‘Get into them!’
‘Celtic scum!’
An old man stood in the middle of the street and shouted at the top of his lungs: ‘Tan their hides! Tan their bluebottle hides for them!’
A boy not much older than Joe, wearing a Union flag T-shirt, ran over and kicked him on the legs.
Two mounted police at the corner of the road turned their horses towards them.
‘The horses!’ Joe gasped.
Joe’s dad grabbed him by the shoulder and shunted him against the wall.
Joe felt his father’s face close to his. His body covering him with his own. He could smell his dad’s skin, the wet of the rain on his hair, the sweat of fear. His dad spread his arms to protect him as the horses galloped past and on towards the fighting men.
‘Don’t look back,’ his dad said. He grabbed Joe’s hand and pulled him on.
But Joe did. He saw the brawling group scatter as the horses thundered among them.
When they were well away from the trouble Joe and his dad stopped.
‘That Desmond,’ said Joe’s dad. ‘He’ll land up in the jail one day.’
‘Shouldn’t we try to find him?’ asked Joe.
‘No,’ his dad said emphatically. ‘The thing about Desmond is, he’d take you down with him. Let’s hope the polis chase him all the way into the Clyde and it cools him off a bit. You’ll find that your Uncle Desmond can look after himself even though he causes chaos all around him. He’ll turn up at your Aunt Kathleen’s house tomorrow, looking for his dinner and full of the chat.’
As they came onto the High Street Joe’s dad said, ‘Roll your scarf up, son, and put it in your pocket. I think we’ll get the bus up the road tonight.’
Chapter 21
On Sunday morning Graham woke early.
Unless Rangers won he never felt good after an Old Firm game. Saturday’s match, ending in a one-all draw, left a slightly sour taste. Unfinished business, that’s what it was. Next Sunday’s league games were with Hearts and Kilmarnock. So it would be a full week before the League was decided. Then Rangers and Celtic would meet again in the Cup Final at the end of May.
Yesterday, with the final whistle gone, a light drizzle had started to fall and, very subdued, they had all headed back to his granda’s house through the wet streets of Glasgow. Graham had been glad when his dad had arrived early to collect him. His granda told his friends Sidney and Sadie how he was hoping Graham would be in the Orange Walk next week. Sadie spoke to Graham in the kitchen, saying that the old man might not have many years left and how much it meant to him. ‘It’s about sticking together,’ she said. ‘Family and loyalty. These things are even more important when you get older. And you’re his only grandchild, his grandson. He’s looking to you to carry on the tradition so the line won’t be broken. You should think about that, Graham.’
They’d all had a drink and played and replayed the contentious parts of the game on the television that clearly displayed the bias of the referee. For his own interest Graham would have liked to watch the action showing Carmichael’s run-through as he’d muscled aside the defence. But he didn’t dare tell his granda that he wanted to study the technique of Celtic’s striker. He’d managed to get home in time to record the late-night highlights on his own TV. As soon as he got a chance he’d study the Celtic player’s positioning when he’d picked up on the cross to score the goal. But this morning’s problem was how to get out on his own.
At breakfast Graham told his parents that he’d arranged to meet some members from his football training sessions at lunch time to have a kick-about on Glasgow Green. No, he didn’t want them to come and watch. No really, thanks all the same. It was just a boys get-together. In fact if they insisted on being there he wouldn’t bother. They eventually agreed he could go, as long as Graham’s dad gave him a lift into the city and met at least one of the other boys. Also Graham had to promise to phone and let them know when he was coming home.
‘You’ll be careful, won’t you?’ Graham’s dad said as they came into the city centre where the streets were crowded with shoppers and street traders.
Graham nodded.
‘Your mum and I have only your best interests in mind when we warn you about the dangers you might face when you’re out with your friends.’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Shall I read you the list?’
Graham sighed. ‘I’ll do it for you if you like.’
His dad grinned. ‘Go on then.’
Graham took a deep breath. ‘Don’t do drugs. Don’t do drink. Don’t nick anything, even for a laugh or a dare. A police record doesn’t help later in life. Don’t go with strangers. Don’t pick up a syringe. Don’t go with the crowd if something inside you is telling you no.
