Southsiders (9 page)

He felt the intensity of her stare. Wondered if he’d stumbled upon a new way of creating electricity of the renewable sort. First it gave him a tingle and then blasted him a shock. He wanted her to say something. To break the tension. But she seemed equally numb. At least she had the presence of mind to smile.

There was no attempt to cover herself up and no sense of embarrassment about what was taking place. She shifted position ever so slightly. Bent herself forward a little. Something about it suggested an invitation. The world, just then, seemed full of magic.

It was Ray who broke the spell. Instead of acting on his desires, he stepped back and closed the door. Ran up the stairs with his heart beating a kind of Morse Code. Dot dot, dot dot. Dash. Dot dot dot dash. Dot dot dash. Dot dash. Whatever the hell that spelled.

*

I
zzy knocked on the bedroom door and poked her head in. “Is now a good time?”

She was dressed now, in stripy cotton pyjamas and a brown towel bathrobe with a hood. Made her look like the boxer in Million Dollar Baby. Ray pushed himself onto his elbows so that he was sitting up on the bed.

“Thanks,” she said to him.

Of all the things he’d imagined her saying, this had not been on the list. “What the hell for?”

“It’s been a long time since a man looked at me that way. Like he wanted me.”

“That obvious, was it?”

She nodded. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I guess not.” That was a relief to hear. It was also a relief that she wasn’t throwing things.

“And I respect the fact that you didn’t come on to me. There aren’t many of Cliff’s friends I’d be able to say that about.”

“Oh?”

“They’ve all had a crack at one time or other, the horny sods. Or at least they did before I got pregnant. Now Cliff doesn’t even bother to bring them round.”

Izzy came and sat on the end of the bed. “So I wanted to thank you for respecting me and Cliff the way you did.”

Was that what he’d done? Respected her? “I like the way you put it.”

“And if it’s all right with you,” she went on, “I’d be grateful if we made it the last we ever spoke of it. It’ll be our secret. Pinky promise?”

What the hell was a pinky promise?

She held out her little finger.

He followed his instincts and linked their hands together with his own little finger.

“I’ve been thinking, Izzy,” he said once the ritual was over, “about going home to fetch Jesse and bringing him back here. Would you mind if he came to stay for a little while? A couple of weeks even, just until I get my feet on the ground at work and they start paying me.”

“I’d love to meet him. And course he can stay. Cliff won’t mind. And it’s nice that he’s got a new drinking buddy. Speaking of which...”

Ray was ready for the question. “I thought I’d rush here and ask you before I mentioned anything to Cliff. And he was chatting with a couple of his mates, so I’ll not be missed. I’ll be getting back to him right now. I could book myself a flight for Friday?”

Izzy stood up. Leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “For you, anything at all,” she told him and left the room, the many facets of her statement illuminating the room like it was an enormous diamond.

*

A
couple had arrived in the bar while he’d been away. They spent most of their time giggling over things they were finding on their phone and didn’t seem to notice that Ray was there at all.

The barman was watching something on the tiny TV above the microwave, looking bored.

Ray sipped at his beer and savoured the flavour of the hops. The taste took him back to his early days in Edinburgh when he was working in the brewery down at Fountainbridge. He had a whale of a time driving around in his forklift, his nostrils filled with the smell of overcooked baked potatoes, a smell that would waft over to the Southside when the weather conditions prevailed. It wouldn’t be long before he was back there again, soaking up the scents and sights and catching up with everyone’s news. He couldn’t wait.

The sights would be a lot easier on the eye that the room he was in. This uninviting bar. Nothing about it made sense. From what he understood about the world, businesses took great care in setting up the right atmosphere so that people would spend as much money as possible. There was all that stupid pop music in clothes shops that was supposed to make you feel young and cool and ready to buy the latest threads. And there were the supermarkets and the way they greeted customers with the vibrant colours of fresh fruit and veg. So what was it about the crappy pictures on the wall that was going to get him to buy another pint? Cheap canvas prints with no frames, never a good look to begin with. Worse still, it looked as though they’d given a five-year-old child a camera and told him to take photos of anything he fancied – pebbles, venetian blinds, piles of leaves – and then used the images to decorate bars around the country. Maybe it was all about keeping the riff-raff out. Keeping the place so ugly that no one would want to drink there unless they had a room booked. At least there’d be no trouble at the end of the night. No need for security. A money-saving trick that made sense. The clever bastards.

