If it is your life

The Third Man, or else the Fourth

It was perishing. Ice on the ground, ice on the puddles. When ye moved yer shoes crunched. There was supposed to be horse racing this afternoon but anybody with half a brain knew it would be postponed. The ground was bone hard. Nay racing since last weekend. Not postponed: cancelled. Why not tell the truth. Ye cannay postpone an actual day, ye cannay put back a day, that would be like two days in a oner. It is not possible. What happens is the day gets cancelled, the day’s racing; they just cancel it, the powers-that-be. Unless a big race is on the card; the Grand National or something, then they do whatever it takes. Otherwise no.

Jesus christ but it was bitter, a right cauld snap. It must have come down from the Arctic. We were standing there chittering. The conversation petered out a while ago, we were just keeping warm. Then we drifted off to look for burnables. Drifted is the wrong word but naybody said nothing when we went, we just went away, away by ourselves. I noticed that. It was almost weird the way it happened, like telekinetics or whatever the fuck ye call it.

There were three of us there at the time and then another one came and that makes four, so four of us. Whatever we found we stowed to the side of the fire. Me, Tim and Nicky Parkes. Arthur was the fourth one along. That was us: the auld team. Nay point saying different. There is young teams and there is auld teams. Ours is an auld team. How do ye tell the difference? Because we dont tan the bus shelters, no like those little toerag bastards.

The Council put up a new bus shelter yesterday morning. At five o’clock yesterday afternoon it was caved in, glass all ower the pavement. So how are dogs and cats meant to walk? They never think of that. Piles of shattered glass cutting into animals’ paws, or else weans. And what about elderly people? Some auld dears come out without their shoes, they just wear their slippers, slipping down the stair for a couple of rolls and a pint of milk, they dont bother putting on their shoes, so these slippers with soft soles, fucking glass goes right through them and cuts their fucking feet.

That is these fucking hooligan bastards. I have nay time for them.

I never saw the new bus shelter myself, before or after, it was Arthur telled us. I was gony go along the street to have a look. Wound up I didnay bother. I had somewhere to go. What interests me but is their fathers. Who is their fathers? the wee toerag cunts. Naybody knows. Ye hear guys talking in the betting shop or the boozer and they all shake their heads, all annoyed. If they could get a grip of the wee bastards! They say stuff like that. If they were my boys!

Well who the fucking hell’s boys are they? Know what I mean. Nay cunt owns up! Ye never hear anybody going, Oh him, that wee fucking toerag, my youngest!

Naybody says that.

They must all be orphans. It would be a different kettle of fish if it was getting signed for a football team. Oh my boy my boy! Kilmarnock just signed him on a full-time contract. The Hibs have offered him terms.

Then they would be rushing to claim them. Ye ask me it is hypocrisy. I have nay time for it. I hate that vandalist anti-social stuff. Ye try to keep a place as best ye can. It is us that use it. If ye want to vandalize the place go to Kelvinside or Newton Mearns, Bearsden — someplace the rich cunts live.

My own boy was past the stage. But he never done it anyway; no even when he was that age. Me and the guys were talking about it. No question. I would have punched fuck out him, that one of mine.

What about yer wife? said Arthur. Would she have let ye?

What ye talking about?

Does she no mind if ye hit him?

Well I dont hit him now Arthur he’s fucking thirty-seven.

Arthur nodded like he had scored a point. I looked at Nicky Parkes and Tim. They were listening. Tim was rolling a smoke.

Of course she minded, I said, she’s a woman int she!

Arthur shrugged, blew into his cupped hands and rubbed them in front of the fire. That annoyed me. He annoyed me.

Forget it.

I looked at the fire instead. It was going good. The last pile of burnables included a wooden cupboard thing that Nicky Parkes dragged ower from behind the shops. Me and Tim broke it up. If we had just pitched it on it wouldnay have lasted as long because of the draught catching in under the spars. Yer fire just goes up in smoke. An old story but a true one. Some people know about fires, other ones dont. Arthur for instance. Mind you he liked a heat. He never done nothing for the fire but loved heating his hands. He just stood there rubbing them. It grated on me. Then he made comments about yer family! What a cheek! Families are taboo. Naybody should interfere with that. What the hell did it matter to him what my wife said about my son? Sons are boys and boys are boys. Ye know what women are like about boys, I said.

