No Wonder I Take a Drink

by Laura Marney

  ‘Jackie?’

  ‘Oh hello there Trixie, how are you, not seen you for a while.’

  His voice was jolly. He fiddled about with something in a pot and, although I pushed my face at him, he couldn’t look at me.

  ‘Oh Jackie don’t waste your breath. I know. I know why you’ve been avoiding me.’

  He stopped fiddling. And then started again.

  ‘You don’t know anything.’

  ‘Look, do I have to spell it out? D’you want Walter to hear? I. Fucking. Know. Okay?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So? That’s all you can say? Why didn’t you tell me? You could have saved me making an arse of myself, it was in your power. And then, you wouldn’t even speak to me for Christ’s sake! Oh aye, you’re all avuncular with Steven but you won’t even answer the door to me. Look, I know now and I’m okay about it, thanks for asking. I mean I’m not okay about it yet, but I will be when I get used to the idea. Just don’t… don’t freeze me out like this. Can we not turn the clocks back, start again? We were all set to be good mates weren’t we? Jackie, I could do with a friend, and since Mum died I need all the family I can get. I’m sorry I embarrassed you but in all fairness, I wasn’t to know. You can relax, I’m not going to jump on your bones, I’d just like a big brother.’

  ‘Is that how you want to see me, as a big brother?’

  ‘I don’t spend my evenings lusting after you, if that’s what you mean. You’re quite safe. And anyway, you’re a bit old for me.’

  That was meant as a joke but Jackie was awful sad-looking.

  ‘I’ve never been a brother before.’

  ‘Neither have I, but you don’t need a City and Guilds certificate! D’you want the job or not?’

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  Rather than spoil the moment I left it at that and went back into Walter, acting as if nothing had happened.

  *

  And in a way, nothing had happened. Everything went on as before, walking Bouncer, driving Rebecca to her lessons, gabbing with Jenny, phoning Steven, that was it. Jackie didn’t take up his post as my new brother, he didn’t visit or phone. I wasn’t surprised. The girls next door went back to Saudi and I was sorry to see them go. I got stuck into the garden. I would dig and hoe and clip and rake and weed and mow and mulch all the livelong day.

  As time went by I realised my mistake of not questioning Jackie when I had the chance. I was kicking myself that I’d flounced off, I had so many questions. Did he feel I had stolen his inheritance? Did he want Harrosie? Had the gardening just been a pretext to check me out? I thought we were getting on great, didn’t he like me? Or was it the snogging incident that had put him off? Had Harry ever mentioned me? What was Harry like? Even stupid little things niggled me: why did Jackie return the whisky and not the sweeties?

  I wanted to talk about it. Bouncer knew as much as I did but he had nothing to say on the matter. I couldn’t tell Steven, not when he was waiting for his exam results, and Rebecca was too young. I tried to raise the subject with Jenny.

  It was no accident that the shop was empty when I went in. I always timed my visit for when it was quiet, lurking outside until I had her to myself. If Jenny had customers she would look through me and say, ‘Yes dear? What can I get you?’

  She was stacking shelves, up and down her wee three-step ladder as if she was at the gym. I casually mentioned that I bumped into Jackie up at Walter’s.

  ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet all morning. I’ve hardly had a chance to get this stock out.’

  ‘Want me to hand the tins up to you?’

  ‘Och no, it’s the only exercise I get, sitting in this foosty old shop all day.’

  I lifted three tins and passed them up to her anyway. She took them, filed them into their space, and turned to me expectantly. I bent down and got three more.

  ‘Jackie and I had a good talk.’

  She made a sympathetic face and nodded. This confirmed what I suspected, that she knew already. I continued to pass her up the tins.

  ‘Peas now Trixie please, that box.’

  ‘We managed to sort things out.’

  ‘Oh well that’s grand.’

  ‘I mean we talked a bit, but there are still loads of things I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m wondering if I should bother with the butter beans, nobody buys them this time of year, they’re just taking up space.’

  ‘I meant to ask Jackie about Harry.’

  Jenny turned with a tin of butter beans in her hand.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Yeah, what he was like, if he ever talked about me. You knew him didn’t you Jenny, what was he like?’

