The Tin-Kin (28 page)

Big Ellen helped Dawn put some papers back in the bag.

Is this everything of the old woman’s that you’ve kept?

Aye. Almost everything of hers got burned when she died. Even the wooden organ. She says we were to smash the bonnie thing tae pieces and burn it after she went, she says. It was the auld way of doing things. It’s a belief, ken? That it’s nae clean otherwise. Folk say a person has tae go tae the next life, nae hang around here caught up in the million wee bitties they collect.

A fat envelope had fallen on the floor beside the leather bag and Dawn reached down for it. There was a label on the front, letters punched out by an old typewriter: ‘John Whyte – Personal Effects’.

The mouth of the envelope was curled open, and Dawn’s fingers sank into the contents as they slid onto her knees. It was a woollen rag, rough, threadbare in places. It smelt of the enve-
lope it had been kept in, the paper so old it was soft as cotton. Some of the paper fibres had wiped onto her fingers and into the wool. She began unfolding, smoothing out the rag.

It was a blue scarf. Dawn felt the stains before she saw them, and she knew it would be blood. Hard and dry like burnt paper. She didn’t throw it from her. She drew the rusty stains through her hands, wanting to touch them, watching as they appeared from the folds. It was a girl’s scarf. Shirley must have given it to Jock, the same one she’d worn in the photographs taken at the beach. There was a snowflake pattern on it. Dawn imagined Jock’s neck against the wool, his skin and soft, black hair. She pressed the scarf against her cheeks, closed her eyes and breathed in the smell. Paper and damp. A strand of wool was unravelling.

Big Ellen took Dawn round the site and showed her where the other vans had been. No one had called for the fire engines and no one had brought water. There wasn’t enough water anyway, just what came from the two taps in the prefab at the site. There was no way to stop a van from going up, Big Ellen told her. They disappeared in a few minutes. Dawn imagined the flames, the billowing black smoke, and then the wind blowing it away, nothing left but rectangles of crumbs.

One more question, Dawn said.

Big Ellen had come to the gate with them, and Dawn was wearing Maeve across her shoulders, sleepy and happy again.

Did Jock and Shirley have a child?

Big Ellen clicked her tongue. Wee Betsy, one ae his nieces, she heard a story about that. But, well. Wee Betsy was a bairn. She told lots of stories! And even if it was true there was nothing tae be done. Folk could dae what they wanted with their families back then. Sometimes it was better that way and sometimes it was not.

Big Ellen pushed the old bag into Dawn’s hands and waved
them goodbye. Inside the bag was the tin, the scarf, and the inquest on the death, which Dawn hadn’t read yet.

When you read that, remember they didnae ken him like we did, Big Ellen said. But I’m glad you have it. Now we can all move on.

   SONG   

J
ock, 1955

I want tae look my best. I do my hair at the sink, flick it over at the front, smooth it down with my fingertips. Brylcreem keeps it in place, more or less. I use a bit extra today, and shine my shoes with stuff out ae another pot which doesnae look much different from the Bryl. I managed tae get a wee hole on my best shirt, near the shoulder, a pity, but it hardly shows. I could cover it up with a waistcoat, only the best one I’ve got is my uniform. Loll might recognise it. I go for a thick jumper instead. It’s bloody cal outside, and the waistcoat needs a mend anyway.

A button came off today while I was working. It only happened cause Lolly’s father came intae the station. I get the jitters round him, need something for ma fingers tae do. He queued at my ticket booth. I could hardly breathe cause I kent I’d have tae speak with him. It’s stupid, but I was wondering if he’d cottoned on tae me. He’d a look on his face, concentrated, like when he’s hacking the meat in his shop. I lost my heid, had tae ask the passenger in front ae him three times where she was going (‘Was that Rothes or Forres ye wanted again?’). I forgot if she was after a single or a return. Bloody useless. I didnae ken where tae look. He got tae the front.

