Snowy was silent for a long moment. He felt better for having spoken these words aloud. They hadn’t sounded nearly as ridiculous as he had thought they would.
‘What happened next?’ asked Glaikit.
‘I don’t know how this story ends. It isn’t finished yet.’
‘Aww!’ cried Glaikit. ‘But I wanna hear the end now!’
Crabbit smiled wryly. ‘I think our friend Snowy might be talking about himsel’.’
Snowy nodded slowly in the dim lamplight.
‘Well, I’ll tell ye this … ye could dae a lot worse than oor Jill,’ Crabbit informed him. ‘Of course, if you hurt her, we’ll rip oot yer liver.’
Another long silence filled the room, before Glaikit began chuckling unaccountably.
‘What are you laughing at?’ demanded Crabbit.
‘Bob the Builder,’ Glaikit recounted, and the Freaks burst into hysterical laughter.
‘Nononononononononono!’ laughed Nono, his head spinning so fast that it became entangled in his bedclothes. A muffled, panicky ‘Nononononononono!’ could be heard from the great lump of sheet and blanket that had replaced his head.
‘Och, don’t make Nono laugh in bed,’ Crabbit snapped, dragging herself out of bed and untangling him. ‘He’ll strangle himsel’!’
Snowy gave an embarrassed chuckle. ‘Well … goodnight, everyone.’
He climbed carefully downstairs and into bed, relieved to be in the warmth of the roaring fire once more.
He still couldn’t get his head around how funny the Freaks had found that ‘Bob the Builder’ remark. It really hadn’t been that funny.
Then it occurred to him that that was probably the first time a non-Freak had cracked a joke in their house. Were they so used to each other – or tired of each other – that they couldn’t make each other laugh? Maybe laughter wasn’t important to their relationship with each other.
Snowy tried to put himself in their shoes for a minute, and realised how lonely their existence must be.
It wasn’t the joke itself that had provoked such uproarious laughter, it was the fact that he had shared it with them. That really meant something to them.
Snowy suddenly felt very close to the Freaks.
Who would have thought? With one lame, half-hearted attempt at wit, he had become family.
Jack took a deep breath as he opened his front door, knowing what he would see. The imposing (if short) figure of his mother was framed in the doorway, glaring angrily.
She was a stout woman with greying hair, nicotine-stained omelettes hanging around her eyes, cheeks that looked a lot like a dog’s floppy ears, and great boulders of flesh hanging over her flabby, folded arms.
‘What time d’ye call this?’ she growled. ‘I just sent ye for messages.’
Jack dumped his shopping bags by the door, then squeezed his way past his unmoving mother, stepping over empty beer bottles and half-full bin bags to get to the living room.
A stranger in the living room would have remarked upon the mess. Jack barely noticed the Union Flag, once hung proudly over the mantelpiece, now dangled limply from a single nail.
‘I was at Jill’s,’ Jack informed his mother.
‘Oh,’ she grunted, and sagged into the sofa.
‘How’s your day been?’ Jack asked.
‘Am I no getting a cup o’ tea?’ asked his mum. ‘I’ve no had wan a’ day!’
‘Well, if all else fails, you could aye try getting it yersel’.’
‘Oh, that’s just great, that is!’ his mother spat. ‘That attitude’s just fantastic, so it is! See you? You’ve got less respect for me every time I talk to ye. That’s yer sister’s influence, that is!’
Jack harrumphed and made tea for his mum, coffee for himself.
‘Speaking o’ Jill …’ said Jack.
‘Och, don’t start.’
‘How’d ye no just talk to her?’
She said nothing.
‘She misses you, you know.’
‘Aye, well … that’s no what she said last time I seen her.’
Jack sighed. ‘That was four years ago, Maw.’
His mother harrumphed.
‘She’d really like to get back in touch.’
‘She knows where I am if she wants to apologise.’
‘Yous two are as bad as each other,’ said Jack. ‘Can ye no just let bygones be bygones? She’s got a new job now.’
‘Aye, well, that’s mair than I can say for you!’
‘Just thought you’d like to know how she was getting on.’
‘She can aye phone me hersel’ and tell me.’