Arthur squinted at me like he didnt know what I was talking about.

Sons, I said, they’re their pride and joy.

The fucking sun shines out their arse ye mean. Arthur shook his head and spat into the fire. A different story when ye’re merried to them, when the boy grows to a man. Fucking nag nag nag.

Discipline begins in the home, said Tim, looking directly at me. Or not at all. Tim was licking the gummed edge of his roll-up. He smiled. It was you said it.

Me?

Aye.

What did I say?

Ye would punch fuck out him. Yer boy, if he went to the hooligan games.

Well so I would. When he was that age. Know what I mean, it’s a long time since he was a teenager.

Tim smiled again, eyes closed and shaking his head. He had a habit of doing that. It was fucking annoying, like ye had said something daft. Why not come out and say it, if that was how he felt. I saw him gie a wee look to Arthur but I didnay say nothing. Him and Arthur could gang up on folk. We were all mates but some were matier than others. It was like that in this world. Since time immemorial. It gied ye a pain in the neck. If ye let it get to ye. I didnay. We cannay be everything to everybody. Nay point trying. I learned that a long time back. It was just that I talked too much. Sometimes I wished I didnay, I wished I could shut up, just shut my fucking mouth.

Nicky Parkes was like that. He hardly said fuck all and was the better for it.

Tim had made him a roll-up as well as one for himself. He got the light from the fire. He didnay have to because him and Tim both had lighters. But it was good using the fire. Same with me if I had smoked. It saved ye lighter fuel as well. But it was more than that. Ye just liked doing it. And then the smell, I aye liked the smell of fires, even auld yins; the smell on yer hands.

We watched Nicky Parkes getting the light. He tore a page out a newspaper and folded it lengthwise. Lengthwise! That made me smile. And it was very tight the way he folded it; ye might say crisp. Deep and crisp and even. When he had it burning he held it for Tim. Tim had to draw his head back in case the flame burnt up his nose and eyelashes. That was close! he said.

Once they had their lights Nicky Parkes dropped the paper on the fire and we watched it flare up then settle; burnt out, the ash blowing. There was a wee swirl of draught roundabout this place, and ye felt it. I did and so did the other three. Auld age; the blood gets thin. Too many fucking aspirin. Imagine the chemist firm that made them went bust, and they stopped manufacturing the cunts: half the male population of Glasgow would collapse with heart attacks. I was going to make a comment on the subject but couldnay be bothered. Tim started telling us about an auld cunt that froze to death. It was in the Evening Times. Nayn of the rest of us had read about it. Froze to death in Scotland! It was hard to believe. All kidding aside, he said. It was a gaff in Miller Street.

There’s nay gaffs in Miller Street, I said, nay cunt lives in Miller Street. No nowadays, it’s all shops and offices.

We’re no talking nowadays.

All I’m saying is naybody lives in Miller Street.

Right enough, said Arthur.

Tim sighed. I’m no gony argue the point. It isnay me saying, it, it was in the Times. They found the auld guy deid; they had to batter down the door and it was a tenement building down Miller Street

A tenement building down Miller Street … I shook my head at that. I thought they were all offices.

They are all offices. Was it upstairs or down? said Arthur

Tim glared at us. How the fuck do I know.

It matters.

Matters fuck all, yez are just being stupid.

It matters if ye’re trying to work it out, said Arthur, that’s all. I’m no trying to get at ye.

Tim sighed.

Did they say where they found him?

I dont fucking know, wait til I phone them.

Naw, said Arthur, likely it was a basement; down a dunny. They auld tenements are full of dunnies. That’s where the auld yin will have been staying. The same round the Clyde walkway. It’s all manholes and dunnies along there. The homeless go down at night; they’ve got saunas and fucking tv lounges down there. Know what I mean, they homeless cunts, they’ve got better conditions than us, better than Barlinnie. Maybe the auld yin done the same, climbed down a manhole and got lost!

