As a game of football for Bas the striker, his yellow carding was the only elation during the whole dull kick about. Add to the fact that it was Tombo's skiff off a defender's arm seen as the only goal by the referee. Mind you, as Bas had said, the ref was as blind as a need-specs advert and had not noticed that dangling leg inviting Bas's blood-rush boot at it. And, at the time of the so-called goal, was so iced by impartiality that he wished some point to the afternoon and as Bas's booking had not given that, the Ref had let Tombo's goal stand. Truth was that Bas's could not care a fart for his heart was not in a game where his brain never down into his feet stuck as it was somewhere in his shorts because although Senga was not there, the ususal-usuals were knee-crimping the pitch edge against a north-east nip from out the Grampians, and along with those lippy, side-line come-ons, was a new spark swaying her oscillations as good as it gets and just asking for a pass.
'Aye, Bas,' Shona got the first leg pull in as he left the pitch, 'no think - scuff it in the net and no ower the bar?'
'Me an bars, eh, Shona?' He raised his eyes in mock surprise. 'Scuffin? Which net are you wantin in?'
'As if.' She scissored him a distaff of a spindle in the air with one finger that made him laugh:
'Ha-ha - try two and away snip your loose-ends, Shona.'
Cold-shouldered by Shona's frayed edges, he went for the easy pass, the smooth-down by asking if she and the others were going down the Black Bull that night and if they were, was their new friend coming with them?
'Which new friend's that then, Bas?'
'The tanned one wi legs to weave between.' Bass notes, low reverberations, throaty as his squeeze-eyed scan around to point her out, annoyed Shona. As for the others, turned them into a wing of gulls, a preen of feathers all caught up in gleams of light where, equally indistinguishable from one another, he could not see the one he meant. 'Yanking me are you, eh, Shona - or hoping to tan her? One of your poppa's is she? Just bring her along tonight and I'll glide her home.'
'See you, Bas ...' She felt his heat that drew the offside from her, saw his striking looks that carried her away despite the strip she wore, knew his nod as the crashing header to undo frail defences but the snell wind fetched the salt tear to her eye. 'Aye, see you Bas, like there's a name for you.'
'Aye,' he was in quick as a poacher's instinct, 'a striker!' He exhaled victorious.
That night before going out sprayed in a mist of butane parfum, sharp and dry the heady side of cloying, he had another laugh but this time at his mum's expense. A brownish spider crawled from out the TV corner and she asked him to humanely deal with it. Bad luck to kill a spider, she told him and got him warming up a scoffing at her old Scot's superstitions. All the same, he took a coaster and slid a notcher over it but not clinically. The soft carpet cushioned the life of it as, outside the coaster's edge, a leg fluttered in a pain beyond his empathy and he plucked it off. Still pulsing its heartbeat, he placed the leg on Mum's thigh, causing a shudder and a scream the like of which should have had the neighbours through the wall but for the fact they were there to keep them all apart.
'Barry!' She implored the light of her heart. 'Gonnae no dae thaat? Christ, is that the way yer treatin Senga?'
'Of course not - not that is, ifin she didnae go bending backwards asking for it.'
'Bar-ray!'
The laugh on her and chuckle down on Senga in his mind, he went back to the coaster only to see the spider stepping out from under its sudden mischance. It was unbalanced by the missing leg but, eyes in the back of its head, his motion had it scurrying back to the TV corner. Into the recess, his hand ventured only to find fine viscous filaments coating his hand, which, on wiping them on the tail of his shirt, remained there sticky. The spider was lost into the dark escutcheon of its fine-threaded corner but he satisfied himself in the defilement of the hair-like webs that further stuck unseen to clothing as he wiped the incident off. Referring to the dusty smell noted in the corner, he told his mother to clean in there some day.
'Job for a man that - shifting telly.'
'Oh is it?' He crooned her heart stings with a smile then reached to the coffee table for her purse. 'Mum, gie us forty.'
Forty pounds was all she had to pay day and he had not paid back last week's handout, never anything from him but promises and smiles - he'd clean behind the telly later and think of cash machine charge. She handed over forty pounds but told him that she would clean the corner.
