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- Herausgeber: Fledgling Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
In 1976, a heatwave hot enough to melt concrete punishes Scotland. While everything burns, a woman arrives in Little Denny Road with a set of keys for her new council flat. She isn't alone. Her two daughters are always by her side, except at night when they watch their mother drive off in a stranger's car. Sadie, the youngest of the two daughters, thinks nothing of this until she's asked a question at school. The answer will unleash consequences that echo through the decades. At the root of Sadie's life is a disturbing secret that must be confronted. Evil, she'll discover, is waiting seven miles south in a nice house… Sadie, Call The Polis is an offbeat story about a Scottish family as seen through the eyes of the indomitable Sadie Relish, whose journey from childhood to adulthood is rendered in hilarious, crushing detail. Her disastrous first date, the late nights at the bus stop with a bottle or two, running away from home, the many hangovers, her first and last job, grief, Covid, and all the drama and darkness squeezed in between.
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1
Useful Advice
I used to believe everything my mither told me, including her age which stayed at twenty-five for nearly ten years. She seemed to know everything, and if she didn’t, she faked it better than anyone else in the world. She once told me the meaning of life, back when I trusted her every word.
−Life, she said, −is good with friends and better with money.
−But what about love? I asked.
−Love’s fine if you can leave the next morning.
This was probably the wisest thing she ever told me.
That and −Always stash your cash under the floorboards.
Past lives
According to my mither, we all brought something of our past lives into this one. Reincarnation, I suppose. She used to tell me the story of her other life, the one she lived before she became my mither. Back then, she was a happy dolphin – a daft idea really, because I saw her feeble attempts at swimming. From the steps of the pool, I’d watch while she thrashed in the foamy water, with all the grace of a sack of cats. My love of rain didn’t extend to the swimming pool spray, but because I was wee enough to get into The Mariner Centre for free (and my sister still at an age where she qualified for a cheap ticket), that’s just how we spent our weekends. Mither insisted we go every Sunday because it was Divorced Dads’ Day. Sometimes she’d talk to someone, but it never went anywhere further than the car park. While the other kids dive-bombed into the pool, bolstered by the fearlessness of being young and dumb, I found myself at the shallow end of the water near Mither, pretending to be a mermaid, trying to turn something miserable into a good memory. Even now, I can’t swim. My sister, however, took to the water like she did everything else in life – with supreme confidence. Sometimes, I reckoned Mither was right, and Lily was a beautiful dolphin in a former life. She was every bit as graceful in the water. Dressed in her one-piece green bathing suit, she turned smoothly underneath the white-speckled water, her legs kicking flecks of foam in a neat spray, knowing full well everyone nearby was watching, each one of them completely mesmerised by her unearthly elegance. Try being her wee sister, I’d think, looking on enviously, dreaming that I’d come back in my next life as her.
If anything, Mither must have been a cat in a past life – because most people crossed the road to avoid her. Another feline characteristic she had was her fur coat, a shiny smooth brown pelt. She wore it with everything, no matter the weather or temperature and she never sweated either. When the coat went threadbare, she seemed to find another somewhere else. Mither enjoyed the kind of glamour people rarely saw in real life, only on the front pages of expensive magazines, the type that sold clothes to rich people, stuff I’d never wear. Not only because they were too expensive, but because I couldn’t get them to fit. My clothes were the sort that came with a big red Clearance sticker and an XXL tag. Lily took how I dressed personally.
−You look like a fucking tramp, she’d hiss whenever I got ready to go out and play. Sometimes I felt Lily didn’t like me much. In her eyes, I was a walking, talking, drinking, eating example of our mither’s bad decisions. Lily never recovered from the fact she wasn’t an only child.
−I want all the love, she explained calmly while I lay in bed listening to the rain drop. Magpie or not, it didn’t matter what I was in a past life. In this life, I was an intruder who stole time, effort, love, air and money. I’d never be allowed to forget it.
Denny, in Falkirk
For years, life was 87 Little Denny Road, a flat on the second top floor of a block in-between blocks. I spent most of the day and all night in my bedroom, sitting on my bed or walking on the floor, also someone else’s roof. Sometimes I’d lean onto the windowsill and watch rain slide down the glass, one drop splitting into different directions. Yet, as much as I loved the rain, it also brought a lot of unwelcome problems. There was a crack in the window, a small tear that let water trickle into the house, a persistent leak that dribbled down the wall, causing long wet stains that never seemed to dry. Worse, the rainwater fed the thick fluffy black filaments of mould hidden behind my cupboard, making my clothes smell and my chest hurt.