Shoosh, I said, I cannay go this right-wing shite.

What d’ye mean? Arthur grinned. It might be shite but it isnay right-wing.

Of course it is: Hate the Homeless week yet again.

Gie us a break.

It was a joke, said Tim.

Aye joke the coalman.

Tim shook his head and dragged on his roll-up, blew out the smoke. He gazed across to the back of the shops. There was a big black dog sniffing about at a pile of bricks. Some size of a dog, he said.

Nicky Parkes was looking at it. I’m fucking starving.

Dont tell me ye’d eat the dog? I said.

Fucking right.

I wonder how come it’s sniffing about there? said Tim. Probably a deid body buried under the ground.

Think so?

Oh aye.

Mind you, said Arthur, it is feasible.

I turned and spat a gob into the fire. It sizzled a moment.

Arthur said, Careful.

What do ye think it’s going to put the fire out?

I didnay mean it like that.

Aw, okay. I nodded, but in a sarcastic way. Arthur annoyed me. He knew he annoyed me. The cunt could-nay make a fire and here he was taking control.

It was me and Nicky Parkes made the fires. Tim helped but no that much. But it didnay matter. I liked making them anyway. I am no saying ye have to be special to make them. But what I will say is: some folk are good at it.

Same when I was a boy. We used to set fire to fields and all sorts, middens and what have ye. We set fires everywhere. There was a rubbish pit no far from our street and we dragged stuff from it. I am talking childhood days, the bygone era. Ye learned about fires. Leather furniture for instance, ye learned about that. Some stuff is dangerous. Motor-car tyres. Rubber. If that lands on yer wrist ye know all about it. Burning rubber; I once got it on my legs. There is more to fires than people think. Nicky Parkes was the same. I knew it the way he built them. And ye have to build them. Fires, I said.

The other three looked at me.

Ye’ve got to build them. I’m talking if ye want them to last.

Oh aye … Tim glanced ower at Arthur.

Nicky Parkes was shaking his head. No at me. He was away thinking about something else. He was even staring in another direction. He was a rude cunt at times. Ye were standing with him but he was away someplace else. How come he palled about with ye? Ye wondered. I liked him but. I dont know why. But I did. He drifted in and out of company. Now ye see him now ye dont.

Like the auld guy, him that died; freezing to death inside a cold tenement building, nay heating or fuck all. What a life. Ye thought ye were doing okay and then ye werenay, ye woke up fucking dead, a block of ice. Poor bastard. Probably he had grandkids too.

The auld yin? said Arthur.

Aye.

Arthur nodded. That’s what I was thinking.

Poor auld cunt.

Heh Tim, what did the headline say?

Man found dead.

Man found dead, it hardly fits the bill. No for something like that, said Arthur, fucking tragedy.

Tragedy’s right, said Tim.

I said: Scandalous. Scandalous is the word I would use.

Nicky Parkes was watching me, he was expecting me to say something more. What? What was I supposed to say? There wasnay a single solitary word. Poor auld cunt, what a way to go. It just wasnay fair. That was the world for ye.

I stepped sideways and edged some burnables into the fire. At least we had a fire. Unlike the auld yin. The truth is I didnay like Tim’s story. I was even half-prepared to know his name. Almost like I knew I would. I asked Tim. Did they gie ye his name?

Him that died?

Aye.

Tim thought about it. Naw, he said.

I shook my head. There was just something about it, some familiar thing.

What do ye think ye knew him?

Naw I mean, nay reason to think that, nay reason at all. Except just

What?

I dont know …

Arthur started speaking about something. The other two listened. I didnay. I rubbed my hands at the fire. Thank fuck it was going good. Sometimes they didnay.

