A Café in the City

They went in the door, the boy first pushing ahead. The counter really began at the door, it being on their right and running down half the length of the room. No one appeared to be stationed there initially, but in a moment a woman appeared from under the counter; she was drying off teacups with a blue dishtowel. 'How's aboot servin your customers, hen?' the man said with a smile.
'Tam, how are ye? Aw, there's Joseph as well. How are ye, Joseph?'
The boy looked up at the woman. He was holding a figure in one hand, a Ninja turtle.
'Is that him kiddin on he's shy?' The woman laughed shortly, set down the towel. She was wearing an apron, the sleeves of a shirt folded up to her elbows underneath it and some recently grained dirt on her arms. Tam smiled down at the boy.
'Sit doon, whit yous wantin?'
'Eh, cup a tea would be grand, Helen,' the man said, sitting at a table near to the counter but a distance from the front door, which whisked in a draught from the weather-harassed street. The young boy followed and lowered into a chair like he expected it to fall over. He was a slim boy, with an olive Italian face, dark eyes and black hair which came down over his eyes, a fringe like many tassels. He did not look very much like the man alongside him. That man's skin was less toned and his hair was not quite black, though fell in the same disordered formations.
'Where've yous been?' asked Helen, the man's sister, going back around the counter and beginning to fetch teabags from the waist-high cupboard underneath the espresso machine. She knelt while retrieving them, her back to them. The man rubbed his stubbled face; he appeared somewhat hardened; eschewing the barbers' with his thick, shoulder-length hair sitting in a kind of half mullet, his forehead - what you could see of it - bumpy and creased. He answered, 'Just a donner about the shops. I'll have to take him back to his ma's in about half an hour.'
Helen nodded. 'Whit aboot you Joseph, ye thirsty?'
The boy watched her for a second, as though determining if she was friend or foe.
'Aye he's thirsty,' his father cut in, smiling, 'int ye?'
'Whit'll he have, Tam?'
'You want a milkshake, Joseph?'
The boy nodded. Helen beamed, she spun around, her proclivity to prepare food and drink obvious. Then she asked, over her shoulder, 'chocolate?'
'Aye, chocolate's fine, doll. How you been keeping anyway, good?'
'Aye, so so. Y'know.'
'That's good.' Tam leaned forwards, folding his arms. He was wearing a checkered red and black shirt which was tucked into jeans strangled by a brown leather belt. There was a faltering freshness to his face; it was quite as though, an hour or two earlier, he had came out of a swimming pool clean and with softened putty skin, but the fumes and carbon upchuck of the unfresh air had expedited the ageing of his face. He was staring towards his sister, not quite looking at her, but around her, like trying to see the effect of a smudge pot on its radius air. Meanwhile, the boy had set down his action figure on the table and was now regarding the layout of the café's interior. There were only a couple more people, it being a small area and placed not quite in the centre of the city. Tam took his eyes from the woman and shut them.
'Have ye eaten?' she asked after a moment.
'No really.'
'Ye hungry?'
Tam opened his obsidian eyes. 'Aye, could go somethin. Ye hungry, son?'
The boy met his father's eye. 'Aye,' he said quietly, as though his hunger was an embarrassing fault of character he would rather keep from the woman. His father kept looking at him for a moment longer, then he grinned and took a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He lit one quickly and, after inhaling a drag, said, 'When's your next break, Helen?'
The woman did not reply, and he paused, as though assessing whether she had heard and was in delay of reply, or if she did not listen to the question. He sat with his hand held a length from his face, holding the smouldering cigarette. The boy gave a swift, impassive yawn which caught no snare of attention from either his father or relative behind the counter. Now the kettle squealed, and she brought its mouth over a cup, filling with water which tinted a brown hue with the outpour from the bag inside. When she brought over and set it on his table, he squinted with his eyes, said, 'Ta,' and she remained standing there. 'When's your next break?'
'Och, I don't finish till three, I've took my break already.'
'Oh right.'
'Oh, his milkshake.' She doubled back and lifted the long glass, its surface piddling with chocolate bubbles, a straw arising from them.
'Whit d'ye say, Joseph?'
'Thanks.'
'Nae bother, son,' said the woman.
'That's? d'you know who that is?' said the father.
'Aye, ah know who it is,' was the shy answer, the boy's face's quiet resentment just discernable.
'Aye, he knows his aunty,' said the woman, 'Hmph.'
She had the look of those females nearing their forties who, you could imagine, received great attention in their early womanhood, who induced males to lay out all their cards. But now she had a sort of inverted face, with lips which rarely stretched, thinned and well-set, downward age lines sliding her forehead.
'Naw, I've no brought him up the house much though. Eric's a bit too auld for him so I usually take him doon the baths or to the centre.'
'How's Maggie?'
'Ach, I've nae interest in her.'
'Tam.'
'Whit?'
'I don't mean that.'
'Oh, I know.'
Helen continued standing with one hand lightly pressed on the young boy's right shoulder. Tam proceeded to smoke his cigarette, it shortened as he bagged up his mouth with every long draw. Then he tipped the peak, which had become ash due to the suction, into a glass ashtray.
