Docherty (20 page)

‘The beardies ye had in that jeelly jaur?’ Angus said. ‘Ah used them fur bait. Don’t be daft! Whit did ye want tae keep them fur? Ye’ve a bool in yer heid.’

Conn’s fist could only make contact with Angus’s elbows and forearms and the pain of it was salted by seeing Angus’s face crumpled with laughter, as if he was being tickled.

‘Ah want tae make masel’ that strong,’ Angus said, ‘that naebody can stoap me daein’ whit Ah want tae dae’.

The young men he stood among kept their enmity quiet. Their motive was partly caution, perhaps, but to a greater degree and much more importantly it was also a reflex of consideration, like not referring to the deformity of a friend. For they all saw Angus’s excess of egotism in the wider context of his generosity, his capacity for enjoyment that could be contagious, his even temper. In any case, they were all familiar with those fascist impulses which pass erratically through the emergent young like electric charges, because they were all subject to them. It was just that Angus was more subject than most, not surprisingly, since his strength stirred in him like a continent still to be colonised. Who could tell the extent of it?

Angus had to explore. His exploration tended to create border disputes with everybody around him. He said things that encroached painfully on the long established attitudes of others, he was cavalier about accepted principles of behaviour in the family, he provoked retaliation, and he seemed thoroughly to enjoy the exercise. Only at one boundary-line did his attitudes pass from being self-sufficient manoeuvres into something more serious, and that was between himself and his father. In the pit, Angus didn’t work so much with his father as in competition with him. While Tam cut the coal Angus loaded and drew the hutches. It was always his endeavour to achieve such speed that Tam would be unable to keep him supplied with coal. At home he had a habit of saying provocative things in Tam’s presence, waiting for a reaction. It was comparatively seldom that Tam resorted to invoking his absolute authority in his own house. Usually, he tried to confront Angus on his terms. He sensed that it was something deeper than could be contained by protocol, bull versus bull. Consequently, while he might oppose Angus, he respected that part of him which was already impatient for manhood. It was Jenny who would say every so often, ‘Are ye no’ goin’ tae dae something aboot that boay? He’ll be gettin’ too big for
your
bits, never mind his.’ Tam had once replied, The day he can take them aff me, he can wear them.’

In the meantime Angus was a boy who gave the spasmodic illusion of being a man, so that preconceptions about what someone as young was like would give way, like a garment that was too tight bursting. Every so often an incident occurred that caused people to check on his age. One of these had happened in the pit when he was fifteen.

He had gone into a disused working, looking for rails. They laid their own rails as they progressed, using flat forearm and hand plus three fingers of the other hand as a gauge, and the practice was to pull up rails from exhausted workings and relay them where they were needed. Angus had found the lengths he wanted and was emerging from the working into the main tunnel.

The ground there was at a cant. Opposite Angus was a working from which coal was still being cut by Tadger Daly. Tadger had just filled a five-hundredweight hutch and braked it with a piece of wood jammed in a wheel. He was walking down the slope away from the hutch as Angus came out and saw the wood slip from the wheel. The hutch started to roll.

‘Rin, Tadger, rin!’ Angus shouted, and as Tadger turned, he saw, like a negative he would only have time to develop later, the hutch coming at him with Angus hanging on to it and scooping something off the ground – ‘the wey ye’ve heard aboot in thae cowboy-shows’.

Tadger ran – ‘Ye’re no’ goin’ tae stop an’ argu wi’ a quarter ton o’ coal.’ The workings led off the tunnel at thirty-yard intervals. ‘Ah put oan a year for every fit.’ Behind him, involved with the thudding of his feet and the rasping of his breath, he was aware of the rumble of the hutch. ‘Like daith’s empty stomach.’ By the time he had made the next working and thrown himself into its shelter, he could only lean against a prop for a moment, until the silence came home to him and he saw Angus looking at him. ‘Aw right then, Tadger?’

From that time Tadger appointed himself official keeper of Angus’s legend. The truth was that Angus had caught hold of the hutch before it had moved very far. Staying with it, he never allowed it to gain anything like full momentum and acted as a partial brake until he could get the wood wedged once more into the wheel. It was an impressive demonstration of strength mobilised by courage in somebody so young but Tadger in gratitude enlarged it into a wonder. The story of Angus’s twenty-five-yard wrestling match with a quarter ton of coal circulated swiftly and confirmed the reputation Angus already had of being a physical prodigy. That’s no’ a boay,’ Tadger had said. ‘He’s three men dressed up as a boay. He’s awfu’ clever et disguises.’ By the time the men came off their shift, there weren’t many who didn’t know about it. Angus came out among ungrudging acknowledgements of what he had done. As they all tramped away from the pit-head, roughly together for the first couple of hundred yards like an undisciplined army, Angus walking beside his father and already a couple of inches taller, there was a lot of banter and somebody shouted, ‘Who’s that wee boay ye’ve goat workin’ wi’ ye, Gus?’ Tam laughed and shouted, ‘Well. They say guid gear comes in wee book.’

