Scrap 90

SCRAP 90
Gasper Gerry has cadged a lift with Frank and Scotty and heaves himself into the back seat of the 4litre R. ‘It was a nice service,’ he observes, ‘at least the priest knew Barry and said some good things about him. I can’t imagine Barry in a cassock though, serving on the altar.’ Frank looks at him in the rear view mirror. ‘He was only a boy at the time I would guess,’ he says. Scotty lights up a cigarette for his pal, takes one for himself and hands one to Gerry, who begins coughing before he has taken the first drag. The state of him suggests that he could be next on the list.
They join the queue of mourners’ cars and head off in bright sunshine towards the cemetery. Barry had always said he would want to be cremated but there is no place with facilities for a corpse of his size and anyway his mother wants to have a place to go and grieve and put up a fancy headstone so people know that Barry existed and was loved.
‘How did you get on with that pug dog?’ asks Gerry. Scotty lets out a long sigh before replying. ‘Dawn discovered it within hours,’ he begins, ‘and told me to get rid. Of course the kids kicked up a fuss and Robbie did his best cry-baby act so in the end she said it could stay on a trial basis only.’ Gerry finishes another coughing fit and continues. ‘That bloke tried it on with me too,’ he says, ‘told me that his boy had only days to live and he had to get over to Ireland to be at his bedside.’ Scotty relates the story which the man had given him and Jamie. ‘We were conned, weren’t we?’ The men are puzzled as to why a man would be so desperate to give away a perfectly healthy pedigree dog but cannot come up with a satisfactory reason.
The best of the day is over and Ken generously suggests that his men take the rest of it as unpaid leave. He has one drink back at the Barnes family home before scurrying off, leaving the thirty or so mourners to their drinks and buffet. It is an awkward gathering and the pals take their leave as soon as seems decent.
Back at Scotty’s house they have half an hour before the kids return from school so Scotty lights a fire in the back kitchen grate and Frank brews a strong pot of tea. The little dog is curled up on an old knitted jumper, snoozing. ‘He doesn’t seem to be any trouble,’ says Scotty, ‘so surely Dawn can’t object to keeping him. He’s rather cute really, don’t you think?’ Frank pours the tea and takes a seat by the fire. ‘It still seems mighty suspicious to me,’ he says.
The pals get their half hour of peace before the mob roll in. The boys want to go out on their bikes so Scotty says okay if they get changed from school uniform first. Jamie and John look scornfully at each other and roll their eyes upwards. As if they would want to be seen outside school wearing their poncy uniforms. They scurry off, leaving the girls to coo over the darling little dog. They happily set off with him on a walk to the beach, eager to show off their expensive pet, leaving the house in peace until Dawn arrives with her mother in tow.
‘Any tea left in that pot?’ she asks. ‘It’ll be stewed,’ says Mavis, ‘they always make it too strong for me.’ Dawn sets about making another brew and asks how the funeral went. Scotty gives a brief outline of events and they settle down to enjoy their tea. ‘Dawn tells me you landed her with a dog,’ says Mavis, ‘he is cute though. Wonder why the bloke wanted to get rid of him? He doesn’t even have fleas.’ The men shrug their shoulders and suggest that his story must be true. Scotty says he seemed very sad to see the little fellow go but was pleased he would be going to a loving home.
Dusk is falling as the kids return from their various outings, eager to see what they will be having for tea. Dawn and Mavis have prepared the usual spread of sandwiches, biscuits and home baked cakes. After a quick wash of their hands the family gather round and tuck in to the food. The dog stretches on his bed, not interested in the food being consumed high above him. Even Mavis is impressed by this dog who doesn’t beg at the table like most do. A dog with good manners is most unusual.
After the usual arguments about whose turn it is to do the washing up the family move to the front room and sit in their favourite places to watch television. The dog creeps in and settles behind the sofa where he warms his back against the radiator. This is the life.
‘Stuart, you dirty pig,’ yelps Heather, slapping her brother on the arm. ‘It wasn’t me,’ cries an indignant Stu, rubbing his arm and scowling. ‘Well somebody dropped one,’ grumbles Heather, ‘and it wasn’t me either.’ They settle down again but it is not long before Scotty stands up to address the family. ‘Right, which one of you is letting off? ‘He asks sternly. ‘Come on now; own up, this isn’t funny.’ But everyone looks at each other in innocent query, insisting that it isn’t them making the stink. Frank says ‘Don’t look at me either, I’m not the one.’ Dawn opens the door and wafts the air with it. Then the next bombshell explodes and everyone jumps to their feet. The boys start pushing each other, the girls stand with arms folded in indignation and Scotty tells them all to leave the room. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asks a bewildered Frank. The smell increases and the two men glare at each other. Then a small squeaking sound issues from the floor and they pull the sofa forward to discover a rather embarrassed looking pug dog, his stub of a tail tilted upwards, adding another puff of perfume to the air.
‘What story are you going to use?’ asks Frank. ‘The same one that mug gave me,’ says Scotty. ‘It worked on me and Robbie.’ They place the dog in a cardboard box and head off towards the nearest transport café.