Agnes Owens (12 page)

I pushed past him, dragging Paddy along with me, and placed him on a chair.

‘Get us two haufs quick, before I have tae call an ambulance.'

The word ‘ambulance' knocked the argument out of Flossie. He served us rapidly.

‘Get this hauf doon ye!' I ordered Paddy. He did as he was told then gave a long quiver and relaxed.

‘Thanks son,' he said.

I didn't like the look of him. His eyelids and lips were purple. I looked around for a bit of distraction but the bar was empty. Doubtless folk would be celebrating in the comfort of their homes with the turkey and plumduff. My mother didn't go in for that sort of thing. Though maybe she would stretch a point when I got back and produce a steak pie and jelly. This effort would be rounded off with a box of five cigars. To hell with Christmas.

Paddy began to fumble in his pocket but he gave it up and fell asleep with his head on the table. I shook him to make sure he was only sleeping. He looked at me with a blind stare. Then the sight returned. He said, ‘I don't feel sae good. The worst I've ever felt.'

The blind stare came on again. He slumped forward. Flossie
looked over with suspicion. I straightened Paddy against the chair but he lolled about like a rag doll. I approached the bar. ‘Right Flossie, get an ambulance.'

Flossie was outraged. ‘Whit dae ye think this is – a surgery?'

‘If ye don't get one ye might have tae attend an inquest.'

Flossie was convinced. He darted through to the 'phone. I checked with Paddy again. He had gone back to the fumbling stage.

‘Whit are ye lookin' for?'

He gestured for me to be quiet. Finally he produced two crumpled pound notes.

‘Buy yersel a drink.'

The notes were greasy and torn. I pushed them back. ‘Haud on tae them Paddy.'

‘Naw, naw. I want ye tae have a drink.'

To save any argument I shoved them in my pocket and got two whiskies with my own respectable pound note. Gradually Paddy began to look a bit better. His face was now pallid instead of ashen.

‘How long were ye lyin' ootside anyway?'

‘I don't know. Maybe since last night.'

‘Good God man, it's a miracle you're no' deid!'

‘I'm a hard man tae kill, but I think –'

Whatever he thought I don't know for his eyes went glassy again.

‘Did ye 'phone the ambulance?' I shouted to Flossie. He was talking to a couple of fellas who had just arrived.

‘Aye,' Flossie hissed over, ‘but keep yer voice doon. We don't want customers tae think they're in a morgue. We want tae keep the place a bit cheery like.'

‘Somethin' wrang wi' Paddy?' asked one of the fellas, ‘Or is he jist stoned?'

‘Stoned cold is mair like it. Actually he's a sick man.'

I said to Flossie, ‘Maybe ye could show a bit o' Christmas spirit an' gie Paddy a drink before he withdraws his custom.'

The fellas nodded in agreement. Flossie looked pained but put
two small glasses on the counter. I swallowed mine and placed the other one before Paddy. He tried to lift it to his mouth but it smashed on to the floor. I wished the ambulance would hurry. Then he spoke as if we had just met. ‘Pleased tae see ye Mac. I thought we had fell oot.'

‘I widny fall oot wi' you.'

‘Aye ye did. Mind ye thought I wis a polis informer?' He attempted a laugh. ‘I widny even inform them the time o' day.'

He went quiet again. I could hear the distant whine of an ambulance. Again he came out of his reverie. ‘I don't want it tae get around, but I hivny been feelin' well lately. Ye see, ma hoose wis burnt doon the other night. A' ma pigeons are deid. Maybe the cat as well.'

I looked away in case he was going to cry, but he carried on dry-eyed. ‘Ye don't happen tae know o' anybody who takes in ludgers? I widny be any bother.'

I had to smile. ‘Afraid not Paddy.'

‘Of course,' he took a deep breath, ‘I can always go tae the Drive wi' Baldy an' the team. Though they're no' really ma type.'

He lost the thread of things and closed his eyes. The ambulance men entered. ‘Did somebody send for us?'

Paddy heard this. Painfully he stood up and said with a touch of his old wrath, ‘It wisny for me I hope!'

I nodded to them and jerked my head towards Paddy. Flossie stopped polishing his glasses and looked over, no doubt sensing a commotion, but there was very little for at that point Paddy crashed back on to the floor and lay like a log. An ambulance man knelt down beside him and felt his pulse. He didn't have to say anything. It was plain he was gone. The other one asked me, ‘Are you a relative?'

