Awake
by Danny Gillan
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Funerals. They bring out the best and the worst in people.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Funerals. They bring out the best and the worst in people.
It seems that death is not the end. After that, there’s lunch.
Lunch is probably too extravagant a term. In reality, there are plates of flaccid, ridiculously small sausage rolls that can’t decide on an appropriate ‘ideal heat’, and so remain at a nauseatingly bland room temperature.
There are also cakes - Mr Kipling has paid a visit and his presence has been felt, in a variety of bright and gay colours.
It’s always those sausage rolls that get me at these things. They’re about a quarter of the size of a real one, and yet, where one real sausage roll, with beans admittedly, would be enough to fill you up till Christmas, you can eat two dozen of these wee buggers without blinking. Sometimes I think the bloody caterers are just laying the groundwork for more business.
There was a time, not too long ago, when you got steak-pie at a funeral. Steak-pie, potatoes and veg. Okay, the potatoes were out of a tin, and the carrots were out of a tin, and the steak-pie was probably out of a tin, or at least a freezer. But still, it was a decent meal. It warmed your cockles, as they say.
My cockles are bloody freezing, just at the minute.
“She was a darlin’, a darlin’, son.”
Oh Christ, it’s Mary’s cousin, Bobby. I’d forgotten about him. Bobby the bubble, Mary used to call him. He rumbles towards me, a pint of heavy in his hand and a sloppy, moist smile on his face.
“Uncle Bobby, you’re right, mum was a darlin’, one of the best,” Sean says, putting himself between me and Bobby.
Jesus, it’s like he can hear me thinking. My boy Sean. He’s given me many reasons to be proud of him over the years, and this is but the latest. I wink at him. He’s busy re-directing Bobby and doesn’t see me. He knows, though. My boy.
I talk to him all the time, but it’s been a while since I saw Sean up close. He lives over in Edinburgh these days, and doesn’t get back through as often as anyone would like. He’s looking smashing; strong and tall, smart and smiling. He’s into his thirties now, but he’s still got all his hair; which is more than I could say at his age. He got his looks from Mary, thank God. I like to think he got some of his sense from me.
I drift around the room. I don’t know what else to do. Mary’s sister, Lesley, is crying, I can see that from ten feet away. They were close, Lesley and Mary. Only three years between them - three years means a lot when you’re under twenty, but bugger all when you’re over sixty.
Lesley’s husband, Fred, is doing a good job. She’s a stick of a woman at the best of times, but Fred has his arm round her shoulder, whispering what I’m sure are comforting words.
Fred looks up and I give him a nod. He’s doing the right thing, no need for me to get involved. Lesley is hurting enough; she doesn’t need me adding to it. I wander on towards the next table.
“--three pigeons, two midgets and a lesbian!”
Anyone who’s known Mary’s younger brother, Alec, for any length of time develops a smile that’s reserved solely for his tasteless jokes. I put mine on at the same time as everyone else at his table. He means well, but there’s a time and a place, although I have no idea when and where that might be. Not at my wife’s funeral, I know that much.
I change my plans and keep moving past Alec, straining to maintain my grin as I go. Once I’m out of his eye-line I let my face relax and glance back at Alec’s wife, Jill, and their girl, Sophie. They’re still wearing their versions of the ‘yes, that was funny, really’ smile as I raise my eyebrows in solidarity. I know Jill would want a chat, but I also know she’d understand why I can’t stop.
I’m okay in myself. Everyone knew this was coming for Mary. I know it’s an awful thing to say, but there’s a part of me that’s almost been looking forward to it. I think a part of her was, too. No one likes to see someone suffer; a small sense of relief is only natural. It’s been a lonely time for both of us, and now there’s a chance that we can both move on.
Relations-wise, it’s strictly Mary’s side. My lot are either long gone or too far away for it to be worth their while travelling. I’ve only nieces and nephews left anyway. Most barely knew Mary.
I’m almost at the bar. I haven’t had a whisky for four years - doctor’s orders initially - but I could fair go a dram today.
