The Cutting Room (20 page)

`I’m in a hurry.’

`Aye he’s a nice guy, Les.’ I tried to side-step her but she met my manoeuvre with a neat block. She’d be some dancer if

she could find her way to the floor. `You away up to see him the now??

‘I’m out for a walk.’

It was as if I hadn’t spoken.

`Tell him Rita was asking after him. That’s my name, Rita.

Short for Marguerite. He’ll ken who you mean. He’s a nice

guy, Les. Some folk round here haven’t got time for him, but he’s all right. Do you know if he’s holding?

She ground her teeth from side to side. The sound made

my own teeth ache.

`I don’t know what you’re on about, Rita.’

The men outside the pub had turned their attention from

the football match and were watching us. Perhaps they were

having a bet on how long she could keep me there.

`Aye ye do.’ That smile again. `But it’s all right.’

I found three pound coins and gave them to her. `Away and

get yourself something to eat.’

`I’m not hungry.’

`Aye, well it’s yours now, do what you want with it.’

Three quid goes nowhere for me.’

`Fucking junky,’ muttered one of the cornerboys, and I

made to move.

Rita reached out and took my hand. Her distant gaze

slipped further, eyes dark tunnels I didn’t want to travel.

Strung-out sibyl, amphetamine seer.

`You’re looking for something. You’ll no find it. But

dinnae mind, you’ll find something else along the way.’

I reached into my pocket and handed her another coin.

`We’re all looking for something, even you.’

`What I’m looking for has to find me. It’ll no be long now.

I never ever got the photographs.’ My stomach did a quick

flip. She held me with an iron grip and leaned forward, just the two of us now, no street, no noise, only Rita’s pisshole-inthesnow pupils piercing me. `Keep looking. Go on with your

quest. Seek and who knows what you might find?’ Her eyes

refocused and she let go of my hand. `Mind and tell Les that Rita was asking after him.’

I stepped forward. `Wait, we need to talk.’

She gave me a last smile, then slipped through the tall

shadows between the tenements without a backward glance.

Leslie opened the door and let me in without a word. I followed him through the dim lobby, into the cluttered living room. He stood facing me, with his back to the gas fire. There wasn’t enough room for both of us to stand, so I shifted a pile of

newspapers and took a seat on the couch. The Mexican portrait grinned at me. From where I was sitting, it was all skull.

`I take it you’ve come to apologise?

He was in mufti today, jeans and a blue shirt. I cleared my

throat. The encounter with Rita had almost put the reason for my visit to Les out of my mind.

`I did, yes. I don’t know what got into me.’

`Half a gallon of cocktail would be my bet.’

`You might have a point.’

`Go on, then.’ He put his hands behind his back, Prince

Philip-style, looking down at me.

`Leslie, I’m sorry for embarrassing you the other night. I

lost the head. I promise it won’t happen again.’

He opened a press to the right of the fireplace and started

to root around inside.

`You chose your company well.’ He pulled out a box of

papers and looked through them roughly. `You gave me a

right showing up, but I’m no so bothered in front of that

bunch of jessies. Now if it was somewhere else’ - he shoved

the box back into the cupboard and started on the shelf above, swearing softly under his breath - `certain circles, then it would have been another thing. I might have found it harder

to forgive and forget.’ He turned and gave me a warning stare to show that he meant it. `No matter how much I wanted to.

But as things are’ - he lifted a pile of magazines, looked

behind, then replaced them - `let’s just call it quits.’ He

tumbled a box of video tapes from the top shelf. `Jesus Christ, how come I can never find any bloody thing? Do you want to

tell me what it was all about?

I looked at the floor. The carpet needed a hoover: there

were thin threads of Rizla papers and ooze caught in its pile.

`No. It was just stupid.’

`Fair enough. I tell you who was a real revelation. Rose.

She might be a bit of a dapper, but be glad she’s for and no agin you. I’m not sure I would’ve managed to get you out of

there in one piece if it wasn’t for her.’ He shook his head

admiringly. `No offence to Rose. I’m a bit of a dapper myself.