‘Jist an acquaintance.'

‘Bloody shame,' said a fella at the bar.

‘He wisny actually a regular,' Flossie explained as though anyone gave a damn, ‘only a derelict that came in noo an' again –'

‘Shut up!' I said.

The ambulance men ignored all this and placed Paddy on a stretcher, then carried him away.

‘Did ye know him well?' asked the fella at the bar.

‘Well enough.'

‘Here, have a hauf,' said the other one.

‘No thanks, but thanks all the same, I'm away hame.'

‘Back already?' asked my mother.

‘Aye, everything is deid this morning.' This was unintentional.

‘By the way, I tried tae get ye somethin' for yer Christmas believe it or no', but everythin' wis shut, so here's two pounds. Buy yersel a present.'

Her face went red. ‘Thanks,' she said stiffly, then ‘I didny mean whit I said earlier on. I know ye didny have much money.' She looked at the notes. ‘They're awfy dirty right enough. Did ye find them?'

‘Naw, they're mine. Very legitimate, but I'll take them back if ye don't want them.'

She laughed. ‘I wis only jokin'.' Then she kissed me timidly on the cheek.

‘Nane o' that stuff,' I said. ‘Away an' get the dinner ready.'

She went into the kitchenette. ‘Happy Christmas!' I called after her. Then I thought of Paddy lying in the morgue, and his burntout bothy, his dead pigeons and possibly the cat. I was lucky. I still had five cigars.

I
suppose it was bound to happen some time. The Arabs say ‘it is written' and for me it was written.

All the week after Christmas I was in a foul mood. It was a long holiday for the building-site worker. My money was gone by Boxing Day. I faced the New Year without a penny in my pocket and Paddy McDonald's death lay heavy like a lump of indigestion. I never went to his funeral or knew of any who did and I never saw the team from the Drive, nor wanted to. Anyway, the dead are taken care of. I have my problems.

After being out of circulation for three days I tapped my mother for a pound. This would lessen my chances for a loan at Hogmanay but I had given up caring about the future. With the money I headed for the Paxton and ran into Paddy's hard-boiled nephew, Murdo.

‘How's it gaun?' I asked, noting he had a fair bevvy in him. He looked at me with the speculation of the boozer who wonders whether to pick a fight or be friendly. He chose the latter.

‘Terrible aboot Paddy,' he said.

‘Aye,' I thought I had better not say too much in case I got the rap for Paddy's death. Murdo's temperament was inclined to blame folk for events. It could be society in general or anybody who was handy. He was a great one for causes and Paddy's would be the latest. Still, I felt bound to add something. ‘Big funeral wis it?'

‘Naebody there except me an' the undertaker.'

Quickly I said, ‘I couldny manage masel. I've been in bed a' week wi' the flu.'

He thought over this remark, and accepted it.

‘I know ye wid have come if ye could. Paddy wis fond o' ye.' He laid his arm, weighing like a ton, on my shoulders.

‘Gie that man a double,' he said to Flossie. ‘He's one o' the best.'

‘Here's tae Paddy, an' wha's like him!' was the toast. Solemnly we clinked our glasses.

‘That reminds me,' said Flossie, ‘there's three pound chalked against him on the board. I don't suppose ye want to keep his memory pure an' pay it?'

I admired Flossie's guts, though maybe it was just stupidity.

Murdo glowered. ‘Of all the mean bastards –'

‘That's OK,' said Flossie hurriedly, ‘I wis jist sayin'.'

I changed the subject. ‘Wis there enough money tae bury him then?'

‘Oh sure. A man like Paddy doesny need a fancy grave wi' a heidstane. He had as good a coffin as anybody. It wid jist be a wee bit hard tae find the exact spot he wis buried.'

‘Who wid want tae visit a grave anyway?' I said. ‘We'll always remember him the way he wis.'

‘That's true,' said Murdo. ‘Every time I come intae this bar I'll always mind Paddy staunin' at the end o' the counter wi' his glass.'

‘Always crackin' a joke,' I said.

‘Aye, always the cheery one.'

We stared sadly into space.

‘D'ye know,' said Murdo breaking the spell, ‘I'm gaun tae be stony broke this New Year. I've hardly a tosser left whit wi' a' the arrangements. I'm due twenty-five pounds aff the Social Security for Paddy's funeral, but I'll no' lay ma haunds on it for a week or two. You know whit the social is like.'

