Daisy on the Outer Line

by Ross Sayers

  ‘Em, no,’ she says. ‘Apparently thur no allowed tae dae that. But ye’ve got a ticket, which is the main hing. We’ll jist need tae hope ye can catch him at the snack counter or suhin.’

  ‘Did ye no get a ticket fur yersel?’

  ‘Naw, it’s no ma cup ae tea. Ah’ll sit in the car and listen tae wan ae ma audiobooks. Better get yersel a shower, game kicks aff soon.’

  Jill parks her Fiat 500 ootside the Braehead Shopping Centre. Despite the bad press, it’s a crackin wee motor. Ma hawns are toasty fae lyin them on the heater the hale way here. Back at the flat, Jill found an auld purple beanie ae hers and it sits snug ower ma ears.

  ‘Sure ye don’t want tae join me?’ ah say. ‘Burly bearded men skatin aboot and bashin the crap oot ae each other? And ah hink, if thur’s time, they try and score goals as well.’

  Jill pulls oot her flask, the wan she shared wi me when she found me ootside the subway, and a hot water bottle she filled afore we left. Then she reaches intae her pocket and takes oot a balaclava and slides it ower her face. Thur’s an improvised hole in the back fur her ponytail tae pop through.

  ‘Naw thanks,’ she says. ‘Ah’m fine jist here. Ah don’t like sports.’

  Ah’m strugglin tae find the words.

  ‘Ye cannae wear that.’

  ‘How no? Ma face gets freezin.’

  She turns tae face me. Ah suddenly huv the urge tae lie on the groond and no be a hero.

  ‘Cause folk’ll hink ye’re gonnae blow the place up. Ye look lit Miss July in the Terrorists You Have Guilty Crushes On 2018 calendar.’

  She sighs and takes the balaclava aff. Folk urr floodin by the car, aw dressed in various shades ae purple, black and white.

  ‘Ah bought it at a sports shop,’ she says. ‘It’s no illegal tae wear them. They’ve jist got a bad reputation. Oh, take these.’

  She unbuckles and stretches intae the back seat, returnin wi a set ae binoculars.

  ‘Here, so ye can spot Steven in the crowd.’

  Ah take them, the weight surprisin me as ah hing them aroond ma neck.

  ‘Anyone ever tell ye, Jill,’ ah say. ‘That ye keep some amount ae dodgy stuff in yer car?’

  Ah cannae mind a caulder night than this. Jill’s loaned me thick knee-length socks and a pair ae her ex-boyfriend’s Under Armour leggins so ah’m at least partially prepared.

  Ah slip intae the stream ae hockey fans. Thur’s a lot ae families in the crowd, wee kids runnin ahead ae thur parents or laggin behind. It’s a mair happy atmosphere than any fitbaw ah’ve ever been tae. The replica tops urr everywhaur, covered in sponsors and slogans. A wee gurl carries a fluffy highland coo wearin a Braehead Clan top.

  We flock inside the shoppin centre, fur a heat if nuhin else, whaur we’re soon diluted by the Christmas shoppers.

  Thur’s tinsel and fake snow and a Christmas train daein laps wi nervous lookin children on board. Groups ae lads and lassies, too young and potless tae buy anyhin significant, urr wanderin aboot wi McDonald’s cups. Thur’s bright white light everywhaur, beamin oot fae the ceilin, fae shop windaes, fae Christmas lights stapled in strips on escalators.

  It’s well busier than ah thought it’d be. Ah’m wan ae hunners ae folk funnelin intae the far corner, whaur the entrance tae the rink is. Fair play tae them fur comin oot on a freezin Wednesday night in December.

  Ah approach the back ae the queue tae get in.

  ‘Chuck-a-puck!’ a guy behind a table shouts. ‘Get yer pucks fur Chuck-a-puck here!’

  It’s a five-minute wait in the queue til the wee lady behind the glass prints ma ticket and slides it under the windae.

  ‘Enjoy the game,’ she says.

  A guy scans ma ticket wi a delayed beep and that’s me in. Women in fancy dress shake yella buckets, collectin fur charity. Ah slide a note intae the bucket and rush away afore they can slap a sticker on ma chest. Ah pass a bar, then realise ye can buy booze at the hockey.

  As ma pints urr bein poured, ah scan aroond the foyer. Wee kids go by wi hot dogs longer than their arms. Sadly, nae sign ae Steven yet.

  The players urr still on the ice warmin up when ah go in, smackin pucks at the goal, maist ae which miss and crack intae the protective glass behind the nets.

