The Burn

Naval History

I met them in the doorway of a bookshop up the town, just as I was leaving. They were absolutely delighted to see me. Alan and Sheila; I hadnt been in touch with them for years. It was fucking embarrassing. She put her arms round me and gave me a big cuddle and then planted a big kiss on my lips while he stood to the rear, a big beaming smile on his coupon; then he shook my hand. Heh steady on, I said.

Ach but James it’s really good to see you.

Come on into the shop, said Sheila.

I’m just out.

They both laughed at that. Aye I know you’re just out, she said, but come bloody back in. Even just for a minute.

Are you insisting? I said, trying to get my face muscles into a relaxed condition.

You’re damn right we’re insisting! said Alan, gripping me by the shoulder and about-turning me.

I’m a small-sized bloke so this kind of thing happens too often for comfort and I shrugged his hand off. He apologised, but smiled as he did so. I fucking hate people doing that, I told him, making a point of brushing my shoulder.

Aye, you’ve no changed!

Of course I’ve fucking changed. . I said, then I smiled: For a kick-off I’m baldy.

You were baldy the last time we saw you, said Sheila.

Was I?

Aye.

I just looked at her although I found it hard to believe. People have a habit of throwing things at you about your past in such a way that makes it seem like they’re making this great statement which unites all our experiences into one while at the same time they dont really give a fuck either way, about the reality, how things truly were, whether you were baldy or had a head like Samson and Delilah. You dont need this kind of thing even when it’s genuine and this definitely wasnt genuine. Plus these days I find it difficult getting enthusiastic when I meet old acquaintances. I dont know what it is, I just seem unable to connect properly, I can never smile at the proper places — it’s like a permanent condition of being browned off with life. And no wonder either, when you come to think about it, with cunts like this always interfering.

Soon the pair of them had started dragging me round the place. They led me to a display table where they picked up a huge big tome. And landed it on my forearms. I couldnt believe it. It was like an absentminded fit of idiocy. I tried to snatch a glance at the title but they led me off immediately, him propelling me by the shoulder. They started lifting other books from here and there, piling them on top of the first one at a fierce rate with this crazy fucker Alan insisting I dont say a word and each time I tried to he did this stupid finger-into-the-ears routine with big laughs at his missis, it was like a nightmare, me wondering if I was about to wake up or what. I gaped at him, unable to open my mouth for a couple of seconds. I managed to speak at last. I dont know what you’re fucking playing at, I said, but one thing I do know, I dont fucking want them.

Ah come on! he laughed.

What ye talking about come on?

They’ll be good for your home study.

My home study?

You need them, said Sheila.

Do I fuck need them what you talking about? Then I managed to spot a couple of their titles and it looked as if they were naval histories. Naval histories! I said, trying to keep my voice down, What you giving me them for? You think I’m a fucking naval historian? I mean look at this! For christ sake! RECOLLECTIONS OF A FIRST LORD OF THE ADMIRALTY. What would I want to read that for! And look at this yin. .

It was MISTER MIDSHIPMAN EASY. In the name of god, I mind my auld man and my big brother reading that when I was about five fucking years of age. And then I almost collapsed. What’s this! I said, trying to keep my voice down. It was two more books they were trying to land me with: big glossy efforts. Hollywood movie-star photographs. What the fuck’s going on! I said, this is definitely a nightmare. Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. What yous up to?

Sheila replied, We’re no up to nothing.

Aye yous’re bloody up to something alright.

Alan sighed in an exaggeratedly amused way; as if we had always been great mates and he understood me from top to bottom. You’re a failed scholar, he said, a failed trades-union organiser, plus you’re a failed socialist.

Dont be fucking cheeky.

More important, he said, you’re skint, and we know you’re skint. We bumped into Willie Donnelly yesterday morning and he told us.

Willie Donnelly told you. .

And anyway James, Sheila was saying, if that lassie who works behind the counter knows what ye do for a hobby, she’ll give you a good discount.

What d’ye mean what I do for a hobby, what ye talking about now?

