The Burn (17 page)

Okay Lecky . . . ?

Aye – fuck. Lecky grinned: Close, eh?

Aye.

Fucking close alright, muttered Ray. Fucking lucky.

Aye.

John winked at Lecky. We’re aye fucking lucky, int we?

Aye.

John was smoking. He exhaled and jerked his thumb at Ray: He wants to wrap it.

Fucking right I want to wrap it, said Ray.

How come? Lecky asked.

Cause it’s fucking wild.

Lecky glanced at John, and John handed him the fag. Lecky took a couple of drags on it.

Ray shook his head. Fucking wild, he said to John.

John took the fag back from Lecky before replying: Away hame then.

Ray brushed the tip of his nose with his right thumb, he sniffed, spat out the chewing gum he had in his mouth. John started rubbing his hands together and he hunched his shoulders up and down.
He said to Lecky: What about you man ye into it?

Lecky shrugged.

Eh?

I dont know.

Ye want to do it?

I dont know man.

Eh?

Lecky shrugged.

It’s fucking wild, muttered Ray. He turned sideways and stared along the street; he turned back: Look John there’s always fucking the morrow know what I mean . . . Why take
risks.

I need the fucking dough, it’ll no be there the morrow.

Ray gazed at him.

Lecky? said John.

Lecky shrugged. I’m easy.

Fuck sake . . .

Well what d’ye want me to say?

What do I want ye to say I want ye to say if you’ll fucking do it, that’s what I want ye to say!

Lecky looked at him.

Just fucking say it, if ye want to fucking do it, if ye dont fucking dont, dont fucking say it, ye just fucking do what ye want.

Lecky said nothing.

I mean ye make up your own fucking mind, it’s your own fucking opinion, that’s what fucking counts Lecky.

Lecky frowned.

Innit?

Lecky stared at him.

John shrugged. Just do what ye fucking want to do.

Lecky’s mouth was dry, he swallowed saliva. I’ll do it, he said.

Dont do it for me.

I’m no . . .

Ray peeled another stick of chewing gum; he gestured with it at the other two but they didnt respond. When he took out his cigarettes Lecky glanced at him and he gave him one. Ray was looking at
John.

The three of them waited another few minutes but nothing arrived and nothing departed; the entrance still gaped open. Ray led the way, Lecky continuing on to his position at the corner of the
main road. When he reached it and looked back the other two were out of sight. From somewhere he could hear a vague whining sound like the engine of a bus revving and straining in too low a gear,
then it had died into silence.

A clank. Coming from the shop doorway. Another clank then a crash. Really fucking loud. Lecky stepped back against the wall, squinting across at the windows of the nightshift building. The faces
looking! But there werent any. Nobody was there at all. Thank fuck for that.

And now silence. The two of them were inside. Lecky edged out from the corner, seeing both ways into the distance. If he did see a squad car he would fucking whistle. No he wouldnt that would be
fucking mad, fucking mental, he would just stay still, he would wait, he would wait till it had passed. No he wouldnt he would whistle, he would have to, unless he just ran down, he would have to
run down, he could run down quick before they came, he would have to tell them, otherwise they wouldnt fucking know, they wouldnt know they were fucking there. He had smoked the whole of
Ray’s fag. He had nothing in his pockets. Even a bit of chewing gum! He walked a couple of paces away along the main road, turned back. No sign of the moon anywhere. It was funny how it
disappeared. Clouds were so fucking thin but they could hide the moon. He got to the corner and looked round and there was the man in dungarees, the big skinny guy with the specs, he had seen
Lecky; he was smoking and had taken the cigarette from his mouth while staring over; now he was staring into the shop doorway, now back to Lecky. And Lecky stood still. If the guy didnt actually
see him but was just staring in the general direction. He wasnt, he was watching; you could tell, just by the way he was standing, he was obviously fucking watching, the fag sticking out his mouth.
Lecky stepped back behind the corner. A moment later he peered round again: the man in the dungarees continued to stare at him. What to do. He walked a few paces away from the street, along the
main road. What was he to do? He stopped and turned. What. Back to the corner. Fuck. Right round it and along to the shop doorway, that fucking bastard still standing there staring, fucking staring
bastard, skinny big specky-eyed bastard standing there fucking staring as if he was a fucking sentry on guard duty, fucking Buckingham fucking Palace. Lecky stopped opposite him and he stared
across, the big skinny guy staring back. He wanted a smoke, a smoke would fucking be good. And then the man about-turned and went in through a door and Lecky moved smartly into the shop and the
interior, pitch-dark till his eyes got accustomed and there was another room; stairs down to the basement: John! John! Lecky yelled: John! Fuck sake!

