Parly Road: The Glasgow Chronicles 1 (42 page)

  “Really? Er…oh, I don’t know,” she said, doubtfully, looking at Father O’Malley. “I don’t have a can of my own.”

  “Don’t ye worry aboot that, hen. Ah kin supply ye wae wan. It’ll show everywan that we’re aw working thegither in God’s work and whitever we get, Ah’ll split it wae ye. We kin hiv a wee competition tae see who raises the maist, eh?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Sister Flog said, hesitantly, looking at the priest.  “I would need a bit of time to think about it, Sally.”

  “Well, Ah’ve heard the group ur oan jist before eight. Ah wis planning tae hit them jist efter that, so if ye change yer mind, ye know where Ah’ll be,” Fat Sally Sally said, walking aff tae accost wan ae her flock who wis staunin argueing wae himsel, pished as a fart.

6.00 P.M.

  People wur getting themsels intae a fair auld tizzy. There wis a buzz in the air by the time two photographers, accompanied by two reporters, arrived at a quarter tae six. Aw the weans wur shouting tae them tae take their picture. Maws, staunin aboot ootside, started tae touch up their hair and tuck loose strands intae their heidscarves. The wummin who wur still wearing curlers sent the weans aff hame tae come back wae scarves or rainmates, or whitever else they could get their hauns oan first. Tiny hid changed and wis staunin there in a black suit, white shirt and black bow-tie.

  “Hing oan a minute, Swinton. Ah need tae get a photo ae that wee penguin, staunin oan the door. It’s no fancy dress, is it?” asked Slipper, the photographer fae The Glesga Echo.

  “Naw, Ah think he’s the bouncer,” Swinton Maclean, journalist wae The Evening Times volunteered, looking aboot at the crowd.

  “Ur ye Pat Roller, Jimmy?” wan ae the maws asked Harold Sliver, fae The Evening Express.

  “Naw…Randolph Hearst, missus.”

  “Oh,” she said, disappointed.

  “Is Pat Roller coming then?” her mate, Foosty, asked him.

  “Well, Ah shouldnae really be telling ye this, bit Pat Roller isnae a real person. Pat Roller stauns fur ‘patroller,’ as in ‘roving aboot’. So there isnae really anywan called that. Whenever somewan comes up wae a story aboot street crime and the gangs, it gets shoved intae the paper under the pseudonym ae ‘Pat Roller.’”

  “Nae wonder nae tit believes anything anywan reads in the papers nooadays, Jackie. Did ye hear the dinger he’s trying tae hit me wae?” Foosty said, turning tae her pal.

  “Aye, Ah heard him, the lying toad. He must think we’re aw daft aboot here or something.”

  “Right, everywan, gie’s a big smile,” Slipper shouted, as Tiny stood in the middle ae the red carpet, hauns clasped in front ae him, wae hauf the weans and maws in the Toonheid stretching o’er the sides ae the ropes, trying tae make sure they goat their faces in the picture.

  Hovering aboot behind Tiny, The Goat, whose job it wis tae take any cars that guests arrived in and park them roond the corner in Stanhope Street, wis trying his best no tae scare aw the weans by looking directly at them.  It wis also noted amongst the bystanders that this wis the first time in living memory that anywan hid ever seen Tiny smile, even though it came across as a constipated grimace.

6.45 P.M.

  They wur running late.  The first car tae draw up alangside the carpet wis a big Austin Princess A-Wan-Three-Five, driven by Charley Chip. Beside him, his famous buxom blonde wife wae the big paps, face hauf hidden by the sun visor, wis applying fresh ruby red lipstick.  Blondie goat oot first.   She hid oan a skin-tight, wan-piece sequinned ootfit, wae a silver fox stole wrapped roond her neck and shoulders, confidently striding forth in six inch stilettos oan her size nine feet. If it hid been night time, she wid’ve lit up the street wae the flash bulbs bouncing aff ae her, insteid ae hivving tae make dae wae rays fae the sun which wis still belting doon.

  “Hellorerr…how ur ye aw daeing?” she purred and pouted tae the crowd, while Slipper and Flash Robson fae The Evening Express clicked away.

  Charlie slid aff the four cushions he wis sitting oan behind the wheel and disappeared oot ae sight fur a few seconds before reappearing, wearing his trademark cheesy grin, oot ae the same door as his big tall wife. The crowd erupted intae applause.

  “Charlie, o’er here!”

  “Gie’s a song, Charlie!”

  “Charlie, darling!”

  “Gie’s wan ae yer funny wan-liners, Charlie!”

  The Big Man appeared at the pub door, jist as The Goat disappeared wae the Princess roond the corner tae the wee scallywags who wur getting a tanner each tae keep their eyes oan the cars and tae stoap wee toe-rags like themsels jumping aw o’er them throughoot the night.

