Evidently the daft mutt jist kept swimmin, driftwid wedged intae they jaws like a hoor’s haund intae yir pocket, n the current fae the tidal Firth took um as far as Leith whaire eh washed up. The polis n the authorities wur alerted by a lone angler whae saw um paddlin, cream-crackered, intae Newhaven harbour.
So Tam Cahill’s gaun, — That’s him! That’s muh boy! N they opens the cage n the dug ignores um, jumps oot n bounds ower tae me droapin the bit ay driftwid at ma feet.
Ah bends ower n pats the laddie’s heid. — There’s a boy, there’s a boy, ah goes n looks up at the rest ay thum.
— He never let thon bit ay wid oot ehs sight, even when he was eating, one RSPCA man, a boy wi a military tash, goes. — Woe betide ye if ye tried tae take it oaf him!
— Aye, ah looks roond nervously, — ah used tae chuck um things tae fetch.
Tam disnae notice but, eh jist goes doon n leads up the dug.
The other RSPCA boy, a clean-shaven hoor, goes tae Tam, — Those scars on his face and body, sir, how did he come by these?
— Mauled by Rottweilers, Tam tells them sadly, and this cunt is yin plausible hoor, ah’ll gies um that. — Two ay thum set upon him in Dunfermline Glen; the mess they made ay him. Eh turns tae the dug as if lookin fir backup, — Thought wi wir gaunny lose ye… again, ya wee rascal! Aye, they fair made a mess ay um, eh, boy? eh sais sadly, then turns tae the uniformed men. — They pit thum doon, of course. It wisnae the dugs’ fault; ah blame the owners.
The clean-shaven RSPCA boy disnae look impressed, mind you.
Tam seems tae recognise this and changes tack, gaun intae ehs wallet. — Right, chaps, how much is it ah owe yis?
Clean-Shaven shakes ehs heid. — It’s all part of the service.
— Then it’s an excellent service, neebs, Tam says, — but what aboot a wee drink oan me? Ah really cannae thank yis enough for finding him and bringing him back tae ays.
Clean-Shaven looks at ehs mate Tashy for a second. The hoor looks like some cunt’s rammed a white-hoat poker up ehs erse. — Thank you, sir, but there’s no need. However, if you want to make a donation to the RSPCA, that would be most welcome.
— Coont ays in, Tam beams in contentment.
— Unfortunately, we can’t take cash here, Clean-Shaven says, — but we do have forms for you to complete.
— Right… Tam says deflatedly, cause the cunt kens that ehs been huckled!
Tashy goes back intae the car and comes oot wi a set ay forms which Tam fills in, ehs jaw droapin a wee bit, then the boys take thum n jump back intae the motor n speed oaf.
Once thir oot ay sight Tam boots the dug in the side n perr Ambrose lits oot a sad yelp, n cowers away. — See what you’re costing me, ya cunt! Fuckin twelve quid per month on direct debit! He wellies the perr boy again n muh hert rises tae muh mooth.
Jenni jumps across in front ay um. — Fucking leave him! You did that to his face, at the dogfight! I know because I was there!
She picks up Ambrose’s leash. Tam’s just standin thaire, glaring daggers at me.
— What? ah goes, in appeal. — Ah didnae take her. Ah’ve no been tae any dugfight in ma puff!
— Let’s get away from this psychopath, Jenni shrieks and pills Ambrose doon the path n ah look back at Tam, shrug n follay.
— Whair ur you gaun, lover boy? You’ve goat work tae dae!
— Sorry, Tam, ah’m wi Jenni, ah say, and ah feel a bit bad cause it’s goat tae be said that Tam’s treated me awright.
— Fuck off then! Pair ay yis! See how long ye last without me peyin for everything! Fuckin parasites, the lot ay yis! N eh turns n heads back intae the hoose.
Jenni’s takin Ambrose tae the car n ah’m followin. It hus tae be said thit ah’m happy tae get in as ah dinnae fancy stickin roond here wi him in that mood. Naw, sor, ya hoor. Jenni starts up the motor, n pulls oot ay the drive. Whin wi hits the road she says, — He’s an animal. I have to get out of this place now. We have to take Ambrose with us or he’ll go the same way as Midnight!
