Sharks

There’s still nae answer. Ah’ve been chappin the door noo fur oer five minutes. He’s no answered the phone either. Ah’ve been tryin aw mornin an aw.

He’s no been doon tae the club or The Portland or that. No heard fae him fur days. No since last week, come tae it. He’s no right the noo, ah’m tellin ye. Mare insular an distracted, so he is.

Leanin doon tae the letterboax ah peer through an shout, ‘Tam! Open the bloody door, it’s freezin oot here!’

If he’s flingin me the proverbial deifie then mibbe a bit ay emotional blackmail will convince him tae stoap playin silly buggers an let me in.

There’s still nae answer so ah take a walk roon the back tae see if ah kin see in the windae. He’s gettin me worried noo, ye see. It’s no like him; no like him at aw.

There’s an auld wheelbarra sittin in the coarner ay the gairden next tae the shed, so ah wheel it oer tae the windae. There’s nae chance ah’ll haul the auld bones up there waeoot some sort ay step, ah’ll tell ye.

Ah drag masel up tae see in an he’s sittin there, right enough. Just starin at the tellie, only there’s nothin oan the bloody thing, just thon interference ye get when there’s nae signal; like sittin watchin a blizzard, only less entertainin.

Ah’m hingin oan tae the windae sill, ma fingernails diggin intae the pointed mortar gap at the tap ay the brick, ma left leg aff the wheelbarra, scrapin against the rough-cast tryin tae get some leverage tae reach up an chap it.

The barra’s awfy shoogly, but then, so’s ma legs these days, come tae mention it. Ah reach oot, gettin some contact wae the gless an scuff ma haun doon its surface.

Encouraged by ma success, ah go tae dae it again but the bastarn wheelbarra slips away fae me.

Ah’m bloody arse oer elbow in a heap oan the grun, the barra lyin a few fit awaiy fae me, efter huvin collided wae an assortment ay Barr’s gingies he must be savin fur a rainy day.

Ma back’s loupin, ah’ve tain a sore yin awright, believe you me. Tryin tae catch a breath, ah stare at the low sheet ay clouds flung oer the city sky. Never let it be said, there’s nae romance tae be found in lyin oan yer back oan a dug-shite covered back green, appreciatin the subtle beauty in a cloud strewn, ash grey sky.

Attemptin tae get up, ah collapse again. Ma back keeps bucklin under the strain. Like a bastarn upturned ladybird, so ah um. Nae core strength anymare, ye see? Ready fur the bloody knackers yard, ah’m tellin ye.

Resignin masel tae lyin here aw bastarn night, an mare than likely dyin ay exposure tae the elements, ah hear some footerin aboot comin fae inside the hoose an the keys jinglin ahent the door. ‘Right yous bastarts! Awaiy an get tae fuck! Ah’ve telt yies aboot hingin aboot roon here!’ Tam’s rantin an ravin, wavin aboot a broom haunel.

‘Tam! Doon here! It’s me, Arthur! Gies a haun fur Christ-sake.’

‘Whit the fuck ur ye dain doon there? Wis that you makin aw that racket? Ya bloody clown, ye! Here, gies yer haun.’ he sais, reachin doon tae me.

 

We go in, ben the kitchen an he puts the kettle oan. The place is a bloody riot; ah mean, even mare than usual. He’s tae shift a mountain ay auld plates an pots oot ay the sink tae get watter in the kettle. ‘Here, haud that.’ he sais, haunin me a mug.

‘Ah sincerely hope yer gonnae wash this afore ye put a tea bag an boilin watter in it. It’s goat a bloody beard!’ ah sais, starin, aghast, at the mould gethered in the bottom ay it.

He reluctantly washes it an gets just enough milk oot ay whit’s left in the carton tae make a hauf presentable cup ay tea.

Follien him intae the livin room, ah huv tae dodge the washin hingin oer the sideboard an radiators. There’s auld soaks an breeks flung oer the couch an a smell ay dampness that wid knock ye doon. ‘Ye’ll need tae open the windae Tam. It’s howlin in here, son.’ ah sais tae him, no meanin tae sound dictatorial but at the same time, it needs tae be sais. ‘Whit the bloody hell’s wrang wae ye these days? Yer no lookin efter yersel.’