Mither didn’t have a leaky window in her bedroom. What she had was a very large, mirrored wardrobe on the far wall. Every night before she went to work, I’d hear her tell herself how amazing she looked. Lily, meanwhile, took the smallest room because it was easier to keep neat and tidy. Also, she’d spotted damp in the other room, so it was immediately passed over to me. Thank you, damp! Being at the other side of the hall also gave Lily easy access to the bathroom, a small space with just enough width for a bath and a toilet. The hall floor was uncarpeted. I heard Lily going to the bathroom late at night, her feet making tiny squeaks that yanked me out of my dreams, fun little holidays in my own head, no passport or payment necessary.
1976
Reputation was everything in Denny and it lasted as long as people were around to remember. If you asked anyone on the street, they’d tell you something about the woman who arrived by bus in 1976 during a heatwave so ferocious that even the concrete sizzled. She wasn’t alone. There were two girls, including a newborn in tow. For our neighbours, just like her own daughters, Mither would become someone to revere or hate. Then again, only the most fearsome could walk through Little Denny Road with their head held high, and I moved around the street with a great view of my feet.
2
I hate 1983
Nethermains Primary School is where I learned reading, writing, arithmetic and hiding in cupboards so no-one would find me during playtime. I’d spent too long trying to get my classmates to like me and somewhere along the line I realised it was a waste of time. They knew my name, meaning they also knew my mither. Unfortunately, they were about to know a lot more, thanks to a single question. No, not a question. The answer. My biggest mistake was telling the truth.
Honesty is a bad habit I’ve been trying to break for years.
The question
Every Friday afternoon, fifteen minutes before the bell rang, Mrs Walker made everyone in Primary Five stand up and answer a question she’d choose from a big jar, neatly folded paper stuffed inside instead of chocolate chip cookies. The jar was old and slightly discoloured, a large Cheshire Cat with faded teeth grinned from the front. Mrs Walker would reach inside the jar and rummage around, not stopping until something felt right. Then she’d pull out the little square, unfurl it and read the question aloud. It was always fun, a nice little gift to everybody before school closed for a few days. One time, she asked us our favourite song. An easy one, because it was Since Yesterday by Strawberry Switchblade, who’d appeared on the Wide Awake Club, their harmonies stopping me between mouthfuls of Frosties. When they talked, they talked like me, their accents pure Scottish. Another time, Mrs Walker asked what we’d do if we had millions in the bank. I couldn’t answer that because it felt impossible, too big a dream for my imagination. The question that ruined my life (for a few days) came soon after a second or two of suspenseful silence. Mrs Walker, a thwarted performer, knew how to work her impressionable audience and we adored her for it.
Eventually, her big moment arrived.
−What do you want to be when you grow up?
We all got up onto our feet and waited our turn to answer. Just like every other Friday afternoon, Mrs Walker started off with Heather Aitchison, because she liked to move in alphabetical order. Poor Stuart Urquhart always came last, sometimes not even getting to answer the question because we took up all the time. As Heather spoke, we waited patiently, keeping our ambitions quiet until the question came to us. I used the time to adjust my answer, depending on the other answers. Heather always set the tone.
−When I grow up, I want to be a marine biologist just like my sister.
−Your sister’s a marine biologist?
−No, replied Heather, her face reddening. −That’s what she wants to be.
−Okay, said Mrs Walker, who then turned her smile to Tamjeet Dallal. −What do you want to be when you grow up?
Everyone in Nethermains looked up to Tamjeet. Literally, because he was the tallest boy at school. He towered over everyone, his height making him look down at us, but never down on us. His long legs and popularity made him the first pick in every football game, even the kids from primaries six and seven chose him for their games. Being a girl, I wasn’t allowed to take part. For a moment, a passing feeling, I considered saying ‘football player’ when Mrs Walker finally reached me. Idea noted, I waited for what Tamjeet had to say.
−When I grow up… started Tamjeet, who always seemed shy despite his height. −I want to be a breakdancer. I’m really good, Mrs Walker.
Then, as though he had to push the words out by force, he added:
−Can I show you my moves?
−Not right now, Tamjeet. We’d be sued if you broke something.
Everyone laughed and I quickly joined in, pretending I was in on the joke. Tamjeet sat down again and the question resumed its journey around the room. Sarah Everson was next. Grudgingly, she stood up and faced the room, though she couldn’t look at anyone, even though her spectacles had the thickest lenses, giving her the look of a perpetually puzzled witness. She used these spectacles to magnify her feet, or a random patch of ceiling, or something outside the window, far away in the distance only she could see. I knew how much she hated speaking in front of everyone. Every Friday was torture for Sarah, who did anything she could to escape her fate. She probably wanted the bell to ring, but there was another ten minutes left and several more kids ready to answer the question. Sarah meekly accepted her destiny.
Once again, Mrs Walker asked her question.
−Sarah, she said kindly. −What do you want to be when you grow up?
−I want to be older.
