Seventeen 14 страница

Jinty was shaking her head pitifully at Agnes. “Shall ah put on a wee bit o’ dry toast? ” She was taking off the floral headscarf.

Agnes nodded in silence, the edges of her mouth unable to hold a polite smile for long. Jinty took herself into the kitchen, and although the bread was laid out next to the toaster, Agnes could hear her nosing into every cabinet looking for drink. When she couldn’t see the top shelves she would jump, jump, jump, like a giddy little dog, her flat sandals slapping on the hard linoleum.

After some time, Jinty came back with a single piece of hard brown toast. “Was it a bad night, hen? ” she asked, in her high, childlike voice, her eyes already scanning the room.

“Yes. ”

“Aye, well, hen. Ah cannae stop long. Ah cannae stop long. Ah just came round for a drop of tea. Things to do, ye see. ” She took off her coat and sat down expectantly.

Agnes tried to set the plate at the side of her chair, but her hand shook and the dry toast fell to the floor.

“Dear, dear, dear. Look at the state o’ ye. That’s a terrible state to get yersel into. ”

Agnes lifted her hands to her face. Her head was sore, her arms were sore, and her body felt like it was bruised all over.

“Well, now. Well, now. Ah hate to see ye suffer. ” Jinty looked at her out of the side of her eyes and sniffed. “Ah don’t suppose ye have any in, do ye? ”

Agnes knew that Jinty already knew the answer from her search of the kitchen cabinets. “I think there is a last can under the kitchen sink. In a bag, behind the bleach. ” Her head was swimming.

Jinty sniffed. “Shall we have a wee taste? You know. Just to get ye right? ”

Agnes nodded, and Jinty, with creaking knees, sprang from the settee and near skipped through to the kitchen. She found the can as easily as Agnes knew she would and returned with it and two rinsed-out tea mugs. She put the mugs on the table and with a little finger pulled the ring on the Special Brew. The can bubbled foam as she expertly poured half in each of the mugs. She took a white finger and ran it around the lip of the empty can and then popped it in her mouth as though it were whipped cream.

“Oh, that’s nice, ” she moaned quietly. “Ah suppose we could just skip the tea and have this. ” Her eyes slid to the side. “Ah wouldn’t be doing this, mind, but ye look like ye are in a right state, and ah hate to see any of God’s creatures suffer. ”

As if it were a dolly’s tea party, Jinty lifted a mug with two little hands and offered it to Agnes. Agnes took the mug, put it to her mouth, and took a small sip. The boak groaned inside her. She took another and out of habit set the mug down on the far side of the chair, hidden and secret.

Jinty lifted her mug and took a mouse’s mouthful. She made a happy sound and took another and then another. The two women didn’t speak again until the mugs were almost drained. Agnes felt the lager push the boak back into her belly; the shaking in her bones grew quieter. She ran a hand over her tender thighs and started to feel angry.

Sip-sipping away, Jinty could see the empty bottom in sight. “Aye, well, ah cannae stop long. ” She took out her hanky and wiped her lipstick off the edge of the empty mug. “Would another wee one make ye feel any better? ” she sniffed.

Agnes nodded feebly.

Jinty’s scheming eyes narrowed. “Ah didnae see any more under that sink of yours. You’ve no got another secret planking place, have ye? ”

Agnes thought about the usual places, behind the immersion heater, the top of the tallest wardrobe; she shook her head.

“Oh! Well, ah cannae stay anyway, ” said Jinty sadly, the fine lines around her mouth pinched. “But just look at ye. Ye look like you might die if ah left ye now. Do you have a couple of pound, mibbe? I suppose ah could run up to the wee shop. ”

Agnes reached down the side of the seat and took out her purse. It was empty but for chewing gum wrappers. Her mind went to the driver and the taxi and the dark Pit, and she felt the bile rise in her again.

“No’ even a wee bit left from your Tuesday Book, hen? ” asked Jinty sadly.

Agnes shook her head.

