Nipper (16 page)

‘A couple o’ perch. I had a massive pike on but it snapped the line.’

Calum puts his hand up to his mouth. ‘Bullshit!’ he says, faking a cough.

‘What did you say, yi little dick?’

‘Nothing mate, I’ve got a bad cough.’

I start laughing at Calum. He’s always trying to wind people up.

‘What size were the pike’s teeth, mate?’ he says in an innocent tone.

‘They were huge like!’

‘Was it like
Jaws
?’

I’m already trying not to laugh because I know what Calum’s doing.

‘I’ll crack your puss, yi wee fanny.’

‘You’ll have to catch me first, mate.’

‘Keep winding me up, ginger.’

‘What are ya gonna dae, set one o’ yir sharks on me?’

‘Right, you little fucker.’

Calum takes to his heels into the woods and the bloke drops his fishing rod and chases after him. I’m pissing my sides as Calum’s now running and shouting, ‘Kin yi no tak a joke!! I wiz only joking.’

The bloke is actually winding Calum up, as he winks when he runs past me, but I don’t let on as I want to see how far Calum will run. Finally the bloke comes walking back without Calum as he’s too tall to get through all the low branches that Calum glides under with no problem.

‘See ya lads, good luck,’ I say.

‘Yea, see ya wee man.’

I head off into the trees in the direction of Big Ged’s field, shouting at the top of my voice, ‘Calum it’s me, Calum where are yi?’

‘Charlie! Ahhgh you scared the shit out of me then.’

He’s up a tree four feet from my head and screaming my name in the pitch black. He gets down from the tree and we can see light poking through the bottom of the branches.

‘This wiy, Calum. Come on.’

‘This is no the wiy oot.’

‘I know, we’re going to Big Ged’s field.’

‘No chance, Charlie, he blows people’s fucking heads off.’

‘No he doesn’t, I’ve nicked aboot forty bags o’ his tatties and I’ve still got a head!’

‘You could do with a new one.’

‘Shut it, carrot top.’

‘OK, Plug.’

I’m not going to get into a slagging match with him as I haven’t won one yet. Oh yeah! My ears stick out – hence the plug comment.

‘Shut up, Calum, are you coming or are you a pussy?’

‘Give me a bowl of milk and I’ll tell you.’ He’s very hard to have a serious conversation with.

‘OK then, clever arse, I’ll go and get some free tatties and you head back to that lad that wants to put you on the end of his hook and I don’t mean his fishing hook.’

‘What hook do ya mean?’

‘A fuckin’ left hook – dowball, come on.’

We start walking towards the field. Calum has decided to come with me as it’s a bit safer – well, as far as he knows.

‘Charlie!’

‘Yeah, what is it?’

‘If Farmer Ged blows your legs off, don’t come running to me!’

‘Shut up, you half-wit,’ I giggle.

We climb over the barbed-wire fence that surrounds the field and go on our mission. Calum is looking a bit edgy, sticking close behind me and peering all around like a meerkat on its back legs.

‘If I hear a bang I’m oot o’ here.’

‘If you hear a bang, Calum, ane o’ us will be horizontal.’

‘Shut it, Charlie, I’m already turtling.’ He means he’s shitting himself.

We have to walk quite a bit into the field as the side next to the woods has been plundered by the whole of St Mary’s. Nobody ever goes more than halfway across as the fear of becoming target practice is too much. Not me though, I’ve coped with a lot more than a little double-barrelled shotgun in my life. At least in a field you have the chance of escape.

‘Right, Calum boy, this will do here. Get digging.’

‘I’ve not got a shovel.’

‘With your hands, yi dork.’

‘Alright, there’s no need to get personal.’

I can’t even look at him without laughing. Every time he opens his mouth I can feel my cheekbones against the bottom of my eyes.

‘Charlie!’

‘Yeah, what is it?’

‘Is there a point to what we’re dain’ here?’

‘Of course, mate, we’re on a mission.’

It isn’t just that. I’m trying to score some brownie points with Dad and I knew Calum wasn’t arsed about the spuds so I’d have double the amount to take home.

‘I think we have enough now, Charlie.’

I turn around and he has twenty or so great big spuds cradled in his pulled-up jumper, and behind him is this massive figure that reminds me of a silverback gorilla.

It’s Big Ged. He looks like a cross between the Jolly Green Giant and Quasimodo. He has a brown cap on, a grey,
hand-knitted jumper with holes in it, and a shotgun leaning on his shoulder pointing up towards the sky.