'She's okay, I mean, she gets on. She still has that cleaning job mind, the one at House of Fraser, she's there in the mornings after droppin the wee yin aff.'
'Is she still seein the boyfriend?' Helen accepted his cigarette, took just a single draw and handed it back, the smoke roiling; she waved it into passing.
'God knows. I've went round a few times, if she is he's no living there.'
'Aye, well, ye shouldnae keep doin that.'
'How no?'
'Her private life, I mean.'
'Bollocks tae that, I'm no interferin.'
The woman moved her unsmiling eyes over the boy. He met hers and she pursed her lips, looked away from him.
'Check, doll,' a customer called from a table near the back, in partial darkness. He laughed once, stood up and went to the counter; left a five pound note there. 'Keep the change.'
'See ye later!'
'See ye,' and he went out the sash door, the room left behind like consolation from the brutality of the street's damnable chill. The three sat still for a moment. Tam broke the silence: 'Naw but Ellie, look, if she's wae him fine, that's just fine, she dinnae gie me a proper chance to get it the gither, but that's aw in the past. I just don't want the wee man affected.'
'Mmm?' She nodded slowly, put the soft part of her palm to her opposite shoulder and went quietly around the counter again. 'Let me fix you somethin.'
'Eh, okay, aye.' He grinned weakly, took a gulp from the mug and lifted his cigarette packet, dropping it into the shirt pocket.
'You want a sandwich?'
'Aye. Turkey, you got turkey?'
'Pardon?'
'Turkey filling.'
'Aye, we got turkey.' She brought out the silver tongs and began taking leafs of lettuce out of the plastic trays beneath a glass case. She added them to a round plate and began to butter some slices of Hovis bread.
'You enjoyin that?' Tam said lowly to his son.
'Aye, da.' The boy had already drained half of the glass; a thin rime of brown milk lay over his upper lip. The man leaned over and, taking his shirt cuff up to his hand, wiped it off like a squashed bug on a window. It was as though he wished for all things to be arranged in an orderly fashion.
He brought the tea to his fish-hole mouth once again and, after taking some, picked up the plastic spoon from the saucer and stirred it more thoroughly.
'Will he take a sandwich as well, Tam?' Helen asked.
The man paused for a moment. 'He's a bit ay a sweet tooth, this yin.'
'Shut up,' the boy said quietly.
'Well, ye are! Anyway, it's no an insult. Don't be as shy, I'm a sweet tooth maself.'
'More crisps?' the boy said uncertainly.
'Aye, crisps as well! Crisps and chocolate, I'm aye piggin out when we're oot an aboot.'
The boy laughed, a sound like hatching as though his teeth were involved.
'You fancy a slice ay cake, Joseph?' Helen asked.
'Aye, please.'
'Chocolate?'
'Aye.'
'Bloody hell, he'll turn into chocolate at this rate!' Tam cried, 'he'll turn intae a Taz bar!'
'A Taz bar!' Helen tittered laughter, clapped her hands. Then she died down, laid some tangled bits of turkey onto the piece, folded the bread over. She left it there and took another plate out of the cupboard, added a brick of icing cake.
'Cheers for that, Helen,' Tam said. She shrugged.
'Whit you say, Joseph?' He held the cigarette for a second.
'Thanks.'
'You're very welcome, young man,' said Helen happily, setting both plates down. 'You getting the bus back tae Maggie's eftir, are ye?'
Tam gazed out of the window, wind liposuctioning any warmth from the air, the browned pub on the opposite side of the road, the cars resting along the pavement's edge.
'Aye, the 61.'
'They're quite regular.'
'Mm.' He smiled agreeably. 'Wish I had him for the night, he's good comp'ny. So ye are.' Now he looked at the boy, who coughed twice.
'It's that smoke!' Helen reprimanded the man.
'Och sorry, son.'
'Don't get me wrong, I'm just as bad.'
'It's awright,' the boy choked. Tam dispersed the smoke with a series of swats.
'Sorry, mate.'
'Naw, it's fine.'
The man stubbed out the fag, then drank some more tea. 'Drink your milkshake, get the taste oot your lungs,' he instructed.
The boy reached for his glass, and accidently toppled it. Helen reacted in quick motion, righted it as the milk flowed over the rim and spilt.
'Crap,' the boy said.
'Ah, that's awright, it's just a wee tait,' she said easily, quickly locating a damp towel and patting it down on the chocolate puddle.
Tam said, 'You're as clumsy as your da.'
'I'm no that clumsy.' The boy watched his aunt interestedly as she sopped up the milk.
'Aye ye are, if no mare so.'
'Tam, just leave that there, I've got a customer.' Helen pivoted around, flitted back to her post behind the cash register. A dark-skinned man was there. Tam held the dishtowel over the spillage and frowned. He let out a hearty sigh and looked at his son. 'Ye know whit Joseph, I came intae this café eftir you were born. I walked down from the Royal for a roll and sausage. Your ma coulda murdered one but the nurses were aye discouragin her fae eatin the greasy foods. So she tells me to go down the street an sneak her one back in.'