Jinty McClinchy shifted nervously in her seat like she had the itchy piles. She looked at Agnes and looked at the empty mug. Finally she sighed, and then she sniffed, “Well, let me see what’s in ma purse, eh? ”

With a heave the tiny-boned woman lifted her big leather bag off the floor. She sat it on her small lap and almost climbed in it. Agnes heard keys and coins moving around at the bottom, and then there was a sweet watery thud, as Jinty drew out three cans of warm Carlsberg. “You can pay me later. ” Jinty opened a can and repeated the delicate pouring and the waiting and the licking of the foam from her small white finger. Only when they were starting the third can did they start to feel like themselves again.

“I was at ma daughter’s last night. You should have seen the state of that house. ” Jinty wiped the end of her nose with her old hanky. “I look after an idle bastard with a rotten liver, and ah can still keep a clean house. ”

“How is the new baby? ” asked Agnes, only half-interested.

“Aye. Fine, ah suppose. She loves the thing as much as you could, ” Jinty said dispassionately. “She’ll get more off the benefits now of course. Ah telt her she should set a little aside and hire a cleaner. Filthy. Honestly, ah look at her sometimes and ah don’t know what ah have raised. ” Jinty was getting worked up. “There was dust that thick on her skirting board. She looks to me as if to say, ‘Mammy, can you no help? ’ and ah just turned to her and said, ‘I have raised my children. I. Am. Done. ’” The woman made a cutting motion in the air.

Agnes nodded sadly. She would have loved a house full of grandchildren. She would have loved a house to be full again of her own children.

Jinty went on. “Gillian’s eldest called me Granny the other day. I nearly had its wee tongue out. I wouldn’t mind, but his other granny makes him call her Shirley, so ah wasn’t going to be the only old bitch at Christmas. ” She picked up her drink and studied Agnes over the top of her mug. “Here, what are ye so quiet for? ”

“Me? ” asked Agnes. “Nothing. ”

“Agnes, ah might be a lush, but you are a bloody liar. ”

The women sat in silence and tanked the rest of the can. Eventually, Agnes asked quietly, “Jinty, if I tell you something, would you keep it between us and not tell a soul? ”

The woman’s eyes shone like beads. She crossed her heart with a finger, except she missed and crossed the wrong side. “On my life. ”

“I had a bad blackout last night. ” Agnes then told Jinty the story of the bingo and the taxi and the driver pulling over into the Pit mouth. She lifted the sleeve on her jumper and showed Jinty the finger marks the rapist had left in her white skin.

The little woman tutted and shook her curly head. “Bad bastard. To do that to a defenceless wummin. What is this world coming to? The way people take advantage of each other. That widnae have happened in our day. They would have caught the swine and ridden him through the Trongate on a fence. ” With a knuckly finger she motioned the sharp fence rail going right up the man’s arse. Jinty took her hanky out and wiped her nose. Then she took it and wiped the shop dust from the top of the last can. The women looked at it mournfully. “Is there no way you could get a couple of pounds? ”

Agnes watched the last of the golden liquid pour into the mugs. In her mind she shook the telly meter, the gas meter, and the electric meter, and they were all empty. “No, ” she said sadly.

“Is there one of your men friends ye could phone? ”

Agnes thought about the bruises on her body. “No. ”

Jinty sat quiet for a minute savouring the last of the golden liquid. “How about giving that fella a phone? ” she asked. “Ye know, the wee fella with all the long hair in the back. ” She mimed the curly mullet that was popular with footballers and pop stars. “Ah heard he’s no short of a bob or two and that he likes a good drink. ”

“Who? ”

Jinty thought for a moment. “Lamby. Aye, that’s it. We could gie him a phone. ”

The cousins of Pithead told everyone that Iain Lambert was a coal miner whose wife had left him high and dry just before the closing mine delivered the final blow. With no woman to spend the pitiful severance on, he had kept it hidden under his bed. When the other miners drank it away or used it to feed and clothe their growing broods, Lamby still sat on his nest egg and went out and got a part-time job repairing rented tellies. The cousins said Lamby was a lonely and dull man who was not made for the romance novels. He had got himself a trendy footballer’s mullet but still looked like an undernourished teenager. Despite his being nothing in the looks department, these same women brought him plates of burnt potatoes with grey meat and bowls of frozen broth. The cousins said he was a good man who kept himself to himself and that after the mine shut he proved himself to be a worker still. They fed him bits of leftovers, knowing that his Pit severance could have fed their weans for a year or more.

