Scottish Widows

by Grae Cleugh

  It’s been nearly six months now. Thought I woulda been home by now, but, well. It’s gone quite quickly to be honest. Which is a good sign, I think. If it was draggin…

  Hopefully they’ll get somethin sorted out soon. With Jen and everythin. Sure they will.

  Aye.

  I wish my Bill was here. Where is he when I need him? Typical man, eh? Never there when you want them.

  What can you say?

  Beat.

  I want to go home.

  Blackout.

  Music.

  3. ‘WANTED MAN‘

  Music off. Lights up. TOMMY, a man of 70, sitting in his armchair. It is evening. A standard lamp, close by, is on.

  TOMMY: Bowls. Bowls saved my life. There’s no many can say that.

  Aye. Jean and me used to be doon that bowls club every week. Religiously. Played aw durin the summer. We were good. Bellahouston Mixed Doubles Crown Green Champions seven years runnin, so we were. Got the cups tae prove it. In the winter, it was more of a social club, you know? We’d go doon of an evenin. Have a drink or two. Meet aw our friends. It was great. Home from home. After Jean went, I was fair missin it. Aye, I was. But I couldnae go doon there. No by masel. Became just wan mair place I couldnae face. I knew it would remind me of her. I was in a right state after she died. I really was. Bereft. I could barely go oot at aw. Wisnae eatin, sleepin. I was pretty much fadin away in fact, thinkin what have I got tae live for now? I’d had very few visitors either since the funeral. There was plenty turned up to see her off, right enough. After it’s aw over, I don’t know, people just get on wi their own lives, I think. Some avoid you completely. You feel like you’ve got the plague. Think they’re embarrassed or somethin. Don’t know what to say to ye. To be fair though, the boys fae the bowlin club, George, Peter, Terry, they kept ringin me up. Thank god. Saved my bloody life in the end. So they did. Every few nights, I’d get a phone call. ‘Come on doon tae the club, Tommy. Yer missed doon here.’ Aw this sorta thing. I kept sayin tae them, ‘Aye, I’ll come doon one o these nights.’ But I never did. As I say, couldnae face it. Just wanted tae sit in here feelin sorry for masel. This one night, I’m sittin here, telly’s on but I’m no really watchin, you know? I’m doin what I do every night. Sittin in thinkin aboot Jean. Must’ve been aboot seven or so when the bell goes. ‘Who the hell’s that?’ I’m thinkin. It’s no the night for my pools man, an as I say, hardly emdy’s been tae visit since Jean. Sure enough, it’s the boys.

  ‘Since Mahomet’ll no come tae the mountain, we’ve come tae get ye’ says Peter.

  I let them in, o course. What else was I gauny dae? But once they’re in, I decide tae nip it in the bud. ‘To be honest boys, I’m no really in the mood for company.’

  ‘Nonsense, champ.’ This is George talkin. He used tae box an aye calls everybody champ. Has a dug called Muhammad Ali. Seriously. It’s a Terrier. A white Terrier. He’s mad as a brush, George. Think he took a few too many right hooks tae the heid, you know? That said, he’s a heart as big as a hoose. ‘Look what I’ve got for ye, champ’ he says to me. He brings oot a half bottle. Well, course, I don’t want to be rude or nothin, so I dig oot a few glasses and the four o us sit doon.

  ‘We’ll have a swift half then we’re takin ye down the club’ says Peter.

  Now I see what’s afoot.

  ‘I’m no really up for it the night, boys’ I say tae them. ‘Just fancy a quiet night in.’

  ‘Baloney’, Peter says, ‘Telly’s shite the night anyway.’ At this point, my set’s still blarin away in the background. ‘Shut that thing aff an come on doon wi us’ he says.

  ‘Come on, Thomas. Come with us.’ Terry, ever formal but pleasant with it, has a go tae. He’s a good bloke, Terry. English, you know, but nice.

  I’m hummin n hawin, hopin they’ll just have a drink, give up an bugger off. Their heart’s in the right place, don’t get me wrong. An in a way, it would be nice to see everybody at the club again. It’s just, I don’t know, goin there withoot Jean, I don’t know if I can face it.