  Ma seat’s E8, Block C. A picture book family—wi mum, dad, son, and daughter—get up tae let me past. Ah’m careful tae avoid the assorted drinks and snacks and jaikets that urr laid on the grey concrete at thur feet as ah shimmy past.

  Announcements urr made ower the tannoy.

  For your own safety, please keep your eyes on the puck at all times.

  The players leave the ice and head back tae the changin room. Thur’s at least a couple ae thousand folk in here, a wee buzz ae excitement is startin tae get louder. And it’s no cauld lit ah’d thought it’d be.

  As the child mascots and competition winners urr brought oot ontae the ice, ah take the binoculars oot tae dae a sweep ae the crowd. Afore ah can get a look at anyone, the lights go oot, leavin us in total darkness.

  31

  Purple lights blink intae life in the crowd. An epic classical piece ae music is soon replaced by The Joker and the Thief by Wolfmother and the players skate oot ontae the ice. They get announced wan by wan as they skate aroond the spotlights.

  ‘Number four,’ blares the announcer. ‘Landon… OSLANSKI!’

  The crowd cheers and whoops. Another five minutes ae announcements and cheerleaders and referees checkin the ice is awright, then the game gets started.

  Get intae thum

  Get intae thum

  Get intae thum

  The crowd chants right fae the beginnin. The noisiest fans sit in the top right corner wi a drum. The Sheffield fans sit in the top left, makin a decent noise themsels.

  If you had friends, you could come here with them. Frances and Sam would say no, and you know it. If you had family, you could come here, but you don’t.

  Ah can barely keep up wi whaur the puck is. Thur’s a buzz and the Sheffield fans celebrate. The Clan urr one nil doon. Ah didnae even see it hit the net. The home fans look gutted but also lit thur used tae it.

  Ah lean intae the wee gurl next tae me.

  ‘Urr Sheffield above Braehead in the league?’

  She nods.

  ‘They’ll go second if they win,’ she tells me. ‘We’re in the bottom four.’

  ‘Ah see, so ye hink we’ll get beat?’

  She shakes her heid.

  ‘Nae chance. We jist need tae GET INTAE THUM.’

  She clenches her fists so tight her knuckles look lit tiny cue baws under her skin. Her parents smile wi pride, lit aye, she’s oors.

  ‘Sounds lit you shid be oot there,’ ah tell her.

  ‘Ah want tae play when ah’m aulder,’ she replies. ‘But Alistair Matheson in ma year says ah skate like a gurl.’

  Jesus, man, cannae escape the patriarchy fur wan bastartin minute. Ah lean in closer tae her.

  ‘Let me tell you suhin,’ ah say. ‘Whit’s yer name?’

  ‘Arya.’

  ‘Arya, course it is. Listen up, Arya. If ah can dole oot jist wan piece ae advice here, it’s that daein suhin “like a gurl” is not a bad hing. Ye hear? Let me ask ye this, wid ye rather skate lit a boy?’

  We lock eyes and she looks disgusted at the thought.

  ‘Absolutely, one hundred percent not,’ she says.

  ‘Well, there ye go. Daein stuff like a gurl is the only way hings get done these days.’

  The crowd cheers at some poor geezer gettin smashed intae the plexiglass. Ah lift the binoculars back tae ma eyes and scan the crowd.

  ‘Whit urr ye lookin fur?’ Arya asks me.

  ‘A friend ae mine,’ ah say, continuin tae scan.

  ‘Why urr ye no sittin next tae them if they’re yer friend?’

  ‘They don’t kno
w thur ma friend yet.’

  Arya laughs and pulls her brother’s sleeve so he can listen as well.

  ‘Wesley,’ she says. ‘Look at the woman, she’s got binoculars.’

  Ah nearly glance behind me tae see this “woman” the gurl’s talkin aboot afore ah realise it’s me. Ah’m the woman. Ah don’t look that auld surely. It must be this face ae Rose’s. That must be it. She widnae huv said that aboot Daisy. Ah’m no “the woman” yet.

  ‘Can ah huv a go?’ the brother asks.

  Ah’m workin oot a polite way ae tellin him naw, then ah spot Steven in the crowd. He’s on the opposite side ae the arena fae me, no far fae the drummer. He’s laughin and chattin away tae the guy on his right.

  ‘Listen, ah cannae gie ye the binoculars,’ ah say tae the kids. ‘That’s me spotted ma pal so ah need tae go. Here, fur bein decent company.’

  Ah slip a tenner intae Arya’s tiny hawn. She uses baith hawns tae stretch it oot above her in the light.

  ‘Jist tae check,’ she says. ‘Ye get a lot ae fakes these days.’