D’you fancy a coffee?

`That would be good.’

`Make me one while you’re at it, then.’

I went through to the kitchen, relieved to be let off the

hook so easily. I should have known better. Call it karma, call it sod’s law, the world has a way of extracting revenge. I filled the kettle, switched it on and began to get the makings

together for coffee.

I shouted through to the lounge, `I met a friend of yours

outside.’

There was half a jar of instant on the kitchen shelf. I

spooned some into two mugs.

Leslie joined me. `Oh aye, and which member of the

exclusive club was that?

He took a carton of milk from the fridge, sniffed it,

wrinkled his nose quizzically, sniffed again, then passed it to me. I poured a measure into his mug. I could take mine

black. Les opened the kitchen cabinet and started to empty it.

`Rita. Marguerita, she asked to be remembered to you.’

He looked up. `Aye. Looking for a lay-on more like.

Telling your fortune, was she??

‘She did, yes.’

`Freaks me out when she does that. Good idea, though. Ye

ken what they’re like round here. Stupid. No one touches her because they think there might be something in it. They

probably think she’s going to put the evil eye on them.

Ignoramuses. Still, it gives me the creeps.’

`Why should anyone bother about her? Surely she’s just a

wee speed freak. There’s no shortage of them round here.’

`Can you not guess? He looked up from his task. `xiv.’

I shook my head. `I didn’t realise. She said something about not getting any photographs.’

He laughed. `She got you, didn’t she? You thought it was

something to do with they photos you showed me the other

day.’

`No…’

He hooted and slapped his thigh. `I tell you, Rilke, you

crack me up. I look at you sometimes and I still see that wee snotnose in the school playground. The little boy that Santa Claus forgot, right enough.’ He put on a falsetto. `I feel sorry for that laddie, he didnae have a daddy …’

`Nor a mammy, either, for very long.’

`Aye, that’s right, just go and make me feel rotten, why

don’t you?’ He shook his head. `Sorry, I get beyond myself at times. I guess that’s us quits, right enough. Rita’s nothing to do with your pics, but it’s a sad story if you’re in the mood for one, a real tear-jerker. I’m not sure I should tell you, though.

You’re too sentimental. You’ll away and marry her or

something.’

The kettle came to the boil. I pushed away the memories,

poured the water into two mugs, stirred and handed one to

Leslie. He cupped both hands round it and breathed in the

coffee scent.

`Come on let’s sit at the table. Fuck it. I’m getting fed up with this.’

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered

me one. We lit up and he began his story.

`There’s no much to tell, really. You know how it is. A

pretty face can be a help or a hindrance. I guess it didn’t do Rita any favours. She was fun, liked a good time, liked a

drink, liked her drugs. A walking Merks manual at one

time, our Rita.’ He smiled wistfully. `I had more than a wee fancy for her myself. Anyway, it wasn’t to be. She hooked

up with a bad lad. Now, you and me, we’re no angels, but

why Rita stayed with this bloke is beyond me. Nancy and

Bill Sykes. D’you remember that song? “As Long as He

Needs Me”. That should have been Rita’s signature tune.’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. `I would have given evens on him killing her. Made everyone sick. A lovely

lassie like that. But there was no telling her, and by that

time the folk she was mixing with weren’t in much of a

state to tell anyone anything.’ He mimed the press of a

plunger against his arm. `Aye, well, it was everywhere then.

Even had a wee dabble myself.’

I nodded. Les’s wee dabble had lasted five years. I wasn’t sure he didn’t still dabble occasionally.

‘Then against the odds Rita got a break. It didn’t look like a break at first, but it was. She fell pregnant. She cleaned herself up and surprised everybody by having a healthy baby. A bonny wee girl. Spitting image of Rita. A touch of that bastard she lived with around the eyes, but no so much you couldn’t

ignore it. He’d been in the habit of lifting his hand to her, but as soon as the baby came along, that was it, Rita was off. Got herself a housing association flat. Seemed sorted. Aye, well, this is the sad bit.’ He took a sip of his coffee.

