Authors: Eleanor Thom
We come here to fight! It’s lassies only today. Boys and girls never fight together, and it’s always one on one. We take turns. Us Plugs against the McPhees, Maclarens or McMillans. The Williamsons usually fight the Camerons, the Lesleys, and the Newlands.
‘RIGHT!’ shouts Robina Williamson. She’s the oldest, the
tapster, so she decides whose shot it is. ‘Betsy Whyte and Jenny Maclaren.’
The Maclarens are fearsome. Granny says they’re the only breed could ever scare the burkers who dug bodies out of graves. But Jenny and me are about the same size, so she’s usually who I fight. The others climb up onto the ruins of the old fort to watch us go at each other. Granny might not want our hair cut off, but I’d say a fair bit of it gets torn out in each other’s fists. No rules. Ripping hair and scratching and biting’s all part of it.
To start off we ram each other shoulder to shoulder like two billy goats. After a bit of digging my nails in and pulling, I get Jenny under me on the grass, face down. I yank hard as I can on her pigtail, but it slips through my hand, like guddling a fish. She’s got shiny soft hair, not like most of us tinks. Mine’s always full of tangles. If Jenny was tall enough she could get her fingers in, lift me right off the flair and hang me off a branch.
I keep my belly tight, barely breathing. When I fight my body hardens all over, sort of turns to stone and aches with it, stiff and strong. Jenny slips her hand under my shirt and scratches me in a line down my ribs. I squash her cheek into the grass, try to get her loose arm under my knee to hold her down. If I manage it, I’ll have won! It works like in the boxing matches Jock and Daddy go to.
I can hardly hear the bigger girls over me and Jenny’s panting, our breath coming out in bursts, ‘Oof, oof, oof.’ I know what they’re shouting, though. ‘She’s going tae kill yous, Plug! Bite her! Aye, on the leg! Tear her fuckin lugs aff!’ Stuff like that anyway.
I’m about to win. Robina’s started the count, and when she reaches ten, instead of ten she’ll shout ‘PLUGS ARE CHAMPIONS!’ But Jenny Maclaren’s a cheat. Her sister has their Dotty the Dog up the hill, a crazy wee bitch. The thing terrorises the entire Lane, scrabbling over the cobbles on its stumpy legs, baring its teeth and nipping your ankles. Uncle Jock says Dotty’s
the She-Hornie herself, straight out of Hell. Unless you’re a Maclaren, of course, she loves all the Maclarens. Robina’s reached the count of eight when that devil of a creature comes running straight at my face.
‘GET YER STUPID WEE SHITE AE A THING OFF ME!’
I have to lift an arm to protect myself. Jenny grabs her chance and tips me over and over, like she’s rolling a carpet. It’s not all good news for her, though. The wee bitch is so excited she can’t work out who’s who in the tussle, and Jenny takes a few nips on the bum.
Down in the dirt, there’s a good smell filling my nose, warmth and cut grass, a taste of earth in my mouth, but my cheek’s grazed and stinging and the mutt’s skipping over our bodies and yapping and clawing and nipping. I get Jenny’s hair again and scramble to my feet. Jenny screams. She tugs my head to one side and I peer over to the rock where the others are. Just for a second I see them clearly. Teeth and eyes.
A gulping jolt goes through my chest as I fall again. And I’m lucky, cause right where I land I find just what I need! A big round stone. It’s nearly as big as my hand, smooth and cold as a cannonball. They’re rare up here on the hill. I send it flying over my shoulder without a second thought, without even aiming for anything in particular. No time for that.
‘SHOT!’ Robina shouts from the rock, and at the same time there’s a yelp. Dotty is off like a bullet with her tail between her legs. That ends the fight. Jenny starts greetin and blubbering that she’ll tell her ma I did it on purpose. But wee Dotty’s okay, she’ll live, and Jenny willnae tell. She’s just a bubbly-bairnie. I stomp off, and Rachel comes running after me.
‘Go away, Rachel. I’m going for a wee wander.’ Just in case that stupit Jenny does go and snitch, I think to myself. ‘I’ll be back before supper.’
It gets dark fast. I know I should really head home. But I love
being out by myself, away from everybody’s noise, nobody telling me what to do. The time passes too soon. I dare myself to do things. Tonight I decide to run past the falling down cathedral, where crumbly gravestones loom out of shadows, damp with moss, and topsy-turvy in the ground. Above, the Cathedral’s ruined circle window watches me like an eye, a huge hole filled with gloomy indigo and grey sky. It’s a hoop for the witches to fly through on their broomsticks, into the world of the dead and back into ours. Just the thought sends shivers down my spine!
