The Bools

It’s a pleasant March evenin as ah walk tae the bowlin club. The season is just startin so ah looked oot the blazer an the auld tan brogues an make ma waiy doon. Ah’d awready arranged tae meet Tam doon there at three o’cloack. 

Nearin the corner ay Amulree Street, ah notice a bunch ay neds staunin drinking, makin a bloody nuisance ay themselves. There wis a bylaw introduced last year tae stoap drinkin in public places in this toon. Ah’ve never noticed it stoappin them mind, never seen the polis confiscating it aff them either. Too bloody interestit in pullin drivers oer fur no wearin their seatbelts an fillin oot forms aw day.

Ah remember when aw the polis were big bloody hielenders, big six fit odd fellas an they wid gie the troublemakers a good kick up the erse afore draggin them doon the road tae their da’s who’d gie them another good kick up the erse fur the humiliation ay bringin the polis tae the door. No anymare mind, it’s aw social inclusion these days. Ye’ve tae try an unnerstaun whit makes them behave this waiy. Unnerstaun? Ah unnerstaun awright! It’s because they’re getting away wae it. Bloody laughin, they ur. Laughin at the social workers, an the left-wing, bloody greetin faced arseholes that let it get tae this in the first place.

Ah keep ma eyes doon an walk past slowly. Nae point in me spoutin aff, nane ay ma concern. An auld guy like me’s better aff mindin his ain business. It’s just a shame, this wis a nice area at wan point.

Further doon the road, there’s another young laddie walkin taewards me, aw gaunt an greasy lookin. Bloody druggie! Ah kin tell a mile aff. Ah’ll never work oot how these young yins decide tae throw their life away like that, stickin that bloody muck in their bodies. It’s hard enough tae git oan in life waeoot turnin yersel intae somethin fae the Night ay the bastarn Livin Deid.

‘Any chance ay a fag aff ye, auld yin?’ he sais tae me.

‘Ah don’t smoke, son.’ ah tell him. Better aff bein congenial wae the swine, rather than tell him whit ah really think ay him.

‘Cheers fur nuttin, ya nauld cunt’ he sais an walks oan, caring not a bloody jot that ah’m still staunin here within earshot.

Ah’d like tae say that it disnae bother me, that it’s watter aff a duck’s back but the truth is, it does.

Ah walk intae the bowlin club feeling soor an disenchantit, like ah don’t belang in this place anymare. Ah wish ma Jeanie wis still wae me, then we’d huv moved away like we’d always said we wid. Christ, ah miss her.

Openin the door tae the member’s bar ah’m pleased tae see Tam awready there at the wee bar talkin tae auld Alec McEwan, tryin tae cadge ah drink aff him, nae doubt. Ah walk oer an offer tae get them baith a drink. Alec politely declines but Tam, bein Tam takes wan, nae bother.

‘Ah’ve no seen ye fur a while, Coyle. Where ye been hidin?’ Alec sais.

‘Och, ye know how it is Alec, cannae be bloody arsed hauf the time these days, just thought ah’d meet Tam fur a wee gemme the day, bein as the weather’s took a turn fur the better.’ ah sais.

‘Aye, it has right enough’ Alec sais ‘but ye need tae get oot an aboot at oor age, ye cannae lock yersel away hauf the bloody time.’ Tam nods in agreement.

‘Aye, yer right of course, but let me gie ye an example ay how ah cannae be arsed, eh? Not five minutes ago, oot there in the street, some bloody doped up bloody junkie just called me an auld cunt, an fur whit?’ Tam and Alec look at me expectantly, shakin their heids. ‘Ah’ll tell ye fur whit, cos ah didnae gie him a bloody fag, that’s how.’

‘Aye. . .’ Alec sais takin a drink fae his hauf an contemplatin ma experience, ‘. . .there’s bastarts oot there awright, but ye cannae let it get ye doon.’

‘He’s right, ye know Coyle. There’s still good folk aboot here tae, ye know?’ Tam chimes in.

We finish oor drink an head oot tae the green tae huv a gemme. Auld Alec disnae join us, sais he’s goat tae get doon tae the Post Office fur his pension. Tam rolls the jack up the green an we’re under way.

Ah roll ma bool, cleanly wae a good curling approach but it overshoots the jack slightly, comin tae rest aboot a fit behind it. Ah let oot a loud ‘Bastart!’ afore ah even realise ah’ve sais it. Tam smirks an ambles oer tae the mat full ay confidence. ‘Ah need tae gie ye a wee bit ay a chance’ ah tell him ‘you’re pish.’

‘Just concentrate oan yer ain gemme, Coyle’ he answers defiantly.