Ah open the windae wide tae the world, an a fresh blast ay early spring air gies the room an instant atmospheric cleanse, the foul odours at least partially neutralised. Takin a seat oan the couch, ah squeeze masel intae a slither ay free space amongst aw the claes. ‘Whit’s up wae ye pal? Yer no answerin yer phone an ye’ve no been up The Portland or doon the bowlin club. Folk huv been askin fur ye. We need tae stick the gither, you an me. Apart fae you wae Jacqueline an the weans, an me wae Stephanie an young Daniel, aw we’ve goat is each other.’

‘Awright Coyle! Yer an awfy man. Cannae just leave it alane kin ye? Ah’ll tell ye if ye promise no tae go stickin yer oar in. Ah kin deal wae this ma ain waiy.’ he sais, tremulously wae a kinda crack in his voice but he’s tryin no tae let oan.

‘Ah’m in trouble Coyle an ah don’t know whit tae dae.’ he sais, ‘It aw startit a few months ago. They stoapped ma money. Welfare reform they cried it, sais there’ll be others like me. The Government ur clampin doon they sais. Its doon tae the chaingin ay the Invalidity Benefit tae Incapacity Benefit the other year there. They’re sayin ah’m awrite tae work Coyle! A Sixty-three year auld Welder wae a gammy airm. Whit ah’m ah gonnae dae, eh?’

‘Ye never sais anythin Tam. . . still, it’s no the end ay the world. Is that whit this is aw aboot? Lockin yersel awaiy fae the world?’ ah sais, tryin tae allay his fears.

‘Will you let me finish Coyle? That’s you oer the back, that is. Jumpin in thinkin ye know it aw. Naw, that’s no fuckin aw it is. Dae ye think ah’d be that stressed oot oer that? That wis just the beginnin ay it.’

 

‘Oor Jacqueline’s been strugglin fur money an aw, an ye know how ah help her oot here an there when ah kin? Well, the wean needed a new jayket fur the school an she asked if ah could gie her a tap, just till she goat paid, like.

Well, ah didnae huv it tae gie her, did ah? There wis nae chance ah wis gonnae staun by an see her struggle though, ah mean if a grandfaither cannae help oot wae the grandwean’s needs noo an again, whit use is he, eh?

Anywaiy, ah wis in The Portland tellin auld Chic McHendry aboot the situation an he sais the same thing hud happened tae his neighbour. Sixty year auld an hud his Incapacity Benefit stoapped an wis hounded oot the door tae work.

Ah don’t know, ye gie the best years ay yer life tae the bastarts an they hound ye like a common criminal! Ah toiled in the white-hot heat ay the Parkheid Forge an the bloody wild west ay the Yarrow’s shipyard in Scotstoun,  man an boay, makin munitions an ships fur them tae keep a haud ay their colonial conquests. Fur their Empire! An this is how ah’m repaid, eh? It wid scunner ye Coyle, so it wid.

So ah left Chic an went an goat a seat wae The Racing Post, mindin ma ain business, nursin a hauf when somebody pulls oot a seat at the table an sits doon.

Ah know the boay’s face, big stocky fella, goes by the name McNulty. Ye’d know him tae see, big bastarn chib doon his jaw wae a gless eye. Anywaiy, he sais tae me, he couldnae help overhearin me talkin, an how it’s a fuckin liberty messin aboot wae a man ay ma age fur ma money. Sais they’re tryin the same shite wae his auld man an ye just need tae know how tae talk tae them; get up tae speed wae the lingo an that an they’ll soon back doon.

He sais ah reminded him ay his da, in fact, an went intae his poakit an pult oot a wad ay notes.

“Take this the noo.” he sais, “Get the wean his coat fur school an ye kin paiy me back when ye get yer money sorted oot wae the social.” Ah sat there fur a second in disbelief. It sounded genuine, if strange, ye know?

“Naw pal, that’s awfy kind,” ah sais, “but ah couldnae take that, it’s too much.”