As usual, it’s mainly the men crowded around the small, wooden shelf they’ve got the temerity to call a bar. It’s really a kiosk, at best. I shouldn’t complain; they were always good to Mary and me when we came for the bingo and race-nights. The friendliest social club in the Gorbals, this is. They make up for with a smile what they lack in the way of modern comforts. Still, I’ve always thought cushioned seats in the lounge and a hand-dryer in the gents wouldn’t go amiss.
I cast an envious eye over the half-empty pint and short glasses as they’re swung from left to right by their don’t-know-how-lucky-they-are temporary owners. Gone are the days, unfortunately.
Sean and his mate Andy are stood at the bar with their backs to me. Known each other since they were twelve, these two; pals right through secondary school. Sean was Andy’s best man. I was nearly crying, laughing at Sean’s speech.
He read out all the cards from well-wishers, then added a couple he’d snuck in there himself. One was supposedly from Big Tony MacFee or ‘Tonto’ as he’s known round here. Tonto’s the local loan shark and, believe me, everyone knew who Sean was talking about when he said the name.
“Tonto writes - Congratulations on your special day to the lovely Josephine and her lucky husband, Andy O’Brian, of 148 St Edward’s Drive, bottom left flat, who leaves for work at 7.30am every morning and catches the 38 bus into West George Street, then leaves Pronto-Print at exactly 5.30pm in the afternoon, walks to Union Street where he waits for the 38 bus to take him home, arriving back at St Edward’s Drive between 5.50pm and 6.15pm. In recognition of his special day, I am happy to extend to Mr O’Brian the courtesy of an extra week’s grace, after which normal leg-breaking practices will be resumed.” There were more than a couple of guests at the wedding who owed Tonto a few pennies, but they all laughed. Andy’s father looked a bit uneasy, right enough.
Sean and Andy are hunched together, deep in conversation, and I don’t want to intrude. I hover, a couple of feet behind them. I don’t really mean to eavesdrop. Well, maybe I do, a bit.
“Nah, I’m doing okay,” I hear Sean say. “Kelly’s been brilliant, she’s keeping me going.” Kelly is Sean’s girlfriend. I’ve never had the chance to get to know her properly, but she seems like a smasher of a girl.
“Good stuff,” Andy says. “But you know where I am if you need a pint or whatever. It’s going to be a tough few months.”
“It’s been a tough few years.” Sean laughs. “But cheers, mate. I appreciate it.”
“Obviously you’re going to feel down and stuff, but don’t let it go too far before you ask for help, okay?” He’s a good boy, Andy. Mary and I were always glad Sean had a friend like Andy.
“I’ll do my best. It’s weird to think that’s her gone. I know she’s been sick, but it’s still weird.”
“It must be, mate. I’m just glad my mum’s still firing on all cylinders.”
“Hang on to her, Andy. Hang on to her as hard as you can.” Sean’s head dips, and I’m about to go to him when I get distracted.
“Where is he?” a voice shouts drunkenly from behind me.
I turn around slowly, dreading what I know I’m going to see.
“Where is he?” Tonto shouts again from the door of the lounge. What the hell is he doing here? I can’t imagine anyone invited him. I’m about to go and attempt to sort it out (though God knows what I think I could do) when Sean rushes past me, making it to the other side of the hall in seconds. To the rescue once again. That’s my boy.
“Uncle Tony,” Sean says calmly, but firmly enough that I can hear him from the bar. I attempt a saunter as I follow Sean’s approach, ready to back him up if he needs me. “Uncle Tony, you made it, that’s great.” He’s a master of diplomacy, my boy Sean.
“Sean, son,” Tonto says. “There ye’ are. C’mere’n give us a hug.”
The whole place falls silent as they watch Sean accept Tonto’s bear-hug with good grace. He’s a bit of a goliath, Tonto. He never needed to hire any muscle to make a point. Sean’s doing well not to collapse under the weight of his uncle’s aggressive affections.