‘Aye, and you can phone her, too. Bear in mind you can be a very intimidating person, Mum. And she knows you don’t approve of her lifestyle.’
“‘Lifestyle”? Is that what ye call it? I call it turning her back on Christ.’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Och, don’t give us yer “Christ” patter. When was the last time you actually went to church? And by “church”, I don’t mean Ibrox.’
His mother folded her fleshy face into a frown. ‘Aye, but that’s no the point, is it? I mean, see a’ that … stuff she’s doing? A’ that magic and that? I mean, it’s no right, is it?’ She paused. ‘And where’s my swallae?’
‘Erm … me and Jill were chatting and lost track o’ time a bit. It was after ten afore I got tae the supermarket.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry.’
‘Och, that’s just great, that is! You and that sister of yours!’
‘Look, I didnae mean it to happen,’ said Jack. ‘It just sort of happened. She’s going through a lot the noo.’
Maw harrumphed.
‘I’ll nip tae the shops again the morra, awright?’
‘Aye. What I’m I gonnae dae the night, but?’
‘You could try staying sober for wan night,’ muttered Jack.
‘Well thanks for nothing.’ Maw sipped her tea, and resigned herself to changing the subject. ‘Anyways, ye missed a’ the excitement earlier.’
‘Oh, aye?’ said Jack.
‘Aye, ye know that asylum seeker that lives two flairs up?’
Jack’s heart was suddenly in his throat. ‘Aye?’
‘Immigration came for her and took her away. There was a whole big hoo-ha. Jack? Jack …? Where are ye going?’
Jack was feeling sick when he reached Rapunzel’s front door. His heart was pounding, his stomach was turning, and the back of his throat was burning.
The door was boarded up.
Jack pounded the chipboard until his fists bled and let out a roar of anguish.
‘What’s the matter wi’ you?’ his mother asked, following far behind up the stairs. ‘What? Did ye know her or that?’
‘I know her,’ said Jack. ‘I … love her.’
His mother roared with laughter. ‘Oh, aye, looks like she seen you coming all right.’
‘You know nothing!’ screamed Jack. ‘Nothing!’
‘I know enough to know what these people are like. She doesnae belang in this country. And if we don’t have some rules to keep them oot, there’ll end up mair o’ them than there are of us!’
‘You’re nothing but a spiteful, poison-minded bigot,’ spat Jack. ‘You’re not my mother, and I’m not staying in your hoose another day.’
The bus that carried Jack over the Squinty Bridge also carried him over a very strange plant that was growing out of the River Clyde; a plant the like of which had never been seen by mortal eyes.
It grew and grew and grew, and had soon pushed its way right through the Squinty Bridge, which the police had consequently closed.
An onlooker was heard to remark, ‘Christ! They’re just after getting the thing fixed!’
CHAPTER 6
The Wolf approached his target stealthily; a quaint little brick house that, if he had his way, would soon be rubble.
He knocked on the door, grinning nastily with the delicious sensation of impending victory.
‘Aye, who is it?’ came a voice from within.
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‘Why, it is your old friend, the Big, Bad Wolf. Little pigs, won’t you please let me in?’
‘Sod off!’ replied three pigs in unison.
‘How rude,’ chuckled the Wolf. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to huff, and puff, and blow your house down.’
Percy and Peter huddled close in fear, whilst their elder brother, Paddy, smiled confidently. ‘On ye go, then,’ he called to the wolf outside.
‘Careful, Paddy,’ said Percy. ‘He really knows how to huff and puff.’
‘He’s right,’ insisted Peter. ‘He got Percy’s straw hoose and my stick hoose. Let’s get oot the back door and run for it while we still can.’
‘Haud yer horses,’ Paddy insisted calmly. ‘See, my hoose is a brick hoose, wi’ double glazing and a top-of-the-range security system. And I’m telling you, that wolf can huff and puff all he wants. This hoose will stand longer than him. I guarantee it.’
They had not long to wait to find out.
They heard the Wolf huff.
They heard the Wolf puff.
They heard the Wolf’s gale-force breath buffeting the sturdy brick walls of the house.
And then … nothing.
The pigs laughed while the Wolf struggled to get his breath back.
‘Haw, Wolfie!’ cried Paddy. ‘Blow harder!’
