Our Ladies, page 12
It was very warm inside the phone box.
Hold the door open cause it’s stifling in here, goes Kylah.
Chell stood ahind her, holding the door open and peeking over Kylah’s shoulder.
Where’s all that change ah gave you?
Holding the door with her leg, Chell bent, her hair tumbled forward and her head bammed into Kylah’s ass; Kylah took a step forward, the phone in one hand, thrown outwards so’s it wanged the kiosk glass.
Owww!
Sorry, Phhhh, Chell laughed and rose back up again. I’m fucking steaming, she says.
Kylah took the purse and dialled.
How come ya know his number so well?
Ah need it for Saturdays when ah cancel rehearsal an that. Here.
What?
It’s just making this noise.
Let’s hear.
Kylah passed the handpiece back and Chell leaned inwards so’s her chin was on Kylah’s shoulder.
Nope. It’s no connected. Here, probably needs some kinda code or something cause we’re so far away.
Code?
Other numbers on the front.
How do we find that out?
Ah don’t know. We need a pub. A pub with a telephone book.
A pub?
Yup, an we’re the folk for the job.
Manda. Slow down a bit, Manda.
Sorry.
Why don’t we just use one of these black taxis? Look them all.
Aye but we’re saving more drinks money by walking. Those boots really hurting you?
A wee bitty aye.
Put your other shoes back on then.
No ways, ah like these. We’re going to be hours early at this place and what if it’s shite?
Then we won’t be stuck in a shite place from four till half six, we can get out quick.
They’re all the same to me, Manda.
See that over there?
What?
The Highland Club Sauna.
Aye, what about it?
Know what that is?
Ah steam place, they used to have one at the Lancaster Hotel.
No no no. That’s a hoorhouse.
A hoorhouse? Never.
Aye. Ma sister told me when she was going wi yon one who brought her down to the rugby. All over the city, hoorhouses called saunas.
But how can it be, just sat there like that in full view. Look, there’s a fucking police station opposite! If it was a hoorhouse it’d be all hid away.
It’s true!
Aye. One nil.
It’s right enough. Dead gen.
They had just got round the corner when a well-gone old grey head came weaving cross the pavement at them. He was wearing a green and white striped football top from the Celtic football club team.
Lassies, lassies, ahm drunk, there’s no doubt about it. Would yous know where The Buff Club is; have to meet some of the lads in the Buff Club?
Sure Mister, it’s just round the corner opposite the police station, goes Manda Tassy.
Oh, thank you.
The man swayed onwards.
See. Told ya, goes Manda.
Fionnula turned the corner, looked up at the sky, held the end of her shoulder bag more loose, so’s it hung right down by her shin, the plastic strap-adjusting attachments clicking on the pavement. She stopped by another shaded shop window. She gazed at herself and muttered, Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, young, young, young, young. She grimaced down at the bag; at a graffito dating back to second year.
Fionnula took a breath, pulled up the sleeves of her blue shirt after reaching in to test an oxter for sweat. It was dry as back of her hand.
She returned round the corner and on up the same street again. Halfway along she moved to the inner side of the pavement by the black railings. Ahead she could see the broad flagstones where the railings stopped and the frontage was. She could hear her heart beating.
Afternoon empty, that’s what the bar was; that emptiness, a cupola of smokeless air in centre of the bar. Daylight too lucid and creeping into every nook and cranny. A fucking afternoon. Fucking choirs!
She stepped a little across the flagstones then saw herself in glass of the frontage, she could see the chandelier with boa feathers hung down from it then the girl behind the bar turned to look at her. Her angle wasn’t too obvious so she took one long leg step and she was at the door, she reached out and turned the brassy handle then stepped in.
She had stepped in next door. It was very quiet and there were paintings on every wall, colours slapped all over them; it was like a fucking art gallery with these paintings, huge, wouldn’t get in the front door of their council flat, an there were these prices beside them, £1,750, £1,690! Name of fuck. The paintings just had colours swirled all over, bit like she was feeling inside, Fionnula had to admit. £2,600.
