Docherty

by William McIlvanney

  ‘Ah’ve a dampt guid mind tae . . .’ The man raised his arm, back-handed.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Angus said. ‘That wid be a guid wey tae hiv a daith in the family an’ a’.’

  ‘Hey, you.’ Tam was pointing at Angus. Talk that wey tae this man an Ah’ll pit yer heid oot through that fuckin’ windy.’

  ‘Fur Goad’s sake!’ Jenny stood up. ‘There’s a pair lassie expectin’ in that hoose. She’ll be near oot ‘er wits. Noo wid ye stoap shapin’ up like bantam coacks. Whit’s tae be done?’

  ‘Ye’re richt, missus,’ the man said. That’s whit Ah want tae ken. That’s a dacent lassie Ah’ve goat doon there. A’ her days she’s been dacent. She’s no’ some kinna tail, ye know.’

  ‘Calm yerself, sur,’ Tam said. There’s only wan thing tae be done. He’ll mairry ‘er.’

  The silence grew round Angus. Conn found it remarkable how Angus was able to withstand the pressure of that quietness without flinching. He gazed at the floor. It was a telling moment, one of those times when a privately shaped resolve first comes under the heat of other people’s disapproval and either collapses in the glaze or survives to harden.

  ‘Ye’ll be mairrying’ the wee lassie, Angus?’ Jenny asked.

  Angus was testing. When he was satisfied, he spoke. ‘Naw,’ he said simply. ‘Ah’m no’ exactly shair. But Ah don’t think sae.’

  He looked up at the man and it was the man who looked away, shaking his head.

  ‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ he said. ‘Oh Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Ah’ll be peyin’ fur it, of coorse,’ Angus added.

  ‘Peyin’! Whit? Coal an’ a bob or two a week? Whit dae ye think ma lassie is? Some kinna credit hoor?’

  ‘Well, that’s the wey it is, Ah think,’ Angus said. ‘Ah can see Sarah aboot it again if ye want.’

  ‘By Christ, ye’ll no’. Ah widny pit ‘er through that. Ah don’t want ‘er contaminatit. Ya bloody no-user!’

  Tam stood wincing at a charge he couldn’t refute.

  ‘Sur,’ he said. This thing isny feenished. If ye let me talk tae ‘im.’

  ‘Save yer braith, sur. Ah widny want that fur a son-in-law. We’ll manage some wey.’

  ‘Wait, Mr Davidson,’ Jenny called, but he was already going out and she was left to say to the open door, ‘My Goad, that pair wee lassie. Whit she must be goin’ through this nicht.’

  Tam crossed and closed the door. He came back slowly into the room. Angus hadn’t moved, felt himself at bay against his father. He understood the wound constraint with which his father moved. What followed might very well be physical. He made a decision – he wasn’t going to let his father strike him. There was no way he was going to take that without hitting back. He felt a tremor of almost elated nervousness. He couldn’t believe that they could really come to blows and, in the instant of even thinking about it, he desperately didn’t want it to happen. But in this mood it was his father who made the possibilities, and you couldn’t calculate them. Angus had seen him demolish a man for much less than this.

  ‘Tam!’ Jenny said.

  But the force Tam had generated made everybody else just an onlooker. Angus accurately read the pallor in his father’s face. It was the containment of a mounting rage.

  ‘Noo you explain this tae us,’ Tam said quietly.

  ‘Hoo dae ye mean?’

  ‘Noo you explain this tae us,’ Tam said quietly. ‘Fur there must be somethin’ here Ah don’t unnerstaun’. Ye goat this lassie in the family wey. Is that correct?’

  ‘Ah suppose Ah did.’

  ‘Dear Goad,’ Jenny sighed.

  ‘Whit dae ye mean ye suppose?’

  ‘She an’ me. Ye ken whit Ah mean.’

  ‘Oh aye. Ah ken whit ye mean.’ Tam hesitated. ‘Is it because ye think she micht no’ hae been quite the thing? Wi’ ither folk like.’

  Tam was looking for a way out of his own anger. It took Angus a moment to understand what he meant. When he did, he was too honest to take that escape.

  ‘Aw naw,’ he said. ‘Ah hivny seen ‘er fur a while. An’ it’s poassible. But Ah don’t believe it fur a second. She’s no’ like that.’

  ‘Then why wid ye no’ be goin’ tae mairry ‘er?’

  ‘Feyther. Ah don’t particularly want tae mairry ‘er.’

  ‘Too fuckin’ late!’ Tam bellowed. ‘Too ‘fuckin’ late. Ye shoulda thocht o’ that before ye did whit ye did.’

  ‘We didny fill in forms, feyther.’

  ‘Don’t you be smert wi’ me, boay. Fur Ah canny guarantee no’ tae kick your ribs in.’

  Angus breathed noisily.

