SCENE TWO
Scene: The same. A month later. Afternoon. ALEC and ISA are quarrelling in the bedroom: their raised voices are heard off. ISA comes out in a soiled, tawdry negligee with her hair about her shoulders, a cigarette hanging from her lip.
ISA: Aw shut up! I’m sick o yer jawin.
ALEC: (appearing behind her, half dressed) I am tellin ye, Isa, I’ll no staun much mair! I’m jist warnin ye. That’s a.
ISA: An I’m warnin you! If you think I’m gaun on like this a ma life, ye’ve anither think comin. You’re no the only pebble on ma beach, no by a lang chalk. If you want tae keep me, it’s time ye wid be makin a bit o dough again. I canna live on air.
ALEC: (placating) Come an we’ll go tae the dugs the night, Isa; mebbe we’ll hae a bit o luck.
ISA: Aye. Mebbe.
ALEC: Mind last time I won …
ISA: Aye, an I mind the last hauf dizzen times ye lost … Whit did you dae wi yon bag?
ALEC: I flung it ower a wa.
ISA: Ye stupid fool! I’m needin a bag.
ALEC: It’s no safe, Isa … ye’ve got tae get rid o the evidence … the Polis …
ISA: Three quid an a handfu o coppers! A fat lot o use that is tae me. Why the Hell did ye no pick on a toff? We wis in the right district.
ALEC: She looked like a toff; honest, Isa! She’d on a fur coat …
ISA: Whit kind o fur? Rabbit? You’re that dumb ye wouldnae ken. Next time, I’m no jookin up a lane, I’m staying wi ye.
ALEC: No ye’re no! It’s no safe. Ye’ve got tae be able tae rin fast.
ISA: Rin! That’s a you’re guid for. Rinnin. It’s aboot time I wis daein the rinnin. I’m sick fed up wi you. If I’d went wi Peter Robb I’d hae a fur coat an it wouldna be rabbit. An he’s got a caur …
ALEC: You say Peter Robb tae me again an I’ll kill ye! I wull! I’ll kill ye!
(He gets hold of her by the throat: she makes ‘strangling’ noises. He panics and drops her)
ISA: (frightened first, then angry) You …! Ma Goad! (She rubs her throat) You’ll pay for that!
ALEC: Isa! Did I hurt ye? I didnae mean tae hurt ye … I lost ma heid.
ISA: Get oot! Clear aff oot o ma sight!
ALEC: Isa, I’m sorry. I jist see red when ye talk aboot Peter Robb. I canna see naethin but him an you taegether … an the way ye wis last night, cairryin oan wi him.
ISA: Aye! Ye can use yer hauns a right on a wumman; but if ye wis hauf a man, ye’d have kicked his teeth in last night.
ALEC: He’s bigger nor me … he’d have hauf-killed me!
ISA: Fancy me mairryin a rat like you. The joke wis on me a right.
ALEC: Isa, I’ll hae plenty again … you’ll see … I’ve a coupla pals that’s got ideas … wait on, Isa! I’ll get ye onythin ye want … a fur coat an crockydile shoes … ye said ye wanted crockydile shoes … I proamise, Isa! I proamise! … if ye’ll stay wi me … I love ye, Isa; honest, I dae. I love ye.
ISA: Love! Hee-haw! There’s nae sich a thing. There’s wantin tae get intae bed wi someone ye fancy … or wantin someone’ll let ye lie in yer bed an no have tae gae oot tae work; but there’s nae love. No roon aboot here, onyway. Don’t kid yersel.
ALEC: (trying to take her in his arms) That’s no true! I love ye. I’m no fit for onythin when you’re oot o ma sight. I’m lost … waitin on ye comin back … I get tae thinkin … an wonderin whaur ye are … and if …
ISA: If I’m behavin masel? Well, hauf the time, I’m no.
ALEC: Isa!
ISA: Aw shut up! (She pushes him away) Ye’re ae wantin tae slobber ower me. If ye wis onythin decent tae look at it wouldna be sae bad, but ye’re like somethin that’s been left oot a night in the rain. G’on, blow! I canna staun yer fumblin aboot — unless I’m canned. Get oot ma way. I’m gonnae get dressed.
(She slams the bedroom door in his face. He stands looking at it. MAGGIE comes in. Clearly she is dead beat. She has a shabby bag in one hand and a little jar of jelly in the other. She gets the jar on the table and sinks into a chair. ALEC has not moved)
MAGGIE: Alec? Whit’s the matter?
ALEC: (as if coming out of a trance) Eh? (He turns slowly to her)
MAGGIE: Is there somethin wrang?
MAGGIE: You an Isa’s been at it again.