Tonto is Mary’s other brother, the one she tried to pretend she didn’t have. He is by far her wealthiest relative, but neither she nor the rest of her family could ever find a way to be proud of him. I agreed with them. He’s a parasite, who’s made more than one of my friends’ lives a nightmare.
He’s looking right through me over Sean’s shoulder, but I’m not surprised. We never exactly got on.
“C’mon and get a seat, Uncle Tony.” Sean wriggles out of Tonto’s embrace and guides him over to an empty table. The two of them sit and Tonto starts whispering some nonsense into Sean’s ear.
I’m inclined to join them for Sean’s sake, but then Andy approaches the table and sits beside Sean. Josephine and Kelly get up from Alec and Jill’s table and join their men. It’s a bit of a frying-pan/fire situation, that. I notice Alec feels no compunction to go and talk to his big brother. I can’t really blame him. I’m not exactly jumping hurdles to get there myself.
Andy and the girls manage to separate Tonto from Sean’s ear and are soon gabbing away, making sure they keep Tonto’s attention. They’re like a wee gang, those four; and I mean ‘gang’ in a good way.
Tonto seems happy enough to stick with the weans, thank God, and I look about the place, wondering where to go next.
I spot Mary’s Auntie Val at a table in the corner. She looks like, and might well possibly be, the oldest, smallest woman in the world. Val is Bobby’s mother, and he’s back sitting next to her along with his wife Ellen. Val has a sherry in front of her, but she’s not drinking it.
I slip over to say hello. Just as I reach them, Val says: “Robert, who was that doing all the shouting?” She’s never smoked in her life, but her words croak their way out of her tiny mouth.
“Och, nobody, Mum,” Bobby says uncomfortably. “Just some drunk that shouldn’t be here.”
“Are you sure, Robert?” Val’s eyes make the effort, but there’s no chance she’s going to be able to see all the way over to the other side of the room. “It sounded like Anthony.”
Bobby starts to sweat even more than usual, and lets out a sigh of relief when Ellen steps in.
“No Val, it was just one of the regulars who didn’t know there was a funeral on today. He’s away now, don’t worry.”
“That’s good, love,” Val says. “I wouldn’t want anyone spoiling Mary’s day for her.”
She’s a lovely old soul, Val. She was good to Mary and me when we were starting out. It was Val who bought us Sean’s first cot and pram.
I’m about to sit down when Tonto pipes up again.
“Listen Sean, you’re a good boy, but get the fuck out of my way or I’ll deck you, I swear to God.”
I don’t care what it’s about; I’m back over there like a shot.
Sean is standing in front of Tonto with his hands outstretched, palms open. Andy is standing too, hovering behind Sean’s left shoulder ready to help, sweat pishing off his forehead at the prospect.
“Uncle Tony, this is my mum’s funeral. I’m not going to let you do this here. Not today.” Sean’s voice is strong and clear. He might be scared, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t. Me, I’m shitting myself. I’ve seen Tonto’s handiwork firsthand. He doesn’t care who you are if you’re in his way.
I’m about to step in when I feel a familiar presence at my side.
“Leave it.”
“But—” I say.
“Just leave it, it’ll be fine. Watch.”
I do as I’m told.
“That wee bastard owes me money,” Tonto shouts.
“I don’t care,” Sean says.
“Well I do, Sean.”
“And I don’t. This is not going to happen, Uncle Tony. Understand?”
Tonto has a good five inches on Sean, but my son stands his ground.
“Sean, do yersel’ a favour and get out of my way. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re not stopping me.”
I instinctively take a step forward, but a gentle hand on my shoulder brings me to a halt. “Just wait.”
It occurs to me that I don’t know who Tonto is chasing. A quick look over to the bar clears that up - George Connelly, our old next door neighbour, is trying to make himself invisible behind a pillar. Unfortunately for him the pillar is no more than eight-inches wide, while George is the proud recipient of the local chippy’s ‘best customer ever’ award. George has never had one decent meal in his life; he always has at least two. His white shirt covered mid-riff is bulging out from behind the pillar like a bewildered jellyfish.