Ray managed to avert his eyes from the artwork and got to work on the laptop.

One flight to Edinburgh, Friday afternoon. Check. No bags to be booked on. No need to pick a seat. No parking deals or need for a hotel at the other end.

Two seats back to Belfast. 2
^nd
Jan. Plenty of time to settle down before taking the bogus interview for his new job and getting Jesse enrolled in a school.

The confirmation emails pinged around the ether for a while, then ended up in his inbox.

Ray checked all the details and was a happy man. He’d print off the boarding pass back at the house and that would be him sorted.

While he was there, he scrolled through his mail, deleting most of it as he went.

There was the usual junk about the stuff he could sell. There were the fliers from various rock’n’roll festivals that he wouldn’t be going to but liked to know about. There were plenty of Jesse’s about new games and sites he’d joined in the previous few days. And there was the one he’d been trying not to think about. The one from Paula that he still hadn’t read in case the wounds opened even further.

He moved the arrow over Paula’s message and let it hover. Took in a deep breath and clicked.

“Ray. You are a hole. I’m leaving. Look after the boy. Tell him I love him or something like that.” His brain short-circuited then rebooted. “Look after the boy.” What the hell was that all about? Leaving? Surely he’d got the wrong end of the stick.

His heart set off again with the fast pitter-patters that had him worrying it was about to burst. How could she leave him? Surely it hadn’t come to that.

A noise blurted from his mouth. The couple over at the far table finally looked his way, staring, and then hiding behind their phones as soon as they could. The barman’s eyebrows wiggled again in shapes of bewilderment and then turned back to the TV.

Ray sat back in his chair, put his arms around himself and held on tight, making sure that none of his insides spilled out as he tried to get a grip on what the hell was going on.

––––––––

H
is hands were shaking as he listened to the phone ring. And then the break in tone came. He dived straight in. “Paula. It’s me.” The signal wasn’t the best and Ray could hear his voice cracking up as he spoke.

“Ray, you wee shite. I was wondering how long it would take till you tried again. What can I do for you, you old arse-wipe?” There were voices chattering in the background, talking over loud music. Sounded like The Jammers to Ray, which meant she was in The Bricklayers’. As she spoke, all the anger he’d felt about her leaving had deserted him. He slipped down into his chair and curled up in it.

“How are you?” It wasn’t what he meant. Or what he meant to say.

“Fine and dandy, you hole. How are you and your tiny cock?”

“Jesse.” Now he was back on course. “How’s Jesse?”

She laughed loudly on the other end. Made Ray take the phone away from his ear. “The fuck should I know?” she said. “He’s your problem now. Deal with it.”

He sucked in a breath. “Thing is Paula, I thought he was with you. Do me a favour and go home. Make sure he’s all right.” Asking for favours from Paula was like asking for a bank loan when you didn’t have a job or any prospects. She laughed again, louder this time.

“You’re so concerned about him, check on him yourself. And when you find out, make sure you don’t bother to let me know. Understand?”

There was no rage where it should have been. Instead, Ray felt his muscles relax. It was good being told what to do. Black and white was so much easier to deal with than grey.

“I’ll do that,” he said. “And I’ll let you—” The call ended before he could finish his sentence.

He put his phone into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and looked around.

The couple had gone and the barman had made himself scarce. Ray settled to enjoy the moment alone when Cliff bounced into the room, wearing the huge grin of the demented.

––––––––

T
he thing about clever people was that they said the right things even when they didn’t mean to.

Take Archie and his ‘getting a job’ crack. Most people wouldn’t have even thought of that as a solution for a kid in primary school and certainly wouldn’t have said it. Archie, mind, he could make a joke and find an answer at the same time.

