by Ross Sayers
Ah walk ower tae him. Ma trainers crunch ever so slightly on the groond.
‘Here, pal,’ ah say tae him. ‘Whit’s the date the day?’
He stops fiddlin wi his wee machine and looks towards me.
‘It’s the 6th.’
‘Shite.’
The car next tae us disnae huv a ticket. Ah scrape frost aff the windae and stare at ma reflection. Ah’m still Rose. Her face is still sittin there on ma heid whaur Daisy’s face shid be.
‘Don’t hink ye can pretend ye thought it wis another date,’ the warden says. ‘Ye’ll be gettin a fine if ye’ve no bought a ticket.’
He lets oot a tut, and his breath turns tae wispy Glasgow smoke. Ah draw a smiley face in the frost ae this stranger’s car.
‘Fair cop,’ ah say. ‘Ye got me.’
A whirr and a buzz and a ticket squirts oot ae his printer. He rips it neatly in a perforated line and hawns it tae me.
‘Wee early Christmas present fur ye,’ he says.
Ah take the ticket, haud it right up tae his face, til it’s practically touchin his nose, then rip it in hauf. His eyes don’t move fae mine as he begins typin on his machine again. It whirrs and buzzes again and another ticket comes oot.
‘Ah could dae this aw day,’ he says.
‘So could ah,’ ah say. ‘But ah’ve got a life. Well, ah’ve got two. And this isnae ma car.’
Ah wander doon Sauchiehall Street. It’s dawnin on me that ah’ll soon need tae find somewhaur tae sleep the night. If worst comes tae worst ah’ll need tae go grovellin tae Jill afore her shift ends. But that’s last chance saloon stuff.
Ah’m nearly at Firewater. Ah suppose it widnae be too hard tae pull somebdy in there and get a bed fur a night at least. Assumin they’ve got a bed. Ah once went tae a guy’s flat in Shawlands and his bed wis jist a mattress on the flair. Fair enough when ye’re nine-year-auld, pittin yer mattress on the flair fur a sleepover is excitin but no when ye’re twenty, fuck’s sake. And Frances wonders why ah’ve niver… Naw. Ah’m no gonnae try and pull anybody the night. Ah’m certainly no daein it in this body. Ah’m no expectin it tae be life changin, but ah’d at least like tae lose ma virginity in ma ain skin.
Afore Firewater is William Hill. Thur’s a poster in the windae advertisin the odds fur a game the night. Liverpool v Spartak Moscow. 11/2 fur a 2-0 Liverpool win.
Except… it’s no gonnae be 2-0 tae Liverpool.
20
The guy behind the counter takes ma coupon and feeds it intae the scanner.
‘You support Liverpool?’ he asks.
‘When they’re no daein ma nut in, aye,’ ah say. ‘How’d ye know?’
‘Well, no many folk stick somebdy on tae win 7-0 unless it’s their ain team.’
Ah smile and try tae look innocent.
‘And ah’ve got Coutinho first scorer, don’t ah?’
Ah panic a bit, wonderin if ah’ve mucked up the slip. He leans in close tae his screen.
‘Aye,’ he says. ‘Coutinho, 7-0 scorecast. 200/1. Ten quid, please.’
Ah slide the only ten quid ah huv in the hale world tae William Hill. Ah look at the guy’s nametag.
‘Mike,’ ah say, tryin tae turn on the charm. ‘Ah’m Rose, by the way. Am ah allowed tae sit and watch the tellys in here? Noo that ah’ve pit a bet on?’
‘Eh, aye,’ he says. ‘Yer game’s no on til quarter tae eight, though.’
‘Ah know, it’s jist… ah don’t huv anywhaur tae go.’
Ma eyes start tae water. Ah’m no even daein it on purpose. This feels lit the first time ah’ve been able tae stop and take a breath in oors. This is embarrassin. Ah’m actually glad ah’ve got the wrong face fur a second.
Stop being pathetic Daisy we all know it’s an act. You do not deserve sympathy you’re embarrassing yourself.
‘Aw, hen,’ Mike says. ‘You jist go and sit doon. Ah’ll get ye a cup ae tea.’
Ah nod and sniff and take a seat near the screens, which display a range ae horse races, odds, and sports fae who knows whaur.
Two aulder men at a nearby table look at me, then at each other. This is probably suhin tae tell their wives aboot when they get hame the night. Daft lassie cryin in the bookies. Wan ae them pulls a scabby packet ae hankies fae his pocket and pushes it along the table towards me.