The air feels thicker here, harder to run through. It’s like something really wants to drag you away. Don’t look behind you! By the time I reach the bishop’s house my heart pounds like hooves in a horse race. I imagine Rachel or Granny’s warnings in my head, their words about the Devil, and I can’t decide if it makes me happy to ignore their voices, or if I’d rather they just left me alone.
But I am alone. No one’s here but me.
My feet take me down by the Lossie, right round to the hole in the river where it’s murky in the water. It does feel spooky here, and I think of what Granny says again, ‘The Deil bides there and plucks folk right aff the path! Oh, me! Dinnae yous go playin doun by thon Deil’s hole, quines!’
I know why Granny thinks that. Before I was born one of my uncles went swimming in the hole and he died not long after. That was my uncle Francis, who’s a ghost now. Daddy told me. Maybe Uncle Francis lives in the hole too.
I sit on a boulder by the bridge, staring into the river, disobeying Granny. But I’ve not been there long when real voices start humming from somewhere. My first thought is that they’ve got to be my daddy and mammy out looking for me, and maybe they’re angry. I decide to hide. I’ll let them walk right over the top of the bridge, and when they’re just past I’ll lowp up and frighten them out their wits. They’ll think I’m Granny’s Devil come to get them!
I wonder if I’ve made a mistake when I crawl round the boulders and slip my head under the walkway. There’s a damp smell and it’s even blacker in here. I don’t want spiders crawling on me when I can’t see. But the voices have gone silent, and somehow that makes me afraid and glad to be hidden. It’s just footsteps. If it’s Mammy and Daddy, why aren’t they calling for me?
I don’t like to crawl too far under cause it’s so dark, but as the footsteps get close I edge in, far as I dare. The boulders are freezing and they scratch my thighs. I don’t want to smear myself with slime, and I look behind me, trying to find a flatter, drier place to sit. It takes a second or two for my eyes to see right. My head feels funny, and greenish colours swirl in front of me like a spell wafting from a witch’s cauldron. There’s a few splashes of red too. Devil red. My heart starts to race.
And suddenly he’s there, right in front of me! I nearly hit my head on the bridge. I’m looking right into a pair of eyes! Is it really him? Satan? Uncle Francis?
‘Would ye shhhhh!’
Jesus Christ! I nearly went and wet myself and it’s only fuckin stupid marble-eyes, Maggie McTootie.
‘You stupit hoor! What are you doing here? I thought you were the fuckin Devil himself.’
‘Dinnae you speak tae me like that. I’m hiding fae ma brothers. Did I gie you a fright?’
‘Don’t be daft!’ I tell her.
‘Well, keep yer fuckin wee trap shut, then!’ she goes.
I pull a mou at her. Stupid McTootie. I’m still trying to slow down my breathing so she won’t hear what a fright I really got. I pretend Maggie’s not there as the footsteps get closer. So close I can hear wee bits of grit crunching under the soles of the shoes. There’s two people. But it doesn’t sound like my mammy and daddy at all now. Mammy’s heels don’t clop on the cobbles that way. And it’s nae Maggie McPhee’s brothers either, cause they’d be stomping and haukin up spitballs.
I put a hand over my mouth and swallow. Right above me the four feet come to a stop. Who are they? How aren’t they saying anything at all? There’s a bit of shuffling up there. Sounds like a girl crying into a pillow. Then I hear the voice again. A voice I know really well.
‘Why are you greetin? Will ye nae tell me what’s wrong?’
I can hear him kissing! Lots of little kisses like Mammy puts on Nancy. They go tick-tock onto her, but for some reason she cries even more and tells him to stop. Granny was right, though: Jock’s got a girlfriend! That stupit Maggie starts sniggering into her sleeve and nudging me with her elbow. I wish it was just me here. They might catch us if she doesn’t shut up. She’ll ruin everything.
Who’s the girl? Could it be Miss Webster? I pray it’s not our Big Mary that Granny’s always talking about. It doesn’t sound like Big Mary, though. Not that the girl’s saying much. All I can hear is Jock asking her why she’s being like that tonight, and her snivelling, sniffing into a hanky. But she does it all daintily. If it was Big Mary up there she’d be blowing and howling like a bloody elephant.
This goes on for ages, her greetin, him asking what’s the matter, saying please tell him. My shins start to go numb. Maggie’s so annoying, making sucky kisses on her hand and nudging me. I ignore her. I’m scared she’s going to start whingeing about the cold on her legs and refuse to stay. But if we spring up now Uncle Jock’ll be angry with us, he’ll think we were there on purpose to spy on him and his dreepy, weepy dilly. I don’t think my teacher would do that, so it must be someone else.