So George owes Tonto some money. Sad, but not all that surprising. George is a life-long bachelor, and never benefited from someone like Mary to tell him that now and then he would just have to do without.
Sean can’t have seen George Connelly for ten years, yet he’s still putting himself between George and harm’s way. I’m proud as punch, but I’m not happy to be a bystander.
“Sean, I’m going to give you three seconds to get out of the way.” Tonto isn’t joking. He’s never been much of a bluff-caller.
“That’s your choice, Uncle Tony.” Jesus, Sean’s a cool one. He didn’t get that from me.
I’m champing at the bit to jump in, but I’m restrained once again. “Just wait.”
“B—” I don’t even get the word out.
“Wait.”
I pay heed to the boss once again, and don’t move. I’m not happy about it, though.
I stand there and watch as Tonto’s face contorts. He’s ugly at the best of times, but now he’s raging ugly.
Sean doesn’t flinch. He stays still as a washing pole as Tonto primes his fist. Sean, I think, almost smiles as Tonto’s right fist connects with his face. Sean lifts at least a foot off the floor, arcs backwards and lands on the ancient carpet with a thud.
My mouth opens, but before I can let out the scream that’s aching to burst from my throat, that hand is on my shoulder once again.
“Wait. Watch.”
“But Sean!”
“Watch.”
I watch. Sean is on the floor, bloodied and hurt, and I have to watch.
Tonto flexes the fingers of his right hand and grins. “I warned you, son.”
He makes to step past Sean’s prone form in search of his real quarry. I can’t take my eyes off Sean, but can imagine George Connelly crapping himself.
Suddenly, Tonto is on the carpet with a blur of black-clad activity on his back. What the . . . ?
Tonto’s arm is pulled behind his back and twisted up towards his shoulders. He writhes and wriggles, but he’s not getting up from this.
“You are under arrest for serious assault. Anything you say can be used against you...”
It’s Kelly. Sean’s Kelly. She’s perched on top of Tonto, reading him his rights. She’s a polis? Why didn’t I know that?
“I told you to wait.”
“But what about—”. Again, I’m not allowed to finish.
“Look.”
Sean pushes himself up on to his elbows. The blood is still there, and he’s lost the crown on his front tooth. I can see that when he smiles.
Kelly pulls Tonto to his feet somehow, and pushes him face-first against the wall. She’s obviously a lot stronger than she looks, and manages to keep Tonto restrained with one hand while she makes a call on her mobile.
“Shorry folksh,” Sean says to the room. “A bit of unexshpected police bishness, there. Thanksh for coming along today, I know mum would have been grateful. I’m afraid I need to go to the dentisht now, but the room’sh booked till five and I’ve left a bit of money with the bar-shtaff. Enjoy.”
Flabbergasted is far too mild a word for what I’m feeling as I hear sirens and watch Kelly force Tonto out of the club’s door, closely followed by Sean. Andy starts clapping, and soon the whole place joins in. There’s no one in this city, never mind this room, who’ll be sorry to see Tonto locked up.
“Did they plan this?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. There’s neither of them daft.”
It dawns on me that Sean must have been the one who invited Tonto (and George) to the funeral. “Why didn’t I know Kelly was a copper?”
“You haven’t been around. How would you know, really?”
“I just thought … it would be one of those things I would know. You know? Is Sean a polis too, and no one’s told me?”
”No, he’s still just a plumber with a dentist’s bill. Don’t worry about him; Kelly will keep him out of bother.”
“Okay.” It’s not me who’s supposed to be confused at times like these. I’ve had two years to get used to it, after all.
“Anyway, thanks for coming to collect me. Where are we going, exactly?” Mary asks.
I smile. “Anywhere you want to. The world is no longer your only oyster.”
“Good. I never liked seafood.”
Ah, but it’s good to have her back. Together again at last.
Lunch is probably too extravagant a term. In reality, there are plates of flaccid, ridiculously small sausage rolls that can’t decide on an appropriate ‘ideal heat’, and so remain at a nauseatingly bland room temperature.