Arthur was on about the time he did in Barlinnie. Ye were sick hearing about it. Some asbestos scare. Burst pipes in the cludgie ceiling. Or Gents’ pisshouse as he called it. Gents’ pisshouse! As if there was another one for Ladies! Barlinnie fucking Prison, know what I mean. The pisshouse was down the back of the block and down a step, and there was a slope there. The plumbers were in working. Ye went for a piss and came out looking like Santa Claus. It was all clouds of asbestos dust, that white fibre stuff. All the bears went on strike, said Arthur. A couple of laggers were in with us, they knew all about it. The screws were feared, they werenay gony do fuck all until we telled them! They were going, Dont worry about white it’s blue that’s the killer! A load of fucking keech. White’s every bit a killer.

Too true, I said, there’s brown, white and blue; each one of them’s deadly.

That was what we said, go for a shite and ye’re a goner. Know what I mean, ye’re in for Breach and wind up it’s a death sentence, mesotheli-whatever-the-fuck.

Christ! said Nicky Parkes.

Stories about the jail aye interested Nicky Parkes. It was obvious he had done time. He wasnay the brightest of cunts but he was crafty. I yawned. It wasnay that jail stories bored me but I had heard this one afore: no just from Arthur.

I stopped listening. He was in full flight. Governors and ministers and priests and fucking royal princes or some shite. What next man the three fucking stooges.

The thing about the asbestos story, I didnay know what it meant. It must have meant something. Otherwise how come guys telled ye about it so much? Was it like solidarity between screws and bears? There was something like that the way Arthur telled it. Fucking shite.

I drifted, looking for stuff.

Ye done time in there ye wanted to forget about it, ye didnay go yapping about it every ten minutes. That was what I thought.

I found a wooden contraption, like a wean’s playpen or an old-fashioned chute for toddlers maybe. I propped it up on a couple of bricks and stuck the heel on the uprights, snapped them easy. I kicked them ower to the side. It definitely wasnay a chute. Nicky Parkes came ower to help and we kicked it nearer the fire. Good wood, I said. All we need is a carton of coffee and we’ll be well away.

What about a wee brandy?

Exactly, smoked salmon and a pound of grapes.

Now Nicky Parkes gave a look in the direction of Arthur. I just shrugged. These two never saw eye to eye. I stayed out it. I didnay get on too well with Arthur either. There wasnay many cunts I did get on with. The wife said that. I was a crabbit auld cunt. That was what she called me. Well, she didnay say cunt, she didnay like swearie-words.

The word for Nicky Parkes was moody. Ye didnay want to do him a bad turn. It was him and me kept the home fires burning.

He had the touch. Ye notice that with fires. Same as a boy, when you and yer mates are building a fire, when it comes to lighting it, getting the thing going, it is usually just the one or two that does that. The other boys stand back. I was quite good. I have to say but something tells me I wasnay in the Nicky Parkes league. Just something about him.

And oily cloots werenay needed either. It wouldnay matter if a galeforce wind was blowing. One match, that was all he needed. He would burn down an entire leisure complex, hotels, fucking restaurants. He was yer man. He was smiling at something. Hey Pat, he said.

What? I said.

A large brandy would be better than a wee yin.

Yeh.

He laughed: A large brandy waiter!

I laughed too. Plus a salmon sandwich!

Arthur looked across at us, wondering what we were laughing about. Meanwhile Tim yakked on about something.

It was about a guy had odeed. Who gives a fuck: that was what I thought. Drugs and dope, I cannay be arsed with it. That many problems in the world. Get us a winner at Cheltenham, that was what I was looking for.

But where was he? said Tim.

What ye talking about?

Him that odeed. I’ll tell ye where he was man he was sitting on the fucking chanty, that was where they found him. Odeed on the fucking chanty, poor cunt.

A common scenario, said Arthur.

Is it fuck.

It is.

Tim glared at him.

I’ll tell ye how.

Ye’ll no tell me how. Tim cleared his throat, spat in between his feet and took out his tobacco again.

Nicky Parkes squinted across at me. It was because the other two were at the argy-bargy; usually they were on the same side. I couldnay care less, edging the wood to the fire. But I raised my eyebrows a wee bit. No too much. I wasnay wanting involved. All these battles. I would have been as well sitting home with the wife. I listened to Arthur and Tim for another couple of minutes then I shook my head. Sitting on a chanty but, what a way to go! At least it was a relief, I said.