Soon as school finished, Jesse headed home. He picked up his board from the flat and then whizzed down the hill, weaving in and out of the Bridges’ traffic that was already nose-to-tail. There were a couple of near misses with bikes and a bus, but other than that it was uneventful.

He took a right at the Royal Mile, skating through the lights just as they turned red and earning him an angry beep from a BMW driver who was hoping to run the light on his way up the hill, even though he’d have had to stop in the jam as soon as he made it through.

It looked better in the dark on the Mile. The lights shone and sparkled and he could practically smell Christmas in the air.

Once he got past the main shops, he stepped on the tail of the board and slowed down. Getting off the board, toeing it up and putting it under his arm all happened in a smooth run as if he was born to skate. Truth was he’d had to put in many hours of practice to get everything to happen just right. Lots of watching the older kids over at Bristo Square strut their stuff and more than a few cuts and bruises from trying to copy them.

When he got to the close, he cut through and stopped at Fish, the pawnbroker’s.

Jesse pushed the door and went in, greeted by the same bell as before.

A string of fairy lights blinked away along the cabinets and in the windows.

Lurch was standing at the counter, polishing something silver. Either a gun or a fancy cigarette lighter. Whichever, he seemed to be taking great care of it. He stopped what he was doing and looked in Jesse’s direction. “Young Master Spalding. We weren’t expecting to see you for weeks yet.” He nodded up at the shelves behind him.

Jesse followed his gaze and read the sign: ‘Available Soon’. Pride of place seemed to go to his Elvis record, which looked great up there when the coloured lights flashed on. Another label lower down the cabinet read: ‘Sealed bids please’. What the hell was going on? “You can’t sell it. Not yet. I’ve still got the ticket at home.” He was shouting at Lurch, even though he wasn’t feeling angry at all.

“Now, now. Take a chill pill. Isn’t that what you young folk say? It’s not for sale. Not yet.”

“So what’s it on the shelves for?”

Lurch smiled. “Think of it as being like eBay. We have an item that might be for sale soon. We want to sell it for as much as we can get. We put it up there to draw interest and we take the bids of anyone who might like to buy. It’s not for sale until the ticket expires, but the way Uncle likes it is that his goods are sold as soon as. You bring the ticket back and the money with it, you take the record home. You’re so much as a minute late with the payment and we’re on the blower telling the highest bidder that the item’s theirs.”

It made sense. Having a quick turnover like that meant being able to deal with more stock. More stock meant more cash. “That’s all right then.”

“Very funny.”

“You know what I mean. So has there been much interest?”

Lurch stopped his polishing and put everything down on the counter. “There’s this one guy comes in once a week, regular as. He always bids for music even if it’s complete crap. And we’ve got a few collectors besides. Not to mention the internet. Yeah. You could say we’re doing pretty well on this one. You don’t want to be late, that’s for sure.”

Jesse didn’t like the way it all sounded. The way the money he’d got for the records was disappearing, he wasn’t going to have enough to pay for a brand new copy of the one he’d brought in, never mind the signed original. He wished he hadn’t bought the new wheels for his board, but it was done now and he wouldn’t be able to take them back for a refund. Which reminded him of his reason for being there in the first place. “That cleaner job. Does it mean a cleaner to keep things tidy or a cleaner who’s going to be able to tidy up loose ends for Mr Fish?” He could manage the work, he figured. A couple of hours before or after school, not to mention the weekends.

“That was a real cleaning job. Pledge and feather dusters and all that.”

“Was?” Jesse screwed his eyes up for a moment, hoping things might be different when he opened them again.

“Sorry, son. The guy over there got in before you.”

Jesse noticed him for the first time, wiping shelves in the shadows at the back of the shop. They guy was rubbing away like he was expecting a genie to appear and make all his wishes come true.

“He’s Syrian or something. A refugee. He was setting out his sleeping bag in the alley the other night and saw the sign.”

Jesse took a closer look at the new guy. He had a thin grey beard that contrasted with his rich, brown skin. His eyes were practically black and soft as a puppy’s.