There are also cakes - Mr Kipling has paid a visit and his presence has been felt, in a variety of bright and gay colours.
It’s always those sausage rolls that get me at these things. They’re about a quarter of the size of a real one, and yet, where one real sausage roll, with beans admittedly, would be enough to fill you up till Christmas, you can eat two dozen of these wee buggers without blinking. Sometimes I think the bloody caterers are just laying the groundwork for more business.
There was a time, not too long ago, when you got steak-pie at a funeral. Steak-pie, potatoes and veg. Okay, the potatoes were out of a tin, and the carrots were out of a tin, and the steak-pie was probably out of a tin, or at least a freezer. But still, it was a decent meal. It warmed your cockles, as they say.
My cockles are bloody freezing, just at the minute.
“She was a darlin’, a darlin’, son.”
Oh Christ, it’s Mary’s cousin, Bobby. I’d forgotten about him. Bobby the bubble, Mary used to call him. He rumbles towards me, a pint of heavy in his hand and a sloppy, moist smile on his face.
“Uncle Bobby, you’re right, mum was a darlin’, one of the best,” Sean says, putting himself between me and Bobby.
Jesus, it’s like he can hear me thinking. My boy Sean. He’s given me many reasons to be proud of him over the years, and this is but the latest. I wink at him. He’s busy re-directing Bobby and doesn’t see me. He knows, though. My boy.
I talk to him all the time, but it’s been a while since I saw Sean up close. He lives over in Edinburgh these days, and doesn’t get back through as often as anyone would like. He’s looking smashing; strong and tall, smart and smiling. He’s into his thirties now, but he’s still got all his hair; which is more than I could say at his age. He got his looks from Mary, thank God. I like to think he got some of his sense from me.
I drift around the room. I don’t know what else to do. Mary’s sister, Lesley, is crying, I can see that from ten feet away. They were close, Lesley and Mary. Only three years between them - three years means a lot when you’re under twenty, but bugger all when you’re over sixty.
Lesley’s husband, Fred, is doing a good job. She’s a stick of a woman at the best of times, but Fred has his arm round her shoulder, whispering what I’m sure are comforting words.
Fred looks up and I give him a nod. He’s doing the right thing, no need for me to get involved. Lesley is hurting enough; she doesn’t need me adding to it. I wander on towards the next table.
“--three pigeons, two midgets and a lesbian!”
Anyone who’s known Mary’s younger brother, Alec, for any length of time develops a smile that’s reserved solely for his tasteless jokes. I put mine on at the same time as everyone else at his table. He means well, but there’s a time and a place, although I have no idea when and where that might be. Not at my wife’s funeral, I know that much.
I change my plans and keep moving past Alec, straining to maintain my grin as I go. Once I’m out of his eye-line I let my face relax and glance back at Alec’s wife, Jill, and their girl, Sophie. They’re still wearing their versions of the ‘yes, that was funny, really’ smile as I raise my eyebrows in solidarity. I know Jill would want a chat, but I also know she’d understand why I can’t stop.
I’m okay in myself. Everyone knew this was coming for Mary. I know it’s an awful thing to say, but there’s a part of me that’s almost been looking forward to it. I think a part of her was, too. No one likes to see someone suffer; a small sense of relief is only natural. It’s been a lonely time for both of us, and now there’s a chance that we can both move on.
Relations-wise, it’s strictly Mary’s side. My lot are either long gone or too far away for it to be worth their while travelling. I’ve only nieces and nephews left anyway. Most barely knew Mary.
I’m almost at the bar. I haven’t had a whisky for four years - doctor’s orders initially - but I could fair go a dram today.
As usual, it’s mainly the men crowded around the small, wooden shelf they’ve got the temerity to call a bar. It’s really a kiosk, at best. I shouldn’t complain; they were always good to Mary and me when we came for the bingo and race-nights. The friendliest social club in the Gorbals, this is. They make up for with a smile what they lack in the way of modern comforts. Still, I’ve always thought cushioned seats in the lounge and a hand-dryer in the gents wouldn’t go amiss.
