The Tin-Kin (6 page)

‘Dae ye nae think?’ the Bissaker says.

I nod at whatever it was, take a quick gulp ae my Double Century, and call a half gill.

At the back ae nine the door tae the bar flies open and hits the wall. Rascal sits up, panting. Duncan’s here, leanin on the doorhandle, letting all the heat out and the wind whistle in, flapping past the tails ae his coat. When he pulls a stool up next tae me I feel the chill coming off him. His cheeks are rosy, but nae just fae the weather. Got a few drinks inside him already, I’d stomach a guess.

‘Aye!’ he sighs as he sits, reaching over tae pat the jugal, who’s keen tae greet him.

‘Aye!’ the Bissaker nods. He lifts a finger tae the barman and another three nips are on their way. Duncan offers round smokes. I can guess what the first thing is he’ll ask, and I’m right. He puts it tae me, just as I’m watching the wee flame catch on the end ae my cigarette, when I’m nae looking him in the eye. He laughs.

‘Well? How are ye? My jingies! Yon Lolly, eh? Country hantle, ken, Wullie? Could ye nae have done better fer yerself?’

Of course, what he means is the opposite. I couldnae have done better in a million bloody years! Duncan nods, winks tae the Bissaker, who’s laughing soundlessly with his mouth open. Catching flies.

‘Lolly,’ goes the Bissaker, playin with her name in his mouth. ‘Lolly. Lolly. Maks you a lollipop, eh?’

They laugh at their ain joke, couple ae comic geniuses.

‘Ach, keep it down!’ I say. They’re birling round on their stools, nudging at me, one on each side.

‘He’s haudin his wheesht, eh? Will ye nae tell us how ye got taegether?’

The Bissaker and Duncan are nae interested for a second in
how we met, only if Lolly’s let me have a go yet. I laugh through my teeth and wait for them tae get bored. Inside my pocket I caress that lovely wee slipper.

I wonder what a girl like her can see in me. I might not be bad-looking, at least that’s what Ma says. I’ve a proper job at the station, and I wear a suit and tie. But come on! Folk werenae born yesterday. They ken the family I’m from! Loll’s a nice dilly. She wears pretty frocks and styles her hair like the stars on the posters at the pictures. Her family bides in a council house on a proper street. What her da would do if he kent I had my mucky tinker hands on his daughter. He’d be pure horn-mad! He’s a butcher by trade, ae all things, and her brother’s a bloody toby as well.

Loll’s aie asking about my family, mostly questions I dinnae want tae answer. I’m the youngest ae three brothers and the only one that’s nae got himself a wife yet. Three sisters have married and flown the nest. Duncan’s married tae Martha, who we call Curly. They’ve got the three kinchins, Wee Betsy, Rachel and the baby, Nancy. Jimmy Jugs is the eldest ae my brothers. He lives just out ae town, more like the old ways. I cannae tell Lolly about that. Six ae a family he has with the wife Annie, and they’re all lassies an all. ‘Damn us bloody Whytes!’ Jugs and Duncan say tae folk. ‘We’re nae use at makin laddies.’

Wullie the pesty Bissaker, my cousin, he’s married tae Jeannie and they bide in the house with us. They’ve nae kinchins ae their own but they adopted Peter, years ago when he was just a baby. He came off ae the cart like a bit ae scrap metal, but he was spoiled rotten by them, coinneached tae death, that’s what Ma says.

Peter’s away at National Service now, like I should be. I never went. A stroke ae luck, according tae Ma. They ruled I had gammy feet and didnae want me. I couldnae tell Lolly about that either. It’s nae fair. All the lads who’ve gone tae service would rather have stayed. They’d have found jobs and married local
girls, everything the easy way. But I’d ae done anything tae learn tae fly. Sold my own neice! Instead I’m left at home like a bairn. I carve wooden planes and watch them swing round in circles from the ceiling. What a bloody hero!

Service is boring anyway, by the sound ae Peter’s letters. Only the toffs get tae fly the planes, and folk like us just mend them, maybe nae even that. All some lads get tae do is sit outside the hangars watching grass grow. We’re better off at the yard, Peter says. Nae that he aie felt that way. He wanted tae go just as much as me.

‘Put yer feet up, Jock!’ he said the day he went, a train ticket in his pocket, all pleased with himself. I was left behind on the platform, so jealous that for a second I wished he’d stayed on that cart as a baby and I’d never laid eyes on him. There’s nae a thing wrong with my feet. One day I’ll learn tae fly and I’ll prove it.

