With Love and Squalor (8 page)

Couldn’t remember the last time she’d moved so quick.

Mounted the stage like an athlete.

Straight over to him she went, pointing and shouting.

Might have been easier to understand if she’d been wearing her teeth.

She jabbed her arm out suddenly, real impolite.

Johnny Cupcake didn’t even flinch.

Took the pen she waved.

Signed everything she put in front of him.

Sea Minor

from
Dirty Old Town (and other stories)
 

Mum always speaks in Gaelic when we come up to Skye. She speaks in Gaelic because that’s what Gran likes to use in the house. I can’t join in when they’re talking, but I understand some of the things they say. Mum thinks that I might go to school here soon and they’ll teach me, only I want to stay at my other school with my friends.

Skye’s an island so you have to go over a bridge to get there. Davy told me it was a troll bridge and that some people didn’t want to pay, but I said I would because you wouldn’t want to make them angry like in Billy Goat’s Gruff.

It’s always dark when we arrive. When we step out of the car we can see how this place gets its name; all you can see for miles and miles are millions of shining stars. Maybe they put an ‘e’ on the end it’s so stretched out. In London the heavens seems so small. There are always buildings in the way.

This time the journey had been awful. We packed in more than usual because Mum thought we might stay longer. I got wedged up against suitcases and dresses and stuff. Davy was fine though; he got to sit in the front where Dad usually went because Dad wasn’t coming this time.

And we didn’t get to play any of our usual games like I-Spy or making words from registration plates.

Davy said that Dad always had a map in case we got lost. Mum told him that she didn’t need maps; she was a human compass. Then she didn’t say anything for the rest of the journey.

*

Lots of things are different here. Some are better and some aren’t. It’s wonderful wandering around in fields and woods, but it’s not so much fun walking to the shops and back, especially the back part. I love swimming in the sea and paddling, but I’m not so keen on taking a bath in the old tin thing we fill with buckets. I love the way Gran gets us quiet for the weather forecast every evening, but I miss the television and my computer.

It was even more different when Mum was young. There wasn’t a road, the toilet was outside, the washing was done by hand, things like that. Mum said that the only things that hadn’t changed were Gran’s tabard and the weather.

Whatever time we get up Gran’s always ready with a pan or two frying. We have a big cooked breakfast “to keep the wind out,” Gran says, and we go out and explore. When we get back we wash our hands and by the time we get into to the kitchen there’s a plate of fresh scones on the table and a jug of milk from Nancy the cow, all warm and creamy.

We explore a bit more and it’s lunch, then dinner, then supper for the weather forecast, and in the evenings we listen to stories. I think some of them are true because they have real people in them and some are made up because they’ve got fairies and giants in them.

***

Mum’s the best storyteller though. Perhaps that’s because she reads so much. She was reading when we were down by the sea last week - ‘A Perfect Day For Banana Fish’. She’s been reading that lots recently; it must be her favourite.

Thinking about banana fish makes me laugh because I start to think of other fish: orange, grapefruit, kiwi, potato… Maybe there’s a pineapple shark out there too. The one I like best of all is the onion fish. It’s always crying, even if fish can’t cry, not really.

When she finished it she put the book face down on the rock, pulled her knees to her chest and held them there, “giving herself a hug,” she said. She didn’t move for a long time, staring out over the water into the distance; perhaps that’s what distant means. I played with Davy till it began to get chilly and went for a cuddle to warm up. This was a safe place. Old Man’s Jaw it’s called. If you stand on top of the hill behind you can see the face and this long, flat rock sticking out. I’ve seen it in a photo at home, Mum pointing across the bay to where she was born. She had one more story for me that day, about how I was made in that very place almost eight years ago. This is where I started out as a tiny seed.

“Just look at you now,” she whispered and I wondered how big I’d been when I began and how big I’ll be in the end.

***

A few days after that we went out to collect peat. A tractor came along and we all helped to load the trailer. The midgies kept biting everyone so we put on this cream to keep them away. It’s for moisturising the skin really and smells like perfume, so it’s not for the midgies at all, but they didn’t come near me after that. Uncle Tam’s hands were green from the string by the time we’d finished and Bob had a bad back. The children got to sit on the trailer all the way home, and we piled into the kitchen when it was unloaded for cakes and biscuits or whatever you wanted.

Most of us went for a walk after that. We turned round when the dark clouds started rolling in and got back just before the storm. I don’t know how she’d managed, but Gran had moved all the peat into the shed by then. The stacks in front of all the other houses were getting soaked through and Uncle Tam was struggling with a tarpaulin in the gale and the gale was winning.

“He’s only himself to blame, now. They said the rain would be coming,” said Gran shaking her head, wiping her hands on her apron and putting on the kettle. We all had tea to warm up our hands, which made Davy and me feel very grown-up. We watched the flames thinking about how much we deserved to be cosy, especially me with my blister and Tam with his green skin.

***

Then yesterday happened.