In the house Tam told the others. He was very proud and it wasn’t until Angus was reconstructing the event for the third time that Tam started to play it down. Then when Mick arrived for the night from Glasgow, the whole thing was gone over again. Seeing the talk shift from himself to Mick’s experiences of military training, Angus said he wouldn’t mind faking his age himself and joining up.

‘That’s richt.’ Tam was laughing. ‘You cairry oan. An’ the Germans’ll no’ need tae kill ye. Ah’ll save them a joab.’

Angus’s dour reaction to Tam’s remark, as if it were a serious one, was a sudden reminder of how young he was still. The man’s strength became something innocuous again, a boy’s plaything, for the time being. To ease his awkwardness, Jenny pressed Mick for details of what he was doing.

‘Och, we don’t even hiv uniforms yet. We spend the time mairchin’ aboot the streets. Playin’ at sojers.’

6

They were so tightly knit that just one of them leaving affected every relationship, meant that he heightened not only the others’ sense of himself but their awareness of one another as well. That was the effect Mick’s departure had on them.

It was a rowdy evening, full of strained laughter, noisy with masculine anecdote, secretive with the snifflings of the women, repetitive with sententious takings of leave.

‘Mick, son. Ah want tae tell ye this.’ That was his father. What he wanted to tell him wasn’t important. What mattered was the hand on his arm, the tremor in his voice he kept under control. Mick indulged his father’s sentimentality. He knew what he meant all right and at least it was better than kissing, which, according to some of the men in the Company he was shipping out with, was how the French would have done it.

‘Mick. Ye’re young yit, son. But jist you remember this.’ It was Tadger’s turn. He seemed to have dropped round specially to tell him. All Mick would remember would be Tadger’s expression smudged with the drink and the renewed awareness of how much Mick liked him.

‘Goad bliss ye, boay,’ was Mairtin. Jean said, ‘the best gran’ wean a wumman ever hud.’ ‘Ah’m tellin’ ye that’s seen it. Noo jist you remember, son.’ That was Andra Crawford. Where had he come from? Jean and Mairtin’s house, where they had gathered, was a chaos of comings and goings, like a railway station.

In the middle of it was Jean, propped up in bed. It was because of her illness that they had all come here. Trouble never comes its lane,’ Jenny had said. Jean had been going to get out of bed and come up to their house, and the only way they could stop her was to bring the goodbyes to her. You only had to look at her to see why she had to be stopped. She was very ill. Some said it was her last illness. Her heart was bad. Mairtin had not had a drink for weeks, though now she was always urging him out for a pint.

But tonight she somehow rose above her illness. She still looked unbelievably frail but she achieved that preternatural brightness sick people sometimes have. She glowed with the company. She had even consented to have some drink in the house. That was in tribute to Mick, whom she watched all the same and carefully counted his beer. He had two glasses. Mairtin himself would have none, in spite of the coaxings. It had become very important to him not to take drink. It was as if he somehow believed her illness was deliberate and, by abstaining, he could coerce her to get better.

His abstinence wasn’t out of place, for the drinking wasn’t much. But given the amount of emotion in the room with which it combined, it was enough. Mick was an awful provocation to sentiment, standing there in his kilt and his khaki tunic, looking fresh and young enough to be a boy dressed up for Hallowe’en but going to a war that was very real.

Jenny found him almost unbearably moving. Along with Kathleen, he had always seemed to her less obtrusive than the other two. Angus just had to be noticed, he demanded worry. Conn, being the youngest, had concerned her most. But Mick had always seemed so even and somehow safe. Yet here he was, fully fledged from the training he had told them so little about, dressed up like a stranger and preparing to face a threat that her thoughts hardly dared to guess at.

She felt a little guilty, as if she had let it all happen behind her back. But she consoled herself with the thought that she had never smothered any one of her family. She genuinely had no favourites. She had always tried to let the needs of her family dictate the expression of her concern. And Mick and Kathleen had demanded her attention less than the other two.

