Grimms 80

‘What’s been the crack then?’ Del stands at the front door, a cigarette jammed between his lips.  A clean white open-necked shirt sleeves contrast with the slight tan on muscled arms. It’s marching season and he stinks of booze and is in holiday mode.  Smooth-face, features raw and blunt as a snouted animal, eyeing Jaz and smiling. He exudes good will, but the bulk of his body blocking off landing and stairwell.

Jaz unshaven and mockit listens in a trapped silence and rolls on the back of his heels as if ready for flight. He composes his face and launches into a story. ‘It’s been a fuckin’ nightmare to be honest Del.’ Flings out an arm and curls it and his sweeping hand into an invitation. ‘Come in Del. Don’t just be standin’ there.’ Slaps himself a smack on the chest, steals a line used by his pal’s dad, ‘here’s my house, here’s my heart’.  Points at the ghost of a yellow bruise above his eye. ‘See that! Had a bit of a run in when you boys were away…’ He turns to Karen, ‘Get you’re man a cup of tea.’

Karen shuffles up the lobby. An awkard silence. They follow her into the kitchen.  Her chiffon dress is tight at the waist, soft and bulgy with the pregnancy in the middle, but her face is stretched and shiny and her skin splotchy with red skin. She pats her midriff before turning to put the kettle on.  ‘Get in there.’ she says to Angela who is hanging about near the living-room door. ‘Stop annoying folk.’

Del’s anger has been slowly building. ‘Who did that to yeh?’ An intense look flashes across his face.

Jaz goes through the ritual of searching for his cigarette, finds the packet of Silk Cut in his top pocket, flips it open and flicks the lid of his brass lighter open, a slight smell of petrol, and guns the flint with his thumb.  ‘One of the Dunne boys. Papes.’ He spits a stray bit of tobacco onto the floor. Crumbs and dust on the linoleum have been swept into a pile near the sink.  ‘You know whit they’re like sneaky bastards. Blindsides me’

‘I hope yeh gave him what for.’

‘Look it wisnae like that.  You know how it is when you go to take somebody a square-go?’

Del nods, takes a deep drag of his cigarette following Jaz though into the living room, and they sit opposite ends of the couch, overflowing ashtray at their feet and shared between them. Angela shifts from her berth and stands by the window. Jaz continues talking. ‘You know whit it’s like. Guy punches you and you punch him back and you’re rolling about the floor, gettin’ the better of ‘im. And then he pulls out a blade…I mean whit would you dae?’

‘I’d fuckin’ kill him,’ says Del, jaw jutting like a springboard, not missing a beat. He stabs out his cigarette and lights another with the lit end.   

‘Aye, well, I admit I cut ‘im up a bit, but the most annoying thin’ wiz it wasnae even my fight. You know Rab?’

A shrug of the shoulders shows Del doesn’t, or isn’t concerned who he is.

‘How many sugar dae yeh take in your tea?’ Karen interrupts them. Identical mugs on the work-surface with the tea bags plonked in, waiting.   

‘Three,’ Del offers her a whimsical smile.  ‘I’m sweet enough.’

A thumping sound comes from the downstairs neighbour’s, vibrating through thin walls, and the banshee wailing of Jaz’s mother, a background noise louder than the hum of traffic. Karen comes through, mugs clinking against each other. Del sweeps the glazed mug from her hand and sips tea with lip-smacking noises of appreciation. With the mug in his hand he follows Karen pokes her head in. ‘You want any biscuits?’

‘Aye, that’d be grand,’ Del says. ‘I’m partial to a biscuit of two. Can’t you tell?’ He raises his eyebrows.

Jaz is watching her.  Karen gives Del a tight-lipped smile. Worn shoes, slippers with a small heel, scuff across linoleum but soon hurry back. ‘There’s no biscuits.’ She stares at Angela. ‘That wee bastards ate them all.’

‘No’ a never,’ cries Angela.  

Del snorts and grins. ‘Doesnae matter.’ 

Karen goes into the kitchen and returns with a Silk Cut in her mouth. She leans down to get a light off Del.

‘I wouldnae have minded if they’d been man about it.’ Jaz sprawls back on the couch, glances at the side of Del’s face. ‘Four or five of those Fenian bastards came here and carved my wee brother’s face up. It was touch and go. He was in Yorkhill for over a week.’

‘Fer fuck sake,’ Del jumps up, tea sloshing onto the carpet. ‘How did yeh no tell me. The bastards. I’d fuckin’ shoot them dead.’ He studies the stain on the carpet and swipes a big hand across the tea splashed onto his flares above the left knee. ‘Sorry,’ he mouths to Karen

‘I wouldav’ too, but my wee brother Junior beat me to the punch.’ He gives it a few seconds, Del’s eyes meeting his and cackles mirthlessly. ‘He went up the pub they drink in, the Cleddans and shot three of them dead and wounded two other guys.’

‘Fer fuck sake,’ Del says again. He touches his arse down on the couch and his eyes narrow. His gaze circles the room, glances across at Angela and up at Karen.  ‘Where did he get the gun?’ he whispers as he turns to face Jaz.

‘That’s whit I wiz tryin’ to tell yeh,’ Jaz says. ‘There was no way of contactin’ yeh. He got the guns from here. I don’t know how he knew they were here, but he did. And he just took them.’ He can’t read what Del is thinking but his glower deepens and Jaz blushes slightly and blunders on. ‘I mean, I wasn’t here. Karen couldn’t keep him out. Could yeh, babe?’ He nods at his partner, cigarette at the corner of her mouth, encouraging her to speak, prattling on. ‘You know whit they’re like these pregnant women, can’t tell up from down? Always sittin’ with their mouths open.’

Del finally gets what he is saying and gives him the measured look of vet just about to operate. ‘Dougie willnae be best pleased. We better go and see him now.’ He stood up, leaving the mug at his feet cooling. ‘Thanks for the tea,’ he says to Karen and nods at Angela who is watching him and manages to winkle out a smile for the little girl. The room seems smaller.

Jaz has a haunted look, but brazens it out. Kissing Karen on the side of the cheek, leaving and arrivng, as he follows behind Del. ‘No’ be long hen,’ he says, picking up his denim jacket hanging on the door and shoving his arms though the sleeves.