We both just freeze, as there’s no chance of escape with one of those things being fired at you. Calum lets go of his jumper and all the spuds land at his feet. I just keep staring at the gun, hoping he won’t lower it in my direction.

‘It was his idea, mister,’ Calum pipes up. ‘I dinna even eat tatties.’

Big Ged just keeps standing there staring at me with his big black beadie eyes. His pupils are massive – you can’t see the actual colour of his eyes, but they look a bit like great big shiny balls of chocolate, like Minstrels.

‘Have you got anything to say, thief?’

That’s Ged’s first words as he looks at me.

‘We’re homeless, mister,’ I say quickly. ‘We got kicked out of the home we lived in, and we’ve not eaten for days.’

His angry expression instantly changes – I think he’s looking sorry for us, even saddened. I’ve got him hook, line and sinker and I’m just praying that Calum doesn’t open his gob and ruin the story I’ve made up.

I’ve become a brilliant liar, as I’ve had to tell so many for Dad over the years.

‘Pick them tatties back up,’ says Big Ged, as he turns to Calum.

Calum looks confused and looks to me.

‘Go on then, it’s alright,’ I say.

The farmer turns back to me. ‘I’ll never see you in this field again, will I?’

‘No I promise, mister, you’ll never see me again.’

‘Right, get lost!’

‘Thanks, mister.’

‘Yeah, cheers mister,’ Calum pipes in.

It’s funny you know, everybody had said for years that Big Ged the farmer was evil, but I’ve seen a different man than what I believed him to be. And even though I’ve been telling him what he wanted to hear so he wouldn’t fill the both of us with shotgun pellets, I never do go back near his field again. As for Big Ged, those thirty odd tatties he’s given us have bought him two less people stealing his livelihood.

We walk back across the field towards the woods and Calum keeps looking back behind him, as he never believes we’re gonna get off that easy.

‘I’ll bet yi a tennar that nutter shoots us when wir at the fence.’

‘Just keep walkin’, Calum. Everything’s cool.’

We climb the fence and walk through the woods back towards the reservoir.

‘Shit!’ Calum stops. ‘What aboot that guy that wiz fishin’ earlier, you go up and check if he’s there.’

‘He was only winding you up mate, he wisna really gonna do ya.’

‘Oh! Does he think he’s funny? I’d fuckin’ take him one on one anyway.’

He never does learn. Just out of one situation and he wants to go and start another load of hassle.

‘You don’t have to prove to him, Calum. Eh ken you can do him, and you ken yi kid do him, so dinna worrie aboot it.’

‘
Exactamungo
, me old flower.’

Where the hell does he get all these sayings?

We head back through Clatto towards home, the lads that were fishing earlier have moved away round the other side and it’s getting a bit dark.

‘I’d better get home, Calum, I’m starvin’.’

‘Yeah me tae, I could eat a scabby horse.’

I think he means he’s hungry. We head back into St Mary’s down towards my house, as he lives further down at the bottom of St Fillans Road. We reach my house, and Calum empties the contents of his jumper onto my next-door neighbour’s car boot.

‘I’ll see yi in the morin’, mate.’

‘Yeah, I’ll come doon fir yi when I get up. See yi, mate.’

I run into the house through the side door leading into the kitchen to get a carrier bag for the spuds. I can’t wait to see what Dad will say. Just for once he’s going to be pleased with me. And now that we’ve moved to St Nicks, everything could be different between us.

It really could be a new start.

‘
I
s that you, Charlie?’

‘Yeah it’s me, Dad. I’ll just be a minute.’

I run back out to the car, fill the bag and run back in, then close the side door.

‘What the fuck are yi dain?’

I open the kitchen door into the living room. ‘Look, Dad, spuds.’

‘Where did yi git them?’

‘At the back o’ Clatto – Kerr’s Pinks!’

I’m now standing with a massive smile on my face, waiting for an equally massive pat on the back.

‘What did I tell about thieving?’

Nothing
, I think.
I’ve done it with you before
.

‘I’ve got them with you before, Dad – at the back o’ Clatto.’

‘Did I say yi could nick tatties fae Clatto?’

‘No, Dad, but I thought—’

‘Oh, yi thought, did yi?’

He doesn’t look that drunk, but he’s had a few.