Everyone burst out laughing, forcing Sarah to retreat into the comfort of her navy cardigan, because she wasn’t actually trying to be funny. She just was. Robbie Ferguson, meanwhile, didn’t say much when Mrs Walker reached him, just two words: professional and footballer. Then he sat down on his chair, sullen as usual. I was surprised, because Robbie spent more time lighting fires down in the shed than he did kicking a ball. Then again, arsonist wasn’t a viable career path for anyone.
Introducing Gregor
Gregor patiently waited his turn and soon enough it came time to answer the question. He was my best friend, if only because he was the only boy at school who spent any time with me. Sometimes during a nice daydream, I’d pretend he was my brother, maybe even a long-lost twin. My sister wasn’t anything like Gregor. She didn’t believe in magic and thought books were for ugly people. But Gregor liked the same things I liked. We didn’t wash our hair and hated being forced into nice, neat clothes, especially school uniform, always itchy and uncomfortable. Gregor agreed that polyester was one of the greatest evils in society, along with racist jokes and people with no imagination. Together, we held firm against outsiders. Like we had a choice!
−What do you want to be when you grow up?
Gregor stood up and dutifully answered the question.
−That’s easy. I want to find dinosaur bones in dusty deserts.
It sounded exciting, this idea that we’d grow older and taller and probably still not be as tall as Tamjeet. But it also made me afraid of what might happen. Adults had to work jobs they hated, buy cars and pay rent to the council. How could I survive in a world that didn’t bend to my spells? All the whispered words that made the magic work, the incantations that helped keep me strange in this world. Oddness was my thing. It defined and denied me.
These thoughts caught me by surprise, making me seriously think about the future for the first time in my life. One thing I knew for sure: I didn’t want to work. Jobs were uncool. Truthfully, I wanted to do my own thing forever. But I couldn’t say that, of course. Not in front of Mrs Walker. Looking up, taking in the room again, I saw my teacher gradually turning in my direction. How could I answer her question if I didn’t have anything to say?
−Okay, she said, her eyes on the clock. −We’ve got another few minutes left. Let’s get through as many of you as possible, including you, Stuart.
On the far side of the room, Stuart Urquhart seethed at the thought of being ignored again. Mrs Walker moved to the next name, the one that came after Gregor, that she chose every Friday at this time. It belonged to Arlene Munro, a gremlin girl with bright blonde hair that shone nearly as white as her smile. Arlene lived in the posh end of Denny, a cluster of large homes that had a dense forest out back. Gregor wouldn’t go there because people used it to get drunk in secret and he had enough of that at home. But sometimes I felt like my heart was in the forest, along with the fairies and firebugs that sparked little green pinpricks of light into the darkness. Arlene probably woke up to that forest every morning. In that moment, I found myself swooning over a dream so far-flung I didn’t have the words to describe it.
Something else. Something… more… than anything else I knew.
−What do you want to be when you grow up?
−Ideally, started off Arlene, −I want to be a lawyer like my faither.
−Of course you do, said Mrs Walker, her voice slightly strained. The only reason I caught it was because she sounded a little like my mither when she was in a bad mood, something that seemed to happen more often these days. Ever changeable, like Scottish weather in an hour, my mither could smile and snarl in succession. Sometimes, when things were really bad, she did both at once. Whenever Mrs Walker said something to Arlene, there was bite in her words. Maybe she didn’t realise she was doing it, but I often got the sense she didn’t like Arlene very much. No-one did, but we all pretended.
Kids are good at that sort of thing.
Choose your own career
Finally, it was my turn to speak. I stood up and prepared myself for the question, even though I didn’t have a satisfying answer. Frantically, without thinking it through, I tried to come up with something that wouldn’t make me look bad in front of everyone, who would think the worst of me anyhow. Footballer was out because of Robbie. Numbed with indecision, I looked around at all the faces of Primary Five as they looked back at me, eyes blinking while harsh lines of sunlight cut in through the gaps in the blinds.
−Sadie, started Mrs Walker. −What do you want to be when you grow up?
Before I can stop myself, I desperately grab hold of something to say.
The first thing comes to mind. The truth.
−When I grow up, I want to be a prostitute just like my mither.
The word comes out as proz-ti-toot, something I’d heard someone else shout in the night, but hadn’t said myself until that afternoon. The truth squeezed all other sound out of the room. Like everyone else, Mrs Walker didn’t quite know what to say. All she could do was react with startled inertia, her face saying more than words in that moment. Her eyes were far wider than normal, her mouth open so wide it might touch the floor at any second. Also, I noticed her hands gripping the side of the table, as though trying to keep herself steady. That’s how I knew I’d made a terrible, life-shaking mistake. But it was already too late. By the time Mither arrived, the polis were waiting, hoping to ask questions of their own, like Mrs Walker each Friday before the last bell.
3
Game show
The social worker looked like someone Raymond Briggs might have sketched. She was all smiles, earthy colours, groovy spectacles, with two dots for eyes and lots of lines where there should have been hair. She arrived during a somewhat sunny afternoon to interview me about what I’d said in front of everyone in class.
