by Robert White
Climbing the stairs to my bedroom, my legs wobbled and I felt weak as a kitten. The small room was completely filled with a double bed and two singles, leaving a miniscule strip of available floor-space to negotiate your way. My older brother snored quietly on his bed under the window.
On pain of death, our room was neat and tidy but it smelled like four teenage boys slept in it every night. The woodchip wallpaper was peeling off the ceiling due to the damp; the mixture of aromas was interesting at best.
Rooting under our Patrick's bed, I found what I was looking for; his steel toe capped work boots. He wouldn't need them for a few hours yet, and my need was greater than his. I hoped he'd never know they'd been missing.
They were way too big for me, but I pulled on two pairs of thick woollen socks and laced them as tightly as I could. When I stood, I felt like I'd just pulled on a pair of diving boots. I found it so difficult to walk that I almost changed my mind and pulled them off.
Standing in the parlour, watching the clock as the time of my demise drew ever nearer, tears pricked my eyes. As the big hand clicked onto ten to four, I took the deepest of breaths and let myself out of the back door.
It wasn't far to walk to the spare ground where Tam was already waiting for me. As I turned the corner, my heart was in my mouth. Tam stood amongst the rubble, stripped to the waist, his long red curly hair blowing in the wind with two of his regular lackeys, Jimmy Boyle and Thomas Vardy standing either side of him. One held his shirt and tie, the other his blazer.
In turn, they were surrounded by what looked like the whole school.
Over a hundred boys and girls had turned out to see young Cogan get his head staved in. The moment the crowd spotted me, a cheer went up that Celtic Park would have been proud of.
I wanted to turn and run. I was so scared, I felt sick; my heart pounded.
Tam's face was screwed up so tight he looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. He screamed my name and the crowd bayed for my blood. The bastards even started to chant his name.
Fuckin' typical, eh?
I still don't quite know what came over me that instant. I think it may have been seeing Matty Flynn, my so called best mate, cheering fat Tam on as he strode toward me, ham fists clenched.
Whatever was to happen, I'd decided I wasn't going to stand there and let him come to me. I tucked my chin into my chest, the way my brothers had shown me and sprinted at him. I must have looked demented.
I think I screamed some kind of mad war cry. I'd seen Zulu at the pictures the week before and it had stuck in my mind.
Tam stopped his march and viewed me with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. A split second later I was in range of him. I drew back my right foot as if I was about to take a goal kick and thrust it upward as if my life depended on it.
I couldn't feel much, due to my brother's work boots being armour plated, but my leg stopped dead as I struck Tam a direct hit in the bollocks.
I was an instant winner.
Someone had definitely unplugged him. His knees buckled first, but then the rest of his limbs seemed to follow suit and he landed nastily on the broken bricks and shards of glass that covered his chosen arena.
The crowd let out a thunderous 'Ooooh' as he fell, followed by a split second of silence.
Tam started to scream in agony.
Chief lackey Jimmy Boyle ran up to me all aggressive like, looking to avenge his bestest buddy, but I could see in his eyes, he had no stomach for a fight. I just gave him the evils and he backed away.
That was the catalyst. Seeing Jimmy back down was a signal to the crowd that the king was dead.
They began to chant my name. 'Co-gan...Co-gan...Co-gan'.
I was so full of adrenaline that I shook uncontrollably. My feet were welded to the spot. Tam was being sick on Jimmy's shoes. Boys were patting me on the back.
It was mayhem.
Then I saw her.
She pushed her way through the crowd of boys and stood in front of me.
Of course I'd seen her before in school. I mean which boy hadn't seen Anne Margaret Mahoney? She just hadn't known of my existence. I was plant life to her.
I'd heard that she had a boyfriend who was much older, so old that he had a car...a Ford Capri...I mean, who could top that? No one in our neck of the woods, let me tell you.
She pulled her short black leather jacket around herself.
"Hi," she said. "It's cold, eh?"
