Shuggie Bain

by Douglas Stuart

  The woman huffed, but she was not unkind. “Ye should have said so, Casanova. Ah didn’t know ah was serving the last of the big spenders.”

  “It’s not like that,” Shuggie mumbled, his chin to his chest.

  With two quick turns of her wrist the woman snapped a cardboard box together. The red tarts looked like four ruby hearts. He paid the woman, pulled up his hood, and went back into the dreich. The money did the thing it always did: now that the fiver was broken, he found himself in a small shop, spending some shrapnel on a large bottle of fizzy ginger. With the tinned fish in his bag and the ruby hearts he walked the length of the long street. He wandered through the old part of Merchant City until he had covered the Trongate and the Saltmarket and found himself back at the wide river. He walked along the empty riverbank until he came to the mouth of Shipbank Lane. Under the overhang of the old Saint Enoch railway, groups of men huddled in T-shirt sleeves and thin suit jackets. They shivered and jangled as they hawked pirated videocassettes off flattened cardboard boxes. Women ignored them as they came down the narrow alley carrying bags filled with second-hand clothes they had bought from the market at the top.

  She was there, exactly where she said she would be.

  The girl was opposite the market mouth, sat on the low boundary fence as though she were rusted on to the very metal. In the soft rain her long hair was poker straight and the large hoops of her earrings made her seem more childlike than she was. It hurt Shuggie to see her looking so drawn and pinched. When he had first met her, with Keir Weir in the year before Agnes died, there had been a defiant bravery to her. She had been wise, and she had been gallus, and he knew now it had all been a childish front, a mouthy bravado that covered the hurt inside her. Now her pretty, freckled features were set in that closed, self-protecting way she had developed. Her lips were almost always pursed, and her raisin-coloured eyes were constantly scanning the busy crowd for trouble. There was a calcified hardness to her now that she wore like armour and too often forgot to take off.

  “You took yer time. I’m soaked to ma skin,” said Leanne Kelly. There was a small pile of shopping bags tucked defensively between her legs.

  “I’m sorry,” said Shuggie. He climbed the fence next to his friend and sat just as she did. He checked his stance against hers and then altered it, till they were the same. He was as tall as her now, taller even, and he reached out and rubbed her wrist where her anorak never seemed to cover her skin. “So what do you want to do? Walk about a bit?”

  Leanne smirked. “Good thing we’re no winching.” She flicked her grey chewing gum into the puddle. “Ye’re pure predictable.”

  “Sorry.”

  She ran her hand over the side of his face and then shoved him roughly. “I’m jist kidding. Course we’ll walk around, what else is there?” She fidgeted with the bags at her feet. “Jist let me do this one thing first, OK?”

  He knew what she meant to do. If Agnes were alive, if he still had the chance, he would want the same thing for his mother. Still, as he watched Leanne pick at her lips in worry, he could not help himself: “Leanne. Come on. If I was at this nonsense you would batter me for it. It’s useless. I’m sorry, but it is.”

  She cut him off. “Don’t start. Ah fuckin’ know.” Leanne scowled up at the rain like it was a nuisance she could tell to just go away. “’Asides, I’m no even sure ah’ll see her.”

  Even in the soft rain Paddy’s Market was busy. The alley snaked the length of the disused train lines and into each of the abandoned railway arches were stalls full of children’s clothes, bright floral sunloungers, and bedside lamps in gaudy football colours. The market used every available space: clothes hung from the sooty ceilings, and folding tables were covered with odd ornaments and old watches. Vendors spilt out messily into the tight alley, their second-hand furniture already water-logged and ruined in the spit.

  Shuggie watched a blond girl with black hair roots. She crouched over what looked like all of her belongings, which she had laid out thoughtfully on a muddy piece of ground. He thought how Agnes would have both loved and hated it here.

  Leanne handed him a polystyrene cup full of tea, and when he took the lid off he saw that it was already cold and filmy. He looked at the milky cataract and felt bad that she had been waiting for him a long time.

  “Agnes would have been fifty-two the day,” he said, then he added quickly, “although she would have denied it blue in the face.”

  Shuggie tilted the fizzy ginger towards Leanne like an arrogant sommelier he had seen on the television. “I thought we could have a wee birthday party. Cheer us up.” He was grinning as he passed her the sweet strawberry tarts. She opened the box with a soft coo, and he was suddenly disappointed at the mess of blood-red jam squished against the lid. “Bugger! I carried them as carefully as I could.”

