Clyde Built

There’s silence noo. Mibbe he’s gied up. Christ, he wisnae very persistent. The only sound is the tickin ay the cloack oan the mantelpiece. The door goes again, louder this time: The doorbell first, then a succession ay forceful knocks, like the bloody polis at yer door, so it is. ‘Open up, ye know whit day it is?’ a voice comes through the letterboax.

 'Don’t move, ah’m tellin ye. Ah’m no answerin it.’ Tam sais, grabbin ma airm, haudin me back. Ah keek doon the hallway tae the door. A shadowy blur moves aboot behind the frosted glass ay the hauf moon shaped, panelled windae oan the door.

‘Here, is that him?’ ah whisper.

‘How am ah supposed tae bloody know eh? It’d need tae be some coincidence if it wisnae.’ he sais.

‘Awright, awright. Nae need tae be so sarcastic aboot it.’ ah sais. He puts a finger up tae his mooth. ‘Ssshh.’ he sais, pullin at me. ‘Get back here oot the waiy, he’ll see ye.’

Ah dae as he asks an we’re staunin, huddled next tae the sideboard in his livin room feart tae bloody breathe an ah get tae thinkin aboot aw the times we’ve hud the gither; times at work at the Forge, an the shipyerds efter that. He wis ma apprentice, ye see? That’s how we goat tae know each other an ended up pals. We stood side by side at the Clydeside work-in in nineteen seventy-wan when Jimmy Reid gave his speech ‘. . . we don’t only build ships on the Clyde, we build men. . .’ an he wis right. The sentiment bloody remains.

We’ve been through enough shite the gither through the years tae be hidin like a couple ay big lassies. ‘Ah’m gaun tae answer it.’ ah sais, an make fur the door.

‘Naw yer no Coyle! Dae as yer bloody telt. Ah’ve no goat the money fur him!’ he sais, grabbin me.

There’s a clatter ay gless boatles fae roon the back. ‘Quick, the windae. He’ll see us.’ he sais, flingin himsel tae the flair.

‘Whit ye bloody playin at ya clown, get up!’ ah sais, turnin tae the windae, an sure enough, he’s there, gawpin in at us, this bloody arsehole, his greasy foreheid smearin the windae. ‘Ah kin see yies!’ he sais, laughin, like we’re weans playin hide an bloody seek. ‘Open the door, ah just want tae talk tae ye!’ he sais, an draps back tae the grun.

‘Right, you.’ ah sais tae Tam, ‘oan yer feet. That’s enough ay the bloody silly buggers fur wan day.’ ah sais, an head fur the door.

Ah take aff, marchin doon the hall, an unloack the mortice then go tae take the chain aff so’s ah kin turn the snib oan the Yale loack. ‘Leave that oan.’ Tam sais, ‘See whit he wants first.’

‘See whit he bloody wants? We know whit he wants!’ ah sais, an dae as he asks, leavin the chain oan. ‘Whit is it yer wantin?’ ah sais, openin the door as far as the chain’ll allow.

‘Whit ye dain? Take the chain aff, ah just want tae talk tae ye. Dae ye think ah couldnae boot the fuckin thing aff its hinges if ah wanted tae?’ he sais. He’s staunin, airms croassed, wae wan ay they big bubble jaykets oan like the bloody Michelin Man. It’s hard tae say where he ends an the jayket begins. Slidin the chain aff, ah open the door. ‘Just whit in the bloody hell dae ye think yer playin at, eh? This is harassment, this!’ ah sais tae the bastart. Boof! Right in there. Ah’m in nae mood fur it; buggered if ah’m puttin up wae it! ‘See this man here, see this man! He’s worth a hunner ay you. Think yer a big man, eh? Doon here extortin money aff folk! Think yer a hard ticket dae ye?’ ah sais tae the swine.

‘You better calm yersel doon auld yin, ye’ll gie yersel a coronary.’ he sais, smirkin. ‘You Tam, ur ye?’

‘Whit de ye mean? Naw ah’m no bloody Tam. Here, Tam is this the bloody swine yer talkin aboot?’ ah sais, steppin tae the side. He comes oot fae behind me, aw timorous, like a wee boay.

‘Naw, that’s no him.’

‘So who ur you, eh? You the hired help? Ye ever thoat aboot gettin a bloody real joab ya half-wit, ye?’ ah sais.

‘You’re startin tae get oan ma tits ya auld goat. Keep it shut.’ he sais, ‘You, hidin behind him, Tam is it? You goat anythin fur me?’

‘Who ur you? Where’s the other wan, the wan wae the eye?’ Tam sais.

‘Ah’ll be dain his collections fae noo oan, did he no say? Must’ve slipped his mind. Anywaiy, ah’ve no goat aw day. It sais here, yer intae him fur three hunner an twinty. Ye goat it?’ he sais, lookin at us studiously fae oer the tap ay his wee notebook.

‘Naw, he’s no goat it! Whit dae ye think it bloody is, eh? He’s oan invalidity benefit fur Christsake. No very clever ur ye? Gien money tae folk that cannae bloody paiy it back!’ ah sais.

‘Ah’m sure ye’ll find a waiy. Ye’d be surprised at how resourceful ye kin be when push comes tae shove.’ he sais, ‘Right, Ye know how this works, eh? This gets put doon as non-paiyment, the balance gets tacked oan tae the principle, so it’ll be another week’s interest oan the lot ay it. Same time next week.’

‘Wait, listen son. There’s goat tae be a waiy we kin work this oot. See, ah’ve no goat that sort ay money lyin aboot.’ Tam sais.

‘No ma problem mate. A word tae the wise, ah’d get a grip ay this thing if ah wis you or it’ll no be long tae we’re comin through that door an emptyin it, an fae whit ah seen through that windae, it’ll no scratch the surface.’ he sais, backin awaiy doon the path.

Tam looks at me an bows his heid, embarrassed. Ashamed. An he’s nae need tae be; nae business being ashamed, neither he hus. It’s no his fault.

He stares intae the middle distance, oot oer the neighbourin gairdens an rooftops, his eyes glazed wae salt watter, silent. His pride’s hurt mare than anythin an that’s worth mare tae a man like Tam than money. Efter a point, it becomes the only measure ay worth ye’ve really goat left.

He’s always been an impetuous yin, right enough, an nae mistake. It’s no the first time ah’ve hud tae bail him oot ay trouble, ah’ll tell ye. ‘Whit ur we gonae dae wae you, eh?’ ah sais tae him, puttin ma haun oan his shooder. He’s shakin like a bloody leaf.