Scottish Widows

by Grae Cleugh

  I’m told I’ll probably escape a prison sentence because of my age. So they tell me. Which would be nice, of course. I don’t mind much but who’d look after his Chrysanthemums? They reburied him. Same plot. Way over there it is. I can’t go near it. They’ve taken an ASBO out against me. If I go within a hundred yards of the grave I can be arrested. True. A sledgehammer to crack a nut if you ask me but that’s the country we live in. I have to report to the police station every day too. Ridiculous. What am I going to do, escape to Brazil? I can barely make it into town these days. Not with my legs. I’m in the papers again. Not so sympathetic this time. The Record called me ‘Crippen of the Calton’. I’m quite offended. I didn’t murder anyone. I’m getting terrible looks in the Co-op just now. Still, I’ve no regrets. I don’t. I was happy. I’m sure he was too. Together again. Bugger them. Now this (the eye) is all I have of him. Keep it about me all the time. No sense in having it if it’s just going to sit in a drawer. The cardie pocket’s a handy enough size for it. Fall asleep with it in my hand too. He’d take it out at night and I’d have to sneak it off his bedside table. None of that anymore. I just take it to bed. It’s always with me. Not much of him, is it? Still, suppose it’ll have to do. I come here every day. Sit. I can see him from here. Just about. Wish I could go over but I can’t. Better than nothing. I do miss him. I really do. And I don’t just mean his mushrooms.

  Blackout.

  Music.

  2. ‘HOME SWEET HOME’

  Music off. Lights up. AGNES, a woman of 75, sitting in a day-chair. She has a tartan blanket over her legs. A Zimmer frame is beside her.

  AGNES: Their food’s fuckin rotten. That I can tell you without fear of contradiction. Scrambled egg she calls it. This is today. Lunchtime.

  ‘What’s this slop you’re givin us now?’ I ask her.

  ‘Now, now then Agnes’ she says. Patronisin auld bitch. ‘I’ve got a nice plate of scrambled eggs for you.’ She unveils it as if it’s the Crown fuckin jewels or somethin.

  ‘What do you call that?’ I say to her.

  ‘Scrambled egg’ she says.

  ‘By the looks of it, somebody else’s already eaten it’ I say.

  ‘It’s delicious’ she says. ‘Try it.’

  I just look at her.

  ‘There’s grilled tomato with it. You like tomato’ she says.

  ‘I bloody hate tomato’ I tell her.

  ‘No, you don’t’ she says. Cheeky bitch. ‘At least try it.’

  ‘I’d rather eat my own shite’ I say to her. That puts her gas at a peep. She buggers off. Honestly. I’m payin good money to be in here, and the crap they give you. Well, I’m not payin, the social is, but it’s the same bloody difference. They’re getting five hundred a week to look after me, and what they dish up I wouldnae feed to a dug. No bloody fear, no bloody thanks. I just let her scrambled bloody egg sit there. Have a Mars Bar for lunch. My nephew brings them in. He’s gay but a good lad all the same. Wants to be a hairdresser. They all do, don’t they? He’s done my hair before. Made quite a good job of it. Better than that eejit they send round. Brenda. Looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards. Straw hangin oot a midden. Not a good sign. Sure enough, she’s pap. Last time she did mine, I looked like Worzel Gummidge. Farmer could’ve stuck me in a fuckin field, I’d have made some extra dosh for masel. And the money she charges? Forget it.

