by Agnes Owens
Thankfully I lay back. The evening was still ahead of me untouched.
‘D’ye hear whit I’m sayin’? There’s a fella wantin’ tae speak tae ye. Strikes me as bein’ one o’ these queers.’
My mother had queers on the brain due to a recent television play. Even I was under suspicion.
I said, ‘Tell him tae beat it.’
‘Tell him yersel. He’s waitin’ in the living room.’
In a stinking mood I stumbled out of bed. It was Tolworth awaiting. There wasn’t much resemblance to the neatly dressed fellow I had first met. There were more creases in his suit than a concertina. His shirt hung outside his trousers and there was no sign of a tie. He clutched me by the vest and said in a sickening whine, ‘You’ll have to help me. There’s a mob after me. I don’t know what to do.’
My mother viewed the scene with arms folded and nodding her head as if her worst expectations had been confirmed. ‘Who’s this then?’ she challenged.
I explained that he was Tolworth McGee alias Toly. Surprise and recognition softened her. She asked, ‘How’re ye keepin’ and how’s yer mither an’ faither?’
In between the snivelling Toly replied, ‘Fine,’ then returned to the snivelling. My mother became bored with the lack of information and said, ‘I’ll pit on the tea.’
‘For God’s sake, pull yersel the gither,’ I said when she had gone into the kitchenette. ‘Whit happened?’
‘I don’t know whit happened. After you left I think somebody picked an argument wi’ me. I threw a glass o’ beer in his face. The next thing I was ootside and a gang was chasin’ me. I managed to get away.’ He added with a touch of pride, ‘I wis always good at runnin’.’
‘Whit dae ye want me tae dae?’ I asked.
‘Can you no’ help me?’
‘Listen chum, I’m no’ gaun tae spoil a good Saturday protectin’ you.’
My mother entered with two cups of tea and a plate of banana sandwiches.
‘Ye’ve excelled yersel,’ I said looking darkly at the meal.
Ignoring the comment she addressed Toly, ‘Mind an’ tell yer folks I wis askin’ for them.’
‘Sure, I can hardly wait,’ he mumbled, drawing the cup shakily up to his mouth.
The tea must have revived Toly a bit for he said, ‘If only I could get to the railway station I would be OK but these guys might be waitin’ for me.’
‘I’ll tell ye whit,’ I said with inspiration, ‘we’ll wrap yer haund in bandages then we’ll put yer arm in a sling. Nobody will touch ye then, an’ I’ll take ye tae the station.’
Toly was doubtful, but I had the feeling if I didn’t get him out of the house right now he would stay forever, like a refugee in hiding, and my mother would be glad to keep him as company for her old age.
My mother was annoyed at the sight of one of her sheets being torn up for bandages, but as she must have felt sorry for Toly she assisted in making him appear a pathetic casualty. She waved a cheerful hand out the window as I prodded him along the road. Sure enough, further on the way, two of the Hoodlum Gang were leaning against the fence. I gripped Toly’s arm hard to keep him from running away.
‘Whit a horrible sight,’ sneered one of the gang.
‘Look,’ I explained, ‘he’s already had a doin’ an’ broke his wrist. So there’s nae need tae gie him anither one.’
‘That’s right,’ said Toly with a ghastly ingratiating grin. With wooden faces they stared at him. One stabbed a knife into the fence. Toly gasped. Hurriedly we moved on. When I looked back the knife was still being stabbed. But anyway we reached the station and I left Toly on the platform, ignoring his plea to wait with him. I had done my duty and the Paxton Arms would be open. I was in the pub for only half an hour when my mother marched right up to the bar beside me. I was surprised. She wouldn’t enter a lounge let alone a public bar. She explained, with a face like flintstone, that Toly was back in the house with a genuine broken wrist waiting on the ambulance.
Sure enough, when we got back Toly was lying on the couch at the end of a trail of bandages beginning from the outside door, and bellowing like a bull.
‘Whit’s happened noo?’ I asked, tempted to damage him further.
He stopped his noise long enough to tell me that the two Hoodlums had followed him to the station. ‘I showed them my wrist, telling them it was broken.’
‘We already telt them that,’ I said with irritation, adding, ‘so, whit did they dae?’
Toly sobbed. ‘They must be monsters. They kicked it six times.’
He carried on sobbing until the ambulance came.
