“I don’t mind them.”
James squirted brown sauce into his mouth. He shoved in another steaming roll and grinned through the sausage meat. “I think you might like me.”
“Mibbe.” Mungo lowered his chin on to the water. “I only have to look at them for three more days. I think I can hold my boak that long.”
“Three days.” James had forgotten for a moment. The green eyes turned to grey again.
Mungo shoved his toes under James’s balls, until the boy squirmed and a wave of water hit the carpet. Then he sat forward and, grabbing James’s cheeks, he pushed upwards till James’s fat lips parted in a forced smile. “Listen, if I only get three days I don’t want to spend it with a moody bugger.”
Mungo lay back down in the bath, while James glowered and rubbed at his face. “I bet I could kick the shite out of you.”
“I bet you couldn’t.”
“Only because ye’ve got hauners.” He tilted his chin in a challenge. “You only talk to me lit that because of Ha-Ha.”
Mungo nodded. “Correct. So watch your Fenian mouth or I’ll tell my big brother you showed me your willie.”
“But you liked it.” He sent a tidal wave of bathwater over Mungo.
“Aye, but I won’t tell him that. Will I?”
They lay back in the dissipating warmth. Mungo took James’s foot in his hand. He hadn’t looked at it closely before. His sole was surprisingly soft, it smelled of nothing at all. He put James’s big toe in his mouth, and they sat like that, with unflinching expressions, until James cackled first and tried to pull it away. Mungo picked a piece of sock oose from the tip of his tongue and under his breath he said, “You’re no fit to drink my bathwater.”
“Whut?” James was dabbing his finger into the water and eating the pastry flakes that were still bobbing there.
“It’s just a funny thing Mo-Maw says all the time. Some auld woman in the butcher’s will run her eyes the length of her and she’ll be like, ‘Auld cow, she’s no fit to drink my bathwater.’ I mean, imagine a line of wummin with thermoses in the hallway and Hamish working a velvet rope. ‘Not you Irene, you cannae come in. I don’t like the look o’ thon orthopaedics. Nae bathwater for you.’”
“I wish I could meet her someday. The bold Maureen.”
Mungo shook his head. “No chance. She would give me a showing up.”
“She sounds like a laugh.”
“Our Jodie doesn’t see it that way. But I don’t mind her, she’s only a danger to herself.” Something bright glimmered inside him. He held James’s foot to his face and dialled the soft underside as though it were a telephone. “Hallo-hallo. You want an appointment with Mrs Hamilton? Elevenses for three? Usual table, sir?”
It was ticklish. “Aye. Why not …” James started coughing again. He reached for his inhaler.
Mungo let go of his foot. “You need to see a doctor. I don’t like it when you hack like that.”
James rubbed at his bare chest, he tried to catch his breath. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. I think it’s the doos.”
“Probably.” He tried to steer the conversation away from the birds. He wanted to wipe the concern from Mungo’s brow. “It feels nice to have someone worry about me though.”
Mungo slowly lowered his face under the water and tried to hide a broad smile. He bobbed back up. “Does it now? Do you think you’re my boyfriend?”
“Only if you’re my girlfriend.”
Mungo pressed his knee outwards and against the inside of James’s thigh. It made the blond boy writhe for submission. “Okay! We’ll no tell Mo-Maw that, but aye, I’ll be your boyfriend, Mungo Hamilton, for the next three days, anyhows.”
It had been his turn to forget for a moment. Mungo lay there a while, thinking about the time that was left, rationing his allocation and deciding on how he would spend the sweetness. Of course there could be more of this on the far side of Mr Jamieson’s visit, but that hardly seemed to matter. He was feeling childish – why did James’s father have to come home at all? James watched Mungo’s face darken. He made the boy turn around in the bath, until Mungo was settled and lying against his chest. They sent slops of bathwater on to the carpet. Mungo said, “Okay. You can meet her, but only for a minute.”
When James spoke again his lips were against Mungo’s ear. He bound Mungo’s wrists, held him still. “Good. Who knows? Maybe I can date yer Maw and be yer new da. Two birds with one stone. After all, you’re turning out a wee bit funny.”
* * *
Mungo went early, to see her for himself, and if he had to, to keep her away from the worst of the drink. James knew where to come and when. She kissed him and then she tucked him under the snack bar counter, out of view from the regulars. Mungo was gazing up at her while she charmed customers with snatches of gossip and false smiles. When she looked down at him the smile slid off her face.
Mo-Maw stole sleekit mouthfuls from a polystyrene cup. When she wasn’t looking, he checked the cup. It was filled with fortified wine that smelled like cold medicine and rotted fruit. She must have been drinking and refilling the same cup for a long time. The lip of it was ruined with lipstick and she had chewed all along the edge.
The snack bar smelled sweet with fried onions. The late-night radio played soft rock from Mo-Maw’s youth: Dr Hook, Eric Clapton, Kenny Rogers. Mungo sat on the plastic cooler and she handed him a tub of bread rolls. “If yer gonnae bother me at ma work, then ye might as well make yersel useful.”
Her new perm had set tighter than she had wanted. Between filling rolls with potato scones and fatty bacon, she tugged at it and tried to steam it straight, holding it out over the sizzling griddle. “That Pauline, the glaikit bitch. She had the nerve to charge me eighteen poun’ for this. For this! Ah went to her house and had her weans climbing all over me. By the time I came out I was looking like Orphan-fuckin’-Annie.” She tugged until she winced. “Sun’ll come out tomorrow. My arse.”
“It looks awright.” It looked like she had been electrocuted.
“Couldnae even get a decent cup o’ tea out of her.”
Mungo was ripping the guts out of the bread rolls and eating the soft dough. With a plastic knife he spread bright-yellow margarine on both sides. He thought he was doing a thorough job, he imagined the drivers would want their rolls dripping with grease, but Mo-Maw slapped his hand with the fish lift. “Stop eating they rolls. And stop wasting so much bloody margarine. Big Ella will be on me like a rash.” She went back to relaxing her perm. “Why are you here anyway, is it money?”
“How, do you have some?”
“Naw.”
“Then I came because I missed you.”
She tickled him under the chin. “Ah suppose you do. Ah’m sorry, ma darlin’。 Have you been stickin’ in at school?”
Mungo wiped some margarine from the front of his jumper. “Not exactly. I was hoping I could leave soon. Get an apprenticeship or a job or something.”
Mo-Maw crouched beside him and lit a cigarette. She smoked it under the counter, hunkered out of view. “Ah wish you would stay in school.”