Divided City

by Theresa Breslin

  The training sessions had a good clutch of boys whose origins were in half a dozen or so countries of the earth, keen to play for the city. These two he’d been keeping his eye on ever since they’d turned up for training. Over the weeks some boys stopped attending as their initial enthusiasm waned, but Graham and Joe had stayed the course, if anything keener than they’d been at the start. Jack had fostered their development. Seen at once that Joe was hungry for the ball. Despite being slightly built he shrugged off tackles. Believed he could do it, always got up again, always bounced back, his determination unquenchable. And, if Joe was the fighter, then Graham was the finisher. Last Friday’s goal had been an example of how exciting play could energize a game and the players. A goal scored on the run. And Graham had stamina, which was why initially he’d put him centre mid-field, but he intended to try something else tonight. Jack had restrained himself from giving too much praise after last Friday’s game, even though Graham’s race to the box to intercept Joe’s cross and convert it to a goal had left him breathless. If he could nurture their individuality and marry it to their team play he knew that he had two stars in the making.

  Graham and Joe could hardly wait the forty-five minutes for the formal part of the session to be over and it was time for the short game they usually played at the end. They weren’t really surprised to find that Jack Burns had placed them on the same team again. But this time Jack moved Graham to striker position and put Joe on the left. They weren’t long into the match before the combination began to show results. Joe, moving wide on the wing, cut back a cross for Graham to nod it home. The boys were ecstatic. So hyped up that they did not anticipate the counter-attack. Not surprisingly the opposition went up the park and scored almost immediately.

  Afterwards Jack Burns spoke to all of them about handling success and then talked them through some set pieces. He kept his face severe but inwardly he was smiling. He would need to knock some good sense into Joe and Graham, but for the first time he was hopeful that his team would make a showing in the inter-cities tournament.

  Chapter 37

  On Thursday after school Graham went home to change before setting out for the hospital with Joe.

  The phone was ringing as he entered the house. It was Granda Reid.

  ‘I’ve had a thought about the Walk on Saturday,’ he said, and continued quickly before Graham could speak. ‘I’d like you to come along at the beginning and see what it’s like. You don’t have to actually walk if you don’t want to, but I think you’d enjoy the atmosphere. And I could show you off to all my friends at the Lodge, the past Masters and the like. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

  The kitchen clock was counting off the seconds. Graham needed to meet up with Joe and get to the hospital before afternoon visiting ended.

  ‘OK, Granda,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll come over early on Saturday morning.’ Hanging up the phone, he raced upstairs. He picked out a pair of grey trousers and a jacket to wear.

  Graham was now glad he’d had the upset with his parents at the beginning of the week. It meant he didn’t feel he had to specifically ask them if it was OK to go into town after school today. He was sure that one of the reasons they worried about him was because he was an only child. Usually he fell in with how they organized his life. It was only recently that he’d become discontented with that. He wasn’t even sure why. The way his life was he’d no big complaints. On the whole his parents were both OK. They all got on well together and went on holiday as a family every year. Graham wondered how his mum and dad had lived when they were his age. Although Granda Reid kept him well informed on the family’s history, Graham had never asked about the recent past. He hadn’t known that his dad used to work in the East End of Glasgow. Graham wondered what else he didn’t know about his parents. He knew that they’d worked hard to buy the house. There couldn’t have been much money when they were growing up. So now there came a faint inkling of what their life must have been like compared to his own. And, Graham realized, it was his meeting with Kyoul that had make him think about all this.

  Before leaving his house Graham put a note on the table in the hall. He hoped to be home before his parents got in from work. If he didn’t, they couldn’t say he hadn’t told them where he was going and who he’d be with.

  Going into town with Joe for an hour or so. Will be home for dinner around six.

  He added, Don’t worry, and then scored it out. If his mum read that she would immediately wonder why he thought she might be worried.

  * * *

  Graham met Joe outside the City Chambers and they crossed George Square to get a bus that would take them to the City Hospital.

