Chapter 39
During the game on Friday evening, Graham and Joe played their hearts out.
Their team lost three–nil.
In the dressing room they stood talking.
‘We played pure mince there.’ Joe’s voice was unsteady. ‘You know Jack Burns is supposed to be making the selection tonight. We don’t have a hope.’
‘Keep your cool,’ said Graham. ‘So we didn’t score. But we forced some good saves. By the end they were defending deeper and deeper.’
‘Yeh’ – Joe crammed his gear into his bag – ‘but a game is won by goals. That’s what counts in the end.’
‘I think Jack Burns brought in those older boys tonight to see how we stood up under pressure. And we did well. We didn’t flag or fade away. You were making chances right up to the final whistle.’
Joe felt better on hearing Graham’s encouraging words. It was one of the things he liked about Graham. He was quieter than Joe, didn’t act as rashly, or comment so quickly. He’d think before he gave his opinion.
Graham looked over Joe’s shoulder. ‘Jack Burns is speaking to everybody individually on the way out.’
Joe’s heart stuttered. ‘He’ll be telling them whether or not they’ve to turn up on Sunday.’ He picked up his rucksack. ‘I’d rather know right away. I’ll wait for you outside.’
Jack Burns consulted the list he had in his hand as Joe approached him. Then he looked up and smiled. ‘You’re in, Joe,’ he said. ‘You’re part of the team that’s going to represent Glasgow.’
Joe said thanks and turned away after Jack told him the news. His eyes started to burn and he’d to gulp a few times before he could breathe properly. He’d wanted this so badly that he’d not allowed himself to think about it. He’d been selected! Picked for Sunday’s game against Liverpool. He was playing for Glasgow! Joe leaned on the wall outside as he waited for Graham to appear. Maybe his dad would come to the game. He would ask his Auntie Kathleen and Uncle Tommy if they would take him and sit with him.
Graham came out with a jaunty look about him. He ran up to where Joe was waiting for him at the entrance to the training fields. ‘I’m in! I’m in! Are you?’ He gave a whoop of delight when Joe nodded. ‘My mum and dad both said they’d come and watch the game on Sunday if I was selected.’ Graham took Joe by the shoulder and spun him round. ‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’
Joe nodded again. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Graham and Joe’s high spirits sagged as they went to meet Leanne in the city centre. They would have to give her back the envelope and tell her that they hadn’t been able to get the information to Kyoul.
Leanne was waiting for them under the archway outside the Tron Theatre. She began to wave and smile when she saw them.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Graham said to Joe, ‘but I feel rotten. Look at her. She’s dead happy because she thinks we’ve done it and Kyoul will be safe.’
Joe slouched his shoulders. Both boys walked a little slower.
Leanne came to meet them. ‘Thank you—’ she began.
‘Don’t,’ Joe interrupted her at once. ‘Don’t thank us.’ He handed Leanne the envelope. ‘We couldn’t do it,’ he explained. ‘It just wasn’t possible . . .’
But Leanne didn’t seem to have heard him. ‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘This is going to make such a difference. It means Kyoul has somewhere safe to stay while he makes contact with one of the asylum drop-in centres.’
‘Listen,’ said Graham. ‘Leanne, listen to us. We didn’t get the information to Kyoul. He’s still trapped in the hospital.’
‘But he’s not.’ Leanne looked at Joe. ‘Your uncle gave Kyoul the keys of his flat and said he could stay there for a bit.’
‘My uncle?’ said Joe.
‘Yes,’ said Leanne. ‘He is letting Kyoul stay at his house. Kyoul sneaked out of the hospital last night and was waiting for me after school. He’s very weak, but much happier because he’s free and able to speak to me.’ She looked at Joe. ‘It’s really good of you to ask your uncle to let Kyoul use his house.’
‘I don’t know what uncle you’re talking about,’ said Joe.
‘Mr Sinclair, in the bed next to Kyoul.’ Leanne gave Joe a puzzled look. ‘I thought you knew. He explained to Kyoul he was your uncle and he gave him his house keys. He told him he could stay there while he was in hospital. He said he wouldn’t be using his flat for a while.’
Mr Sinclair!
The man in the bed next to Kyoul in hospital.