  ‘Naw, but Ah can maybe guarantee it fur ye,’ he said.

  Conn threw himself on to his father, catching him more or less round the shoulders. The force of his father’s movement swung Conn off the floor so that his feet hit Angus about the waist, knocking him to the side.

  ‘Don’t dae it, feyther!’ Conn was shouting. ‘Don’t dae it!’

  ‘Fur Goad’s sake, Tam! Whit’s happenin’ in this hoose?’

  Conn realised it was his mother’s voice, though it wasn’t an easy thing to realise. It came to him always receding, like something heard from a train. He bucked on the baffled jerk of his father’s rage. Angus was on one knee. He jumped to his feet. His eyes were flaring. Mick was instantly between them.

  ‘Feyther!’ he screamed, as if Tam was a long way away. ‘Whit are ye daein’?’

  Over Conn’s shoulder Tam was pleading with them to release him from his anger, to show him how he couldn’t kill his son. Angus was waiting, breathing as if his lungs were injured.

  ‘Whit hiv we reared here, Jenny?’ Tam was shouting. ‘Whit hiv we reared in this hoose? Tell me that. He cares fur nothin’! A man comes in wi’ his hert in his haun an’ he disny bat an e’e. He sells his mates fur fuckin’ pennies. An’ he doesny care! Ye canny leeve an’ no care. Ya bastard! Can ye no’ see that? Whit dae ye think that lassie is? Your fuckin’ toay? Ye’re gonny lea’e her tae luk efter your wean the rest o’ ‘er life? Whit’ll she dae? This isny fuckin’ Mayfair, ye know. That’s her fur the rest o’ ‘er days. Naw, naw. She cairries yer wean, ye mairry ‘er. There’s nothin’ else. Who the hell dae ye think you are, no’ tae respect ither folk? Ye care, boay, or ye’re nothin’. You’re deid, son. You’re fuckin’ deid. They’ve jist furgoatten tae bury ye.’

  The following silence was broken only by Jenny’s sighs. Conn felt his father subside.

  ‘Lea’e me alane, son,’ Tam said, pushing him away. He pointed at Angus. ‘You’ve got a choice, son. You mairry that lassie or you can get oot this hoose. The fuckin’ midden-men can collect ye.’

  ‘Tam, Tam,’ Jenny said. ‘Ye canny say that.’

  ‘Ah’ve jist said it, Jenny. An’ Ah mean it.’

  ‘Feyther,’ Mick said. ‘Ye’re wrang. Ye’re completely wrang.’

  ‘He’s richt, Ah suppose?’

  ‘Maybe he’s no’. But he’s a wee bit less wrang than you are. Ye canny dae that. Whit dis that lassie want wi’ a man that disny want her? Whit’s the sense in whit ye’re daein’.’

  ‘Ah’ll tell ye the sense,’ Tam said. ‘We walk a nerra line. Ah ken hoo nerra it is. Ah’ve walked it a’ ma days. Us an’ folk like us hiv goat the nearest thing tae nothin’ in this world. A’ that filters doon tae us is shite. We leeve in the sewers o’ ither bastards’ comfort. The only thing we’ve goat is wan anither. That’s why ye never sell yer mates. Because there’s nothin’ left tae buy wi’ whit ye get. That’s why ye respect yer weemenkind. Because whit we make oorselves is whit we are. Because if ye don’t, ye’re provin’ their case. Because the bastards don’t believe we’re folk! They think we’re somethin’ . . . less than that. Well, Ah ken whit Ah believe. It’s only us that can show whit folk are. Whit dae they ken aboot it? Son, it’s easy tae be guid oan a fu’ belly. It’s when a man’s goat two bites an’ wan o’ them he’ll share, ye ken whit he’s made o’. Maist o’ them were boarn blin’. Well, we areny, son.
We canny afford tae be blin’. Listen. In ony country in the world, who are the only folk that ken whit it’s like tae leeve in that country? The folk at the boattom. The rest can a’ kid themselves oan. They can afford to hiv fancy ideas. We canny, son. We loass the wan idea o’ who we are, we’re deid. We’re wan anither. Tae survive, we’ll respect wan anither. When the time comes, we’ll a’ move forward thegither, or nut at all. That’s whit Ah’ve goat against you, boay.’ He pointed at Angus. ‘You’re a fuckin’ deserter. Ah don’t harbour deserters. Ye’re wi’ the rest o’ us or ye go elsebit.’

  Angus had put his jacket on.

  ‘Ye’ll no’ hiv tae worry aboot it,’ he said. ‘Is it a’ richt if Ah spend the wan mair nicht here, mither? Ah’ll no’ can get a place tae the morra.’

  ‘Oh, Goad preserve us,’ Jenny said. ‘Whit a thing fur a boay tae ask his mither. Ye can stey the nicht an’ every nicht, son.’

