The summer nights get cold here. Seems counterintuitive, but that’s just how it is. I spent the last of my retirement money on this mobile home. We’ll just drive around, sleep where we stop. We’ve been bumping around inside it like two feral cats, and it’s turning into a blood sport.
I drink straight from the bottle. Another argument. I can’t remember what we were arguing about. She was meant to go into town to get some medicine. I was meant to go into town to get some food.
So we sit outside in silence.
As the sun starts to sink, I pick up some wood and we start a fire. I throw on my licence, my passport. She throws hers down too, and we watch them burn. I pour some petrol on. She dances by the fire and I join her, close, together, my arm round her waist and hers on my shoulder.
I swig from the bottle and we stumble into the mobile home, dishes flying, TV broken, her need and mine together. I pull her hair and she bites my chest, and then we sleep.
In the morning, I wake up and hear gunshots.
I grab the gun from the safe and go outside.
She’s standing out there shooting.
Two revolvers, twelve rounds between them, and she has fired all hers.
I load one round and spin the chamber. She reloads one of hers and does the same.
The rain cleared and the three cats lay sleeping in the sun.
They had found some shelter behind the wall, away from the cool breeze blowing from the Atlantic.
The boy sat amongst them and sneezed.
The ginger cat lifted his head.
Opened his eyes.
And immediately went back to sleep.
While the black cat came over and let the boy pet him.
When the music from the party stopped he could hear the sound of the waves. He felt the warmth of the wooden boards beneath him.
The boy sat with them for another five minutes before he heard his mum calling him.
He sighed.
Ran his hands along the cat’s back.
He heard his mum’s voice louder this time, a little harsher.
“I’m over here!” he shouted and then ran back to the sound of music and drinking.
The black cat lay back down and closed his eyes.
A cloud moved across the sun and for a moment they were all cast in shadows.
He shivered.
Sat.
Waited.
Just like magic, he felt the warmth of the sun again.
He stretched out. His eyes heavy. He fell asleep.
Just sun.
Sea.
And time.
They heard footsteps on the wooden boards.
People coming and going.
The smell of sunscreen.
Alcohol.
Someone lit up a cigarette, smoke drifting over.
But the cats didn’t care.
It was only when they smelt the perfume on the air.
Certain. Specific.
That they stirred.
Maria.
4 p.m.
She brought them out some water and sat down amongst them.
Ginger pressed against her trouser leg and she ran her hand along his back.
The black cat purred and looked at her. She smiled and put the water down.
The two cats started to drink but the third cat kept a distance.
“Oh Andro,” she smiled. “Always here but never quite. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
She pushed another bowl of water out towards Andro.
The cat didn’t move.
She pushed it further and sat back.
Andro approached the bowl, slowly.
Before settling to drink.
Maria smiled as she watched.
She felt the warmth of the sun, but it was much cooler here. She drank from her bottle of water.
She muttered, “You cats are lucky out here. Peace and calm and sun and sea. You should try being in that kitchen for five minutes. It’s hot, it’s sweaty and it’s not much fun.”
She heard the music playing from the party as she lit up a cigarette.
“More customers, less staff.”
She shook her head.
Ginger and the black cat came over to her.
“What a life you cats must have, eh? All the food you can hunt and I’ll bet I’m not the only one bringing you water. You’ll need to watch or you’ll get fat.” She laughed.
“It’s okay. To me you are Fugeo, Sol and little Andro.”
She smiled.
Checked her watch.
“Time to go. Same time tomorrow. Love you all.”
She scooped up the bowls, giving Andro a gentle pet as she left.
This is Chapter 8 from my story “Burn”, one of my favourites.
I walk back towards the ground. Under the bridge and there is the waste ground where The Craigie used to be. It was up there with Eddie’s as the best bar in town. Now it’s one of those modern flat blocks and some waste ground. There’s basically a big bush growing up against the fence.
I look over and just take the view in. Fuck sake, I remember nights in here. Power shandies, pool and fucking daft laughs. Faces been and gone. Real friends. That’s the way of the world I guess.
I’m looking over and hear a voice. “Ho you, ho Tam.”
