So so, the usual — want a vodka?
A vodka! Mr McCorquodale frowned, staring at it; he relinquished the grip. It’s no bloody Hogmanay son, you didnt need to bring your own bloody drink.
Aw eh. . it was just. . No want one?
Vodka? Naw no me Tammas — Scotland’s own, Scotland’s own. . He lifted the bottle of whisky from the side of the breakfast bar. Come on, you have one with me instead of that Russian stuff.
I’d rather no mix it Mr McCorquodale.
Ah come on for God sake son you’re the bloody guest remember!
Da. . Rab said: Leave him alone eh?
What d’you mean? And anyway, you shouldnt be drinking at all, you’re in training. Mr McCorquodale gestured at him while saying to Tammas: This yin isnt to get anything, cause he’s in training.
Rab laughed briefly. Look at him! Totally blotto, can hardly sit straight on the stool and he’s trying to lecture me about training. Training by fuck!
Heh you less of that language if you dont mind, you’ve got a mother ben the room.
Awful sorry pater.
It’s no pater son it’s pahter. Should’ve sent you to a fucking fenian school; at least they’d have taught you latin! Mr McCorquodale uncapped the whisky bottle, poured himself a drink. He glanced at Tammas: So how’s life on the broo then Tammas?
Da you’ve asked him that already — Christ sake!
Tammas grinned. Rab — Rena says will you go ben the living room.
Did she?
Aye, I think she wants you to liven up the proceedings or something.
Rab frowned then shrugged. I’ll sing them a song.
Aye, you better do something son! Mr McCorqudale raised the tumbler to his mouth and sipped at the whisky.
Rab stared at him for a few moments then he sniffed and said to Tammas, I’ll see you in a minute.
When the door closed Tammas was breaking the cellophane on a new packet of cigarettes and soon he was smoking, putting the matches back into his side jacket pocket. Mr McCorquodale was watching him. And he asked, So how’s it going son? How’s life on the broo treating you?
Ah no bad, no bad.
A bit daft chucking your job but eh? I mean when you didnt have one to go to. Would it no have been better making sure there were going to be redundancies first?
Eh, I suppose so, right enough. . Tammas smiled, sipped vodka, inhaled on the cigarette.
Strikes me that’d have been more sensible. Course I’m aware — your age — sense doesnt always come into it! Mr McCorquodale was smiling.
Tammas nodded. Terrible job but. Really boring.
I thought the wages were alright though — according to Rab anyway I mean that’s what he told me.
No bad.
Mind you, I like a boy with the philosophical approach — when in doubt jump on the broo! Mr McCorquodale laughed, drank the remainder of the whisky and reached for the bottle. Tammas glanced at the door. The sound of fast music and a few thumps from dancing feet could be heard. And then a voice, probably Uncle Gus, singing very loudly, Chicago.
Mr McCorquodale was pouring whisky into Tammas’s tumbler; a fair amount of vodka had still been in it. He poured one for himself, the neck of the bottle balancing against the rim of the glass. Did Rab tell you about the offer? The offer son, did he tell you?
Eh, naw, what’s that?
An offer, he’s had an offer. Hull City.
Christ sake!
He never told you?
Naw. Christ, that’s tremendous!
Mr McCorquodale nodded. He sniffed. Aye, he said, they’re wanting him down as soon as possible.
Great news.
Mr McCorquodale nodded. Know what he says to them? I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it! God sake, you think he’d jump at something like that!
Aye. Hh. I dont know. Tammas shrugged. Maybe it isnt a good offer or something.
Isnt a good offer? You dont even know what the bloody offer is son so how do you know!
After a slight pause Tammas said, Naw, I’m just saying. Just thinking — about Rab I mean you know, the way he might see it.
The way he might see it! Mr McCorquodale smiled, shaking his head.
Well I mean. . Tammas paused, he shrugged, swallowed a mouthful of the alcohol in his tumbler and coughed, spluttering a little. He inhaled on his cigarette immediately.
Mr McCorquodale was looking at him. Course, you’re no really a player but Tammas, are you. I mean I’m no being cheeky or anything. I dont want to hurt your bloody feelings! Mr McCorquodale smiled. What I’m saying is this but; if you dont know the ins and outs then how d’you know what’s a good offer and what’s a bad offer? You cant, no really — no that I can see. I mean he doesnt either. Rab! What does he know, he doesnt know fuck all hardly. I mean he might be able to play the bloody game but what does that go for I mean he doesnt bloody know about the other side of it.
Tammas nodded; he reached to flick the ash from his cigarette into the sink, he ran the cold water tap to clear it down the drain.
Mr McCorquodale was looking at him. Son, he said, eventually, that Blackpool carry on was bloody ridiculous.
Mm.
I’m no kidding ye — losing all your bloody money like that. And then what you seem to forget, you’re leaving the rest of the boys to pay your digs’ money. I mean that’s what you forget, that’s the bloody consequence Tammas, that’s what you dont think about. All your pals son they’ve got to fork out on your behalf. God sake! I couldnt do that.
Tammas scratched his head.
Mr McCorquodale had pursed his lips. He leaned back a little on the stool, placing both hands on the edge of the breakfast counter. He lifted his whisky, sipped at it, his forehead wrinkling. He frowned: See that punting of yours! and couple it with the broo! Well I’ll tell you something; you’re beat before you start. Christ, I dont like saying it, before you even start.
After a moment Tammas stepped to the sink, flicked ash into it. The tap was dripping and he turned it tightly, cutting the water off. From the living room the volume of music increased suddenly, then decreased; then increased again. Tammas had a last drag on the cigarette, he doused it in the water which was gathered at the drain. There was a rubbish bin beneath the sink. He dropped the cigarette down into there. And the living room door opened and closed. And now the kitchen door; and Rab was there. He paused, then came across to the sink. Tammas made way for him.
Rab ran the cold water and sluiced his face and neck with it. Aw that’s better, he muttered. He got a wee towel from a rail, glanced at Tammas: You no coming through?
Aye. Hey what’s this about Hull City?
Rab continued drying the back of his neck. He sniffed. Big time eh!
His father grunted. Listen to him.
Rab returned the towel to the rail. Da, he said, I think you should go through as well. And put a word in maw’s ear while you’re at it. Her and Uncle Gus are taking over. I mean it’s a bit early yet for sing songs! People’re still wanting a dance.
Embarassing you are they? Mr McCorquodale was gazing at Rab, and he added: Mister and Missis Jesus Christ in the corner above that sort of thing?
What you talking about?
Ah!
If you’re talking about Rena’s maw and da, they’re no bothering, they’re just happy sitting.
Mr McCorquodale shifted on the stool, he pursed his lips, raised the whisky tumbler. Bloody biblethumpers.
Rab nodded to Tammas who walked to the doorway, and continued through.
He paused by the living room door. A woman’s voice — not Mrs McCorquodale — singing quite quietly. He walked down the lobby into the bathroom, snibbed the door shut behind him. There was a small cabinet with a mirror door above the washhand basin. He stared into it with his two hands clasped over his nose, thumbs together beneath his chin. Then he sat on the lavatory, elbows on his knees, hands covering his nose again. He sat like this for a while. Someone chapped the door.