  I never used to swear before I came in here. Sure that’s awful. This place drives you to it. You should see some of them in here. Like the night of the fuckin livin dead. Doddery auld buggers. Stoatin around like fuckin zombies. I don’t know if it’s the drugs they give you, keep you quiet, or whether they were like that before they came in here. There’s some real humdingers in here. That Wilhelmina doesnae know if she’s comin or goin. Poor auld sowel. Aye peein hersel. You’re sittin watchin that auld witch Anne Robinson on The Weakest Link, which to be honest I actually quite like, and all you can hear is the sound of runnin watter. ‘Here Aileen, that’s Wilhelmina off again’ I shout. In comes poor Aileen wi a bedpan. Every time. ‘You’re too late wi that’ I always say. ‘You need a mop and bucket.’ Works hard that Aileen. Not much up top, and I’m sure they pay her in buttons, but a nice enough lass all the same. Then there’s Hugh. Another of my fellow inmates. Shuggie to his pals. Of which he has few. Fancies himsel as a bit of a ladies man. Still sportin the pencil moustache as if he’s David fuckin Niven or somethin. Trouble is he’s completely doolally. Always wanderin aboot here wi his dressin gown wide open and nae pyjamas on. ‘Fancy a go on this ladies?’ is his usual openin salvo. ‘Fuck off Hugh, I’m havin ma cornflakes’ is my usual riposte. I think he might have had his end away with that Isobel a few doors down from me. Aye. Mind you, she’d do pretty much anythin for ten bob and a slice of Battenberg cake. Then there’s Elspeth. She’s like me. Still got her marbles. Well, one or two onyway. Has big problems wi her bowels, so she does. Amongst other things. Well, she’s ancient. Eighty-five. What can you expect? What a fuckin bore she is, though. I don’t mind ill people but she’s always goin on about her ailments. Especially that fuckin colostomy bag o hers. Always needin emptied. She fills it quicker than you can fill a bag of chocolate raisins at Woolworths. If I’ve heard it once, I must have heard it a hundred times. ‘How I got my colostomy’ by Elspeth Marshall. Her tale of two shitties, I call it. I don’t really have any friends in here. Not what you’d call friends. No point. I’m goin home soon. Back to my family. I’m feelin much better. And I’m walkin fine. Don’t need that fuckin thing at all (the Zimmer). Couple of wee falls, you’d think I was at death’s door. I’ll be back soon enough. Out of this dump. Few more weeks.

  I do get visitors of course. My friend Nancy comes sometimes. And my next-door neighbour Lizzie comes up now and again. Nice old biddy she is, but again she doesnae exactly cheer you up. Last time she says:

  ‘Why don’t we go for a wee walk? You’re allowed.’

  ‘Aye, fine’ I says. ‘Where will we go?’

  Know where she takes me? A walk through the fuckin cemetery. Which is just down the road fae here. Havin a laugh or what? And she’s aye bringin stuff she makes, like marmalade or piccalilli, neither of which I can use. ‘You get that stuff in here’ I keep tellin her. ‘Bring me chocolate’, but she never listens. Mostly it’s my family that comes. When they can. My son Davie usually visits once a week. He’s a good boy. Would like to come more but he’s a family of his own now. I know myself how busy that can be. His wife, Jen’s, great. Lovely girl. Real family-oriented. They’ve got two. Andrew’s eighteen, he’s at university now. And Marie’s doing her GCSEs. Wants to go into hotel management. Bright girl. Got her head screwed on. Especially about money. Like her mother. She’ll go far. And of course my nephew comes once in a while. Stephen. Think he’s lonely, you know. Canny find himsel a boyfriend. Probably needs to bulk up a bit. They like that, the gays, don’t they?

  Family. That’s what’s important. The only thing that’s important. That’s why I did it. Well, I suppose there were selfish reasons too. I was a bit lonely at the time, aye. Bill’s been dead three year and here I was bouncin around in a five-apartment by masel. I had the space and they didnae. Andrew and Marie were still sharin a room, for Christ sake. A teenage boy and girl. No, it was no good. I’d go round there for my tea sometimes, and between the four of them there was barely enough room to swing a cat. Jen had been hintin a bit too. Subtly but hintin. I thought about it, and I thought why not? Be company for me, and plenty of room here for them. I’d take the downstairs bedroom and they could take the three upstairs rooms and we’d share the livin-room and the kitchen and bathroom. Seemed like the ideal arrangement. Sure enough, after they move in, it’s tickety-boo. It’s lovely havin family around. The five of us eatin together round the big table. Watchin telly at night. Spendin time together. Course, they like different things from me on the TV – The X Factor for example, which as far as I’m concerned is a load of fuckin shite. So after a while I decide I might
as well get a wee portable for my room. For the programmes I like. Much easier all round. If they’re watchin somethin I like, I go in and watch on the big telly. If not, I just go to my room. Aye. I usually let them have the bathroom first in the mornin too. You know, get out to school and work, then I go in and do my ablutions. Gets me up and out a bit later than usual but I don’t mind. You’ve got to let the young ones get themselves sorted first. At the beginnin, Jen does all the cookin. Lovely cook she is. Does a rare roast chicken. Delicious. Then later on, she tells me that cookin for five’s gettin a bit much for her and would I mind gettin my own? Well of course I’ve always been very self-sufficient and I’m no a big eater, so I say fine, suits me down to a T. Jen’s wonderful about it. Gives me my own shelf in the fridge and my own wee kitchen cupboard for all my bits n bobs. Very cosy. So I just get my own: a bit of cold meat or somethin on a sandwich. An odd packet of biscuits. I’d probably cook more but Jen’s in the kitchen a lot now and likes to keep things a certain way. Probably best if I stay out of her road, so I do. I take to havin my meals in my room after a while. Turns out they like to watch telly while they eat. Not big talkers. So I make up my sandwich at night and usually just leave them to it. It’s the ideal arrangement really. I give Jen a bit of money for bills and so on, and she takes care of everythin. Davie lets her run the money side, which I personally think is a good thing. He’s never been very good with it, goes through his fingers like water. Whereas she’s really on the ball when it comes to finances. So that’s it. Course I can’t really have my friends round like I used to. But that’s okay. I can go round to them. Otherwise I’ll do a wee bit shoppin, or just sit in my room, watch my portable. Nice havin people stayin though. Be good to see a bit more of them but they lead such busy lives. Anyway, we’re all very happy together. One big family. Just like I thought it’d be.

