Ugly Puggly 54

I dreamt about my mum. Usually, she was giving me something, but it was her I wanted and not the gift. I clung to her legs.  My bladder got me up. I wandered dazed into the toilet, knowing I wouldn’t get back to sleep. Bloodshot eyes in the mirror. And I’d already finished peeing before I started. I was at that age where my body didn’t ask to stick or twist. Just kept my eyes on the lavvy-pan and don’t pee on the gaps between the lino where the floorboards were spongy was the best I could hope for.

Quarter to four. I pulled on my work clothes as quietly as I could and went downstairs. Most mornings Ugly Puggly was sitting in his armchair with a light behind his head. The sole of his boot pushed against the table and a scattering of annotated paper lapped against the chair.

‘Gettin anywhere?’ I asked.  

He smiled shyly and straightened his back as he shifted his position. ‘Bits and pieces.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve got a meeting wae that Professor at Glasgow Uni on Wednesday—I wiz hopin yed gie us a lift.’

‘Whit time?’

‘Lunchtime. 1.50 pm.’

I sucked in my breath. ‘Tricky, but I can put in for a holiday that day.’

‘Yer just back.’

‘You’d never make it as a shop steward,’ I told him. ‘Cause yer sick doesnae mean you loss yer holidays. That’s like saying the big bosses don’t get their bonuses when they always fuck up.’

‘I never thought of that,’ he admitted. He got up from his chair and waded through paper. ‘You want me to make yer porridge?’

‘I don’t mind.’ I followed him through to the kitchen. We heard the windmill creaking as it turned. The window framed daylight playing in the trees. He had me on a health- kick since I told him my guts were killing me. He’d corrected me and said booze was killing me, but I’d made inroads.

He put the kettle on and took down loose oats in a glass jar from the shelf. He poured them into a dish, added milk and salt and put it into the microwave for a minute. Stirring it and putting it back in again.

I sat at the table and he put the plate in front of me and gave me a spoon.

‘How’s the meetings goin?’ he asked.

I tasted the porridge. He didn’t put in enough salt for my liking. ‘No bad,’ I admitted. ‘Step 1, admit I’m no a fuckin disease but I um an alcoholic.’ My voice trailed off. ‘And admit that I cannae dae anythin about it—and I need to rely on a higher power.’

I jerked my head around to see if he was laughing, but he just sipped at his black tea.

I started rambling on, to justify myself. ‘I’ve got this sponsor guy, it’s a bit like the cub scouts. You urnae allowed tae go anywhere yersel. He’s been through the same kinda things. And yeh can tell him anythin.’

I shook my head and took a mouthful of porridge, waving the spoon to conduct the conversation. ‘Obviously, I cannae tell him absolutely everythin. I cannae tell im, we’ve killed a gangster, buried im under the porch, dug im up, cut im up and hid im in a coffin that might well have been his mum’s.’

‘That’s true,’ said Ugly Puggly, laughing. ‘Yeh cannae tell im that. I’m sure he’d huv read about it in the papers if somethin hud went wrang.’ He finished his tea. ‘But yer daeing good work—and it is work, lookin inside yersel and seein whit comes oot.’

I toyed with what was left of the porridge. I wasn’t keen, it was too close to the bone to healthy eating. I’d have preferred a fry-up, but didn’t want to hurt Ugly Puggly’s feelings. ‘Aye,’ I told him, ‘My sponsor ‘s called Jim tae. Yer no supposed to tell anybody yer second name. But yeh know me, I’m a super-grass. It’s Jim Sweeney. We went tae school wae im. Member?’

‘Nah,’ Ugly Puggly shook his head.

‘Aye, yeh dae. He’d hair right doon to his shoulders. Thick hair, like a lassie’s. If it was the school dance ye’d have tapped him on the back. And then when he turned roon, you’d have said, “oh, for fuck sake!”

‘He hud they teeth. Member the teeth. Hammer House of Horror. They used tae play scary music when yeh saw them. That was before the time everybody got their teeth oot on their fourteenth birthday. And yeh got new plastic wans as a present fae yer ma. Before yeh left school. Before yeh started work and smoked and drank yersel tae death. Well, he missed that party, which was a pity for im, because his buck teeth were best served in a glass.’

Ugly Puggly leaned forward as he listened and cocked his head. He was good at listening. I hadn’t really thought about that, but now I’d become more introspective. I recognised it for what it was, which was an offering of empathy and friendship. We were no longer counting the days until the police came to the door, but we were still listening.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Still don’t recognise im.’

‘Och, doesnae matter. They call im wee Jim noo. And I’m big Jim. Anybody under five-six is wee. But yeh know whit it’s like when the gaffers try and put somebody doon, they call them wee.’ I put on a stern face and voice. “I hud tae let that wee guy go”—and the wee guy ‘s six-foot-six. But they like to huv their boot on yer neck.’

‘So can yeh gie me a lift then?’ Ugly Puggly asked.

‘Aye, I’ve already told yeh.’ I got up and washed my mug in the sink and flicked on the kettle. ‘It’s jist a matter of gettin it sorted. I said tae the playboy about my AA stuff. Told im about Step 8, making a list of aw the people I’d wronged and try make amends. So I said tae im in the spirit of reconciliation that I was sorry he was an arsehole, but I recognised it wisnae his fault.’

‘Charming,’ said Ugly Puggly.

I poured the boiling water into my cup. Waited, before taking a sip to test it wasn’t too hot. ‘Aye, he didnae like it. But the truth hurts. I know that noo.’