by Paul Kelly
Willie studied the writings as he waited and shuffled his feet in the event that the message might be true. It read. “If you’re looking at me, then you’re standing in shit.” He looked down quickly and laughed, just as Trottie appeared at the kiosk door.
“Willie,” she gasped excitedly and held her breath as she squeezed herself into the kiosk beside him, “Is there anything wrong? Why didn’t you come to the house?”
He was still holding the telephone when she spoke and he tried to replace the receiver, manoeuvring himself in the confined space as Trottie threw her arms around him. Her cool cheeks pressed against his warm face.
“Let me look at you,” she said, “My God You’re such a fine young man and I do confess, if I was twenty years younger, I’d want you all to myself. Do you know that Willie Blair?” She kissed him more and rubbed his hands in hers as if to warm them, but it was her hands that were cold. They both laughed and Willie drew in his breath. The night was cold. Moist clouds of air pervaded the atmosphere as they huddled together and Trottie was greatly excited; her ample bosom heaving with each breath she took.
“I would have come to the house, but I wasn’t sure if you would be in.”
“Well, I’m here now all twenty odd stone of me, lad. Let’s go somewhere warmer where we can talk. I can’t bloody breathe in here.”
Trottie linked her arm in Willie’s and they attempted to leave the telephone kiosk together.
She sighed and giggled. “You first if you can get out. I think I’ll need a jemmy to get me through this door.”
***
The restaurant was warm, but the food was anything but exciting and the rationing was still on. They settled for powdered egg omelette and a very dubious bottle of white wine.
Trottie could not wait to hear Willie’s news and as she leaned across the table, the legs creaked and the waitress gave her a strange look.
“Now tell me. What’s the matter?” she said, concluding that her young friend DID have a problem. Willie tasted the wine and winced.
“I’m thinking of leaving Glasgow, Trottie and I would be grateful if you would do me a favour.”
She could feel a flush coming over her and she wondered what was to come next.
“You know I’d do anything for you Willie. ANYTHING,” she emphasized as she reached out and took his hand, but Willie released himself from her grasp and reached into his pocket to produce the letter that he had received from Nathan.
“I want to buy a car with some of this money, but I don’t know anything about buying cars. Do you?”
“I can help,” she said readily, “Although I’m much better at bashing them up ... do you remember the garage .My car just kissed that wall one morning and well, you can see the results.”
Willie looked at her with serious concern on his face, despite her levity.
“The rest of the money, I’d like you to keep for me in case my mother or any of my family here in Glasgow need it at any time. I have no need for it. I’ll get a job and I’ll be O.K. but I do need a car.”
Trottie was filled with admiration for Willie’s gesture.
“But surely you will need it yourself if you are leaving Glasgow Where are you going?”
“London,” he said sharply. “I can get work there and besides I can’t bear any more of the memories that Glasgow holds for me not for the present at least Not for a long time, I would say.”
He did not mention his loss of Charlie nor of his friend Wattie but Trottie knew by his face and the look in his deep, sorrowful, lovely blue eyes that he meant every word he said and that there was some very good reason for his drastic action. She decided to help in any way she could, but she knew she would miss him. She thought also of her own young days when she had resided in London and wished she could re-live some of that time that she could erase some memories from her mind and that she could live out her days with Willie Blair.
She knew how stupid a thought that was and that her feelings for this young man would never be reciprocated well not as she would want but she loved him and her heart was sore. What was it about love when it was given and not received, she thought and she remembered the tragic circumstances of her recent affair ...She had loved him but that love had not been returned. Could love ever be equal, she thought? Could love ever be given and received in the same measure? Why was it so incompatible for so many? What was Shakespeare dreaming about when he rattled on about Romeo and Juliet? He didn’t have a clue. Love was O.K. when it was acted out on the stage, but when it came to real life, there was nothing but sex. She looked at Willie again and dried a tear at the corner of her eye with her tiny lace handkerchief.
“Tell me what you want me to do then.”
Willie unfolded the plan he had made and Trottie accepted his suggestions without question. She would keep a watch on the Blairs without being obtrusive and in return, Willie would write to her regularly from London. She shook his hand in approval of her acceptance and to seal the bargain, but she was more than surprised when Willie leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. She blushed and wanted to cry, but did not want to embarrass him. She knew she would wash her face around that kiss and hold the memory for as long as she could as she removed a small piece of cork from her upper lip and sniffed back a tear.