Jinty chimed in again. “We could have a wee party. Just the three of us. ”

Agnes looked at the emptying mug and felt the panic rise. She nodded.

Jinty was up on her quick feet like a startled cat. She pulled the phone book from the vinyl telephone table and, licking her little fingers, flicked till she came across the Ls. She read aloud. “L. L. Lambert. Mister C. ” Jinty checked the address and, sure it was Lamby, went and dialled his number. She cleared her throat as the phone rang. It was lunchtime on a Thursday, but a man’s voice came on the phone.

“Oh hello, Lamby, ” she said, in her best accent. “It’s wee Jinty here. Aye, that’s right … I live on the other side of the scheme. You will know ma John. I used to go around with Mhari McClure. Aye, that’s right. ” She paused. “Mhari? She got into a terrible state on the Valium, aye. Ah know, it is a right shame. She was a lovely lassie as well. Last time I heard she was working Blythswood. Aye, well, but for the grace of God, eh? But you know there is a big difference between enjoying a quiet drink and selling yourself for a prescription, don’t ye think? Sad it is. I was there when she started that Valium nonsense. Aye, awful it was, ” Jinty sniffed.

“Anyway, ah was giving youse a wee phone because I wanted to see if you wanted to stop by ma pal’s house for a wee drink, ” she paused. “Aye, it is a bit early, it is. It’s just she is a lovely lassie, and I have been dying for the pair o’ ye to meet. Aye, Agnes Bain. Aye, that’s right, puts you right in mind of Liz Taylor, a bit paler though. ” Jinty smiled excitedly into the living room; she motioned for Agnes to paint her face. “So, will ye come? Guid! Lamby, I hate to ask. Do you think you could be a real pal and bring a wee carry-out with ye? Aye. We’re a wee bit short. Aye, she is lovely. Keeps herself immaculate, smart talking … Aye, we’ll have a wee party. Just bring six cans and a wee half-bottle. Oh, and then whatever you would like to drink for yourself. Remember, it’s the house near the corner. ”

Jinty finished the phone call and told Agnes he had said he would be there in the hour. She started tidying up the empty fag packets and ring pulls. “You know, hen, if ah were you ah might run a wee brush through ma hair. Cover they bruises. Try and make yersel look a bit more appetizing. ”

They waited over an hour on frayed nerves until Lamby arrived. Jinty showed him in. He sat on the edge of the settee and fidgeted with his trendy bomber jacket like a teenager. Agnes could see that everything the scheme had said about him was true. Jinty made the introductions and slipped the heavy plastic bag out of his hand.

“Nice to meet ye, Agnes, ” he said through a row of neat teeth.

Agnes mustered as much of her charm as she could. “It was nice of you to come visit with us. It’s hard to make your own fun in this desolate place. ”

“Aye, well, it isnae every day a fella like me gets an offer from two beautiful wummin such as yersels, ” Lamby said. Jinty squealed with filthy delight.

Agnes had heard better patter. She sat back in the armchair. “So, you are not related, then? ” she asked, “I don’t think I have yet to meet someone from this scheme who was not tied right back to Jinty by blood or marriage or weans. ”

“No, ah think my ex-wife had something to do with the McAvennies. Ah’m an O’Hara; we tend to live over on the burn side of the scheme … in the flat-roofed houses. ”

“It’s a wonder some of the weans develop bones at all. ”

Lamby smiled kindly at the insult. “Aye, well. That’s probably why ye’ve been the talk of the town. Fresh blood and all. ”

Jinty took a half-bottle of Smirnoff from the bag and poured a big finger into each of the three mugs. On top of the vodka she poured in some bright, fizzy Irn-Bru. It bubbled and hissed and looked as innocent as ginger ale. “Oh, ah cannae stop long, ” she sniffed to herself, taking a big mouthful.