‘Don’t. Don’t. Don’t,’ he finished wearily.
At the far end of Glasgow Green his dad turned the car in front of the ornate façade of the old Templeton’s carpet factory and stopped a short distance from the People’s Palace. Graham could see Joe waiting for him at the entrance. He jumped out of the car. Graham’s dad lowered the car window and beckoned.
Joe came over.
‘This is Joe,’ said Graham.
‘Hi,’ said Joe.
‘I hear you’re a good football player,’ said Graham’s dad.
Joe grinned. ‘I am,’ he said. He jerked his thumb at Graham. ‘He’s no bad either.’
Graham’s dad smiled. ‘OK,’ he said. As he put the car into gear and made to pull away he called out the window to the two boys. ‘Do enjoy yourselves this afternoon.’
‘What did you tell your parents about today?’ Joe asked Graham as soon as they were alone.
Graham pointed to his rucksack. ‘I brought my football gear. Said we were doing some extra training together.’
‘Could do,’ said Joe. ‘After we’ve done the business at the hospital. My Uncle Desmond said yesterday he’d be around today. I could phone him if you like.’
Graham shrugged. ‘We’ll see how this goes.’ He knew that when Joe had met up with his uncle yesterday it would probably have been at the Old Firm game, but he didn’t want to refer to that.
For his part Joe didn’t mention that Desmond was not actually his uncle, but Jammy’s. As far as Joe was concerned Jammy and his relatives were harmless, but he didn’t want to put the frighteners on Graham. Instead he said, ‘OK. Let’s get this game over with first. If we cross London Road and go on to the Gallowgate, we can jump on a bus that’ll get us to the City Hospital in time for visiting. C’mon, we’ll cut through The Barras.’
Chapter 22
Graham followed as Joe went past Glickman’s sweetie shop and plunged through the busy market stalls that sold everything from second-hand tat and genuine antiques to goods you could buy in the shops – sometimes even before they were available in the shops. Football memorabilia crowded in with picture postcards and vinyl LPs. Interesting historical memorabilia side by side with utter junk.
Young guys stood on corners selling any number of items. From stalls and the backs of vans people called on customers: ‘Get your DVDs here! Quick now! Snap up a bargain! See the latest movies! Before the stars themselves! Before the film premiere! Before the polis arrive!’
‘Worth coming for the patter alone,’ said Graham, smiling.
‘I need a minute.’ Joe stepped off the street into an ornate doorway.
‘Hang on,’ said Graham, as he took in the sign outside:
ST FRANCISCUS CATHOLIC CHURCH
‘I’m not going in there.’ He grabbed Joe’s arm. ‘What are you up to?’
‘I’ve got something I have to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Just something.’ Joe shook Graham’s hand free.
‘I’ll just wait out here then.’
‘Are you scared to come inside?’ Joe challenged him.
‘No,’ said Graham. He followed Joe into the interior of the building and hung back at the door as Joe went over to a stand of candl
es. A man who might be a priest came walking up the main aisle. Supposing this man said something to him? He wouldn’t know how to answer. Weren’t you supposed to call them ‘Father’ or something? No way could he do that. And what if the man asked him a question? He’d know straight away that Graham wasn’t a Catholic. Graham went over beside Joe. ‘Whatever you’re doing, hurry up,’ he hissed.
‘OK, OK.’
‘What are you doing anyway?’
‘Putting up a candle,’ said Joe.
‘What!’
‘It’s for my ma,’ said Joe. ‘Since she died a few years ago I always do it if I pass this church. Right?’ he added belligerently.
Graham glanced around. He’d seen pictures of Catholic churches, with all their decorations and ornaments, but he had never actually been inside one before. There were statues everywhere. ‘Jeez-oh,’ he muttered.
‘It’s a very traditional church,’ Joe explained as he saw Graham looking about him. ‘My granny likes it. My ma was buried from here,’ he added.
‘It’s manic, so it is,’ said Graham.