Can I help you? A woman about her Mum’s age was smiling from a desk.
Nut. Fionnula turned, stepped back to the door and pulled it open, then she turned round and says, Never ever.
She shut the door softly behind her and moved close in to the window where a framed abstract was propped up, taller than Fionnula’s front room ceiling. Then out, cross the flagstones and way up the inclined broadway, schoolbag back up on her shoulder.
Got a phone book please?
Yup, the barman hoisted up a thumbed phone book, front cover ripped away, first page ascrawl with a maze of blue pen numbers and passed it cross the bar.
Ta, Chell put it down on the bar and the few old-timers looked at the young girls as Kylah peered over Chell’s shoulders. Here, oh one, six three one.
.Oh one, six three one, went Kylah.
Where’s your phone please?
We don’t have one.
A good few of the old-timers chuckled.
Eh?
Eh! Eh! We don’t have one.
How come you’ve a phone book!?
The barman pointed to a space by the window; there was a rectangle of clean paint and all round it, blue ballpoint writing on the wall, always at angles. He goes, It was there till Saturday past. Two lads were leaning against it, next thing one walked out with it under his arm. We only just replaced the handset the week before when a regular had a set to wi the wife and tore the wire out. He left wi the handset in his jacket pocket.
That’s nothing, Chugg, I woke up in the armchair Saturday there, a defrosted haddock in ma jacket pocket.
Let’s get out of here, Kylah goes, in Chell’s ear, Chell ignored her.
But you’ve a phone there.
Woooo, went a coupla regulars.
That’s for staff and regulars, his glasstowel squeaked on a mug he was drying.
Don’t ken how it got there, the regular announced, shaking his head.
An how much do you huff to drink to become a regular? smiled Chell.
The barman laughed. Began pouring boiled water into his mug.
Are yous trying to give us all heart attacks with these skirts, an old boy in a tweedy jacket yelled.
Did that hurt? The barman nodded at Chell’s eyebrow ring.
Nope, but the other one did, Chell raised both eyebrows and the barman laughed more, Jeezo, none of us’ll sleep the night, eh boys?
Get them to sign the visitors’ book, Chugg!
Whats that, the phone book? nodded Kylah.
The fatty barman chuckled, crossed to the phone, lifted it and pulled the extension wire out from under the shelfing. He placed the phone down in front the girls.
Thanks, Chell smiled, Do you have Sambuca?
Sam what!?
Two vodkas and fresh orange please.
That we can manage. Where are yous phoning then?
Fucking Australia! someone called.
She’s leaving her band.
You’re in a band, ah thought it’d be you in the band by the make of you.
Well we’re all in a choir.
A choir! Give us a song then.
Okay, smiled Chell.
Kylah looked at her.
Cmon, Chell stuck an elbow in her, Forth Let The Cattle Roam.
They heard the Pill Box before they saw it. It was a low, square building without a single window. Tho a sunny afternoon, two bouncers in black bomber jackets flanked the door that was open.
Oh naw, there’s bouncers.
Know what year ya were born?
Aye, goes Orla, who’d taken off her boot and was holding it in her hand, she hopped up to the bouncers and says, Hi, there’s no a dress code is there?
The two bouncers laughed.
Look at ma pinkie toe, went Orla, an she bent down and took off her sock. Manda noticed Orla’d fresh nail varnish on her toenails.
Terrible, went the bouncer. We should say, we’re open to the public, good DJ like, but there’s two private functions on in here.
What?
There are two functions on here but you’re welcome in.
Two at the same time? goes Manda.
Aye.
What are they?
He turned to the other bouncer, What is it, twenty-first and an engagement?
Ah thought it was two engagements.
Engagements? Manda gave Orla a sour look.
We’re after some nice boys.
What’s wrong with us?
Nothing. Yous are lovely boys, specially since yous are going to let us in for nothing.
