Bill and the UFO7

Bill wanted to turn back and spend his cut of the money from the scramble in Johnny Graham's, but Wendy’s nail bitten fingers poked him in the chest, and put him on the right path to Dalmuir Park Café with a promise of ‘I’ll boot you in the balls if you go back that way.’ But she wasn’t ungracious about it. Her eyes squinted and she flicked him in the ear, which was a good enough reason.

‘There’s no point on going back there. It’s probably burnt down anyway.’ Phil picked at his nose, examined the bogey on his finger and put it in his mouth.

Todger raced ahead, up Overtoun Road and by the old Doctor’s house on the corner that was haunted, but only at night. During the day, the Doctor’s wife, a small wiry grey haired woman, could be seen out in her front garden, bumble bee busy: cutting the grass, tending the Azaleas, Nicotiana, red, white and blue Pansies and scowling at passers- by, as if those not from her street, visiting The Park should be helicoptered in to avoid inconveniencing the natives. She took a particular dislike to Todger, who danced about in front of her and in front of her Flymo, enjoying the fuss he was making that so much he left a little package on her lawn.

Rab was furthest ahead of his sister and the others, so he bore the brunt of her outrage.

‘Look what your dog has done.’ The doctor’s wife was crouched down over the dog shit as if she’d just given birth to it.

Todger was caught, bouncing between them, catching up with Rab, and running back and forth up the driveway to be with his new friend. He barked out his joy that there was so much love in the world.

Rab kept walking on. He’d peeled his Wrangler jacket from his back and hooked it, with his thumb over one side of his shoulder to let that side burn in the sun, then transferred it across to let the other side burn. ‘It’s no my dog missus.’ He didn’t look back.

The Doctor’s wife was apoplectic with rage. Phil kept his head down and trudged on, hoping that she wouldn’t see him. ‘You boy. You.’ He looked up reluctantly, but was relieved to see she was talking to Wendy.

Wendy stood on the wide pavement close to the whitewashed brick wall, her face level with the black ornate metal railings. ‘I’m a girl,’ she said and spat through the gap between her front teeth onto the wall.

‘Boy or girl.’ The doctor’s wife shook her head. ‘You have absolutely no manners, no upbringing, no sense of decorum; no sense of right or wrong.’ She waved a hand trowel about to make her point. ‘This is my property. Mine. I’ve got a good mind to phone the police.’

Wendy opened her mouth to spit through her teeth again, but changed her mind, which is always a woman’s prerogative. ‘Lady. It wasnae me that done the shite.’ She scratched at sun burned neck, looking up the street to see how far Rab was ahead of her. ‘And anyway,’ she added, ‘what’s the big deal?’

‘The big deal is,’ the doctor’s wife adopted a tone of ice cold correctness in her speech, ‘is your dog, your animal, came into my garden and did its business. And now I would like you to pick it up and take it away with you. If you do not I will phone the police and they will be looking for you.’

‘They’re already looking for us.’ Todger bounded up and into the woman’s driveway and back out again, jumping between Bill and Wendy to be patted. ‘He’s ran away from home.’ Wendy pointed at Bill. ‘And I burnt down a shop.’

The doctor’s wife shut her eyes and started again. ‘I would like you to pick up your dog’s mess…’

‘It’s not my dog,’ said Wendy.

‘It’s my dog.’ Bill patted his dog that lay at his feet showing him his stomach so that he could be scratched and petted there.

The doctor’s wife took a step forward towards the fence. ‘What is your name?’ She looked at Bill crouched down petting his dog.

‘Todger.’ Bill continued scratching, ‘but that’s not his real name. His real name’s so-so stupid.’ Bill rolled his eyes, shook his head and chuckled to himself at the name that Todger had been called before.

‘I would like you and…’ she swallowed down her misgivings, ‘Todger, to clean up your mess.’

‘No-can-do,’ said Wendy, spitting through her teeth.

The doctor’s wife ignored Wendy and remained focussed on Bill.

‘You’ll need to wait until it cools down a bit.’ Bill made doggy faces to Todger who was making whining noises to be patted: more, more, more.

‘Why in heaven's name would it need to be cooled down?’ There was distaste in the doctor’s wife’s tone and it showed in the disdain in her face, bringing out the fine lines in her forehead and threatening to unravel her tightly knit perm.

Todger nudged Bill’s knee, because he wanted to be patted, or fed, preferably fed, but at least patted. But Bill wanted to reassure the wee woman. ‘You need to wait until it’s cold because that way Todger might think it’s another dog’s, then he’ll eat it. He’s no’ the brightest. But if it’s warm he’ll know it’s his own.’ Bill could see from her face that she didn’t understand. Bill wanted to sound cheerful and encouraging. After all he had been in the Cubs. ‘He might still eat it anyway.’

The doctor’s wife screwed up into total disgust. ‘I don’t want your dog to deal with it.’ Her hands flapped in Bill’s direction. ‘I want you to deal with it!’

‘But I don’t eat dog shite,’ said Bill.

Bill took a deep breath and looked at Wendy, who, as usual, was smirking at him. He figured he might be letting the whole cub-scout movement down, that was based on the premise of helping old folk across the road, and other undefined ways, but he just couldn’t do it.

Rab did one of his owl gang calls from the top of the street near the Park gates. Phil was standing beside him. Todger raced towards them sensing that at least one of them would have food. Wendy turned towards them and started walking with Bill bumbling along behind.

Phil was leaning on the bars of the fence, which marked the boundary of Dalmuir Park. The lead based paint was the same colour as the grass and the leaves of the rhododendron bushes that pushed through. A sign hung on it with the outline of a dog with a big cross through it, saying ‘NO DOGS ALLOWED.’

Rab shook his head at it and watched him bouncing from Wendy to Phil, to Bill and back again. ‘He thinks he human anyway,’ said Rab grinning.

Twenty yards later, at the entrance to the park was another sign hanging on the fence: ‘PLEASE PUT YOUR DOG ON A LEASH.’

Todger was first into Dalmuir Park, sniffing out the bin nearest the gate for goodies and annoying the wasps that had been there first.

‘Obviously, he cannae read,’ said Wendy.