  ‘Well Jackie is the man to ask about all that kind of thing.’

  ‘Aw c’mon Jenny, don’t you do it too. It’s all out in the open now, I’m fine with it.’

  Jenny came down off the ladder and put her hand on my arm and looked into my face.

  ‘I am, honest. I’m entitled to know about my father.’

  ‘Yes, Trixie you’re right, and Jackie has a duty to tell you.’ She might have said more but customers came in. Our chat was over.

  It was four young men, backpackers, all speaking at the same time, one of them waving a poly bag.

  ‘Nih parley pah Fransay,’ said Jenny with a friendly smile.

  ‘I think they’re Spanish, Jenny,’ I said.

  I had spent enough holidays on the Costa del Sol to know that much. Jenny held up her hand to halt their chatter.

  ‘Righty ho.’

  She slid her hand under the counter and unfastened the bolt. Lifting the hinged counter she displayed an A4 sheet of paper with one line in various languages written on it. She picked one out and demonstrated, with her finger going along the line as she read the words.

  ‘No hablamos español.’

  Again she smiled. But the lads didn’t, they started speaking again, this time louder and faster. The one with the poly bag shoved it at Jenny and pointed towards the till. I was suddenly very conscious of our situation. This was the first time anything like this had ever happened to me. I grabbed for Jenny’s hand and moved closer to her.

  ‘Jenny, don’t be alarmed,’ I whispered, ‘but we’re being held up. He’s telling you to put the money in the bag. Just do what he says.’

  To my astonishment Jenny laughed as she took the bag from the boy.

  ‘¡No es catolica!’

  He seemed to be saying something about Catholics. Maybe it was a political protest. Jenny opened the bag and looked inside. Now she threw her head back and really laughed. Jenny held her left hand flat and waved the right hand around in front of it making a rude gesture towards the Spaniards. She nodded her head and the boy nodded back.

  ‘¡Es rotting! No es catolica!’ the lad said.

  ‘For God’s sake Jenny, don’t provoke them, they’re Catholic!’

  ‘Si, es catolica, pero no es mantequilla,’ Jenny said as she pulled a plastic knife, six rolls and a half pound of lard from the bag.

  I was confused. Maybe they weren’t trying to rob us.

  ‘You’ve bought lard you bunch of diddies! You don’t put that on a roll! Here,’ she reached into the fridge and handed the boy a packet of McSpor’s Scottish butter, ‘this is what you’re after.’

  ‘¿Es mantequilla?’

  ‘Si. BUT, TER. Ask for it properly next time,’ she wagged her finger at the lot of them. ‘It’s not my fault if you buy the wrong thing.’

  ‘BUT, TER. Gracias señora.’

  ‘Señorita, actualmente,’ Jenny said in a flirtatious tone.

  Everyone laughed except me. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.

  ‘Gracias señorita.’

  ‘De nada. Adios, guapos.’

  I waited till they were out of the shop before I got the story. It turned out it wasn’t a rude gesture at all, she had mimed spreading butter on a piece. We laughed at that one. When we sobered up a bit I complimented her on her grasp of Spanish.

 
‘Och well, I wouldn’t go that far. I had a friend in London, I picked up a wee bit from him.’

  ‘More than a wee bit Jenny, you’re too modest, you sorted those boys out. I was amazed.’

  ‘Och well Trixie, we Highlanders can turn our hand to anything. You can’t tell just by looking at people. Sometimes you have to look further than your nose.’

  Steven thought it was hilarious as well when I phoned him that night. It was the first time we’d laughed since he’d gone back to Glasgow.

  ‘It’s good to hear you laugh Mum.’

  ‘Aye well, you’ve just got to get on with it haven’t you?’

  ‘You know what you are Mum, you’re indefatigable.’

  ‘Thanks. We Highlanders can turn our hand to anything. Is “indefatigable” one of your new words? What does it mean exactly?’

  ‘Dunno. I think it means cheery.’

  ‘Oh well, I’m certainly that.’ I could manage about twenty minutes of cheery before I had to get off the phone.

  *

  Two days later Jackie showed up. He cycled up, casual as you please, parked his bike and took a walk round the garden. I gave him twenty minutes to settle, then I came out to meet him.