  I’m about to give them one for the road an see if I can get them oot the door when Peter says to me, ‘Tam, it’s one of the gala nights, the night’ he says, ‘You should come.’ Now, they have these special party nights doon the club sometimes. Durin the winter, usually. They’re terrific. They have a singer or a comedian an it’s always a great night. Jean aye loved them. Me too. I am, I admit, tempted. Slightly. ‘Och, I don’t know, Peter’ I say to him. ‘Let me think about it for a minute.’ ‘Don’t think aboot it’ he says to me, Just get yer bloody coat on. She wouldnae want ye sittin in here by yersel, pal’ he says, ‘Jean wouldnae like that. You have tae get oot there again. Come on wi us.’ ‘I don’t know’ I say to him. ‘Tommy’ he says. ‘What?’ I say. ‘I’m no leavin this hoose the night wi’oot ye. It’s that bloody simple.’ I know Peter well enough tae know when tae gie up. It’s like talkin to the bloody mafia sometimes – he makes ye an offer ye canny bloody refuse. Though if I have a best friend, it’s likely Peter Love.

  Everybody’s really nice when I get in there. ‘Good to see you, Tommy. How ye doin, Tam?’ Welcomin, you know? I get a few drinks in me an start to feel a bit better. Better about bein there withoot Jean. The boys stay wi me for a while, keep me company, but o course, they aw o them, sooner or later, go off to be with their ane wives, as you’d expect. I’m sat at this table, this is a bit later on, by masel, just lookin around, when suddenly somethin strikes me. Somethin I never ever noticed before. Maybe because I was aye there wi Jean. It’s this. There’s about three women for every man in this club. There is. A sea of grey hairdos an dresses against a mere sprinklin o bald heids an troosers. Course, when I think aboot it, it makes sense. The place is hoachin wi women who’ve lost their husbands. It’s nearly always the man who goes first roon here. Why, I don’t know. It just is. Me? I’m the odd man out at this do. A man wi’oot a wife. Unless you count gay Kenny. Somedy really should tell him cravats went oot wi flapper girls an Hercule Poirot. Anyway, I’m sittin just havin this wee thought tae masel about the women when somedy plonks themselves doon right beside me. The smell o perfume would stop a rhino at a hundred yards. Though it’s not unpleasant. Just slightly overpowerin.

  ‘I was so sorry to hear about your loss, Tommy’ she says to me.

  ‘Oh aye. Thanks very much’, I say, tryin rapidly to remember who she bloody well is.

  ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ she says.

  ‘I know I know ye’ I say to her, ‘To be honest, I’m better wi faces.’

  ‘I’m Anne’ she says, ‘Anne McGonagall. I met you and Jean a few times before. I think you met my husband Hugh.’

  ‘Oh aye’ I say, ‘Aye, I remember noo’, no really rememberin at aw. ‘How is Hugh? Is he here the night?’ I ask her.

  ‘He died a year past in August’ she says.

  ‘Sorry’ I say to her, ‘I didnae know.’

  ‘It’s okay’ she says, ‘Course I still miss him every day.’

  ‘Aye’ I say, ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Tell me’ she says, ‘How are you copin?’

  ‘No bad’ I say. ‘No great, you know?’

  ‘It gets better wi time’ she says, ‘Believe me, I know.’

  She puts her hand on mine’s. Wisnae expectin that.

  ‘If you ever want to talk, Tommy, you just give me a ring. We can go for a cuppa coffee.’

  ‘Aye, well, okay, that’d be nice’ I say to her. Well, what else can you say?

  ‘I’ll write you out my phone number’ she says. Which she does, an hands it to me. ‘Or if you’re ever around, I’m in Clifford Street, 49, two up on the left’ she says, which actually isnae far fae me. ‘I’m usually in of an evening. Pop in if you feel like it’ she says, ‘I’ve aye got a cream sponge made, you can have a slice.’ ‘Oh right’ I say to her, ‘Aye, Anne, thanks. I’ll do that.’

  Just before she walks away, I swatch a proper look at her. She’s a good-lookin woman. I can see that even
through the bit o make-up she’s got on. Lovely auburny-colour hair she’s got tae. Probably grey underneath but at least she’s made the effort. Nice figure too. No too big, no too skinny. I like a woman wi somethin on her. Aye, for a woman o her age – she’s sixty-odd if she’s a day – she’s in remarkably good fettle.

  She smiles at me, then walks away, melts back in tae the crowd. Lovely smile she has. Probably no aw her own teeth, right enough, but which of us is perfect? She’s only just walked away, an I’m mullin aw this over, her cream sponge an what-not, when I feel a tap behind me on the shooder.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ she says. I turn around. Here’s another yin. A real glamour girl this time. When I say girl, I’m maybe slightly over-eggin the puddin. She’s probably ages wi me. All the same. ‘Take the weight off, dear’ I say to her. ‘No that’s there’s much there needs takin off a lovely slim girl like you.’ Don’t know quite where that came fae.