Gran took off her tabard and put on her wellies so that she could take me and Davy to the shore. Mum couldn’t make it. She stayed in bed because of a headache. She kissed us goodbye and said she’d join us later, and reminded me to look out for the banana fish.

It took about twenty minutes to get there.

There were lots of people with bags so they could tidy up the beach. For the children it was going to be a competition. Whoever collected the most rubbish would get to light the bonfire later. Second prize was a toffee apple.

We put on our huge rubber gloves, took a handful of bags and walked over to where no one else seemed to be. Uncle Tam was just over the way collecting whelks. He’d sell them later on and said he’d make a pretty penny.

***

I found the rusty bit of an old spade, a plastic bottle, a long metal stick and a burst football. Davy spent most of his time digging a piece of rope from the sand. It looked small at first, but the more he dug, the longer it got. In the end it filled up half the bag. Daddy was always asking how long a piece of string is when we asked him things; I didn’t think it would be that long. Gran had sawn off a gill net from the post in the water using the blade of her penknife and that filled the bag. Just think of all the birds we were saving and how nice it would be for all the walkers to see it so wonderfully clean.

We started another bag. The first thing we found was an old bike tyre. Davy was trying to stuff it in when it went all quiet; he stopped what he was doing. This is the bit I don’t want to say because it sounds stupid, but you can ask Davy and Gran if you like. I couldn’t hear the sea or the birds and it was creepy, then there was music, soft at first, then louder and louder. It was like a choir in church. It was all high voices and ladies singing and it was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. There weren’t any words, just tunes. Davy held my hand tightly and then the sound was suddenly the wind again. Just like that.

We looked at each other then sprinted over to Gran. Davy was first and grabbed onto her leg. I got the other.

Davy  was telling her about the music and I joined in until she couldn’t tell who was saying what, so we had to start again one at a time. He’d heard the same as me.

She went quiet for a moment and said, just like it was nothing important,

“That’ll be bad news at sea; someone won’t be making it to supper tonight.” She looked up, touched her forehead and shoulders and chest and said something Gaelic.

“I heard it once when I was a girl a long time ago. My mother heard it too. Like the sound of heaven itself, and yet it was a horrible thing that happened when it came to me. Two boats collided. Full of men they were - fathers, husbands, brothers – none of them seen again.” It sounded a bit like the start to one of her fairytales, but she didn’t take it any further.

“Now don’t you worry, there’s nothing to be done. Let’s get this bag filled up,” she said, and so we did.

The bags were heavy, but we managed to drag them to the pile.

I couldn’t believe what was there: lobster pots, a bicycle, tubes, bottles, netting, a doll’s arm, crates and rope. The twins had brought a bag of seaweed even though the man at the start had told us that seaweed wasn’t rubbish, so that couldn’t count for the competition.

Angus got to light the bonfire. He’d found a whole carpet, but he didn’t carry it back himself so I don’t think he should have been the winner.

Mum hadn’t arrived. Now it was later and I wanted her to be there.

It turned into a party. There were guitars, fiddles and songs. The people who weren’t playing were mostly dancing. The only ones who didn’t look happy were the twins, because they’d had a fight, and Gran. She was gazing into the flames, the light seeming to make her look strangely old and tired. I guess she is pretty old, really.

Eventually we had to go because my eyes wouldn’t stay open. The music could be heard from the cottage till we shut the door behind us.

***

She wasn’t in bed. It was the first thing we did, go and see if she was better.

I cried and Davy told me to stop being a baby, but I think he was nearly crying too, so Gran made us hot chocolate. We got into Mum’s bed, wrapped ourselves up in the blankets and she told us cheery stories until I fell asleep.

***

I had a funny dream. I walked down to the sea and could hear the church music again. I could see my mother sitting in the things we’d collected, except the bicycle was like brand-new. She was staring again and brushing her hair and we smiled at each other for ages.

When I woke up, I tried to keep that picture in my mind and when it faced I pulled my knees up and gave myself a huge hug.

Chapter 1

from
SMOKE (a novella)
 

Jimmy

Sean Mulligan started it outside the school dining hall.

Jimmy was minding his own business when Sean jumped him, pinned him to the floor and tried to undo his trousers. He fended him off a couple of times. Only made things worse.

Sean punched him. Caught the corner of his eye then smacked him on the nose. By the time his brain stopped fizzing the trousers had gone. So had his boxers.

He lay surrounded by hysterical S4 girls, his tackle and dignity exposed.

“Tosser,” he shouted, standing and running to the fire doors.

Bursting through, he headed for the High Street.

Without waiting for the green man, he crossed the road.

The Edinburgh bus screeched on its brakes and the driver leaned out to scream obscenities.

Jimmy pirouetted majestically, raised his middle fingers and was off.

Horns beeped at him like injured animals, but didn’t turn round once.

Moments later he was banging on the window of ‘The Golden Fry’.

Mrs Edgar looked up, straightened her back and ambled over to unlock the door.

“Jesus. Ethel, will you look at this.”