  ‘We should catch the tail end of afternoon visiting,’ said Joe. ‘But we’ll need to be quick as it’s bound to be less busy on a weekday and we don’t want anyone noticing us too much.’

  Joe too had changed into dark casual gear and they both wore baseball caps with the skip down low. Outside the ward they stopped to discuss a plan.

  Graham peered inside. ‘There’s one or two visitors hanging about. And the curtain’s drawn round Kyoul’s bed.’

  Joe looked over his shoulder. ‘That man I spoke to last time, Mr Sinclair, is still there in the bed next to Kyoul. So we’ve got a legit reason to be in the ward if anyone asks. The only thing is’ – Joe grasped Graham’s arm – ‘he’s kind of half sitting up and his eyes are open. I don’t think you’ll be able to slip through the curtain next his bed without him noticing.’

  ‘I’ll follow you in,’ said Graham, ‘but I’ll go down the other side of the ward and into the toilets at the end. Then I’ll walk through and slip behind the curtain there.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Joe. He handed Graham the envelope. ‘I’ll go straight down and sit beside Mr Sinclair. I’ll keep watch for you like the last time and whistle if I see anyone approaching Kyoul’s bed.’

  Mr Sinclair was propped up in bed. He gave a huge smile as he saw Joe approaching him.

  ‘I was hoping you’d come in to see me again, son,’ he greeted Joe. ‘Sit down. Sit down.’

  Joe pulled up a chair. ‘How’re you doing the day?’

  ‘No bad. No bad.’

  ‘D’you think McMahon was worth the transfer fee?’ Joe launched at once into the subject of football. ‘Everybody says he reminds them of McCoist when he played for Rangers.’

  Mr Sinclair shook his head. ‘In my book he’s more like Willie Henderson. McCoist was a goal scorer. Henderson was a winger.’ He gave Joe a long look. ‘Full of tricks, he was.’

  ‘Henderson’s a bit before my time,’ said Joe. ‘I don’t know much about him.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘Did you tell your da I was asking for him?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Joe.

  ‘How is your old man?’

  ‘No so good,’ said Joe.

  Mr Sinclair nodded solemnly in sympathy. ‘Probably the weather. It’s that changeable the now. Does the damp get into his bones?’

  Joe nodded.

  ‘He’d need to keep himself wrapped up then,’ Mr Sinclair said with a broad smile.

  ‘Aye,’ said Joe. ‘He does.’

  ‘Dinna cast a cloot till May is oot.’

  ‘Uh. Right.’ Joe looked more closely at Mr Sinclair. There was something going on here that he couldn’t quite work out. Mr Sinclair seemed to have deliberately moved the conversation away from football. And he was grinning and wittering on, which made it hard for Joe to pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing, covering Graham’s back. Between Mr Sinclair’s questions, Joe was sure he could hear a voice behind the curtain of the next bed. Graham must have been directly behind him to get to Kyoul so fast. Joe moved his chair slightly so that he could keep a lookout all the way to the entrance door.

  And saw Graham walking down the ward on the opposite side.

  Joe’s eyes opened wide in fright. If Graham wasn’t at Kyoul’s bed, who was talking behind the curtain?

&nbs
p; He spun round in his chair. Mr Sinclair was watching him with an amused expression. Something not quite right was becoming something totally disastrous. There must be a nurse or a doctor in with Kyoul.

  Joe stood up and tried to attract Graham’s attention. Across the other side of the ward Graham disappeared into the toilet block.

  Joe tried to whistle. His mouth was dry. He could scarcely get the sound out. Mr Sinclair stared at him.

  ‘What’re you doing, son?’

  Joe realized he was whistling, ‘Celtic, Celtic, that’s the team for me!’

  He coughed and spluttered. ‘I’ve got something caught in my throat,’ he gasped.

  ‘Take a wee drink of water.’ Mr Sinclair indicated the water jug on his bedside cabinet.

  Joe grabbed the glass. His hands were trembling. He gulped some water. Graham was heading into danger! He only had seconds to warn his friend. He tried to whistle through his teeth. Nothing but a hiss came out.

  Mr Sinclair gave him a most peculiar look.