I thought I was going to die for a whole different set of reasons. She was the most beautiful thing ever.
"Hello, Anne," I managed. "I suppose it is... yes."
She gestured toward the retching Tam, "You sure showed him a thing or two. I didn't realise you were such a hard man."
"Erm...I'm not...I mean erm...well yeah...thanks."
Then she delivered the bomb.
"You're a handsome boy, Desmond," she purred.
I'll never forget that look in her eyes. I knew I was supposed to come back with a reply; something clever, something cool. After all I had become the hero of the school.
Before you take the piss... remember I was fourteen.
"You look like Suzy Quattro," I said.
Arriving at Glasgow Central, I'd trawled through enough mental memorabilia to do myself permanent damage. For some fuckin' stupid reason, I'd spent the last six years believing that Anne would one day come to her senses and walk through my door with open arms. Everything was going to be fine...happy ever fuckin' after.
Now, it would never happen. She had lung cancer and had days left; maybe hours.
Queuing to collect my hire car set me even more on edge. I was escorted to the lot by the Avis guy. He showed me a small white Vauxhall before waxing lyrical about how the key worked in the ignition and where the light switch was.
The car took unleaded petrol 'only' and apparently you could tell this from the green pump at the gas station.
I wanted to hurt him, but it wasn't his fault, was it?
It wasn't his fault that Anne had smoked thirty a day all her life, more on a weekend when she'd a drink inside her.
So was it her fault?
I studied the car key Avis man had left in my hand, dropped it into my pocket and pulled out my pipe. Pushing the soft moist tobacco into the small bowl was almost as pleasurable as smoking it. I'd always enjoyed the process of smoking a pipe.
I lit up, took the smoke down deep into my lungs and blew a plume into the cold Scottish air.
Who the fuck was I to talk?
It was nobody's fault.
By the time I pulled into the drive of Hillside Cottage, I was frazzled.
The place was just as I remembered; made all the more beautiful by the russet and gold autumn landscape that surrounded it.
Stepping out into the cold, I watched Donald open the front door to allow the McMillan nurse to leave. She seemed cheery.
Donald looked like shit.
Despite his affair with Anne, I harboured no ill will toward him. I admit when I first discovered my wife's infidelity, I wanted to kill them both, but that quickly subsided.
She'd been a woman in her prime and I'd been...well...I'd been anywhere else than by her side.
Donald spotted me as I walked up the path and I thought I saw a look of relief on his face. I'd met him a couple of times when Anne and I were finalising our divorce. Each of us collecting items that we thought were important or valuable, that kind of thing. Donald had always kept out of the way and hadn't interfered. He seemed a man of few words, quiet and decent.
He nodded to acknowledge my arrival. "Des."
We shook hands.
"Donald," I answered, not knowing what else to say.
He did his best to turn his head and wipe his eyes but large silent teardrops rolled down his face and into his thick beard as he spoke.
"Thanks for coming," he managed. "She'll be pleased to see you."
I'd felt alone on the journey north; isolated in my own private nightmare; yet I was far from alon
e, eh?
"You okay?" I asked.
He nodded quickly and turned. "Come in out of the cold, Des. She's...Anne's in the front room...they said it was better than upstairs...I'll leave you alone...I'm sure...I'm sure..."
Donald stopped mid-sentence, and did his best to decide his next move. Finally he grabbed his jacket from a hook in the hall and strode past me.
His voice was as broken as his spirit. "I'll be in the garden if you need me."
And he was gone.
I was rooted to the carpet. I could see the door to the lounge. Opening it was another matter.
I'd seen some shit in my time; things no human should witness. And I've opened doors that no man in his right mind would have laid a hand on, but as I reached for the handle to that room, I shook; just as I had done all those years ago when I'd faced Tam on the rubble of Norfolk Street.
The door made a whooshing sound on the thick carpet as I stepped inside.
