Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1

by Ian Todd

  Kirsty arrived back at her stool. She sat staring at him fur a minute, thinking aboot whit he’d jist said. She wis gonnae hiv tae play this wan carefully. It hidnae been easy getting Sarah May and the boys tae turn up this morning.

  “Country and Western?” Gareth hid laughed. “We play The Beatles and The Stones. We’ve been up aw night learning tae play The Stones’s ‘Satisfaction,’ pitch perfect, so we hiv.”

  “It’s a wan-aff night.”

  “And ye think we could jist turn up and play ‘Where’s Ma Razor, Honey, Ah Want Tae Slit Ma Wrists Again’ and that’s that, dae ye?”

  “It cannae be that hard.”

  “It’s no, bit it’s shite.”

  “The money’s good...cash in haun.”

  “Naw, furget it, and anyway, we don’t know any ae that cowpoke stuff.”

  “Ye kin learn.”

  “When ur ye talking aboot?”

  “A week oan Saturday.”

  “Where?”

  “Will ye dae it?”

  “We’ve hivnae goat a singer or bass player.”

  “If Ah get ye a singer and a bass player, will ye dae it?”

  “Naw, cause we don’t know any ae that shite.”

  “Ye kin learn. Ye’ve goat ten days.”

  “Who’s the singer?”

  “Will ye dae it?”

  “Who’s the singer?”

  “Sarah May Todd.”

  “Sarah May? Whit? She’s agreed tae join ma band?” Gareth hid asked, looking o’er tae Blair who’d done an imaginary drum roll before hitting his invisible cymbals wae his drum sticks.

  “Will ye dae it?”

  “Naw.”

  “Aw, piss aff, Gareth. The money’s good.”

  “How much?”

  “Three pounds.”

  Gareth hid looked o’er at Blair who’d hesitated, before daeing another drum roll bit hid missed the cymbal this time and drapped the stick oan tae the sticky carpet that covered their bedroom flair.

  “Ah know ye won’t believe me, bit Ah meant tae dae that,” Blair hid said, smiling sheepishly.

  “So, whit’s it tae be, Gareth?”

  “Naw.”

  “Fine, wait tae everywan hears that ye’ve turned doon three pound a heid fur wan night’s work.”

  “Each?” they’d baith blurted oot.

  “Aye, whit did ye think Ah wis talking aboot?”

  “Christ, we’re no playing in front ae the Queen, ur we?” Blair hid asked, picking up the stick and gieing it a wipe oan his sticky blanket.

  “Er, close.”

  “How close?” Gareth hid asked.

  “Pat Molloy’s maw’s anniversary.”

  “The Big Man? Ye want us tae play fur him?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where?”

  “Ma work.”

  “Ye want us tae play in The McAslin Bar?”

  “Kin we wear suits ae armour?” Blair hid chipped in, jist in case anywan hid furgoatten he wis there.

  “Look, furget it. Ah know somewan else who’ll dae it. Ah jist wanted tae gie youse the first shout.”

  “Look, Kirsty, we’d love tae help ye oot. The money wid be great and Ah bet The Who disnae get that kind ae money, bit we know fuck aw aboot Country and Western. Ah couldnae gie ye wan song.”

  “Then learn some.”

  “How?”

  “Why don’t ye baith nip doon tae Paddy’s Market and get some ae they auld records and listen tae them. They’re bloody gieing them away doon there.”

  Gareth hid looked o’er at Blair who’d done yet another drum roll before hitting the cymbals this time.

  “We’ll check it oot.”

  “Well, ye better hurry cause he wants tae meet ye the morra at ten.”

  “Night?”

  “Morning.”

  “Right, Blair, ya lazy basturt, ye, get yer troosers aff that flair and oan tae yer arse. We’re aff doon tae Paddy’s Market.”

  “Kirsty! Kirsty! Kin ye get that, hen?” The Big Man shouted, gate-crashing her thoughts.

  She shook her heid and blinked, trying tae remember where she wis. The Big Man wis sitting looking o’er his Racing News at her, wae a puzzled, irritated frown oan his coupon. She could hear Gareth nattering away, twenty tae the dozen, and she thought she heard Sarah May laughing. When she opened the door, she wis glad tae see Gareth, Blair and Sarah May staunin in the sunlight. They hid big smiles oan their faces. She jist aboot keeled o’er when her eyes focused and she saw whit the boys wur wearing though.

  “Ur youse pair trying tae take the pish?”

  “Who? Us?” Gareth asked, aw innocently.

  “Never mind…come in. He’s waiting oan ye. Remember, leave the money side ae things tae me. And Gareth, the less ye say, the mair chance ye’ve goat ae getting the gig, as well as getting oot ae here withoot a sore face.”