Mr Sinclair, who knew he was dying, had given his house keys to Kyoul. For once Joe didn’t have a ready remark. He only knew that he must go back and visit Peter Sinclair again.
Chapter 40
By the time Joe got to the hairdresser’s shop his Aunt Kathleen and his granny were waiting at the door.
‘Where’ve you been, Joe?’
‘Sorry,’ said Joe. ‘Got held up.’
‘You know what time the bingo starts. And we told you it was going to be busy today. There’s a mound of stuff to do.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Joe. ‘It’s OK. You two go on. I’ll manage. I’ll phone my da and tell him I’ll be later.’
‘It’ll take you ages,’ said his granny. ‘We did tell you we’d be specially busy tonight.’
‘Look, son’ – his Aunt Kathleen put her hand in her purse – ‘take this extra money and get a taxi home.’
‘Right,’ said Joe. ‘Just go, will you?’
‘Promise me you’ll take a taxi?’
‘OK,’ said Joe. ‘OK.’
Joe waited until the two women had gone. Then he went outside and whistled – successfully this time.
Graham scuttled from a nearby close mouth into the shop.
‘You’re sure about this?’ he asked Joe nervously.
‘No bother,’ said Joe, rummaging in a cupboard. He came out holding a tube of hair tint. ‘I’ve watched my granny and Auntie Kathleen do this dozens of times.’ He went behind the counter and found a bottle of peroxide. ‘Sixty volume,’ he read from the label. ‘That’s the best stuff.’
‘You’re absolutely positive that you know what you’re doing?’ Graham asked him.
‘Sure.’ Joe picked up a tin marked BLEACH and emptied some of the white powder into a plastic bowl. ‘By the time we’re done here your own mother won’t recognize you.’ He sloshed in some of the contents of the bottle and mixed it up.
‘Now we slop this stuff onto your head for . . . a wee while.’
‘A wee while?’ Graham queried as Joe plastered the paste onto his hair.
‘Aye, aye,’ Joe said reassuringly. ‘No problem, no problem.’
He galloped around, sweeping and cleaning as Graham sat in the chair. ‘It’ll lift the dark colour of your hair a shade or two and then you’ll not match the description of the boy that was with Kyoul. Dead eas—’ His voice faltered. He had stopped for a moment to glance in Graham’s direction. ‘–sy,’ he finished.
‘What is it?’ Graham saw Joe’s expression. ‘What is it? What’s gone wrong?’
‘Em . . . nothing.’ Joe’s voice was a strangled yelp. ‘Wait a minute!’ he cried. But Graham had already twisted his chair round to face a mirror.
Both boys gazed in absolute horror at the reflection of Graham’s hair.
‘This is not what you said would happen!’ Graham pointed to his now white-blond hair.
‘It takes a while to work properly,’ said Joe nervously.
‘It has worked e-blinking-nuff!’ yelled Graham. ‘I look like, like, like—’
‘It suits you,’ Joe interrupted quickly.
‘– a lavatory brush!’ Graham finished with a shriek.
‘Honest,’ Joe babbled. ‘Blond hair’ – he tried to remember some of the things he’d heard his granny and his Auntie Kathleen come out with to their customers – ‘is very attractive. It brings out the colour in your eyes. Are you going anywhere special tonight?’
‘I’ll kill you!�
� Graham shouted. ‘You’ve bleached my whole head!’
‘Naw, naw,’ said Joe. ‘It’s called highlights. Or maybe lowlights,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘A few blond streaks, that’s all.’
‘A few blond streaks!’ Graham spluttered. ‘A few blond streaks, you said, and I was stupid enough to believe you!’
‘It’s OK,’ said Joe. ‘It’s OK. There’s another process to be applied. Toner . . . or something.’ He scrabbled under the shelf behind the desk, grabbed Graham and plunged his head into a basin.
‘This ought to sort it,’ said Joe. ‘We’ll add some ashbrown tint from this tube. That’ll tone it down, but you’ll still be lighter . . . different.’
From the basin Graham gave a muffled croak.
Joe patted Graham’s back reassuringly. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’
Chapter 41
‘I’ll come to your match on Sunday morning,’ said Joe’s dad later that evening.
Joe had just told him his news about being picked for the team.