Are ye no still writing your wee stories with a working-class theme?

My wee stories with a working-class theme. . Do you mean my plays?

I thought it was wee stories.

Well you thought wrong cause it’s plays, and it’s fucking realism I’m into as well if it makes any difference.

It’ll no matter, said Alan with a wink. As long as she knows ye write something plus if you give her a nice smile.

Do you know who you’re talking about, I said, you’re talking about Sharon! Sharon. . I glanced quickly across at the counter to see if she had heard. Lovely Sharon! Beautiful lovely Sharon who wears that tight black T-shirt!

Fucking joke man you’re crazy, the pair of yous. I stared at him: You must be a headcase, and I’m no kidding ye. That’s Sharon you’re talking about. A nice smile! What do ye think this is at all a fucking charity shop man this is a fucking classy bookstore and she’s a fucking classy woman. Christ! A nice smile! Give her a nice smile! A lovely lassie like that! Look, in the first place I dont want the bloody things. There isni a second place.

Rubbish, says Sheila, who are ye trying to kid? Then she smiled at Alan: He thinks we dont know!

Alan grinned. And he added, So that’s okay then James. .

Okay? It’s not fucking okay. It’s not fucking okay at all. Come on, take these fucking books out my arms and let me go. Christ almighty yous’ve landed me with at least fifteen here so it’s going to cost a bloody small fortune.

Aye but they’re a surprise, said Alan, plus you’ll like them. I know you’ll like them, because you always did.

I always did?

You were aye the same, back when we were weans the gether.

You’re actually mixing me up with somebody else I think. Unless you’re just trying to annoy me.

He’s no trying to annoy you at all, said Sheila, poking me on the side of the arm, and I had to step forward to balance the books and stop them falling:

Heh watch it, I said, careful.

Well he’s no trying to annoy you.

That’s a matter of bloody opinion because I think he is. And I dont know either how you wanted to butt in there and poke me Sheila because it’s no got fuck all to do with you there, that last sentence, the statement I made to him because if it had been intended for you I would’ve fucking done it like that, I would’ve addressed myself like that, to you I mean.

Sheila grinned. You’ve definitely no changed!

I stared at her. I’ve totally changed. Totally. I kept on staring at her because one of these funny wee mental things had happened in my nut where the word totally was sounding like it had changed its meaning or something and if I had been working at the typewriter I’d have probably knocked over the fucking Tipp-Ex bottle — and what was the name of the guy that sang the ‘I Belong To Glasgow’ song? Because for some reason this is what I wanted to know at that precise moment. Then I was speaking:

Since yous two knew me, I was saying, since yous two knew me. .

Sheila was nodding, encouraging me to speak on.

I breathed oxygen into my lungs to get myself ordered. Not only have I went totally baldy, I says, I’m divorced. Mary chucked me in for another man.

Mary chucked you in for another man. . said Sheila in a loud whisper. My God!

Who did she chuck you in for? asked Alan.

After a moment I told him: That eedjit McCulloch.

McCulloch! He laughed out loud then shook his head to put a check on himself. He calmed down and frowned man-to-man. James James James. But that’s serious eh? And he winked to destroy any semblance of genuine sympathy.

I dont really know what ye mean, serious. And to be honest with ye, and you as well. . I said to Sheila, I dont know how come yous are calling me James all the time; friends call me Jimmy and family call me Jim. Ye know what I’m talking about?

The pair of them looked like they were bewildered. I carried on speaking. Aside from that, being divorced and all the rest of it, I’ve given up all habits of the flesh; that includes alcohol, cannabis, marijuana, masturbation as well. I’m probably heading towards that strange state Charles Dickens mentions once or twice to get himself out of plotting problems, internal combustion.

Internal combustion? said Sheila.