Anyway, with Peter gone it seems I’m the only unmarried gadgie in the land. And with Father in his grave, God rest his soul, I’m the apple ae my mother’s eye. It would be fine, but that naebody keeps out my affairs these days. Aunts and all the gossips come tae see my ma and they mutter and match-make, get themselves hot under the collar.

‘What’ll we dae wi’ thon Jock ae yours, Betsy?’

‘Ma Mary’s in toun next week.
She
’s nae courtin, ye ken?’

Now we’re really talking in bloody opposites! Are they blind? Heaven forbid I end up with my wee cousin, Big Mary. When I got the job at the railway, Ma was moaning that now I was all respectable I’d be looking for a wife among the country folk. I told her nae tae be daft, but that was before Lolly. I never expected a dilly like her tae mang a word tae me. It’s nae normal, really. Her folk look down their noses at us, especially the lot in the council houses. And folk from these houses have different habits, or so it goes. I’ll tell you one thing I ken for sure, though, the dillys are nae so feart ae going tae Hell.

The Bissaker and Duncan have given up botherin me and they’ve gone back tae blethering about horses. I still help out with the family business sometimes, when I’m nae at the station. The Bissaker keeps a pony and cart stabled near the old mill, and the lads take it in turns going round tae ask for rags. Duncan’s a good woollen-sorter. He’ll do it wi his eyes shut. We collect metal as well, tons ae it. Most ae the scrap goes tae the yard, but if any can be mended we keep that back and sell it. Some bits we keep for ourselves. It’s jaw-droppin, what folk think they’ve nae use fer: toys, heaps ae clothes, even old silver, valuable stuff.

We do odd jobs too, general labour and farm work when we can get it. There used tae be forestry, sometimes fishing or shipbuilding. But we’re nae able tae get those jobs now, stuck in the Lane. My wages fae the station are decent, though, and the yard does well. Folk off the road bring in rabbit skins and we send them tae Belgium. They end up as fur linings in posh girls’ gloves and boots! I imagine those gloves on the hands ae rich dillys, moneyed folk in London and Paris. Loll got upset when I told her that. At first I thought she was jealous, but it wasnae that. She had a pet go missing when she was wee, and her Mammy blamed the tinkers, said my people stole it. It’s just the kind ae stuff the country hantle dream up about us.

‘Jock. Eh, Jock?’ the Bissaker’s saying. He’s just finished his drink and I guess he must be wanting another soon. It’ll be my round.

‘Aye? What?’

‘Yon manny fae Forres’s wantin some harness fer his pony. Will you tak it tae him by the end ae the week?’

I nod.

‘Look at the state ae him!’ the Bissaker goes tae Duncan. ‘Awa wi the fairies! It must be love!’ And they burst out laughing.

‘Aw, would ye fuck off, the pair ae ye?’

There’s going tae be hassle. I ken the minute Fat Munro
comes in cause the man owes us. Duncan did a job for him more than a month ago now. He did it in good faith and charged way less than the going rate. Curly has new pencils and books tae buy for Rachel, who’ll be starting school soon, and that bastard’ll hold ontae his money as long as he can. Tae make matters worse, he’s fae a police family. His snake ae a father’s in the force, a real evil bastard, Duncan tells me. If we’re doing jobs for toby families like this one, times fairly are hard.

I cannae even think ae the tobies these days without getting a lump in my throat over Lolly. The lads dinnae ken her brother’s in the force. I’ll be keeping that quiet.

The Bissaker nods tae the bar. Duncan’s telling a story but he stops short when he spies Fat Munro, and we throw each other those looks. Like there’s a plan. Maybe this time, with the three ae us taegether, we’ll get something out ae him, at least whatever’s in his pockets. It’s nae a fortune, ken? That’s what we’re all thinking. If we play our cards right.

But Duncan’s nae very good at controlling a temper. He goes over and taps the man on the back. Munro glances over his shoulder, then turns away tae scan the whisky bottles. You’d think he’d never met Duncan in his life. And this is all it takes. Duncan makes a fist, and with the other hand he gives Munro’s jacket a tug. The daft bugger cannae help himself.

Folk sense trouble. Voices go quiet, and it’s all eyes on my brother. He’s still got a fist up and everyone can see he’s longing tae mar Munro. Even the dog kens something’s up. Munro rocks forward and back, and for a minute I think his stool’s going tae tip him on the floor or buckle under his weight.

The problem with Duncan is he likes a drink, and he’s a wild animal when he’s had too much. Even I’ll admit that. It takes three men tae get him in the toby wagon when they take him tae the quad, which is where he’s endin up tonight if he’s nae careful.