I cast an envious eye over the half-empty pint and short glasses as they’re swung from left to right by their don’t-know-how-lucky-they-are temporary owners. Gone are the days, unfortunately.
Sean and his mate Andy are stood at the bar with their backs to me. Known each other since they were twelve, these two; pals right through secondary school. Sean was Andy’s best man. I was nearly crying, laughing at Sean’s speech.
He read out all the cards from well-wishers, then added a couple he’d snuck in there himself. One was supposedly from Big Tony MacFee or ‘Tonto’ as he’s known round here. Tonto’s the local loan shark and, believe me, everyone knew who Sean was talking about when he said the name.
“Tonto writes - Congratulations on your special day to the lovely Josephine and her lucky husband, Andy O’Brian, of 148 St Edward’s Drive, bottom left flat, who leaves for work at 7.30am every morning and catches the 38 bus into West George Street, then leaves Pronto-Print at exactly 5.30pm in the afternoon, walks to Union Street where he waits for the 38 bus to take him home, arriving back at St Edward’s Drive between 5.50pm and 6.15pm. In recognition of his special day, I am happy to extend to Mr O’Brian the courtesy of an extra week’s grace, after which normal leg-breaking practices will be resumed.” There were more than a couple of guests at the wedding who owed Tonto a few pennies, but they all laughed. Andy’s father looked a bit uneasy, right enough.
Sean and Andy are hunched together, deep in conversation, and I don’t want to intrude. I hover, a couple of feet behind them. I don’t really mean to eavesdrop. Well, maybe I do, a bit.
“Nah, I’m doing okay,” I hear Sean say. “Kelly’s been brilliant, she’s keeping me going.” Kelly is Sean’s girlfriend. I’ve never had the chance to get to know her properly, but she seems like a smasher of a girl.
“Good stuff,” Andy says. “But you know where I am if you need a pint or whatever. It’s going to be a tough few months.”
“It’s been a tough few years.” Sean laughs. “But cheers, mate. I appreciate it.”
“Obviously you’re going to feel down and stuff, but don’t let it go too far before you ask for help, okay?” He’s a good boy, Andy. Mary and I were always glad Sean had a friend like Andy.
“I’ll do my best. It’s weird to think that’s her gone. I know she’s been sick, but it’s still weird.”
“It must be, mate. I’m just glad my mum’s still firing on all cylinders.”
“Hang on to her, Andy. Hang on to her as hard as you can.” Sean’s head dips, and I’m about to go to him when I get distracted.
“Where is he?” a voice shouts drunkenly from behind me.
I turn around slowly, dreading what I know I’m going to see.
“Where is he?” Tonto shouts again from the door of the lounge. What the hell is he doing here? I can’t imagine anyone invited him. I’m about to go and attempt to sort it out (though God knows what I think I could do) when Sean rushes past me, making it to the other side of the hall in seconds. To the rescue once again. That’s my boy.
“Uncle Tony,” Sean says calmly, but firmly enough that I can hear him from the bar. I attempt a saunter as I follow Sean’s approach, ready to back him up if he needs me. “Uncle Tony, you made it, that’s great.” He’s a master of diplomacy, my boy Sean.
“Sean, son,” Tonto says. “There ye’ are. C’mere’n give us a hug.”
The whole place falls silent as they watch Sean accept Tonto’s bear-hug with good grace. He’s a bit of a goliath, Tonto. He never needed to hire any muscle to make a point. Sean’s doing well not to collapse under the weight of his uncle’s aggressive affections.
Tonto is Mary’s other brother, the one she tried to pretend she didn’t have. He is by far her wealthiest relative, but neither she nor the rest of her family could ever find a way to be proud of him. I agreed with them. He’s a parasite, who’s made more than one of my friends’ lives a nightmare.
He’s looking right through me over Sean’s shoulder, but I’m not surprised. We never exactly got on.