Lamby smoked rollies, and he sprinkled the paper with tobacco and ran his pink tongue along the sticky edge. “Besides, ah’ve seen ye afore, ” he said to Agnes. “Ah always thought ye must have had a man. Lookin’ as well as you do. ” He licked the first cigarette closed and passed it to Jinty.

“It doesn’t cost to take pride—”

“She’s a happy divorcee, ” interrupted Jinty. “She’s the lucky one. Any wummin can do fine without a fat sack of meat snoring next to her every night. Isn’t that right, hen? ”

“Spoken like a true wummin, ” said Lamby.

Agnes thought how he looked too young to know what a true wummin was but said nothing. She took a long mouthful from the mug. The vodka tasted clean, like bleach. Lamby licked the next cigarette very slowly. Agnes saw that his nails were very clean and his ears and neck looked flushed pink, as though he had just taken a hot bath. “Ah mean, come on! There has to be somethin’ men are still good for, ” he said lasciviously.

This tickled Jinty. She swung her little legs and cackled like a girl. “Absolutely bloody nothing, ” she squealed. “Agnes, do ye hear the cheek o’ this filthy wee bugger? He thinks we were born yesterday. ” The heat of the vodka brought out a split-veined sanguine in her cheeks. “Have ye been seeing anyone lately, Lamby? ”

“Aye, a couple of birds, ” he said, looking at Agnes. “Ah’m playin’ the field. Tryin’ to keep it casual-like. ” He gave her a wink.

“Och, men are all the bloody same, eh, Agnes? Even as babes they lie on their backs fascinated by their little thingy. ”

“How about you? ” he asked Agnes. “Have you been seein’ anybody? ”

Jinty rolled her knees in an excited circle and answered for Agnes. “Her! ” she squealed. “That one is practically on call for the Greater Glasgow Taxi Livery. ”

Agnes felt the sting of the words push into the bruises on her body. She lifted her mug anyway and nodded a sad acceptance of the award.

Jinty pulled the plastic bag from between her small feet and added, cruelly, “If you’re not a taxi driver, then this one’s not interested. ”

“Is that right? ” said Lamby. He looked at Agnes directly again and with a hurt frown asked, “How’s that working out for ye? ”

Jinty interrupted again. “It’s not a choice she can help. It’s a curse! She hears the thrum of a diesel engine, and it’s knickers off and whoosh the meter’s running. ”

The room got colder. There was a slow sucking in of air, and Agnes’s face hardened to glass. The drink soaked into her now, and the words escaped her in a low, threatening hiss. “You are one low, backstabbing little cunt, Jinty McClinchy. ”

The little shrew stopped her mindless laughing. “Och, calm yersel. I didnae mean anything by it. ” She greedily tipped the mug to her face, but her little eyes were sharp daggers peering over the top of it.

Lamby stiffened, looking from one woman to the other. The room was silent. “Eh, look, mibbe ah should head, eh? ”

Jinty crossed her ankles demurely over the bag of carry-out and shushed him. “Oh, don’t mind her. She was just a bit unlucky in love last night. Ye have to stay. Ye have to help and cheer her up, eh. ”

Agnes sat quietly for the rest of the afternoon, drinking whatever Jinty put in front of her and smoking whatever Lamby rolled. He tried to talk to her about all sorts of things, but when she got the chance to answer for herself she could only manage a yes or no. By the time they were well into the cans, Jinty had seen enough.

“Lamby, son, I don’t know what’s gotten into her, ” she moaned sourly. “She’s normally the life and the soul. ”

“That’s alright. ” His cheeks were flushed the same red as Jinty’s, and he still sat in his nylon bomber jacket. Agnes thought he must have been uncomfortable; she wondered whether he was embarrassed because he had no one at home to iron him a clean shirt.

“Aye, but ah don’t want ye leaving here thinking ye’ve spent the day at the old folks’ home. Put one of they tapes in, would you. We’ll have a wee party. ”

Lamby reached over and opened Lizzie’s old stereo unit. He lifted one of the tapes from a pile and slipped it in the player. “My wife used to like this, ” he said, mostly to himself.