Anne lay propped up in bed facing the patio doors, no doubt so she could see out into the garden and admire Donald's work. The low autumn sun shone through the trees and painted shadows on her face and pillows as she slept. She'd lost her hair; the few grey wisps that remained were held bizarrely in place by beads of sweat.
My God, she had fantastic hair.
Her arms were skin and bone; her elbows showing signs of pressure sores despite the nurse's best efforts.
I bit my lip and gave myself a talking to.
What the fuck did you expect?
She had two drips. One a saline which was doing little else than keeping her hydrated, and a second, attached to a mechanical plunger that delivered pain relief as and when Anne pressed a button attached to a wire on her wrist; probably a mix of morphine and heroin. A clear tube that ran under her nose delivered oxygen under pressure into both nostrils.
I took a step closer and she opened her eyes. It took a few seconds, but eventually she focused on me. I'd seen eyes like hers before, when guys were fatally wounded on the battlefield. Despite their agony and their fear, they knew it was over. Anne knew her time had come.
Her voice was thin; as thin as her body. It was almost as if someone or something was draining the life from her into a bucket underneath the bed. She was....empty.
"Hello, Desmond," she whispered. "How's my handsome man?"
I pulled a chair, and sat. I took her hand. It was cold; I could feel her bones. I wanted to tell her that I still loved her. I wanted to say that everything would be alright yet, as usual, my mouth wouldn't work.
She smiled as she always had when I was stuck for the right words, but the pain took it away in an instant and she grabbed at the button to deliver her next dose of medication.
Her breathing was laboured for a few moments, but as the drug took hold, Anne settled again.
She somehow found the strength to grip my hand.
"Desmond, I haven't long...you of all people know.... I'm...I'm so glad you came to say goodbye... and.....today of all days, I need a strong man."
I was about to speak, but she waved a hand. She looked out into her beautifully kept garden. Donald had found his green wellingtons and was raking fallen copper leaves from his manicured lawn.
"He's a good man, Des...a very good and decent man...but he doesn't have what you have."
I could feel my heart break all over again.
"Anne, my darlin', I'm so..."
Despite the meds, her pain returned and she arched her back in agony. Sweat poured from her.
"Don't!" she managed through gritted teeth. "Don't tell me you're sorry; don't tell me you're...fucking sad."
She took short laboured breaths. I could hear the hiss of the oxygen being forced into her ruined lungs.
"You...you can help me, Des...if you ever loved me...still love me...you can help. Donald is a lovely man, but he can't...he won't..."
She held my gaze for the longest time. I could feel my tears.
Then the realisation of why she had contacted me hit me like a train.
I stood and released her hand.
"No, Anne! Come on...not that! You can't possibly have thought that I'd...I mean...fuckin' Jesus H Christ... You call me out of the blue...to say goodbye; that's what you said....to say goodbye...not for me to...to...what? Put a fuckin' pillow over your face? Pull the plug? Is that it? Oh I see... Des will do it, he's knocked a few off in his time; one more won't matter."
I sat back down and buried my head in my hands. I was in bits.
Of course I could see her suffering; you wouldn't put a fuckin' dog through it. I'd always insisted that if I ever got gut-shot on a job, and I was screaming my nuts off, one of the lads would slot me. I'd do the same for them, but that was in battle and this was different, this was Anne...my wife.
I took the deepest of breaths. "How can you ask me such a thing, eh?"
She cocked her head to one side, the way she always had when I was going off on one.
"Des?"
"I cannae, hen...I'm so sorry."
Anne took my hand again, and despite her agony, smiled. She could barely manage more than three words at a time.
"Okay...it's okay. I had to ask the question. I've been kinda desperate here if you know what I mean? Donald can't do it; he's not..."
"Not a killer, you mean?"
"I didn't mean that, Des. I understand; it was wrong of me... to put...to put you in such a position....Forget I mentioned it eh? I'm glad you came. Just stay a while, talk to me, have a drink with me...please?"
What was I to say?