'I couldnae trust no' to kill the spider, could I Barry?'
'Kill a spider? Aye, why no?'
When he entered the Black Bull, the place buzzed two drinks ahead of him. He spotted Tombo with Shona and the others over in the usual corner. The look on Shona eyeing Senga sent a rye sniff down the nose and thoughts of spares at weddings. Ordering a drink, he thought about going over and latching himself on Senga only the last time with her it was like - devour him - oven's warming again - where's the wedding cake - Ba-as-hmm? That thought caught him on a softie unsure about the risk of going further. So, he pressed it up against the bar, watched Kate pour his pint and eyed his friends through the gantry mirror. He was looking for her, the bronzy one, but she was not there. By the time the pint got to him, the head was flat but Kate gassed it up and he joined the others.
'Hiya, Senga, you werenae doun the match the day,' he said settling himself beside her, giving her thigh a pat and a squeeze, looking for reaction in her face. She smiled.
'Had to be with Maya so that Mum would take her the night.'
'Oh, aye - so then, how's Maya?' He sipped his drink with eyes lipping to where, witch-eye-stitching him, Shona glowered. 'She at the nursery yet?'
'When's the last time you saw Maya?'
'Took her guising at Halloween - no' mind?'
'She was at the Nursery then - you no' mind?'
'Oh!' He sounded surprised.
'An' ye forgot her Christmas.'
'I was deer fencing up by Invergarry.'
'Aye, so you say.'
'Aye!'
'Aye Bas, but she is your lassie,' she purred him soft lashes then, seeing the doubting look he gave, brought out claws.' You ken fine Ah was finished wi' yon Tombo.'
'Oh, Ah do, do Ah?'
'Yes,' she sighed and gave the Auld Lang Syne. 'Ye ken Maya likes to call ya Dad.'
He took that in on a nip and then decided:
'So, whistle it, Senga - right? Maya's neat, ken, but Bas is fine wi' me.'
That left him sipping the smug look from Shona. The glass left his lip with a smile. 'No' brought yer pal then?' He asked her.
'Who's that then?'
'Mind I telt ye? The foreign one - legs ye'd wrap aroon yer face, like I would, nae probs.'
She gave him a queer-like look as if the heads and tales of his pound coin did not line up. Fine by him but for the fact, Senga and the pack, concurred with Shona and that he was out the den and there was no dark, leggy bitch to be sniffing. Senga smelt nice, sweet with undertones of woody smoke, but, well-huffed with him by now, she denied and hurt his senses by shimmying closer to Shona. Snippy's turn to light up her face, Shona suggesting to Senga they should step outside for a smoke although, not meaning that as an open invitation to all, her shoulders drooped when three others joined her and Senga. With those left, banter was questionably and all over the place - played yer cards wrong there, eh, dick-heid? - aye, seen the moon tonight? - what red, think that was the reason? - wasnae red, it was full, ken? - aye, silver-bright, no see it? - no yer day for scoring, geddit?
'So, eh, what wes talking about here?' Bas asked.
'Hae ye seen that moon out there?' Shona exclaimed ahead of the others returning. It seemed so little time for them to be coming back smelling of a smog caught between hell and back. 'Youse could read a book by it.'
'Huh, you read?' Bas asked, ' Christ, youse cannae figure oot the picture on a fag pack.' The others shifted uneasy in their seats. On the till at Lidl's, Shona could read bar codes when she saw them. They knew that, he knew
that because, in and out of each other's pockets to see how comfort fitted, some dirt had to stick beneath nails. Fact was or spin to suit him, he saw Maya his and Tombo's. The girl had all her mother's looks so both lads made no fuss. Tonight, old feelings flaring for Senga and Bas felt particular about the company she might keep. 'Aye, right, Shona, ya hure ya. Hey, lads, gonnae check her palms - like make sure she's no' turned werewolf as well as fanny stanking.'