‘Happens tae the best ae us,’ the hankie man says, then gestures to the guy sittin next to him. ‘Alan here wis greetin lit a wee wean at the weekend there. Sheffield Wednesday let in a 95th minute equaliser and burst his coupon.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Alan says, itchin his bald spot. ‘At least ma wife disnae phone me and tell me when tae come hame like you, Tony.’
Alan laughs and Tony looks confused.
‘Your wife’s deid, Alan.’
‘Oh aye, that wid explain it. You were at the funeral, eh?’
‘Ah wis.’
‘Beautiful service, eh?’
‘It wis, mate. It wis.’
The two ae them smile and nod at each other lit only pals that huv been through it aw thigether can. Mike fae the till arrives wi a tea fur me, and wee jugs ae milk and sugar.
‘Ye don’t bring us milk and sugar in wee pots,’ Alan says.
‘Aye, well, this lassie brings suhin different tae the place,’ Mike says. ‘Classes it up a bit.’
Tony pretends tae be shocked and lifts wan ae his legs fae under the table intae view. He points tae his black and grey trainers.
‘Urr ye tryin tae tell me,’ he says. ‘That these urnae classin up the place? The boy in the shop said these urr the coolest trainers goin. Sketchers, they’re called.’
Mike rolls his eyes. Ah chuckle politely.
The tea is lovely and hot and ah add four sugars jist cause ah can. It’s Rose’s teeth ah’m wastin. A few different commentaries come fae the tellys aroond us and Alan and Tony continue tae chat aboot nuhin in particular. It’s lit a lullaby.
‘Did you dae suhin new wi yer hair the day?’ Alan asks.
‘Aye,’ Tony replies, touchin his fing’rs delicately tae the hair aroond his temples. ‘Matt clay.’
‘Oh aye? Ah might need tae get this Matt Clay guy tae cut ma hair next time.’
There’s an arm on ma shooder, gently shakin me back tae life. Ma eyes open. It’s dark ootside. Alan and Tony urr gone and Mike stands ower me.
‘That’s yer Coutinho goal,’ he says, pointin tae the biggest screen on the wall. ‘Only six mair tae go. Jist thought ye’d want tae know.’
Ah say thanks and close ma eyes back ower. Ah’ve got a feelin ah’m ontae a winner.
21
It’s hauf time afore ah wake again. Ah huv another cup ae tea and a gie masel a few light slaps on the cheeks. Mike’s sympathy extends a bit further and he makes me a cheese and ham roll. Ah eat it then the Dairy Milk and ah’m content fur the time bein.
Punters come and go less frequently at this time ae night, wi the horses finished fur the day and the fitbaw much mair enjoyable watched at the pub wi a pint in yer hawn. If the bookies wur allowed tae serve alcohol, though, some folk wid live here.
The goals keep goin in fur Liverpool and ah dae ma best actin, gettin mair and mair excited fur each goal. When the seventh goes in at 85 minutes, ah jump up fae ma seat and dae a few fistpumps tae keep up the illusion. Mike’s enjoyin it as well.
‘Amazin,’ he says. ‘No long tae go as well. Ye’ve no got the lottery numbers huv ye?’
Ah smile and shrug but realise how much better it wid be if ah could mind lottery numbers rather than Liverpool scores. But they probably don’t let ye win the lottery if ye don’t technically exist. Ah’ve iways wanted tae haud wan ae they giant cheques though, get ma photie taken while ah pop the cork ae an averagely priced bottle ae Prosecco, while knowin that every person lookin at me hates ma guts.
The final wh
istle goes and ah stroll up tae the counter, haudin ma slip above ma heid. Ah’m the last yin in the place. Spent an entire day in a William Hill—suhin tae check aff the bucket list.
Ah pass Mike the slip. His smile fades.
‘Oh, Rose,’ he says. ‘Ye’ll no get yer winnins the night, hen.’
‘Whit? How?’
‘It takes a wee while fur the system tae process the results,’ he tells me. ‘Sometimes overnight, and we shut soon. And it’s quite a big win so ah’d need tae phone a district manager tae sign off on the payoot. Ye’re best comin back the morra.’
Oh no… big bad Daisy will need to sleep on the street tonight. Looks like a cold one out there. Now you’re going to see what people with real problems go through everyday… your “problems” are nothing.
The tears return. They hover at the bottom ae ma eyes lit copper coins in a penny arcade machine. Ah blink them back.
