Grace

I held out a fish supper, warm in my hand, still in its wrapper. ‘Here, yeh want this?’

Local Joe was standing in George Square, emptying a black bag full of rubbish into its communal street bin with the Glasgow Council logo painted in black, green and gold. A silver wrapper blew away. He was quick-footed enough to catch it before the wind caught it, and stuffed it still wet from the rain into the bin. One of those grab-sticks kept his hands from getting mucky.   

He was a head shorter than me, but much broader, with a spade beard and a Russian Cossack hat with earmuffs. He looked at me without replying.

I had to repeat myself. ‘It’s warm,’ I said to encourage him.

‘You eat it then,’ he growled, pointing the stick at me. ‘But don’t leave any mess.’

The wind cut through me, and I was dripping wet. George Square was beside the City Chambers and Queen Street train station. The size of Hampden, but with statues frozen in black marble on plinths instead of football players. Despite being prime property postcode and therefore illuminated like the Berlin Wall, the statue of Churchill acquired a grass- Mohican haircut, which kind of suited the elder statesman, and he was a regular for the traffic-cone-on-the-head treatment. When I was much younger, I’d regularly fell asleep and been sick at the bus stop facing the Square, waiting for a bus to take me home.

But on a miserable Tuesday, night there weren’t many folk about. And with the one-way system, I doubted buses came through the Square. My partner had gone with a bag of fish suppers along the dark lanes, looking for other homeless people to feed.

‘I thought you’d want it,’ I said. ‘It’ll get cold.’

He wandered past me and snapped at a cigarette packet under the bench, putting it in the bag with a dexterous manoeuvre. ‘But you don’t know me.’

‘Aye,’ I admitted. ‘But my partner told me who yeh were.’ I mentioned his name, ‘Jim,’ so he didn’t think I was a random do-gooder. ‘And he told me yeh like tae keep the Square tidy.’

‘That’s true,’ he admitted.

‘Why don’t yeh let the Council clean the Square?’

‘I dae.’ He held up the black bag and shook it with the cigarette carton inside as evidence. ‘But they dae such a shite job.’

‘So yeh no wanting chips?’

He pointed with his stick at Greggs. ‘The lassies fae Greggs gi’e me sandwiches and the odd sausage roll. And there’ll be a guy roon later wae fresh bread and soup.’

‘Right,’ I opened the packaging and nibbled a bit of fish. I shook the container so the chips settled. He came over and stood beside me and took a few, chewing with the side of his mouth. We admired the illuminated Council buildings. ‘Where’d yeh sleep?’

He snorted, ‘Too cauld tae sleep. But I’ve got a doorway over there.’ He nodded in the direction Jim had gone with the other fish suppers. ‘People are generally good. I’ve had hot-water bottles and blankets and sleeping bags. Guy comes in the morning and leaves wan o’ they expensive coffees at my feet. But I should really get a dog.’

He was getting stuck into the fish supper. But I found I was hungry too, and part of me resented sharing. ‘Whit for companionship and tae keep yeh warm? I mouthed a few chips, stuffing them into my face. I handed him the fish supper before I made a fool of myself.

‘Nah,’ he replied. ‘For the begging. Yeh make mair money that way.’

I wiped my hands on my trouser legs. ‘Aye right, something’s got tae change. The whole system is fucked. Everybody should huv a hoose to live in.’

He smacked his lips as he finished the supper. Walking across and putting the detritus into the bin, and ambled back to stand beside me. ‘Well, I’m no gonnae change. The government isnae gonnae change. The council urnae gonnae change.’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘That means yeh’ll need tae change. Nae mair chips or yeh’ll get fat as fuck.’

A police van slowed as it passed, and I sucked in my breath. Local Joe held a hand up and waved.

‘Cunts,’ I whispered.

‘Aye, but it’s no their fault.’

He whistled through the gap in his teeth the Talking Heads’ tune, before screeching about a shotgun shack and having a beautiful house and a beautiful car, and you ask yerself how did I get tae Bearsden?  Local Joe was taking the piss out of me.

‘Yeh no want anything, then? I asked.

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’  

‘Sorry, I mean, apart fae a bed for the night?’

 ‘Dolly Parton, I like Dolly Parton and the blonde hair and her big humongous tits. But apart fae that I’m pretty well sorted. Don’t suppose yeh can sort that for me?’

‘Nah,’ I admitted, shuffling my feet back and forth to keep them warm. ‘I’m aw oot of Dollies, but I can get yeh mair chips.’ I looked over to check if Jim was back at the van.  

‘I maybe take yeh up on that.’

He wedged the plastic bag in the bin and hung his grab-stick beside it. We cut across the square to the Station.

‘There is wan thing I’d like,’ he admitted.

I was thinking ahead, I’d probably about £35 cash in my wallet and some small change. But I’d also had my bankcard.

‘My wee daughter,’ he said. ‘Well, no so wee noo. I’ll ne’er see her getting married. But I member when she made her First Communion in her wee white dress.  The organ and that hymn, Ave Marie.  The wee boys’ procession first. Gallus as fuck. Behind they came the girls.  My wee lassie. Wae clasped haunds they advanced step by step to the altar, wae aw the candles lit up. They knelt at the first step. The priest shuffled along, wae the altar boys dancing attendant. Turning this way and that.  Wan by wan they received the Host. Then they returned to their seats in the same order.’

We stopped to cross the road and he put his hand on my arm to stop me walking in front of a Black Hackney cab.

He carried on talking. ‘I mean, I thought it was a lot of shite. But yeh know wae my daughter being there, it was the most wonderful thing in the world. Her wee dress, and her wee excited face trying tae be Holy.When the priest went tae gie her the Host, I leaned o’er tae. And when she swallowed the Host, I swallowed tae. It’s the nearest thing I’ve ever came tae Grace.’

Jim was standing beside the van, watching us come up the hill. He’d the engine running to keep it warm.   

‘So yeh want tae see yer daughter again?’ I asked.

‘Oh, no,’ he was quick to put me right. ‘Far too late for that. I jist hope wan day, she remembers who I was.’