Not always sapphic, Shona never given the hint of payment expected and for this she was owed favours. Accoringly, they sidelined Barry leaving him drinking on the edge. Shots followed pints freely enough bought in turn but backs were hard to thank. Time passed in the record of froth rings wearily supped shoulder-hexed. Bending over his mobile he trolled the threads of Shona's interfacing trying to track down the diaphanous beauty he sought in her likes. It left him cloudier than ever and with only the bar room to engage suddenly from the muddle, hung like a web in a corner unseen, the mystery materialised.
Downing a shot and mojo refreshed, he bar-weaved the easy lob in his head and so open was the goal, he had her arrowed before reaching. Dark skin, hair raven-gloss, coal irises alight in moon-whites, her long silver-shine of legs balanced below a short skirt so tight it cruised her form tighter than tention in his groin. Up close, her neat black top smelt of sweets and floral spray and with that cute scent up his nose, maybe she was younger than first thought - not that he would be holding age or how she smelt against her.
'Hi, don't see many of your sort in here?' It was toe-punt over the bar again.
'There's a name for the likes of you,' she said, forehead-creasing a wee upset.
'Aw-fugh! Ah'm not like ... Like ken ... That's no my way.'
'No? Go on then, what's your way - twisted?' She smiled on par with where's your leg to stand on. Red-faced he tried again as if foul awarded him.
'No straight up,' he fluffed his shot.
'One more crack and that's your lot.'
'Aye, right, sorry, fair enough. Look, can I buy you a drink, that is if you do - drink that is being as your what - Asian?'
'No, Scottish.'
'Fugh me again, eh? Foot and mouth.'
However, it seemed that from now on he could not place a foot wrong as far as she was concerned, and as for mouth:
'Voddie-coke.'
'Come again?'
'Voddie-coke,' she emphasised. 'Get us a voddie-coke - okay?' She needled him a look like it should be fine, snaked her curves to the bar and gave a puckish grin.
'Aye, sure ... Er, what's your name?'
It turned out her name was Neith, though he asked if did she mean Leith but no, the name was Neith. Her dad had been Egyptian but not to go there, as her Mum had on a fortnight once in Belek, Anatalya.
'Turkey?'
'Aye, so the story goes.'
'So how long ago was that?'
'How long ago would you want it to be?'
He knew his answer to that but, other than being smaller in stature than him, it was hard to gauge her age. One way caught glancing down the bar; she probably was under-age to be there. Catching her in a head-tilt angling up a smile at him, then he b
became the schoolboy crushed on teacher.
'So, why she call you Neith?'
'Mhm - is that a problem for you?'
'No.'
'Then get us another voddie-coke.'
'You no' got a bag then?'
'Yeah,' she said displaying her black shoulder sling, 'get us drink then.' Oval shaped it dandled at her side suspended on a slender shoulder strap. Silver beads on a field of black radiated from a central point in concentric circles. Large enough to hold something weighty making it caress the curve of her hip, it did not seem to hold a purse, so he bought another round.
Knocking that back, it transpired Neith was still at school, Fifth Year, so the wee panic sweat dried on Bas's back. The thing was, she told him, like Maths was really her thing. There was laughter in her throat, so it was hard for him to follow what she said, other than it was her fault really, but she did not want to fail.
'Naa, not you,' he stated no sure what she would fail.
'For real - you think that?' Neith asked her voice like an excuse of silliness rippling into giggles. She slipped her drink then let him drink her eyes. 'Hmm - want to go outside?'
'Don't smoke - do you?'
'Not per se ... But you never know - huh-hmm?'
'Aye, sure-but .... But are youse no' here wi' someone?' A dead faintness took him, a trembling in which her gossamer touch alighing soft on his hand, steadied him. It made her seem older and time vanished. Next, he was outside under the inky sky where, halogen-bright with a ring defused around it, a full moon silvered her undertones of earthiness. If there were stars up there, he would need to app Night Sky because the moon swam within Neith's eyes and she spun him in smile beyond his ken. Taking a deep breath of cold night air, it hit him like a need for nicotine perfumed by the craving breezed off her.
'Take me to the park,' she sighed. The flick of his head set the tone of his question. In reply, teetered on dippy-legs and laughing girly-tunes, she sing-songed in his face. 'You messed like mega-non-Ronaldo, so you did, and should have been set off. You could have broken that guy's leg.'
