one to the left. He stood up straight, brushed himself down and edged towards the door, his little heart pounding as if he’d just ran a marathon.

As he lifted his hand to chap the door the brightest security light he’d ever seen jolted into action, blinding John in the process. Angry dogs began shouting warnings of violent intent. Chains rattled on the other side of the door, many chains. Partial focus returned just in time to see two sets of teeth attacking his face. They were too near and too fast for evasive action. He shut his eyes, screamed and wet himself.

The teeth never arrived so he opened his eyes again and saw someone holding two pit bull terriers by the collar.

“Whit dae you want?” a voice growled from behind the dogs.

John’s eyes readjusted to the new lighting conditions. This wasn’t his mum. He’d seen men like this on TV, and they were never the good guys. He had a shaved head, unshaven face and earring in his left ear.

John felt the urine run down his legs and over his trainers. “I’m John. I’m looking for my mum. Is she in?”

“Yir who?” said the man, as the dogs sniffed the growing puddle at John’s feet.

“I’m John. John McKenzie.”

“You’re who the polis wur up here lookin’ fur earlier. Well, yir maw’s no here. Beat it.”

“Do you know where I’ll find her?”

“Whit dae ye think this is? Beat it. Ye cannae hing aboot here. Ah’v got a business tae run. The last thing Ah need is the polis sniffin’ aboot again. If ye don’t get lost Ah might even phone the polis myself just to make sure ye don’t come back.”

And with that elegant farewell, the door was slammed, the security light went out, and John was once more blinded in a black hole. Chains rattled again behind him as the thug barricaded his door.

John reached out in the dark to feel for the nearest wall. The abyss of stairs beckoned and he reminded himself that most climbers are killed on their way down the mountain. He wanted to wait until his eyes readjusted, but the threat of the police was too strong. He started off tentatively in what he thought was the right direction.

“Is that you, John?” a soft voice whispered.

John’s heart stopped. He was sure he knew that voice. “Who’s that?”

The other door in the landing opened, releasing just enough light from an old lantern style lamp for John’s vision to return. He recognised old Mr Porter, his mum’s neighbour who used to babysit John whenever his mum was ill, out working or just out.

“Come in, John. Quick, you look petrified.”

John didn’t need to be asked twice. He was almost in the door before Mr Porter finished his sentence. Once inside familiar surroundings, memories came flooding back and he felt a blanket of security and assurance wrap itself around him. If only his mum still lived next door, everything would’ve been perfect.

“Don’t worry, John. You’re safe now. There’s no chance of him next door phoning the police. No chance at all. You can stay here for as long as you like.”

“Thank you, Mr Porter. I’ve not had a decent sleep for days.”

“Well, you can relax now. Why not get out of those wet clothes and enjoy a nice, warm bath. There’s plenty bubble bath too. I’ll give your clothes a wash. You must be starving. I’ll stick something in the oven for you.”

“Thanks again, Mr Porter.”

After the bath, John almost dozed off before he could eat all the burger and chips Mr Porter laid out for him. While his clothes dried in front of the electric fire, John sat with a towel round his waist, feeling safe, warm and contented.

Mr Porter sat down on the couch next to John and wrapped a friendly arm around him. “Don’t worry about the police, John. They were here earlier too and asked me to contact them if you showed up. Obviously I told them I’d do anything I could to help. But I’m not going to just hand you over to them. First I want to know why they’re looking for you. You were never the type to be in any kind of trouble.”

John explained as best he could about his situation at the care home and told Mr Porter he just wanted to find his mum before going back. He needed to know she was okay and hadn’t forgotten about him. He also mentioned his plans to visit Loch Lomond again, just for one more day.

Mr Porter nodded solemnly as John told his side of the story.

“I’ve some great news for you then, John. I’m pretty sure I saw your mum the other day in the city. I think she might be working in the centre, near Anderston. I’ll take you there tomorrow if you like. Everything’s going to work out fine. Don’t you worry about a thing. If she’s not there, we’ll ask some of the other girls down there. Someone’s bound to know where she is.”

John felt rare warmth grow inside him as he digested the news about going to meet his mum the next day. ‘Good old Mr Porter,’ he thought. ‘Not only has he rescued me from the gravitational pull of the black hole stairway and another night sleeping rough, but taking me to see my mum is as good as Christmas.’

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Porter.”

Mr Porter smiled. He wasn’t much to look at; a frail man in his early sixties, he could walk about alright in his house, but couldn’t go long distances without the aid of a stick. His wife died many years ago and he never took another partner, preferring to keep himself faithful to his departed soul mate.

John had actually forgotten all about Mr Porter until he opened his door and ushered him into the safety of his house.

“I’ll make you a nice mug of hot chocolate, John.
That’ll help you sleep soundly tonight, so you’re fresh for meeting your mum tomorrow.”

John sipped the milky drink and, in the baking heat of the room, began to feel tired and sleepy. He kept dozing off, dreaming of sand castles, buckets and spades, ice creams and cakes.

“Don’t fight it, John. Your bodies shattered and needs the rest. The food will give your body some much needed nourishment and strength while you sleep.”

John reached over and gave Mr Porter a big hug before falling asleep. Mr Porter, quite taken aback at this outward show of emotion, patted John on the back before swinging his feet up on the couch and fetching a quilt to cover him up.

Within seconds John was sound asleep and Mr Porter tucked him in. He ran his hands through John’s hair as he sat watching him sleep. “There, there, there. Don’t you worry. It’s going to be just like old times.”