That stopped them and they laughed. Usually I was nay good at jokes. This time it worked. Even Nicky Parkes was laughing; a kind of laugh. Ye never knew with him. He wasnay huffy or fuck all he just — I dont know. It was a strange kind of laugh he had; all this talk about cludgies but the truth is the laugh he had sounded like constipation grunts.

It wasnay his fault. Ye just had to be careful with him; that was what I thought. He stepped away from the fire now, turned his back on the company and off he went. Soon he was out of sight. That was Nicky Parkes. Not a fucking word of explanation. I watched him go.

Arthur had been chipping bits of stuff into the fire. Now he started telling us about a dream he had had. Jesus christ man. I checked my watch. Still too early; the doors hadnay opened.

Dreams by fuck! That was scraping the barrel. All ye could do was sigh. Naw but it was really weird, said Arthur, I was up a high road and I bumped into somebody close to me, I cannay mind who. It might have been one of yous cunts.

Gie us a break, I said.

Naw Pat seriously. Whoever it was, we’re standing there and he’s talking but it is the way he’s talking, like he’s excited, know what I mean? and nervy, dead nervy. I couldnay quite get what he was saying.

Hang on a minute, what are ye talking about?

A dream I had. This guy, the way he was talking, it wasnay making any sense. No to my head anyway. It was like my ears heard what he said but no my head. It didnay make sense, it wasnay getting through.

Ye talking about yer brains? I said.

Arthur looked at me but he knew I was serious. I dont know, he said, it was like my head but no my brains, once it hit my head it still had a way to go, if it was gony reach my brains.

Me and Tim looked at each other.

Arthur muttered, Nay comments ya pair of bastards. Another thing about him, the guy I was talking to, he was not a likeable person.

So who was it? said Tim.

It’s difficult to say. It was all hazy.

Right.

Another thing was how he was trying no to laugh. I got that feeling about him, he was a nasty fucker.

Well that could be anybody, I said.

Arthur smiled.

I spat into the fire. There was something about him smiling that I did not appreciate. If there was a nasty fucker in the company it wasnay me or Tim. And Nicky Parkes had vanished.

Dreams are funny, said Arthur.

Oh are they? I said.

They can be.

I nodded, gieing Tim a look but Tim was all ears for the story. He was one of these guys ye could sell him anything. A good yarn and that was him. Where do I sign, show me the dotted line.

And Arthur could spin them, nay doubt about that. On he went: There was a wee lane going down the side, he said, like the one round the back of the shops along there, and the guy I’ve met is pointing to one of the back closes running along.

Round the back of the shops? said Tim.

Precisely. That’s where I’m talking about. The back closes came out onto the lane so the front must have been round on the main drag. I am only surmising that cause ye know what like it is when it’s a dream man ye dont fucking know I mean no for sure.

Hazy, I muttered.

Aye.

Ho man! Tim rubbed his hands, waggling his shoulders, enjoying the tale.

So anyway, says Arthur, along comes this other guy.

Other guy? I said.

Aye, and I know him, I know him well. So does the nasty fucker; in fact the two of them are mates, only I dont quite know who the first yin is.

What d’ye mean?

They get mixed up. I cannay mind who’s first and who’s second. That’s the funny thing about it, I cannay remember.

Sounds like a load of fucking keech.

Arthur shrugged.

How many guys again?

Just like I says.

What, three?

Aye.

Could it no have been four? I said.

Arthur frowned. It was three, there was two then the third man came along.

The Third Man! said Tim.

No the fourth? I said.

Naw, said Arthur. That’s the thing about dreams, everything gets slippery. One minute ye know the next ye dont. Weird.