  Leanne shoved her shoulder into his. “Don’t worry. They’re gorgeous.”

  The tarts that were so lovely an hour ago now sat between them looking spoilt and damp. Shuggie reached out and snatched one. He wanted them gone. With a hand like a shovel he forced a whole tart into his mouth. The sweet sticky jam and the warm cream filled his throat to choking. He sucked the cake down and felt better for the weight of it in his gut. He reached into the box for a second, and this time Leanne turned her body away from him and squealed, “Get aff! They’re mine, ye greedy beggar.”

  Shuggie laughed; he liked to see her look less worried. He mashed the last of the jam between his lips till it coated his mouth like a messy lipstick and made great gurning faces at her. Leanne shoved him away. She ate two tarts, slowly and delicately, taking care to separate the jam from the cream and then handing the unloved shortbread pastry to Shuggie to finish. She closed the lid on the last.

  They sat together in that huddled way, as the rain stopped and started, and stopped and started, just drinking the cold tea and sweet ginger and talking and waiting for something that might not even happen. Leanne spoke first. “So, our Calum’s got a lassie from Springburn pregnant.”

  He took a handful of her fine hair and ran his fingers through it. He squeezed it between his forefinger and thumb, like an old clothes mangle, and it released the dampness with a squeak. “Is he the one just above you?”

  “Naw, he’s two above me, between our Stevie and our Malky. He’s fair enough looking, but he’s no very bright, and that’s how ye’ve got to keep yer eye on him. He’ll try to dip his wick in jist about anything.”

  “Charmer.”

  “Aye. Last Easter he must’ve met this lassie up the dancin’ on a Saturday, and by all accounts she must have been pregnant afore they opened the chapel doors on the Sunday.” Leanne shook her head at her brother’s stupidity. “Her father just came to our door last night. He’d found us in the phone book. Our Malky leathered Calum when he found out. Not for getting the lassie pregnant but for being stupit enough to tell this wee lassie his real family name.” Leanne took up a separate strand of her own hair and started checking it for split ends. “Our Calum couldnae even remember this lassie’s first name, never mind what she looked like. Ye should’ve seen his face when he saw her. He would have passed her on the street. Now he’s a daddy. Stupit eejit.”

  Shuggie heard the woman before Leanne saw her. It was a girlish laughter, too young for a woman so old, and it rang hollow and forced, as if she were performing for someone. Shuggie thought about ignoring her; he considered pointing Leanne’s gaze down the river, away from the laughing woman. When he turned to his friend, she was gnawing the skin around her thumb and worrying the contents of her plastic bags. When he pulled her hand away from her mouth, there was hardly any skin left around any of her fingers. He could not bring himself to lie to her then, so he sighed and pointed to the woman. Then Leanne sighed for herself.

  The woman had not seen them yet. Her pale hand snaked through the arm of one of the short-sleeved men from the alley, his young mouth a closed knuckle of toothlessness. Clear across the busy market, from the other side of th
e lane, Shuggie could hear her cajoling the young jakey for a little company. With wet lips he told her naw, flatly, and Shuggie watched as the man used sharp pinching fingers to free himself from her grasp. The jakey jangled off and left her standing alone.

  The pair watched the woman for a while; she looked trapped in the centre of the alley, not sure where to go next. She was more of a ruin than the last time Shuggie had seen her. Her mouse-brown curls were becoming a peppery mat of tangled locks, and her skin was overrun red and royal blue with broken veins. There was a little cornflower eye-shadow on her face and around her lips a trace of a happy pink lipstick. It comforted Shuggie to see her still wearing tan tights, even though there was a ladder in one leg, and she stood demurely with her knees and her ankles somewhat together.

  Leanne rolled her eyes. He could see that it took all her strength to force herself forward. She slid from the fence and picked up the shopping bags at her feet. One of the plastic bags was heavy with folded laundry and clean underthings that were long past white. The other held sweet soft foods, like toddler’s yogurt and jars of mashed apple sauce. Shuggie remembered his own contribution then and pulled from his pocket the bag with the dented tins of fish. “You said these were her favourite.”

  Leanne opened his bag and peered inside at the tins.