Do yous no have your bank statements? The other bouncer went.
What d’ye mean?
Bank statements; if yous have an overdraft at the bank, we let you in here for nothing, it’s well known round here, really gets the punters in.
That’s mental.
We don’t have any overdrafts.
We don’t even have bank accounts, that’s how poor we are.
Bit of smash the day though, Orla added.
Manda goes, See the chances of nice boys at a birthday party are much higher than the chances at an engagement party, when it’ll be tons of the lassie’s pals an, course, the million dollar question is, if it’s a twenty-first, is it a boy’s or a girl’s?
And is he cute? chirruped Orla, speaking that quiet way, so’s her braces didn’t show.
And is there a band? Cause we’ve pals coming too; ones like bands.
Ah hear violins, goes the skinhead one, who shrugged, turned on his heels and was back in a jiffy going, One engagement: boy AND girl, one twenty-first. Boy.
Orla and Chell screamed, started getting their purses out bags.
In yous get the both of yous, went the bouncer, laughing.
Holding her boot in her left hand, Orla stepped forwarders, immediately followed by Manda.
It’s not possible. Fionnula actually mouthed the words and really had side-stepped left, hard, into another doorway. There was a corner of glass window so’s she was able to look up the street, beyond the buses. She was moving away, in the direction she’d first seen her. Was it her? A short skirt, real short and … why had she changed?
Frowning, Fionnula stepped out of the doorway and on after, but keeping one eye on her. She flicked her head to check traffic and nosily crossed to the doorway she’d come out of. Fionnula climbed up. There were all different brass business plaques. Fionnula trotted down the steps, she could still see the girl but right up where heavy tree branches were awning down quite a ways away. Fionnula started trotting up the hill.
Kylah and Chell looked at each other to know when to fade down their voices then everyone in the bar started clapping.
They sound like angels but a bet they’re no boys!
You’d be right there, went Chell and she took out her Silk Cuts.
Play dommies as well as ya sing?
Aye, park those rear ends over here wi the gentlemen.
Those classy chassis.
Right ya are but’ve to phone first.
Aye, cmon.
Is it her boyfriend she breaking up with? The tweed jacket one looked around.
Nay, nay man, it’s her band she’s leaving.
A band is it?
Kylah had punched in the numbers an was staring into Chell’s eyes. She picked at her lip with her teeth for a moment.
There was a traffic lights and the girl had come to stop at them with three, maybe four other people beside. Fionnula gained fast, stared, couldn’t tell from the thin back of the neck, (tanned seeming), surely the hair a wee bit higher, the bare legs (too thin for tennis), the tan suede skirt, then she saw the bag. She’d been holding it to her front, clutched under tits. The unmistakable bag of a Our Lady’s girl!
The green man came on and it was Kay Clarke, stepped forward cross the road. Awkward-like, Fionnula walked after her then suddenly paused, but Kay was swerving left in the centre of the road, passing the wing of a halted car then walking into the gate of a set railings, descending steps and going out of sight.
The lights had gone red. Fionnula stood, then stepped back as a bus passed, its mirror swishing by. Without knowing it, Fionnula had lifted one of the straps on her bag, jammed the end in her mouth and was chewing.
In name of God, went Orla, holding her boot.
No one gave Orla the slightest attention. There was a boy up the karaoke; no shirt on. Chromes and glints of a drumset were behind him. Right enough there were two very distinct parties in progress – older women wi hats, grey-head husbands wi ties tugged open at the collar, circling, excited, and over-dressed young folk on one side; and all crammed in, at a long table-nook wi mirrors on the walls, lit by the disco lights, golden heaps of lager pints piled around before them, was a group of lads cheering the karaoke fellow.
The song finished and a loud jeer went up.
Davey the DJ’s voice clanged through the shaky PA: Tom, the birthday boy and he’s crap!! Manda started moving to the bar cause there didn’t seem to be seats, Orla followed, sliding her sock on the lino when the carpet ended.
