The Burn

From the Window

He lifted his grandson from the floor and sat him on his knee; he rocked him back and forth, pulling funny faces, but when the wee boy started wriggling about he returned him to the carpet and glanced across to where his daughter Isobel was sitting: Fancy another cup of tea hen?

Do you?

Well I’m asking you.

Isobel shrugged but she rose from the couch. I’ll get you one.

Naw you’ll no. I dont want one, I was just wanting to know if you did. However, if you are passing the kitchen, I’ll take a can of beer. . He grinned. There’s a couple in the fridge.

Tch dad!

When she brought it to him he pulled off the stopper and drank from it straight off. She said, You’ll poison yourself, it’s all dirty round the rim.

Ah! He wiped his mouth.

Anyway you shouldni be drinking at this time of the day, no at your age.

What ye talking about, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon!

You’re too auld for it.

I’m fifty-three, give me a break — you’d think I was a pensioner to hear you. . He swigged another mouthful then raised his eyebrows: After last night’s performance but maybe you’re right — see the head I had on me when I woke up this morning!

I’ve got no sympathy for you.

He smiled.

I’m serious dad.

Ach I’m no as bad into it these days as you think.

Are you no. .?

Naw.

She nodded.

Honest, he said, last night as well never mind it being a Friday, I was staying in with all the best of intentions — no kidding ye. Me and your mother in front of the telly and all that then a bang at the door. Frank Smith and Big McArdle, so I says aye okay. First time I’ve been out for weeks. Your mother didni mind me going.

Isobel did not reply, and he paused, then shook his head: Unfortunately I dont even remember getting home.

That kind of drinking isni good for you.

I dont need you to tell me that hen.

Aye well ye shouldni keep on doing it then. You’re just destroying yourself physically.

Thanks.

Ye are but dad.

Thanks.

Ye’ve got to face facts.

No doubt you’ll remind me if I ever forget them.

Well somebody’s got to.

That’s your mother’s job Isobel no yours.

Aye but she’ll no approach ye about it so it’s left to me.

How do you know what she approaches me about? You dont, you dont know. So dont think ye do.

Isobel reached for her cigarettes and lighted one. Her father was making a point of watching her do it. She ignored him. She blew out the match and laid it in the ashtray. Then he muttered:

Aye you’ve got a cheek to talk about anybody with all that smoking ye do. High time ye gave it up my girl, for the wee boy’s sake if no your own.

She made no response.

D’ye hear me?

I hear ye, yes, I do, I hear ye. She looked at her wristwatch, then at the window. I wonder how long’s she going to be. . She’s awful late.

Och I’ve seen her later than this. He smiled slightly, reached to clap his grandson on the head and he sniffed quite loudly, jerking his thumb at the wee boy: Is he smelly?

I dont think so.

Mmm. . Her father pursed his lips, wiped his mouth; he gazed into the fireplace for a spell, before glancing suddenly across at her: So what happened to all that stuff they tried to pap down your throat at Sunday School?

Pardon?

You know what I’m talking about.

Naw I dont, I dont.

He sighed and raised the beer can to his lips, but he didnt drink from it. He stared at the baby, he shrugged eventually. I just like the notion of weans getting baptised.

Aw, so it’s that again, christenings.

Naw but I do, I just like the notion.

Dad I dont want to go through all this again.

Dont get me wrong hen I’m just talking about the actual notion itself.

She held the cigarette to her mouth; she puffed twice, not inhaling the smoke, dispersing the cloud with her left hand.

It’s like it’s a kind of initiation into the human race. . He gestured at the wee boy but before he could continue speaking she muttered:

I dont know what ye mean by that.

Naw hen look, if we just stop and study this wee thing here, just for a minute; what we see is it’s neither one thing nor the other, a set of responses and reactions just, that’s all it is, give it some grub and it dirties its nappy, dont give it some grub and it greets.

So?

So. He shrugged.

Tch! She shook her head and inhaled, blew the smoke at the ceiling.

Ye dont like me speaking like that. .?

I dont care if ye speak like that or no, but he’s more than just what you’re calling him, a set of responses and reactions — as if he was a machine. Babies areni machines.

Ye could’ve fooled me!

Seriously dad.

He chuckled. You’re too sensitive.

She glanced at her watch.

Ye are.

Oh well, it must run in the family.

He grinned.

I dont mean you, you’re like a bear in a china shop! She rose from the seat and walked to the window, taking the ashtray with her.

He watched her as she stood gazing down the two storeys to the street. After a pause he said, Ye know something, you were a smelly wean when you were wee, ye wereni potty-trained till ye were going on five years of age! I’m no kidding ye, it was the talk of the street.

Thanks dad. . She tapped ash into the ashtray.

The Green Lady thought ye had congenital diarrhoea!

Dont be disgusting.

Her father laughed. So dont get on your high horse, that’s all I’m saying.

Isobel shook her head.