Mither, still furious I’d said anything in the first place, worked overtime to make sure I looked extra presentable. Mostly, this meant having my hair washed. With a little too much enthusiasm, she forced my head into a sink full of hot water which was far less painful than my shrieking screams made it sound. Then she tipped a bottle of Vosene over me that usually sat unused in the bathroom alongside a collection of ersatz perfumes gifted at Christmas. Most of it missed my hair, instead, sliding down my nose and chin. As my head went under, the foam surged up, my hair wrapping around my face like clumps of seaweed. Mither didn’t realise I was crying because my face was wet. Not that she would have cared either way. Saying the truth out loud was one thing, but saying it in front of other people was unforgivable and I had to accept that life was going to be difficult for a little while. At least until Mither calmed down a little. I just had to endure. Magic spells were duly whispered, but the words tasted of soap. By the time she was done, I sparkled, my hair artfully arranged in long wavy tresses. But I didn’t feel good, because I knew this was a bad situation. Catastrophic, actually.
Doreen
Eventually, the social worker introduced herself as Doreen, and her lips, a thin line, curved into a smile just before she asked a question. The only time she stopped smiling was when she looked over at Mither, who met her gaze respectfully, but their conversation was hushed and urgent, conducted outside in the hall, too far for me to hear. Bugger.
Throughout my interview, Lily remained in her room, her favourite songs blasting out a racket, the sort of noise that caused the neighbours to complain to the council. Our kitchen drawer was stuffed with warnings, each signed, sealed and sent in envelopes, each one unopened and unread. If Mither ever forgot to pay the electricity bill (again), we could have used them to light a fire in the living room.
Stuck inside my head, I almost didn’t see Doreen popping in from the hall.
−Hello Sadie, she said pleasantly. −I’d very much like to talk to you.
Immediately, I knew she was dangerous. I’d been warned about people like Doreen. They tied you up using your own words. This meant I had to think first and speak later, like I should have in Mrs Walker’s classroom.
Her greeting seemed safe enough, so I returned it.
−Hello, I replied.
−How are you feeling?
−I’m alright.
A few seconds into the conversation and everything seemed okay. Besides, Mither had already told me what to say. We’d spent hours practicing and any question that I didn’t answer to her satisfaction had resulted in tears, sadness and promises. Not mine. Mither seemed unusually worried about this meeting and her hands were never too far away from my shoulders. Because I desperately wanted to make it up to her, I made sure every question had an acceptable… no, a believable response. Mither sold it to me as a game show, like the ones on the telly. I wasn’t a big fan of quizzes, but the telly always had Busman’s Holiday on in the background. The prize for answering the social worker’s question, explained Mither, was staying with her and Lily.
I didn’t want to be taken away. The thought of it made me shake.
−Do you know who I am? asked the outsider.
−Yes, I said. −You’re Doreen, the social worker.
−Sort of, she laughed.
Mither had warned me she might try and make herself seem like my friend. I had to be wary. But as she spoke, I suddenly had a strong impression that she was, in fact, quite a nice woman.
−I work for the Children And Families Department of Falkirk Council. I’m here to make sure everything’s fine and you’re safe. You can trust me, you know that, right?
Over her shoulder and out of sight, Mither’s jaw clenched tightly, the way it did whenever she wanted to headbutt someone. I’d seen that expression fairly recently, the same night she’d lunged at a takeaway delivery man after he gave her the wrong change. She’d handed over a twenty, he thought he’d taken a tenner. Who knew phoning out for a Chinese would end in an assault charge? As I answered Doreen’s questions, I kept an eye on Mither, who had insisted on being in the room with me, much to the displeasure of the social worker. From the little I could see from my spot on the couch, Mither’s willpower was under attack, every last nerve being tested. To her credit, she remained quiet in the background, unlike the music coming from Lily’s bedroom.
−You said something to your teacher last week. Do you remember?
Did I remember? Every thought I had between waking up and falling asleep was about what I’d said in front of everyone at school. Mither talked about it constantly, obsessing over what the neighbours were saying behind her back. Lily absolutely loved it, of course. Yet another jab to join all the others she used against me. My hair, my clothes, the books I read and now the time I told everyone I wanted to be a prostitute just like my mither.
−Yes, I said with all the composure that practice allowed. −I told everyone my mither was a prostitute.
What I didn’t say was that she also earned a lot of money.
Breaking the bad habit
−Were you being honest? asked Doreen, her smile refusing to budge, not even for a frown, and I really wanted to see deeper lines on her face. Something about the kindly social worker was starting to annoy me. She was soaked in phoniness. Also, more truthfully, her presence was a reminder of my mistake.
−I said it as a joke. I didn’t know this would happen.
Then, to make it sound better, I added:
−I thought everyone would laugh.
