by Ross Sayers
‘Moral ae the story time, eh?’ ah say. ‘Did ye rehearse that wee speech, aye?’
That’s wiped the smile aff her face. She flattens her fag under her fit then lights up another yin.
‘Keep speakin lit that,’ she says, ‘and ah’ll send ye back again.’
‘Ye widnae.’
‘Ah might. And ye’re gonnae run oot ae flowery gurls’ names soon enough.’
‘As long as ye promise ye’ll kill me afore ah need tae call masel Petunia.’
A bus zooms by and splashes through a sturdy lookin puddle, which showers lightly on ma boots. Yotta disnae seem tae take on any water damage.
‘Aw in aw,’ Yotta says, ‘ah’d say this hus been a successful first project. Ah might even get special recognition fur ma efforts.’
‘Jeezo, ah’d hate tae hink whit an unsuccessful project wid look lit. Aw, wait. Jill.’
Yotta chucks her second fag intae the road and walks roond tae the entrance ae the station. Ah take a deep breath ae the freezin December air. If ah wis Daisy, ah’d be worried aboot catchin a cauld fae bein oot in the rain too long.
‘Right, you,’ Yotta says. ‘Ready tae go back?’
56
The shiny white tiles reflect faint, grey shadows ae me and Yotta as we go inside the station. Ah pay fur a single at the booth, but when we arrive at the barriers, they magically open when Yotta clicks her fing’rs.
‘Aw aye, cheers, could’ve telt me that wis gonnae happen,’ ah say.
‘Whaur’s the fun in that?’ she replies.
The staff member behind the glass disnae seem tae notice or care when ah look back. We take the escalator doon tae the platform. Ma hair blows wildly aroond ma heid as the constant gust ae air fae doon below comes up tae meet us. Lily’s hair’s far too long fur ma likin. It gets in ma eyes and sticks tae ma lips at a higher rate than ah’m used tae.
Doon below, a few folk wait fur the inner line. The screen shows the next train is in 7 minutes.
Thur’s a rumble somewhaur in the distance. It comes closer and closer. A subway car screeches intae view, its lights urr beacons in the dark tunnel. It almost looks lit a plastic kid’s toy, bein shakily pushed intae position, lucky no tae fall apart.
It comes tae rest in front ae us, and the doors open. It’s empty. Naebdy on the platform makes any move tae get on board or even seems tae notice it’s there. Thur eyes urr fixed tae thur phones. No that ye get reception doon here so thur aw either on the Wi-Fi or pretendin they’ve got pals.
‘Ah take it this is jist fur me?’ ah ask.
‘Ye’re learnin,’ says Yotta.
‘And whaur am ah goin?’
‘Whaurever ye want,’ she says. ‘Whaurever ye want.’
‘Really? Whaurever?’
‘Naw, no really,’ she laughs. ‘Ah don’t quite huv that security clearance yet. Ye’re goin hame.’
The subway carriage still sits there, in nae hurry at aw. Ah look up at the screen. It still says 7 minutes til the next yin. The people on the platform shift on thur feet and pick thur noses. Thur no frozen in time or anyhin but they don’t feel real.
‘Daisy,’ Yotta says, ‘ah’m gonnae break a rule.’
‘Wild tae hink ye’ve no broken any so far.’
‘Wan ae the biggies, ah’m meanin: nae two folk in the same place wi the same face.’
‘Ye’re sendin me back, tae afore ah went back the first time? So can ah meet masel?’
‘Nut, absolutely nut. Avoid yersel at aw costs. Ah jist hope ye make the maist ae this. Call it a wee early Christmas present.’
The subway carriages start beepin—the signal that the doors urr aboot tae close.
‘Ye better get on,’ Yotta says. ‘Ye’ve got wan last assignment.’
‘Ah assume ye’re no gonnae gie me a folder or a pamphlet on exactly whit ah’m meant tae dae?’
‘How many times dae ah need tae tell ye? Ye’ve got a life tae save.’
The beepin gets louder. Yotta takes ma arm and leads me ontae the subway. She sits doon facin me.
‘It’s been really nice gettin tae know ye, Daisy,’ she says. ‘Ah can only hope ye’ve enjoyed gettin tae know yersel as much. Take care and travel safe.’
The doors slam shut, giein me a fright. When ah look back across fae me, Yotta’s gone.