“C’mon and get a seat, Uncle Tony.” Sean wriggles out of Tonto’s embrace and guides him over to an empty table. The two of them sit and Tonto starts whispering some nonsense into Sean’s ear.
I’m inclined to join them for Sean’s sake, but then Andy approaches the table and sits beside Sean. Josephine and Kelly get up from Alec and Jill’s table and join their men. It’s a bit of a frying-pan/fire situation, that. I notice Alec feels no compunction to go and talk to his big brother. I can’t really blame him. I’m not exactly jumping hurdles to get there myself.
Andy and the girls manage to separate Tonto from Sean’s ear and are soon gabbing away, making sure they keep Tonto’s attention. They’re like a wee gang, those four; and I mean ‘gang’ in a good way.
Tonto seems happy enough to stick with the weans, thank God, and I look about the place, wondering where to go next.
I spot Mary’s Auntie Val at a table in the corner. She looks like, and might well possibly be, the oldest, smallest woman in the world. Val is Bobby’s mother, and he’s back sitting next to her along with his wife Ellen. Val has a sherry in front of her, but she’s not drinking it.
I slip over to say hello. Just as I reach them, Val says: “Robert, who was that doing all the shouting?” She’s never smoked in her life, but her words croak their way out of her tiny mouth.
“Och, nobody, Mum,” Bobby says uncomfortably. “Just some drunk that shouldn’t be here.”
“Are you sure, Robert?” Val’s eyes make the effort, but there’s no chance she’s going to be able to see all the way over to the other side of the room. “It sounded like Anthony.”
Bobby starts to sweat even more than usual, and lets out a sigh of relief when Ellen steps in.
“No Val, it was just one of the regulars who didn’t know there was a funeral on today. He’s away now, don’t worry.”
“That’s good, love,” Val says. “I wouldn’t want anyone spoiling Mary’s day for her.”
She’s a lovely old soul, Val. She was good to Mary and me when we were starting out. It was Val who bought us Sean’s first cot and pram.
I’m about to sit down when Tonto pipes up again.
“Listen Sean, you’re a good boy, but get the fuck out of my way or I’ll deck you, I swear to God.”
I don’t care what it’s about; I’m back over there like a shot.
Sean is standing in front of Tonto with his hands outstretched, palms open. Andy is standing too, hovering behind Sean’s left shoulder ready to help, sweat pishing off his forehead at the prospect.
“Uncle Tony, this is my mum’s funeral. I’m not going to let you do this here. Not today.” Sean’s voice is strong and clear. He might be scared, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t. Me, I’m shitting myself. I’ve seen Tonto’s handiwork firsthand. He doesn’t care who you are if you’re in his way.
I’m about to step in when I feel a familiar presence at my side.
“Leave it.”
“But—” I say.
“Just leave it, it’ll be fine. Watch.”
I do as I’m told.
“That wee bastard owes me money,” Tonto shouts.
“I don’t care,” Sean says.
“Well I do, Sean.”
“And I don’t. This is not going to happen, Uncle Tony. Understand?”
Tonto has a good five inches on Sean, but my son stands his ground.
“Sean, do yersel’ a favour and get out of my way. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re not stopping me.”
I instinctively take a step forward, but a gentle hand on my shoulder brings me to a halt. “Just wait.”
It occurs to me that I don’t know who Tonto is chasing. A quick look over to the bar clears that up - George Connelly, our old next door neighbour, is trying to make himself invisible behind a pillar. Unfortunately for him the pillar is no more than eight-inches wide, while George is the proud recipient of the local chippy’s ‘best customer ever’ award. George has never had one decent meal in his life; he always has at least two. His white shirt covered mid-riff is bulging out from behind the pillar like a bewildered jellyfish.
So George owes Tonto some money. Sad, but not all that surprising. George is a life-long bachelor, and never benefited from someone like Mary to tell him that now and then he would just have to do without.
Sean can’t have seen George Connelly for ten years, yet he’s still putting himself between George and harm’s way. I’m proud as punch, but I’m not happy to be a bystander.