‘Single to Aberdeen, leaving tomorrow.’

The man wouldnae look me in the eye, which was fine by me. But then things got much worse. Lolly’s da was just turning away from the booth when Munro arrived tae buy his fags from the stand. They’re nae right, that whole toby family, and this one, the father, he’s the worst. He struts round in his
bobby’s hat picking fights with folk cause he kens everyone laughs at him. He talks like a jenny whistle on the boil, whistling through his teeth.

Duncan went for one ae Munro’s sons a couple ae months back when he wouldnae pay him for a job. It was daft, but he didnae hurt the man. Still, he was lucky he didnae get a sentence for it. If you get on the wrong side ae that family you’ve nae a hope in God’s earth, and we’re aie in the bad books.

Anyway, just my bloody luck, they ken each other, Lolly’s father and Munro. Normally people sit in the waiting rooms if they’re just having a chat, but Lolly’s father stood there till Munro’d bought his fags and then he called him over. He led him ontae the empty platform and started asking questions. I could see them talking through the windae and it didnae look like ordinary small talk either. I tried nae tae stare, nae tae look guilty. I tried tae tell myself maybe it was a bet on the horses, or a police matter.

Anyway, I started fiddling with my waistcoat button and it came loose. It fell intae the wee brass bowl in the counter that’s there tae take the pennies off the customers. The auld lady I was serving pointed down and said tae put the button in my pocket, take it home safe so my ma could sew it back on. So that’s what I did.

Ye cannae go tae work with a button missin or ye’d get in trouble with the station master. The other lads complain about him and his rules, and call him the Sergeant Major behind his back. He checks our shoes are clean and ties are straight every time he walks past, a sergeant on parade. I kid on with the rest ae the lads, and pretend tae salute when he turns round, but really I get a kick out ae wearin ma uniform. Naebody else round here has togs like it, so tae look at me you’d never guess I’m from Lady Lane.

The station’s a great building, the kind ae place ye’d feel small if ye werenae scrubbed up. It’s the grandest building I’ve ever seen. The ceiling in the ticket hall’s high as three ae ma hooses
one on top ae the other, and it’s all decorated at the top. There’s a patterned wood floor, more like a ballroom than a station. Arriving here by train, folk would think Elgin was paved with gold.

I spend most ae the time in the ticket booths, behind a glass windae with holes in it so I can hear the passengers. They wait at a rail till it’s their turn, and all the dillys make eyes. I’ve seen them! Sometimes the older ladies do it an all. I’ve had an offer or two off the auld wifeys, monied types with fur coats and silk gloves, jewels strung round their necks, dripping off their ears! Most ae them are married. I get a glimpse ae the wedding rings when they jingle their pennies intae the bowl.

I thought about an offer I got, just once. Well, more than once, if I’m honest, but just one time in particular. An American woman with red lips like in the pictures. I’d been working out on the platform and she tottered up in her heels, asked me tae escort her tae her automobile, carry her cases cause her feet were sore. We’ve wee louns tae dae that job, but she wouldnae take no for an answer. Anyway, she didnae waste any time telling me where she’d be staying and how lonely she’d be. Aye, you get the picture.

Later that night I took a stroll, caught a look at her hoose. It was a bloody castle. I stood a while at the gate, but she never came tae a window, and some jumbo jingies I’d ae needed tae strut up the driveway and ring the bell.

Of course, this was before I met Lolly. Maybe we’ll go tae the pictures tonight. She loves the pictures. I go tae my paper and turn tae the entertainment pages tae hae a look at what’s playin. Joan Crawford, Sterling Hayden and Scott Brady in
Johnny Guitar
is on with
The Case ae Soho Red
. Might be all right. I’ll ask what she thinks. We’re meeting at Peter’s Café for a cup ae tea first anyway. As soon as I’ve got this button sorted.

I’m on my way over the hall tae Ma, but I catch sight ae Curly with Wee Betsy at the top ae the dancers.