Then the nervous young thing finger-poked his shoulder. Something, he decided, needed shown how the doings done to set her right. The pitch was not far away and he had keys to the changing rooms. He winged his arm around her waist, cloaked her in mature musk and, taking his touch from thereon down, took advantage. She giggled and squealed down the road out of the reach of his hand. Hot on her tail with two steps taken, the third opened the ground and he stumbled. With a steel-like hold, she saved him splaying nose-first on the pavement. Flash before his eyes numbed the seconds as a winding would in which, the strength of her amazed him. Even if she worked those pecs, at the angle that caught the pair of them should have toppled both.
'Slorry,' he slurrred then thought to try again but the world span before him or rather he whirled threaded from a wire, blanking out and in beneath the wheeling moon until he found himself prostrate on the damp and cold.
'Come on silly - what'you like?' she said helping him up, brushing his shirt tails of something stuck there and sparking electric tingles through his abdomen in a way he appreciated.
Getting his bearings, he was at the park but strange thing was that one goal still had the net dreeped over it. She asked should that be so, and when he told her no, enquired what to do about it. He could not reach but he could hoist her up. Spindrift light on lifting, surprisingly those slender arms shuttled her along the bar snipping the tapes real easy. Silver legs scissored swishing hisses and snippy-snappy sounds near his ear and, micro-tight, the source of silken desire flashed nose height there before him.
'Ohh-ahh-yah!' Exstatic was her cry where he went, she spooled him in her legs then simpered: 'Aw, what-ya like - naughty? Oh-mhm!' Then she stunned a blow to his face which was a puzzle of just how she could and as the first sting throbbed a warning - airless as threadbare age, salty as blood cornered in his mouth - the next thing he knew for sure was that the net was off the goal. He found himself net-wrapped with her away towards the kit-container and with those tensile arms now loose, suddenly her legs, hips and head whirled in a frenzied dance, wheeked on by a birling squealing so highly pitched it was appealing and set his pulses racing. With the keys to open doors he followed on behind. Gasped him to a stop outside the door, she trapped him there with a hand and breathed liquorice through open lips, a sticky-slip of sweetness through which he could not break.
'Try this,' she crooned, her voice as soft as floating threads, and from her bag, she offered him a silver flask. 'Go on, what's the harm if it gets it done?' She said that like she could eat or suck him dry and if she could - so what? - no trauma done on him. All the same, he felt threatened, she was yanking his thread like to break and it was not funny. A ringtone sang in his pocket. Snapping his knee, he took it out and
Senga's face smiled at him from the screen but Neith slipped the phone from him and honeyed in his ear: 'You know you want to. It has never stopped you in the past or is your name not Bas? He reached for the flask and sipped on his lip the sweet bite of her breath.
Strangely enough, it was Maya that found him in the morning. Netted in a suspension upside down like Frodo waiting Shelob. He had weaved between awareness and blank nothingness all night long. At one point, where it lay on the floor, his phone battery died. At some time he had wet himself, although that would at a point after his mobile lit up on Segna's face but after Shona's face brightly beamed the container.
'Ba-ass, why are you like tha-aat, Bas?' Maya sweetly sang.
'Strange thing this - you would believe it, Maya, but no one else,' he told her. 'I expect there's a reason for it. Is your mum nearby? Can you get her for me?'
Her answer to both questions was yes and that last night, after talking to himself, Kate said, he left on his own and Shona had said that knowing him there was a lumber planned somewhere and she hoped he would break his leg.
'She said that would teach you but, Ba-ass, what's a lumber?'
'Ach, ye misheard, Maya. She probably meant a number, and it looks like one's done on me for a change.'
Maya laughed and gladdened his heart. She turned to fetch help but paused.
'Baa-asss?'
'Aye, Maya, sure why not? Call me Dad if you like.' And she away squealed, making his day, tiding the loose ends of his life because where Maya is, there are no spider's webs.
Scotfree2 Tales From Scotland Page 8