  “Ta very much, Shuggie.” She turned the salmon in her hand. “But she’s out on the street. Where’s she gonnae get a tin opener for that?” Leanne shook her head at her own question. “Sorry. That was dead ungrateful.” She exhaled slowly, and she swung the small bag in a wide arc like a clubbing weapon. “Listen, auld Moira will find a way. She always fuckin’ does.”

  Leanne crossed the mouth of the market towards her mother. Shuggie saw the woman clock the approaching girl and roll her brown eyes. He couldn’t help but smile at the family resemblance.

  They greeted each other without affection. The smirr had stopped for a moment, and Mrs Kelly followed Leanne out of Paddy’s Market and over to the Clyde side. Shuggie flattened an old cardboard box and laid it over the wet railing. He let the two of them sit close together, and they watched the boatman thanklessly skim the water.

  “Ah knew some of the poor lassies he fished out o’ there,” said Moira Kelly. “He didnae even knock a single thing. Every damp cigarette was still in their pocket, every Claddagh ring. He took not a penny. Now isn’t that a thing?”

  Leanne opened the box of tarts and offered the last one to her mother. Shuggie tried not to look as the woman fingered a gobbet of the sticky red jam and popped it in her puckered mouth. There were deep, drawn cavities around her eyes, as if she hadn’t been eating again. The strawberry sugar glistened in the corners of her mouth like gloss, and it looked obscene.

  “Are we just gonnae sit here aw day?” she asked, not uttering a word of thanks.

  “Why don’t we just sit a little while?” Leanne slid the cake box on to her mother’s lap, trying to pin her under the sugar, as you might draw a dog closer with a tin of meat. The woman was bobbing with the drink, but she lifted the last cake and stuck her tongue deep into the exposed cream. He could see there were new teeth missing on the side, teeth that had been there in the autumn. There was cream on her knuckles, and she licked the length of her finger in a suggestive way. Leanne looked pleased to see her try to eat, but it was too vulgar for Shuggie. As he looked at Mrs Kelly’s ripped tights, with the gooseflesh of her legs poking through, suddenly all he wanted was to see his mother again.

  They sat together for a while, and Shuggie watched the Clyde as Leanne told her mother about the soap opera her five brothers created on the daily. Several times Mrs Kelly just laughed at the Kelly boys’ nonsense and said, “Thank feck ah’m no there to clean that shite up.”

  When she said things like that, Shuggie found he had to keep his face turned to the river. Leanne then told her mother she was to be a grandmother. Shuggie felt the fence wobble as the woman shrugged.

  When Leanne had run out of things to tell her, she asked her mother to stand up. She made Shuggie hold Mrs Kelly’s old overcoat out wide; and as the woman hopped from one leg to the other, Leanne drew off her tights and then her dirty underpants from underneath her skirt. The woman didn’t enjoy being fussed with. She grumbled to herself but turned her eyes to Shuggie. Shuggie kept his own eyes firmly on the wet pavement.

  “Ah don’t understand ye, son. You should be oot fingerin’ lassies and getting drunk. No houndin’ auld Moira for some company.”

  “I’m not here for you, Mrs Kelly,” he mumbled. He lifted the coat higher, trying in a way to turn her damp gaze from him.

  The woman was unperturbed. “Well, ah should be oot there havin’ a guid laugh. No dancin’ the fanny fandango for a funny wee fella lit you.”

  Leanne was still on her knees. She buckled her mother’s shoes again. “Shuggie brought you salmon. Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

  “Well, hurry up then. It’s giro day. The men will have it spent afore ah can even get a drink oot o’ them,” Mrs Kelly hissed and bounced like an impatient child.

  Shuggie had nothing to say to Mrs Kelly, but for Leanne’s sake he wanted to hold the woman there with them, just a little longer. “So? How have you been keeping since I last saw you?”