Though I wasn’t looking, I could see Mither raising a thumb in approval. This made me feel like cartwheeling across the room, running up the wall, and spinning through the air. But Doreen wasn’t quite done yet. She continued her interview, her hand scribbling away at a notepad while we talked. Funnily enough, I hadn’t noticed the little booklet or orange BiC pen between her fingers until that moment. A thought idled its way through my head, a random visit from common sense. It made me wonder how many other names were in that notepad. How many kids like me had Doreen interviewed? Did they all say something they shouldn’t have? Did they tell the truth like me? Although I didn’t realise it, Doreen had been thinking along similar lines.
−Are you being honest right now?
Mither waited in the background, her breath held like a secret.
I enjoyed my power, but not too much.
−Yes.
Doreen dropped her smile, relaxed her face and ticked something off on her notepad. When her eyes came up again, so did the smile, wide and bright. Mither let out a long sigh of relief and winked at me. I took this as a good sign. The last thing I wanted was for her to do what she had done at school the other day, when she arrived like a chainsaw at a church. No-one had known quite how to deal with her, not even the police. In the end, I had to calm her down. The only way to do this was throw my arms around her waist, apologise for being honest, and beg her to stop shouting.
I waited on the seat, hoping the interview was over.
It wasn’t.
Decision time
Doreen decided she wanted to take a look around the flat, specifically my bedroom. Mither looked slightly startled and I knew this was because she hadn’t anticipated my room being of any interest to the social worker. My room was slowly being absorbed by thick fronds of black mould, a dark stain inching out from behind the wardrobe. That wasn’t something my mither considered worthy of stress, but the thought of a stranger seeing an unmade bed or crumbs on the carpet? She couldn’t tolerate the thought of it!
Together, however, they made their way out of the living room, leaving me to the couch and my own company. A few minutes later and a few more hushed words, they returned once more. Doreen was now smiling at Mither.
−Okay, this seems like a huge misunderstanding, but you’ll probably have to visit Nethermains and speak to the head about what happened.
I nodded but kept quiet.
Mither let Doreen out of the flat and immediately went into a West End production, shouting loud enough for the neighbours hear.
−I’m sorry my daughter tells so many fibs, she yelled, even though Doreen was barely at the top step of the staircase. −I’m so embarrassed this all happened!
As soon as Mither shut the door, her mood darkened.
−Nosy bitch, she griped.
−Did I do good? I asked, desperately hoping for her approval. Somehow, it seemed like everything would be better if Mither just forgave me. I’d hollowed out our relationship with a few honest words and now I just wanted to go back to the way it was before Mrs Walker asked her stupid question.
−Mither…?
She was in the kitchen, lighting up a cigarette. I watched her make circles of smoke, rings that drifted off into aimless, formless clouds. That’s how I knew she was thinking it over, deciding whether to give me an official pardon or not.
A few words from her could make everything better.
Finally, with a flick of ash into a used cup, she passed judgement.
−Aye, she said. −You did alright.
Her decision finally made, I nearly cried with happiness. Instead, I fall backwards, hitting the wall, which is strong and dependable, unlike me.
4
Auld Sybil
The tree outside my window was the tallest I’d ever seen. Somehow this tree had survived every storm in living memory, and it would probably survive many more to come. Around these parts, we called it Auld Sybil, because like every rural town, we had traditions that must be upheld, even at the cost of logic and meaning. For us, it was a symbol of power, magic and weirdness. Nobody outside of Denny could possibly understand the tree. We didn’t understand it ourselves. Certain objects gained an abstract power when people added something of themselves to them. And so, one day a long time ago, a wee girl decided to toss a doll up into the tree. Probably some mean bully on her way back from Nethermains Primary, trying to upset a classmate by stealing their dolly, forever putting it out of reach. Whoever threw that first doll accidentally created a legend.
1985
The tree didn’t just have dolls hanging from its branches. Over the years, other people have chucked shoes, bicycles and even underwear upwards, hoping the branches will catch them on their way back down. The tree catches and holds everything that comes its way. For people making their way through Little Denny Road during the rare occasions they need to be there – usually an election when the school becomes a polling centre – the sight of the tree is a shocking one. For some, it’s an eyesore. For others, a piece of urban modern art.
For my friend, Gregor, the tree represented a test of courage. He’d always been fascinated with the legend around Auld Sybil, but I knew better than most that fascination was an extra thought away from obsession. One morning, as he approached my block from his, he looked up – and caught sight of a scrawny, spindly, gnarled branch. Unlike most of the other branches on the tree, this one had nothing hanging from it. The tree always let go in the end. That meant new objects could be thrown up, constantly changing the appearance of Auld Sybil, giving her something new to wear.
I noticed Gregor’s eyes always flitting towards a bare branch, one that seemed to move even though there was no breeze to help it. In my imagination, full of frivolity and magic, I recast the branch as a pointed finger. It beckoned Gregor and he went to it, grateful to be wanted. Eventually, however, this became super annoying.