‘Manic?’
‘Aye. There’s too much . . . stuff in your churches,’ said Graham.
‘How d’you mean stuff ?’
‘Like tons of things. Crosses and candlesticks and crucifixes and altars and wee coloured lamps here and there.’
Joe looked around, not seeing it as Graham did. How could he express to Graham the solid safety of his Faith? The knowledge that, if he ever had to lean back, there would be something there to support him.
‘And statues . . .’ Graham flapped his hands. ‘There’s hunners of statues in here.’
‘Yeh, but they’re to different people,’ explained Joe.
‘What d’you need so many for?’
‘They’re the saints,’ said Joe. ‘You can pray to them for special intentions.’
‘There is only one God.’ Graham was quoting his granda. ‘If you believe in anything at all, then there can be only one Creator,’ he added with more conviction.
‘Aye, I know,’ Joe replied. ‘But with us . . . religion, well it’s a whole life thing. Like, what you are, and who you are. And it’s good to have lots of people to help you in different ways.’
‘They all look the same to me,’ said Graham.
‘Naw, naw,’ said Joe. He pointed to a statue behind them. ‘That’s St Therese. You know it’s her because she’s got the crucifix and the roses. And she helps foreign missionaries.’
‘It’s just – just . . .’ Graham paused. He stopped short at using the word ‘superstition’ while Joe was standing inside his church lighting a candle for his mother who was dead. ‘It’s . . . it’s made-up stuff.’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Joe. ‘There’s a point to it. They each have their own stories. You learn about the things they did so that the way they lived their lives can help you with yours. Even you must’ve heard of St Christopher helping travellers. He carried Jesus over a river. I mean, that’s what his name means – Christopher, carrier of Christ. It’s my confirmation name. That’s how I know.’
‘Oh aye, I’ve heard of him,’ said Graham. He looked up. ‘What’s that one there? The one with the wee house. Who’s she? Goldilocks?’
‘None of your cheek,’ said Joe. ‘She’s St Brigid. My granny used to pray to her because her own name is Brigid and she couldn’t get a house when she came to Scotland at first. And then she got one. See? It worked.’
Not that well, thought Graham, if Joe’s family had ended up in the Garngath.
‘Who’s that one with the sore leg and the dog?’ he asked. ‘What’s his speciality?’
‘St Roch,’ said Joe. ‘He, em . . . his dog, em. I don’t know much about him. But this is my favourite,’ he added quickly, pointing to a statue of a monk cradling a dove in his hands. ‘He’s St Francis and he liked animals.’
Graham followed as Joe walked round the church.
‘There’s St Andrew.’ Joe was not to be stopped. ‘The patron saint of Scotland. He’s got his cross, see? That’s how we got our Scottish flag.’
‘I know that,’ said Graham.
‘St Anthony – finds things that are lost.’
‘Is there one that’d help us win through the football trials?’ asked Graham.
‘We could try St Jude. In fact’ – Joe gave Graham a wicked grin – ‘you could’ve given him a wee try yourself yesterday. He might’ve been able to help your team play a bit better.’
Graham looked at Joe. ‘Go on then, tell me. What’s he for?’
‘Hopeless cases,’ said Joe.
Graham decided to punch him, church or no church.
Joe skipped out of reach, laughing. ‘Fell for that one,’ he said. The boys jostled with each other until shushed by a woman sitting in a pew.
Before leaving Joe stretched out his hand over the candle and let the flame touch the skin of his palm for a second. Then he drew his hand away and bunched his fingers into a fist.
‘It was after my ma died that my dad got depression.’ Joe volunteered the information as the boys left the church together.
Chapter 23
Before they entered the grounds of the City Hospital Graham rammed his baseball cap down on his forehead.
‘This doesn’t cover enough of my face,’ he complained.
‘What do you suggest?’ Joe asked in a sarcastic tone of voice. ‘A mask? That might just attract a bit more attention.’
‘It’s all right for you to talk smart,’ said Graham. ‘But I’m the one who might be recognized.’
Joe’s cousin was waiting for him in the café near the front door.