  It’s Jen’s idea originally. Shocks me a bit at first. I admit that. But once she explains things – she has a great way of explainin things – it does seem like the right thing to do. They’ve been here a while now after all – well, six months or so – and they’re all settled in. Plus, if I pop my clogs, it just reverts to the Council anyway. Which would be a shame, after all the work Bill and I did on the place. I’ve no money of my own and I’d like to pass somethin onto them, so I agree. Jen gets the papers sorted, which I then sign. We come to a wee arrangement later about rent and so on. I pay her about £30 a week, includin bills, which I think is very generous of her. She’s a wonderful daughter-in-law. I move to the upstairs room, which is a wee bit smaller but then Andrew needs a bigger room to put a desk in for his studies, and I don’t really use a lot of the space in the downstairs room, so that suits me fine. Davie’s very good too. Puts a wash-hand basin in my room so that I don’t have to spend so much time in the bathroom. I can brush my teeth and have a wee wash every mornin in my own room now. I only take a bath once a week anyway, so it’s fine really. Plus bein upstairs now saves me goin up and down to the toilet all the time. I can just walk across the landin. My legs are startin to go a bit, you see. Osteoporosis. So this suits me much better.

  The first time’s no long after this. I’m walkin back from the bathroom to my room, and I just go. I remember reachin for the banister at the top of the stairs but I miss and come clatterin down. They were all out, it was just me. Nothin broken luckily but very badly bruised. Don’t have to stay in hospital, thank god. A few weeks’ bed rest and I’ll be as right as rain. Jen’s ever so nice. Bringin me my meals. Doin my washin. I know how busy she is, so I really do appreciate it. Later, when I’m feelin better, she suggests I might get a stick or somethin, but I don’t want that. Tryin to be helpful of course, but thing is, once you get a stick, you never get rid of it. I see them with sticks down the shops all the time. A lot of them don’t need them. They can walk perfectly well without one. I may be old but I’m no invalid. So I say no. Which of course Jen understands.

  I’m doing fine as a matter of fact. I really am. Takin my pills. Feelin much better. Then one day I’m out at the shops and I trip. I know the minute I fall. Hear it crack. My hip. So that’s me. In the hospital. Have to have it replaced. The operation’s quick enough alright but it’s a long recovery. Not ideal, but I settle myself into the idea. Just have to grin and bear it. What else can you do? They come and visit me. The family. Bring me my bedclothes and some of my things. Davie comes a fair bit. And the kids, on occasion. I’d like to have seen more of Jen, but there you are. Busy mum.

  The operation goes very well as it happens and I’m recuperatin fine. Then near the time I’m due to get out, Jen finally comes to see me. Which is wonderful.

  ‘I’m so lookin forward to comin home’ I tell her.

  ‘Well, yes, I wanted to talk to you about that’ she says.

  ‘Oh aye?’ I say.

  ‘Aye’, she says. ‘We were thinkin, Davie and me, that just for a wee while, you might want to go somewhere just to get fully recovered. Really get back on your feet. I’m busy with work and the kids now and we just thought, you know until you can really look after yourself, you might think about goin somewhere.’

