by Laura Marney
By the time I got back Spider was calling the dances and that snake Jenny had stolen my lumber. As I watched her and Jan dance the Gay Gordon I looked forward to getting my hands on him myself. He was a good dancer and that in itself I found quite attractive. The dancefloor was packed, the band were great. Apart from the fact that I hated nearly everyone in the room, it was shaping up to be a good night.
True to his word, Jan got the drinks in.
‘You are drinking whisky and Coke Trixie, yes?’
While he was away I had a go at Jenny.
‘Can you not get someone else to dance with you? Jan asked me to the ceilidh tonight.’
‘I know he did, I asked him to ask you, he was too shy.’
‘Oh, the all seeing all knowing Jenny! Is there anything you don’t know? Is that why you’re here? Not only do you want the credit for him asking me out but, if anything kicks off with me and him, you want a ringside seat?’
‘Don’t be so stupid Trixie, anyway, he’s all yours, I’m not going to dance with him again.’
‘No,’ I said with my face twisted, ‘because it’s not your place!’
Jenny shouted to Jan as he struggled towards us trying not to spill the drinks.
‘Oh there you are Jan, Trixie was just saying she’s dying for a dance!’
I smiled graciously and accepted Jan’s hand on to the dancefloor. Over his shoulder I drew her a stinker.
It was a dance I hadn’t done before, a waltz, but luckily Jan knew all the moves. When I went to move the wrong way Jan lightly pressed my back and swept me along. The birling and the whisky was making my head spin, it felt great. I looked across and watched Jenny watching us. How sad was that old woman? She was getting cheap thrills out of this. Well if that’s what she was after I’d put on a show. I turned my attention to Jan and gave him my Princess Di look. I’d had a practice run in the washroom mirror and I reckoned it was still a winner. Jan was a nice man and quite handsome when you go to know him.
‘Trixie I was wondering, but I am always asking for favours.’
‘I’m always happy to help, Jan,’ I said, in Queen of Hearts mode.
‘I would like to ask you to come to Glasgow with us next Saturday, in the minibus, to help with the kids, but perhaps you have had enough of guitars.’
Waltzing was so intimate, I could smell his breath and his aftershave. I could see the flecks of colour in his eyes and each individual eyelash. Our faces were only inches apart. My breasts were pushing into his chest, if it wasn’t for our clothes, our groins would be touching.
‘I’d love to come to Glasgow, and let me assure you Jan, so far, I haven’t had anything like enough of guitar.’
We were waltzing past Jenny and I wanted her to clock Jan’s rapt expression. I shyly flicked my eyes off him just for a second and spotted her. She didn’t look pleased at all but she seemed to be looking beyond us. My Princess Di was going down a bomb with Jan, he had a crinkly smile on his face and I wondered if he was trying out a look on me, a Sean Connery maybe.
Lost in each other’s eyes, we crashed into another couple. At first I didn’t recognise him in the kilt, but it was Jackie, with a woman. I knew from the way she was dressed she was a tourist but she looked familiar. It was shocking to see him but I was more shocked by the fact that he was obviously having such a good time. I’d never seen him in a kilt before, it was sickening how good he looked. He was laughing with the woman and snuggling up close until he realised it was me he had collided with. I supposed Jan and me must have looked the same.
I instantly pulled away from Jan and went back to my seat.
‘He’s here, did you organise that too Jenny?’
‘Jackie’s here?
Jenny’s eyes scoured the room until she found him.
‘This was what I was worried about,’ she said.
‘I take it then that he doesn’t know that I know.’
‘I couldn’t tell you.’
‘What? You don’t know if he knows that I know? I thought you knew everything.’
‘Well I don’t. But I don’t think he’d be here if he knew you were.’
‘Oh but I am. Aren’t I just.’
‘Trixie are you all right? You walked away…’
‘Oh sorry Jan, I thought the dance was about to finish! I’m fine! I’m absolutely rinky dinky! Let’s get up for the next one, and the other after that, I’ve got my dancing feet on now!’