‘This is my cousin Bernadette,’ said Joe. ‘Bernie, this is Gra— Gregory. We play football together.’
Joe’s cousin Bernie looked at Graham/Gregory before turning her attention to Joe. ‘What kind of trouble are you in?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing,’ said Joe breezily.
‘Don’t “nothing” me, Joseph Flaherty. I used to change your nappies when I babysat for your parents. The patient you asked me to find out about is in ward four hundred and two under supervised visiting. What’s your interest in him?’
‘Oh I remember you babysitting me, Cousin Bernadette.’ Joe grinned cheekily at the young woman sitting opposite him. ‘Especially when I got older, ’cos while you were supposed to be watching me so that I didn’t get up to any mischief, you took the time to nick my ma’s fags from the kitchen cupboard.’
Bernie grinned at him. ‘You wee spy,’ she said. ‘Don’t try to blackmail me, Cousin Joe. What are you up to?’
‘If you must know,’ Joe went on, ‘Gregory and me and some of our mates that play football together are sure we’ve seen the guy that’s in your hospital at our sports ground a couple of times. Somebody said they’d read in the paper that he’d been attacked. We think he might’ve got jumped taking a short cut down Reglan Street on Friday night.’
‘That’s where the ambulance picked him up,’ said Bernie.
Joe turned to Graham. ‘I knew it was him!’
Graham nodded cautiously.
‘Me and Gregory always go home together out the main gate,’ Joe explained carefully, ‘but there’s a hole in the fence at the far side of the park, and we wondered if he’d gone that way. Then someone told us they’d read it in the Evening Times that he was in the City Hospital so I thought you’d be the person to ask.’
‘Do you know anything else about this guy?’ Bernie spoke seriously. ‘Is it possible that he’s part of a gang?’
Joe shrugged. ‘Dunno. He’s nothing to do with us, by the way. Not part of our football training. Don’t know his name even. Oh no, wait a minute.’ He looked at Graham. ‘Is it Kayel, or something?’
‘Dunno.’ Graham shook his head.
‘Kyoul,’ said Bernie. ‘He claims he’s got some kind of amnesia and can’t remember anything. But one of the paramedics said that the person who came with him in the ambulance called him Kyoul. So we
know his name, but that’s all.’
Graham ducked his head at the mention of the ambulance.
Joe nodded easily. ‘Kyoul,’ he said. ‘That’s it. And he’s got amnesia, you say?’
‘Well, maybe,’ said Bernie. ‘At any rate he won’t give them any information at all, not even his age. I spoke to one of the nurses up there. They don’t know if he’s telling the truth when he says that he has no memory, or if it’s an act he’s putting on because he’s got something to hide. He was certainly in shock. If the ambulance had been any later he’d have been DOA.’
‘So he’s going to be all right?’ Graham asked her.
‘He should make a full recovery from the stabbing. But . . .’
Joe put on a serious voice. ‘Don’t tell us anything that might get you into trouble with your superiors. I don’t want you breaking your hypocritic oath.’
‘Hippocratic oath, numpty. Nurses don’t take the Hippocratic oath.’ Bernie hesitated. ‘We don’t know anything about him. But I’ll say this, that young man has been in trouble at some time. You stay away from him.’ She glanced at both boys. ‘Maybe you should tell the police what you know.’
Graham’s stomach heaved, but Joe just smiled. ‘I don’t think so, Bernie. We talk to the polis, and they come calling at my house up in the Garngath to question me on something that I know nothing about. You know how very polite and well-mannered some polis are when they’re making enquiries up there. I’d probably get cuffed and hauled off for a night in the cells. How much would that upset my da? Eh?’
Bernie’s face softened. ‘I hear Uncle Joseph’s getting a bit better?’
‘He is,’ said Joe. ‘So let’s keep it that way. He certainly doesn’t need any grief at the moment.’
‘No,’ said Bernie, ‘but still . . . That boy might have been killed and the police are still looking for the person who was there when the ambulance arrived. I want you to tell some adult in the family who’s close to you.’
Divided City Page 8