His brothers fell on their backs, kicking the air with all their trotters, helpless with laughter.
Again the Wolf huffed.
Again the Wolf puffed.
Again the brick house stood its ground.
‘My granny can blow harder!’ yelled Paddy Pig. ‘Gie up smoking, then come back!’
For the third time, the Wolf huffed.
For a third time, the Wolf puffed.
For a third time, his efforts came to nothing.
‘This is your final warning, pigs,’ panted the wolf. ‘I do not take kindly to defiance. Less so, mocking.’
‘Ye’ve come to the wrang place, then!’ jeered Paddy.
‘I would not be so complacent in your position,’ growled the Wolf, the gentle, velvety quality of his voice now gone. ‘Your house may be strong, but wolfish cunning will be your undoing.’
The pigs grunted and wheezed with maniacal porcine mirth.
They laughed until Paddy hissed, ‘Ssh!’
The pigs were silent.
‘You hear that?’
Indeed, they could hear something. They could hear the unmistakable sound of someone – or something – climbing the brick walls of their house.
‘He’s no gonnae try and climb down the chimney, is he?’ breathed Peter.
Paddy grinned. ‘Oh, boy, this is gonnae be good.’ He spun to face his brothers, his features suddenly serious. ‘Go down to the cellar and bring me my mud-warmer.’
‘Yer …?’
‘What?’ asked Peter and Percy, one word each.
‘You know,’ the eldest pig insisted impatiently. ‘The really big pot. I’ve been using it to warm mud on the fire.’
‘That’s no a bad idea, that,’ Percy mused.
‘I’ve just been using the kettle,’ shrugged Peter.
‘Go!’ yelled Paddy. ‘There isnae much time!’
Peter and Percy scattered, while Paddy started a fire.
‘Oh, but I am clever,’ the Wolf commended himself, as he reached the roof. ‘Let it be known that none shall mock the Big, Bad Wolf and live to tell of it.’
He dived head-first down the chimney, relishing the thought of the terror-stricken looks on the pigs’ faces as they realised that his teeth would be the last thing they ever saw …
That thought left his mind with a SPLASH!
Suddenly he was in a large pot of boiling water.
Suddenly he was in unspeakable agony all over.
Suddenly he was being cooked alive, in darkness, for the pigs were holding the lid on the pot.
There was no escape for the Wolf, except, perchance, the mercy of the pigs.
‘Please!’ he cried, closing his eyes against the possibility that the boiling water would cook away his sight forever. ‘Let me out.’
‘Only if you promise to be good,’ came the mocking voice of one of the pigs.
‘Oh, yes,’ yelled the Wolf, as bits of his fur came away from his flesh. ‘Super good! You won’t recognise me.’
The pigs lifted the pot lid, and out slunk the Wolf, the worse for wear with red patches of scalded flesh showing where his once-magnificent fur had fallen away. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the pigs there and then, but was too weak to do anything of the sort.
‘Ye’ll have had yer tea,’ Paddy Pig jeered, as the poor, defeated creature slithered out the front door.
He bathed himself in a nearby puddle, trying to cool his burns as he listened to the pigs celebrating.
He was too weak to get far enough away to escape the rowdy singing:
If ye’re proud to be a grumphie clap yer trotters!
If ye’re proud to be a grumphie clap yer trotters!
If ye’re proud to be a grumphie,
Proud to be a grumphie,
If ye’re proud to be a grumphie clap yer trotters!
Then, silencing the others, came the unmistakable voice of Paddy, more roaring than singing:
Ye can stick yer wolfish cunning ’neath yer tail!
If ye try to blow oor hoose doon you will fail!
Naw, we don’t care where ye come fae,
You will never beat a grumphie,
Ye can stick yer wolfish cunning ’neath yer tail!
All three pigs roared with laughter as the Wolf muttered, ‘Oh, you may have survived my wolfish cunning … let’s see how you cope with wolfish wrath.’
Then he slithered into the shadows to a chorus of ‘Stand up if ya hate the Wolf’.
Jack had a finger in one ear to drown out the whirring of Jill’s printer. To his other ear, he pressed Jill’s mobile.