`HIV.’

`If it was just that it would be bad enough. But Rita was a

fighter. She kept the wee one until she was three or thereabouts, then she realised it wasn’t going to work. You

remember how it was. Back then a r n s was a death sentence.

People dropping like flies.’

I nodded to show I knew what he was talking about.

`Aye, well, Rita loved her kid. The wean wasn’t infected

and Rita wanted what was best for her, so she made the

ultimate sacrifice. She put her up for adoption. Rita reckoned it was best to make the break while the wee one was young

enough to bond with someone else. She knew she was going

to die, and she certainly didn’t want that bastard of a father getting a look in. She only set one condition.’

He paused for another drag on his cigarette.

`What was that?’

`She wanted photographs, twice a year, birthday and

Christmas, until she died, which she reckoned probably

wouldn’t be that long. Aye, well, you ken what happened.’

`No photographs.’

`Not a single, solitary one. Of course, when she was

giving them the baby they promised her the world, but as

soon as they got their hands on the kid that was the end of

that. Who wants some junky Mum in the background? I

don’t know, maybe they were right, but it seemed all

wrong to me. Rita took it hard and, to make things worse,

along came combination therapy. With bad luck she could

live as long as you or me. She’s trying to do herself in with speed now.’

`And you’re helping her along?

He drained the last of his coffee. `You know me. I like to be helpful.’

I felt sick.

Les got up and resumed his search. `Fuck, I’m going to

have a real clear-out. This is ridiculous.’

He left the kitchen and started on the hall cupboard.

I was stupid. I had to ask. `What are you looking for?? ‘My baseball bat.’ There was a clatter as something tumbled. `You know, Glasgow imports more baseball bats

than any city in Britain and there’s not a single baseball team in town.’ He laughed. `Maybe all the drug dealers should get together and make up a squad. Help improve our swing.’

I followed him through to the dimly lit hallway. Les was

half inside the lobby cupboard.

‘Bingo!’ He straightened up, brandishing his bat. Liberty

with her torch. `At bloody last.’

I wished I had never called round.

`Leslie, what are you planning to do with that?’

`I told you. I’m starting a new hobby.’

`Seriously.’

`Par for the course, amigo. Some wee nyaff owes me. I’ve

warned him three times. That’s the rule - three strikes and

you’re out.’ He took a measured stroke with the bat,

swinging it like a golf club.

`You’re not going to hit him with that. You could kill him.’

`Give me some credit. I do know what I’m doing. Left leg

and the telly. If he doesn’t come up with the dosh after that, then it’s right leg and the stereo.’

`What if he doesn’t have it?’

`I’ll break his fingers and smash his guitar. What can I do, Rilke?’ He looked genuinely perplexed. `Call the police and

tell them I’ve been robbed? No, of course not. I’ve got to go and teach him a valuable lesson. Do you think I’m going to

enjoy it?’

I looked at him. He was already psyching himself up. Once

the adrenalin got into his veins I wasn’t so sure.

`Jesus’ - he laughed his phlegmy laugh - `you’re all the

same, you sensitive souls. You like a wee smoke of the ganj, but you don’t want to know where it came from. Face facts,

old chum.’ He took a sports bag from the cupboard and

stowed the bat inside it. `Someone has to suffer for your

pleasure.’ He pulled on his jacket and patted the pockets,

looking for his keys. `Tell you what, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll not rape his girlfriend.’

I turned and grabbed him by his jumper pushing him up

against the wall, bringing my other hand up to his neck,

pressing against his Adam’s apple, crushing the breath out of him. I could hear the struggle for air in his throat. The creak of his last gasp.

I hit him, for selling Rita speed that might kill her, for

threatening rape, for reminding me of the past and because I didn’t know who the real abusers were.