  “How ur ye daeing, Charlie? Aw, ye’re looking as big and beautiful as ever, Gina.”

  “It’s a pity it wisnae night-time, Pat.  This sunshine disnae dae ma dress any justice. Ah knew Ah shouldnae hiv listened tae short-arse here,” she said, through a big smile, tae the clicking ae the cameras and the admiring tongues hinging oot ae the mooths ae the local men-folk.

  “Ah’m fine, Pat, jist fine,” Short-arse said wae a cheesy grin, while waving tae aw his fans.

  JP Donnelly managed tae drag himsel away fae the bar jist in time tae nip oot and get in the photo wae Gina, Charlie and The Big Man.

  “In ye come and we’ll get youse a wee drink,” The Big Man beamed, hoping Gina wis gonnae be oan her best behaviour and no start her usual antics ae trying tae get aff wae every man in the pub jist tae noise up that wee man ae hers.

  Efter that, the cars queued up alangside the pavement, waiting tae disgorge their occupants. There wur Consul Cortinas, a couple ae auld Morris Sixes, Riley Fours, and a Mercedes Two Thirty
SL.

  “How many photos did ye get, Flash?”

  “Aboot a dozen.”

  “Aye, same as masel. We’ll probably get a couple ae good wans oot ae them. Wan fur the morning paper and the same wan fae a different angle fur the evening.”

  “Did ye notice anything peculiar?”

  “Whit?”

  “Aw the wummin turning up wur wearing foxes wrapped roond they necks ae theirs.”

  “Aye, the smell ae moth balls wis making ma eyes water at wan point, so it wis.”

  “There must’ve been a fire sale at the end ae the war or something.”

  “Jist like The London Palladium,” wis the general consensus ae everywan ootside the pub that night.

7.30 P.M.

Inside, people goat a free drink as they sat doon at the tables that Kirsty and The Big Man hid allocated tae them. The bar wis in full flow wae Tam the Bam ensuring everywan’s glasses wur refilled as soon as they’d emptied.

  “Aw, ye’re looking jist beautiful, hen,” aw the wummin wur saying tae Kirsty.

  “Aye, it’s ma Sandie Shaw look.”

Withoot any warning, hauf the lights in the bar wur suddenly switched aff and the stage lights lit up as Charlie Chip took tae the stage tae loud cheers and whistling.

  “‘Ma mother-in-law’s an angel,’ said big Hector. ‘You’re lucky, mine’s still alive,’ replied wee Rab,” Charlie Chip drawled, deidpan, starting aff the evening, tae loud laughter and applause. “Whit’s the punishment fur Bigamy? Two mother in-laws. Did ye know that behind
every successful man is a surprised mother-in-law?”

  “Gaun yersel, Charlie, ma darling,” Fat Marge, the Assistant Cook, wae the sideburns and wee goatee beard, fae the primary school dining hut, shouted oot.

  “He’s bloody shite, so he is. Ah’ve heard aw them before. Ah hope he’s no getting paid fur this, Pat,” Jimmy scowled in disgust, looking across at The Big Man.

  “Ach, the auld wans like him.”

  “And they nineteen-canteen jokes?”

  “Jimmy, sit back and enjoy it…it’s a lovely occasion. Ye need tae relax, so ye dae,” Helen reminded him.

  “Ah’m sorry, bit Ah agree wae Jimmy, Helen. If Ah hear another shite mother-in-law joke oot ae that wee fairy, Ah’m gonnae take a run and jump at him,” The Big Man’s maw, Daisy, threatened.

  “Wee Betty’s in a shoap up the Parly Road.  ‘Kin Ah try oan that dress in the windae?’ she asks the sales assistant. ‘Ah wid prefer if ye used the dressing room like everywan else, hen,’ replied the salesman,” Charlie quipped tae mair appreciative laughter fae his fans.

  “See, he must’ve heard ye, Daisy. Right, who’s wanting a wee drink as Ah’m aff tae the bar wae Granda’s money?” Jimmy asked, staunin up.

  “Aw, ye’re a wee stoater, so ye ur, Jimmy. Ah’ll hiv a wee Babycham in a wee glass ae sweet stout,” his mother-in-law said.

  “None ae that pish fur me, Jimmy. Ah’ll hiv a lime and soda water. Whit dae ye want, Da? Bill?” Helen asked.

  “Pint ae heavy.”

  “Same fur me.”

  “Daisy?”

  “Port and brandy, son. Ah wis gonnae hiv a wee stout and Babycham masel, bit wance Ah start oan them, Ah cannae stoap masel fae farting.”