Arthur smiled again and reached down to lift a stick from the ground. He used it as a poker, poking it into the fire. He dragged out half of something and kicked it ower onto its side, using the stick to shove it back in. I wished he would stop messing about. He didnay know about fires. Sometimes I get a daft feeling, like as if they know who it is made them; they will do what you want but if another cunt starts messing then who knows. Fires can be scary. I was about to speak when lo and behold Tim passed me a beer, a beer. A fucking magician! Where the hell did ye get that! I said.

Heh heh heh.

Ya cackling cunt ye!

You’re getting auld.

I looked at him and the can: How did ye open it without me noticing?

Tim winked.

Seriously? I said.

I am fucking seriously.

Did ye drink out it as well? Ye couldnay have, I would have noticed.

Tim laughed; Arthur with him.

Pair of bastards, I said, raising the can to my lips.

Sip it now Pat. I’ve only the one.

Sláinte. I swallied a long mouthful.

Gracias very much, muttered Tim.

I passed the can to Arthur. He was about to take a sip when the three of us spotted somebody in the distance: Peter Craig, he was cutting through the gap site at the other end of the waste ground. He waved ower to us. Arthur shifted the way he was standing to hide the can of beer. Know what I mean, he said, that could have been the polis; open-air drinking, a major act of criminal magnitude.

I was still looking ower to Peter Craig. He must have smelled the beer, I said, imagine smelling the beer.

Tim retrieved the can from Arthur and swigged a mouthful. He swigged another then passed the can to me. I took a long one and passed it to Arthur.

Finish it, said Tim.

Arthur did, then crushed it to death with his fist. He got the stick and scraped a space for it near the middle of the fire, chipped it in and poked stuff ower the top of it.

Ye wouldnay mind if it was a bottle of malt, I said, but one can of beer. A hunner fucking yards!

Tom sighed and gied a mournful look. I hope he doesnay tell Nicky Parkes.

Say ye found it, I said, it can happen.

Arthur winked: We’ll just deny it.

Right …

Aw man, I said, I feel pished. It’s all this excitement.

Tim was puffing smoke. I mean it’s no as if it was intentional. I just forgot. If Nicky Parkes says something, know what I mean, I wasnay keeping him out, I hope he wouldnay think that.

Not at all, I said, one can of beer and four mooths; one swally and ta ta.

Exactly, said Arthur. I wouldnay worry about it. Hey, I’ll finish the dream.

Dont bother.

Naw but it’s funny.

I’m no into dreams, I said.

Neither am I, but this one is different. Arthur winked at the two of us. It’s got sex in it.

Aw for fuck sake.

Sex! said Tim, a big smile on his face.

This gets worse and worse, I said, and I spat into the fire again.

Aye but it’s weird sex, said Arthur.

What a surprise.

Weird sex … Tim laughed for a moment but then he looked at me.

I said, What ye looking at me for?

I’m no.

Aye ye are.

Naw I’m no.

But he was. Then Arthur winked and it was me he was winking at. How come I don’t know. Just be careful, I said.

What about?

Just be careful.

Ye’re staring at me Pat, what ye staring at me for?

Staring at ye?

Aye.

I shrugged. Just dangerous territory man know what I mean, sex.

You’re para.

I’m just saying …

Arthur shook his head and looked away.

Tell us anyway, said Tim.

Arthur waited a moment. I gied him the nod and off he went. But something puzzled me about it. My hearing was no as good as it used to be but that didnay mean I heard things that werenay said. That isnay what folk mean when they say they have hearing problems. I might have been deaf but I definitely was not eh

Paranoiac is the wrong word. I couldnay think of the right one. That was Arthur and his fucking yapping, yap yap yap. Tim was puffing on his roll-up, gieing that contented look he aye gave when somebody was telling a story. He must have been some wean. Ye could have sent him to sleep with a paragraph. Once upon a time the three bears — and then he would have been snoring.

Uch well. I prepared to listen. Come what may Arthur was going to tell us the story. There were times I thought conspiracies were on the go and they werent, it was only me. Two slugs of beer and I was drunk as a fucking skunk. The wife said that about me, alcohol made me paranoiac. I aye thought things were happening and they werenay.

Dreams bored the arse off me. I never told mine to cunts so how come I had to listen to theirs?