‘You will?’
Joe’s dad nodded. ‘I’ll ask your Uncle Tommy to drive up here and take me over.’ He smiled at Joe. ‘Tommy’s a good guy. He’ll keep his eye on me.’
‘That’s great, Dad. But if you don’t feel up to it . . .’
‘I’ll be fine, Joe. I want to see you play. I know it’s a big thing for you to be selected. You kept up the training week on week and I’m very proud of you. But it’s not just that. I feel that the whole thing is so positive. The all-city football teams coming through. And you and Gregory or Graham or whatever his name becoming friends too. It’s good to meet people and get to know folk from outside your immediate circle.’
‘That might not be working out,’ said Joe gloomily. ‘He’s not too chuffed with me at the moment and I’m a bit scunnered with him too.’ He looked at his dad. ‘You know he’s not really called after a pope?’
Joe’s dad raised an eyebrow. ‘I had jaloused that, yes.’
‘I had to make up something quick to get Jammy off his case. His real name’s Graham. He supports Rangers and . . . and I happen to know he’s thinking of taking part in an Orange Walk tomorrow.’
‘Ah,’ said Joe’s dad.
‘I don’t think his parents want him to,’ Joe went on. ‘And I’m not sure he does either, but his granda’s dead keen. He’s been on at him for ages.’
‘That’s put you off him, has it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joe. ‘I’m a bit mixed up in my head about it. When Graham first told me he might go in the Walk I thought he was winding me up, and then we had a kind of argument. But during this week everything was OK. We both forgot about it, what with everything else that was going on. But now . . .’
‘Now you think if he does take part you and him can’t be friends any more?’
‘Do you think we can?’ Joe asked his dad.
‘You have to work at friendship, Joe. Maybe you need to stand back and give your friend room.’ His dad looked at Joe seriously. ‘As he’ll have to do the same with you.’
Joe recalled Graham’s reactions when the two of them had been in the St Franciscus church last Sunday. Graham obviously thought the statues of the saints were way too much, but it hadn’t changed how he’d spoken to Joe afterwards.
‘But to actually march in an Orange Walk,’ Joe said to his dad. ‘You said that people who did that were loonies.’
‘What I said appears to have drifted in translation,’ said Joe’s dad wryly. ‘I think you’ll find the word I used was “misguided”. Please try not to confuse my vocabulary with that of your Uncle Desmond.’
‘Misguided then,’ said Joe.
‘I personally don’t like the Orange Walks,’ said Joe’s dad. ‘They act as a magnet for the worst kind of behaviour. I’ve seen people wearing green and white spat upon in the city streets on the day of the main parade. But having said that, Graham seems a nice boy. So even though he’s a Rangers supporter and he might take part in a Walk, it’s good that you’re both still trying to be friends. It gives us hope, doesn’t it?’
‘Did you get selected?’
Graham’s mother was standing at the freezer as he came through the back door into the kitchen that night.
‘Uh-huh,’ said Graham.
‘That’s wonderful, son,’ she said. ‘I’m delighted for you.’
‘Yeh,’ said Graham briefly.
‘Aren’t you pleased yourself? I thought you’d be over the moon.’
‘Yeh. Yeh,’ said Graham, edging past her.
His mum frowned. ‘You should take off those sunglasses in the house. You’ll ruin your eyes if you wear them inside.’
‘OK,’ said Graham. He took off his sunglasses, ducking his head at the same time.
‘What’s up?’ asked his mum.
Graham shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
‘Your face is all red and blotchy. It’s like an allergic reaction. Let me see.’ She stopped stacking the Friday groceries and came towards him.
Graham backed away.
‘Will you put the hood of your jacket down?’ his mum said irritably, ‘so that I can have a proper look.’
At that moment Graham’s dad came into the kitchen behind him. He reached over and pulled down the hood of Graham’s jacket.
A shock of bright-green hair sprang up all over Graham’s head.
Chapter 42
‘Are you sure he’ll be here?’ Jammy asked Joe.
From their position beside the wall of the railway bridge under huge billboards which stood high above the street, Jammy and Joe watched the local Orange Walk drumming up in Bridgebar Park on Saturday morning.
