ON THE TUESDAY
mornin ah had tae take the van for a service. Even if your whole life’s fallin round aboot your ears, the van still needs tae get serviced. And ah had tae dae it since John was tied up wi the new baby.
Ah’d went round tae see the wean again last night. Took Anne Marie – don’t know how ah’d of managed it by masel the noo. Tricia’s face all lit up, John beamin, the hoose fulla baby stuff. And thon wee bundle, her face crumpled fae sleep.
The garage is in a side street just round the corner fae Brigton Cross. John and me have been bringin it here for years – Joe’s an auld pal fae school – he was in the band wi us when we were young. He’s done OK for hissel, got a coupla mechanics workin for him noo and a nice hoose somewhere on the sooth side.
He slides oot fae under a motor, haunds black wi oil.
‘Good tae see you, man. How’s the big brother?’
‘Great. Tricia’s just had a wee wean.’
‘Brilliant. Tell him ah was askin for them.’
‘Aye, ah’ll dae that. When d’you think you’ll be finished.’
‘Gie’s an hour – if there’s anythin big needin done you’ll need tae bring it back – is that OK? Ah’m a bit busy the day.’
‘Aye that’s OK. Ah’ll just have a wee wander.’
Ah walked up past the umbrella at Brigton Cross. They’ve done it all up noo, painted and restored it but it still looks shabby and sad. The hooses look a lot better though. When we were growin up the tenements were all covered wi stour but noo they’re cleaned up, wi door entry systems and that. Walkin alang Main Street felt that weird; ah used tae dae this every day but it was as if it was somebody else that had done it. And like a different city fae the wan ah live in noo.
Then ah seen it – or rather ah seen the gap where it used tae be. Just round the corner fae the Main Street. Ah don’t know why ah felt that gutted. There was a big stooshie the other year when the cooncil wanted tae knock doon some of the schools – supposed tae save money so they can dae up the wans that are left. And ah knew this was wanny the wans that was gettin flattened and never thought anythin aboot it at the time. Efter all, why should ah care – ah’d never bothered wi school when ah was there, couldnae wait tae leave. Ah’d no stayed round here for years and all ma family’d moved away too. And it wasnae some great architectural treasure – just a scabby sixties school like a million others. So how come when ah turned that
corner and seen that big gap where it used tae be, ah felt as if somebody’d punched me.
Ah crossed the road and stood, just lookin. The space where it had been looked huge, much bigger than the school. They’d left the rubble strewn across the land, a wasteground fenced by metal palins wi paint peelin aff them. Broken tarmac, dusty heaps of auld bricks, shreds of poly bags driftin among the dogshit. Ah felt anger risin in me. Must of been nearly a year ago since they’d demolished it. So how come they couldnae dae somethin wi it? Couldnae landscape it and stick a few plants in tae make it look nice? How come the folk that lived here had tae look oot their windaes and watch this filthy heap day after day?
Ah heided doon towards Greendyke Street. Anne Marie had taped their CD for me and ah put it on ma Walkman. Ah’d never been able tae get intae that kind of sampled stuff afore, always thought there was somethin kind of cheatin aboot it, but as ah walked alang ah kept listenin, beginnin tae feel how the rough voices of the lamas and the sweet high voices of the girls just fitted that perfectly, replayed it till it was fillin ma heid, blockin oot everythin else.
Ah just kept walkin. Through the Green, up the Saltmarket, cuttin through the side streets tae George Square, then on and on till ah reached the Centre. Paid nae attention tae anythin till ah reached that yella door.
It was the first time ah’d been back since ah chucked the paint – couldnae face gaun back there efter whit ah’d done. Last night ah’d dossed doon at ma mammy’s hoose – she was the wan person who’d ask me nae questions.
Ah opened the door, quietly. Felt as if ah was fifteen again, comin back tae the hoose pissed, hopin naebody’d
be up. Ah opened the door of the meditation room. Don’t know whit ah expected tae see – a row of lamas prayin for ma soul, the polis sittin waitin tae charge me, but the room was empty. Everythin was exactly as ah’d left it. Except, in the daylight, it looked different. Like a giant wean had been playin wi paints, mixin them all up thegether intae a muddy mess. The outline of the Buddha was still visible under the big splashes of paint, but only wan haund, the wan raised in blessin, had escaped completely. The pile of cushions on the flair underneath the mural was covered in paint and ma sleepin bag was a wipe oot.