  ‘All right Jackie?’

  ‘Nae bad, thanks, and yourself?’

  ‘Aye, couldn’t be better, thanks.’

  The conversation continued in this laconic style for a wee while. I went in and brought out the cake tin and mugs of tea for us. I felt a bit awkward standing about with the cake tin under my arm but I wanted to take things at Jackie’s pace. Eventually he sat down. It was a lovely day and the midgies weren’t too bad, a perfect Highland day in fact. He was full of compliments about the home baking and the garden.

  ‘You have the place looking lovely, the roses are coming up grand. They’re the nicest I’ve seen in the village, those would easily take a prize at the gala day flower show. You’ve worked wonders, I think you have a wee hidden talent there, Trixie.’

  ‘Aye well, it runs in the family.’

  Jackie’s face flushed. Oops, wrong thing to say.

  A decent interval after he’d finished his tea, Jackie got up to leave. I made no effort to keep him, I thought of the last time he left, limping bootless across the gravel. It was only when he was astride his bike, ready for a fast getaway, that he seemed to relax.

  ‘Are you busy on Thursday, Trixie?’

  ‘Now, Thursday, let me think. No, I don’t think I am.’

  ‘I’m taking the boat out, I have a booking in the morning. I’ll bring them back about one. We could go out to the waterfall after that.’

  I’d never heard of the waterfall but it sounded good.

  ‘Yeah okay, if you like.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He pushed off and wheeched down the hill.

  ‘Can I bring the dog?’ I shouted after him.

  Without looking back he held up his hand which I took to be a yes.

  ‘Bring cakes!’ he shouted back.

  *

  Jackie’s boat, La Belle Dame Marie, was nothing like I expected. For one thing it was much bigger than I’d thought it would be and painted a jaunty blue and yellow. It was comfortable inside too, it even had a wee bar. Bouncer was in an excitable mood. As soon as we got on board he did his usual, sniffing everything. The dog was reckless, I had to keep pulling him back from the edge, I was scared he was going to fall in.

  ‘The last time Steven visited we went out on a boat past the islands and saw dolphins, it was brilliant, I got loads of photos.’

  ‘We can go and look for them if you want.’

  ‘Och no, I’d rather see the waterfall.’

  I was impressed by how he confidently manoeuvred the boat around the wee harbour. As we negotiated our way past the other boats Jackie told me he’d had her for years now, did all the maintenance himself, made just about enough money in the summer to keep her in the water. He took us out of the loch, past the first island along a narrow channel with steep cliffs on either side. Stone-coloured seals lolled about on sharp rocks, only sliding into the water when Bouncer barked hello. Jackie took us in so close to the edge I could touch the cliff walls and see wee crabs scuttling in the clear water. Now entering another sea loch, Jackie cut the engine and pointed into the sky. Away in the distance there was a dot circling in the hills.

  ‘Eagle,’ he said.

  ‘I’m amazed you spotted it. It’s only a tiddly wee thing in the sky.’

  ‘I’m used to it, it’s my job. And I wouldn’t let him hear you calling him tiddly. If that fella was standing here now he’d be up to your middle.’

  It was another quarter of an hour of slowly phut-phutting up the loch before Jackie stopped.

  ‘There’s the waterfall over there.’

  Jackie pointed inland to a dribble of water falling off a hilltop ledge.

  ‘It’s great,’ I said. I laughed when I said it, it was difficult to sound convincing.

  ‘The weather’s not been great for it.’

  ‘What d’you mean Jackie? The weather’s been lovely.’

  ‘Exactly, no good for a waterfall.’

  He was right. I’d seen burst drainpipes that were more spectacular but I didn’t like to say.

  ‘We could still go and look for the dolphins if you like Trixie.’

  ‘Not at all. Don’t be daft, it’s nice to be out. We couldn’t ask for a better day, there’s not a cloud nor a midgie for miles. And I’ve brought the cake tin.’

  ‘I’ll get the kettle on.’

  I waited on deck, taking the rays until Jackie handed me my tea.

  ‘La Belle Dame Marie, is that after your restaurant?’

  ‘Well, after my wife really.’

  ‘Och that’s nice.’