  ‘Thanks very much’ she says, sittin doon, ‘I do try.’

  ‘You do more than try, love’ I say, turnin on the old charm.

  ‘I’m Margaret’ she says, ‘Margaret Carr.’

  ‘Tommy’ I say to her, ‘Tommy Armstrong.’

  ‘Nice to meet you Tommy’ she says, shakin my hand, ‘You havin a nice time, the night, are you?’

  ‘Aye’ I say to her, ‘Better than I thought I would.’

  ‘That’s nice’ she says.

  ‘You havin a good time?’ I ask her.

  ‘Oh aye. Lovely’ she says.

  ‘Here wi your husband are you?’ I ask her. I almost didnae bother cos I’m beginnin tae a sixth sense o what’s goin on here, but you know, to be sure.

  ‘Oh my husband died four year ago’ she says.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry tae hear that’ I say.

  ‘I heard about your Jean’ she says to me.

  ‘Did you now?’ I say to her.

  ‘Aye’ she says.

  ‘Did you know her?’ I say to her.

  ‘Just to say hello to’ she says, ‘Lovely woman. Terrible things heart attacks.’

  ‘How did you hear about that?’ I say to her.

  ‘Word travels fast round here’ she says.

  ‘Aye’ I say to her, ‘So I’m gatherin.’

  We chat for a wee while. Real nice-lookin woman, she is. Maybe a bit slim for my taste, but she’s a lovely face an you know, even if she’s thin, she’s still, well, substantial in the right departments, if you catch my drift. They’re both o them still upright an oot there. They’re no hangin doon aroon her ankles or nothin, thank god. No that I always judge a woman purely on appearance. Personality is equally important. Well, it’s important. We have a drink thegither. Some pleasant conversation is had. Another telephone number is then pocketed by yours truly, an a further meetin tentatively arranged. Off she scoots. I’m feelin well smug, as you can imagine. Few minutes later, Peter rolls up.

  ‘Havin a good time, are ye?’ he says.

  ‘A ball’ I say.

  ‘Glad ye came oot?’ he says.

  ‘You could say that’ I say.

  ‘I told ye’ he says, ‘Life goes on, pal.’

  Now, Peter hudnae seen anythin. Me an the girls. I don’t think he had. But his words stick wi me. What I mean, when I get home later on that night, I feel a bit guilty, you know? Jean’s only been gone three month, an here I am… An yet, on the other hand, I’ve never been so bloody sought after in my puff. I mean, who would’ve bloody thought it? No me. So then, takin everythin intae account, aye, I make a decision – I start seein them both. Wouldnae’ve thought I’d have the energy. No at my age. I dae. It’s like I’ve a completely new lease o life on me. To be fair, I didnae mean tae end up goin oot wi the two o them. No at the same time, anyway. It just sorta happened. They were both that intae me. I felt I couldnae say naw. Thing is, tae, in their ways, they both kinna complement each other. Anne’s a red-head, Margaret’s a brunette. Anne’s a great cook. Never mind her cream sponge. Everythin she makes is bloody lovely. I was missin my home cookin, so I was. My Jean was a great cook. While Anne’s a queen in the kitchen, Margaret’s talents lie elsewhere. Now then, I’d only ever had relations wi one woman in my life. The idea o gettin my Nat King wi somedy else was excitin. To be honest, she was mair eager than I was. I held out as long as I could. Once I gave in, I have tae admit, it was bloody nice.

  Seein two women at the same time requires no just energy: it needs ingenuity. Mainly so’s ye don’t bloody well get found oot. The truth, the real truth o the matter is I don’t want emdy knowin cos it’s no been long since Jean passed an I feel ashamed I’m seein anybody at aw. I tell Anne this an she understands. I tell Margaret the same thing. An it’s true. It does, I admit, bring about the happy by-product o leavin them both ignorant aboot each other. It is terrible, that, in’t it? I know it. I know it even as I’m doin it. I’m a bad man. I really didnae mean for it to happen. Once the bandwagon started rollin, I just couldnae stop.