* * *
During the next few days my mother visited him in hospital, taking in grapes and bananas. Then she told me she was thinking of giving him a holiday when he came out because the McGees had been awful nice folk. She asked me if I would mind giving Toly my bed and I could sleep on the couch, assuring me it was quite comfortable. This morning they let Toly out and I was waiting at the hospital gates in a taxi. I reminded him that the Hoodlum Gang never forget, so in order to make a quick getaway before they got on his trail again he could take the taxi to the railway station. He was very grateful, and we parted the best of mates.
The Auld Wife’s Fancy Man
I could scarcely believe my eyes when I came home early the other day from work to see Proctor Mallion drinking tea with my mother. His round, shiny face was unusually benign, though tinged with embarrassment, when he said to me, ‘Hullo son.’ My mother glared at me as she said, ‘You’re hame early.’
I shook my wet tammy over the table. ‘I got rained aff,’ I said, and snapped, ‘Hurry up wi’ the dinner.’
I turned on the telly and sat with my eyes glued to Bugs Bunny in order to avoid looking at Proctor. Drunk, he was a psycho case, sober he appeared a smarmy greaseball. He finished his tea off with a noisy slosh, ‘I’m jist away.’
‘Aye, ye’d better hurry. The pubs have been open for a full five minutes,’ I shouted after him.
The sausages and mash were dumped with a bang before me.
‘When’s the wedding?’ I asked.
‘Don’t be so bloody sarcastic. Just because I gave the man a drap o’ tea ye needny try tae make something o’ it.’
‘I don’t want tae see that man in this hoose,’ I said.
‘So, it’s your hoose now.’
I tried being reasonable. ‘Look, that man’s a nut case. He’ll come back here when he’s drunk an’ smash the place.’
‘As far as I’m concerned it’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black,’ said my mother coldly.
I could see it was useless. ‘I’m away tae bed for a rest.’
‘Aye, only till the pub gets busy.’
* * *
Later on I ran into Paddy McDonald in the Paxton, quite sober. I told him about Proctor Mallion drinking tea with my mother.
‘Tea?’ he echoed.
‘That’s beside the point. I got the impression he was courtin’ the auld wife.’
Paddy shook his head. ‘Never,’ he said. Paddy is very courteous as far as women are concerned. I don’t think he ever had much to do with them. He told me, ‘Yon’s a bad one, and no’ the type any woman should take up wi’. His first wife ran away wi’ the insurance man and his second wife left him efter he pushed her oot the windae. Lucky for her it wis on the ground floor.’
‘The worst o’ it is,’ I continued, ‘I canny lay a finger on him or she’ll turn against me.’
‘D’ye want me tae lay into him?’ asked Paddy.
If Paddy had been a hard man there were not many signs left. Years of steady drinking had worn him away nearly to skin and bone.
‘Thanks Paddy, but better leave it.’
‘You could always slip Pally McComb a fiver tae dae him. Pally’s a good hatchetman,’ said Paddy.
‘I widny waste ma money on Pally. Proctor would floor him wi’ a glare. It’s no’ Willie Morrison ye’re dealing wi’. Naw,’ I added thoughtfully, ‘it’s
got tae be something subtle.’
‘Look,’ said Paddy, ‘there’s Proctor comin’ in.’
I looked to see him staggering up to the bar, staring with unfocused eyes around him, likely looking for someone to latch on to. He zig-zagged towards us, then crashed into a chair. Flossie, the barman, emerged from his hideaway and glared at Proctor with hands on hips. Ineffectually he had barred Proctor on a number of occasions, but Proctor either ignored or never remembered them. Flossie, a peace lover at heart, usually forgot he had barred Proctor until he got the current bouncer to throw him out again. Bouncers in the Paxton Arms ran the same hazards as deputy sheriffs so it was never the same guy twice that dealt with Proctor. I could see that Flossie was trying to make his mind up whether to call on the latest bouncer who was happily playing darts, impervious to the disturbance. I was trying to make my mind up whether to leave. Proctor was slowed up by the chair, but he headed towards us with drunken determination. Then he did some intricate steps as one foot tripped over the other and fell flat on his face. Flossie’s mind was made up, ‘Benny!’ he shrieked in the direction of the dartboard, ‘Get this pest out.’
