Ugly Puggly 42

‘I’m gonnae nip oot to get a carry-oot,’ I said. ‘You want anythin?’

‘Nah,’ Dave screwed up his face.

‘We need tae get this done.’ Ugly Puggly rubbed as his jaw. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘I’m beginin tae sound like that little trumpet, Boris.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I told him. ‘I know that cure. I’ll get you somethin that’ll clear yer head. So yeh can see everythin and nothin, like Tam  the binman wae the glass eye.’

Ugly Puggly stretched in front of his chair as if warming up for a race. ‘It’s noo or never. We’ll need tae dae this noo.’

I glanced out the window. ‘But it’s raining. We’ll get sodden wet.’ None of the pair of them looked convinced ‘But it’s freezin oot there. A bit early tae be diggin up anybody.’

‘He’s no a fuckin turnip.’ Ugly Puggly continued working off the kinks in his muscles. ‘We need tae try and outsmart sniffer dogs that could pick up the whiff of a corpse in a Force- Five hurricane. Try tae keep one step ahead of specialists in flesh, bone and teeth. We’ll be treatin his body wae due respect. As if we’d just found him lyin face doon in the muck in a field in the North of Ukraine called Wormwood and some people said no to worry about him being radioactive. And we’d need to lift im wae tongs and a big shovel, and stick him in a bag.’

‘I think yer prone tae exaggeratin,’ I said. ‘And I need a swally.’

‘But yer drivin,’ said Ugly Puggly.

‘Um I?’ I looked at Dave. ‘Look pal, I’m no diggin up any corpse the night.’

Ugly Puggly dipped his toes into his boot and softshoed until it was on his foot. He did the same with the other. ‘Gee me the van keys then.’ He held out this hand.

Instinctively, I tapped my pockets, but realized I’d left the keys upstairs in my jacket pocket. ‘Yer no drivin my van,’ I told him. ‘Anyway, I didnae think you could drive.’

He tugged at his ear. ‘I can, sorta—and anyway, it’s no yer van.’

‘It’s the councils.’

‘Perfect,’ he said.

‘Whit dae yeh mean, perfect?’

‘Well, if we’re gonnae go up tae the crematorium, a council van will blend in like a tombstone. And if anybody spots us, they’ll hink we’re council workers. No expect us tae move, or dae very much more than huv a spectral presence, while claimin doubletime.’

‘Noo, yer talkin shite –yed never get doubletime.’

‘We need tae go up and see the lay o the land. See how things work. See if there’s any cameras up there we don’t know about.’

‘I seen a ghost once,’ said Dave.

We turned and stared at him like a doppelganger that has just said ‘boo’.   

I shook my head. ‘If he’s gonnae tell a story about a ghost, I really need tae go and get a drink.’

‘I did,’ he said.

‘Aye, I’m sure yeh did. Just the same as I got on a lot better wae my old man when he was deid.’ I sniggered. ‘He’s buried up there.’

‘Dalnottar?’ Ugly Puggly cut in.

‘Aye,’ I admitted.

‘Perfect. We should go up and see him the noo. That way we’ve got a legitimate excuse if we’re stopped.’

‘He’s no there.’

‘Whit dae yeh mean? I thought ye just said he was?’

‘Aye, but he’s deid. No there.’

‘But we know whit yeh mean. Whit ye want a St Christopher’s medal round yer neck so yeh don’t get lost?’

‘Nah, that’s mair like for the playboy?’

‘Who’s the playboy?’ Dave asked. He simpered and preened when he figure it was him we were talking about. ‘I’d a premonition this would happen.’

‘Yev got that famous line fae W.H. Auden about a farmer trudging along, while aw around him was change,’ said Ugly Puggly.

‘You can fuck off as well,’ I told him. But I went upstairs to get my van keys. When I came back down, they had their jackets on. I felt like slapping them or myself for being so stupid.

We piled into the van and stuck the radio on. I took the circular route on the bypass away from the roads and down to Bowling. We could see the crematorium in a blur as we passed it in the dual carriageway and then close enough to see the banks of gravestones as we ran parallel with it. We were cosy enough with the heater on, like three guys out for a fishing trip and not three murderers out to case a crematorium. If there were ghosts, they would be waiting for us as we turned into the gates. No lights were on in the gatehouse, which was a good sign and it was already dusk.

I parked the van beside a skip and kickboards, where there was a spill of dark soil for topping up the graves, but left the engine running and the headlights on. ‘Peering along the rows of graves, I saw a coat moving, but it was just a grey haired woman and she was walking towards us. ‘Whit dae we do noo?’ I asked.

‘Nothin,’ said Dave in a perky voice. ‘We dae nothin.’

Keeping my chin tucked into my chest, I waited until the wee woman had passed before I turned the engine off and dimmed the lights. I checked the mirrors but couldn’t see her. ‘Where’s she gone tae?’

Dave got out of the van. Ugly Puggly shuggled along the seat and followed him, sniggering, ‘Who?’ he asked.

‘You’re at it,’ I jumped out the van on the driver’s side, clutching the keys and looking over their shoulders to see if I could see her. ‘That wee old woman.’

‘I never seen a wee old woman,’ said Dave. ‘Did you see an old woman?’ he asked Ugly Puggly.

‘Nah,’ he shook his head. ‘Whit did she look like?’

‘Fuck off, the pair of yous.’ I studied their faces to see who would laugh first.

I trudged up the slight incline towards the wall, a memorial stone for some, which separated it from the farmland behind it, a funnel for the wind and rain. Squinting as if down the barrel of a gun, a straight pathway towards the wrought-iron gate. The crematorium chimney was visible, but she had disappeared.