Willie gave her £800 and she was flattered at his innocent trust as she pressed her large leg against his, under the table and wished he wasn’t so bloody pure.
They walked slowly back to Graham Road.
“I won’t come in Trottie. Miss Carson will probably be in bed anyway.”
“Sound asleep on her virginal couch, I shouldn’t wonder,” added Trottie as she stood at the entrance to the drive.
“You’ve made a fine job of that,” she said pointing to the garage and as he glanced at his handiwork, Trottie stole a quick kiss on his cheek as he looked away.
“Goodnight Willie. Take care and God bless you.”
“Goodnight Trottie. Sleep well and thank you for everything.”
***
Mr. Bangs handed Willie a certificate of apprenticeship on the last day of his work on the Site.
“You’ll have to do some more work to get that completed,” he said, but his voice had lost its hardness, “But it will let them know what you’ve been up to in the building trade, that is ...” He looked down at the ground as he spoke and moved a little mound of earth with his shoe. “You’ve been a good lad, Blair and you’ve worked hard. I wish you every success in London and if I can ever be of any help ...”
Willie was stunned. He had never expected Banger to say anything like that to him.
“Thanks Mr. Bangs. Thank you very much.”
The foreman moved closer to where Willie was standing and whispered in his ear.
“Call me Banger, lad Call me Banger.”
Willie left the Site with a strange feeling of sadness as he walked home. It seemed that the world was at last putting everything to rights for him. Mary was quiet when he arrived home busying herself doing ‘nothings’ and her heart was heavy. She knew that her son would do what he felt he should do, but she so desperately wished that he would change his mind and stay at home, however as she looked at his face, she could see that her wish would never be granted. Willie was his own man. He was his father’s son and he would go to London.
***
The new car was parked outside the house in Rouken Glen, ready for the long drive down to England’s capital and Willie brought his suitcase down and put it carefully into the boot of the car as Mary stood at the front door with a little parcel of sandwiches and some home made cake. She knew how Willie loved home cooking and she was trying to use every bribe.
“I’ll only be a minute Mammy,” he said as he walked slowly up the stairs to his room to take a last look and to ensure that he had taken everything he required, be
fore he closed the door and stood in the corridor. His eyes were drawn to another room, quite near his own. He wanted to walk on past it; he knew he should, but his hand reached out to the handle and he turned it and went in. Everything was just as it had been when Charlie was alive nothing was out of place. Only Charlie’s prayer book was missing and Willie already had that in his suitcase. He swallowed hard and knelt down by the side of his dead brother’s bed, crossing himself as he moved and he felt a physical sickness take hold of him as he thought that he might never return to that room again, for who would have thought that Wattie would never come home again and was he any better or more fortunate than his friend? He wanted to linger longer as his memories were so vivid and so vibrant but he knew he could never stay.
“You’re a bugger, Charlie Blair,” he sobbed, “You won’t leave me and I can’t let you go. You will always be with me all the days of my life, no matter where I go.” He kissed the pillow and stood up. “I love you Charlie. Pray for me.”
***
He kissed his tearful mother and hugged her warmly and Tom shook his hand as he pulled his head down to touch his warm cheek with his lips.
“Take care of yourself Willie and remember, you will always have a home here any time you return and that goes for any of your friends also.” Tom spoke in English before he broke into Gaelic. “Ceud mile failte . A hundred thousand welcomes.”
Willie smiled his gratitude and got into the car, but as he drove away, it seemed that a large chunk of his heart had remained behind. His breath came in quick spasmodic spurts as he turned on the wipers as it was beginning to rain and teardrops formed on the windscreen. Some little children had run into a bus shelter to escape the weather and they sang together in the confined space. The resonant sounds haunted him in his car as he waited at the red lights.
“Bee baw, bappity, bappity, bappity,
Bee baw, bappity I’d raither hae a wee loddie.”
One little boy with fair hair and blue eyes left the shelter and came nearer to the car as Willie was waiting. The lights were still red.
“Hi there, Mister ... Mister ...”
Willie looked sadly at the child with his large, blue enquiring eyes.
“Mister Are you a Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can?” the little boy asked as he ran away laughing, skipping back into the shelter with merry delight to join his companions ... and the lights turned green.
***
FINIS
Paul Kelly, 19 Broadhurst Avenue, ILFORD, Essex, IG3 9DL
Tel 0207 998 4808 Email [email protected]
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