Let’s see you all shaking some hair doon on that flair, but first, to add to the happy occasion, I’ve got an announcement to make. Shut it! Listen. They’ve been going out a year; they’re so happy for Jim and ’Von today, Kirstin and Bobby are announcing their engagement!
A huge cheer went up. The guys next Orla and Manda at the bar cheered, threw arms round each other.
The shirtless birthday boy leapt back up on stage and bothered the DJ at his console; he leaned over to the microphone, half grabbing it, face twisted back to the club, Ah just want to say, ah just want to say, ah don’t ken yous but ahm really really happy for yus!
A ringing endorsment frae Tom there. Keep working on the singing son, the DJ put on Celebration by Kool & the Gang (it was really Celebramos, the Spanish version, but no one seemed to notice: the dancefloor filled and everyone sang on top the foreign language version).
What a gormless-seeming bunch of bampots, Manda murmured into Orla’s ear.
Look, there’s chairs over there by the engagement lot, goes Orla.
You get the drinks ah’ll try get them.
What’re wanting?
Anything, Orla crossed the club floor, just as she did there was a burst of strong silver light as the bouncers opened then closed both doors; a guy rode onto the floor on an old, orange Chopper bicycle, pedalled a few circles to the cheering then got off, clicking down the stand of the bike and marching up the bar beside Orla.
Aye? the barman says to the Chopper rider but he nodded to Orla.
This girl wanting her boot filled with beer is first.
Orla smiled, Eh, two pints of your cider.
You know we’re selling bottles of champagne at four ninety-nine?
Chopper guy laughed beside her.
The barman fished out one of the bottles from a dustbin, a lot of ice slithered as a bottle fell deeper into the sound of ice and water. The barman held the green bottle under Orla’s face. The label on the champagne read: DUBOIS.
Orla frowned and says, Dubious!
Dubious champagne ha! went the gorgeous Chopper guy.
I’ll take that too, goes Orla, getting out her purse from the schoolbag.
You want the ciders as well? the barman goes.
Aye.
The Chopper guy had been looking at her, You here wi the engagement party o with Tommy’s lot?
None, ah mean no really, am here to see a band.
Aye? me too! They’re mates of mine.
Aye?
Aye. Jerry Cornelius and his Taiwan Sellout.
That’s great. Orla looked round. Manda was watching from a table where she was sitting, crossed legs, lighting up a cigarette; she raised her arm: a big wave, stabbed a finger at the seat she was keeping. Orla drunk a scoop of cider and slid the pint glass right down, inside the boot, rested on the bar. Some slopped out. It’s a very liquidy drink. Cider, she went, then laughed goofishly. By snugging the pint-in-a-boot, in, under her oxter, Orla could carry the other pint cider in her left hand, schoolbag over her shoulder and bottle cheap bubbly, neck crowned wi two plastic cups in her right hand.
That your friend?
That’s ma Mum, went Orla, smiling off, cross the floor.
Hey, big spender!
It’s you he’s after, Orla nodded back over her shoulder.
Chopper man? What was he saying? She says wi quickishness.
Just blowing shite. Orla bust the cap and blew the top on the Dubious, the cork leapt straight upward, breaking a purple-painted roof tile. The top of the bottle spoomered up froth and bubbles so’s Orla gobbled her braces round it then unplugged the bottle. A chunk of the roof tile fell, table-centre.
Aye records, that’s the thing wi the young ones these days, one of the regulars declared.
Shush.
Hello. It’s Kylah, Missus Grieg. Aye. Fine aye. Is he there? Aye. Thank you. Aye fine, ‘Il hold on. Kylah coughed, all the old boys in the bar looking at her. There was quite a pause an Kylah whispered, Ah don’t know what day he signs on. Suddenly she went. Aye. It’s me. Chell gave her a light elbow and Kylah made a face back. Kylah goes, Aye, we’re down now. Look there’s. Aye. There’s something ah need to tell you … yous. Yous! Aye. Am leaving the band.