Silence.

John! Quick! Right now! Move!

Then a loud banging sound and foosteps rushing and Ray was in view below. That big bastard, cried Lecky.

What?

He saw us, he’s away to fucking do us. Quick!

What? Who ye fucking talking about?

Him, the big skinny bastard – the one that reversed out the lorry.

Ray was gazing up at him.

Honest man I’m no kidding ye, he’s away to fucking grass us, yous better fucking come . . .

But Ray was off before he finished talking and he felt like going right after him, gubbing him one on the fucking mouth, ignorant bastard, he was a fucking ignorant bastard – a good bit
aulder than Lecky but so what: Lecky was bigger and he was fucking harder, he knew he was fucking harder, and he would knock fuck out him. So fucking ignorant. Lecky stared down into the basement,
so gloomy and dark. Where the fuck was John? He glanced back at the doorway, walked towards it, then stopped. What was he to do. Another room to the side, also in darkness. He stepped a pace and
his heel crunched glass, a lot of it. Sounds from the basment but quite vague and far away. Bloody smell of dampness too, like fungus or something – it was as if the place hadnt been used for
years. So dark. He stood still. The very last thing was to close his eyes, no even for a moment.

Was that a thump! He crouched. It was like a thump. He stood very still then dashed to the top of the basement stairs and shouted, John! John! Fuck sake come on!

Nothing. They didnt answer.

There were no sounds at all. He needed a pish. Fucking desperate. He went a step while unzipping his fly, started peeing, there was steam, a steady ssssss, it was calming; ssssss. If there
werent any sounds from below it meant they had stopped and were in through to the other place, they had made the breakthrough. He stepped back. A dribble of urine down his leg. He walked a few
paces, again crunching glass. He bent to the floor and picked out a long sliver which would act as a weapon, a knife – and there was that good feeling when he held it tight; it was knowing it
was dangerous just by that alone, by the way you held it tight in your hand without any gloves to cover it, its ragged edges, how they would cut into you. And what was that was that a thump? it
sounded like a big fucking thump! Lecky had crouched and now he stood perfectly still and there were footsteps. It was a polis standing in from the front doorway wearing one of these big fucking
black coats; funny how they always fucking wore them. Lecky flashed the sliver of glass in his right hand. Dont come fucking near, he said, or I’ll cut your face.

The polis watched him. Then disappeared. Away for handers. Them and their fucking handers they always had fucking handers, you never knew how many there were going to be, dirty bastards.

Another pish, it was desperate, he moved quickly, into the room he had last been, to the far side, doing the pee immediately. Then back to the top of the basement stairs, the sliver of glass
back in his right hand. But he didnt want to go down the fucking stairs because he would be trapped. Where was fucking John? And that other cunt. Where the fuck.

Plus the voices, footsteps. Trying to be low; keeping things low – as if he was fucking stupid or deaf or something. Bastards. Fucking funny polis right enough. Lecky felt a dampness in
his hand like blood or sweat or something, a stickiness. What would he do would he just fucking drop it and just let it go and get down into the basement man if there was a place to get out, a
fucking hole maybe – where had they went? The glass, getting crunched, their big fucking feet now, there wasnt going to be time.

