Ugly Puggly 49

Cold outside with a hint of rain. Smirry. Our conversations usually involved the weather, even though most folk now worked inside. Dave was at my back and I’d the van keys in my hand. He’d a Nike black baseball covering his hair and a padded blue nylon jacket that bulked him out. And he’d a fancy set of black sunglasses on his nose. If he wanted to draw attention to himself in Dalmuir he might as well have worn those joke convict outfits with arrows on them and a swag bag. The kind of uniform our Prime Minister wore when he told us all Brexit would guarantee the NHS an extra £350 million a week. And every citizen would receive a one-off payment of £350 million in their bank account.

But I’d no talent for bluffing. When the playboy asked why I couldn’t wait for him when he glued shut the crematorium doors, I told him to shut-the-fuck-up and stop whinging like a gay boy. We weren’t talking after that, which suited me just fine.

The scent of cut grass and bonfire, a few gardens, or houses away. Rooks and jackdaws in the trees were settling down for the night with that rattling sound—the corvine equivalent of come ahead. I tilted my head to listen before getting in the van. I didn’t know if it was meant to be lucky, or auspicious, or a sign that we were doomed. Better if I got myself a bottle and called it a day.

‘Put yer seatbelt on,’ I told Dave before starting the van.

Ugly Puggly was already working out the back and I knew I’d have to be quick back to help him. He always did too much. Dave did too little. And I was a Council worker which meant the job would get finished when it was finished and we couldn’t put a time frame on it, even if we were resurrectionists, like Burke and Hare. That hadn’t changed. But I’d need to go Burke, since I’d little Hare.

I ground through the gears going up the hill. We were over the dip of starting something, which made it easier. In the state I was in, I wasn’t overly worried about getting caught, but just getting some sleep. Four hours would have been great. But I’d have settled for three. Or even one.

I imagined the police sticking on the handcuffs and leading me to the cell. Opening the door and pushing me inside to let me stew. Thin, pishy mattress, with all the stuffing knocked out of it and a scratchy blanket. Heaven.

‘I’ll drop you aff here,’ I told him. I parked on the slip road outside the crematorium. He’d his neb in the iPhone, as usual. I pulled it out of his hand.

‘Hi,’ he shouted, and tried to pull it back out of my hands.

I slapped his face and his sunglasses fell squint off his nose. ‘These things are tracking devices. How dae yeh turn it aff?’

His head dropped, and the screen went black. He handed his mobile back to me. I leaned across him and pushed open the door. ‘Beat it,’ I flung his phone into the passenger seat

He stood outside the van looking in at me. A white Volvo breezed past us, throwing up spray. I rolled down the window.

‘Whit if the glue doesnae work?’ he asked.

‘Well, stick yer wee cock in the lock.’

I put the van into gear and left him. Checking my mirrors, I saw him turn and trudge towards the crematorium. I put the boot down and almost caught up with the white Volvo before the lights.

I parked up outside our house and hurried inside. I was quick enough to get inside the toilet before I spewed. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I gargled with Old Spice, so there would be no tell-tell smell of booze on my breath.

When I got into the back garden, Ugly Puggly was already filling the ditch with wet soil. ‘Where’s the body?’ I whispered.

He turned his head and looked over my shoulders at the windows of houses facing the green.

‘Oer there.’ He nodded towards the garden hut. And I could make out the frayed edge of the blue tarpaulin. ‘Just let me finish here.’

He used whatever debris was lying around to fill and flatten the hole. Stamping it down with his work boots and shuffling backwards and forwards in a strange dance.

‘Whit was that, you said,’ I asked him, because he was mouthing something.

He brushed at his forehead with a mucky hand. ‘Shakespeare.’ He clumped back and forth, reciting a prayer-like verse. ‘Fear no more the heat o the sun. Nor the furious winter’s rages. Thou thy worldly task has done. Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages.’

‘Hurry up, will yeh,’ I cried. Checking nobody was watching us. ‘I want tae get this oer and done wae.’  

‘Right,’ he replied. He wiped the muck off his feet as best he could, rubbing the sole of one foot against the other and using the edge of a brick. ‘You go open the van. And come back here and gie me a haun.’

‘Fuck,’ I said, turning away. ‘Just hurry.’

I hurried away, opening the two back doors of the van onto the street. I prayed nobody was looking out their windows.

When I got back, Ugly Puggly had dragged the tarpaulin out. I took what I thought was the feet. He took the head. We walked abreast, swivelling to walk single file at the gate and lane. We shuffled our feet forward, knock-kneed. My grip loosened and I nearly dropped my end. ‘Stop,’ I hissed. I put me end down and renewed my grip.

He swung around and stepped up and into the van. Again, I nearly dropped the body, sweat running into my eyes, but I held on and pushed the feet into the van. He stepped out of the back and I locked the door.

‘We’re good to go,’ I wheezed, bent over clutching my legs.

‘Nae hurry,’ he replied. ‘We need tae gie them time to kick aff up there. We’ll go inside and huv a cup of tea and a ginger snap.’

‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘I cannnae eat anythin. Cannae keep anythin doon. Let’s get up there and just dae it.’

He shook his head. ‘We need tae wait. Just wait.’

‘How long?’

‘Dunno. We’ll just have to wait and see. We’ll park up. Huv a look and see whit they’re up tae.’

‘But we’ve got a body in the back.’

‘Aye, but naebody expects that. And anyway, it’s a Council van. Couldnae be better. And you work for the Council…’

‘But whit about Dave?’ I frowned. ‘I’ve got his phone.’

‘Whit you got his phone for?’

‘Dunno, he just gave me it. Said those things were like trackin devices.’

Ugly Puggly sucked in his breath. ‘Yer right. We better get away before he gets back. But he’s hell of a slow walker.’

‘Know that cunt, he’ll probably get a taxi hame.’

‘Yer right. Better get goin then. He laughed. ‘How did yous two get on, anyway?’

‘Couldnae have been better.’ I pulled open the driver-side door. ‘I think he’s got a wee fancy for me.’ I reached in and pulled out his phone. ‘Whit will we dae with this thing.’ I checked. He’d thirteen new messages.

‘Just leave it in the hoose for him. It’ll be a nice wee surprise.’

‘For him, there’s nae surprises, in that regard.’