‘Harry,’ he said, ‘when did you start in here?’
‘Three months ago,’ replied the driver as he closed the doors and drove off. ‘Better than that mob you’re with.’
‘Wouldn’t be hard,’ said Jake. ‘I jacked today anyway.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well they asked me to leave.’
‘So long as you got your refs,’ said the driver.
‘Oh I made sure of that.’ They both laughed.
‘Why don’t you start in here man?’
‘No Harry. I’m finished with the buses. For the time being anyway,’ said Jake.
The bus was passing under Central Bridge and the driver asked, ‘Anybody wanting off?’
‘No,’ said Jake looking down the passage.
‘Hang on then,’ Harry said. The people queuing at the bus stop had their hands out expectantly, the driver slowed the bus down a little, drawing in to the kerb, then he accelerated and waved goodbye as he drove off across Hope Street.
Jake burst out laughing. ‘What a fucking job.’
‘Listen to the punters,’ said Harry grinning. They were all talking excitedly across to each other and pointing to the driver’s cabin at the front. The conductress came downstairs smiling. She was around thirty and smartly dressed.
‘You’ve got them all going now,’ she said, ‘listen to that babble.’
‘Did you see the look on the faces at the bus stop?’ asked Jake.
‘Serve them right,’ she said, and walked down to collect the fares. The chatter stopped dramatically.
‘They know Sheila too well,’ said Harry. ‘When she starts they know all about it.’
‘Aye I could believe that,’ smiled Jake.
‘Oh she’s OK. Been in the job about ten years,’ said Harry.
The conductress returned and passed round the cigarettes.
‘Where you living Jake?’ asked Harry after a time.
‘In Partick man, Beith Street.’
‘That’s next to the garage.’
‘Aye just before Sandy Road.’
The bus pulled into the lights at Partick Cross.
‘Room and kitchen, inside toilet,’ Jake continued.
‘Bought?’ asked Sheila.
‘No. Six quid a month including rates. They’re coming down though.’
‘Aye you’ll get a corporation house,’ said Sheila.
‘That’s very nice, probably get a semi-detached out Castlemilk,’ said the driver.
‘Aye,’ Jake smiled wryly, ‘or the Drum.’
‘My sister lives in Drumchapel,’ said Sheila, ‘and she quite likes it. Depends what part you get I suppose.’
‘Aye,’ replied Jake, ‘anyway this is where I get off.’
‘Aye. Listen Jake take a run up to the Wheatsheaf one night. I’m early all week. Definitely be in on Friday night.’
‘Yeah I’ll probably do that,’ he stepped down. ‘See you later.’
He walked down Crawford Street which was nearly all down now. Only the top and bottom closes remained and the old detached house near the railway line was boarded up.
Jake was beginning to feel very depressed at the thought of explaining it all to Joanie. He turned in to No. 136 and trod on an old shit.
‘Bastard!’ he grunted without anger, and wiped his shoe with a piece of newspaper. The headline caught his eye. He read aloud. ‘“Baxter to leave Rangers?” Christ what is it all about.’ He looked at the date and snorted, ‘1966.’
He walked upstairs. The steps were cracked and chipped, condensation seeped from the scarlet painted walls. Gang slogans and names and dates were scrawled everywhere in paint of all colours. The Duncans lived on the top floor across the landing from the Moonans. He knocked at the door and heard his wife come through from the kitchen. He could see a shadow in the peephole he had put in the door. It opened a slit then widened.
‘Jackie?’ said the girl in surprise.
‘Hullo,’ he entered and kissed her. ‘Well where’s the milkman then?’
She smiled at the old joke. ‘Are you on a spread over?’
‘No, eh,’ he grimaced, ‘they fired me, any tea?’ he went through to the kitchen and filled the kettle. He plugged it in.
‘Jackie what is it?’ She stood by the door. ‘Jackie what’s happened?’
‘I got the sack,’ he shrugged, ‘bad timekeeping.’
‘Oh.’
‘Could do with a couple of weeks’ holiday anyway.’
Joan sat down heavily in her armchair.
‘I’ll have three weeks’ wages coming to me,’ said Jake coming to her.
‘Oh Jackie,’ said the girl. ‘What. .’
‘Listen I can get a job right away if you want?’ he interrupted.
She looked up at him, ‘Where?’
‘The Corporation for goodness sake,’ he put his hand on her shoulder, ‘no bother.’
She got up as the kettle boiled. ‘Tea?’
‘Aye. I thought I’d wait till after the New Year before starting.’
‘Some New Year,’ she poured the water into the teapot.
‘Och come on for God’s sake,’ said Jake quietly.
‘What happens if they don’t take you?’ she asked.
‘They’re crying out for men,’ replied Jake, ‘anyway I might take on a couple of wee side jobs.’
She sighed. ‘Like what?’
‘Marking a board. Maybe a boozer, oh there’s plenty going about.’
He accepted a cup from her and sipped slowly.
‘Then I’ll never see you,’ she sighed again sadly, ‘I hardly see you as it is.’
‘At least I won’t be working shifts.’
‘Can you get a job as a salesman?’ she asked.
‘Need a couple of suits.’
‘You’ve got two.’
‘Och they’re hopeless,’ Jake answered, ‘I never wear them as it is.’ He rolled a cigarette.
‘Thought you had stopped smoking?’
‘I’m finished buying packets,’ he gave a short laugh, ‘only 3/8 for a half ounce.’
He stood up and undressed. ‘Do you know where my trousers are?’
‘The blue ones?’ replied Joanie.
‘Aye.’
‘In the wardrobe, unless you’ve shifted them.’
He went through to the room and found them hanging in the wardrobe. The baby was gurgling away to herself. He leaned over the cot and made her laugh.
His wife came through just as he picked the baby up.
‘Is she wet?’ asked she.
‘Aye and smelly,’ grinned Jake dancing around with the baby.
‘I met Mum this morning,’ she said. ‘Asked when we were coming round.’
‘What did you say?’ he asked.
‘Said I’d phone.’
‘We’ll go round tomorrow night.’
‘Dad could get you in beside him,’ she said cautiously.
‘Is that so,’ replied Jake showing no interest.
‘He’s offered before Jackie.’
‘Yeah I know,’ he handed the baby to her, ‘yes I might.’
‘Will I say anything?’
‘NO!’ He spoke sharply. ‘No leave it for a while yet.’
‘OK,’ the girl said it quietly. ‘What do you want for tea?’
‘Stew made the same as you did it last Friday.’
‘OK,’ she smiled and walked from the room carrying the baby.
Jake picked out a book and sat down to read.
A Roll for Joe
It was a modern pub, quite a flash sort of place. Piped music and the obligatory slot machine. Tables along the wall and high stools at the bar. A brewery house but not too bad.
‘Pint of bitter please.’
Quite a pleasant grunt from this skinny bartender.
‘Not a bad night eh?’
‘Yeah,’ he jerked it out the corner of thin lips.
‘Spring. Good season eh?’
He shrugged and plonked the pink glass down on the mosaic counter. Some froth sloshed over the rim and streamed towards my elbow.