Straightaway I said, ‘I'm stony masel.' There was another silence. ‘I'll get ye a hauf though,' I added in the way of consolation.

Murdo in a bad mood was a grim prospect. He accepted a glass
of whisky gratefully. I looked around to see who I could join. Before I could move he said, ‘Did ye ever consider doin' a job?'

‘Whiddy ye mean?' I knew what he meant.

‘There's a hoose alang the road jist askin' tae be done. Plenty o' good gear an' maybe money lyin' aboot.'

‘A hoose? Do ye mean a mansion o' some kind?'

‘Naw. It's a tap flat up a close. We could get in through the loft, but I need somebody tae gie me a punt up.'

‘That's a mug's game. For a start how do we get rid o' the gear?'

‘Dead easy. I've got connections.'

I wasn't interested. Not that I'm averse to a bit of pauchling. For me the building site was fair game for easy pickings. Many a time I sold Sanny Hamilton, a private contractor, cheap bags of cement and such like. But I didn't fancy house-breaking.

‘Mind ye,' said Murdo, ‘I only dae this kind o' thing when I'm stuck. I don't make a livin' at it. But things are gettin' right hard these days. Imagine, nae drink for the New Year.'

I agreed. ‘It hardly stauns thinkin' aboot.'

‘Well, whit aboot it then?'

‘Naw.'

His eyes hardened. ‘Maybe ye're jist yellow.'

‘Maybe, but if ye come ootside ye'll find oot.'

I picked up an empty tumbler. I wasn't going to be unarmed. Murdo always carried a knife. We stared at each other in deadlock.

Finally he said, ‘Don't get yer back up. It wis only a chance I wis gie'n ye. There's plenty others will take it.'

He ordered two pints. I accepted mine without any thanks. Time to get going and leave Murdo to his project. There was no point in getting into a drinking mood. I had about twenty pence in my pocket so I might as well go home. I couldn't even sell anything off the site. Nobody was in business this week. But Murdo's proposition, unacceptable though it was, had set the wheels in motion. How was I going to lay my hands on the ready? There was nothing to pawn in the house except the telly and I
might as well go in for armed robbery as attempt that. It would be a sick business scrounging off my mates at the New Year. I would never live it down. Then I began to figure, if Murdo had decided to do a job the house would be robbed anyway. If it wasn't me that got the share it would be somebody else. It would make no difference to the folk in the house, but it would make a difference to my financial standing. I gave Murdo a sidelong glance. He was leaning against the counter, shoulders hunched in the get lost sign. The shutters were down, but I took a chance.

‘Anyway,' I said as if the subject hadn't been dropped, ‘these folks might be mates o' mine.'

He said coldly, ‘It's no' likely. The daughter is a Sunday school teacher and her faither is Kilty Cauld Bum McFadjan, the Scottish Nationalist. I don't know aboot the mother, but she must be another bampot. They say she leaves her door open a' the time tae let the cat in and oot.'

I was surprised. ‘Surely no' Cauld Bum! He's no' worth much.'

‘Don't you believe it. He goes aboot fixing bagpipes. His hoose is stacked oot wi' them. These bagpipes are worth a fortune. Tinker Geordie that plays ootside the Clansman wid gie us at least a fiver for a decent set.'

This was different. Kilty Cauld Bum was a joke with most people. Especially us of the socialist class. He cycled about, delivering his pamphlets with his kilt flying in the wind like a bad imitation of Rob Roy. I never had much regard for the highland gentry, but he wasn't even a real one.

‘How dae ye know when they'll be oot?'

‘Dae ye want a guarantee wi' the job?'

‘Forget it then.'

‘Right.'

I noticed his glass was empty. So was mine.

‘I might have enough for two half-pints,' I said.

‘That's more than whit I've got.'

I slammed the money on the counter. ‘Two half-pints Flossie,
and chalk the difference up.' Flossie complied with tight lips.

Murdo softened. He said, ‘I know they're oot the night. They're gaun tae a ceilidh up the bay. I know this for a fact because Kilty selt a ticket to one o' ma mates. He said he wid be playin' the bagpipes, an' his wife an' daughter wid be gaun.'

There was a pause. ‘Are ye on then?' asked Murdo.

‘I suppose so, but it's only because it's McFadjan. I widny rob any other hoose.'