The boys come back late an’ loud an’ crashin’ through the front door an’ I think I’d better start on the rolls. I keep tryin’ tae get thum oaff tae bed, as much for mysel as for them. It’s almost midnight and I’d be in bed by now if Finlay hadnae said he was comin’ aeyer. They do sometimes come after a night out, if they cannae get a taxi hame or if they’re hungry or wan ae them’s been sick. Needin’ care. I don’t mind geein’ it. But it gets late and I get cauld sittin’ in just mah goonie. Sometimes they bring girls and play music and the neighbours dinnae like it but I just says tae them whit can ye dae?
Finlay is the first in, smokin’ a cigarette even though I’ve telt him that’s whit took his grandad fae me, and I wasnae losin’ him tae the same fate. I only smoke when I’m drunk, gran! He a’ways says an’ I says that’s enough to dae it lad, just wan’s enough. But I shake my heed at him and he gies me ‘at blue-eyed smile and I cannae help but gie him wan back. Who’s here the night then I ask, as I only recognise three, the others are new. Except, no they’re no, they’re the same yons, but they look older, and they don’t smile back at me when they come in. You ken ma pals gran, Finlay says. We’re meetin’ someone, we just need a place tae meet that’s safe. Well yer aways safe here, my lads. I smile and they struggle tae smile back.
How was the night out then, I ask. Kiss any girls? I poke Finlay in the ribs tae get him tae giggle. At a’ways worked when he wiz little. Now he pulls away. No that kind of night, gran, he says. Why don’t you just go tae bed? It’s late, our friend willnae be here for a wee while. Nonsense, I says. Far’s wantin’ a bacon roll? I’ve goat a full pack o smoked bacon and thon soft rolls ye like, fresh this mornin’! They’re aw silent fer a moment afore wan ae thum mumbles that aye he’d tak wan. Finlay says aye, me an aw. Wan of the lads pipes up as Ah leave the room. Nae butter in mine, thanks. Ah’m happy, happy tae be of use.
As the fat melts in the pan, I hear thum whisperin’. The clinkin’ of glass. Their phones vibratin’. When the bairns were wee, ye couldnae hear yersel think fer aw the beepin’. The crunch o’ thon downloaded tunes comin’ oot yon tiny speakers used tae make my heed split. But noo everyhin’s silent, everyhin’s a secret. He’s gettin’ aulder, ah tell masel. He’s findin’ his ayn way. Away fae you, fae his maw an da’. It’s whit he should be daein’. But it disnae mak it hurt ony less! The pan’s hot now an’ I drap three rashers in, an’ the sound drowns out mah thoughts, an’ the whisperin’, an the vibratin’.
There’s a chap at the door afore I can butter the rolls, and I move tae get it but Finlay’s up and crashin’ intae the livin’ room door afore I can get there, just barrellin’ past me mutterin’ I’ll get it gran, just leave it will ye? I shrink back intae the kitchen, and butter the rolls, all but one, and a tall lad in a dark sweatsuit lurches past the kitchen door. He turns tae look at me fer a moment, and I smile. He cannae be mare’n twenty-five but his eyes look aulder. He doesnae smile back, but turns tae Finlay, heed an shoulders shorter’n him, an says, ‘Why’s she here?’ His accent sounds strange, almost American but no quite.
‘She’s fine, don’t worry,’ Finlay says and closes the sittin’ room door behind them. This time they go even mare quiet, an’ then somewan turns mah tv oan, full blast. Noel Edmonds, Deal or No Deal. The neighbours willnae like ‘at. I’m tryin’ tae no let it affect me, I really am. But I’m worried. Whit if they’re daein’ drugs in there? Will I have tae call the polis? Whit if he ends up in prison, eatin’ that fuckin’ slop they give them! Mah Tommy was in fer five years and he came back aw skin an’ bone.
I turn and there are the rolls, without bacon in thum, so I fill thum an’ then there’s the pan wi’ the fat solidifying in it. So I’m busy noo an’ mah heed’s empty of all it was thinkin’ afore. An’ then aw the lads are awa’, filin’out past mah kitchen door lik’ wee soldiers, without their rolls. That wan is comin’ up at the end, an’ he looks me in the eye. There’s nothin’ there. Nothin’ I could see. Lik he’s behind a closed gate. Finlay comes ben the hoose, an’ looks at me and there’s the same terrible gate in his eyes. Closin’.
I do whit I can; fill the kettle, sit him doon oan the couch. Deal or No Deal’s still blastin’ so I turn it doon. I tell him it’ll all be alright, that we’ll sort it, whitever happens, whitever he’s done. But he turns tae face me an’ I see his faither there. An’ his grandad. An’ he seems so far away, even though he’s sittin’ there. Same thing happened wi’ mah Tommy when he came back. He wisnae the same. I get up and go tae the kitchen, when I don’t know whit tae dae I go tae the kitchen. And there’s the six filled rolls, wan without butter but naebody tae eat them. But I think maybe he’s hungry. Maybe he’d eat them. So I take them ben the house fer Finlay and we sit in silence and watch the telly until I get him tae eat wan, then two. And then I feel better.
Jack Lennon is a writer and poet from Scotland. You can find their work published by Always Crashing, Night Shades, and X-R-A-Y, among others. Contact them or read more at jacklennon.com.
Accompaniment: “1 Ghosts I” — Nine Inch Nails
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Absolutely taken by the sense of doom, the tenderness too, and of course the language. Is it Scottish, maybe Glaswegian? x