I’m looking around. There’s a few groups of fans walking down to the crowd. Families. You get three generations of family coming to the games. It means a lot. I look around but no one is shouting at me.
“Tam. Tam.”
There it is again. I look down at the bush.
“Tam. It’s me. It’s the big man. It’s me.”
“What the fuck.”
“Listen, what the fuck is going on down there? I gave Moses clear and simple instructions.”
“What, what do you mean?” I laugh. I rub my hand across my face. Am I still high?
“Listen Tam, don’t pretend there is nothing going on between those lugs. I know you went to all those school assemblies where they banged on about all this stuff.”
I stifle a laugh. “What? You know when they used to bang on about thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s wife’s ass?”
The voice laughs a little bit. “You don’t sound much like God mate. In the movies, was it not usually James Earl Jones or Charlton Heston? You know, big booming voice.”
“Ach away man, that’s just Hollywood shit. Everyone knows that God is a Scotsman. No doubt.”
“That’s interesting,” I say, “but shouldn’t this be a burning bush? You know, like in the Bible?”
“Oh… er… aye you are right, but health and safety these days. Even the big fella has got to follow the rules.”
I laugh. “That’s fucking well you, Col.”
“No, no, no one here but the Lord your Saviour.”
“It fucking is you, eh mate? Come out.”
There’s a pause, a silence, then the bush starts to shake and a hand appears.
Col stands up, he’s laughing. Got a Kirkentoun FC scarf round his neck.
“You fucking arsehole,” I say.
“Sorry Tam, I seen you coming along the way.”
He climbs over the fence and walks over.
“The Lord says we will pump them today 5-0.”
We both crack up laughing. We get near the ground, there’s crowds of folk, someone has lit up a flare. But there’s a good vibe. We get in through the gates and take a spot up by the halfway line. Across the other side are the Kirkentoun Thistle fans. They are singing:
“This is a shitehole, I want to go home.”
“Aye well, away and fuck yourselves,” I shout across.
Then I spot him.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s Shug. Standing right at the sideline across the pitch from me. Looking straight at me.
For a moment it seems like it’s only me and him there.
He’s looking at me. I’m looking at him.
I raise a fist and then give him a one-fingered salute.
He looks raging and he starts to walk across the pitch before he’s pulled back by a mix of fans and stewards.
I feel an arm go around my shoulder.
It’s Col.
He’s singing.
“Forever in our shadow, forever in our shadow.”
I join in and soon there’s a group of us singing.
The Thistle fans look raging.
There’s lots of pointing and shouting but we just laugh and then start to cheer as the teams come out.
I look over my shoulder and everyone is standing, singing, clapping and making some interesting “gestures” to the Thistle fans.
The first half goes by in a blur of two-footed challenges, yellow cards and…
Then in the 41st minute Big Steggy, or Peter Stegalopolous to his mum, rising above the Thistle defence and powers a header into the bottom corner.
Our side of the ground and the stand behind the goal goes mental.
Someone lights up a flare behind the goal.
The Thistle fans are on the pitch.
Oh, here we fucking go.
They are at halfway and running right towards us.
A couple of folk slink back. I look at Col and he looks at me.
Not on our fucking pitch.
We run and a few follow us. The players are diving out of the way. First person I run into I hit with a shoulder barge and they go flying, I’ve still got momentum and I throw a right at the next guy and catch him right on the chin.
I yell out something, I’m not sure what, and then I just catch a glance of something out of the corner of my eye, it’s like a flash, it’s heading towards me and before I have time to think I’m already falling backwards and land hard on the ground. The air escapes my lungs.
I look up.
I just see Shug’s snarling face as he lands on top of me. He sits back and I instinctively throw a punch and he barely moves. His arms come to my throat and I’m trying to pull them away when he disappears. I sit up. Col is on top of him. Throws a quick punch and then he’s up. “Come on, we need to get back, the polis are coming.”
There are people all over the pitch. Half the stand must be out here.
I stand up. Breathe in. Look around at the chaos. Look down at my body. I’m still alive. I’m still here.
I see Col disappearing into the crowd and follow him.
A voice comes over the Tannoy.