  As ah’m makin ma way roond the stadium, the Clan score and the place erupts. A siren blasts and a song comes on and everybody claps along.

  ‘Clan goal,’ the announcer lets us know. ‘Scored by number 10, Tyler…’

  ‘Scofield!’ the crowd reply.

  ‘Tyler!’

  ‘Scofield!’

  The first period comes tae an end as ah’m walkin between sections. Folk flood oot tae the bar and the loos and slow ma progress.

  Across the ice, ah see Steven and his friend gettin up and leavin fur the foyer. Ah go the other way roond the arena and approach thur seats. The two women in the seats next tae Steven’s look up at me.

  ‘Hiya,’ ah say.

  They baith stand up tae let me pass.

  ‘Cheers,’ ah say. ‘But, see, whit it is, that guy that’s jist away, he’s ma stepda.’

  They gie each other a funny look.

  ‘And?’ wan ae them says.

  ‘And ah wis really hopin tae sit next tae him, as a surprise. He disnae know ah’m comin.’

  ‘Ye want us tae move seats?’

  Ah take oot ma crumpled ticket and gie it tae the closest girl.

  ‘Block C, E8. The seat next tae it is free. And thur’s a really lovely family on the other side ae me.’

  The gurl on the left turns tae her pal. Ah can sense they don’t want any trouble.

  ‘Will we jist move?’

  The gurl on the right turns tae me. She raises her left hawn and starts rubbin her fing’rs thigether, while she clears her throat. The friend looks embarrassed.

  ‘Itchy fingers ye’ve got there?’ ah ask. ‘And a sair throat? Ye’ll need tae get tae the doctors.’

  ‘Ah’ve been tae the doctors,’ she says, droppin baith the hawn and the cough. ‘Ma prescription’s twenty quid.’

  Ah pull a twenty fae ma pocket and hawn it tae her. She takes it smugly and the pair ae them hop doon the stairs and aff tae thur new seats. This hockey business is mair expensive than ah thought. Ah take ma seat and wait fur Steven tae return.

  Ah end up transfixed watchin the ice cleaner hing daien laps. It leaves behind a wet trail as it goes. It finishes aff the last strip ae unclean ice and ah’ve niver seen suhin so satisfyin.

  The spell’s broken when somebdy appears at ma side.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Can ah squeeze past?’

  32

  Steven and his pal stand ower me. Ah get up and suck in ma gut tae let them in tae thur seats. Steven smiles and gies a nod in thanks then double takes. We aw sit doon. He stares straight aheid lit he’s tryin tae ignore ah exist.

  ‘Steven?’ ah say, pointin at him, pretendin ah’m no quite sure.

  He nods and looks even mair nervous.

  ‘Rose,’ ah say, pittin a hawn tae ma chest. ‘This is a weird coincidence.’

  ‘Aye,’ he says. ‘Coincidence.’

  He then turns tae his pal and immediately engages in a deep, whispered conversation that ah’m sure isnae aboot me at aw. Ah wait patiently as the players come back ontae the ice and Wolfmother plays again. It’s wan aw, but thur’s an atmosphere in the place that they expect tae get beat. Except for wee Arya.

  Play restarts.

  ‘Listen,’ ah say, leanin in tae Steven. ‘Ah’m sorry aboot the other day. Ah don’t know whit tae say, ah was… no masel. Obviously ye didnae hit me wi the lorry. Sorry.’

  He studies ma face, judgin me, swirlin aroond the chuggy in his mooth fur a few seconds.

  ‘…and ye’re no gonnae sue me?’ he asks.

  ‘Naw.’

  ‘And ye’re no stalkin me?’

  ‘No that ah’m aware ae.’

  ‘And ye’re no gonnae murder me?’

  ‘Widnae even know whaur tae dump a body.’

  ‘Right…’ He smiles and shakes his heid. ‘We’ve aw hud bad days ah suppose. Well, ah’ve niver telt somebdy ah’ll sue them afore but ye get ma point. By the way, that wis a fake number ah gave ye so ah hope ye’ve no been phonin. Nice hat.’

  Ah laugh. He turns tae his pal.

  ‘Davie,’ he says. ‘Mind that lassie ah wis tellin ye aboot, the wan that wis gonnae sue me? This is her, here.’

  Davie leans ower tae look at me.

  ‘Pleasure,’ he says, and we shake hawns. ‘If ah wur you, ah’d take him fur everyhin he’s got. Ye could probably buy a hot dog wi the payoot. Four quid this hing cost me.’

