He kept on walking.
The fish van was at the corner of his street. Three women were standing down from the step-up, talking together. One of them said, There’s Gary.
Even Gary, he was getting sick of that. What was worse? Gary or Chanty or Mister Chambers? Or Chamby? Chanty Chamby.
He had the doorkey in his hand on arriving at his landing but he could see a light on in the lobby. His da was in. Usually he was at this time of the day but sometimes he wasnt, Thursdays and Fridays especially.
He shut the door, went into his own room immediately and changed his socks. Recently he’d been making a point of looking after his feet. He was reading about this guy John Brady who was an athlete and raced for England and something happened which led to his feet, something about his feet, no being right for running because of it, whatever it was, and he was under doctor’s orders to stay away from all sports or games, and apparently it seems even if he had been taking regular care of them it would’ve been okay.
His da was at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, he glanced up to say: Alright Gary!
Hullo da.
If you fancy making scrambled eggs. .
Nah, I’ll just have some toast and cheese. You wanting anything?
Eh. . His da frowned a moment. Aye, he said, okay, I’ll take a slice.
Gary pulled open the cupboard door for the loaf of bread. He felt like slamming the thing shut. That was what really fucking annoyed you when you came home, him just sitting there and you actually having to do the cooking. It was as if you just came home from school to make him his dinner. You would have been better off no bothering. He stuck the loaf back into the cupboard, went to the fridge. The margarine and cheese were next to each other. But he wasnt going to make anything now, fuck it, he wasnt going to make it, and he slammed shut the fridge door and stepped back to the cupboard. I’m just making a piece and jam, he said, I’m no bothering with toast and cheese.
Mm.
Will I make you one as well?
What. .? His da gazed at him over the top of the page.
D’you want a piece on jam? I’m no making toast and cheese.
His da frowned: A piece on jam?
I’m in a hurry so I’m no bothering with the toast.
Okay, aye. You making tea?
Naw.
His da nodded. Then he said, Something bothering you?
Gary shook his head, he swivelled the lid off the jar, began spreading the jam.
Stick the water on.
Gary filled the kettle and plugged it in without answering. He poured himself a mugful of milk, handed a piece to his da and started eating the first of the two he had made himself. He stood by the sink, staring out the window, the sky totally grey, a line of blackbirds sitting along the gutter of the roof opposite. Thirty-eight pence lay on the window sill. And that was it, he was definitely dogging it now. He waited for the kettle to boil then collected the coins with one hand while footering with the plug and the kettle with the other. Is it coffee you’re wanting? he asked his da, and he slipped the coins into his pocket when the pages rustled. His da wasnt thick. The very opposite. It was just Gary knew how to work things. This beard his da had started recently and parts of it were whitish. Is it coffee? Gary asked.
See the ’Gers are playing the night!
Aye.
The Hibs!
Hibs?
Be a good game.
Aye. . Gary felt his heart thumping and that feeling all over, nearly as if he was walking on a pile of cushions. He bit into the crust of his own slice and munched it, nodding in reply to the idea of Rangers and Hibs. Rangers and Hibs. He nodded, munching the bread, the coins in his pocket and what if his da knew they were there, if he knew but just wasnt saying anything. It was one of these things you could imagine, terrible. But he wasnt going to put them back because something would go wrong and he’d definitely get caught, unless he put them somewhere else, ben the living room maybe, on the mantelpiece.
His da was okay. No he wasnt, he was daft. Not an idiot but, just daft. Gary felt sorry for him, sitting about the house all day, and he had made that remark to the maw last week, Look at my beard! going white at 36 years of age! No even forty yet. But it wasnt funny, it never came out right and the maw as well, her face, you didnt know what she was thinking. The whole thing was rubbish. Hey Da!
Mm.
See granpa, what age was he when he left school?
Granpa. . Same as me, fifteen.
Fifteen, I thought he was fourteen.
Naw, that was my granpa. Who you talking about?
My granpa, aye.
Mm, he was fifteen. My own granpa was fourteen.
Gary bit another mouthful of bread. Who was it was thirteen then?
Aw aye, that was my uncle, the one that got killed — well, he was my great uncle really, my granpa’s brother, his big brother. We’ve got a photo of him when he was a wee boy.
Is that the one he’s wearing a bunnet?
Gary’s da nodded, smiling. That’s the one, he said. You see him standing at a big wall; well that’s the place he worked, it was a bottling factory down near Brigton Cross. I mind my granpa taking me and showing me the spot. He was just a boy when it happened and he used to tell me about it. That’s your great grandfather. . Gary’s da laughed: They called him Wee Tam. He was a Clyde man, sometimes he took me with him to watch them when they were playing at home. That’s your great grandfather, and your great uncle, that was his big brother — naw, your great great uncle, the wee boy that got killed; it gets complicated.
Gary had spooned the coffee into the cup; he poured in the boiling water, the milk, the sugar.
What was it you were asking? said his da, when Gary passed him the cup.
Nothing. I was just wondering but, if it was alright if I stayed off this afternoon.
How what’s up?
Nothing.
His da nodded, he sipped at the coffee and reached for his tobacco tin. I’ll tell you something Gary, he said, I think it’s daft dogging school if you’ve no got a reason. I mean you’ll never learn anything that way. You’ve got to try.
Alright, I’ll go.
I’m no saying that.
Gary was back by the cupboard and lifting the mug of milk to gulp the rest of it down. The newspaper was rustling. His belly felt as if it was tied in knots; he wished he had a smoke, he could have a smoke. He glanced out the window and then into the sink, swallowed the last drips of milk and rinsed out the mug, upturned it on the draining board.
All I’m saying is it’s best if there’s a reason. What is it you’ve got on? said his da.
English and maths but it doesnt matter.
His da smiled.
Gary stared at him.
I used to hate them as well!
I dont hate them, said Gary. He turned and lifted the second slice of bread and jam, almost all of it remained, he opened the cupboard and threw it inside, shut the door. I’m away, he said.
You in the huff now?
What?
Nothing.
Gary sniffed.
His da munched the piece on jam, still looking at the newspaper.
I’m no in the huff. . Gary stared at his da and continued to stand there by the cupboard, leaning his elbow on the edge of the worktop.
I cant just tell you to dog school you know.
Nobody’s asking you to.
Fine then cause I’m no going to.
Gary opened and closed the cupboard door and he muttered, I wish maw still came home for dinner.