Ugly Puggly 91

I slept for a few hours, haunted by the ghost of Bradley Walsh, or I might just have left the telly on. But I gave up and got up about six. Molly was already up sitting in the semi-darkness with the telly on for company, but the sound down. And I wondered if she’d gone to her bed. When we were kids we could sleep for thirteen or fourteen hour and get up yawning. We took it for granted our mum would be up before God. Go to bed after us. Would never shut her eyes when there was work to be done.

She wore a blue housecoat that was too big for her over her jammies. It kept her warm and was already getting up out of her chair before I could stop her. ‘You want tea?’

I shook my head, ‘Eh, no…Aye.’

I wasn’t sure if her words were a bit slurred. She’d a can of diet Coke beside her chair. Picking up the telly remote, I waited until she was in the kitchen and I could hear her running the water for the kettle. I reached over the armrest and picked the Coke up. I sloshed it about and sniffed at the juice through the ring-pull. Taking a quick slug of the fizzy drink, I put it down. Then picked it up again and took another drink just to make sure.

I think I tasted vodka. The belt on her dressing gown swung back and forward as she hurried through carrying a mug of tea. A false smile on her face. She handed me the tea and swooped down and picked up her can and went and sat on edge of the couch, her knees pointing. I flicked through the channels and took a sip of tea.

‘Anythin good on?’ she asked in a bright voice.

‘Nah. Don’t hink so.’

I’d been listening to the way she spoke, rather than what she said. I turned my head to look at her, but took a bit too long and as she waited for me to speak she took another sip of her can. Putting the remote on the arm rest and my mug of tea down, I struggled up from the chair. ‘I’m still tired, hen.’ I put my hand up to my mouth and feigned yawning. ‘I hink I’ll jist go back tae my bed.’

She tucked the can in beside the couch and stood up, bright eyed, as I passed. ‘I’m tired tae. I’ll be goin tae my bed, shortly.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘Night.’

‘Night.’ I patted her shoulder.

Lying in bed, I listened for her coming into the room through the plasterboard wall. A fox barked down at the bins. A hollow cry with elbows in my ears. And I wanted to get up, tie its body in a knot and strangle it. But it took my mind off Molly. I didn’t know if I had tasted vodka or what to do if I had. I could hardly lecture her about the demon drink.

I turned over in bed and hoped for sweet dreams, consoling myself with the thought I was just being a halfwit.  It was probably nothing. And as Ugly Puggly was prone to say you were probably exaggerating by more than half and, as long as you weren’t elected, you were bound to be proficient at something else.  

We were back to normal in the morning. I tried to work out if it was a Sunday by what she as cooking. A fry-up.

I sat at the table like a food critic. She’d burnt the Lawson link sausages, but I liked them that way. HP sauces made all the difference to the rest of it. I sipped at my mug of tea.

She sipped at her mug of tea too. I didn’t see any cans of Coke on the work surfaces or casually placed beside her chair. But I wasn’t sure if she was playing cute.

It was almost a relief when the playboy phoned to say he was coming up to visit. He’d another report about Howard.

‘Any Sunday papers? I asked her.

‘Nah.’ She made it sound as if I was stupid for asking. ‘You can read them on yer phone.’

‘No on my phone.’ I looked about to see where it was and tried to remember when I’d left it. ‘It’s no gettin the better of me by being smarter than me.’

‘Aye, but you can read them on the telly.’

‘That’s no readin the papers. That’s watchin the news.’

‘Same difference. Nae point wastin money.’

‘It’s no the same difference. You always read the paper fae the back. The fitba. Then the other stuff. The telly puts the other stuff first, as if it’s important. Then a wee bit about sport at the end. An I’ll tell you whit, when the newsreader mentions Scottish fitba, he smirks.’

‘No he doesnae.’

‘Watch them, next time.’ I toyed with the fork and chewed on a mouthful of cold beans. ‘It’s like that Mona Liza.’

‘Whit you talkin about?’

‘Dunno!’ I admitted. But she’d sounded almost happy, arguing about normal things.

My phone rung and I looked over at her as if she should know where it was. I felt it vibrating in my pocket and pulled it out. I held it up to my ear.

‘It’s wee Jim,’ I told her, while also listening to what he was saying, which wasn’t very much about the next meeting we were going to and when he was picking me up.

I was almost shy telling her, what he’d said, although she’d heard every word. ‘Aye, we’ve got a meeting at wan.’

‘That’s good,’ she smiled, but the goodness wasn’t in her eyes.

‘Ur yeh hinking of comin tae it?’

‘Nah,’ she huffed through her nose. ‘Why would I?’

‘Dunno.’ I shrugged. ‘Doesnae matter. I wiz jist thinkin it would be company for me.’

Her voice is pitched low, a gut shot. ‘That’s funny. Yev never wanted my company before. And anyway, yev got aw yer non-drinking friends tae content with.’

‘Whit dae yeh want me tae dae? You want me tae start drinkin again—like you?’