I found a bottle of Irish whiskey in the cabinet and dropped two tumblers on the bedside table.
I hadn't touched a dram for donkeys but there was no Guinness, and to be honest, I needed a drink more than I was willing to admit.
I poured two large measures and did my best to make light of the situation.
"I hope this won't interfere with your medication."
Anne picked up her glass and despite her shaking hands, managed to knock the golden liquid back in one.
"Fuck it, Des. Nothing is going to change anything now is it...pour me another, eh?"
I followed suit and necked my shot before I pouring two more.
Anne pressed her meds button again, but nothing happened.
She grimaced in pain. "Bastards," she spat. "It loads itself every forty minutes...so I don't do myself any harm, eh?"
I found a smile from somewhere and raised my glass. "Best have a few of these then, eh, hen?"
This time as she sipped her drink, she shook so violently I had to help her put her glass back on the table.
She lay back, exhausted from the merest effort. She closed her eyes for a moment. Her speech was slurred, she was falling into unconsciousness.
"Des... Des....my handsome man...come on.... spill the beans...you must have a girl by now."
I shook my head. "Nah...nobody, hen."
Anne forced her eyes open and smiled.
"Yeah, right."
I found some paper towel and dabbed at her forehead and face.
"Thanks, Des..." she whispered and fell into a merciful sleep.
I sat with her for a while and finished both glasses of whiskey. She appeared to have settled so I crept out into the garden and lit up.
Donald was sitting on an ornate cast iron bench bathed in the late afternoon sunshine. He nodded at my pipe and then gestured toward Anne's makeshift bedroom.
"Not made you give up then? Seeing her, I mean?" he said.
I shrugged. "We're all going to go one day, Donald."
He looked pale. He shook his head ruefully. "But not like that, eh? Not in agony."
I didn't have an answer.
Donald leaned forward.
"I suppose she asked you?"
I nodded.
"I knew she would," he said. "She asked me over a week ago. It's the pain talking, not Anne. She can't bear it anymore. I'd probably be the same...I know what she wants, but..."
I finished his sentence
for him. "But you can't do it."
Donald sat up straight. "It's a sin, Des. Taking a life is against the Commandments."
I tapped what was left in my pipe out onto the heel of my boot.
I wanted to say that shagging my wife was enough to put him on God's shit list. He certainly wouldn't be taking Communion any time soon. But what good would it do?
I'd heard and seen enough.
"I was raised a Catholic, Donald, just like you. But sin doesn't come into this one, pal. This is mercy."
I walked back to the house, found the bottle of whiskey where I'd left it and drank straight from the neck.
Standing in the kitchen, I studied the wall clock. I was instantly transported back to 1974 and my own family's kitchen in Glasgow. I could smell the mince and potatoes cooking on the stove, hear the traffic rumbling over the cobbles outside, and my stomach lurched with fear, just the way it had that day.
The big hand was just about to click over to ten to four. I looked at my feet, fully expecting to see my elder brother's steel toe capped boots,
The pair I'd tied so tight as I prepared to fight big Tam.
Of course, all I saw was my Timberlands.
Stepping into the hallway, I quietly opened the door to the lounge. Anne was still out of it, moaning softly. Her breath rattled in her throat.
I knelt at the foot of the bed and inspected her medication pump. It was full and ready to administer.
Taking her hand I wrapped her fingers around the button that would release the drug. As I squeezed there was a clicking sound as the machine delivered its measured amount of relief.
Despite being asleep, she sighed as the meds entered her bloodstream taking away her pain.
I stroked her forehead for a moment. I wanted to say so many things to her, but I knew, if I didn't do this thing immediately, I would lose my nerve.
Reaching for the mechanism under her bed, I began my awful task.
It was a simple electronic timer valve connected to a piston style pump. First, I removed the feed tube from the valve and secured it in an upright position so I didn't lose any of the available drugs. I pulled the valve from the pump and reconnected the feed tube directly to the filler.
