On the day of the funeral my mother hung a black crepe scarf on the door of the family home. A white card told when the remains would be taken to the kirkyard.
I tried to straighten my tie in the mirror, not easy when you find it hard to look at yourself.
I didn’t know how to feel about my father’s passing. He felt sorry, yeah, but the memories were still there. Every time I felt sympathy sneaking up on me I had to ask was it really myself I felt sorry for?
All I did know, the person I was wasn’t the person I wanted to be any more. My father had tried to shape me with lashings and harsh words, but look what he’d done. Look what I was. A waster, basically. An alkie loser.
Deep down though, I knew I couldn’t blame him. I’d been over it a million times. If I’d had it better, who’s to say I would be any different? Kids who are showered with affection develop their own problems. They go into the wider world looking for a kind of love they’ll never attain. My problems felt like mine alone. For years I’d been nurturing them. Perhaps now it was time to let them go. I knew that was what my father had tried to show me.
The coffin was balanced on the dining-room table, my mother sat beside it, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Cathy stood beside her, a hand placed delicately on her back.
‘The others… are they coming to the house?’ I asked.
‘In a while. Michael’s talking to the television people.’
‘The telly?’ I wondered why Michael had been asked to do this, I was the eldest, and Christ, I had the media experience.
‘They’re doing a slot for the news.’
My mother spoke up: ‘Do you think anyone will remember him?’
‘Mam, he was a big name in his day,’ I said. ‘There’ll be loads of interest.’
I knew this wasn’t the case. Football had moved on. To the fans of today, he was a relic. A strange remnant of a bygone era when men were men.
‘Och, I don’t know, it’s all that David whatsisname these days. One married to the skinny girl off that Spice group.’
‘David Beckham,’ I said. ‘We can be grateful he’s nothing like that pretty boy. My dad never once wore shin guards; can’t see Becks taking ninety minutes of tackles like that.’
I’d surprised myself. Here I was defending my father.
‘Do you know what George Best said about Beckham? “He cannot kick with his left foot, he cannot head a ball, he cannot tackle and he doesn’t score many goals. Apart from that he’s all right.”’
A few smiles were raised. For once, I’d done some good.
‘Angus, son,’ said my mother, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’
I knelt down, beside her. ‘Sure, anything.’
‘Now, I don’t want you to feel you have to say yes — really, I don’t want that.’
‘Mam, what is it?’
‘There are some men from your father’s old club coming to help carry the coffin… and there’s Michael, but I thought…?’
I saw where this was leading, the final thing my mother could ask of me.
‘Mam, it’s no problem. I’ll help carry the coffin.’
She raised her handkerchief again. More tears.
‘Come on now, there’ll be cameras out there — stiff upper lip remember.’
Cathy put her arm around her. ‘Come on, Mam. Why don’t you have a bit of a lie down? There’s plenty of time before we need to make our way to the kirk.’
The pair looked a strange sight, both dressed in black, as they moved out of the room.
For a moment I was alone with my father in his coffin. I felt uneasy, moved through to the lounge. As I closed the door behind me, Cathy returned.
‘She’s wearing up well,’ said my sister. ‘Do you think it’ll last?’
‘She’s a tough old girl,’ I said. ‘She just needs a bit of a rest.’
‘She got no sleep last night.’
‘I’m not surprised. What about you?’
Cathy ran her fingers through her hair, I saw a few streaks of grey had crept in. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘Sit down, would you? You’ve been running about like a mad thing all day.’
‘No, I was going to make some tea.’
‘Cathy, I’ll get the tea. Put your feet up.’
On my way to the kitchen, I tried to stop myself, but had to glance at the dining-room door. I’d seen dead bodies time and again, but this felt different. This was the home I’d played in as a boy; it shook me up. It’s obvious to say death is all about endings, but this really did feel like the curtain had come down on something.
I brought Cathy her tea.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘No problem.’
My sister perched on the edge of her chair, blew into the cup. ‘Gus, there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I know you and Deborah, well, aren’t exactly getting on right now-’
I put up a hand. ‘Correction. Debs is divorcing me.’