  “Hellorerr boys...and girl. Come in, come in…plap yer arses doon oan they seats and Kirsty’ll get youse a wee drink. Whit’ll ye hiv?”

  “Nothing fur me, Kirsty,” Sarah May said.

  “Two large nips and two pints ae heavy fur us,” said Gareth, trying tae admire himsel in the tobacco-stained mirror behind the optics oan the bar.

  “And that’ll be nothing fur youse as well,” Kirsty said, gieing him a dirty look as they went and sat doon.

  Sarah May pulled up a stool and sat, leaning backwards wae her elbows oan the bar, facing them.

  “Well, Ah must admit, boys, Ah didnae expect two cowboys tae turn up the day,” The Big Man said, admiring the two boys sitting there wae cowboy hats oan their heids.

  “Howdy!” Blair said, wae a wave ae his haun, avoiding Kirsty’s stare, bit smiling o’er at Sarah May, who wis sitting there, clearly enjoying hersel.

  “They picked them up doon at Paddy’s Market,” Sarah informed Kirsty.

  “So, ye know why ye’re here. Ma name’s Pat and it’s ma maw and da’s fortieth anniversary a week oan Saturday. Before we start though, Ah’ve awready hid the pleasure ae meeting Sarah May o’er there…bless her…bit whit’s yer names?”

  “Ah’m Gareth.”

  “And Ah’m Blair.”

  “Naw, naw, no yer stage names, boys...yer real names?”

  “That is oor real names,” Blair retorted, indignantly.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Kirsty. Whit the hell wis yer da oan when he came up wae they tags, eh?” he said, looking o’er at her, jist in case the boys wur taking the pish oot ae him.

  “Ah’ve goat a feeling he’s impressed, so far,” Gareth murmured tae Blair oot ae the side ae his gub.

  “Aye, it’s the cowpoke ootfits,” Blair whispered back.

  “Okay, sorry, boys, Ah didnae mean tae be disrespectful tae youse. Whitever ye dae, jist don’t introduce yersels by yer first names oan the night or Ah’ll hiv every priest in the Toonheid battering doon ma door fur front row tickets.”

  “Ach, don’t ye worry aboot us, Mr Molloy, we’re professionals. Wance yer maw and da and aw their pals hear us crooning and yodelling like a pair ae randy chickens, we could be called Pinky and Perky and they still widnae gie a horse’s shit whit we’re called.”

  “Aye,” said Blair, daeing an imaginary drum roll and a crash ae a cymbal tae impress.

  “Aye, well, it’s yer repertoire that Ah’m far mair interested in. Ah’m wanting tae hear a good bit ae painful crooning coming aff ae that stage oan the night.”

  “Oor repa whit?”

  “Sarah May?” he asked, eyes rolling tae the ceiling.

  “Oor song list.”

  “Oh, right, aye…sorry…goat ye. Well, we thought we’d kick aff wae ‘Get An Ugly Girl Tae Marry Ye’ by The Coasters.”

  “Oh, that sounds good…carry oan,” The Big Man said nodding, clearly impressed.

  Before Gareth could come back wae another classic, Sarah stirred oan her stool and said, “Or...‘Will Yer Lawyer Talk Tae God’ by Kitty Wells?”

  “Oh, Ah’m no sure aboot that wan,” The Big
Man demurred doubtfully.

  “Well, how aboot ‘Mental Cruelty’ by Buck Owens and Rose Maddox?” she asked hopefully.

  “Whit else hiv youse goat, boys?” he asked, ignoring Sarah May.

  “‘How Come Yer Dog Disnae Bite Nobody Bit Me?’ by Mel Tullis,” Gareth said, looking o’er at Sarah May wae a ‘beat that wan, if ye kin, gringolita’ smug look oan his coupon.

  “‘Here Comes Ma Body Back Tae Me’ by Dottie Wax?” Sarah May slung in before The Big Man could respond tae Gareth.

  “Oh, Ah’m no sure aboot singing aboot deid bodies wae aw the auld wans in the company. Boys?”

  “‘The Shotgun Boogie’ by Tennessee Ernie Ford?”

  “That’s a good wan,” Blair chipped in, in support ae Gareth.

  “Or, how aboot ‘Ah’ll Never Be Free’ by Kay Star and Tennessee Ernie Ford? Same band,” Sarah May slipped in, enjoying the confusion oan Blair’s face.

  “‘Mamma Sang A Song’ by Bill Anderson? Guaranteed tae get a tear, that wan…nae doubt aboot it,” Gareth said, shifting his seat closer tae the bar, so he could see the whites ae Sarah May’s eyes.