  Things went quiet again after that. Jackie seemed to find the view up the loch fascinating, squinting into the sun, away from me, until I played my trump card.

  ‘I met him you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Harry.’

  Jackie turned and looked at me.

  ‘He came to Mum’s funeral. I mean, I didn’t know who he was, but he spoke to me, introduced himself. What was he like?’

  ‘You’re asking the wrong person.’

  ‘You’re the only person I can ask. If you won’t tell me I’ll have to ask Spider.’

  ‘Spider? How do you know Spider?’

  ‘I met him at a ceilidh. He said he knew you at school, is that right? He looks older than you.’

  ‘I’m fifty-six.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  He was squinting again, embarrassed.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake Jackie, I wasn’t meaning anything, I’m not trying to flatter you I was just being honest, you don’t look fifty-six. I would have taken you for about… fifty-four. Fifty-four-and-a-half.’

  I was watching his face so I could see he was suppressing a smile.

  ‘Tell me about him. I want to know about Harry.’

  The smile faded.

  ‘Look Trixie, it won’t do any good. Let it go.’

  I let it go, not because he told me to, but to reconsider my strategy. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook, not when I had him captive, he couldn’t hop onto his bike this time. The direct appeal had met a brick wall, as had the jokey approach. My whole family; Mum, Harry and now Jackie, had kept the truth from me, it wasn’t fair, I had a right. The water in my eyes wasn’t entirely tactical but nevertheless, I sniffed loudly. This served the dual purpose of alerting Jackie whilst at the same time preventing spillage. Spillage would be overplaying it.

  ‘There isn’t much I can tell, and none of it is good.’

  I was dangerously close to spillage, time to close him down.

  ‘I don’t care. Just tell me, please?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Bingo.

  It was a long and sad story and told me as much about Jackie as it did Harry. Every time Jackie curled his lip and said ‘my father’ I wanted to cor
rect him and say ‘our father,’ but he was on a roll and I didn’t want to interrupt the flow. The way Jackie told it, Harry was the bad guy. Our father had thrown Jackie out of the house when he was only sixteen. Jackie hadn’t set eyes on him for more than ten years until he brought Marie back to Inverfaughie to set up the restaurant.

  ‘My mother welcomed Marie with open arms but not him. He was jealous, jealous of how beautiful and clever she was, of our success. Within months La Belle Dame had four times the turnover of Harrosie. I could have bought and sold him.’

  Jackie skimmed over the car crash and subsequent divorce. It was obviously painful to him, his voice dropped to a whisper when he mentioned Marie. His jaw tightened when he told me that Harry never visited Marie when she lay in hospital with two broken legs.

  ‘He drove my mother to the door and waited in the car. There were always his fag ends lying on the road where he’d parked.’

  After Marie was taken away Harry forbade Rosie, Jackie’s mother, from visiting him at all.

  ‘But Ma told him she’d leave. She wasn’t keeping well by this time, but she would have done it. We saw each other whether he like it or not. We’d sit in the kitchen blethering over a dram, it was always my favourite room in the house. He’d make himself scarce when I came.’

  I didn’t want to hear pessimistic stories like these, we were having too nice a time. I wanted to hear about the lovely presents Harry sent when I was born. I wanted to hear if he ever took out the photo of the wee girl and gazed at it, but I let him go on. Talk about opening the floodgates. What with the broken legs and the divorce and all the bad blood, I didn’t think it could get any more depressing, but it could.

  ‘He said it was me, but he killed her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He started it. It was his fault.’

  ‘Started what, Jackie?’

  ‘The argument. The night she died. Ma wasn’t very well, she looked terrible, her skin was a terrible yellowy colour. I’d brought a bottle to cheer her up. As soon as I came in he marched through to the kitchen and lifted the whisky off the table. He was away to pour it down the sink. Ma tried to stop him but she couldn’t, she had terrible swollen ankles and a big tummy, her legs had ballooned as well, she could hardly move. He was upsetting her. What was I supposed to do? I told him to leave the whisky alone, I gave him fair warning. Then I had to struggle to take it off him. Ma was screaming. The old man ran out of the room with tears in his eyes, I didn’t like doing it but I had to, for her.