“Would supporters please return to their seats.”
We duck down and cut through the chain fence. I rub my neck. Col’s laughing.
“Game’s going to be called off. Fancy a pint?”
“Aye, go on.”
As we walk down the street we see two police cars speeding up the street towards the ground.
And we are off, bleary-eyed, into the Ayrshire morning. Emmy looks gorgeous, her short blonde hair and a smile that I would never tire of seeing.
My car sitting on the street coughs up a cloud of exhaust fumes as I turn the key. A few commuters on their way to the station do a double-take, but we breeze past them, leaving them choking in our wake.
We get a good run of lights as we hit the dual carriageway.
I light up a smoke, and she flicks through the radio until she finds something she likes. The radio crackles to life with one of those old songs you know but can’t quite place.
For a moment, it’s like we aren’t ghosts at all.
We sing along to the chorus.
She looks at me, and I look straight back.
The engine opens up on the dual carriageway and we are cutting through the Ayrshire morning.
We’re analogue in a digital age; we’re radio in the streaming age. We are the words written on the page.
And we don’t give a fuck if that’s good enough for you.
She laughs.
Welcome to the moment.
Thanks for reading, you can read the full book on Kindle unlimited here.
This is chapter 6 of my book “Miserable Bastards”. It was one of the first longer stories I wrote, that I liked.
Mikey’s back, somehow looking worse than when he left.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
He’s bleeding from his lip and rubbing his eye. He looks like he’s been under police questioning for an hour.
“The polis found my hedgehog, called me a clatty bastard. I told her to get to fuck… so, er, she hit me.”
“Oh, for fucks sake,” says Frank as Bam comes round the bar and takes him by the hand over to a booth.
We all follow, and as I stand I feel a little unsteady on my feet. I’m getting a decent buzz from this whisky; let’s see what the fuck is going on.
I get there and Mikey’s cleaning himself up as Bam gives him another cross-examination.
“So, where is the hedgehog now?” she asks.
“Never mind that,” snaps Frank. “Where are the polis?”
Mikey is turning pale.
“Mikey?”
“Oh fuck, I just ran.” he says, looking over at the door.
“Christ, you, oot the back. Take some smokes, and we’ll shout you when it’s clear. Right, everyone else, back to where you were.”
Fuck’s sake.
We’re back to our seats, back to our places, trying to look innocent. This is one of those moments where it would be good to be drinking in a bar with windows.
It was an old rule of mine: don’t drink in a bar without windows or one with pool cues but no pool table.
“Fucking hell,” shouts Bam. “We’re sitting in here like a guilty party,” she turns up the music and starts moving, boogying, getting down.
And we’re all up. Even Pat is doing some kind of robot move.
Suddenly the door bursts open, and in walks a police woman, shorter than Bam. Face red, sweaty. This is Mikey’s attacker.
This.
She’s shouting.
“Where the fuck is he, where the fuck is he? Nae one, nae one. Nae one does this to Pam Wilson. PC Pam Wilson.”
I’m trying not to laugh. I look at Bam; she’s trying not to laugh. Frank’s going for the Oscar, straight-faced and smooth.
“What appears to be the trouble, officer?” he says in a radio DJ voice.
“Frank McTavish, I should’ve known that I’d find you in a shite hole like this. Where is he? I’m going to leather that wee arsehole.”
“No idea what you mean, Pam. How about a drink for old time’s sake?”
“A drink? I wouldn’t drink in here. Probably catch something. And it’s PC Wilson to the likes of you, alright.”
They are looking at each other, but no one says a word.
Suddenly the door swings open again, and a red-faced, puffed-up policeman bursts in.
“Pammy, Pammy, what the fuck…”
He stops as he sees this little standoff.
Pammy looks embarrassed. “I told you to wait outside, PC Findlay.”
“Come on, you. I’ve got reports of an aggressive mime threatening someone with an end of the world board on Sauchiehall Street.”
PC Wilson looks around the bar at everyone.
“I’ll be back,” she says and turns on her heels and storms outside. PC Findlay looks apologetic and leaves.
The door swings closed, and we all burst out laughing.
Paul Andrew Sneddon 