  “‘Mamma Get A Hammer, There’s A Fly Oan Daddy’s Heid’ by Lou Morte?” came the swift reply.

  “Aye, that sounds a good wan. Ah’d love tae hear that. That’ll go doon well wae aw the wummin folk,” Kirsty chipped in, laughing in support ae Sarah May.

  “Aye, we could then go straight intae ‘The Root Ae Aw Evil Is A Man’ by Jean Shepherd and then maybe ‘Ah Wish Ah Wis A Single Girl Again’ by The Maddox Brothers, and lastly bit by no means least ‘Don’t Sell Daddy Any Mair Whisky’ by Joe Val. That’s bound tae get an applause fae aw the wummin, eh?” Sarah May said, winking at Kirsty.

  “It’s no a funeral we’re playing at, Sarah May. Hiv ye no goat any happy wans that ur a bit mair respectful and sympathetic towards the poor men folk in the bar, who’ll hiv tae sit there listening tae that voice ae yours aw night?” Gareth asked her, as Blair and The Big Man nodded their heids in agreement.

  “Aye, how aboot ‘Act Like A Married Man’ or ‘A Dear John Letter’ tae finish up wae?” Sarah shot back, as Kirsty and her laughed at the expressions oan the faces in front ae them.

  “Ah knew she’d be bloody well trouble wae a capital T,” Gareth growled under his Stetson.

  “Ach, away and dry they eyes ae yours wae a wet bandana,” Sarah May retorted, as her and Kirsty went intae another fit ae giggles.

  “Right, that’s it. She’s no in the band before it’s even started. She’s probably burnt her brassiere, alang wae aw they other heidcases that wur oan the telly the other night there.”

  “Aw, Gareth. Shut yer geggy and stoap getting yer lassoo intae a twist,” Kirsty said, tae mair laughter fae the bar.

  “Er, well, it’s aw very cosy, us sitting here oan oor jolly arses oan a lovely summer’s morning, bit Ah’ve goat a business tae run. Noo, Ah widnae want tae step oan anywan’s toes here, bit Ah’m picking up a few wee potential musical differences that Ah hope wullnae interfere wae yer performance oan the night. However, withoot taking sides…and Kirsty will back me up here…Ah’m no wan tae interfere or cause any undue problems, bit Ah hiv tae admit, Sarah May…oan this occasion, Ah hiv tae agree wae the boys.”

  “Oan whit?”

  “A few wee cheery numbers fur the boys oan the night in the bar wid be appreciated.”

  “So, we’ve goat the gig then?” chipped in Marshall Matt Dillon fae under his Stetson.

  “Aye.”

  “Nice wan!” Chester Proudfoot said, gieing a wee imaginary drum roll, wae a cymbal crash.

  “Ah’ve discussed the money and the refreshment situation oan the night wae Kirsty, so Ah hope tae see ye then.”

  “Aye, she did say, although she didnae mention too much aboot the refreshment details,” Gareth said, looking fae The Big Man tae Kirsty.

  “Aye, well, Ah’m willing tae be pushed oan that a wee bit, bit only if the night is a success.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Nowan hid uttered a single word in aboot five minutes. Joe wis lying oan his back wae his arse hard up against the brick wall wae his legs pointing skywards. Skull wis back tae daeing an impression ae Spiderman, crawling aw o’er the rafters ae the roof. Wan minute he wis o’er by the wall above the door, the next he wis crawling towards the back wall. Tony sat wae his legs dangling o’er the edge ae the dummy flair, staring intae space. Johnboy wisnae sure whit tae dae, so he stood up and proceeded tae hiv a pish o’er the edge ae the dummy flair. The front wall ae the shed must’ve been at least twelve feet away and he managed tae hit it at least wance, bit nowan appeared interested. It wid’ve been a championship score, bit Johnboy jist buttoned up his snow-dropped kecks and wandered o’er tae the corner and sat doon, looking at the rest ae them. Whit should’ve been wan ae the best days ae his life hid turned intae wan ae the worst.

  Everything hid been gaun great. Parvais hid gone and telt aw the wummin that the boys wur there tae save the day by selling them cheap briquettes. Before they knew it, they’d been flying up and doon the closes wae a dozen here and two dozen there. Some ae the wummin wurnae too sure whit they wur selling as they hidnae come across briquettes before.

  “Don’t ye worry, missus, if ye don’t like them, we’ll gie ye yer money back next week,” they’d telt them.