“Och, what a voice that wummin has. What. A. Voice! ” said Jinty between draws. She twirled her small white hands in the air to the melody. “Lamby, for God’s sake, would you get that miserable sod up. ”

He eyed Agnes nervously. “No. Leave her be. She disnae want to dance. ” After a quarter bottle and six lagers he was feeling only slightly less timid.

“Lady Bain! ” Jinty scolded like a headmistress. “This is a party! This man has brought us drink! Now give him a dance! ”

Agnes looked at Lamby, as itchy as a young lad at a school disco. She gave him the best half-smile she could manage to let him know it was all right. On uncertain legs Lamby rose to his feet. He took her hands and tried to tug her from the chair the way plumbers pull a stubborn clog out of a drain. Agnes hadn’t stood since she had sat in that chair earlier; the drink and the inertia made her legs go soft, and as she rose he caught her in his arms as if they had been lovers for a long time.

“There you go, eh, ” squealed Jinty, pouring herself a sly top-up behind their backs. “Keep a good haud of her. ”

The two of them did a sort of end-of-the-night dance, a clumsy waltz, old-fashioned and slow. They held each other up purely by the way their sweaty bodies were mashed together. Agnes’s face was inches from his, and for the first time she noticed that he had shaved for their little party. His neck was covered in sore gooseflesh, and there was a smell of pine about him, from the kind of aftershave that smelled like bathroom cleaner, not a trace of sex in it.

“Ye’re a great wee dancer. ” He spoke to her kindly. She tried to be attentive and listen. But only her body was in the room.

Jinty drank the mug dry. “Gie him a wee kiss! ”

“Ah havnae been up the dancin’ since ma divorce came through, ” he said.

“Don’t be ungrateful! He bought ye all that drink! Kiss him! ” shouted Jinty.

“Maybe ah could take ye one night? ”

“He’ll no be back! ” Jinty warned.

Agnes was nearly two inches taller than the younger man. With their age difference, it could almost have been her own Leek she was dancing with. She saw now the far side of his face had a knife scar running from ear to chin, a common enough chib mark, but on such a young man it seemed a shame. With a clumsy hand she reached out and touched it.

“Ah. So ye noticed that, did ye, ” he said shyly.

“You look like my eldest boy. ”

“Gie him a wee kiss, for God’s sake! ” squealed Jinty, cracking another can.

Agnes let her hand linger on the young man’s face and thought how she missed her eldest boy. Even when he was there in the room she missed him; he had the way of always leaving her feeling lonely. Lamby, this man, put his hand to her face and his lips on her mouth. Jinty crowed with delight. Agnes felt his lips open, felt him suck, felt his tongue probing there. His hand slipped lower down her back.

“Now don’t you two do anything ah’ll have to confess for. ” Jinty McClinchy was fanning herself giddily, relieved to have earned her carry-out.

The hands that had been gentlemanly started the sly creep across her arse. With kneading fingers he pressed the bruise she had earned at the top of her tail bone. The boak rose in her. She turned her head, but it was too late. She vomited the sour contents of lager and vodka and Irn-Bru down the front of his trendy jacket.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! ” screamed the man, dripping in the watery bile.

“Mammy? ” Shuggie stood in the doorway.

Agnes fell back into the seat and put her face into her hands as the hot drunk tears started to burn out of her. The man looked from the broken lady to the little boy in his school clothes to the woman tucking the last of the plastic bag into her big leather handbag. As he pushed past Shuggie, Jinty shouted down the hallway after him: “Lamby, son! She’s no usually like this! Ah’ll gie ye a wee phone another day, and we can have another little party! ”

The little woman sighed as the front door shut with a slam, and then she looked into all the open fag packets on the table, consolidated them into one packet, and slipped this into her bag. The woman shook each of the open cans on the table and when she heard the swoosh of remains she poured it into her mug until she had emptied them all. Jinty downed the mug in two or three big mouthfuls, and then she drew her floral scarf out of her bag again.

“Right, ah cannae stop long. ”

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