  I’m seein them, in their hooses, evenins aboot. Anne’s home cookin one night an Margaret’s lovely bedroom the next. One night, I’m puttin on weight, the next night I’m burnin if aff. As I say, they really do complement each other. After a few weeks o this, but, I’m knackered. The terrible burden o seein two women simultaneous starts tae tell on me. I’ve nae time tae masel for a start. Also, the pressure to go oot wi them in public, fae both o them, becomes heavy-duty. Women like to be seen wi their man, don’t they? Show him aff. This is the impression I’m gettin. They’re both champin at the bit to get me on their arm an doon that bowls club. Another up-comin gala night provides a particular focus for this. They decide they’re both wantin me to go wi them an won’t take no for an answer. What tae dae? The day comes aroon an frankly I’m in a bit of a state. I’ve promised the both o them I’ll go wi them. I don’t quite know how that happened but it did. I then have a Eureka moment. Come up wi a simple but effective notion to get masel oot o this mess. Pull a sickie. Easy. Why no? I phone them up in the afternoon tae tell them. They both offer tae come roon tae look after me, o course. I manage tae put them aff. Say I’m just gauny have an early night. I tell them both tae go anyway but they’ll no go withoot me, wouldnae hear of it, wouldnae be the same if I’m no there, aw this caper. Fine then. Sorted. Thank Christ.

  Seven o’clock comes roon an I’m sittin in here by masel, bored, itchy feet. I fair like these gala nights. I dae. I think tae masel, well, neither o them are gaun. I could pop in for one or two, couldn’t I? Nae danger there. So I go doon. Have one or two drinks wi the boys. Nae bother. Then I have another couple. Then another few. In short, I’m gettin bloody well pie-eyed. I’m sittin chattin tae George. He’s tellin us aw aboot the time he bumped in tae Henry Cooper on the helter-skelter in Girvan in 1973. Personally, I think he’s made the whole thing up, but he tells it well. Suddenly, from nowhere, Margaret appears. I forget masel for a second, stagger tae my feet an gie her a bloody great big kiss. Now I think this was partly at least by way of subconsciously compensatin her for clearly havin lied aboot bein laid up. Or maybe I was just pissed an fancied plantin her one on the lips. I’m no sure.

  ‘I thought you were ill’ she says to me.

  ‘I felt a wee bit better, so I came doon after aw. I tried to phone you to tell you but you must already have left’ I say to her. No bad considerin I’m half cut.

  Two seconds later, I hear Anne’s voice behind me. At first, I think it canny be Anne, because, like Margaret, she said she wisnae comin. See women – you just canny rely on them. They never tell ye the bloody truth.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s gaun on here?’ Anne says.

  ‘Nothin, sweetheart’ I say to her.

  ‘What you callin her sweetheart for?’ Margaret says.

  For a moment, a drunk moment, I’d forgotten Margaret was there. I’m tryin desperately to think o a way tae extricate myself from this shenanigans, but canny think o anythin for an excuse. So there I am. Standin between the two o them. Caught red-handed
. Hoist by my own petard. Waitin for the blows to come rainin doon. But, as luck would have it, an I have been lucky up tae now, they go for each other instead. After throwin their drinks o’er each other, Anne reaches intae her handbag, takes oot a bottle o talcum powder an starts chuckin it aw over Margaret, who ends up covered in it. Margaret then retaliates by takin oot her bingo pen, grabbin Anne’s heid an startin tae write on her face. She manages a C an an O before she’s wrestled tae the ground. Meantime aw this is goin on, I’m bein dragged away by Peter an the boys for my ane safety. Aw except George. He’s frantically shoutin at Anne tae keep her left jook up. Bellahouston Bowls Club’s never seen a night like it, before or since. Polis were nearly called, so I gather.

  I do feel terrible. Aboot aw o it. Apart fae anythin else, the girls both got six-month bans fae the Club Committee for disorderly conduct. Aw I got was a warnin. Such is life, eh? If I was them, I think I’d be complainin. I mean, if that’s no sexual discrimination, I don’t know what bloody is. Aye. Course, after the whole thing blew o’er, they both o them dumped me. They did. Which, I canny complain. Whole thing was aw my bloody fault.

  I was lonely, I suppose. That’s aw it was. I wisnae really after either o them. No really. Aw the time, I was comparin them both tae Jean. Anne’s cream sponge was awright, but it wisnae a patch on my Jean’s apple n cherry tart. As for Margaret, she was aw effort an nae technique in the bedroom. I never felt comfortable wi her the way I always did wi Jean. Like I was…home.

  What I need is tae take my time. You don’t just get over a thing like this in a few month. Maybe there’ll be another woman in my life someday. Maybe. No yet. I need tae find my way through this by masel first, before I start hookin up wi somedy else.

  I’ve started cookin for masel. Well, so far it’s only grillin some square sausage of a mornin and havin the odd Fray Bentos pie wi a few boiled tatties at night. It’s a start. I’ve the boys round here once a week tae. We play some cards, have a few drinks, have a natter, you know? Which is nice. Bit o company for me. Life’s no too bad. Could be worse. Some days are awright. As I say, it’ll just aw take time.