Seeing them all together tonight was a vindication. Kathleen and Jack had been in earlier. Jack had had to leave to see about something. But Kathleen had stayed to talk for a long time to Mick. The way she was fighting off her tears meant more to Jenny than if she had cried outright.

Angus had come in late but he was still here too. Jenny understood the lateness of his arrival his slightly bragging brotherhood with Mick. Angus had to create his own night within the main one. Wherever he was, he was for himself the centre. That was just Angus.

And Conn had been there all night, watching and laughing, his eyes enlarging everything into a wonder. She saw how he kept making sure that he was standing beside Mick, as if the magic of Mick’s presence might be catching. She was glad that Conn should do that. At least in Mick’s leaving, Jenny could see that she had made a good family. In the moment of knowing that, she looked for the man who had made it with her.

Tam was talking to Old Conn, and to Jenny it seemed typical that just as she was thinking something gentle and nice about him, Tam should be making her falter in that thought. Unconsciously, he was shrugging off her compliment. For he was annoyed. Sensing trouble, she crossed towards them in time to hear the end of what Tam was saying.

‘Fur Christ’s sake, feyther. The boay is goin’ tae France. Can ye no’ at least hing oan till he gets the train?’

‘Ah’m only goin’ oot fur a pint.’

‘A pint, bejesus. Ye’ll get a’ the drink ye want in the hoose here.’

‘It’s no’ the drink.’

‘Whit the hell is it then?’

‘Ah aye go oot fur a pint at this time o’ nicht.’

‘Feyther. Ma son is goin’ tae the war. That’s your grandson, in case ye’ve forgotten that. Ye’ll get yer fuckin’ pint the morra. An’ the next nicht. But oor Mick’ll no’ be here then. Ah want ma faimly roon ‘im while he’s here. An’ you’re pairt o’ ma faimly, feyther. Christ, if the King wis here the nicht, Ah’d expect ‘im tae wait.’

‘Let yer feyther hiv his pint, Tam,’ Jenny said.

Then Mick was there.

‘Oan ye go, aul’ yin,’ Mick said and he winked. ‘Hiv wan fur me while ye’re there then, eh?’

‘Ye ken whit Ah mean, son,’ Old Conn said. ‘Ah aye go oot at this time. Ye ken whit Ah mean?’

‘Ah ken whit ye mean. Ah’ll be seein’ ye, gran’feyther.’

‘Aye, richt, son. A’ the best, Mick. D’ye hear? The very best.’

Old Conn was going.

‘Christ,’ Tam said. ‘Ye’d think ye were goin’ tae the Croass.’

‘Och, feyther. He’s an auld man. It’s jist his wey o’ workin’.’

Tam started to laugh.

‘When ma feyther dees,’ he said, ‘he’ll be awa’ oot fur a walk before onybody’s noticed.’

As Mick moved off to talk to his grandmother again, Jenny said quietly to Tam, ‘There’s nae sign o’ that lassie Mick teilt us aboot.’

‘Naw.’

‘Ah thocht she wis maybe comin’.’

‘Aye, Mick said she micht be comin’. She wid likely hae boather gettin’ intae the toon. She’s workin’ oan a ferm, is she no’?’

‘Aye, richt enough. It’s a peety she couldny a been here, though. It woulda meant a lot tae Mick.’

‘Still,’ Tam said. There’s wan or twa did manage tae make it. Hoo are ye managin’ yersel’, Jen?’

‘Ah’m a’ richt the noo.’

‘Ye’re daein’ awfu’ weel. Jist try tae keep it goin’ fur Mick’s sake, hen. If you greet too sair, he’ll be leavin’ the maist o’ himsel’ here. An’ he’ll be needin’ everythin’ fur whaur he’s goin’.’

‘Ah’m a’ richt, Tam.’

Surprisingly, she was. She had been outmanoeuvring her tears all night. Mostly it meant keeping on the move, not speaking for too long to any one person and making sure that she wasn’t trapped into talking to her mother or Kathleen. If they had got together, each would have undermined the other. She did remarkably well until she saw Danny Hawkins come in. Then she knew it was only a matter of time before she embarrassed Mick. With Danny were a couple of friends and his mother. It was seeing Mary Hawkins that softened Jenny. Unlike Jenny, Mary would be completely alone with Danny gone. Having been stern with her own feelings, Jenny allowed herself to emote for Mary, found release by proxy. The two of them sought each other out immediately, like friends recognising each other in a roomful of strangers.