And so, we got up for the next one, and the one after that, and the one after that. I made myself highly visible on the dance floor by throwing back my head and laughing any time Jan made a wee joke. Jan was loving it, he thought he was the funniest guy there. The dance after that was a Dashing White Sergeant.
‘Jenny come and join us. Oh please, we need another lady,’ said Jan.
‘Oh come on,’ I said through a sigh. ‘You’ve been sitting on your arse all night.’
Jenny and I exchanged feeble smiles and took our places. About half way round the room we encountered Jackie, again with the woman. Spider made up their threesome. That’s where I’d seen her before! I thought, she was one of the American women Spider was chatting up at the beer tent. The boys must be hitting on these two women. I looked around and sure enough, sitting at a table on her own, smiling at them, was the other American. She must be Spider’s.
Jackie’s date, the one we were dancing with, recognised me and nodded in a friendly way. Up close I could see that she wasn’t that young. The slim figure and trendy clothes were deceptive, she was a good five years older than me, the dirty old cow. She and her friend probably had a tick list of things to do in Scotland: see Edinboro, the Lack Ness monster, and get it on with a guy in a kilt. I could understand why they found guys in kilts attractive, everything was so accessible. As I smiled at her I had a pornographic image of her getting it from behind with Jackie’s kilt pleats spread out across her back.
As our two sets got ready to move on, Jackie was my opposite number. Up to that point when we’d faced another set, we had, as was traditional, politely exchanged heuchs. Then, following Jan’s lead, we had ducked under the other set’s arms. Not his time, I thought. There was no way I was taking a submissive role this time. Right into his face I heuched. Heeeeeuuch! In time to the music I charged him, he’d have to duck or be smashed. Disappointingly, he ducked, but that was just typical Jackie.
We sat out the next few dances and Jan was very attentive, freshening up my whisky and Coke every so often with more whisky. So’s not to embarrass poor Jan, Jenny and I were forced to chat to each other.
‘That’s her over there,’ she said pointing to a woman on a man’s knee, ‘Betty Robertson, the one who won the rose bowl.’
I expected a pensioner but Betty Robertson was in her thirties. She was sprawled on a man’s knee like some kind of saloon girl.
‘She’s a very modest lady, as you can see,’ said Jenny.
I had to laugh, this town was full of creeps and weirdos.
The band struck up another Gay Gordon.
‘Would either of you ladies like to dance?’ said Jan.
‘Yes I will Jan, Jenny’s already had a Gay Gordon and the poor old thing is knackered.’
I grinned at Jenny as we left the table but she pretended not to notice. I stopped to let another couple make their way on to the floor. It was Betty Robertson and her beau who took their places directly behind Jan and I. There was quite a crush on the corner when we went in to reverse and deary me, it was hardly my fault if I accidentally stepped on Betty Robertson’s toes once or twice.
Chapter 30
The band didn’t strike up another dance, instead Spider came on stage in a dressing gown to a cacophony of wolf whistles and laughter.
‘Now girls, try to control yourselves! I’m not stripping off for you, well, not at the moment and not unless you ask me nicely.’
‘Get them off!’ shouted Betty Robertson.
‘No, Ladies and Gentlemen there is a very good reason why I a
ppear before you in a temporary state of undress, one which will become apparent in a few moments. So without further ado, let me introduce our surprise guest of the evening, the one and only Mr Calley Ali Kipoor!’
The inhabitants of Inverfaughie were amazed to see the hotel landlord stand before them, resplendent in borrowed kilt and full Highland dress. At few inches taller than Spider and a good deal wider, the kilt showed more of Ali’s brown legs than it was supposed to.
An atmosphere of hysteria swept through the bar, the raucous laughter almost deafening. People were standing on their chairs to get a look at him. I didn’t really get the joke, an Asian guy in a kilt wasn’t that funny. On cue the band started to play and Ali, unsure of what he was doing, read from his sheet music.
As he sang, Ali’s accent filtered through.
‘Scots, vha hae vi Vallace bled,
Scots, vham Bruce has often led,
Velcome to your gory bed
Or to wictorie!’
