Ugly Puggly 34

I met one of my out-of-work colleagues, Bob, in the lane. I’d stripped down to my T-shirt and felt the sun burn the top of my head and back of my neck. He was a wee guy with a belly and a boozer’s red face and dark stubble that he wiped with the sleeve of his bomber jacket as he helped me unload the wood.

All we could see of Ugly Puggly was the top of his head. Bob gave me the heavy hint. ‘Thirsty work, eh?’  

I’d changed into an old pair of faded denims and dug into my side pockets, but didn’t have any cash on me. ‘Sorry, mate, I’d offer yeh a can of beer, but I’ve drunk them all. But I can make yeh a cuppa tea and sandwich, if you like?’

‘Nah, mate,’ he shook his head, a thin smile on his lips as he watched the windmill creaking in what little wind there was. ‘I’ll just leave it. Don’t suppose you’ve got a spare fag on yeh?’

‘Nah mate, don’t smoke anymair.’

‘I better be goin,’ he rubbed the sweat on his reddened forehead. .

‘Cheers mate.’ I pointed at the van. It was blocking in a parked car. ‘I need to move the van, anyway.’

‘I’m dyin’ for a pish,’ he said. ‘Can I use yer toilet?’

I’d taken a few steps and pulled the van door open and had the keys in one hand. I waved with the other hand. ‘Aye, just go in. The toilet’s up the stairs.’ Turning the key in the ignition barrel, the van jerked forward and I braked sharply against the kerb. Diving out of the van, I dash out towards the path. Bob had a hobbled gait and rolling walk, but I’d no chance of catching up with him.  

Ugly Puggly shouted up at Bob who stood on the first step of the stairs, ‘Where the fuck yeh hink yer goin?’ He sprung out of the ditch with a trenching tool in his hand.  

I was close enough to hear Bob’s reply. ‘I was just goin for a pish.’ He looks scared at the expression on Ugly Puggly’s face.

‘It’s alright,’ Ugly Puggly glared at me and at him. I close the gap between us and wedge myself between them.

Taking Bob’s arm I guide him away and whispered in his ear, ‘He’s escaped far a mental hospital and can be a tad paranoid about his house.’ I jerked my head in the direction of the trees and bushes at the bottom of the slope. ‘Probably best if yeh just leave it, just noo.’

‘Aye, I was just hinking that tae,’ he glanced over at him, but quickly looked away. ‘I’ll be goin then.’

‘I’ll get yeh a pint when I see yeh,’ I shouted at his round shoulders. He shuffled away without turning back or giving any notion that he’d heard me.

Stabbing the trenching tool into the mound of dirt, Ugly Puggly strode over towards me. ‘Whit the fuck yeh daeing?’

‘Sorry, mate, I wasnae thinkin.’

‘Whit’d yeh of done if he’d stumbled oer the body in the kitchen? Tell him it wisnae as bad as it looks?’

‘I just wisnea thinkin.’

‘That’s yer problem. Yeh never dae hink.’

‘Shut up, for fuck sake. It was a mistake. A genuine mistake. Whit yeh gonnae dae, kill me tae?’

He turned his back on me, picked up a shovel and gathered up the mattock and the long-nosed shovel and jumped back down into the hole.

Standing above him as he grunted swinging the mattock, I regretted what I said and I could see it took something out of him, made him smaller. ‘Sorry, sometimes we dae stupid hings, say stupid hings.’  He kept shovelling the soil, flinging it up at my feet.

‘Remember when we were wee and found a spade and started digging a hole. We thought we were the real deal, picking out bits of quartz and old bottle tops. And we thought we were half way tae China.’ I gave a dry laugh. ‘If you keep up, yeh, might really be. Dae yeh know hink that’s deep enough?’

‘Nah,’ he grunted. ‘The deeper the better and the less likely it will be tae gie out noxious gases.’

‘Aye, yed know all about noxious gases?’

He stopped digging. ‘Aye, I dae. You should tae. The Artic is no longer Artic cauld. It’s noo a net emitter of methane gas. All those billions of tons of carbon are being realised into the air. Permafrost—frozen soil that traps animals and plants that died millions of years ago—are no longer permanent. Homes and businesses are sinking into roads that are being washed away.’     

‘So whit?’

‘That’s where we make our weather.’ He leaned on a shovel. ‘In Anchorage, Alaska, temperatures hit ninety-degrees Fahrenheit. Sea ice hits an all-time low and disappears.’

‘You know whit’s gonnae happen?’

‘Unrelenting heatwaves. Desertification. The destruction of coral reefs and hurricanes and tsunamis overwhelming coastlines.’

‘Nah,’ I shook my head. ‘Yer gonnae huv all they scientists oot chartin how species are adapting tae climate change. And they’ll see this white blob daeing the breast stroke, while onshore Eskimos stand shoutin wae their sealskin jackets and hoods up, because there’s a big cruise ship creepin up behind him. And yeh know it’s gonnae be a Gleseca man sayin come on in, because the water isnae that cauld. And askin where yeh can buy a stick of Alaskan rock?’

‘Is that yer apology,’ he asks.

My head drops. ‘Aye. I wiz stupid. But there was nae malice. It was just ignorant stupid. No clever stupid.’

He scrambled out of the ditch and stood behind me. Heat pulsing from his body.

‘That should be enough,’ he glowered down at the ditch. ‘We can drag the body oot when it’s darker. Quickly cover it oer.’

‘He’ll be heavy, a dead-weight.’

‘Aye, but we don’t need tae lift him. Just drag him oot alang the floor, the way emergency services dae when emptyin a hospital ward. The only difference is the bodies are on mattresses.’

‘I don’t suppose we’ll need tae worry about bumpin his heid.’

‘Nah.’ He cocked his head, grimaced and turned up the corner of his mouth into a smile.