−It’s just a tree, I said sharply, realising he was ignoring me again.
−But I’ve heard stuff about it…
His eyes never left Auld Sybil.
−Stuff? I asked. −What stuff?
−Someone told me she’s the oldest tree in the world.
Actually, that was me, but somehow Gregor managed to overlook my contribution to the legend. I didn’t want to correct him or admit that I started those rumours. Besides, most kids in Little Denny Road knew about the tree. Its power came from the same place all magic was birthed: belief, the complete absence of doubt, something each child learns and loses over time.
−It grants wishes too, continued Gregor, his eyes hungry with longing. Something was bothering him. A problem that could only be dealt with by wishing it out of existence. For a second, maybe two, the idea of not being included in his secret felt like a personal insult. As his friend, it was my right to know everything that went on in his life, including the private stuff inside his head.
Some of my own secrets were so private I didn’t know them yet.
38 Overton Crescent
As our walk took us away from the tree, I thought about my friend, remembering how tough life could be in Little Denny Road, especially for Gregor, who suffered more than most. He was skinny to skeletal, depending on whether or not his dad remembered to put food in the cupboard. One of the reasons Gregor never missed a day at school was because at least there he’d be fed properly, whereas I’d just be fed up. The youngest of three children living at 38 Overton Crescent, Gregor looked up to his two brothers, twin bruisers who fancied themselves as hard bastards. Barry and Gary, whose names made them sound like comedy villains in a panto, were in fact completely terrifying. Worse, Gregor’s faither was a notorious local alcoholic who always wrecked everyone’s weekend by getting steamed up and starting fights outside in the street, always in direct view of the other blocks.
Usually this happened in the early hours of Saturday morning. These brawls became my version of an alarm clock, waking me up in time for TheWide Awake Club. You could set a timer for when Gregor’s faither would start a fight. The only person he’d keep quiet for was my mither, who thought nothing of opening the kitchen window and yelling at him to shut the fuck up. Even in a state of complete drunkenness, Gregor’s faither knew better than to push his luck. If he wasn’t throwing fists and empty glass bottles, then he was singing, his voice surprisingly soulful. Unfortunately, his choice of songs were always football anthems and weird stuff about the Pope’s bedsheets.
−He can’t get over losing my mum, apologised Gregor on the way to school, the same apology he made every Monday morning after his faither’s latest rampage. −She did everything for us. Without her, we’re not a family anymore.
For my own sins, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his faither was the same before his wife died, that his drinking made her life as miserable as he made ours. But that wasn’t what he wanted (or needed) from me. We were lost in our own lies, because it made life a little more bearable.
Bully boys
If Gregor’s two brothers hadn’t been so spiteful towards him, treating their youngest brother like sport rather than blood, then perhaps he wouldn’t have been so determined to find something for the tree to hold. His brothers were far worse than Lily could ever be, the threat of physical violence always about them. They literally mugged children on their way to school, emptying their pockets for spare change, hoping to scrounge enough for a packet of 20 Club King Size. When they got bored stealing money, they’d idle away the time terrorising Gregor. We’d be out together, patrolling the streets, looking for adventure when the lads would appear and just… shout at us. There was no place they couldn’t find us or trespass.
They never once tried to be friendly. Sometimes they’d call Gregor a wee poofter, other times a bent shot. It got worse when the other lads in the street were around, their presence stoking the twins into a frenzy. They favoured the bluntness of straightforward bigotry, old words passed down, transferred from mouth to ear and back again. I was never surprised to see the twins acting out in front of their friends. I’d learned long ago that a crowd for bullies is an audience for clowns.
Sometimes I thought about avenging my friend, forming a vigilante gang of our most marginalised residents. In my imagination, all the weird kids joined forces, picking up sticks to beat the twins, hitting them until all that nastiness was on the pavement along with guts and bone and brains. But for Gregor, the answer to his problems couldn’t be found in the fantasy violence of my imagination. The tree was everything, or disaster.
Sometimes the kids are not alright
After he chose the branch (or maybe it chose him?), Gregor needed something to throw into the sky, a tribute to please the spirit in the oak that granted wishes. He couldn’t throw shoes up because he didn’t have a spare set. His manky old Nike trainers reeked and the left one had a mouth that sometimes stuck out its tongue, but they were his only pair, and he couldn’t very well walk around in his bare feet. He also had some dolls under his bed that he played with when no-one else was around, especially his brothers. One was a scabby old Barbie with hair that had been dyed by yellow felt tip pen. The other was a silly, posable action figure. I was probably the only person in the world who knew Gregor played with dolls. He considered throwing one of them at the tree, but that plan carried too much risk. If Gregor brought one of his dolls out from the shoebox, someone might see him and make an unwanted association. He was terrified at the thought of people laughing at him, the risk their disapproval carried was enough to crush his already shrinking confidence. When I asked what he’d wished for, he didn’t say.