Joe regretted telling his cousin Jammy the truth about Graham. It had happened in a moment of annoyance when Jammy had been nag-nag-nagging him. Celtic weren’t playing until Sunday afternoon. So Jammy had come round to Joe’s house to suggest they met up with Gregory to practise for their game on Sunday morning against the boys from the city of Liverpool. Jammy had gone on and on so much, prodding a wound that was festering inside Joe, that eventually, stupidly, Joe had blurted out the truth about Gregory/Graham and what he would be doing today.
For, despite the conversation with his dad last night, Joe was not reconciled to Graham taking part in an Orange Walk. Although, after the disaster in the hair-dresser, Joe wasn’t sure if Graham would be out in public at all. Graham had gone completely spare last night. And when Joe offered to dye his hair black he wouldn’t even let Joe touch it. He’d left for home not speaking to him.
Joe’s feelings of guilt fuelled his anger. He realized now how much it had riled him when Graham had told him that he might take part in an Orange Walk. He thought of his dad telling him to put his football scarf away out of sight as they came through the city centre after the game last Saturday. The fact that it was unsafe to wear Celtic colours in the city when the Orangemen were allowed to strut the streets with their banners and flags was an affront to him and his people.
Joe had wanted to go and find out if Graham would actually do it. So now Joe, who wouldn’t have risked venturing into Bridgebar on his own on a day like this, was stuck with Jammy, the only person daft enough to go along with him. Joe cast his eye through the ranks of the assembling marchers. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for. A boy with bright-green hair? A boy wearing a bowler hat? Or would Graham have managed to dye it back to his own very dark brown?
Beside Joe, Jammy gave a sudden choking intake of breath. ‘I see him,’ he cried. ‘I see him!’
Joe followed Jammy’s pointing finger and he too gasped.
‘Look!’ Jammy spluttered. ‘Look what they’ve done to his head!’
Under the bright sky Graham’s bald head gleamed white.
Jammy screeched with laughter. ‘They’ve scalped him!’ He made a yipping noise, cupping his hand over his mouth. ‘Aieeeee! Big Chief Eat-the-Breid has taken scalp from Blue Nose! Gaun yourself! You Hun!’ he shouted. ‘Next time we’
ll paint your whole face green!’
‘Shut up!’ Joe banged into Jammy so hard that they both nearly toppled from the barrier. ‘Shut up! I never told you about this for you to gab it to the whole world.’
‘Aw but c’mon,’ said Jammy. ‘It’s too good to let go, that one.’
Joe grabbed him by the collar. ‘If you ever mention this again I’ll tell everyone we know that you wet the bed.’
‘I don’t wet the bed.’
‘So?’
‘It’s rubbish that. Nobody’ll believe you.’
‘Aye they will.’
‘I’ll tell them you’re a liar. Everybody’ll know that you’re making it up.’ Jammy’s voice was less confident.
‘An I’ll tell them I got the story from my granny who got it from my Auntie Kathleen who does your ma’s hair. I’ll say your ma was having a wee greet and my Auntie Kathleen had to run and make her a cup of tea. Boo-hoo’ – Joe put his hands to his eyes and pretended to wipe tears away; he spoke in a falsetto voice – ‘boo-hoo. Kathleen I’m fair demented with our Jammy and him in the big school too. Every other night it happens. I’m changing sheets five times a week. It’s nearly killing me, trying to get them washed and dried in this weather, hauling them in and out the washing machine and the dryer. And me with my varicose veins giving me jip.’
Jammy scowled at Joe. ‘Och, see you,’ he said. ‘You can’t take a joke.’
Joe pushed his face against Jammy’s. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘OK. OK.’ Jammy backed off. ‘Did we come here to chuck stuff at them? Or have you changed your mind and decided to take part in this here Orange Walk yourself?’
‘I’m fed up with it,’ said Joe. He took the bag of water balloons Jammy had brought with him and flung it on the ground.
‘Aw c’mon,’ said Jammy. ‘We could have a great time winding up these wombles.’
‘Naw,’ said Joe. ‘It’d just be like the thing that I’d get lifted and then no be able to play in the match tomorrow.’
He kicked the bag viciously with his foot. ‘The football’s more important to me.’
Divided City Page 15