Some folk would think it was her keeps them the gether, without her who knows what they would do, making sure they get their grub, whatever it is, the bowl of soup, the sausage
and egg, whenever she gets round to making it. But it’s all an illusion, it just isnt true. It’s sentimentality. It isnt a true picture at all. People just like to think that because
they dont want to think something else. You see her, she hardly talks at all. And she never walks in the middle. There is something but right enough, you dont quite know what it is about her. Plus
the fact she never seems to hear what the other two are talking about. She has a set look on her face all the time. Probably she knows everything they have to say anyway, their conversation’s
probably the same all the time. The older guy is about fifty years of age, the younger one about thirty-five, maybe even a nephew, because their relationship appears to be to do with family rather
than friendship, but this is guesswork. It looks like the older one has been the longest with the woman, that the younger one just came along and decided he wanted in on the act. Unless it was a
case of being invited in by the other two, or just the man, because this nephew, you dont feel he’s really up to doing things for himself and neither do you get the feeling about her, about
the woman, that she ever gets a say in the matter either, unless maybe she doesnt want one; she has such an inferior way of going about you can hardly imagine her ever saying much at all. But this
might no be true, maybe she does, maybe she just gives the impression she doesnt. Whenever they walk down the road people stare at them, and they’re open about it, because of the way they
look, as if they’re full of their own lives, as if what they do concerns them to the exclusion of everything else. Not only does that make them interesting it means folk feel able to stare at
them without them noticing which is just as well maybe because the older guy is quite aggressive; you get the feeling about that, there’s a nastiness about his face, he’s always got a
girn. He’s definitely the chief. But then one time right enough she was on her own and she walked normal, she was swigging from a can of stout, so she might not be as docile as people think.
Somebody looked at her and she looked back. The person had just came out the baker shop near the Botanic Gardens and maybe was having to step out her road – whatever, but the woman just gave
her a ‘look’. Somebody told me, apropos of what I dont know, that she ‘liked the men’, meaning she liked to go with men. But that makes it seem she’s got choices. It
makes it seem like she’s been able to make up her mind about things some of the time but maybe she doesnt, folk just like to think about other folk, especially women, they like to think they
make up their minds about everything. But they dont, it’s a fallacy.

Except I suppose there’s the swing of her skirt. That lurching movement makes you think of a piece of material just thick with dirt and that is what you think of that skirt it’s like
you can imagine the sperm of quite a lot of men. Having said that it’s important to say about her how you always think she is the one who is reflective, that it is her who reflects on what is
happening roundabout; she’s the one that notices what people are signifying when they look at the three of them. Plus if ever you’re confronted by them, it’s her eyes that stay
with you; it’s her you see eventually, the one who makes it hard for you. It can start you thinking about things, probably about men and women I suppose, the different types of relationships
they have, how you think the women it is who carry the burden yet in such a veiled aggressive way you never feel sorry for them. They know the score. It’s as if it’s always them that
work out the percentages. Even her, this one, the weight of her skirt, you dont for a minute think she is a hopeless victim and you dont think she is as passive as she makes out. Right enough she
is a victim in the way she is just one woman having to face up to two men and you dont know quite what goes on in that situation, even if she sometimes has to find a punter if they’re in
trouble. That time she was overheard when they were seated on the bench down by the Kelvin, just over by the kids’ swing park, and she says something that showed how she felt on her own in
the company, what she said wasnt heard by the two guys – or else they didnt pay it any attention, they never ‘heard’ her. They were on the paving stones at the edge of the flower
beds, the two of them involved about something or other, or maybe nearer the point, the guy with the permanent girn on his face was talking and the nephew was listening, and then the woman says.
It’s no like that. Her hair straggling down her shoulders and her mouth gumsy. I think the nephew heard her and the other guy didnt because he just never expected her to speak unless spoken
to, something like that. But again you know there’s that way you can tell when somebody isnt very bright, maybe just how he sometimes smiles for no reason anybody can see and that nephew was
a bit like that, I dont think he was the full shilling. So girny, the older guy, he turns to her: Did you speak there?

Naw.

Aye you did.

I didni.

Aye ye did.

I didni.

Ye fucking did.

Then she just shut up. Girny stared at her and you would have expected him to hit her one. I think he would’ve if she had said anything more. He was daring her, that’s what he was
doing. But she never says fuck all. She just stared at the other women, the ones with their kids playing on the swings and you wondered about that, if she was away thinking about them and relating
it to herself, the way she was. It was sad. You felt as if there was this terrible awful gap between them but there wasnt really. It was all a bit weird. I just wish she could have washed her hair.
I felt that for her. I felt if she had done that then the gap wouldnt have been so bad and so big, all them with their weans playing in the wee swing park, all standing there having their wee
chin-wag the way women do, enjoying the sun and all that, while there was this other one, their comrade I suppose in solidarity, there she was, but they werent bothering about her, trying no to see
her, then there was girny himself getting up off the bench and giving her the wire, Come on you, he said, not in actual words but just the way he jerked his thumb; the nephew as well, giving her a
look, and then they went away down towards the old dummy railway.