I close my eyes and wish they’d just go away. And then, sudden as a coal jumping out the fire, Jock shouts something, angry, and she chokes back a few words.
I can’t believe my ears! I think maybe I’ve heard her wrong cause she gulps, sort of swallowing the secret she’s just told him. Above me I hear them stumble for a second, and a big lump rises
in my throat as the feet, just hers this time, clatter back onto the path by the river.
It’s quiet on the bridge for a second, but then he calls out like a maddie. I watch her leaving. She doesn’t turn back. She has a blue coat and long blonde hair, like Cinderella, and in a few seconds she’ll be gone into the night. I know who she is! Everyone knows her, even Maggie who’s peering all cock-eyed over my knees. She’s the girl who sells tickets at the pictures. The men say she’s that beautiful, one day she’ll be on the big screen herself. She walks like she knows it too, like a movie star. So
she’s
Jock’s girlfriend! And I know her secret: A really big one! Oh, me! Someone’s fairly got an awful lot to answer for this time.
It’s been quiet for so long on the bridge that by now Jock must’ve crept away, but I still hold my breath as I crawl out from my hidey-hole and brush my clothes down. My heart’s pounding like a drum, and not cause of the Deil or the dark. Because of the secret! My uncle’s nowhere to be seen.
‘Jock Terns is dead!’ Maggie goes and slices her finger over her throat.
‘Don’t fuckin tell or I’ll murder you!’ I scream at her.
‘Shut up, shite-face,’ she laughs, and starts to walk away.
I watch her disappear into the dark. Who knows where she’s going. It’s not fair. No one cares if Maggie’s late for her supper. She can do whatever she wants, ugly gobstopper eyes. But I couldn’t give a fiddler’s about being late. Not even if I’ve to bing to my bed early every night for a week. I’m carrying a secret they’d give their eye-teeth for!
As I’m heading home I wonder how will I be able to eat my tea when I’ve to keep a story like this inside? Minute I open my gob I’m scared it’ll come screaming out. How can I stop myself blurting it in my sleep? Not that anyone would believe me. ‘Him and thon bit of skirt? Jock Terns can fairly dream!’ That’s what they’d say. But Uncle Jock would never forgive me if I told.
I nearly trip over him in the dark. He’s folded up against a wall, near where the river meets the bottom of the Lane, and he’s down on his hunkers in the dirt. Rascal’s lying at his side, ears low and tail still, like he’s just been given a telling-off.
‘Jesus!’ I cry out, and then I see the look on Uncle Jock’s face. He’s staring at the water like he wishes it’ll surge up and wash him away, which makes me embarrassed for the word I’ve just said. Uncle Jock does nothing. He’s dead still, and my voice seems to wait above me, a leaf trying to fall.
I’ve only seen my uncle like this once before. It was the day they said he couldn’t fly planes. Secretly I was pleased he wouldn’t be leaving us any more. But it’s scary to watch him looking that same way now. I don’t know what to do; if I should say anything or touch him, or just run and get my daddy. I stand there and feel like a dummy.
‘Uncle Jock?’ I go eventually, and my voice sounds silly so I try again. ‘Uncle Jock?’
He pretends I’m not there at all for a bit longer, and I wonder if he’s going to greet. His eyes start to shine like the stale water in the Devil’s hole. And then he seems to do several things all at once. He drops his face in his hands and makes a strange noise, and then looks up again, rubbing his splayed fingers tight over his scalp. For a second he looks like a monster with wide eyes and spikey hair.
‘YOU-SHOULD-BE-IN-YER-BED!’
His words come out all at once, like he’s been waiting for years to shout them. At the same time I’m sure he starts to greet.
My feet sink into the muddy path, and whatever I was going to say, I don’t even remember what it was, I swallow it and it slips down like a slimey river rock.
‘Go home!’ he says.
But I can’t move till he stops looking and puts his face back in his hands. I run past him then, dizzy like I might fall in the water. When I get round the corner I slow down, and by now
I’ve got knots inside me and I’m ready to greet. He’ll never marry Miss Webster now.
I reach the back end of our Lane and stop running. I know when I get in they’ll be sitting at the table, faces all angry and the supper eaten. A tear tickles my nose so I wipe it away with my sleeve. Daddy’ll be horn-mad, and Mammy too. They’ll shout and scare Rachel and Nancy, who’ll both scream, and then Granny’ll hiss at me like an old cat.
And then I start to wonder what it would be like if I didn’t go home at all. What if I went back on the road?