Several moments passed. Then he said, It’s actually just your mother I’m thinking of.

Dad. .

Naw but I am.

I just dont want to be a hypocrite, she said, turning to face him.

But ye wouldni be being a hypocrite ye would just be being a mother, and a daughter. Isobel I mean look hen dont get me wrong on this, I couldni care one way or the other — even although I says that about the basic notion of the thing, I dont really care, no really. He shifted on his seat, shaking his head: And as far as the church goes. . ye know me better than that, when it comes to the church and hypocrites, it’s just like Rabbie Burns said it was. He paused, gazing at her. It’s your mother I’m thinking about.

Isobel sighed.

It is, it’s no me.

Dad, I just wish you wouldni go on about it.

Ho — I didni know that’s what I was doing!

We’ve done enough talking on the subject.

He nodded, studying the label on the beer can. He said: It’s just with you being on your own now, I mean, it was his idea — about no getting the wean baptised — in the first place; when it was born I’m talking about, it was his idea, no yours.

Dad, it doesni matter whose idea it was, mine or his; it doesni matter. I’m just no getting it baptised and that’s that.

Fair enough, it just strikes me as a wee bit selfish.

She stubbed out the cigarette.

I dont mean selfish. .

She stared at him for a moment, then leant her elbows on the window-sill and gave her attention to the street below.

Eventually he called: By the way hen, did I tell ye, they’re trying to get me to stand for re-election again. I telt them naw but they’ll no listen.

Oh well you’ve just got to insist.

I know. I’m gonni. Cause I just dont have time. Me and your mother are supposed to be doing up the house at the end of April. She’s wanting the front room wallpapered and she’s talking about getting new points put in as well! So I mean we’ll be upside down here, I’ll no have time for anything hardly.

When is it?

What?

The election.

Five weeks.

You’ll just have to tell them then wont ye.

I’m going to. I mean God love us it’s high time some of these young yins got into the act. They need a good bloody shake-up. See when I was that age! I mean ye had to go cloak-and-dagger ye know, even just to pay your dues. If the management found out you were in the union you would’ve been out the bloody door, pronto. No negotiating table then ye know. They’d have bloody shot us if they could’ve got away with it!

Isobel made no answer. She was still peering out the window.

Honest hen they would’ve. That’s what like they were. I’m talking about back when I started out in the job, when some of us were trying to get things organised. He continued gazing at her; he raised the can of export to his mouth and after a pause he drank from it. He dried his lips on the cuff of his shirt-sleeve, and frowned at her: You listening?

Yeh.

Ye sure? He smiled.

Och dad I was just away thinking.

He nodded.

Och. . I was just remembering Saturday mornings. I used to hate them. She smiled.

You used to hate them?

Isobel turned to him. Because I always used to think something bad had happened to mum, an accident, I could never stop myself thinking about it and it was awful because I would think too that just me thinking about it might make it happen. Tempting fate, ye know. And she was going to get taken into hospital. On her way back from town with the messages, her with all these enormous shopping bags. I was always expecting to hear the siren and then the ambulance would come hurtling round the corner, bringing her in it. . Isobel looked at him and smiled. I mean when I was wee dad.

Oh aye.

That corner of the street along there, when you stare and stare and stare, if you’re waiting for somebody. .

Isobel turned away from her father. He could only see the back of her head. He glanced at the baby who had managed to get the ornamental brass poker from where it was kept by the side of the tiled fireplace. He stared down at him for a few moments, then shrugged, When you’re wee. .

Isobel said: I used to watch out for you as well. Especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays when you were working late.

I mind that. . aye.

She stared out the window.

Listen hen dont get me wrong, I worry like hell about your mother as well but I know she’ll be here sooner or later I mean tempting fate like ye says, I think you’re better just showing a wee bit of patience, a wee bit of patience. He gestured with the beer can: Come away from the window.

She turned her head sharply, but did as she was told. She got her handbag from where she had left it beneath the coffee table and she snapped it open, took out her cigarettes.

Her father sniffed. Ye angry?

No dad, I’m no angry; I just wish you would remember I’m an adult sometimes.

He nodded. Sorry.

Putting the cigarette packet down on the table she quickly took the poker from the boy’s hands, she lifted him upwards, chuckling, her eyes closed, gently rubbing her forehead in his face; and she sat down on the couch, sitting him on her lap. Her gaze went to the table and the cigarette packet.

Want your fags? he said.

No.

Ye sure?

Yeh.

Ye still angry?

No.

Good.

She sighed. I’m just a bit worried.

There’s no need to be. There isni. You know your mother, she’ll have met somebody. She’ll be gabbing away. She’ll have forgot the time. Ye know the way she goes hen I mean sometimes I’m feart to let her out the house in case she canni find her way home again! He chuckled, then he groaned. That’s me making it worse eh!

She looked at him. His forehead had creased as if he was anticipating a smile from her; she smiled.