Ugly Puggly 94

A crunching sound, metal on metal. My foot almost to the floor on the brake, motoring down Mountblow Hill. At the end of the fence where the perimeter of the golf course was fenced in and the road sign flashed on and off telling you to slow down and keep it under thirty-miles-per hour, which really meant thirty-five to forty, my phone rang, again. Wedged in my side pocket, I took my eyes off the road. A bright-eyed fox pitter-pattered across the main road at the Park gates. I swerved to other side of the road. And back again without hitting the bus for Greenock that was coming up the other way.

I was glad of roadworks and hit traffic cones. I jerked to a halt behind another van. Whiplashed. My heart was going that fast I could have played the full ninety minutes in an Old Firm game.

The phone rang again. I grabbed at it, all thumbs, but I was savvy enough to check the wing mirrors and see if the police were behind me. I’d tried to kill myself and failed. Tried not to kill myself and almost succeeded. Up until now it was a score draw.

‘Hallo!’ I shouted into the phone as I was at the top of the Himalayas with a megaphone at my mouth. I sneaked a look at the screen and found out it was wee Jim and not Ugly Puggly.

The traffic light changed to green and I threw the phone into the seat next to me. I could hear wee Jim also shouting, ‘Hallo! Hallo!’

I hadn’t heard so many Hallo, Hallos since I’d been to Ibrox and we were the Billy Boys was the response of tens of thousands, and they weren’t on the phone.

I parked in beside the Terminus store. ‘It’s me,’ I told him.

‘I thought you were away.’

‘Aye I wiz.’ A note of excitement in my voice. ‘I thought it was Ugly Puggly.’

‘Well, it’s no.’ He sounded downbeat. Didn’t express surprise about a dead man phoning me. ‘I wiz just wonderin, after our last conversation, if you fancied goin tae a meetin the morra?’

‘I’m no sure.’

‘Whit’s there no to be sure about?’

‘Dunno. Everythin that’s been happenin.’

‘Fuck aff. Nothin’s been happenin that’s already happened. Even if yer knob falls aff, you glue it back on again. Yeh get up and get tae a meetin. We’re no jist a bunch o old guys sittin about moping about the past or about who’s got the biggest car. We’re creatin our future—without drinkin. Every wan o us has a part tae play. And if yer no there for yersel. Be there for somebody else. Don’t be a bigger knob than yeh ur.’

I laughed. ‘Thanks for that Jim. I needed that.’

He hummed and hawed seemed unsure.

‘Honest, I’m on my way hame. But I’ll come and pick you up the morra.’ I sighed, ‘It’s jist the playboy’s new boyfriend’s pissing me aff a bit.’

‘Simple, if somebody’s pissin on yeh, move oot the road.’ His parting words, ‘See yeh the morra. Let go and let god.’ Then he hung up.

The phone remained warm in my hand. I grinned as I phoned Ugly Puggly. It cut directly to his answering machine. But even that didn’t put me in a bad mood.

Parking back in the bay below Molly’s window, I chewed on a chip from the pile of suppers I’d bought and took them upstairs in all their vinegar glory. I figured they might not be glad to see me, but they’d be glad to see the food I’d brought. And it would stop Molly asking any awkward questions.

Molly went to get knives and forks and plates, but Darrell and Dave tucked in like such niceties were redundant. I picked at a bit of fish. Molly had a bit of black pudding, but they scoffed the rest. I swept the polystyrene packaging to my side of the table in case it had bite marks.

‘We’ve got the tour organised,’ Darrel informed us while finishing the last of the bottle.

‘I’ll make coffee,’ Molly got up from the table. She rubbed at my shoulder. I helped her carry the debris into the kitchen, and whispered to her, ‘Whit did yeh say coffee for and no tea?’

She stuck the rubbish in a black bag and kicked it under the worktop. ‘Dunno,’ she admitted.

‘Who does he hink he is, AC/DC, fuckin tour?’

‘They seem happy enough.’

‘Pair o cunts.’

She shook her head and looked in to see if they’d heard. But they were having one of those earnest conversations only drunk people could have without having sex, but they were having sex, which somehow made it worse.

I changed the subject. ‘Ugly Puggly phoned me.’

She’d flicked the kettle on and had the coffee cups set beside patterned saucers and silver teaspoons, but she almost knocked over the sugar bowl.   

‘Whit?’ And in one breath, cried, ‘Whit dae say?’ In a shrill voice she cut through their conversation. ‘Howard’s phoned. He’s awright.’

Dave started greeting and Darrel put an arm around his shoulder and cuddled him tight, cooing at him as if he was a baby.

‘I knew he’d be fine,’ bawled Dave. ‘Jist knew it.’

‘That’s great news.’ Darrell gave such a fake smile, if it had fallen to the floor it would never have been found again alive this side of a wanted poster. ‘I’m so delighted—for you!’

Molly poured the coffees and searched for the biscuits.  I hated to deflate her good mood. ‘I didnae actually speak tae im.’

The playboy stopped sobbing and glared at me. Darrell flashed his teeth, but quickly shut his mouth and rubbed at his chin.

‘He phoned me, but I was daein somethin and couldnae answer.’

Molly nailed me with a stare. ‘Whit were you daeing that you couldnae answer?’

‘Nothin much,’ it sounded inadequate. ‘Cannae mind.’

Darrell began to enjoy himself cross-examining me in his moneyed tones. ‘So, if I understand correctly, your missing friend phoned you? But you cannot remember why he phoned, where you were, or if indeed, he did phone you?’

I remembered wee Jim’s advice. If somebody was pissing on you, get out of the road. I pulled my ALBA mobile out of my pocket and handed it to Molly. ‘Look, scroll doon. And it’ll tell yeh when he phoned.’

She was having trouble working my phone. I took it off her and showed her how to do it. ‘There’s it there.’ Confirmation. I tried not to sound self-satisfied.

‘You’ll need to report it to the police,’ Darrell reminded me.