ALEC: She’s threatenin tae leave me, Mammy!
MAGGIE: Ye’d be better aff wioot her.
ALEC: Don’t you stert! I don’t care whit you think! She’s mines, an I’ll no let ye speak against her, d’ye hear?
MAGGIE: All right, all right … Aw, look at they dishes still sittin frae the mornin! Does nane o ye think o me comin hame tae this?
ALEC: Aw shut up, shut up!
(He suddenly sweeps everything off the table, then stands staring at the mess on the floor)
Aw, I’m sorry. I didnae mean tae … I’ll help ye clear it up.
(He looks up, pleading) Mammy? Mammy?
MAGGIE: (on her knees) Ye’ve broken the dish o jelly Mrs Ferguson gie’d me tae tak up tae Bertie … the nurse said he could get a wee tate on his breid. Well … there’s nae use greetin. Are the weans a right?
(ALEC takes the debris from her and disposes of it at the sink)
Did Isa gie them their dinners? I asked her …
ALEC: She’s jist new up.
MAGGIE: Jist new up? It’s no fair! Naebody lifts a haun tae help me! I’ve tae go oot charrin a day and then come hame tae this! … Whaur’s yer feyther?
ALEC: Hevna seen him.
MAGGIE: I suppose you wis in yer bed tae, a mornin?
ALEC: I wis tired!
MAGGIE: Too tired tae go doon tae the burroo? At least yer feyther does that.
ALEC: Whit’s the use? There’s nae jobs.
MAGGIE: Nae work for the men. Aye plenty for the women. Oh, I’m that sick I could see the hale lot o ye in Hell! (Taking out her purse) Would ye gae doon tae the chip shop and get a coupla pies and some chips for wur tea?
ALEC: (squinting into her purse) Aye. A right Ma.
MAGGIE: Get ninepenny worth o the chips an a tin o condensed. An then rin across tae the baker an see if there’s ony stale tea-breid left. An if ye can find Edie an Ernest, send them up …
ALEC: Ma, whit aboot a packet o fags?
MAGGIE: There’s nae money for fags.
ALEC: Jist five Woodbine’ll dae. I’m needin them.
MAGGIE: Ye’re no needin them, Alec. Ye’re jist wantin them; an ye’ll hae tae dae a lot o wantin afore ye’re deid.
ALEC: (shouting) Aw shut up preachin at me! Ma nerves is a tae Hell! … I feel like cuttin ma throat.
MAGGIE: Whit wey is that tae talk?
ALEC: There’s nae use livin … naebody cares whit happens tae me.
MAGGIE: Alec, ye ken that’s no true.
ALEC: If I chucked masel intae the Clyde naebody’d care. I wisht I could! … But she’s right … I hevnae the guts!
MAGGIE: Alec, whit is it, son?
ALEC: She says she’s gaun wi Peter Robb. She says I’m nae use. Ma, I canna staun it if she goes wi him! I canna staun it!
MAGGIE: My Goad! I’ll gie that girl a piece o ma mind for gettin you intae this state. It’s woke me up a bit tae find oot the way you twos been livin … ye’re shakin, Alec. Hev ye had onythin tae eat the day?
ALEC: A cup o tea.
MAGGIE: We should hae some spirits in the hoose. Whaur’s Isa? Is she oot? (ALEC points to the bedroom) Isa! Isa! Alec, lie doon a wee minute, ye’re that white.
(She helps him over to the bed: ALEC is play-acting for all he’s worth, leaning on her and half-whimpering)
ALEC: Oh ma, ye’re that guid tae me. (ISA comes out of the bedroom. She has a tawdry lacy, low-cut slip on, and over it a dirty ‘film-starish’ negligée)
ISA: Whit’s a the row?
MAGGIE: (emptying contents of purse on table) Alec’s shiverin; he can hardly staun on his feet. Rin doon quick an get’s a gill o whisky.
ISA: A gill? There’s no much in a gill.
MAGGIE: An get a packet o Woodbine tae. An here! You’ve tae leave aff tormentin him!
ISA: Me? Tormentin him? I’m no tormentin him!
MAGGIE: Aye are ye! Threatenin tae leave him when ye ken he’s that daft aboot ye. Goad kens why, for ye’re a worthless slut if ever there wis yin.
ISA: You keep yer insultin names tae yersel, ye dirty aul bitch!
MAGGIE: I’ll learn you tae ca me a bitch!
(She slaps ISA’s face. At this moment JOHN comes in)
JOHN: Here! Whit’s a this?
ISA: She hit me! She’s that rotten tae me!
JOHN: Maggie! Whit dae ye think ye’re daein?
MAGGIE: Naethin she didnae deserve. She ca’d me a bitch.