The door opened and the Rinpoche entered.
‘Hello, Jimmy.’
Ah wanted tae say ah was sorry but the words wouldnae come oot. He stood beside me, lookin at the wall.
‘I did not realise you were going to do a Jackson Pollock version of the Buddha. Very modern.’
‘Ah’ll clean it up the noo.’ Ah couldnae look at his face.
‘Maybe you should not do it right away.’
‘How no? You don’t want the room lookin like this.’
He touched ma airm. ‘At this moment the room looks like this. Let us sit with it for a while. Just sit and look.’
He sat doon in front of it and ah sat beside him. Ah didnae want tae look. All they hours of work and now look at it. A fuckin mess. Ah knew whit he was tryin tae dae. Or tryin tae make me dae. Face reality. Look at what ah’d done, what ah was daein. Ah’d read in wanny they books that lamas slept in coffins so they’d be mair aware of death. But ah didnae want tae look at death, ah just wanted tae live. That was how ah’d got interested in the lamas in the first place. Cos ah liked bein wi them, they made me feel mair peaceful,
mair real. Ah didnae want tae look at the clarty shitty mess ah’d made oot the bright pure colours. Or think aboot why ah’d done it – just wanted tae clean it up.
Ah stood up and started tae lift the cushions oot the road. ‘At least they protected the flair – there’s only a few bits. And it’s mully – it’ll wash aff.’
He nodded.
Ah took a couple of bin bags fae the kitchen, started tae lift the empty paint tins and place them inside it. Then ah got ma brushes and a tin of white paint oot the cupboard in the hall. Ah dipped ma brush, started fae the tap left haund corner and worked ma way across the wall, white brushstrokes blankin oot the colours beneath. It’d need another coat but at least ah didnae have tae look at it any mair. Once ah’d finished ah put the lid on the tin, cleaned ma brush in the sink. Then ah went back intae the room and cleaned the paint fae the flair wi a scrubbin brush. All the time the lama sat and watched me.
‘Ah’d better be gaun, Rinpoche. Ah was supposed tae get the van hours ago.’
‘Don’t forget this, Jimmy.’ He held oot his haund. Ah took the wee tin of gold paint, put it in ma pocket and left.
IT WAS WEIRD
, makin up the beds. The big double upstairs for me, the single in the attic for Anne Marie. There were two single beds in the room; when she was really wee she used tae get me tae make up the other bed for her teddies and dollies. Sometimes Charlene came alang – if things had been different this year, she could of brung Nisha.
And the wee room doonstairs. Mammy’s room. Noo ah’m makin it up for Jimmy.
We waited a couple of days tae tell her. Couldnae face daein it right away, thought we’d let wersels get settled in. It was lovely, sunny as usual, just lazin round on the beach. It’s funny, when you’re here you start tae feel as if this is really your life, wakin up wi the sea visible fae your
windae, the different light, wooden floorboards and white painted furniture in the room.
On the Tuesday, efter lunch, Anne Marie said, ‘Are we gaun tae the beach this efternoon or d’you fancy a game of tennis, Da?’
‘Mibbe later, hen. Anne Marie, yer mammy and me have got somethin tae tell you.’
She looked fae wan tae another of us, sayin nothin. Jimmy looked at me. Ah took a deep breath. ‘Ah should probably have told you this afore, hen, but, well, anyway.’ Ah’d rehearsed whit ah was gaunnae say ower and ower again. Last night ah’d laid in ma bed rehearsin ways tae break it gently tae her, tell her aboot David first, but somehow when she was sittin there in front of me wi they innocent eyes ah just blurted it oot. ‘Anne Marie, ah’m pregnant.’
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Aye, ah …’
Jimmy interrupted. ‘Now, Anne Marie, yer mammy …’
She put her airms round me and hugged me. ‘Mammy, that’s brilliant. When’s the baby due?’