  He holds up his hot dog, messy wi red and yella splatters.

  ‘Ye’re right,’ ah hear Davie say under his breath tae Steven. ‘She does look lit Daisy.’

  Sheffield break on the counterattack and take the lead. Some ae their fans urr right in amongst the Braehead fans. This isnae anyhin lit the fitbaw. Naebdy’s gettin chucked oot or anyhin.

  ‘Whit happened tae the gurls that wur sittin there afore?’ Steven asks.

  ‘They wur in the wrong seats,’ ah say. ‘Got thur letters mixed up.’

  Him and Davie baith nod. Thur eyes rarely leave the ice while they talk.

  ‘Ye dae remind me ae ma stepdaughter,’ Steven says. ‘Hope ye don’t mind me sayin. Ah’m no sure why though, yeese urnae exactly alike personality wise. Fur one, ye’re here. Daisy near enough telt me tae get stuffed when ah used tae invite her tae come along tae hings wi me.’

  ‘Ah dunno,’ ah say, ‘mibbe ye shid ask again. She might enjoy it. She might hink the players urr actually quite gid lookin, if ye’re intae that sort ae hing.’

  This disnae raise any eyebrows fur them, as thur too involved in the game. They must’ve trained thur eyes tae see this bloody puck cause ah cannae keep track ae it.

  ‘Trust me, Rose,’ Davie says, leanin ower. ‘Ah’ve heard aw aboot Daisy fae Steven here, fur months. She’s no fur giein him a chance. Between us, ah hink it’s his breath.’

  Steven breathes intae his hawn, smells it, then shrugs.

  A Sheffield player chases efter a Clan guy and smashes him intae the glass. The crowd goes crazy. Ah join Steven and Davie on ma feet. The two players drop thur sticks and throw thur gloves on the ice. They grab each other’s jerseys and start smashin each other. The crowd love it.

  The two players collapse on top ae each other. It’s hard tae tell who won and baith sets ae fans claim victory. The referee escorts them tae the penalty box.

  ‘Does that happen every game?’ ah ask.

  ‘Ah’d say it’s aboot fifty-fifty,’ Steven replies. ‘Hing is, ye‘re no really gettin yer money’s worth if thur’s no a scrap.’

  Thur’s a break in play while we wait fur the blood tae be washed fae the ice. The players skate casually, lit they’re oot at the Christmas markets, and skoosh water intae thur gubs fae plastic bottles.

  ‘So is this yer first game?’ Steven asks.

/>   ‘Aye.’

  ‘And how are ye likin it?’

  ‘Aye, it’s gid. It’s no as tense as the fitbaw.’

  ‘Ye’re right there. See, ah used tae go tae the fitbaw, but the doctor said it wisnae gid fur ma heart. He suggested findin suhin that widnae get me so worked up.’

  Lookin aroond, ah can see why. Thur team’s gettin beat but naebdy’s shoutin aboot the ref’s family or anyhin. The worst wis a wife shoutin that the ref wis a muppet and even then her kids looked mair embarrassed at her patter than scared ae her.

  ‘You no wi any pals?’ Steven asks.

  ‘Ha, naw,’ ah say. ‘Jist on ma lonesome.’

  ‘Ach, quite right,’ Steven says. ‘Nothin wrong wi enjoyin yer ain company.’

  The second period ends. Clangus the Mascot walks tae the middle ae the ice and folk start tryin tae pelt them wi rubber pucks. Davie launches his but it ends up naewhaur near.

  ‘He wastes his money on this every week,’ Steven laughs.

  ‘Thur wis that wan time,’ Davie explains. ‘Ma puck hit Clangus’s fit.’

  ‘Did ye win though?’

  ‘Naw.’

  ‘And who did win?’

  ‘A wee lassie… but she went right doon the front tae throw hers, and her da held her right up above the glass.’

  ‘Aye, that’s no fair, mate. Ye shid pit a formal complaint in.’

  Ah laugh and surprise masel. Steven wis niver funny at hame. Thur’s no wan time ah can hink ae whaur he made me laugh. He’s been usin aw his patter on random young lassies at the hockey by the looks ae it.

  Thur’s nae such hing as gid guys. Thur’s jist guys.

  33

  The final period passes quick. Thur’s a few minutes left and the Clan urr four–wan doon. Folk start headin fur the exit. A Clan player trips a Sheffield player and the game stops again. The announcer comes on the tannoy.

  ‘A little birdie told us we have a special birthday in the crowd tonight, hockey fans! Our season ticket holder Steven McDaid is celebrating his fiftieth birthday! Say happy birthday, Clangus!’