“Sean, I’m going to give you three seconds to get out of the way.” Tonto isn’t joking. He’s never been much of a bluff-caller.
“That’s your choice, Uncle Tony.” Jesus, Sean’s a cool one. He didn’t get that from me.
I’m champing at the bit to jump in, but I’m restrained once again. “Just wait.”
“B—” I don’t even get the word out.
“Wait.”
I pay heed to the boss once again, and don’t move. I’m not happy about it, though.
I stand there and watch as Tonto’s face contorts. He’s ugly at the best of times, but now he’s raging ugly.
Sean doesn’t flinch. He stays still as a washing pole as Tonto primes his fist. Sean, I think, almost smiles as Tonto’s right fist connects with his face. Sean lifts at least a foot off the floor, arcs backwards and lands on the ancient carpet with a thud.
My mouth opens, but before I can let out the scream that’s aching to burst from my throat, that hand is on my shoulder once again.
“Wait. Watch.”
“But Sean!”
“Watch.”
I watch. Sean is on the floor, bloodied and hurt, and I have to watch.
Tonto flexes the fingers of his right hand and grins. “I warned you, son.”
He makes to step past Sean’s prone form in search of his real quarry. I can’t take my eyes off Sean, but can imagine George Connelly crapping himself.
Suddenly, Tonto is on the carpet with a blur of black-clad activity on his back. What the . . . ?
Tonto’s arm is pulled behind his back and twisted up towards his shoulders. He writhes and wriggles, but he’s not getting up from this.
“You are under arrest for serious assault. Anything you say can be used against you...”
It’s Kelly. Sean’s Kelly. She’s perched on top of Tonto, reading him his rights. She’s a polis? Why didn’t I know that?
“I told you to wait.”
“But what about—”. Again, I’m not allowed to finish.
“Look.”
Sean pushes himself up on to his elbows. The blood is still there, and he’s lost the crown on his front tooth. I can see that when he smiles.
Kelly pulls Tonto to his feet somehow, and pushes him face-first against the wall. She’s obviously a lot stronger than she looks, and manages to keep Tonto restrained with one hand while she makes a call on her mobile.
“Shorry folksh,” Sean says to the room. “A bit of unexshpected police bishness, there. Thanksh for coming along today, I know mum would have been grateful. I’m afraid I need to go to the dentisht now, but the room’sh booked till five and I’ve left a bit of money with the bar-shtaff. Enjoy.”
Flabbergasted is far too mild a word for what I’m feeling as I hear sirens and watch Kelly force Tonto out of the club’s door, closely followed by Sean. Andy starts clapping, and soon the whole place joins in. There’s no one in this city, never mind this room, who’ll be sorry to see Tonto locked up.
“Did they plan this?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. There’s neither of them daft.”
It dawns on me that Sean must have been the one who invited Tonto (and George) to the funeral. “Why didn’t I know Kelly was a copper?”
“You haven’t been around. How would you know, really?”
“I just thought … it would be one of those things I would know. You know? Is Sean a polis too, and no one’s told me?”
”No, he’s still just a plumber with a dentist’s bill. Don’t worry about him; Kelly will keep him out of bother.”
“Okay.” It’s not me who’s supposed to be confused at times like these. I’ve had two years to get used to it, after all.
“Anyway, thanks for coming to collect me. Where are we going, exactly?” Mary asks.
I smile. “Anywhere you want to. The world is no longer your only oyster.”
“Good. I never liked seafood.”
Ah, but it’s good to have her back. Together again at last.
About the Author
As a youth, Glaswegian Danny Gillan was a musician. This was a mistake. When, in his thirties, his hairline began receding almost as quickly as his waistline expanded he switched to the less physically taxing endeavour of fiction writing. Sitting down a lot suited him and he has continued this futile expression of desperation for the past 15 years, to little avail. His writing career has involved an impressive two publishing contracts so far. Even more impressively, both publishing houses became insolvent shortly after signing him. His work (two novels and a short story anthology) is currently available on Amazon Kindle. He pretends not to care if anyone buys it.