And so is everybody else on the platform. The lights switch themsels aff wan by wan. Ah pull ma feet aff the flair and tuck masel intae the foetal position on the carpet-textured seats. Ma skin vibrates against the fabric as the subway gains speed.
A voice speaks ower the tannoy.
‘And roond and roond and roond we go.’
‘Bye, Yotta. Thanks fur… whitever this wis.’
‘Don’t, ye’ll make me greet. Ah’ll see ye again on the outer line sometime.’
The carriage goes so fast ah feel lit ah’m flyin.
Part Six
Alighting
57
‘Wakey, wakey, rise and shine, love.’
This is becomin too common an occurrence. If ah ever wake up on the subway again it’ll be a day too soon. Ah may as well huv a duvet and a hot water bottle stashed under the seats.
A well-dressed guy in a grey suit gently shakes ma shooder.
‘Wan too many last night wis it?’ he asks.
‘Ah dunno, depends when last night wis,’ ah reply, sittin upright. ‘Whit’s the time, date, month and year? And please, nae jokes.’
The guy chuckles but checks his watch.
‘It’s comin up on eleven o’clock in the mornin, Friday the 22nd ae December, 2017. Unless ah’m mistaken. Whit dae ah win?’
‘Friday? Ye said Friday, aye?’
‘That’s right.’
Ah thank him and get up. As ah step aff the carriage, the space ah wis takin up on the seats is rapidly takin by four folk, knees and thighs and bums crushed thigether. Mair folk flash by me, tryin tae make it on afore the doors shut.
Ma unused single ticket works and the barriers open fur me. Ah catch sight ae masel in the security mirror, the big circular yin that sits up in the corner and shows ye the hale station.
It’s me. It’s ma face. It’s ma arms and legs and ma hair and ma teeth and ma erse which is fuckin huge in this mirror, it must be a trick ae the light. It’s me. Ah’m Daisy again. Fur gid this time.
‘Fuckin yiss,’ ah say. ‘Ye’re no goin anywhaur this time.’
A mum and her kids pass and gie me a funny look.
‘Why’s that lady talkin tae herself, Mum?’ the wee lassie says.
‘She’s jist disturbed, dear,’ the mum replies.
Ah smile at them and they scurry by.
‘Ah um disturbed,’ ah shout efter them. ‘Run away fae the scary subway lady! Or ah’ll pit ye on the outer line and ye’ll niver be seen again! And… merry Christmas!’
It wid be fair tae say ah’m as jolly as auld Saint Nick himsel as ah skip through the Buchanan Street station and hop on the escalator. Yotta’s even pit me in a clean set ae claithes.
When ah get tae the top, a wife wi a microphone and a strong jaw stands ootside the entrance, gettin fulmed by a camera crew. Ah prop masel up on wan ae the entrance walls and watch as the lassie does her bit tae camera.
‘Try again?’ she says tae the cameraman, who nods in response. ‘Right, nae fuck ups this time. I stand here at the entrance to the Buchanan Street Subway station, workplace of Jill O’Brien, still wanted by Glasgow police in connection with a shooting on the outskirts of the city. It has been over a week now since a video of Ms O’Brien was uploaded across online channels, apparently showing her firing a gun at an unknown woman, with intent to murder. The video was an overnight viral sensation, racking up millions of views and prompting hundreds of comments from the public regarding the identity of the shooter. However, the deeper the poli
ce have delved into the life of Ms O’Brien, the deeper the mystery goes. That awright?’
The cameraman waits fur a few seconds then raises a thumb in approval.
‘Thank fuck fur that,’ says the wife. ‘Fuckin freezin ma nips aff oot here.’
Ah go roond the back ae the camera and tap the cameraman on the shooder.
‘Here,’ ah ask, ‘whit does she mean, the deeper the mystery goes? Whit mystery?’
‘Aw,’ he says, ‘apparently this wife the polis urr efter, she like, forged aw her documents. Passport and drivin licence and that. Stole somebdy’s identity or suhin. Mad when ye hink aboot it.’
‘Aye. Mad.’
Ah leave him and walk in the direction ae the Concert Hall steps. It feels gid tae be back in ma ain skin. Ah feel lit ah fill every inch ae masel again, ma soul reachin aw the way tae the end ae ma fing’rtips. The other body felt clumsy, lit ah wisnae in control and needed tae shed it tae be free.