Cathy lowered her cup, balanced it on the arm of the chair. She took a deep breath, then spoke slowly. ‘She came round a few days ago. She’d heard about Dad, and I think it was more for Mam’s sake, but she wanted to say goodbye.’
‘And?’
‘I told her he wasn’t expected to see the night out — this was before you arrived.’ Cathy raised up her cup, took a sip.
‘I know this is leading somewhere, Cath.’
‘Well, she asked to be told about the funeral.’
‘She’s coming to the funeral, that’s what you’re trying to tell me?’
Cathy put her cup on the floor, a little tea spilled over the side and down the edge.
‘Did I do the wrong thing, Gus?’
Tony Black
Paying For It
AS THE SLOW cortege made its way into the kirkyard, my mother wore a brave face. Old women stood up from the graves they’d been tending, gave knowing glances. People I’d never seen greeted us with nods, said they felt sorry for the family’s pain.
A few men in black armbands spoke like we were old friends. I guessed they were from my father’s playing days; we may even have shared a word here and there in the past. But I recognised none of them. Names were a mystery.
At the graveside the sun blinded. A yellow oblong led the way to the broken earth, where the minister stood with a small crowd. More strange faces, people I may once have known, but not now.
Even the minister was a stranger to me, a young bloke, with pale blond hair and paler cheeks. He stood sweltering, sweat dripping down his flat forehead. It all looked very difficult for him. He started to speak; ‘Cannis Dury was known the length of the country,’ he said. ‘In his day he knew faith, not only faith in the Lord, for faith comes in many forms, but faith in himself. When he took to the football field, Cannis Dury showed his faith in a strong body and a determination to win. He had skill and he had heart, and, he was an idol to many.’
I tried to block out the minister’s voice, every word was a reminder of what I’d sooner forget.
‘In these times of change, we see the worship of many false idols, but it is men with faith, in the Lord and in themselves, we can look to for guidance.’
Please. I’d heard enough.
I loosened myself from the crowd, walked away. Under an oak tree I lit a cigarette and watched while they laid my father to rest. My mother scattered earth over the coffin, stepped away. The minister was the first to signal the end of the ceremony, heading off to the kirk’s hall.
As the crowd dispersed I lit another Marlboro with the end of the last one. It grew colder, then the brief glimpse of sun disappeared. The sky still looked blue, but grey clouds started to pitch up.
A voice from nowhere, said, ‘Hello, Gus.’
She wore black trousers and boots, one of those sleeveless tops that could be worn as a dress. Her hair was the first thing I noticed though. Shorter than usual, and a whole new colour. ‘You’ve changed — gone blonde,’ I said.
Deborah took off her sunglasses, flicked back her fringe, then swept the lot back and held it in place with the shades. ‘Fancied something different.’
‘I like it — it suits you.’
‘And you? What about those teeth?’
I dipped my head, felt tense. ‘They’re falsies.’
Silence, as we both searched for more small chat.
Then, we broke in together. ‘I’m sorry…’
‘No, you,’ I said.
‘I got your message on my voicemail, I wanted to call but — what with your father being so ill, I thought…’
‘It’s okay. Cathy said you’d visited. That was kind of you. You were always thoughtful that way.’
‘I figured you’d have enough to deal with. Last time we spoke, you sounded stressed.’
‘Look, Debs, I’m sorry about that. Really, I am. Things have been getting on top of me.’
She looked away, rubbing at her bare arms. I didn’t want to stray back into old territory. She’d already spelled out her feelings to me. I stepped back, said, ‘What am I saying? You don’t want to hear my tales of woe-’
She cut me off. ‘Actually, Gus… Look, it’s bloody freezing out here, can we go inside?’
I looked towards the kirk; most of the mourners had filed into the hall, two men in trench coats, heads bowed, were the last to go in. ‘Tell you the truth, I can’t face it. But if you’d like to grab a coffee…?’
‘Coffee, nothing stronger?’
I shook my head.
‘Okay, coffee’s good.’
As we crossed the street, the rain started up. Not heavy, but impossible to escape. We took seats beneath an air heater, ordered two large coffees, Debs had a piece of carrot cake. Her expression looked serious. I didn’t see us doing the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp at the table.