We aie stick by him and bail him out when we can. Duncan’s
a hard worker. He never misses a day. Heaving scrap makes him strong, and Munro might be heavy, he’s round as a bloody balloon, but there’s nae muscle on him. Duncan could easy do him if he wanted, send him intae next week if he was stupid enough tae dare. But he’s got a brain in there somewhere. At least I think he does. Wouldnae be that stupid.

I’m looking really hard at Duncan’s fist getting tighter and tighter, ready tae mar this bastard toby right in the teeth, when the barman’s hand clamps down on his arm. I go tae try and break it up, but there’s already someone round my shoulders, hauling me tae the door as well. All three ae us are huckled out the Vicky, the barman shouting ‘Okay, lads, okay, we’re no wantin any trouble.’

The barman looks down at us from the step and he actually apologises under his breath before going back inside.

‘Sorry, boys. Understand, though, eh? Police family. Ye ken that.’

Duncan’s tripped over the Bissaker in the confusion and now he’s flat out on the road. He’s like that with the whisky. One minute you’re there having a chat, and a nip later you’re carrying the crater home. We pick him up, and there’s Fat Munro, watching through the leaded window. His fleshy cheeks press close tae the glass, all golden, the flicker fae the fireplace glowin on the end ae his ugly snout. Mean, tight-fisted bastard right enough. The door opens again and someone kicks Rascal intae the street. He yelps loudly, and there’s laughter in the bar.

The Bissaker takes one ae Duncan’s shoulders and I grab him at the other side. He shouts out cause he’s hit his head and maybe he doesnae ken who we are for a second. Maybe he thinks we’re the tobies carting him tae the cells.

‘Eat your mother’s shit!’ he shouts, and I cannae help but laugh.

‘Good work, Duncan!’ the Bissaker says, talking opposites again. He’s no really angry. Duncan derserves every penny he’s
worked for. He’s got three bairns and a wife tae feed. We help him back tae the Lane and he stops every few steps and says, ‘Haud up a minute. Haud up, there.’

Back home, I lay Duncan on the sofa in the room where his family stay. I creep out, hoping nae tae wake them going down the creaky dancers tae where I sleep. My bed’s directly below, in the small bit at the back ae the Bissaker and Jeannie’s place.

Ten minutes later I turn out the Tilley lamp. I’ve put the bonnie wee slipper the Bissaker gave me on top ae the pillow. Lolly. She’s who I think about before I go tae sleep. Beneath the sheets I unbutton my underwear and wriggle my hand in. When I start getting intae it the rickety bed’ll rattle, and next door they’ll probably ken what I’m up tae. I try and keep it quiet, though.

We’re used tae hearing everything. Ma haughs her chest out. The bairns play and squabble and greet. The men’s boots stamp up and down the dancers. We’ve tae piss in a bucket since a lorry on its way tae the rag store crashed intae the outhouse wall. And that’s nae the half ae it. It’s filthy in a house. It cannae be healthy. Ma says we’re living like the clartiest ae the country hantle. Cats howl and flech themselves, dogs bark and whine, chase the cats, who flee up the lum and fill the room with soot. Curly and Duncan up the dancers, and Wullie and Jeannie next door’ll be rumbling about with each other when they think the bairns are asleep and dreaming – making the bedsprings go squee-eak, squee-eak. If ever it was quiet at night I’d be petrified. I’d think I was the last man alive.

But I can block out all the noises and think about one thing. Lolly. My Lolo. I smell dust on the slipper. I’m almost there. The back ae my skull is pushed intae the mattress with the pressure, and pleasure pulls at me like it’s coming from below the bed.

But suddenly there’s a wrong sort ae noise. A THUD. And another.

THUD.

It gets me right in the gut and I open my eyes. My carving ae a Sea Hawk jet’s swinging on its thread from the ceilin, backwards and forwards like it’s been hit by an enemy bomb. Mayday! Mayday!

THUD.

Duncan’s boots on the boards. I should’ve taken those clodhoppers off. He starts bellowing like a bloody foghorn and Rascal barks. He gets feart when Duncan’s drunk, daft jugal!

‘AH CAN FUCK! FIGHT! AN’ HAUD A CANDLE TAE ANY MAN!’

The echo ae Duncan’s words, heard a million times, gies me an empty feeling, a twist inside. Curly’s lighter steps make their way over tae Duncan. She’s barefoot, cautious ae gettin skelfs, wary when he’s taken a drink too many. The wee kinchins’ll be awake too. I hear the rise and fall ae Curly’s voice, the relief in it as she talks Duncan quiet again.

I yawn. He’ll have woken half the Lane, the great drunken eejit. And here’s me lying in bed with my hand in my breeks, jingies the size ae Jesus!

  SPACEDUST