Lonie44

Lonie didn’t sleep much. He kept inspecting the luminous dials of Big Ben by his bedside, tossing and turning and expecting to be sleeping. He thought he heard the alarm ringing, but when he looked up at the clock from underneath the fog of his blankets, it was only three sixteen am. He figured it would just be better to get up and have a fag. He was worried that he wasn’t getting enough sleep. He tapped fag ash into the boulder of ashtray at his feet. There was a gnawing worry in his gut he was suffering from false- alarm- clock syndrome. The shadows in the kitchen looked much the same. He moved his head from side to side. Nothing rattled. Everything stayed in focus, but maybe that was how it started for Father Campbell –hearing alarm clocks and dreaming about not sleeping. Lonie jumped back into bed and tucked the blankets up around his ears, a trick he’d learned when he was a boy. Bleary-eyed, an hour later, he reached for the alarm clock when it started ringing and wished it was Saturday and he’d a day off.

Lonie had a cup of tea in the kitchen area at work. Then he had a cup of coffee with a cheese sandwich, with Davy Brown, whilst waiting for Audrey to appear. He sat in his window seat and Davy stood pressed near the door. Lonie had done most of the talking. He’d run a few scenarios of what had happened with Audrey’s huffiness. They’d both agreed he’d lacked tact. The best thing he could do would be to apologise and say it was all his fault even though it wasn’t. Women, they agreed, liked that kind of thing.

‘Give her a bit of responsibility,’ advised Davy.

‘Whit, you think I should give her a punty up the tree in front of me, when we’re looking for that belt?’ Lonie smiled, to show he was joking, but it was a thought.

‘You’ll need to take a cameraman for the actual photo. Union rules.’ Davy lit a fag and shrugged at the same time.

‘Ah’m no’ takin’ that fat useless fuck Russell.’ Lonie’s face was a crab apple. ‘All he’ll do is moan about how cold it is, moan about how wet it is and how he doesnae like getting his shoes dirty. When he’s no’ moaning about that he’ll moan about how there isn’t enough light and try to get all technical on me, as if pointing a camera and clicking a button is the equivalent of a moon landing.’

Davy passed him a cigarette out of his packet to calm him down. ‘There’s no way round it.’

But no way round it was just the kind of curve of the bend that drove Lonie to extremes. ‘Ah’d rather do a charcoal drawing than take that useless cunt.’ He puffed furiously on his newly lit fag. ‘Whit if Ah get one of those little box cameras, whit do you call them again, Kodak’s and take a photo myself?’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier just taking Russell along with you?’ Davy’s words lacked conviction.

‘No’ it wouldnae.’ Lonie’s answered resolutely.

‘Well, have you got a Kodak camera?’ Davy tried to trick him with logic. A blonde-bobbed haired office girl came into the kitchen. They stood down, their conversation put on hold. Smiling at both of them she’d made a cup of tea and quickly left the smoke filled room.

‘Audrey will have a camera. She’s the type that would have a Kodak.’ Lonie’s forehead creased. He looked suspiciously at Davy. ‘You don’t have a camera, do you?’

Davy took a nip out of his fag and cleared his throat, and flicked the dout into the sink. He ran the cold water to put it out. ‘I might have.’

Lonie stood up and opened one of the cupboards near him. He’d already checked it, but was feeling a big peckish. ‘It’s no’ a trick question. You either have a camera, or you don’t?’ He glanced at Davy.

‘I’ve got one.’ Davy’s voice rose. He was quick to point out: ‘Not a Kodak. One of those old box cameras.’

Lonie found nothing worth eating, a packet of biscuits scrunched up in the highest shelf. He flung his neck back and emptied the crumbs at the bottom of the packet into his mouth. There was enough of the memory of a cheesy Tuc taste to have him chewing and wiping at his mouth. He yawned and, holding his hand up to his mouth, flicked at the switch on the kettle. ‘Where is it?’

‘What?’ Davy was momentarily confused. ‘The camera? It’s in the house Why?’

Lonie searched the cupboard nearest the sink where he knew there was a stash of Tetley’s. ‘You want tea?’ Davy nodded that he didn’t. ‘Cause we could go and get your camera.’

Davy scratched at the back of his head uneasily. ‘I don’t know if it works.’

The kettle boiled. Lonie saving energy flicked the switch off. ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out.’ He pushed past Davy to rinse his mug and poured the boiling water into it. Then he went scouting and banging the cupboards looking for sugar.

‘But it’s in my house,’ Davy complained.

‘Well you’re finished for the night.’ Lonie found the stash of Tate and Lyle sugar. He licked the spoon he’d been using clean before he dug in. ‘And you don’t live far.’ Lonie turned to look at his friend and waved the tea-spoon at him. ‘Whit you hidin’? You got some old fat bird stayin’ with you?’

Davy stuck his chest out like pigeon. ‘Nah, not right now. But I’m leaving soon.’ He sounded apologetic. ‘I could bring it in tomorrow?’

Lonie sipped at his tea. There was no milk in the fridge. He added more sugar, whilst he was considering this. ‘Nah. Ah’ll just come home with you.’

‘What about Audrey?’

‘Fuck.’ Lonie tapped his forehead. ‘Ah forgot all about her. We’ll just leave her a note, tellin’ her to meet me at the park.’