— Aye… lit’s git back tae mine. Ah’ll say goodbye tae ma faither. Tell um wir away. Tae Spain!
— I can’t fucking wait, Jenni hisses, then breks intae a big smile. — Oh Jase, it’ll be so fucking excellent!
We drive intae the toon for a bit, stoapin at the offie fir a wee boatil ay champers tae celebrate. Headin back oot ontae the street, wee Jack Anstruther’s there, lookin a bit pished, but definitely smarter in ehs appearance. Showin ehs face in the Goth a lot, by aw accounts. — Awright, Jack? Mind ay Jenni?
— I certainly do, eh smiles, n lifts her mitt fir a kiss oan the back ay it. Fair play tae her, she manages tae maintain a smile. A lassie pushin a pram passes ays, n Jenni lits oantae her n thir soon bletherin. Just then, the Neebour Watson comes intae view, carryin what looks like a box ay tools.
— Awright, Neebour? Moonlightin?
— Jack, Jase, eh goes. Then eh moves in closer. — Ask nae questions n ah’ll tell yis nae lies, ya hoors.
Ah asks Jack in a low voice, — Ah nivir goat the real story as tae how the Kirk gied ye yir marching orders. It wis hoorin, right enough?
Jack shakes ehs heid in disgust. — Despite ma detailed citations ay scripture that made ridin hoors acceptable, it fell oan deef ears in George Street.
The Neebour looks outraged at this. — But no in the church, durin the Sabbath, in front ay the congregation!
Ah laughs loudly, noddin ower tae Jenni and the bird, who ur startled. Jakey resolutely shakes ehs heid at the Neebour. — Ah’d peyed fir tweenty-fower ooirs n tweenty-fower ooirs ay wis gaunny git. Ah couldnae help it if yon snooty Elders came in early wi thir fuckin wives tae arrange flooirs n caught ays wi the bird in midcowp across the altar. Tell ye whit, but, Neebour, Jason, eh sais tae ays, ehs wee face gaun aw lecherous leprecaun. — It wis worth it. The best ride ah hud, n the lassie, she even said the same hursel. Nice young lassie; Ballingry, if ma memory serves ays right.
Ah jist aboot felt thon boatil ay champagne ah wis haudin slip through ma fingers. Ah made ma apologies n goat Jen, n wi piled back intae the motor.
Whin we git back thir’s nae sign ay muh faither, but thir’s a note oan the kitchen table, written oan a Ladbrokes’ bettin slip.
Miners’ Welfare at eight the night, a surprise party. Got some news.
— What the fuck’s gaun oan here?
— I don’t know, but we have to go to the party, Jenni says. — We’ll take the champagne. Then we get out of here, just driving through the night… on the motorbike.
Ah dinnae really like the sound ay that. Temptin fate big time, especially eftir Kravy. Dinnae want tae be seen as an unromantic shitein cunt, but. — Eh… what aboot Ambrose?
— I know somebody who’ll look after him. We can send for him later. I want to get out of this place on Kravy’s bike. Her wee lamps light up like a Kelty hoor thit’s goat a Christmas bonus. — It would be so symbolic, don’t you think? It’s what he’d want, I’m sure of that!
How the fuck does she ken what eh’d want? She nivir even spoke tae the boy. Still, ah’m no arguing; she’s the one wi the tits n fanny, n it’ll be a long time afore ah’m satiated enough tae turn ma nose up at thon currency! Ah’d defo rather go by the fuckin motor masel, but it isnae the time tae discuss the issue. Ah’d been hopin, as should uv happened, thit the bike wid uv been written oaf, but the fucker hud an even mair miraculous escape thin me. Wi pit the champers in the fridge n leaves Ambrose doonstairs n head up tae ma scratcher fir a bit ay recreation. It takes a bit ay pleadin, but eventually Jenni lits ays go oan toap, eftir the fourth go.