Mine were boring as fuck. That was when I got any. I couldnay remember the last time. They were so boring they never registered. I got dreams where nothing happened. Nothing at all. The dream opens and there I am strolling down the street. Oh I think I see a bus! And then the dream stops. Big deal, seeing a bus. Thank you God.

Imagine telling somebody that.

It wouldnay matter if Arthur’s dreams were boring or no he would still want to tell ye them. The cunt aye had to be talking, just like the fire, he aye had to be poking the thing, messing it about. Yap yap yap, on he fucking went. Then in the distance: Nicky Parkes! He was carrying a polybag. Trouble, I said.

The other two saw him. Arthur quickened with the story, all about this nervy guy he met down the lane, turns out he had just had his hole. That was in the dream. Was it the punchline? I dont know, I wasnay listening. But Arthur was looking at me like he expected a round of applause. Is that all you can think about, getting yer hole? I mean what age are you!

What has age got to do with it?

Aye ye’re well named, fucking J Arthur.

Cheeky bastard. What’s up with you?

There’s nothing up with me, I said.

The two of them were looking at me.

Nothing up with me, I said.

Grumpy bastard, muttered Arthur.

Tim was frowning at me. The man’s got a point.

I dont fucking give a fuck about his point. I’m chittering standing here, it’s fucking freezing fucking cold. I spat into the fire, slapped my hands the gether, turned to see Nicky Parkes arrive. When he did he opened the polybag and brought out a six-pack.

Pure astonishment.

He broke the cardboard, tossed us each a can. Arthur dropped his in the excitement, then moved to clap Nicky Parkes on the shoulder.

Tim was laughing, snapping open the can. Ya fucking dancer! he shouted.

Well done Nicky Parkes, I said.

I tapped a five, he said.

Who off?

Nicky Parkes patted the side of his nose.

Fair enough.

Tim had the tobacco out and was rolling the two of them a smoke.

Maybe I should have got a bottle of wine, said Nicky, that is what I was wondering.

Aw naw, the beer’s great.

Aye but Pat I might have got fucking two: buy one get one free.

Oh.

A can of beer is a pleasure, said Arthur.

A pleasurable experience, I added.

That’s right, said Arthur, and it provides a basis.

I looked at the fire and at Arthur and Tim. Somebody needs to get burnables.

They looked at me.

I got the last lot.

Did ye? said Arthur.

I dont remember that, said Tim, then he smiled. Heh Pat mind that idea you had about saving the empties and bashing them down, taking them to a scrappie?

Aye.

It was a fucking mad idea! Tim guffawed.

I nodded. I stared at the fire a few moments. It did need replenishing. There was a kids’ cot someplace, some fucking thing, I couldnay remember. Tim was saying to Arthur about the story, finish the story. I thought he had finished it. It was a dream, I said, it wasnay a story.

Tell us it anyway, said Tim.

Aye, I said, we’re all ears.

Arthur squinted at me.

Tell us, said Tim.

Ach naw, a stupid dream.

Stupidity hasnay stopped ye before, I said.

Thanks Pat.

Nicky Parkes glanced at me then at Arthur.

I was gony go for the burnables then I thought Naw, I want to hear the cunt. Get it ower and done with, I said.

Arthur sniffed and continued, repeating some of the earlier stuff for the benefit of Nicky Parkes. I only half listened. I hadnay heard much the first time and what I was hearing now didnt greatly interest me. I find that stuff childish, like dirty jokes and that kind of shite, boring crap.

The beer was tasty, given the label was foreign and I could not remember having seen it before. Some of it trickled down my chin. I wiped it with the cuff of my coat sleeve.

Parties were watching me. I’ll wring it out later, I said, once yous mob have fucked off.

Charming, said Tim.

You dont have to listen, said Arthur.

I sighed. Know something Arthur you are a shifty cunt.

No as shifty as you man you’re a byword in this parish.

Parish, oho, the Pape patter. This is mixed company you behave yerself.

Finish the story, said Tim.