  ‘You mean one of the family?’ I said. I don’t know why I said that. Davie’s three brothers are all abroad. Eileen, my daughter, has a place in the West End but she’s at the top of a tenement block. So that wouldnae be any use.

  ‘No,’ Jen says, ‘there’s a place not too far from us. Where you can convalesce for a bit. Woodburn, it’s called. Davie’s been out to see it and says it’s lovely. And they’d really look after you there. Just until you feel better. And we can still come and visit you.’

  ‘I feel fine, though’ I say to her.

  ‘We think it would be best’ she says.

  ‘What about the cost?’ I ask her.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that’ she says. ‘I’ve looked into it. Social Services’ll pay for it. I’ve got all the forms filled out. In fact, I brought them with me. Thought it might be best to just get you all signed up today.’

  I have to admit she took me aback a bit with that. Well, I wasn’t really expectin it. I think she could see it in my face, because the next thing she says is, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll only be for a few weeks, Agnes. Just until you get better. I’d love to have you home now, but really it’s no fair on Davie and the kids. I’ve only got one pair of hands after all.’

  ‘No, no. I quite understand’ I tell her. ‘You’re right of course. I wouldnae want to be a burden.’

  ‘You’re not a burden, Agnes’ she says. ‘It’s just for a wee while.’

  She gives me a hankie. I blow my nose. As I say, lovely girl. The papers are all filled out, so all I have to do is sign them. Which I do. And that’s me.

  A few days later, I come here. My room’s all ready and Davie brings over a suitcase with some clothes and so on. It’s not ideal but then I’m not goin to be here for very long, so what does it matter? Davie ends up visitin the most. He’s a good boy. Wish he could stay for longer when he comes but…well…

  One day he arrives carryin the biggest box of chocolates I’ve ever seen. He knows I like chocolate, but usually it’s a bar of Galaxy and lump it. He’s no a bad son, he’s just, how shall I put it…a man. I’m thinkin he’s come to take me home. It’s been a few weeks and I’m feelin much better, so when I see what he’s carryin I get a wee bitty excited.

  ‘Thought you might like these, mum’ he says.

  ‘Oh aye. Lovely, son. Thanks very much.’

  ‘Something I wanted to talk to you about, mum’ he says.

  ‘Aye, I thought so.’

  ‘How did you know?’ he says.

  ‘I’m your mother. I know these things.’

  ‘Well, we were thinkin’, he says. ‘It’s been a few weeks now and / ’

  ‘I know’ I say to him. ‘The doctor was in the day. Says I can go home soon.’

  ‘Well, that’s it, you see. We were thinkin you might want to stay a bit longer’ he says.

  He kind of floor
ed me wi that one.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Well, we’re worried about you, mum. What if you fall again? It could be an awful lot worse next time’ he says.

  ‘I’m fine’ I tell him.

  ‘We think, Jen and me, that it would be better, safer, if you stayed a bit longer, you know, just until we sort somethin out’ he says, ‘How we all look after you. Jen in particular. She’s busy, mum. Just a few more weeks.’

  ‘Right’ I say.

  ‘Or so’ he says.

  ‘Aye. Right’ I say. ‘No, you’re right, son, I expect. Just until you sort somethin out?’

  ‘Aye. Aye’ he says, ‘Just until then.’

  We sit there in silence. Neither of us speakin. Don’t know what to say to each other. I’ve never sat like that wi my Davie in my life.

  ‘Good. Right. Well, that’s settled then’ he eventually says to me. ‘So, anyway, I can’t stay long. I just wanted to pop in and…Jen likes me home for seven, so…’ Which I know she does.

  ‘Aye, you go son. I’m fine’ I tell him.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he says.

  ‘Aye. Of course’ I say to him.

  ‘Thanks mum. I’ll come and see you again soon’ he says.

  He gives me a kiss and off he goes. He’s right, of course. They need to get somethin sorted out. Jen’s aye very busy. And, well, I have actually got used to this place. In a way. Has its ups and downs of course but then so does anywhere. I moan about it, sure, but I’ve always been a moaner. They have bingo, tea-dances. I’ve got my telly here, all my meals. Really I’m very lucky. Very lucky. And the family do visit. From time to time.