JOHN: Well, ye’re certainly actin like yin.
MAGGIE: John!
JOHN: Ma Goad! Whit a Hell o a hoose tae come hame tae!
MAGGIE: It’s no ma fault! I’ve din a hale copper-fu o washin an scrubbed three floors an the hale lot o yous had naethin tae dae but lie in yer beds! Ye couldna even wash up a dish for me. It’s me that aye has tae dae twa jobs when you get the sack!
JOHN: Aw, shut up harpin on that string. It’s no ma fault. I’ve been oot lookin for work.
MAGGIE: Aye, I’ve seen yous men lookin for work. Haudin up the street corners, ca’in doon the Government … tellin the world whit you’d dae if you wis rinnin the country …
JOHN: Shut yer mouth or I’ll shut it for ye!
MAGGIE: (shocked) John! (Pause) Whit I meant wis … ye could hae tidied the place up afore ye went oot.
JOHN: Tae Hell wi this Jessie business every time I’m oot o a job! I’m no turnin masel intae a bloomin skivvy! I’m a man!
ISA: (softly) Quite right. A woman disnae respect a man that’s nae a man. (To MAGGIE) Well, whit aboot this whisky?
JOHN: Whit’s this? Whisky? There’s nae drink comin intae this hoose!
ISA: It’s for Alec. He’s nae weel, she says.
MAGGIE: He’s lyin doon.
JOHN: If he’s nae weel it’s mair likely because his system’s poisoned wi the stuff a’ready. Alec! Get oot o that bed an show yer face!
MAGGIE: I tell’t ye he’s nae weel, John.
(JOHN goes across to the bed and drags ALEC out)
JOHN: Get ootside and breathe some fresh air, at least whit passes for fresh air roon here. Ye’re gettin nae whisky. D’ye understan?
MAGGIE: (turning on him fiercely) Who earned that money? You or me?
(JOHN, as if he had been shot, drops ALEC and turns away, slumps down in a chair and puts his head in his hands. ALEC craftily sneaks some of MAGGIE’S cash and slinks out. MAGGIE, resentful, eyes first ISA and then the demoralised JOHN)
ISA: That’s the stuff! He’s needin somebody tae tak him in haun. He’s beyond me. (She cries, not very convincingly) I cannae dae naethin wi him.
MAGGIE: Oh, wull ye listen tae her! See they crocodile tears? It’s a wunner ye can squeeze oot a drap frae they wee marble eyes!
JOHN: Don’t cry, Isa; he’s nae worth it.
MAGGIE: It’s her that’s the worthless yin! If she’d leave him alane…
JOHN: Maggie! That’s no fair! she’s upset.
MAGGIE: (bitterly hurt at JOHN’s perfidy) Oh, yous men! Big saft idiots the lot o ye.
JOHN: It’s your fault. You spoiled him frae the day he wis born. He’s still your wee pet lamb no matter whit he gets up tae.
ISA: Aye, he’s jist a great big baby. If he disnae get whit he wants, he greets; tears rinnin doon his cheeks. It fair scunners me. I like a man tae be a man. Staun up for hissel.
MAGGIE: (to JOHN) And I like a man … (Her voice breaking) … tae stand up for his wife.
(She seizes her coat and hauls it on, jams on her terrible old hat — this should be black or dark brown — and goes to the table to pick up her money: when she sees how little ALEC has left her, she can’t help making a small sound. JOHN looks up)
JOHN: Here! Whaur d’ye think you’re gaun?
(She looks at him coldly and doesn’t answer. She goes out. There is a pause, then ISA laughs)
ISA: Oh ho! Ye’ve done it on yersel noo, Daddy. She’s in the huff. She’ll no be speaking tae ye.
JOHN: (uneasy) Och no … no. Maggie disnae take the huff … hardly ever.
(ISA comes up close)
ISA: Ye’ll get the cold shoulder in bed the night, eh? Nae fun and games!
JOHN: (genuinely shocked) Isa! Mind who ye’re speakin tae!
ISA: I’m speakin tae you and why should I no? Ye’re a man as well’s ma faither-in-law.
(JOHN moves away, goes to window, pulls aside the curtains: throws up the sash and looks right, then left)
Goad! I’m freezin tae death! (She hugs her arms and shivers) Pit doon the sash.
(He does so: returns, troubled)
JOHN: I should hae gone tae the shops for her and let her hae a rest.
ISA: The shops? She’s awa lookin for her wee boy in case he gets intae mischief.
JOHN: We shouldnae hae criticised him, Isa.
(He smiles at her. They both burst out laughing)
ISA: My! Your eyes when ye laugh … (Pause) Listen, don’t you bother yer bunnet; it’s no you she’s mad at; it’s me. She cannae staun the sight o me. Never could.
