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.