Rain trickled down Lonie’s back as he stood outside The Glasownian building and had a fag, he was waiting for Davy. He wrapped his coat round him, but after the cold snap left it unbuttoned. Davy did all his toggles up and pulled up his hood and shuffled along beside him. He lived on Argyle Street near the city-centre; usually he’d have got a bus home, or when he felt particularly flush, a taxi. Lonie poo-poohed the idea of standing at a bus stop and, as he’d little money, insisted they’d save time if they walked.

Davy lived in a better class of tenement than Lonie, built for the bourgeoisie need of the middle classes to have an inside toilet. There was no coal fire to meet then, or create the illusion of cosy warmth. The smell of cat piss and cat litter trays dotted the hallway. Lonie was unnerved by the meowing of cat call, but it didn’t show on his face, as an unruly gang of them waited on every corner to ambush them.

‘How’s my little chooks.’ Davy bent down to pet the purring furballs nudging against his legs, twisting figures of eights at his ankles and feet.

Chooks or no chooks. Lonie tried to flick them away and danced round them as they stepped their way past the malcontents and along the hall. But the living room was worse, awash with cats, their ears pricking up as Davy pushed open the door. An orange couch in the living room, all fake tan and no leather seemed to be the headquarters of snake like tails and swivelling tuffs of mangy fur. Davy picked up a small ginger cat and wiped his long chin on its head, as some kind of ritual pacifier, as it purred contentment. Another black and white tabby jumped at his coat and hung on by its claws before gravity dropped it gently onto the stained grey linoleum. Davy flicked on one bar of the electric fire. ‘Take a seat and I’ll make us a cuppa.’ He indicated the couch.

Lonie wasn’t sure. He edged towards the couch, where the biggest and fattest cat, stretched its long body, looked up at him and hissed. Davy laughed. But he did swat it away to allow Lonie to sit down. When Davy was away the fat cat came back to claim its seat. He tried shooing it away, but it ignored him and wandered onto his lap and spread itself out, like a ball game. Lonie tried standing up, but any movement of his legs and the cat’s claws began to dig into the acrylic of his black trousers. He was glad to see Davy returning with two mugs of tea.

‘Tiggy.’ Davy spoke to the cat and it jumped off Lonie’s lap and onto the floor.

‘Nae biscuits?’ Lonie swirled his mug around and took a gulp.

‘There’s some in the kitchen.’ Davy turned towards the door.

‘Nah, nah, it’s alright.’ Lonie burnt his mouth with scalding hot tea, in his urge to reassure him.

‘You sure?’ Davy flicked a cat off the seat near the electric fire. He sat down, but two more cats appeared from beneath the legs of the chair and jumped onto his lap.

‘What kinda camera is it you’ve got then?’ Lonie flung his tea back to finish it. He wanted to get down to business and out of the cat house.

Davy stroked at the tufts of fur on the cat’s heads. ‘Don’t know. Some green things. It’s in that chest of drawers behind you.’ Their purring seemed to relax him, so that he sank into his chair.

Lonie watched his feet as he stood up and navigated his way around the couch to the mahogany chest of drawers. ‘Which drawer’s it in?’ Lonie looked towards the window. Yellowing curtains hung like blotting paper, keeping out daylight. ‘Can we no’ open the curtains? Get a bit of light in.’ He mumbled, ‘or maybe even a window?’

‘It’s in the top drawer.’ Davy directed him from his seat.

Lonie pulled out a camera with a sea-green band at the top. His mouth puckered in disappointment. ‘Is this it? A Diana,’ he sneered.

‘Aye, somebody gave me it. You look through that bit there,’ Davy advised him. ‘And then you…’

Lonie looked through the viewfinder and clicked, but Davy held his hand up to block his shot. ‘Seems to be workin’?’ He flipped the lens over and looked at it. ‘Are you sure there’s film in it?’

‘Aye, I think so. I got some film with it.’ The cats rolled off him as he stood up. ‘If you want to take another photo take one of Tiggy.’

‘Right.’ Lonie hung the camera around his neck, but then thinking that was a bit wankish, took his fags out of his pocket and stuffed it in instead. ‘Got you.’ He reached for his fags and handed one to Davy. When they’d both lit up, Lonie apologised. ‘Ah don’t like gettin’ my photo taken either. Ah mean A’ve got an excuse. God made me ugly for a reason…You don’t happen to have an old belt lying about, do you? My trousers keep slippin’ down.’

‘I’m sure I have somewhere. I’ll just go and look.’ Cat’s started meowing and pining like Davy was the Pied Piper as he made his way into the hall. He shouted back into the living room. ‘You want more tea?’

Lonie finished his fag and stubbed it out on the heel of his shoes and left the dout on top of the chest of drawers. He felt around the contours of the camera in his pocket and gave it an extra nudge to make sure it wouldn’t fall out. ‘Nah. Ah’m just goin’ to head.’

Davy came back with an old leather belt he’d probably worn about fifty-years ago in the Boy’s Brigade. ‘Will this do?’ He sounded apologetic.

Lonie took it into his hands. ‘That’s perfect.’

‘Try it on,’ Davy urged him.

‘Nah.’ Lonie made a face, as if he was embarrassed. ‘Maybe later.’

‘Sorry.’ Davy found himself embarrassed too and apologising.

‘Audrey’s waiting.’ Lonie shrugged.

‘Right. Right. I’ll see you to the door.’ Davy tried to sound more upbeat.