Arthur shrugged. I’m no inventing fuck all

It’s a dream, said Tim.

Exactly. I knew the two guys, Arthur said, but it wasnay like we were pals. It’s more like we used to be pals. Years ago. We had went our separate ways and just bumped into each other.

So what ye saying?

Well it’s obvious. The two of them were shagging the same bird.

What do ye mean ‘obvious’?

The way things happen in a dream, said Arthur. Ye just know. He was a nasty fucker. He was pointing back down the lane. I looked to see what he was pointing at. Sure enough it was the other guy, his mate, the first yin’s mate. I watches the two of them laughing and joking the gether.

Aw jees, I said, I’m lost.

That is how I felt, said Arthur, fucking sidelined man. I thought These three bastards are keeping me out of it.

Ye mean you wanted yer hole as well?

Tim laughed.

Naw Pat I dont mean that.

Well what then?

It was like They know something I dont.

Tim stopped laughing and said, Who was the woman?

Arthur nodded. I was wondering when somebody would ask that.

Nicky Parkes sniffed, cleared his throat and cleared his tubes, dumped the lot on the fire.

I hope it’s no about us, I said. I hate stories about where that happens, where a guy winds up his wife’s having it away with some cunt. It’s as auld as the hills and it will never stop but that doesnay mean ye’ve got to like hearing about it. Personally speaking I dont like hearing about it, no if it is mates involved.

Nicky Parkes looked at me, then at Tim, then swigged from his can, wiped his mouth.

Ye want to hear my dreams, I said, they’re fucking murder fucking polis man. Mind you I dont usually get any. And see if I do, they’re fucking boring as fuck. No kidding ye man they’re that fucking boring I dont remember having them once they’ve gone. Nay fucking wonder!

Nicky Parkes spluttered. He spluttered and spluttered. He went into a fit. It started with a giggle. Then the beer went up or down his gullet, nose and tubes. He definitely had something wrong in the nostrils department. I slapped him on the back. When he was able to speak he said, Sorry man ye just made me laugh there.

I’m glad of that, I said, I like making cunts laugh.

Tim said, Tell ye my problem, I cannay get to sleep.

If yer dreams were really boring then they would make ye go to sleep.

Arthur wagged his finger at me. Pat, he said, ye wouldnay get dreams if ye were awake. Ye would be already sleeping.

What is this April fool! I said. What day is it?

What about the third man? said Tim, I want to know about him. The one the two guys met.

It was me they met, said Arthur, I was the third man.

So it was your wife? said Tim.

What?

Is that the punchline?

There’s nay punchline.

Nicky Parkes leaned closer to me and said quietly, What did he say there?

I shrugged.

The dream just went on, said Arthur, the two guys were taking me down the lane.

What were they wanting to shag you as well?

Pat gie us a break?

Well nay wonder, I said, fucking Gone with the Wind. I swigged another mouthful, wiped my chin with my coat sleeve. I didnay like the way this was going but could do nothing to stop it, bar go for the burnables. But it wouldnay stop the dream being telled, just me from hearing it. And if these cunts heard it I needed to.

At the same time I wasnay wanting to be dishonest. Arthur had persisted in telling us it. Maybe I was doing him a disservice. Okay he was a shifty cunt but he wasnay an arsehole. And now he was looking at me. What ye looking at me for?

What?

I stared at him.

I’m just telling the story.

Well tell the fucking story.

Okay. So the lassie comes out the house and she looks about. There’s a wee flight of stairs. It’s like she is looking for the next guy along. She doesnay see us, me and the other two guys, she just doesnay see us. The funny thing is I recognize her. She’s wearing a blue and black speckled jersey and a black skirt and she’s got a jacket on, a kind of blazer type of thing, and she’s wearing black tights.

Black tights! said Tim. I might have known.

Me and all, said Nicky Parkes, and his eyebrows twitched.

We need burnables, I said, I know where there’s cardboard boxes.

Want a hand? said Tim.

Naw.

Get a bottle of wine while ye’re at it, said Nicky Parkes.

Ha ha, I said but away I went.