  It was too late.

  The doctor or nurse behind the curtain raised their voice. Not quite a yell, but enough to be heard in the main ward.

  ‘Come back here! I want to talk to you!’

  Graham must have gone behind the curtain, been seen by the person with Kyoul, and was making a run for it. He’d better do the same. Joe turned to leave.

  A hand like a claw shot out and grabbed his wrist.

  ‘Don’t move!’

  Chapter 38

  ‘Sit where you are.’

  Mr Sinclair’s grip on Joe’s wrist was surprisingly strong.

  ‘Wha-aat?’

  ‘No point in you both getting caught.’

  ‘Caught?’

  ‘Your pal might escape if he’s smart off the mark. But you’ve no chance. If you try to run you’ll not make it. Sit down quick.’

  Joe eyed the ward sister walking hurriedly towards them. He sat down reluctantly. ‘What am I going to say?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ll say what needs saying.’

  The next moment a male nurse came out of the toilet block. ‘Wee blighter got away,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said the sister.

  ‘A boy. About his age’ – the male nurse pointed at Joe – ‘came behind the curtain while I was dressing Kyoul’s wound. He must have come through from the toilet block. I think he was trying to speak to Kyoul, but of course Kyoul claims he’s never seen him before. He ran away out through the fire exit.’

  The sister turned to stare at Joe. ‘You were with that boy at the ward door earlier on. I saw you. Who is he?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Joe stammered. ‘I met him in the lift on the way up.’

  ‘Aw heh, don’t bother the boy,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘He only comes here to visit me.’

  ‘I saw them talking together,’ the sister insisted, ‘as if they knew each other.’

  Joe shook his head.

  ‘Listen,’ said Mr Sinclair. He beckoned to the ward sister. ‘See him.’ He indicated Joe. ‘He’s my great-nephew.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Nice boy an that, but no the sharpest tool in the box. The light’s on upstairs but there’s nobody home, if you get my drift. Knows nuthin about nuthin, ken?’

  The sister nodded slowly, but continued to look at Joe. Joe tried to assume the look he frequently saw on his cousin Jammy’s face.

  ‘So you didn’t know the boy who was visiting the patient in the next bed?’ The sister asked Joe again.

  ‘Naw,’ said Mr Sinclair, answering her question. ‘We don’t. The only boy I know is this yin here.’ He made a movement in the bed and gave a smothered moan. ‘This pain is murder.’ He let out a groan.

  ‘Try to relax, Mr Sinclair.’ The sister looked concerned. ‘I’ll put out a call for a doctor if you need medication.’

  ‘You do that.’ Peter Sinclair winked at Joe as the sister and the male nurse hurried away.

  Joe’s heart was lurching. ‘How did you know . . .?’

  ‘That you were a fraud?’

  Joe nodded.

  ‘You mean, apart from you whistling that bampot Celtic tune a minute ago?’

  ‘Och that,’ said Joe, trying to salvage the situation. ‘I heard someone humming that tune on the bus, so I did.’

  ‘Aye, a Septic Celtic supporters’ bus,’ said Mr Sinclair, laughing. ‘Anyway, I knew you weren’t in here to see me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I had you sussed from the start, son.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Och aye. I was on to you the very first day.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Whilst you were talking I kept thinking about you saying your dad was my pal Jimmy. The Jimmy I knew was almost thirty year older than me, so unless he was having bairns when he was seventy-two you can’t be his boy.’

  ‘His grandson?’ Joe offered.

  ‘Naw.’ Mr Sinclair shook his head. ‘I just minded after you left the last time. Jimmy dropped dead in the Co-op one Saturday about five year ago. Right fornenst the meat counter it was. While he was waiting to buy some mince for his dinner. Being the Co-op, it was a wee while afore anybody thought to ask why the queue wasn’t moving. So you see, Jimmy’s been pushing up the daisies in the Auld Aisle cemetery for the last five year. And unless he arranged to have cable piped into his coffin, he’s definitely no been watching the bowls on the telly.’