The crowd clapped out the beat, and as the clapping gained momentum, it gathered speed. By the second verse it was out of time with the band. The band had no option but to speed up and Ali had no option but to follow. He was not a naturally gifted singer. With his voice hopping from one note to the next and staring hard at the words, he was struggling. The crowd, enjoying the effect their clapping had and sensing a bit of sport, clapped faster. The band raced through the song, playing faster and faster with every verse.
His dark skin radiant against the white frill of the tight dress shirt, Ali puffed and strained to keep up. It was becoming mob rule, a rammy, but Ali refused to capitulate. His good-natured exuberance and strong lungs met the challenge and the speed at which he was forced to sing only enhanced the verve and brio of his performance. The band were now playing so fast and so raggedly it was a discordant hullaballoo, and they didn’t so much finish playing the song as abandon it. The rebel rousers in the crowd weren’t interested in proper applause and continued pounding out a fierce and frantic rhythm. Ali left the stage quickly and as he disappeared out the swing doors, a heckler shouted.
‘Hey Spider! Watch him, he’ll spill curry all over your good kilt, man!’
This witticism procured belly laughs from the rabble. Spider made a face as if he was worried that this might be a possibility and scooted out after Ali. The cabaret over, Jan turned to us and asked Jenny and I what we wanted to drink.
‘It’s my round, I’ll get them in,’ I said.
*
They were three deep at the bar. After many years experience of Glasgow’s pubs, I automatically clocked everyone round about me. All these people were ahead of me in the informal queue. Anyone who approached the bar after me, would be served after me. Already there were people behind me. All around I was catching snippets of conversation. Woven amidst typical bar patter like just make it doubles, and who’s got the kitty? I picked out the phrase paki bastard and a woman saying no harm to them but I wouldn’t want one to touch me. Small town, small minds.
‘Now Ladies and Gentlemen we’ll take a wee break from the dancing now with the open spot,’ said Spider, fully kilted once more. ‘Anyone who wants to do a turn: sing a song, tell a story, take their clothes off – ladies only for that one please – come on up.’
A handsome man got up and sang ‘She’s the One.’ He was a good singer and it went down well with the women when he pointed and sang ‘You’re the one.’
I was getting shoved about in the crush. A guy who’d been served spilled most of his pint just trying to get out. I’d managed to avoid getting soaked but in my high heels, after dancing all night, my feet were killing me. I should have let Jan get them in. A woman was singing now. She was so bad it was difficult to make out what song she was trying to sing. She bounced around shaking her head and squawking but nobody was paying any attention. There were only two people in front of me now, a fat guy and an old boy.
It was almost inevitable that Jackie would come and stand beside me. He hadn’t noticed me and we stood together for several minutes before his eyes travelled round to me and beyond right through me. I could see his dilemma. He had been sent to the bar, the girls would be expecting drinks, he couldn’t go back to the table empty handed. That meant he’d have to continue standing beside me, fruit of his loins, and pretend not to see me. His bottle went when the fat guy got served and everyone took a step forward, now he was almost pressed against me. This was to close for comfort and Jackie was forced to withdraw, sloping back to his table with his tail between his legs. Tears of rage burned behind my eyes but fortunately, never put in an appearance.
‘Double whisky and Diet Coke,’ I said the minute the old boy got his change. ‘Pineapple and soda and a glass of…’
The barman blanked me and turned to serve a girl who had just arrived at the bar.
‘Hello? I’m next!’ I said. ‘Double whisky and Diet…’
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘regulars first.’
‘Aye that’ll be right, I’ve been here twenty minutes!’
But it was no use, he was ignoring me, taking his time serving the girl. Now I had a dilemma. Dignity required me to tell him to stick his drink up his arse but drouth said keep your mouth shut. The guy didn’t even apologise when he finally did serve me.
When I put the drinks on the table I was aware of a chemical buzz through my body, a cocktail of adrenaline and whisky.
‘Anyone else for a turn?’ said Spider.
‘Yeah, me!’ I shouted from the floor.
I was on the stage with the mic in my hand and talking.
‘Right. You want to hear a story?’ I asked the audience.
I was wasting my breath, no one was listening.