The boy nodded.
'But when I gets out in the street, I keep walkin. I suddenly fancy a wee walk. I end up in this music shop, it's no there any more, I bought a guitar pick. An a wee harmonica, which I've never been able tae play. Then I came here. I bought me an yer ma a roll an sausage, gave the wuman that served me a big tip. When I got back to the hospital, it wis nearly dark, I'd been out for so long. An your poor ma had got so hungry she'd eaten that hospital slop. So she wis full up!'
The boy chuckled.
'Aye, I wound up wolfin them both.'
'Trust you.'
'Aye, trust me.'
He watched the boy, closely, as though for signs of existential suffering. The boy picked up a chunk of the cake which had broken off as the knife slid through its rubbly centre.
'Whit'll ye do later the night?'
'Later?' The boy chewed.
'When I, eftir I take ye back I mean.'
'Back?'
'Back hame?'
'Aw. Eh. Dunno.'
'You got homework tae do?'
The boy looked about to begin crying. 'Aye.'
'Whit homework?' Tam lit another cigarette, after a draw tapped a particle of ash into the tray.
'Maths.'
'Maths? God, I hated maths. I wis terrible at it.'
'Wur ye?'
'Aye, I wis hopeless. Couldnae concentrate on it.'
'Me either. It's too hard.'
The man nodded. 'They shouldnae be giein ye maths homework at your age. You should huv a choice actually, whether ye want tae do it. Because some folk just don't want tae do it, canny hack it, they just don't have the interest. But ye must do it mind, I'm no sayin you dog it or anythin like that.'
'Aye.'
'Eventually ye'll make up your mind an be done wae it, but ye huv tae wait, an ye have tae try as well.'
'I dae try.'
'Aw, I know. I know ye do. So whit is it, like time's tables?'
'No really.'
'The schools need a bloody shake-up, so they do.'
The boy forked another morsel of cake into his mouth. His father laughed. 'You gonna finish that?'
'Whit d'ye expect?'
Tam laughed. Helen, arms leant on the countertop, said, 'Whit did he say, Tam?'
Tam told her. She chuckled.
'Maybe Ellie'll gie ye a doggy bag.'
'Shut up.'
'Ah, he's a growin boy,' Helen put in, and she smiled. 'That's whit like they are. I mind you. So you canny talk!'
'Aw, here we go.' Tam grinned.
'I'm serious!'
'So am ah.'
There were several seconds of silence. They could hear the windowframes creaking, and rain, fine and irregular, hurtling against the glass. Tam had a misty-eyed expression on his face and his brow was lined. He lifted the second sandwich he hadn't yet touched and bit into it; the lettuce crunched as he chomped, teeth coming down. Helen went away to do something; walked down the room, her shoes the only sound on the tiled floor.
'Ye awright?' Tam asked. Against the previous silence, the words clattered. The man had an expressive face, it went through various locks and bolts to reveal them all; petted lip, tongue pushed into inner cheek, chin distended for the conveyed unsatisfaction of the literal long face.
'Fine.'
Tam turned around. 'Mind if I have a glance at your paper?' He was speaking at an elder gentleman in a smoking jacket not two tables away.
'Fire in,' the man said.
'Ta,' he moved to dispossess the table of the Daily Record. 'Just want tae read up on yesterday's scores.'
'Ye a Celtic man?'
Tam smiled. 'I am, yirself?'
'Oh aye. Two-nil yesterday.'
'Up them. Aye, there wis the Edinburgh derby tae, eh.'
The man at the other table nodded. Tam spread the newspaper open. The boy watched him. 'Can we get a taxi back?'
Tam frowned. 'Naw naw, we got return tickets.'
'It's freezin, da.'
'Ach, it'll be awright when we're on the bus.' He, with one hand, ate the final scraps of the ripped-apart sandwich, and, with the other, ran his finger down a column of football results. The boy turned away from him. Helen came back around the counter with a brush and shovel; she scraped up some crumbs from the hard floor. Her face was blanched. She finished sweeping up and stuck the kettle's red switch down.
'Bastards,' Tam said dully, idly creasing the page. Then he looked up. 'Sorry.'
The boy did not say anything. Tam took his hands off the table and let them fall to his side. Then he turned his head sharply. 'That's a line I had on that busted,' he said to the man.
'Oh aye?'
'Aye. Raith Rovers done me as well.'
'Ye intae the horses as well?'
'Nah, just fitba.' He folded the paper shut and then folded it again; he threw it like a discus back onto the man's table.
'Ye want tae keep it, I've read it.'
'Naw,' Tam said.
'Ye sure?'
'Aye.'
'Okay.'
Tam shut his eyes; grimaced.
'Whit's wrang?' Joseph said.
Tam opened them. 'Nothin. You finished? We better get on the move in a minute. Your ma'll be havin a fit if ah bring ye back late. An you've got that homework tae do. Sunday night homework, I mind ay it. But ye huv tae do it. Ye just huv tae do it.
The boy looked at him; they smiled.


Ronnie McCluskey

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