  ‘Naw. Ah canny dae that. Ah jist want the wan nicht, if that’s a’ right.’

  ‘Ye can stey the nicht,’ Tam said. ‘Ah wid dae as much fur a dug.’

  Angus walked out. He walked in an utter numbness. His father had defined for him the loneliness he had long been moving towards, given it to him like a map. He paced it out. Later, he would have to work out what he felt about it.

  6

  The voice came at Conn before he knew where it was coming from.

  ‘Hey, you! Whaur i’ ye gaun?’

  He had to look round for a moment before he located the wooden hatch that had opened in the glass and the thin face that looked out like a greyhound with malnutrition.

  ‘Me? Ah’m jist gaun through here.’

  ‘Come ‘ere, you.’

  Conn walked over.

  ‘It coasts money tae get in here. Noo hoo long wull ye be wantin’ tae stey?’

  ‘As shoart a bluidy time as poassible,’ Conn said. ‘Ah’m nearly suffocatit already. If ye cut up the smell in here, ye could build hooses wi’ it.’

  The instantaneousness of his own anger surprised Conn. He was usually much more awkward at coping with strange situations. The past few weeks must have aged him.

  ‘A bloody smert boay, eh,’ the man said. ‘Well, ye canny go in.’

  ‘Listen, eejit,’ Conn said. ‘Ma brither’s in yer doss-hoose. Angus Docherty.’ He saw the name register. ‘Ah’m goin’ in tae see ‘im. If ye’re gonny get the fire-brigade, get them noo.’

  As he walked away, he heard the man say, ‘Cheeky bugger,’ and slam the hatch shut.

  The light in the dormitory was dull, a kind of second-hand daylight, as if it tarnished by coming into touch with the furnishings. Conn made out Angus at the far end of the right-hand row, lying on his bed and smoking. Angus flexed open his right hand by way of greeting.

  There was a man half-way down the row, kneeling between beds and polishing his boots. He had the rags spread on the floor around him and as Conn passed, his foot scuffed one of them.

  ‘Watch whaur ye’re walkin’, hawkheid!’ the man snarled.

  Conn stopped. But before he could answer, Angus’s voice was there.

  ‘Hey, you. If ye don’t want yer bits roon’ yer neck fur a grauvit, watch whit ye’re sayin’.’

  ‘Ho-ho. It’s a freen’ o’ yours, big Gus. Ah never kent, Gus. Ah never kent.’ He winked elaborately at Conn. ‘Pass, friend. Ha-ha!’

  On the way towards Angus, Conn passed a man on the other side lying reading a comic. Otherwise, the place was empty.

  ‘Home, sweet home,’ Conn said and sat on Angus’s bed.

  ‘Ye get used tae it ance ye’re deid,’ Angus said. ‘Want a fag?’

  He threw him the packet. Conn took one out and lit it. Giving the packet back, he noticed how garishly out of place Angus was here. He was scrubbed to a shine and all his clothes were clean.

  ‘Ah’ve goat ye the place then, Angus, if ye want it.’

  ‘Wi’ that Mrs Meldrum? Whit does it luk like?’

  ‘Aw, it’s nice. Ye’ll hiv the wan room, like. An’ she’s goat a sink.’

  ‘His she? Ye’re shair she’s a complete stranger?’

  ‘Aye. Ah didny ken ‘er fae Eve. She’s a gey auld wumman. Jist leeves hersel’.’

  ‘That’ll be fair enough.’

  ‘Christ, Angus, this is terrible in here. If ma mither kent ye were here, she’d go aff ‘er heid.’

  ‘Ye hivny teilt ‘er, hiv ye?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Naw. Because Ah teilt ‘er Ah wis in wi’ Buzz Crawley’s mither.’

  ‘Why did ye no’ go there?’

  ‘Ah don’t want ony favours. That’s why Ah had tae go wi’ somebody that’s a stranger.’

  Conn smoked, watching Angus sprawled there in utter ease. He was in complete contradiction to the place around him, seemed to have found himself where Conn couldn’t believe there was anything to find. Conn couldn’t understand it. He needed to probe.

  ‘Christ, whit a place, Angus!’ he started again. ‘Ah mean, there’s no’ onythin left aboot even. Ken whit Ah mean. Belongin’ tae onybody. It’s as if naebody leeved here.’

  ‘Ye daurny lea’e things aboot,’ Angus said. ‘They wid mooch them. Mooch everythin’ here. Naw,’ he added as Conn started to laugh. ‘Richt enough. They’ve goat tae nail doon the coabwebs. There’s a place whaur ye can get things loacked up. Though Ah don’t trust the bugger that loacks them. Naw, naw. Ye canny sleep too heavy in here. They’d mooch yer belly-button.’

  Feeling Angus opening out, Conn encouraged him further.