‘Is thur nae way?’ ah ask, smoothin oot the slip between us. ‘Ah really need it the night.’
Mike’s face grows mair concerned.
‘Ye owe somebdy?’
Ah wonder how many desperate folk Mike’s seen on the other side ae this counter. Ah feel bad lyin tae him. He’s been so nice, but ah’d feel worse withoot anywhaur tae stay the night.
‘Aye,’ ah say.
‘Who?’
‘It’s a person called… Douglas. They don’t mess aboot.’
He takes the slip and considers it.
‘Let me see whit ah can dae,’ he says. ‘You go and sit back doon, it might take a few minutes.’
Mike must work some magic behind that counter, cause ten minutes later he comes oot wi two grand in twenty-pound notes and hawns it ower.
‘Thanks so much,’ ah say, stuffin the cash inside ma bra.
Ah’ve iways seen women stuffin cash inside thur bra on telly and wanted tae try it. It’s no aw it’s cracked up tae be. Ma leggins don’t huv pockets so ah take the money back oot and pit it loose in ma bag. We can pit a man on the moon but we cannae pit pockets on women’s claithes.
‘Don’t thank me,’ he says. ‘You’re the yin that guessed 7-0.’
Ah shake his hawn and leave the shop. Sauchiehall Street is pitch black. Mike waves at me through the windae as the shutters rattle doon and he disappears behind them.
Some lads pass by and gie me the eye and then disappear intae Firewater next door. A drink wid be perfect noo. Rum and cokes urr iways cheap in Firewater. It’s debatable whether it’s actually rum though; they iways pour it oot ae sight so ye cannae see whit unbranded shite thur servin.
Ah could get steamin, get on the subway and wake up the morra lit usual. As Daisy Douglas. Nae mair Rose. But that’d be too easy.
At the far end ae Sauchiehall Street, up in the black, black sky, above aw the other buildins, ah can see a bright white light. This must be how they Wise Men felt.
The automatic doors shudder open. Ah step inside the Premier Inn, rubbin ma arms tae warm them back up. A vendin machine hums in the corner.
Ah approach the desk. The lassie on the other side looks up fae her phone.
‘Evenin,’ ah say.
‘Hiya,’ she says, slidin her phone intae a nook next tae her computer. ‘How can I help?’
‘Wondered if ah could get a room fur the night?’ ah ask. ‘Well, it might be several nights, as it happens, but ah’ll start wi wan night please.’
‘Did you book in advance?’
‘Naw, this is an… unexpected stay.’
‘Oh, then I’m sorry, I’m afraid we’re fully booked up.’
A couple comes in the front door and she waves at them ower ma shooder.
‘Surely no?’ ah say. ‘How can that be possible? Thur’s hunners ae rooms in here. And ah know yeese keep back a spare room in case somebdy important shows up, lit the Queen or James MacAvoy. Can ye check again?’
She wheels hersel in closer tae the desk and clicks her moose a few times. Her eyes dart aroond the screen. Ah huv a peek but ah cannae make heid nor tail ae it.
‘Booked solid all month,’ she tells me. ‘It is nearly Christmas.’
‘And thur’s nae room at the… Premier Inn.’ Ah take a few twentys oot ma bag and lay them on the counter. ‘Sure thur’s nae way ah could change yer mind?’
Her hawns jump back fae her keyboard.
‘Miss,’ she whispers. ‘I can’t say I’ve read every page of the staff handbook but I’m fairly sure we’re not allowed to take bribes.’
‘Well, obviously, naebdy’s allowed tae take bribes. That’s whit makes it a bribe. If folk wur allowed tae take bribes, society wid collapse.’
She crosses her arms.
‘If you don’t leave now, I’ll need to call my manager.’
‘Aw naw, we widnae want that. Ah’ll jist go oot and sleep in the cauld then.’
‘Okay, good.’
‘See ye then, and huv a gid Christmas, ye know, in case ah die.’
‘Thanks, same to you. Remember to book in advance next time. We look forward to welcoming you back.’
As ah leave, ah notice thur’s a light smatterin ae snow startin tae fall. Ah grab wan ae the brollies that’s sittin by the door.
‘Ah’m takin this,’ ah say back tae the lassie.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Whatever makes you feel like you’ve won the argument.’
‘Ah’m gonnae gie you such a low Trip Advisor ratin, by the way.’
Ah pull ma sleeves ower ma hawns, unfurl the brollie, and step oot intae the cauld. Ah dunno whaur ah’m goin.