‘Look, I know things look bad at the moment, darling … Aye, you keep the chin up, okay? I dunno what else to say. Upenda will be fine, she will. She’s a tough wee cookie … What? … Rumpole who? … Okay, sweetheart … Love you too. Bye.’
Jack let out a roar of anger and threw the mobile down on the sofa.
‘Oi!’ said Jill. ‘Watch it wi’ that.’
‘Sorry,’ said Jack, over the humming and buzzing of the printer.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Jack. ‘I’m no the one who’s been locked up and had my wean taken away!’
Rapunzel, Jack had found out, was in Dungavel – a detention centre for failed asylum seekers some thirty miles from Glasgow.
‘You’ll never guess where Upenda is. She’s wi’ the same foster family that’s ruining Ella’s life. I didnae tell Punzy how rotten they are, of course.’
Jill sighed. ‘I’ll send Ella a text saying look after her as much as possible. She’ll be alright. If there’s anyone we can count on, it’s oor Ella.’
Jack sprawled back on a beanbag and rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m so tired.’
‘You should lie doon for a bit,’ said Jill. ‘Then you should phone Maw.’
Jack harrumphed.
‘I’m sure she’ll have calmed doon a bit by noo.’
‘She might have, but I havenae,’ growled Jack. ‘I’m no phoning her.’
‘I wouldnae like to see yous pair drifting apart.’
‘Says the one who hasnae spoken to her for four years.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jill, sitting on the arm of the sofa and clasping her hands thoughtfully. ‘That’s how I know … it’s easier to close the door than open it. Don’t make the same mistake I made.’
Jack grunted, then sighed. ‘How can they just lock up people who havenae done anything wrang? How can they send people back to places they know fine are dangerous? And Upenda … Upenda’s lived in Glasgow almost all her life! She’s got the accent and everything. How can they do this to people?’
‘Too many folk like Maw in the world to
stop them,’ Jill shrugged. ‘Folk that believe what they read in the papers.’
‘She’s really upset,’ said Jack. ‘I’m worried aboot her. She wasnae making any sense. Kept saying Upenda’s in danger … gibbering on aboot Rumpole somebody or other …’
‘I thought she had an appeal pending, anyway?’
‘Lawyer’s on holiday,’ said Jack. ‘That’s how the Home Office thinks they can get away wi’ it. They’re probably right.’
‘That’s some amount of ink you’re using,’ Jill remarked. ‘What are you printing anyway?’
Jack leapt up like a shot and tried to get between Jill and the printer. Alas, it takes longer to get up out of a beanbag than to slide off the arm of a sofa.
‘Jack … why are you printing oot pictures o’ Dungavel?’ She picked up several printouts and examined them. ‘From … all different angles?’
‘I was … thinking o’ visiting her, see?’ said Jack, swallowing hard. ‘I’d like to know what it looks like afore I go. So’s … so’s it doesnae take me by surprise.’
He blushed furiously. It was a chocolate-faced toddler lie, and he knew it.
‘Jack … knock knock?’
‘Who’s there?’
‘Giraffe.’
‘Giraffe who?’
‘Giraffe yer heid!’ cried Jill. ‘You’re planning to bust her oot, aren’t ye?’
‘If I was …’ said Jack, carefully, ‘You’d be right behind me all the way, right?’
‘Aw, naw,’ said Jill. ‘You can be stupid enough for the pair of us.’
‘But it’s an emergency, Jill. She’s gonnae get deported! I might …’ he swallowed hard, fighting back tears. ‘I might never see her again.’
‘I’m on your side, Jack,’ said Jill. ‘I’m just saying … there’s mair than one way to fight. Have you no heard the saying: the pen is mightier than the sword?’
Jack rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘So, like … if I was to challenge you to a duel, right? And I says, “Choose your weapon”, right? And there’s a claymore and a biro … you’re telling me you’d go for the pen? Dae yersel’ a favour, Jill … don’t take up duelling.’
‘Stop trying to be clever, Jack. It doesnae suit ye,’ snapped Jill. ‘What I’m trying to say is ye can write, fax, email MPs, MSPs, MEPs, councillors, newspapers … ye can join campaigns, stage peaceful protests, organise petitions. Naebody was ever jailed for possession of a pen.’
Glasgow Fairytale Page 6