Aye. He was a novelist but. I’m a playwright. Know what I mean, I’m involved in drama. Drama. Because according to yous pair I’m no, I’m a naval historian or some fucking thing, a compiler of Hollywood movie-star bio-pic photographs — mildly titillatory as well by the looks of these cover designs. But it’s the naval histories that are the worst, I’ve never been interested in them in all my entire puff. And in some ways I should take it as an insult that that’s what yous think of me because enormous tomes like this smack of an unhealthy fascination with the trammels of empire building and as you were so ready to point out a minute ago Alan, my concerns have aye been communistic at the very right of it, to put it fucking mildly.

Alan smiled. Ye aye had a good sense of humour as well.

Did I?

Aye.

You could’ve fooled me.

Well it must’ve been somebody else then.

Exactly.

Somebody awful like you.

Aye. Maybe the guy that saved up books on naval history for a hobby. And I stared at him so he knew I was not kidding. Behind him I could see Mr Moir who managed the bookshop gazing along at us. This was all I needed, my credibility destroyed completely. Look, I said, I would be grateful if yous took all these books out my arms and I’ll help yous return them to their proper places. Honest, this is like a bad dream.

I leaned closer to them both and whispered, It’s my favourite bookshop. I sometimes get reductions. . Aye, you’re right, the lassie at the desk does know that I write plays. I think she does honestly like me although I daresay she probably just expects me to die young or something and it’s romantic, like what she expects out of literature due to the influence of some totally fucking crazed teacher of English. She waits till Mister Moir goes off somewhere else and then I go up and get my purchases weighed in at maybe 33 and a third off.

Jammy bastard! whispered Alan. I knew that was how it’d be. You were exactly the same when you worked on the buses, that wee bird you were shagging over in Gartcraig Garage, mind?

I gaped at him.

I hate that word, Sheila was saying with her eyes closed, it’s really ugly.

I looked at her. Come on, my fucking arms are falling off. Get these fucking books off or else I’ll have sprained wrists — my tendons have been inflamed for years, fucking tynosinovitis.

Having sex with I meant to say. . said Alan to Sheila, Sorry love. . then he winked at me.

Everybody knew! said Sheila, smiling. When yous waited in the office for the last staff bus and then never sat the gether, and then yous aye got off two stops separate as if we didni know yous were going to run into a close as soon as our backs were turned and the bus was out of sight!

Randy buggers! winked Alan.

And then Sheila started that laugh she did — she was famous for it — a hoo a hoo a hoo, a hoo hoo hoo; that was the way she laughed, it would have drove you fucking potty.

Yous two are crazed eedjits, I said, that wee so-called bird you’re blethering about me shagging was Mary, the woman herself, her that walked out on me for this dirty evil bastard that she walked out on me for and I’m not a guy to go over the top, if you ever knew me at all you must at least credit me with that. And if her brothers get me I’m a dead man.

Her brothers. .?

Her brothers, aye.

Ye talking about McCulloch? said Alan.

What? I’m talking about Mary, my Mary, my fucking ex-wife — scabby bastard. Her team of brothers, I said, they’ve been after me for fucking weeks.

Aw her brothers. . Alan nodded, then frowned for a moment: Did they used to play for Brigton Garage?

Back in the bygone days, aye.

Dont start talking football, muttered Sheila.

Alan was watching me. If it’s the same ones I think it is then you’re in trouble.

Thanks.

Naw but I mean it, fucking bruisers they are, bad news.

Bad news, I know they’re bad news, they’re evil bastards, that’s what I’m saying. Christ almighty. And if I didni know I was so fucking paranoiac I would think yous were here plying me with these enormous big tomes just to weigh me down, because ye know her brothers are outside waiting to waylay me, hiding up a fucking close or something, and I’ll no be able to run.

That’s no funny, said Sheila.

I stared at the two of them. I could easily convince myself this was precisely what was happening. Here they were helping Mary’s brothers. It was a set-up. They were here to do me in. Bastards, I might have fucking known. Fate at last.

And I want to buy these books for you as well. . Sheila was saying, honestly James I mean it, as a present for old times’ sake. Especially if you and Mary are divorced. That’s a sin. When did it happen?

I studied her without saying a word. There was something up here and my memory was trying to warn me.