  Mrs Kelly mocked him: “Oh, it has been a sihm-ply marvel-louse spring. Hasn’t it just?” Then she pursed her mouth, impatient with the bother of it all. “Nosy wee bugger, ’int ye?” For a moment, that seemed to be all she was going to say. Then her mouth pulled downwards in a sour sneer. She did have something to tell, and she was suddenly glad of the audience to tell it to. “Here! Ah got back the gether wi’ wee Tommy for a minute.” She rubbed instinctively at her jaw, where the teeth were missing, in remembrance of this unknown man. “He wisnae aw bad. He had a good grift gaun up the back of the Caley railworks. Used tae spoil me rotten. Used tae stoat frae pub tae pub and pretend he was blind. He was that blind he had tae feel along the bar for his drink.” Mrs Kelly was bubbling with laughter now. “He necked his fair share of other folks’ whisky afore they found oot his eyes worked just fuckin’ fine.”

  She was roaring to herself. Shuggie could see it made Leanne happy to see her laugh. It was clear in the way she looked up at her mother and in how the tightness around her mouth softened a little. But too soon it passed. Leanne seemed to remember herself and tried to recover her defences. It was like she had been scolding a badly behaved child, but the child had won her over with its charm, and she had caved against her better judgement.

  Mrs Kelly had noticed. “See, ah’m good company. Ye like seeing auld Moira, din’t ye?” Mrs Kelly was rubbing her daughter’s shoulder. “Aye, ah could always cheer ye up.”

  Leanne said nothing to encourage her. Shuggie lowered the coat and went back to watching the boatman. Mrs Kelly prodded at her sore jaw again and finally asked, “So, any chance ye’ve got money for a wee bottle of fortified?”

  “No.” Shuggie shook his head.

  She sucked at her missing teeth. “Aye, well. Ye don’t ask, ye don’t get. Eh?”

  He held the last of the fizzy ginger out to her. She glared at the sweet drink like it offended her, then she took it from him anyway. They had been enjoying it slowly, but now Mrs Kelly swallowed it like she was parched. Shuggie looked at the gummy line her lipstick left on the neck of the bottle. He tried to bite his lip, but he could not help himself. “Why do you have to get in such a state?”

  Leanne stopped pushing the dirty clothes into plastic bags and sat back on her haunches. She looked up at her mother again, as if this were something she would very much not like to miss.

  “Who says ah don’t like tae take a drink?” Mrs Kelly pouted and ripped the coat from Shuggie’s arms. “Yer aw just jealous. Ah have a rare time! Helps the day tae dance along a wee bit. Cuts oot the flat parts.” She took a tube of lipstick out of her pocket. It was worn down to the canister, and as she pushed too hard the colour missed the line of her lips. Shuggie tried to ignore the particular sha
de of pink.

  “She loves you,” he said.

  “Shuggie!” Leanne pleaded.

  “Oh, tweet-tweet, kiss-kiss,” Mrs Kelly snorted, and she thumped her chest to release some sugary gas. “Well, ye know what ah think? Ah think the more ye love someone the more they take the piss out of that. They will do less and less of what ye want and more and more of just as they fuckin’ please.” She thumped her chest again and belched this time.

  Leanne roughly gathered the dirty laundry and stood up again with a tired huff. She put herself between the boy and her mother. Shuggie could see her cheeks were scalding red and her eyes were liquid as she started chewing her lips again. He turned away and went back to watching the boatman.

  “Pubs will be filling soon,” said Mrs Kelly, closing her coat. “Ye’ve had your money’s worth.”

  “Oh, bloody charming!” Leanne stood back from her mother and checked her work. She talked to Mrs Kelly as though the woman were only a child who was anxious to go back out and play before the scheme lights came on. She knew she could hold her no longer. “Right, Moira, away ye go then. Try to look after yersel, alright. I’ll look for ye again.”

  “If ye must.”

  Shuggie found he had balled his fists. He stepped forward then and forced his hands inside Mrs Kelly’s coat. He wrapped his arms around her waist and searched her softness till he found the familiar slippery wetness of the rayon warp knit. He roughly pulled at the underskirt till it sat properly and correctly back inside her clothes.

  Mrs Kelly’s mouth hung open in shock, but she let herself be handled, as if she didn’t mind the warmth of his arms around her middle. Then she licked her bottom lip with a fat tongue and flashed a wicked grin to Leanne. “Oh, ye want to watch yersel wi’ this one, hen.”

  The boy let go of her waist. He put his hands on her upper arms and gave her a sharp shake. Mrs Kelly blinked like a tossed doll. Her eyes took some time to focus on his face again. “Here you!” She pulled herself from his grip and walked around him without breaking her scowl. “Whit a funny wee bastard ye are.”