22
Ah wander up and doon the streets, tryin tae get lost, but ah know them too well. Ah might huv brand new eyes, but they’ve seen it aw afore.
In George Square, ah sit on a bench and eat the bag ae chips ah bought at Pizza Crolla. No ma first choice ae chippy but ah wis passin by.
A pigeon wanders oot fae under ma bench, leavin tiny three-pronged fitsteps in the light snow. Ah drop a chip and it snaffles it up.
‘You enjoy that, pal,’ ah say, as mair pigeons get the scent and come ower. ‘Jeezo, here comes the cavalry.’
Ah leave the crunchy dregs fur the pigeons and walk tae the Ark. They dae three quid pints fur students, so it’s a pity ah’m no yin currently.
Inside the pub, ah find an empty table and sit wi ma pint. Ah didnae get ID’d which is handy since ah’ve no got any. The fitbaw’s long finished so the pub’s quiet and the tellys urr set on Sky Sports News, playin the same three stories on a loop.
When ye see a person sittin alone in a pub, ye cannae help but form an opinion ae them based on that. Once a wee while’s passed, ye can assume thur no waitin on anybody. So whit urr they on thur ain fur? Urr they needin a cauld yin efter a long day? Desperate tae get oot the hoose? Got stood up? Or mibbe they don’t care whit anybody else hinks aboot them.
Not like you then “Rose”. You care. Which is a real shame since no one likes having you around.
But mibbe aw these folk on thur ain urr actually time travellers in the wrong body wonderin whaur tae go next. Ah go tae take ma first sip when ah overhear somebdy’s conversation.
‘It wis jist so weird, she wis actin lit she pure knew us.’
‘But then she mentioned Daisy, and ah wis lit… right that explains it.’
Ah turn tae find whaur the voices and laughter urr comin fae. Two booths doon fae me, Frances and Sam urr sharin a plate ae nachos. Sam is takin aw the gid yins fae the top while Frances slides oot the dry yins fae the bottom. Ah duck ma heid doon so they don’t see me.
‘On the wan hand,’ ah hear Sam say. ‘Ah cannae imagine Daisy huvin other pals, cause who wid honestly pit up wi her apart fae us two. But then, that lassie the day must be her pal. And she’s aff her nut which makes sense.’
‘Hey,’ Frances says. ‘Don’t be mean.’
&nbs
p; ‘Fran, she’s only interested in hersel. Honestly, how many times huv ye been talkin tae her and ye jist know she’s no payin any attention tae whit ye’re sayin. She’s jist waitin fur ye tae shut up so she can start talkin.’
‘Come on, how many gid nights oot huv we hud cause ae Daisy? She makes hings memorable, ye cannae deny that.’
‘Fair, but how many terrible nights oot huv we hud cause ae Daisy? Huvin tae look efter her? She either makes the night or breaks it. At some point, ye’ve got tae wonder if she’s worth the risk.’
Ah cannae listen tae anymair ae this. Ah stand up, and carry ma pint tae the next table, whaur a young guy sits by himsel. Mibbe he’s a fellow time traveller.
‘Here, mate,’ ah say, placin the pint doon in front ae him. ‘You huv that. Ah’ve no touched it ah swear.’
He gies me a bleary-eyed look and adjusts his cap.
‘Aw that’s nice,’ he slurs. ‘But ah dunno… ah’ve an early start the morra.’
‘Suit yersel.’
He gestures tae his chest.
‘Dick,’ he says.
‘Nah, ye’re no that bad, pal.’
Ah leave it on the table and walk towards the exit. Part ae me wants tae turn and see Frances and Sam again, but ah resist.
Told you so. They didn’t invite you and for good reason.
Ootside, ah look up and doon the street. That’s when ah see it. Next door tae the Ark is a wee B&B, ‘vacancies’ sign casually rockin back and forth in the breeze. Ah’ve niver noticed it afore. Hus it iways been here? It’s funny, even in a city ye’re used tae, thur’s some places ye only see when ye’re really lookin for them. Ah mean, when huv ah ever needed a B&B in Glasgow afore?
The lights urr on inside and ah walk up the steps towards the front door.
When ah open the door, a bell rings above ma heid. The place is warm and cosy. A dark green carpet is laid on the flair, and trails through tae a landin and up a set ae stairs. Wan ae they clocks hings above the front desk, a cat that moves its eyes wan way and its tail the other as it ticks and tocks.
