Scrap CH THREE part 17

Scrap CH THREE part 17
A new day dawns late in the Stewart household and as usual Scotty doesn’t surface until lunch is almost ready. When he finally puts in an appearance Robbie is waiting to pounce, having been promised a kick-about with his new football. Frowning at the unwilling expression on his father’s face, the boy reminds him that he promised Scout’s honour and wins without argument.
‘Where are you off to?’ Dawn has eyes in the back of her head when it comes to sneaking out the back door. ‘Won’t be long,’ Jim replies, sprinting off with the ball before she has chance to intercept. Stuart tags along as they dribble the ball between them all the way to the playing field where other groups of lads are loitering in the hope that someone turns up with a proper football. Tied up jumpers don’t really roll very well although they are easier to head. They greet the newcomers with enthusiasm and soon divide into two teams of roughly equal size. Scotty is designated referee and the ball is placed where the centre spot used to be. Robbie kicks off because it is his ball and the battle begins.
Unable to distinguish between sides Jim simply sticks his fingers in his mouth and gives a loud whistle when a particularly bad tackle goes in, awarding free kicks as he sees fit despite cries of ‘unfair ref’ and ‘get your eyes tested’ from all over the field. They plough on relentless and Robbie manages to score, although there is some question into whose goal the ball has gone. They get back to their allotted stations as the ball is replaced in more or less the centre of the pitch and the game gets underway once more. ‘Pass it you idiot, I could have scored from here,’ calls an irate Precious Mbele, the 9 year old foster daughter of Mrs Green from Cornwall Road. Young Stuart has tried a hopeless shot at goal and missed by a mile. The goalie fetches the ball and kicks it as far as his size two feet can manage, which is barely as distant as the mid-field player from the opposing team. As the boy races back towards the goal Precious is desperate to get a foot to it and he actually passes it in her direction. She darts back to where he has inadvertently sent the ball, turns and lines up a cracking shot which zips past the goal keeper’s left ear to score the equalizer.
The other players are obviously used to the girl’s unexpected soccer skills and the game progresses with goals at each end, mudded knees, bruised legs and torn shirts until one by one the players are brought off the field by their various managers calling them in for their Sunday lunch. Scotty blows a final shrill whistle and announces the game to be a draw at seven goals each, which seems to satisfy everyone, and he leads his two lads back home looking forward to a tin of cold beer from the fridge to have with his roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.
‘Where have you lot been, you’re filthy,’ greets Dawn as the three athletes roll in. ‘And you can leave that thing outside,’ she adds, pointing to the mud encrusted ball. Robbie rolls his eyes skywards and tucks the ball behind the shed before joining his fellows at the sink to wash off most of the grime before they are allowed to sit at the table. Dawn yells upstairs for the other members of the family and a thunder of feet compete for space down the stairs. Once everyone is seated Scotty makes his usual hash of carving up the joint of topside beef, passing the plated portions along until they each have a share and saving the biggest lump for his own plate. The girls take small amounts of food from the piled up bowls of vegetables and Dawn deals out an equal share of roast potatoes so there can be no arguments. Janet swaps one of her roast potatoes for a Yorkshire pudding from Stu’s plate and Robbie eyes it enviously, tempted to spear it with his fork as soon as his brother is distracted but his luck is out and the prized morsel is guarded well, to be savoured at the end of the meal.
‘What’s for afters mum?’ Robbie has scoffed his food before his mother has had time to sit down to hers and she glares in his direction, the look that says he can sit there and wait until everyone has finished. The clatter of knives and forks eventually signifies that the first course is eaten and the girls clear away the plates to make room for the syrup sponge and custard which is meticulously divided and placed on the table in front of each waiting diner. ‘My favourite,’ murmurs Stu as they all tuck in, ‘can I have this at my birthday party mum?’ Dawn says she will see, but everyone knows it will be the same fare as always: fish paste and Dairylea sandwiches, jelly with tinned fruit in, home-made butterfly cakes and an iced birthday cake with his name and age number applied by Mavis’s shaky hand. If they are lucky they will have a few bottles of Tizer to drink and plastic straws that don’t go all soggy, otherwise it will be orange squash made up from the sickly acidic juice from the Welfare that has to be watered down so much you can hardly see any colour and needs so much sugar adding it rots their teeth. The government reckon it is a good source of essential vitamin C and it’s free for nursing mothers so they are stuck with it. Stu just hopes that he will get the Chopper bike he yearns for; nothing else matters.
Scotty is finishing his fourth tin of lager when a visitor arrives. Dawn’s ‘welcoming’ stare greets Fat Frank as the boys rush to hear if he has a good yarn to spin. Thankfully they are interrupted by the jangling sound of the ice cream van and without asking their hero hands over some coins and the boys sprint out to be first in the queue. ‘They’ve only just had their dinner,’ grumbles Dawn as Frank follows his pal into the living room out of earache range. He pulls a half bottle of rum from his pocket and Scotty rummages around in a cupboard for two glasses. They don’t match but are roughly the same size and rum tastes the same whatever vessel it is drunk from.
The two men sit in front of the empty fireplace and light up cigarettes, take soothing drinks from the dusty glasses and pronounce it to be just the job. ‘I called at Harry Tobin’s earlier,’ Frank says, as he refills their glasses, ‘he was not in a happy mood. It was only by sheer chance that the cops didn’t find anything. He wasn’t only waiting up for us to bring the JCB; he also had a cruiser due with a load of ‘items’ for Danny Casey. Luckily he managed to get them on the ship to shore and they anchored up until the coast was clear but they almost missed the tide so Danny was jittery about that because it meant they had to leave again in full daylight. I reckon Harry wishes he’d never got involved with Casey but he can’t pull out now. Look what happened to Kenny Kelly and Danny always said they were like brothers.’
Stu and Robbie burst in with the ice creams and the subject quickly turns to birthday presents. Frank never has to think of what to buy because he always gives the children some money. He promises to drop by for a slice of cake and this satisfies the boy. ‘Go on out to play now you two,’ Jim says, ‘leave us grown-ups to have a bit of peace and quiet before we go to work tonight.’ It hasn’t occurred to either of them that they have drunk enough alcohol to blow any breathalyser to bits and they finish the bottle of rum before drifting off for an afternoon kip. God bless Sunday, the day of rest.