‘This is a story about a lovely wee town where there are no poofs and hardly any Pakis and life is sweet. And in that lovely wee town lives a lovely wee man but, ladies and gentlemen, that lovely little man is frightened, yes he is, he’s very frightened. Och but he’s a great guy! The sort of guy you all love, the sort of guy that provides a kilty shagging service for the tourists, that cripples his wife and kills his alcoholic mother by poisoning her with more drink, pouring it down the poor woman’s neck. The sort of guy…’
I stopped to savour the change in atmosphere. They were listening now. I couldn’t see him anywhere. He wasn’t even going to try and stop me. I knew he was there somewhere. Jenny was miming for me to stop. The only noise I could hear was the sound of my own breath through the mic.
‘The sort of guy who denies his daughter, oh yes ladies and gentlemen, he shuns his own daughter. A spineless, weak, gutless, sad bastard of a guy. And d’you know who it is ladies and gentlemen?’
From the floor Jenny burst into song.
‘He met me, tea stained postmistress from ‘Fauchie.
Dirn nirn nirn!
He tried to take me upstairs where I bide.’
On the second dirn nirn nirn, people joined in. The drummer and accordionist weren’t far behind. This must be Jenny’s party piece that she had talked of earlier. By the end of the verse the whole band were onboard and they were rocking. Obviously she had done this many times before and everyone in the bar knew the routine. When they got to the chorus the whole pub sang,
‘Gimme gimme gimme, the Inverfaughie blues,’
but by that time I had been yanked off the stage and into the car park.
I had no idea Jan could be so dominant, and I told him so.
‘You have something going on with Jackie? Is he the father of your daughter?’
Crying like a baby I put Jan straight on the whole story. We sat in the car outside Harrosie, all the while with Jan holding my hand, until I’d got it all off my chest.
‘I’m sorry Jan, I’ve ruined your night.’
‘Please don’t worry.’ He lifted my hand and kissed it, ‘Will you be all right?’
He was leaving.
In a nice way he was cueing me to get out of the car. I didn’t understand, I thought he fancied me.
I’d scared him off, no doubt he thought I was a lunatic, and who could blame him? I understood, as a foreigner living in this fishbowl village, it probably wasn’t a good idea to get involved with my complicated family politics.
‘Yes, thanks Jan, I’ll be fine.’
As soon as I got out he spun the car round to head back down the hill. Of course he did, why would he sit with me moaning when there was fun to be had at Inverfaughie’s ceilidh extravaganza?
‘I hope you feel better tomorrow,’ he said with a sad wee smile as he sped off, no doubt back to the swinging party, back to that nest of vipers.
I stood in the road watching. I’d stupidly imagined that tonight would be the first night I wouldn’t spend alone in this Highland shithole but those small-minded racist homophobic skirt-chasing adulterous bastards had seen to that. I watched Jan’s car disappear down the hill towards the twinkly lights of Inverfaughie and screamed,
‘Here I am! Come and get me! There’s not a fucking man amongst you! Inverfaughie bastards!’
I would have screamed more but my voice was hoarse.
Chapter 31
The phone woke me up.
‘Well now you know how it feels!’ said Steven. ‘You woke me last night, don’t you remember?’
I pretended I did.
‘Mum, we’re worried about you. You said last night you’re coming back. I’ve told Dad and we think it’s a good idea. You’re miserable up there. When are you going to come home?’
‘Just as soon as I can get my bags packed and get out of this shit hole.’
That seemed to settle him but he wouldn’t get off the phone until I promised I’d phone him back later. I lay down again but I couldn’t sleep. My head was thumping. I had no idea how I got to bed last night, if I phoned Steven and couldn’t remember, what else did I do? Thinking about this brought on a powerful attack of the heebie geebies. As soon as I could face it I was going to pour any alcohol in the house down the sink. I still had about half a bottle of Old Pulteney left. It was expensive stuff, but no matter. Look what happened to Rosie, she was my granny, and to Jackie; that pathetic former inebriate was my father. I came from an established line of alcoholics. It was in my blood, poisoning me.