‘Sit doon, geeze that fucking bag!’ He snatches it out of my hand. ‘Are yi awa ti start yir shit up here now?’ He means the new house and area in St Nicholas Place. ‘Next it’ll be the polis at the door.’

You’ve got some neck, I think, you’re on first-name terms with every copper in Scotland.

‘And I just thought—’

‘Yeah, yi said that earlier.’

Let me speak, you evil bastard
. That’s what I feel like saying.

‘I tried to save you money.’ I’ve actually managed to rattle a sentence off without being interrupted.

‘Are yi tryin’ to say eh canna afford tatties like? Is that yir brilliant excuse, is it? Eh canna afford tatties!’ he shouts at me. ‘Well, OK yi better go and cook them then. Oh I forgot, yiv never peeled a fucking tattie in yir life.’

I’ve been making stuff to eat for myself while you’ve been comatose since I was six
, I think angrily to myself.

He throws the bag of spuds in my direction, then takes a swig from his glass. ‘What else did yi git up ti the day? Rob any grannies, smash some phone boxes, did yi have a good time, while I’ve been lookin after
yir dog!
’

‘But Dad, you—’

‘
But Dad, but Dad, but Dad
…’ he mocks in a high-pitched voice. ‘If I had a pound for every time yi said “but Dad,” yi wouldna have to go and stale tatties. “But Dad this, but Dad I’m sorry, but Dad, it wasn’t my fault”…
Fuck yi
we yir “but dads”. I’m no yir dad.’

He stands up and walks towards me, ‘Yir uncle’s yir dad and fae now on yi say, “But Mug,” my new name is Mug, no Dad, Mug.’

I feel like going into the kitchen, grabbing a knife and driving it right through his pissed up, crooked, evil face. Even though I’m shit scared I’m getting angry and he detects it in my face.

‘Oh di yi no like Daddy saying that,’ he says, mock slapping me in the face and talking to me in a baby voice as if I were three years old. ‘Yi’ll never be big enough, yi little shit.’

Then a punch comes out of nowhere, and rattles the side of my jaw. I’ve forgotten how hard his punch can be, as he has been legless for the past couple of years when he’s battered me, and he’s only tipsy now. I fall sideways onto the couch and the white flash I see is weird – it’s the same flash you see when you get electrocuted.

He sits back down in his chair and takes another sip of his voddy. ‘See what yi’ve made me do now, yi little cunt.’

Oh I’m sorry, did I hurt your hand with my jaw?
I can taste the blood inside my mouth, as I’ve bitten my cheek on the inside when he smacked me, and I can feel one of my teeth has come loose and my jaw’s throbbing.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I say feebly.

‘I’m no yir dad, are yi deaf?’

Another four inches higher with that punch and I would have been.

‘You call me “Mug” fae now on.’

Yeah right, so you can do the Highland Fling on my nut again. No thanks, I think I’ll pass
.

He’s trying to get me to call him a mug. I’m sure he enjoys me calling him names or swearing, so he can get more wound up. Not that he needs any help in that department.

Bonnie has taken off upstairs at the beginning, as even she knows that different levels of drunk mean different levels of memory the next day. If he’s falling about trying to batter one of us Bonnie will stick around, because he misses with a lot of shots and she wants to keep an eye on me. She also knows that he’ll forget the next day. But if he’s this kind of drunk, she knows that he’ll go back and forward from me to her, and the pain is sometimes too much for her to take.

I just sit there for the next hour and a half saying nothing, watching him drink then refill his glass with voddy and Coke. He doesn’t speak to me either – it’s another one of his mental torture games. Then he’ll stand up really quick as if it’s all going to kick off, and then stretch and sit back down, smirking at the fact that I’ve just flinched.

The twat enjoys it. It’s taken me a long time to realise it – the whole of six years since I was four years old. Now I’m ten I’m starting to see it: he’s trying to make me lose it. And it
works. My mind is being overloaded with so many confusing things, I start thinking that I’m the one who’s crazy and not him.

Around five hours have passed and I’m starving but I can’t talk until he talks or it might start him off. My stomach’s making rumbling noises, and I even try to muffle them with a cushion, as I don’t want him to remember I’m still there.

‘What are yi fuckin’ sittin’ there for?’

I don’t answer.

He turns back towards the TV, swaying a bit now. ‘
I said
, what are yi fuckin’
lookin’
at me for?’

What!
He never said that a minute ago, did he? I think I must be losing the plot.

‘I’m just watchin’ TV, Dad.’