“Take it!” he sais, “There’s a hunner an fifty quid there. It’ll help ye oot the noo till ye get back oan yer feet, then we’ll sort it oot, awright?” then he kinda laughed, like a hunner an fifty quid’s fuck all tae him - like he does this sort ay thing aw the time. He slid the notes oer the table an ah put them in ma poakit.’

 

Ah’m sittin here, packin some baccy intae ma pipe, digestin everythin he’s sayin tae me. ‘Whit did ye no come tae me fur if ye were short? Ur we no pals? It wis decent enough ay the fella but ye cannae go takin charity fae strangers. Huv ye paid him back yet?’ Ah kin tell by his demeanour an the hesitation tae answer, that there’s mare tae it than he’s thus far divulged.

 

‘Well, that’s the thing, in’t it? It wisnae charity or a random act ay bloody kindness, efter he gied me it ah sorted oot a few things; a leccy bill ah wis late wae an ah gave Jacquie fifty quid so’s she could get the wean his jayket.

Ah never saw the boay, McNulty again fur a few weeks. Ah wis lookin fur him whenever ah wis in The Portland. Christ, Arthur, ye were wae me maist ay the time.’

‘How wis ah supposed tae know but, eh? You never sais nothin,’ ah sais.

‘Ah just thought he’d make an appearance soon enough, when he needed it back, like. Ah mean, he did say tae gie him it back when ah wis oan ma feet.

Five weeks passed waeoot hide nor hair ay the cunt. Ah’d hauf furgoat aboot it tae tell ye the truth, then wan day oot ay the blue, just as ah get back fae the bools, ah turn roon an he’s staunin there.’

‘So whit happened then, did ye gie him his money back? Don’t tell me ye didnae huv it. . . Fur Christ-sake Tam, ye must’ve known he’d be back at some point.’ ah sais.

‘Aye ah fuckin hud it, well, maist ay it. A hunner poun. Ye always think the worst ay me, Coyle. Dae ye really think ah’d huv the brass neck tae rattle the guy’s dough an no gie him it back? Ah hud a hunner an ah telt him as much; telt him ah’d been lookin oot fur him, drappin in tae The Portland regular, like.

He sais he found that strange cos he’s been lookin oot fur me, made me feel like ah wis at it, know? “Here ye go,” ah sais, “there’s only a hunner there but ma giro goes in next Wednesday noo. . . ah’ll gie ye the rest then if ye want. . . just come by or ah kin meet ye if ye’d prefer.”

He took the money aff me an smiled, flashin they crookit teeth like ah’d just telt him a joke. Starin at me - starin right through me as though ah wisnae even there.

“It’s a start,” he sais. “that’s just another two hunner an seventy-five tae go an we’re aw square.”

Ah didnae know if he wis pullin ma leg or no, so ah startit laughin alang wae him, ye know, nervously.

“Don’t act aw naïve noo Tam,” he sais, addin the hunner poun ah’d gied him tae a bundle fae his poakit. “Interest, auld yin. Ye don’t get nothin fur nothin, every cunt knows that.” he smiled again an ah could tell the bastart wis gettin a kick oot ay it. Sais it’s thirty per cent a week interest. Bog standard stuff, an ah should huv done ma homework afore enterin intae a transaction.

Kin ye believe the swine Coyle?

Five weeks it hud been. He sais he’d let the fact there’s been nae payments so far slide. He stared at me, his good eye mare devoid ay any emotion than the fuckin false wan, an sais nothin. Just hud that fuckin grin oan his face.

“Ye cannae dae this.” ah sais tae him.

He pult a wee notepad oot an licked the nib ay a pencil he wis haudin an startit writin it doon. Then he sais that cos another week will huv passed afore ah seen him again, he’d be addin another week’s interest, amountin tae three hunner an twinty quid! Where ah’m ah gonae get that, eh? Ah’m askin ye, where?’

‘So, when wis this? Here, Tam, it’s bloody Wednesday the day!’ ah sais.

'Noo the penny bloody draps, eh? Whit dae ye think ah’m dain sittin here fur, in the dark, like the bastarn invisible man?’

The rusty hinges fae the gate intae the gairden squeak an it bangs aff the fence as it slams shut. Tam sits bolt upright, listenin intently. ‘Don’t make a sound.’ he sais.