  Parvais thought that this wis funny as none ae the wummin could understaun a word the boys wur saying, bit he helped oot and telt them aw whit wis being said. Everywan they’d sold briquettes tae hid been aw smiles and really friendly towards them. In every hoose, the wummin hid jist held oot their hauns wae money in them tae the boys. The boys hid taken whit wis offered and the amazing thing hid been that they’d gied the wummin back the right change. The wummin obviously widnae hiv been aware ae it, bit this wis probably the maist honest thing Tony, Joe and Skull hid ever done in their lives where dosh wis concerned. Every time they’d left a hoose, they’d left wae flat pancakes that wur called chapattis, or something like that, tae scoff oan the way doon the stairs, wae a few left o’er fur Jessie. The only bother they’d goat intae hid been wae Horsey John, who’d shericked them fur no cleaning the coal dross aff ae the back ae the cart. Bit noo, here they wur, sitting staring intae space, wondering whit the fuck hid hit them.

  “It must’ve been wan ae the basturts that works here. Ah say we burn the fucking place doon,” Joe said in disgust, looking aboot.

  “Aye, Ah reckon ye’re right, Joe,” Skull said, fae somewhere up in the rafters.

  “Thank God Ah took money oot and didnae put any back in when Ah came o’er fur the change,” Tony said.

  “So, how much did ye take oot?”

  “Four quid.”

  “So, if we hid twelve pound six bob in the kitty, that means we lost eight pound six bob tae some rotten thieving basturt who disnae gie a fuck who he hurts,” Joe lamented.

  “Ah think it wis Johnboy. Efter aw, it wis his hidey hole.”

  “Piss aff, Skull. Ah wis wae you when Tony came o’er tae get the change.”

  “So? Ye could’ve slipped o’er when ye wur up delivering briquettes tae wan ae the tenements o’er there, fur aw we know.”

  “Skull, shut yer arse, ya knob-heid, ye. It wisnae Johnboy,” Joe said, still lying oan his back.

  “Aye, bit Ah’m only saying…plus he’s a Proddy tae boot. And we aw know whit they’re like...”

  “Ur ye sure nowan else knew aboot this plank, Johnboy?”

  “Nowan knew. Ah’ve never hid any ae ma stuff gaun missing before this.”

  “Well, some thieving basturt knows aboot it noo,” the voice fae the rafters said.

  Tony sat staring intae space and then said whit wis oan aw their minds.

  “Well, we’re well fucked noo. We’ll hiv tae get Skull tae go and tell his pal, Shaun the Basturt, that the deal’s aff.”

  Skull’s manky face appeared above the rest ae them, looking doon.

  “Aye, you and yer maw’s left pap ur gonnae tel
l him, cause there’s nae fucking chance ae me daeing it.”

  “So, whit happens if we don’t come up wae the dosh, Tony?” Johnboy asked.

  “At wan minute past midnight oan Thursday night, that scarfaced prick will tell us tae cough up, wae interest…aye, loads ae interest. Christ, how could Ah hiv been so stupid?”

  “So, how much hiv we goat left?”

  “Nine smackers.”

  “So, we’re short ae eleven?”

  “Aye.”

  “So, why kin we no go and get the other eleven?”

  “In two days?”

  Silence.

  “Er, Ah think Ah know where we could maybe get a good whack tae start wae,” Johnboy said, as Tony and Joe’s chins lifted up aff ae their chests and Skull’s feet landed oan the dummy flair beside him.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  “So, whit dae ye think then?” Helen asked her maw, daeing a wee twirl.

  “Aw, Helen, ye look like a million dollars, so ye dae, hen.”

  “Ye don’t think it’s too o’er the tap, dae ye?”

  “Away, ye go. Ye’re absolutely stunning, so ye ur.”

  “Ye don’t think ma pap’s ur too exposed?”

  “Helen, ye should be proud ae whit ye’ve goat, hen. Ah cannae remember the last time ma melons saw the light ae day. Naw...wait a minute...Ah think it wis in nineteen thirty nine, oan the day Big Bertie McCaskill crashed his coal wagon efter Ah bent o’er tae pick up the bag ae sugar that Ah’d drapped ootside Curley’s, up oan Parly Road. There wisnae any ae they fancy brassieres then, ye know. Ah furgoat aw aboot them when Ah bent o’er and oot they popped like two wee fat puppy mongrels wanting tae go fur a run. Even worse...yer da hid jist come oot ae the shoap efter haunin o’er the coupon fur the sugar. Whit a look he gied me efter telling Big Bertie tae concentrate they eyes ae his oan picking up his coal, which wis scattered aw o’er Parly Road, insteid ae gawping at they mammaries ae mine.”

  “Aw, Maw, ya shameless hussy, ye. Ah bet ye meant tae drap the sugar,” Helen teased.

  “Naw, naw. Bit efter that, yer da wis always telling me tae button ma coat right up tae ma chin, even in the middle ae the summer.”