Benny threw a dart wildly at the board and approached Proctor.
He hauled him up to a standing position, gave him a kick on the legs, then threw him backwards through the swinging door.
‘To think,’ I said despairingly to Paddy, ‘that’s the auld wife’s fancy man. Maybe my future stepfaither.’
‘Ran into yer boyfriend,’ I informed my mother when I returned home at the early hour of nine o’clock.
‘Who’s that then?’ she asked, keeping her eyes on the telly.
‘That lovable bundle of fun, Proctor Mallion.’
‘Ye’ve got a nasty tongue on ye.’
‘It’s nothin’ compared tae yer boyfriend’s. When I last seen him he wis gettin’ flung through the doors o’ the Paxton. Still, he might take a look in later, provided he husny got picked up wi’ the police.’
Her answer was to turn up the telly very loud. ‘Get the tea on!’ I commanded, thoroughly incensed by everything.
‘Get it on yersel! Ye’re big an’ ugly enough.’
I regarded her with distaste. With her frizzy hair and torn tights Proctor might be the best she could get. I supposed it wasn’t much of a life watching the telly and the occasional bit of gossip for entertainment. Pity moved me into the kitchenette wherein I prepared a pot of tea and some slices of toast. She wasn’t impressed when I handed her my offering.
‘Wonders will never cease,’ she uttered, pointedly breaking off a black bit crust.
I tried again, ‘Whit’s for tomorrow’s pieces, an’ I’ll make them masel. It’ll save ye gettin’ up in the mornin’.’
‘Spam,’ she said, then, ‘are ye sure ye’re feelin’ alright?’
As I buttered my eight slices of bread I reflected it was going to be hard wakening myself. Still, if this soft soap was applied long enough she might consider it better to have me than Proctor in the house, because it would have to be one or the other.
‘Goodnight,’ I said to her before I retired. I tried to add the word ‘mother’ but since we seldom addressed each other by our names it was difficult. She didn’t even answer, so engrossed was she in the telly.
Everything went wrong in the morning. First of all I slept in. I had to leave without tea. On the site I discovered the bread I had buttered was minus the spam. The wall I built collapsed because the ganger insisted I use wet brick. ‘Get ma books ready, I’m packing it in!’ I told the foreman.
‘Away hame an’ tell me tomorrow,’ he said. I returned home about three in the afternoon to find Proctor drinking tea and eating cheese sandwiches. I grabbed him by his greasy collar and ran him out the door. ‘Come back here an’ ye’re oot the windae the same as yer last wife!’ was my message.
My mother’s mouth was still open from shock when I came back into the living room. ‘And don’t think I don’t mean it!’ I said.
I entered my bedroom and lay down feeling exhausted but unable to sleep because of the rage that tore at my head. But I must have dozed off because I woke with a start at the sound of a tray being dumped on the coffee table. I knew I had to begin again. I didn’t feel like it, but I must get rid of Proctor once and for all.
‘Sorry about the carry on,’ I mumbled as she wiped spilled tea off the table with one of my nearly new vests.
‘Think nothing of it,’ she sneered, throwing the vest violently onto the bed.
‘Tell ye what,’ I said, ‘how’s aboot comin’ wi’ me into the Paxton lounge for a wee break? I’ll buy ye a sherry.’
‘I don’t drink,’ she replied through clenched teeth. But somewhere I must have struck a chord for she added, ‘Anyway, I might gie ye a showin’ up. I’ve nothin’ much tae put on.’
Inwardly I conceded that could be true. I said, ‘Put on that nice fur coat ye got frae the Oxfam an’ ye’ll be lovely. In fact I’ll introduce ye tae a real gentleman compared tae which Proctor Mallion looks like a bit shit on the pavement.’
I didn’t add that the gentleman was Paddy McDonald. She must have been impressed for she said, ‘Anything tae keep ye happy.’
We sat in an obscure seat at the back of the public bar, although my mother was under the impression she was in the lounge, and I did not disillusion her. Self-consciously she patted her frizzy hair fresh from the curling tongs. I hoped no one would mistake her for a girlfriend. Doubtfully she informed me she would have a sherry. As I ordered the bevvy Paddy entered. I was glad to see that he was miserably sober.
‘Do me a favour,’ I asked him, ‘I want ye tae meet the auld wife. She’s sittin’ back there.’
