Ugly Puggly 78

Ugly Puggly told me a drunk was like a Russian novelist. Always close to tears. I rambled on. ‘I don’t believe in God or that kinda stuff,’  I told the note takers. ‘But I dae believe in ghosts. Sure, hadn’t I seen Ugly Puggly, after he was reported missing?’

After-You-Claude hadn’t learned the preliminaries of good manners or proper investigation. ‘When and where?’

Gerry shifted in his chair, paused his pen, ready to strike me out of the conversation. A gallus grin on his face as if he was there and not there, but thinking of somewhere else.    

‘Oh, it was his ghost,’ I paused to let it sink in. ‘I might have been celebrating too much.’

‘Celebrating what?’ After-You-Cluade was getting antsy, and it was there in his voice on the tape, should anything unforeseen happen to me.

‘Aye, Ugly Puggly told me that he fell into the light, but the angels didnae want him. And he was shakin, taboo—too boo—to be a ghost. But we didnae want him either. He said he was like a foreigner. Wan of those refugees you keep tryin tae drown among the livin, you’ve nae intention of savin.’

Gerry scratched at his back with his pen and had all but given up taken notes. ‘Who’s Ugly Puggly?’

‘Oh, sorry, that’s whit we call Howard.’ I turned to explain to After-You-Claude, but he’d one of those expressions on his face there was no talking to. So I just talked to myself. It was all on tape. ‘I’m wan of those alcoholics you see. And no wan to those Russian novelist you don’t see. If amnesia wis a country it was one of the most popular tourist destinations on earth. A couple of bottles and everybody travelled there for the price of a drink.

I saw I had them hooked, so I kept rambling on as if I was talking to a ghostly Ugly Puggly.

‘Amnesia would have a national anthem. But nane of us would member the words. We’d just hum along and make it up as we went along. We could land-lease the lines to our anthem from anther nation. We could aw fight for and die for the same country. And agree it was a great thing we were daeing, because we didnane know whit it was, therefore it must be.

‘We could have a flag. On alternate days we wouldnae be able to find it. Then, finally, we’d lose it and blame somebody else—and threaten to invade them.

‘There’d be no cure for any aw of these conditions. Even Elvis would be conscripted. He’s put up a bit of fight, but was bowled oer by the weight of wealthitis. There was no cure but mair drink. And when singin in the shower didnae work, drugs. It happens tae us aw Claude, eh? We lose oor hair.’ I slapped my chest. ‘Then we lose our singin voice. It’s a fuckin Russian tragedy!’

He flipped the button on the tape recorder to off. ‘You quite finished?’ He swirled his thick neck to make sure nobody could see him and tried to kick me under the table, but I moved my leg and he stubbed his toe on the edge of my chair.

‘I’m no finished,’ I told him. ‘Plenty mair where that came fae. I’m gonnae start sayin no comment. And I want tae speak tae my lawyer. You see it on the best programmes on telly. I’m sure you watched Crown Court when yeh were a wee plukey fat kid, wae nae friends, doggin school and masturbatin tae aw they hangman wearing blonde wigs and calling themsel QCs. I bet that got yeh hard. Some of them were even women.’  

‘Right!’ he roared, jumping up. If the table hadn’t been bolted to the floor it would have fallen over.

Gerry tugged at the side of his jacket and he nodded his head towards the door, as if somebody was watching and listening.   

After-You-Claude straightened his tie. He was sweating profusely, but not like a rapist. He sat down and sponged his face with a hanky that had probably been bunged up his nose, but apart from that was clean enough to be almost white. I wasn’t in an honourable position to make these calls, after having shat myself.

He cleared his throat and sipped water from the white plastic cup we all had, apart from me. ‘Right,’ he’d regained his jovial voice, turning on the tape recorder and informing whoever listened that we were taking a proper break.

Gerry put a hand over his mouth as he yawned. ‘I’ll go and get somebody to take him back to his cell.’

‘It awright,’ I told him. ‘I’ll go for yeh.’  

‘God loves a trier.’ He was out of his chair and halfway to the door when the room tipped.

After-You-Claude spoke as if from the darker side of the moon. But I couldn’t make out what he was saying. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. Neither did I meet Ugly Puggly. There was the semblance of a tunnel. A black hole and then my mum’s face I screamed when my arse was skelpt.

My body was covered by a white sheet. Light all around me and the sound of distant voices. The squeak of shoes and chatter of electronics bleeping to themselves. I sucked in a breath and my throat was dry. My body had the soporific heaviness of a good night on the drink, but without the hangover. I tried sitting up, but my arm was shackled to the bed. A nurse with unkempt hair was playing with her clipboard. She was saying something to Molly, who sat on one of the chairs. A young police officer sat splayed nearer the door, he flipped though his phone in the same way the playboy did. Nothing touched him.

‘You’re awake,’ the nurse noticed my noticing her.

I burped and sat up a little. My back hurt and my body began to pulse. ‘Um I in heaven?’

Molly sucked in her breath and glared at me. ‘Would I be in heaven?’

I shook my head.

‘Well, yer no in heaven then ur yeh?’ She leaned across, almost falling off her chair, and looked at my face short-sightedly. ‘I hink yer still in shock. Yeh took an epileptic fit…Well, more than wan to honest. Apart fae a bit of dribblin, yer no bad, considerin.’

‘Considerin whit?’ I’d a flashback of that movie with a Ronald Reagan character that tried to get up from his sickbed and found he had no legs, but he was still cheerful enough about it. I was dressed in a flimsy white paper gown. I didn’t care about protecting my modesty, but quickly checked my bits were still working. My wrist jangled as I shook it against the bed and the cop looked over. ‘That’s my wankin haun,’ I told him. ‘Can you cuff me on the oer side?’