He sends his bool oot tae the left - a corrie fister, is Tam - an it comes swingin in perfect afore stoppin right up agin the jack oan the left haun side. He turns roon aw chuffed wae himsel ‘Aye Coyle, whit wis that ye were sayin?’ he sais. Laughin, ah roll ma sleeves up an we get doon tae full competitive mode. ‘How’d young Daniel get oan wae his joab he wis startin?’ Tam sais as ah kneel doon tae take ma shot.

‘Eh aye, fine, fine.’ ah sais, lyin. Truth is, ah don’t know, the wee bugger’s no been near in as long.

‘Aye, that’s good right enough. Haudin doon a joab’ll staun him in good stead, better than hingin aboot the streets like maist ay them.’ Tam sais, attemptin tae sound sincere but really, just tryin tae put me aff ma gemme.

Ah line up ma shot an let it fly, right doon the middle it goes, smashin Tam’s bool wae a glancing blow, sendin it flyin aff the green, while mine rests just next tae where his hud been, a couple ay inches aff the jack.

‘Ya bastart ye, Coyle! Ye couldnae huv left it just a bit longer, hud tae fuckin obliterate the bastarn thing right away.’ Tam sais, dejectedly.

‘Awright, awright. Keep yer wig oan an just play the gemme.’ ah sais though ah’m startin tae feel just the slightest bit sorry fur him noo he’s throwin his toiys oot the pram.

‘Whit’s the bloody matter wae you anywaiy?’ ah ask him. ‘it’s no like ye tae be so uptight, it’s only a gemme.’

‘Never mind. Ah’m awright. Just get oan wae it Coyle’ he answers a bit too sharp, like he’s tryin tae avoid the issue.

Ah let him take his shot. His bool trundles up the green taewards the jack but it disnae huv enough oomph an stops well short ay the mark.

‘Aye’ ah sais, takin a sharp intake ay breath ‘ye didnae gie that yin enough welly Tam.’ Noo it should be said, that ah know fine well that he knows this, an he disnae need me remindin him ay the fact but ah’ve goat tae be honest an admit that ah just couldnae help masel.

‘AH FUCKIN KNOW FINE, IT DIDNAE HUV ENOUGH WELLY, COYLE YA FUCKIN WIND UP MERCHANT!’ he screams, his face reddening in concurrence as the club room curtains twitch in response tae the fracas.

‘Calm doon wull ye? Yer gettin yer specs aw steamed up.’ ah decide tae inform him.

He is gettin too wound up, ah mean, he’s goat something oan his mind, ah kin tell. Ah’ve known the auld bugger fur too long. Ye cannae kid a kidder. He’s usually up fur a bit ay banter, that’s the way it always is at the club. Christ, maist ay the time it’s him takin the piss at any given opportunity. Ah decide tae broach the subject. ‘Eh, ur you awright Tam? Ye seem a bit eh. . . oot ay sorts.’ ah sais.

Lookin intae the middle distance fur whit seems like a lot longer than it probably is, he sais, ‘Aye Coyle, ah’m awright. Didnae get much sleep last night is aw. Your shot.’ he sais ‘we’ll finish aff this gemme an head back in, eh?  Ah could dae wae another hauf.’ he sais.

 Ah canae pit ma finger oan it, but something tells me aw is no well wae him. Ah’ll leave it fur the time being. Whatever it is, it’ll need tae keep fur noo.

We sit doon wae oor drinks at the windae ay the club, letting the sun’s rays bathe us in its warmth, intensified as it is, passin through the large pane ay glass. Ah get ma baccy oot ma pocket an pinch a small amount between ma thumb an forefinger afore packing it intae ma pipe. Tam sits quietly staring oot the windae tae the green outside.

Lightin the pipe, ah puff away, watching as the tobacco glows bright wae each inhalation. Ah broach the subject wance mare. ‘Ur ye sure yer awrite Tam? You’ve no been yersel the day at aw.’ Ah’m careful tae catch his gaze as ah speak; It’s important tae me that he sees ah’m sincere this time an genuinely concerned.

‘Aye ah’m awrite Arthur. Ah’m just. . . just a bit worried aboot money an things.’ Rarely dae ye see Tam O’Henry so morose an dour. Wan ay life’s optimists, he is. It’s precisely because he’s actin like this that ah know something’s wrang.

‘Ye still get yer pension though daint ye?’ ah ask him.

‘Aye, ah still get it. It’s just. . . complicated. Ah don’t want tae talk aboot it anymare. If ye really want tae help, ye kin start by getting me another hauf. This wan’s nearly done.’ he sais wae the sort ay impish smile that ah’m mare familiar wae fae him an ah leave it there again. He’ll tell me whitever it is in his ain time.