‘January.’
She turned tae her da and hugged him too. ‘Da, it’s so cool – ah’m gonnae be a big sister!’ She stopped. ‘So will you be comin back fae the Centre noo then, Da? Ah mean you’re no gonnae stay there efter the baby’s born, are you?’
Jimmy’s face was completely blank. Mines must of been the same. ‘Anne Marie, ah …’
‘Have yous thought of a name yet? Alison’s just had a wee sister and they cried her Erin – ah think that’s nice for a lassie. Ah’m gonnae phone Nisha and tell her.’
‘Naw, don’t dae that, Anne Marie. Please don’t tell anybody the noo. We want tae keep it quiet for a wee while.’
She looked disappointed. ‘OK. Just don’t leave it too long. Right – are yous comin tae play tennis?’
Of all the scenes that had run through ma mind that was the last thing ah thought would happen. Ah’d visualised that many different ways Anne Marie could of reacted – burstin intae tears, bein angry, bein quiet, blamin me, runnin oot – ah’d went ower them all, but ah never in a million years imagined she would of thought it was Jimmy’s. Then again, it was the most natural thing tae think. Efter all she’d nae idea aboot David, she’d never seen him or heard me talk aboot him. And Jimmy was still around, nothin much seemed tae have changed between us except he wasnae sleepin in the hoose. What could be mair natural than tae assume that wan night we’d made up and this was the result?
Ah never got the chance tae talk tae Jimmy alone aboot it tae later that day, when Anne Marie had gone tae the shop.
‘Jimmy, what the hell are we gonnae dae? Anne Marie thinks it’s yours.’
‘Ah know. Ah couldnae believe it when she started jumpin around huggin us.’
‘What are we gonnae dae? Ah mean we’ll need tae explain. And its gonnae be harder noo.’
‘Aye. She’s that happy aboot it.’
‘D’you want me tae tell her on ma ain?’
‘Naw, ah think it’d come better fae the two of us.’
‘When?’
‘Ah don’t know. Look, let’s leave it till the morra. Ah cannae face this again the day. Let’s talk the morra.’
At six o’clock that night Anne Marie’s mobile rang. Ah
should of known that meant somethin big had happened. Usually her and her pals text each other.
‘Nisha? No! You serious? When? Oh my God!’ Anne Marie flung her airms round ma neck. ‘Somebody fae the BBC phoned Nisha. We’re through tae the next round!’
‘That’s fantastic, Anne Marie.’
‘Ah never thought they’d tell us so soon.’
She went back on the phone, bletherin away tae Nisha, movin outside tae get a better reception or because she didnae want me tae hear, don’t know which. Then she came back in.
‘That’s brilliant, hen. So what happens next? How many folk have got intae this round?’
‘Well, there’s twenty been picked and ten of us will be on the CD. But they’re gonnae play all the twenty on the radio and on the TV! Our CD is gonnae be on the TV!’
LIZ IS SITTIN
on the purple and orange towel; the wan we always take tae the beach. She’s rubbin suncream intae her legs and her sunglasses are shoved up ontae the tap of her heid. Ah’ve brung the buckets and spades wi me but of course Anne Marie’s decided she’s far too auld and sophisticated tae make a sandcastle so she’s lyin on the towel next tae Liz. Liz turns and rubs some of the cream on the back of her neck. Ah’m watchin them fae a wee distance, nearer the sea, where the sand is damp and better for makin sandcastles. Ah’m diggin a trench in the sand and pilin it up, makin a big heap. It’s no that busy the day; a few weans playin in the water, clumps a folk sittin up along the fringes of the sand dunes, sunbathin, readin the papers, watchin clouds birl across the sky. It hardly ever rains here bar the odd
shower that clears the air and waters the flooers. Ah know somebody must get the rain but all the years we’ve been comin we’ve been lucky.
Anne Marie throws a tee shirt and shorts ower her bikini and wanders doon tae me.
‘Ah’m away tae the café for an ice cream, Daddy. Want anythin?’
The café’s where the young yins hing aboot.
‘Naw, hen, ah’m fine.’