Ah take aff the gloves Yotta kitted me oot wi tae inspect ma hawns. They bend and curl jist how ah remember.
Noo. Whaur wis ah on Friday the 22nd ae December at aboot eleven o’clock?
58
Siobhan’s office is nice. No overly furnished, a minimalistic kind ae feel. She disnae even hing her certificates on the wall tae remind ye she’s legit and better than ye.
Inside, me and her sit opposite each other. Ah look lit ah’d rather be anywhaur else in the world. Ah’ve only been stood here fur aboot ten seconds but ah’ve awready spotted at least three eye rolls. Ah didnae realise ah did that so much.
It’s bizarre, seein yersel fae another body. Lit when ye hear back audio ae yer ain voice and ye go “that’s no me, that’s no whit ah sound lit, ah don’t sound lit that… dae ah?”. Ye jist deny it again and again insteid ah takin a minute tae hink, aye that is whit ah’m presentin tae the rest ae the world. Cause really aw ah spend ma time daein is avoidin seein masel fae other folk’s points ae view. That’s why ah tell Frances tae delete near enough any photie she takes ae the pair ae us.
Somebdy approaches behind me. Ah hear the wee bell on her Santa hat jangling afore ah see her.
‘She’s in with someone at the minute,’ the wee, purple-haired receptionist says. ‘Have you got an appointment?’
‘Aye. Well, naw. Mibbe. Ah’ll come back another day?’
‘That’s probably for the best.’
She toddles away, no realisin that the person in wi Siobhan is the same person she’s jist spoken tae.
Ah look back through the office blinds, accidentally makin eye contact wi masel. Ah move away fae the windae sharpish, afore she works oot whit’s goin on. Ah take a seat in the waitin area and pick up a magazine. Ah read an article aboot some royal couple that tied the knot in a fancy castle in Scotland. They baith look lit they did a fifty-yard dash in a forty-yard gym.
Then ah realise whit ah shid be daein. Ah rip a scrap ae paper fae the magazine, then go tae the reception desk and steal a pen.
A few minutes later, when ma wrist is startin tae ache fae writin, the door flies open and Daisy storms doon the corridor. She passes me withoot glancin up, eyes glued tae her phone. Ah jump up, take a deep breath, and knock at the still open door.
‘Siobhan?’ ah say.
She turns fae her desk, whaur she’s slidin her notebook intae a drawer. Then she turns away again when she sees it’s me.
‘I thought you were in a rush?’ she asks. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’
Another turn. She inspects me, her eyes sweepin up and doon me.
‘Have you… changed clothes?’
Yotta sent me back in an outfit pretty close tae whit ah wis wearin that day but no quite on the money.
‘That’s… no important. Listen, ah’m sorry fur the way ah acted last w… jist noo. Ah’d like tae finish aff oor session if that’s awright.’
She whips roond and a folder flaps and splats tae the groond. She eyes me suspiciously.
‘You want to finish the session? After that… whatever that was.’
‘Aye. Ah’m really sorry. Ah acted lit a spoiled dick. Ye didnae deserve that. Ye’re tryin tae help me. And pittin up wi me… it cannae be much fun.’
She shakes her heid and picks up the folder. Ah walk intae the room and lift the reed diffuser ah knocked ower. Ah collect the wee smelly sticks and pit them back in the pot and rest it on the table. Lavender’s no such a bad smell, as it happens.
‘It’s my job,’ Siobhan says. ‘Believe it or not, Daisy, but I have tougher clients than yourself.’
‘Ah suppose ah’m no as special as ah thought, eh?’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like th—’
‘It’s fine. Ah know whit ye meant. Ah’ve jist… hud some realistions in the past wee while that ah might be mair ae a numpty than ah thought ah wis.’
Siobhan laughs. It’s a foreign sound tae ma ears. Thur’s a lot ae folk whose laughter seems a strange hing tae me. Ah iways thought ah wis quite a funny lassie but hinkin aboot it, when ah’m laughin, usually other folk urnae.
‘You’ve had these realisations in the past ten seconds since you walked out the room?’
‘Time’s a funny hing. A lot can happen in ten seconds. See, ah’d usually make a sex joke here but, in the interest ae bein honest wi ye, ah’ve niver… ah’ve niver went aw the way, as horrible and cringey as that sounds. Thur’s no many folk that know that.’
‘You didn’t need to tell me that.’