−Friends tell each other everything, I said, my voice slightly careful.
−No, he replied, his eyes down at his feet. −This is my quest, not yours.
Hanging around
Eventually, Gregor found something valuable to offer the tree. He showed me one night when we were hanging around outside in the rain. Truth be told, we had nothing better to do than follow our feet, go where the paths took us both. We could walk around the world and still arrive home in time for dinner.
−This belonged to my mither, said Gregor, unfurling a crumpled piece of toilet roll, tightly wrapped around the object in his hand.
We’d been walking, wandering aimlessly around Dunipace Park, hoping to find a bench, only to spy a gang in the distance. We retreated the other way, along a path near an old bridge by a stream. There used to be a castle shaped like an L overlooking the field until it burned down, leaving a scar in the ground. My serotonin levels had already spiked at the thought of being the one person in the world to see what Gregor had for Auld Sybil. He still refused to tell me his secret, the reason for this misadventure. I knew better than to press the matter. Peering down, squinting to see in the moonless winter evening, I caught a glimpse of glimmering light on burnished gold.
A small gasp came from me, a childlike sound of surprise.
What Gregor had in his hands was nothing short of treasure.
−Isn’t it beautiful? He whispered, as though his mither might be listening. −She wore it once a year when it was my granny’s birthday.
−Wow, I said, because it was more than enough.
−It’s old, continued Gregor. −I think it belonged to my mither’s great granny.
−Does your faither know you’ve got this?
−No. I took it out of Mither’s music box. He can’t open it, because of the music… if he pulls that lid up, it starts singing, you know?
The sound of rowdy lads cheering and hollering was caught by the wind then brought over to us, an early warning that we should start moving again.
−Are you sure you want to give this to the tree? I asked.
−I’ve never been surer of anything in my life, admitted Gregor calmly.
The necklace had been important to his mither. As we walked, I realised whatever my friend wanted was something so big, so massively life-changing, that a small offering would have been considered an insult to the spirits.
I nearly asked about his wish, but suddenly we were running.
We were running because we were being chased.
The gift
Two days later, on the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I watched from my bedroom window as my friend approached Auld Sybil. Gregor needed to do this alone, or so he told me. Rested on my bed, I waved down at him, but he didn’t look up. His eyes were completely fixed on the bare branch he needed to make his wish take hold. Worryingly, a slight snowfall had turned into a thick flurry. Gregor looked like the blizzard might cut him down, a tiny boy in a banana yellow tracksuit that looked a size too large. The wind worked against his aim as he swung his arm around, hurling a piece of jewelled gold at the branch. But wind always wins, and it came back down again. From behind glass, slick with warm breath, I muttered a prayer. −Please win, I said.
Gregor frantically scrabbled around, looking for his mither’s prized necklace.
Recovering it, he was ready to try again. This time the wind helped, lifting and carrying the necklace into the air, catching it in a lucky gust. The shiny gold and glass suddenly suspended itself in the sky, a few inches beneath the branch, the thin chain tangling itself around the bark.
−He did it, I cried out. −Well done, wee man.
Now we only had to wait and see if Gregor’s wish would come true.
5
Waiting on a wish
Nothing changed at first. Sometimes I’d waste hours casting spells, powerful incantations that I improvised with rhymes. They weren’t too impressive, not on the surface, but they helped me get through each day. There was a spell of bravery to help me walk past other girls without looking down at my feet. I also had a spell that made me feel like the coolest girl in the world, even though my jacket had holes in it.
At least I still had Gregor. His magic spells were far more impressive. He could talk to animals, holding conversations with random cats and dogs. In the meantime, Gregor’s wish continued to remain a stubborn unsolved mystery, known only to the animals that he chose to tell. I hadn’t yet mastered the ability to talk to cats, dogs, or even the startled-looking deer that occasionally made their way down to the small field by Overton Crescent in search of food, retreating fearfully from the main road and the inevitable traffic. Gregor was there to translate and together we made our small lives into epic events.
We complimented each other because no-one else would.
Sharing slush
Denny Library was somewhere to go when I didn’t want to be in my bedroom. The little branch of RS McColl’s on the second floor of Denny’s shopping centre had a Slush Puppie dispenser, which is where I spent most of my pocket money. If I had any change left, I’d buy the latest issue of Bunty, full of silly stories about white girls with yellow hair (DC Thomson’s ink budget couldn’t quite get a convincing shade of blonde) whose paper-white teeth could turn, depending on the shade of the paper the artwork was printed on. Afterwards, I headed into the library with my comic in one hand and Styrofoam cup in the other, trying hard to look ever-so-sophisticated in front of the watchful library assistants behind the counter, who didn’t bother telling me off for bringing my drink into the building anymore.