He looked round furtively, but said courteously, ‘An’ a fine lookin’ woman tae. I’m surprised ye don’t bring her here mair often.’
‘Are ye kiddin’? Listen, I’m trying tae get rid o’ Proctor Mallion, an’ this is all part o’ the set-up. Have a word wi’ her an’ prove there’s better fish in the sea.’
He was aghast. ‘Ye’re no’ suggestin’ I should start courtin’ her?’
Actually I hadn’t considered this. Paddy would have been as unwelcome a stepfather as Proctor. ‘Nothin’ like that,’ I assured him, ‘jist come an’ sit at the table for a while tae take the bad look aff us.’ Reluctantly Paddy brought over his beer.
‘Meet Paddy McDonald,’ I said in the way of introduction.
My mother turned pink. I was surprised considering the contempt she had for him. Stiffly Paddy seated himself, also looking flushed. I thought this was going to be great. The two of them acting like teenagers.
‘Very pleased to meet you,’ he said.
Her face lit up. ‘It’s a pleasure I’m sure.’
After the second sherry my mother relaxed and addressed herself exclusively to Paddy. He was listening avidly to her every word. I gave up all pretence at listening because, apart from the fact that I was bored to tears, I spied Proctor Mallion at the bar arguing with Flossie. The upshot was that Flossie conveyed the message to him loudly, ‘Listen sonny boy, you are barred!’ Proctor’s answer was to hurl a glass through the mirror behind the bar. Flossie screamed and ran for cover. My mother gave a moan of fear. This excited Paddy’s chivalrous instincts. He hurried up to Proctor and smashed a lemonade bottle on the counter over his head. Immediately my mother gathered up her coat and ran out the bar shouting, ‘That’s the last time I come oot wi’ you.’
As it was too early for a bouncer to be on the scene, impulsively I took on the job myself. I’m not all that keen on a fight but if there’s one set out handy before me I have no alternative but to take part. Besides, Paddy was about to be executed any minute. Proctor, whose skull must have been as thick as concrete, was rising to his feet with bared teeth. Neatly I tripped him up, at the same time instructing Paddy to beat it quick. After I put the boot in on Proctor once or twice he was out for the count, and it was easy to deposit him on the pavement. The police van, which is as regular a
s a good taxi service, cleaned him off and all was quiet again. Flossie was grateful. He asked if I would like a job as a bouncer. ‘Naw, but I’ll have a double whisky.’
When I returned home my mother was watching the telly as usual.
‘Some carry on that wis,’ she said. ‘Ye’ll no’ catch me in one o’ these lounges again.’
‘It was a’ your fault anyway.’
She was amazed, ‘My fault!’
‘If it hudny been for the fact that ye were encouragin’ Proctor Mallion I wouldny have taken ye to the Paxton. I thought ye must be havin’ a right dreary time when ye took up wi’ a character like him.’
She appeared to be so stunned that she became breathless. Finally she said, ‘Me, takin’ up wi’ Proctor! The only reason he was in the hoose wis because I wis sellin’ him that set o’ tools lyin’ under yer bed. They’ve been lyin’ there for ages an’ I could never get cleanin’ the room right because o’ them. I only got a fiver but it was well worth it tae get rid o’ them.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, scarcely able to credit my ears. ‘You didny gie him ma set o’ tools that took me two years tae pay up when I wis an apprentice brickie?’
‘Well, ye never had them oot the box as far as I can remember.’
‘Ye don’t understand,’ I said slowly, my head beginning to ache. ‘Ye never use yer own tools if ye can help it. Ye always nick somebody else’s. If ye took yer own tools they wid jist get nicked.’
She was unperturbed. ‘How should I know that?’ Then she had the cheek to add, ‘How’s aboot makin’ a cup o’ tea?’
‘Get lost!’ I replied.
Up Country
Come this particular Saturday, a day I normally look forward to with great enthusiasm, I lost interest in the usual programme. Maybe I was becoming too aware of increasing pressures. All Friday night’s talk had seemed loaded to me. Usually discussions go above my head unless I’m personally involved, but phrases like ‘Are ye lookin’ for trouble’, ‘Stick the heid on him’ or ‘He’s only a Tim’ pierced through my ears and stuck in my brain until, for no apparent reason to anyone, I threw a glass at the mirror behind the bar.