  ‘Whit did ye come here fur, though? Wur ye jist hopin’ ma feyther wid hear aboot it an’ get annoyed?’

  ‘That’s the least o’ ma worries. Naw. Ah wisny in ony hurry tae get oot o’ here. Ah’ve been studyin’ it. Sortin’ maself oot. It’s like Mick wi’ his books. This has been ma book, Conn. These are the kinna folk ma feyther’s aye oan aboot. The folk at the boattom. Well, this is the boattom. Tae get ony lower than this, ye’d hiv tae burrow. An’ ye should see them. See that bloke wi’ the coamic. Pathetic wee man. Dae onythin’ fur a drink. Eat yer shite fur a drink, he wid. See that bugger polishin’ the bits. A nothin’. Ye’d need a microscope tae fin’ his hert. But gi’e ‘im the chance an’ he’d stamp ye intae the grund. The folk at the boattom are only there because they canny be onywhere else. Did ye see the yin at the wee hatch?’

  ‘Aye,’ Conn said. ‘He wis nigglin’ right away.’

  ‘Of coorse, he wis. Hoo’s that fur a welcome mat? Sets the tone o’ the place right away. He’s goat nothin’ an’ he’s lookin’ fur folk wi’ less so that he can screw them tae it hurts. Ah’ve watched them in here, Conn. An’ they’re a’ like that. Maybe ma feyther wis richt. Ye can see the truth at the boattom. Ah’ve seen it. Dug eat dug. They’d take the hairs oot yer erse if they thocht they could sell them fur brushes.’

  Angus stubbed his cigarette out in a saucer.

  ‘Ah don’t ken,’ Conn said. ‘You seem tae be survivin’ a’ richt.’

  ‘Aye, but Ah ken who Ah am. An’ whit Ah’ve goat tae dae. They don’t interfere wi’ me. Ah’m a separate state. They’d get the hob-nailed bit in the teeth if they did. An’ they ken it.’

  Conn finished his cigarette and put it out in the saucer. Angus swung round off the bed. He stood up and stretched, pulled on his jacket.

  ‘Come oan,’ he said. ‘Ah’ll get up tae ma digs.’

  ‘Ye want tae see whit they’re like?’

  ‘Naw. Ah’ll jist get ma stuff the noo an’ move in the day. Sunday’s a guid day fur movin’ intae a new place.’

  ‘But ye better check it first.’

  ‘Naw. Ah’m feenished wi’ this place. Ah only steyed in it this long tae fix in ma mind whit it’s like. In case Ah wis ever tempted tae get saft. But Ah’ll no’ forget it noo. An’ Ah’ll never be back.’ He looked round it, smiling. ‘Ah’ve passed ma exams.’

  On the way out, Angus stopped beside the man with the boots. The man was giving them a final
going-over with a duster. The way he was drawing it out gave the impression that this was his idea of passing a pleasant Sunday. He nodded brightly to Angus.

  ‘Don’t poalish too hard, noo,’ Angus said. ‘Ye micht see yer face in them.’

  At the hatch Angus rattled the wood with his fingers. The head poked out of its kennel.

  ‘Ah’m collectin’ ma gear,’ Angus said.

  ‘Ye’ll need tae pey fur the nicht then.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cause yer bed’s been booked. Ah thocht ye were steyin’. Ah coulda been turnin’ awa’ bookin’s fur a’ you ken.’

  ‘Whit bookin’s? Jesus Christ. Ye’ve goat tae Shanghai folk tae get them in here.’

  ‘It disny maitter, Gus. The rules is the rules. We hiv tae be inform’t before nine o’clock. Or ye’re due the money fur the next nicht.’

  Angus paid him off. His stuff was in one suitcase and a sack. Angus checked the stuff in the sack and gave it to Conn. It felt as if it was mainly two pairs of boots. Angus put his hand in the hatch as the man tried to shut it.

  ‘Jist wan thing,’ he said. ‘Ah hear when Aul’ Fiddler left, his parcel wis weeer than when he came in. Ah’ll be checkin’ this case et ma digs. Ah want you tae tell me aboot it the noo.’

  ‘Nut a body’s been near it, Gus. Untouched by human haun.’

  ‘Pray tae be honest,’ Gus said and slid the hatch.

  He was laughing as they came out into the street. They were headed towards the Netherton.

  ‘Ach, it doesny maitter too much whit this place is like onywey. Ah’ll no’ be in it that long.’

  He was waiting for Conn to ask.

  ‘Why will ye no’?’

  ‘Because Ah’m gonny get mairrit.’

  Conn looked at him. Angus was walking briskly, looking around him, his case tucked under his arm like a cardboard box.

  ‘Ye didnt tell ony o’ us that.’

  ‘Naebody asked me, did they?’

  ‘When is this?’

  ‘Oh, a wee while yit. There’s nae hurry. This time.’ And he was laughing again.