Gregor couldn’t afford to pay for his own drink, so I shared my cup with him, the two of us taking turns slurping from the same straw. Gregor took careful little sips. I didn’t. Eventually, I decided to take a risk.
−Look, I said, lips dyed bright blue from the artificial flavouring in the syrup. −If you tell me what you wished for at the tree, I’ll give you the rest. There’s still half a cup left…
I’d hoped bribery would work where friendship hadn’t, but the expression on Gregor’s face made me regret asking. The ease between us, built through years of friendship, was starting to become more complicated and I didn’t understand why. Reminding Gregor of his quest made him think about his wish, something he clearly didn’t want to contemplate. Maybe he regretted giving up his mither’s necklace? As we sat together on a threadbare chair across from a shelf of books, the two of us sharing a cup of melted slush, I sensed his wish hadn’t come true. Then again, not even a tree with junk hanging from it could make good on a promise it had never offered in the first place.
Love and all that icky stuff
The snow started falling so hard that every step became a struggle. We walked anyway, because there was nothing else to do. We put Denny Library behind us, walking up the road with our faces down. At some point, I looked up and saw a group of people in the snow, some of whom I recognised from school. Gregor did whatever he could to avoid being seen by large groups while I tended to just ignore everything around me, including people. I’d slip into daydreams, wrapping myself tight in the fabric of fiction. Sometimes I was a witch, other times a warrior, anything but the fat girl whose clothes didn’t fit and who reeked of sweat or hard work, as I preferred to call it. Mither despised sweat, considering it something only clatty bastards did, but the sheer amount of walking I did made keeping dry impossible. Also, I ate as much as I walked off, making my weight stay the same, regardless. Standing alongside Gregor made me look bigger. Actually, a skelf from a floorboard would look massive next to Gregor because he was so skinny. But our proportions never mattered until he made it matter.
As we passed the group of kids from our school, Gregor put his arm around my shoulder. I flinched, because it seemed to come out of nowhere. Despite how strange we looked, I began to enjoy the feeling of Gregor’s arm draped around me. This power of ownership was completely new to me. But it was short-lived. Once we were safely away from the group, he took his arm off my shoulder and pretended it hadn’t happened.
Over the next few weeks, Gregor would keep trying to put his arm around me or hold my hand – but only in front of other people. When we were alone, he stayed away. I quickly realised how much I liked being with Gregor, but only as friends. Sadly, my expectations were too high for him to reach, even with his long arms and legs.
When we got into a fight, our first ever, it happened at the park near the top of Braes View. The large field allowed dogs to walk their owners and kids to kick a ball without tanning any windows. I hurled accusations at my friend and he deflected them, both of us equally matched, our familiarity giving us perfect insight into the other. This meant we gave no ground, not even an inch. It was a game of chess played by Siamese twins. I sat on a swing while he opted for the roundabout.
−I’m not your girlfriend, I told him sternly. Part of me felt good about what I’d said, but another part, no matter how small, still wanted a dramatic reaction, possibly even tears. Instead, Gregor returned my words with silence. He shot past, over and over again, his face and hair a blur, returning only to be lost again in the spin. The roundabout refused to stop. I tried again.
−I don’t like you that way.
−Okay, came his voice, near then far away again.
−Are we still friends?
−Maybe.
−I just don’t want you to feel bad around me, I said, trying to sound grown-up, or my version of it. My teen years were on their way and I could almost feel the weight of them. I just wanted to stay here for a bit longer.
The roundabout slowed to a halt, each turn weaker than the last.
By the last stuttering spin, Gregor’s expression put me in mind of a crumpled dish towel. −It’s fine, he said quietly, −Honestly, I get it.
Unfortunately, I still hadn’t got a reaction, or an answer to a question.
I decided to go for both.
−Did you ask the stupid tree for me to like you that way?
−No. I just want people to stop making fun of me.
My ego, still in development, was suddenly injured.
I tried to keep the situation light and fun.
−Hey, if you want people to stop making fun of you, I know what to do.
Gregor looked at me curiously.
−It’s obvious, I laughed. −Just stop hanging out with me.
It was supposed to be a joke, but he took it as inspiration.
The cost of the wish
When school started up again, all thoughts of my outburst in Mrs Walker’s class had been forgotten, replaced by some other minor scandal – nothing to do with my mither, for once. Instead, Gregor had made new friends. They were a gang of kids in my class, the ones I used to be friends with before I lost them to their parents’ orders. Gregor was there with me, then suddenly he was gone, running around the playground with the lads, kicking a ball. Sometimes, I swear he deliberately aimed it at my head, though I couldn’t be completely sure of myself, having no-one to tell me whether I was being stupid or not. I tried to get him to come back, but he was deaf to me. Eye contact was never made unless a ball was coming my way. Gregor no longer wanted to be around me. He had plenty of new friends who didn’t laugh at him anymore.
The cost of the wish was our friendship.
6
Places to go and see