  ‘Are you going to tell anybody about me?’ Joe whispered shakily.

  ‘Who would I tell?’

  ‘I’ll no bother you any more, mister. I promise.’

  ‘Naw naw, son. I quite like you visiting me. Your patter’s great. I’ve no family to come and see me apart from that carnaptious sister of mine and her greetinfaced man.’

  ‘But . . .’ For once Joe was lost for words. ‘But why . . .?’

  ‘Why did I no let on? My dad fought in the Second World War. He didn’t talk about it much. But I remember him saying that after he’d seen the gas chambers, he was glad he’d fought in that war. The way I see it, it was the one war in a whole mess of wars where there was a reason to fight. And even though I was young, I understood what the fighting was for. It was so that young men like him’ – Mr Sinclair jerked his thumb in the direction of Kyoul’s bed – ‘could grow up and live without being tortured or put in camps.’

  ‘You know he’s been tortured?’

  ‘I’ve seen his scars, and I’ve heard how he got them.’

  Joe looked away.

  ‘Scarred outside and inside,’ Mr Sinclair went on. ‘We talk at night when there’s nobody around.’

  ‘You know by helping me it could involve you in something dodgy.’ Joe cleared his throat. ‘You see, Kyoul . . . He might be . . . illegal.’

  ‘Aye. So?’

  ‘By not telling what you know, you could get in trouble from the polis.’

  ‘I’m that feart.’ Peter Sinclair smiled at Joe. ‘I’m dying of cancer, son. I’ve only got weeks, days maybe. What’re they going to do to me? Put me in the jile?’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Joe.

  ‘The thing is, anyway, it’s kept my mind off the pain. I’m grateful, I can tell you. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened since I got here.’

  ‘What do I do now?’ said Joe.

  ‘You wait until they ring that wee bell to tell you visiting time’s over,’ said Peter Sinclair, ‘and then you walk out of here, casual like, with all the rest.’

  Graham fell into step beside Joe as he reached the bus stop.

  ‘Never again,’ he said. He handed Leanne’s envelope to Joe. ‘I feel bad that I didn’t manage to deliver this but I am never going back to that hospital. If I hadn’t got out through the fire door I would’ve been caught. And where were you when I needed you?’ he demanded.

  ‘I tried to warn you,’ said Joe.

  ‘By whistling that crap song?’

  ‘Sorry. It was the only one I could think of.’

  ‘I was expecting you to be right behind
me. How did you get away?’

  ‘That man,’ said Joe, ‘the patient I pretend to visit – Mr Sinclair – he grabbed my arm.’

  ‘Why’d he do that?’ said Graham.

  ‘Peter Sinclair,’ said Joe, ‘is more all there than I gave him credit for. He told the ward sister that I was his great-nephew and then asked to see a doctor.’ He paused. Should he tell Graham that Mr Sinclair had also told the ward sister that he was a bit dighted? Joe decided against it. Instead he said, ‘Mr Sinclair kept them busy so you could get away.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Him and Kyoul talk during the night. He probably knows more about Kyoul than we do.’

  As they got off the bus in the city centre, Joe asked Graham, ‘D’you want to come for a kick-about?’

  ‘I need to go home,’ said Graham. He was still slightly frazzled. ‘But my football career’s over anyway. The nurses could make up an identikit photo of me. From now on I can hardly go outside.’

  ‘Your bahoukie,’ said Joe.

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ said Graham. ‘The hospital will tell the police my description. I’m sure they think I’m one of the gang that did the stabbing. That male nurse got a good look at me. I’ll never be able to play football in public.’

  ‘Aye, you will,’ said Joe.

  Graham pointed to his face. ‘I’m too well known.’

  Joe put his head to one side and studied him. ‘You know, there’s a dead easy way to change how you look. And it only takes about an hour.’

  ‘What?’ said Graham.

  ‘Tomorrow, when football training’s over,’ said Joe, ‘after we meet Leanne. You’ve got some time to spare before you’ve to get home, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t start going home earlier now. Why?’

  Joe grinned at Graham.

  ‘I have a cunning plan.’