  “Pat?”

  “Nothing fur me the noo, Jimmy. Ah’ll hiv tae go and dae the roonds ae the tables in a minute.”

  “Right, Ah’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “Big Tam’s wife asks ‘Hoi, is that you Ah hear spitting oan ma mother’s good vase oan that mantel piece, Tam?’  ‘Naw, hen, bit Ah’m fair getting closer aw the time.’  And oan that happy note, ladies and gentleman, Ah wid jist like tae wish Daisy and Bill another forty glorious years thegither and sign aff wae a wee song Ah know they baith like.  Please feel free tae aw join in.  ‘Oh Danny boy, the...’”

7.45 P.M.

  “Good evening, Toonheid.  Good evening, The McAslin Bar.  Ma name’s Sarah May Todd and Ah’m joined oan the stage the night by the Broncin’ Bucking Burr brothers, Gareth and Blair…the wans in the cowboy hats and the frills oan the sleeves ae their jaickets.  And oan bass, we’ve goat Michael Massie, ex-Danny Crevice and the Pyles, bit noo wae us…and thegither, we’re Sarah May and the Cowpokes.   We’ve goat a good selection ae songs fur youse aw the night and we’re gonnae start aff wae a wee Billy Ed Wheeler song called ‘Jackson’ that Gareth, oor guitarist, is gonnae sing alang wae me.  We hope ye like it as much as we dae...‘We goat married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout, we’ve been talking...”

7.50 P.M.

  “Is that The Val Doonican Show Ah kin hear?” Johnboy asked, sitting in the dark wae the boys, sooking oan their frozen Jubblys.

  “Naw, that’s the group.”

  “So, when ur we getting started then?” asked Skull, who’d awready finished his before the rest ae them wur hauf-way through theirs.

  “When we’re finished, Skull.”

  “Well, hurry the fuck up, ya slow basturts.  We’ve no goat aw night.”

  “So, everywan knows whit they’re daeing then?” Tony asked, peering at the faces aroond aboot him in the darkness ae the loft.

  “Aye,” the rest ae them said, inbetween sooks.

  “So, whit ur we waiting oan then?” Skull whined, staunin up.

8.00 P.M.

  “How ur youse daeing, boys? Ur they glasses that Ah see needing tapped up?” Kirsty asked Fat Fingered Finklebaum, Frankie MacDonald and her auld boss, Harry Bertram, the hairdresser, who wis sporting a bouffant ae hair that wid’ve made Liberace envious.

  “Put this roond oan ma tab, Kirsty, darling,” The Big Man said, plapping his arse doon oan a chair he’d comandeered while Fat John McCaskill, the coal man, wis visiting the cludgie.

  “Aye, ye’ve goat a wee stoater there, Pat,” Harry said, nodding towards Kirsty, his bouffant bouncing up and doon like a burst horse hair mattress hinging aff the end ae a bedstead.

  “Aye, bit she cannae be that good if ye goat shot ae her, Harry?” Frankie said.

  “Naw, don’t get me wrang…Ah never goat rid ae her because she wis shite at her job…oan the contrary. Ah goat shot ae her because three days efter she started, Ah thought she wis gonnae gie me ma jotters. She took o’er the place. Aw these young turks started tae come in tae get their hair done by her, upsetting aw ma auld wans who’d been wae me fur years. Ah hid tae talk tae her and that’s when she really gied me a moothful ae lip.”

  “Aye, well, nothing’s changed in that department, Ah kin assure ye,” The Big Man said, downing his nip.

  “Aye, bit ye’ve goat a strong management style, Pat. Ah’m no used tae being called an auld queen by ma employees, especially oan their first day oan the job.”

  “She’s popular aboot here. Ma profits hiv went up since she started, wae aw these dirty auld men coming intae the pawn wae their wives wedding rings so they’ve goat an excuse tae come intae the pub here,” Fat Fingered said, rubbing they pudgy fingers ae his thegither.

  “Aye, she wis charging aw these wee young wans four times whit Ah wis getting oot ae ma blue-rinse brigade, bit it jist seemed awfully complicated tae me. She said she’d learned how tae cut hair fae some poncie poseur called Raymond ‘Teasy Weasy’ when she went tae hairdressing school doon in London.”

  “Here ye go, boys,” Kirsty said, plapping the drinks doon, spilling every wan ae them, before disappearing tae confront somewan she’d clocked using the flair as a spittoon.

  “When she came and suggested that Ah sack aw ma good staff and bring in aw these weird-looking young wans, that’s when Ah telt her we hid tae hiv a wee chat,” Harry said as everywan’s eyes followed Kirsty’s arse as she confronted Peter The Plant o’er by the side ae the swing doors.