A television played in the background, lunchtime news drew to a close. The arseholes at the parliament had spent the day in serious debate about whether or not to erect a Hollywood-style sign on the Holyrood Crags. Were these people for real?
The news kept one item of interest to the end, again.
‘I don’t believe it,’ I said.
Debs had a mouthful of cake, frowned out a, ‘ What? ’
‘Could you turn this up, please?’ I called to the waitress. ‘I know him.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Debs.
‘Benny Zalinskas.’
‘He looks like a gangster.’
I nodded. ‘That’s exactly what he is.’
‘And how do you know a gangster exactly, Gus?’
‘Not personally — not like that anyway. It’s the case I’m on.’
‘Case… you’re making it sound like work! It’s not a job, Gus.’
I shut her down, said, ‘One minute; let me hear this.’
The TV volume rose, Zalinskas’ trial was about to draw to a close. The jury, entering into deliberation, were expected to have a verdict inside forty-eight hours.
Back to the studio. ‘And now the weather.’
‘Fuck me,’ I said.
Debs put down her fork. ‘What’s going on?’
I filled her in on the case, left very little out.
‘That’s dreadful,’ she said, pushing aside her plate.
I looked out to the street. ‘I know… to think it’s all going on right under our noses and we’re powerless to do anything about it.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘No?’
‘Why are you getting yourself involved?’
‘Col’s been very good to me… I really felt for him. He deserves answers…’A cringe. ‘He deserves closure.’
‘But this isn’t your fight. You’ve let yourself get drawn into this and got yourself into Christ alone knows what.’
Her concern surprised me, but I wasn’t knocking it.
‘I’m not doing anything else.’
Her eyes lit up, she pointed at me. ‘Exactly. You had a name once. A name to be proud of. You were known for your writing, people listened to your opinions.’
I knew what she meant. I’d heard it from Col a million times. I’d even heard it, more recently, from my father. But those days were past. ‘Debs, who’d hire me now? I’m a burnt out case.’
‘That’s just what you tell yourself — keep at it, then that’s what you will be.’
I knew she was right, but it didn’t alter the end result. What she was selling, I just didn’t want any more. My life had grown meaningless. I’d lost the juice to fire any ambition.
‘You can change yourself, Gus.’
‘Can I?’
‘You can… you can be happy.’
‘You sound so sure. I’m not.’
I’d strayed into cloying sympathy. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted happiness for Debs as much as she wanted it for me. I said, ‘This is all wrong. I’m sorry.’ I called over the waitress, asked for the bill. ‘Look, thanks for coming to my father’s funeral, I’m sorry I faffed about so much with the divorce. I shouldn’t have lost that last letter. Get your lawyer to write again, I’ll sign whatever you want me to.’
A siren wailed from the street; Debs’s eyes flickered. ‘There won’t be any more letters.’
She motioned me to sit.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. ‘Neither do I.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I don’t want a divorce.’
‘But… what’s changed?’
‘Nothing, though I’m hoping you will.’
Her face turned to granite. I wanted to see her smile, to pick her up in my arms, run down the street with her on my shoulders. But this wasn’t a cause for celebration.
‘I’m not sure I can do that.’
‘I’m not asking for much.’
‘Deborah… this is me, you know. What you see is what you get.’
She looked out the window. ‘I don’t believe that, Gus. I think there’s more to you than this… phase.’
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe a better life waited out there for me. And for her.
She was offering me a second chance and I knew I’d be a fool to knock it back.
‘So where do we go from here?’ I said.
Deborah’s eyes widened as she stared through the window. I turned to see what had her attention — two police cars had the street blocked off. The trench coats from the kirk walked towards us. Now I saw their faces, I recognised them right away as Collins and Roberts.
‘Angus Dury?’ said Collins.
‘You fucking know who I am,’ I snapped.
A badge flashed. ‘Lothian and Borders Police…’
He shoved my face into the table top. I heard Debs scream as my arms got pushed behind my back.
The cuffs went on, Roberts said, ‘Angus Dury, I’m arresting you on suspicion of possession of proscribed substances, dealing in laundered currency, aiding and abetting a criminal syndicate, attempting to blackmail a member of Her Majesty’s government and living on immoral earnings. Have you anything to say?’
‘I think you forgot jay walking.’