Eh?

I waited before giving her an answer. Five month ago. .

Five month ago! She shook her head. That’s hard to believe.

I kept on studying her.

Hard to believe. . she murmured, glancing at her man.

Mind you, I says, I would’ve thought you’d have knew already, being as how yous two were supposed to be so fucking close and all that Sheila, friends I’m talking about, you and Mary, confidantes and all that if I recollect certain parties we attended in a mutual capacity. And I’m talking about you as well Alan unless you’ve fucking spuriously forgot.

Listen, he said, and I’m being honest, if these headers are waiting outside then you’ll need all the help you can get. And I do mean handers James handers. Alright? That’s all I’m saying.

What?

You’ve got a hander, I’ll hander ye.

Thanks but no thanks.

Dont be daft.

I fight my own fucking battles.

My Alan’s a good fighter, said Sheila and she gave me a funny look.

I know he is. I’m just saying I fight my own battles, that’s all.

Sheila’s nose wrinkled: Well you aye did do didnt ye.

What’s that supposed to mean? I said. But I knew fine well the one thing it did mean; Sheila didni like me and probably never had liked me. She probably thought I had been a bad influence on Mary, because aye, the more I came to think about it, these two had definitely been close — whisper whisper whisper! Thick as fucking thieves was a better way of describing it.

Sheila was talking. And then she stopped talking, right in the middle of the sentence. As if maybe Alan had gave her a signal. I tried to think what it was she had said but I couldnt. The next thing Alan says: Come on and we’ll get you some more books James, especially now if this wife of mine’s going to be doing the buying. Ye know what like she is with money!

Naw, I said, no way, leave me alone, I want nothing to do with this.

The pair of them stared at me.

Cut it out, I says, whispering, and I glanced from them to the cashier’s desk and then to the exit, wondering if I could make a quick dash for freedom, beause there was definitely something no right about this. But there was Mr Moir watching me with a funny look on his countenance so I had to speak just to be seen to be acting naturally. I’m finished with all that personal stuff, I says to Sheila, trying to give her a smile but failing: I’m finished with it, women, yous just do my fucking nut in, I just canni work yous out at all.

Heh steady on, says Alan.

Steady on nothing, I says.

You’re a bad-tempered so and so, muttered Sheila, no wonder Mary left you for Tommy McCulloch.

Ha ha ha, I said. And Sheila gave me such a look I thought for a minute she was going to wallop me one so I stepped back. Right that’s enough, I said, that’s just bloody fucking enough! I turned and strode straight along to the cashier’s desk — I had just seen Mr Moir go into the back of the shop which meant I had a moment’s breathing space. I gave Sharon a quick smile to let her know I needed urgent assistance.

What’s up Jimmy? she whispered.

A pair of crackpots out of my past, wanting to dump this huge pile of books onto me — here, help me get them onto the table eh? Naval histories, look, unbefuckinglievable!

But Sharon stopped in her tracks. They had come up from behind me and I felt this hand clamp down on my shoulder like to about-turn me again and I jerked out from under it and turned to face them: Any more from yous two and I’ll call the polis!

We are the polis, says Sheila.

What?

You heard, says Alan.

What?

And we could do you for breach if we wanted, but lucky for you we’re off-duty and we canni be bothered.

And he was looking straight at me, contempt written all over his face. And here it was all now fitting in. Folk like you give us a pain in the neck, he was saying, we try to do you a favour for old times’ sake and look what happens.

That’s right, went on Sheila, because you used to be married to my pal when we all shared the same uniform. Whereas the truth is you were aye a bad-tempered wee bastard — you and your bloody union.

Is he giving you any trouble officer? said a voice — Mr Moir it was, coming out from the back shop.

You could say that.

We’ve had our eye on him for a while, he says, is that right Sharon?

Sharon kept her head lowered and muttered something that wasnt intelligible to me and her face went red because she was involved in dishonest company.

Is that right Sharon? says Moir again with an insinuating voice.