‘Aye, but ah wanted tae. Ah’m no ashamed or embarrassed or anyhin. It’s jist… y’know, if ah huv sex wi somebdy, cool. But then ah’m probably no gonnae be wi that person fur ma hale life. And so, ah’ll need tae huv sex wi somebdy else. And then, aw ae a sudden, that’s two folk oot there who know me lit that. That know aw aboot… everyhin. Who’ve seen me lit that. And whit if they two people meet someday and start comparin notes? Ah don’t know how folk can let thur walls come doon that far. Whit if they laugh at ye? They see ye withoot… they see ye and they laugh at ye? Ah don’t know if ah’m ever gonnae be ready fur that, and ah’m tired ae goin along wi it jist cause that’s whit everyone else is daein. Sex and drugs and rock and roll, eh? But whit if ah jist want the rock and roll? Ah don’t want tae pretend tae be somebdy else anymair.’
Siobhan slides back open the drawer and takes the notebook oot.
‘That really was some ten seconds you had out there.’
She gestures fur me tae sit doon and ah dae. Back in the stiff seat wi the new chair smell.
‘You just want the rock and roll,’ Siobhan says. ‘Okay. Listen, we don’t need to discuss it in this session but at some point, Daisy, we’re going to need to address your relationship with alcohol.’
‘Ma relationship wi…’ ah say. ‘What kind ae relationship is that?’
‘I believe you, to some extent, are dependent on alcohol. Obviously, not to the point where you’re on it every day, but I do believe that it’s having a negative effect on your mental health, in the long run. From what you’ve told me, you drink to make people like you, and believe it makes you… more you. But you go too far. It’s not a good cycle. Part of the problem is that you don’t consider it a drug, and in the coming sessions, we’re going to talk about the fact that it can be.’
It’s mad the way counsellors jist drop bombshells on ye lit that, oot the blue, and dinnae warn ye in advance. They get tae pull at a thread ye didnae know wis loose then walk away afore they snip it aff wi a pair ae scissors.
Ah push any other thoughts tae the back ae ma mind and focus on whit ah came in here tae dae. Ah’ll consider whit she’s said another time.
Ma hawn is tremblin as ah take oot the scrap bit ae glossy magazine paper that ah’ve been writin on.
‘Is it awright,’ ah say. ‘If ah dae ma wee diary again? Ah’ll dae it better this time.’
Siobhan opens her noteb
ook, nods and gies me the classic please go on smile. Ah clear ma throat.
‘Wednesday 6th ae December,’ ah say. ‘Ah watched the Liverpool game. We won 7-0. Ah met a few nice guys in the bookies that day. Sometimes when ah see auld fellas spendin aw thur time in the bookies, ah hink, god that’s sad. But then, that might be aw the family they’ve got. These guys wurnae sad, they wur jist… ploughin on.
‘Thursday the 7th, ah worked the close at work. Ah moaned ma face aff but Maggie’s brother got hurt and that wis proper selfish ae me. Ah’m gonnae apologise tae Maggie when ae see her next and ask how her brother’s gettin on.
‘Saturday the 9th, went oot in toon. Ah wis a liability. Ah don’t like gettin that way but ah seem tae dae it mair often than no. It’s no fair on ma pal Frances. Ah shidnae be ruinin so many nights oot fur her. By the by, ah did kiss a lassie. She wis awright.
‘Monday the 11th, me and Frances hud pizza at Bier Halle, two fur wan. Frances disnae like mice but ah hink ah’m gonnae invest in a wan fur a pet. Ah hink thur brilliant. Ah hud a wee mouse once, Squeaker, and ah miss him.
‘Tuesday the 12th, ma purple jumper went missin. That wis the last day ah saw Steven. Ah ignored him when he tried tae say hiya and ah feel bad aboot it. Ah feel so bad ah don’t hink ah’ll ever be able tae forget aboot that moment. When ah hink aboot it, it’s kind ae lit an oot ae body experience, cause ah can see it happenin and thur’s nuhin ah can dae tae stop it. Ah found ma purple jumper later on. Ah’d jist misplaced it fur a while.
‘Thursday the 14th, the Apple shop wis shut when ah tried tae upgrade ma phone. They found a note on Buchanan Street by some wife who said she wis gonnae attack the manager. But she didnae. It niver happened. She binned the note and walked away. That wisnae a wasted trip. That wis… that wis worth it.’