‘I’ve lost a button.’

I hold up the waistcoat tae show her where. Curly loves me in my smart clothes, so I ken she’ll mend it for me, and the truth is, she’s better at stitching than my ma. Ma’s eyesight still keen, but half the time she’s in a dwam these days. Sure enough, Curly smiles.

‘Oh, I can dae that for you, bring it here. Need it in the morning, dae ye? Have ye kept the button?’

I fumble in the pocket ae my waistcoat. For a second I feel like I did at the station, remembering that look Munro gave me. I swallow, ken the button’s in here somewhere. I’m just up a few steps, nae lookin where I’m going, and my wee niece nearly knocks me over, rushing past on her way out tae play. She looks back with a grin plastered across her face.

‘Bye, Uncle Jock!’

‘What’s got intae you?’ I want tae ask, but she doesnae gie me the time. I sometimes wonder what planet that bairn’s fae. God love her.

‘Dinnae slam . . . ‘ shouts Curly.

The door slams and Curly sucks in her words. She shakes her heid from side tae side.

Lolly’s waiting for me in the café. She doesnae turn round when I open the door and the bell tinkles. Smoke twists up over her shoulder. She must’ve been here a while cause there’s an empty teacup pushed tae the side ae her. I’m nae late, but.

I decide tae put a song on the jukebox, one she’ll like. My coin drops intae the slot and I watch the arm fetch the record. The Crew Cuts start singing.

Hey nonny ding dong, alang, alang, alang.

‘Loll!’ I say, puttin my hand on her back. I kiss her cheek and then scoot round tae sit in the chair opposite. That’s when I see
she’s been greeting quietly, staring out the window and letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Her eyes are red and there’s a balled-up hankie in her fingers. In a hurry she dabs at her face, and for a second she pretends everything’s dandy and as usual. She stabs her ciggie a bit rougher than she needs tae.

Oh life could be a dream, sh-boom,
If only all my precious plans would come true . . .

I’m nae very good when dillys start greeting, tae be honest. I get embarrassed. My stomach turns over as the waitress comes asking what I’ll have. A tea, I tell her. Two more teas, please.

‘Lolo?’ I feel like half my breath’s being stolen. I’m dreading what the matter might be, and she doesnae even bloody answer. I swallow.

‘Yer da?’ I say.

He’s my worst fear, her bloody da. She stares outside, willnae look me in the eye. I clear my throat.

‘Yer da was at the station today.’

Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da da Da-da da Da-da da Da.

I wish I hadnae wasted my money on that stupid song now.

Lolly makes a funny noise and puts the hankie up tae her lips.

I think how much she looks like a wee dilly, like Rachel thon time, greeting in the corner for an hour cause she’d saved up her sweeties for months, thinking she would hae a feast, and then found them all rotten at the bottom ae the tin, poor craitur.

Ba-doh, ba-doo, ba-doodle-ay
Life could be a dream

The waitress arrives with two cups and a wee pot ae tea. She keeps her eyes lowered but I notice her glance up at Lolly as she
pushes one ae the saucers across the table. It makes a scraping sound. She probably think’s I’m the reason Loll’s upset, and I feel guilty even though I ken it’s nae my fault, whatever it is.

‘Cheers,’ I say, maybe too quiet for anyone tae hear. The waitress is embarrassed for us. She whips round and scurries back behind the counter, where I ken she’ll sit listening fae behind the coffee machine. The song finishes and I hear the record being slotted back in place. It’s so silent I hear myself breathe out. Thank Heaven we’re the only customers.

Nae a word passes between us. The tea sloshes, bubbles roun my belly, and it’s nae till halfway through the cup I realise I’ve forgotten tae put sugar in. I aie take two lumps. As I stir them intae what’s left ae the tea, the thought going round my heid is that thon film’s starting in half an hour. We’d be there if things were different. There’s no point in mentioning it, but I just cannae get the thought tae go away.