‘See you later.’
‘Right.’
As she heids aff, Liz starts tae pick her way across the sand tae me. There’s nothin tae show yet, nothin anybody could notice, but she’s movin different, cairries hersel in a different way. Mibbe ah’m imaginin it, mibbe it’s just the sand, but she’s walkin slower, mair graceful, like wanny they African women cairryin a pot on their heid. And suddenly ah can see her in three months’ time, her bump up in front, her sarong pushed oot, swayin as she moves, and a sick feelin rises in ma throat. How could ah of let this happen? It was ma fault. If ah’d no been that blind, ah’d of known how much she’d wanted another wean … and another wave of sickness as ah thought of her, big and beautiful, graceful, breists full and heavy, eyes soft and joyful, and the bairn no mines. The sickness subsides and a shootin pain stabbbed me. It should of been mines.
‘Need a haund?’
Liz hunkered doon beside me, started tae dig the trench wi a spade, heapin up the sand, smoothin oot the sides of the pile ah’d made.
‘Jimmy, we need tae talk aboot this noo, afore things go any further.’
‘Ah know.’
‘Jimmy, whit are we gonnae dae – whit are we gonnae say tae Anne Marie?’
Ah looked at her, sittin on the sand, the breeze blowin strands of hair in front of her eyes. The dye in her hair had nearly all grown oot noo, but there were still a few wee pinky edges lit up by the sun. And the beach stretched oot behind her tae a blue sea and a blue sky dotted wi clouds. It was like every year’s holiday photie; different hairstyles, different claes, but the same auld sea, same sky, same Liz.
Ah dug ma spade intae the sand. ‘Ah wisht it was ma wean.’
‘Me too.’
‘Ah feel as if it’s mines.’
‘Do you?’
Ah put doon the spade, looked at her straight.
‘Does anyone need tae know it’s no mines?’
She looked past me, up beyond the sand dunes. ‘Well, he knows, but he’s gaun away tae America. And ah don’t think he’d be sorry if he never heard fae me again. Naebody else knows.’
‘Well?’
‘Could we dae this? Could you dae it?’
‘Could you?’
‘Ah don’t know, Jimmy. Ah’m feart. Part of me wants tae, but ah keep thinkin it’s the easy way oot, no the right way.’
‘Sometimes the easy way oot is the right way.’
‘Mibbe noo, but what aboot later – it could be a right mess.’
‘It might. But whatever we dae will be a mess. At least this way there’s a chance we might all be happy.’
‘But, Jimmy, are you sayin you could really take this wean
as yours, when it grows up, even if it looks like him? Could you honestly say you’d feel the same aboot this wean as you dae aboot Anne Marie?’
Ah patted the sand, kept smoothin and smoothin it as if ah was plasterin a wall. ‘Liz, ah don’t know. Ah cannae say how ah’m gonnae feel. All ah can say is that mibbe this is our best shot. For us all. Ah mean, think aboot all these folk that have weans through artificial insemination and transplanted eggs and all that … the papers are full of it. And they must love their weans just as much.’
‘Well, ah didnae exactly get artificially inseminated, did ah?’
Ah couldnae look at her face. Ah looked beyond her, the white clouds movin faster noo, scuddin across the sky.
‘Liz, what dae you want?’
‘Tae turn the clock back, that’s what ah want. For this bairn inside me tae be yours.’
‘It is mines.’
She looked at me, narrowin her eyes against the sun, eyes dark as earth. If only thon wean has her eyes, ah’ll love it, ah know ah’d love it as ah love her.
‘This is your wean, Liz; ah’ll see it growin, watch you get bigger cairryin it, be with you when it’s born. It’ll be our wean, Anne Marie’s wee sister or brother.’
‘And you really think you’ll never look at him or her and think on …’ She stopped. ‘Anne Marie’s comin.’
She was walkin across the sand in her orange tee shirt and shorts, that tall she was, grown up. Ah waved at her and turned tae Liz.
‘Naw, ah cannae say that, you know ah cannae. All ah can say is that ah’ve loved you since ah was eighteen and ah still love you and ah think we should gie it our best shot.’