Dont be feart of him hen, said Sheila indicating me.

I’m not feart of him.

He’s just a wee bully.

He always was, said Alan, even when we were weans the gether in the Boy’s Brigade — until he got done for shoplifting.

Well that’s a lie for a start, I said, because not only have I never got done for shoplifting, I was never even a bloody protestant and you’ve got to be a bloody protestant to get into them, else they turn ye down, they dont let you over the door. And I gave a quick smile to Sharon, letting her see I knew she was trying to be on my side and if she wasnt allowed to because of the situation then it was fine, it was fine, and I wouldnt think any the less of her. My da brought me up a good socialist, I said.

Sharon gave me a quick smile back and I knew I had figured her out correctly; she was a great lassie and would always stand by me.

That’s the truth, I told her, we used to sing the Red Flag morning noon and night. Our house was full of books. Piles and piles of them, economic histories, political biographies, the lot.

Rubbish, said Alan.

Rubbish! What do you mean rubbish! I’m fucking telling ye the way it was.

Less of the language, replied Sheila.

Well you’re bloody upsetting me. I dont know what the hell’s going on, unless these crazed eedjit brothers of my ex-wife have fucking bribed you to find me.

Your mouth needs soapy water, said Alan.

Put the books down on the counter, cried Mr Moir.

With great pleasure, I says, with very great pleasure. But I didnt; I whispered to Sharon instead: This is so bad, I says, it’s just so bad. I want you to be my witness to what’s happening. I was in this shop minding my own business — I wasni even inside it I was outside it! — and then this pair waylaid me.

Waylaid ye, says Alan, who the hell waylaid ye?

You did, the two of yous.

Did we hell.

Well what’s this then? I said, pointing at the pile of books. What did you pile me up with them for except to slow me down or something?

Instead of replying the two of them shook their heads, and Alan gave a weary smile at both Sharon and Mr Moir. What I find so upsetting, he said, is that me and him used to be mates.

Once upon a time, I added. Like all good fairy tales it came to an abrupt end.

What do you know about fairy tales, said Sheila, these wee stories you write are all cheap thrills and sex.

That’s no true, I said to Sharon, she’s just lying.

You calling my wife a liar? said Alan.

The facts speak for themself.

The facts speak for themselves! That’s a good yin. What do you know about facts? More than you.

Ha ha.

Aye I know ha ha, I says.

That’s because you’re a joke, replied Alan and it made his wife burst out laughing. He winked at her.

Some man you are, I said.

I know, a man and a half.

You make me want to boke, I said, but I was playing for time, looking to find a way out of what was going on. Sharon was gazing at me. I’ve always loved you Sharon was what I thought but couldnt get it verbalised, probably because if I had I would have compromised her and I didnt want to do that. She was a brilliant lassie. Then a thought: if I flipped the books up into the air there was a chance I could make it to the door. But they were watching me carefully for just such a move — especially Sheila; it seemed like she was the brains behind the squad. When I knew her she was dangerous as well; in fact it occurred to me that she had always been out to get me, right from the kick-off back in the old days. A crazy idea was beginning to dawn on me: maybe she had fancied me and it had turned to hatred, maybe because I had fell for Mary she had set out to get me, and she had started by poisoning my marriage. And if that was the case then this whole business was just hair-raising. I looked at Sharon. She was the one voice of reason. Yet there standing next to her was Moir, the guy that ran the fucking place. What a smug bastard he was. I had always thought that. Even the way he scanned the books I bought whenever I was unlucky enough to get served by him, it was like he was casting judgements. I stole another glance at Sharon, if I could somehow get her to realise what I was going to try, if somehow she could realise what it was and could maybe create a diversion. That tight black T-shirt too, she always wore it and it was like she had forgot to stick a bra on first thing every morning the way her nipples poked out it was hard to even think what you were buying sometimes, she just rang up the till, gave you the receipt and waited for the dough, it was just too much, too much:

You come with us, muttered Sheila, taking me by the shoulder, and I had to go with them, my forearms cramped under the weight.