JOHN: Och, I wouldnae sae that, Isa.
ISA: Right frae the stert. I took her wee boy away frae her. They’re a the same, mothers. The first yin’s aye his mither’s big tumphy.
JOHN: Aye … weel … mebbe they cannae help it.
ISA: Mebbe no; but Goad help the wife that gets stuck wi the tumphy.
JOHN: She’s been a guid mother tae the lot o them, Isa, and Goad knows we’ve had a tough time.
ISA: Aye … well … but she’s been lucky. Lucky wi her man.
JOHN: Come aff it, Isa!
ISA: I mean it! I think you’re great. Ye’ve… ye’ve an air aboot ye.
JOHN: An air?
ISA: Aye. As if ye wis somebody.
JOHN: Hee-haw! In these claes?
ISA: There’s some can see whit’s under the claes — if ye ken whit I mean. If you wis single, you could get a job in Canada, or Australia. Or even England … but ye’re stuck; pinned doon here wi Maggie and the weans.
JOHN: (feebly) Y’re no tae say onythin against Maggie, Isa.
ISA: Oh, I’m no. She’s a good sort. Kind o ready wi her hands … (She feels her cheek) … but nae wunner wi a they weans tae skelp aboot. Of course, that’s her life … she disnae care … I mean aboot whit she looks like.
JOHN: The kids has tae come first. And once ye’ve a faimly ye begin tae forget whit ye used tae look like when ye’s a few bob tae spare tae posh yersel up. Ye get intae the way o thinkin that it’s nae worth botherin.
ISA: (bending towards him) It’s a night oot on the toon you’re needin; make ye forget yer troubles.
JOHN: When ye’re on the dole, Isa, ye’re lucky if ye can skin a packet o Woodbine.
ISA: Aw, it’s a right shame! D’ye no hae the odd … (She ‘fingers’ a couple of notes) … win at the dugs? D’ye never get a tip?
(For a moment the light of remembrance dear comes into his eyes, then fades: he looks at his boots)
JOHN: Naw. It’s nae worth it, Isa … the way ye feel efter.
ISA: Och, a coupla aspirins and a guid dose …
JOHN: Aspirins is for sair heids; no for bad coansciences.
ISA: (shakes her head sorrowfully) And you in the prime o life. It’s a right shame, so it is.
JOHN: Shut up Isa, will ye? Juist shut up. I’ve had nae prime. I got married. Nae trainin. Nae skill; juist a labourer when there wis labourin needed; and when there’s nane … the Buroo. And there’s nae escape that I can see. (With an effort) But thanks a the same, Isa.
(His head is bent. Impudently she tickles the back of his neck)
ISA: Whit for, Daddy?
JOHN: (jerking up) Here! Behave yersel. You’re asking for trouble!
ISA: Whit sort o trouble had ye in mind, Daddy?
JOHN: Don’t ca me Daddy!
(She giggles. He smiles at her. Then, into the kitchen burst EDIE and ERNEST)
ERNEST: Whaur’s Mammy?
JOHN: Gettin in the messages, whit you should be daein for her. When I wis your age I’d hev got a good leatherin … you should be in here when your Mammy gets hame tae see whit she wants.
ERNEST: Aw cripes! Ye cannae pit yer heid in the door but someone’s jawin ye.
JOHN: Cut it oot. Get on and redd this place up a bit.
ERNEST: I dinnae ken whaur tae stert!
JOHN: Neither dae I.
(EDIE starts to clear the table by the simple expedient of sweeping things on to the dresser)
EDIE: I’ll set the table. Is the kettle on, Isa?
ISA: Look and see. I’m nae wantin tea here; I’m gaun oot tae mines.
EDIE: Gaun oot tae yer tea! My! … In a rest-u-rant? Ye lucky dog!
(ISA goes off to bedroom)
ERNEST: She’ll be gaun wi yon big fat bookie she wis wi last night; he’s got an Armstrong-Siddley. I seen it!
JOHN: (giving him a clout on the ear) You keep yer trap shut.
(ERNEST makes a great row, holding his ear and trying hard to cry. MAGGIE comes in. She doesn’t look at JOHN but goes to the table and puts down a loaf, a tin of milk and a parcel of chips. Then she takes off her hat and coat)
JOHN: (sheepish) Ye werena lang.
(She looks at him, stoney eyed. EDIE looks anxiously from one to the other and ERNEST’s crying dies to a whimper. MAGGIE lifts the kettle to put it on)
EDIE: (eagerly, taking it from her) I’ll dae it, Mammy.
(She fills the kettle and sets it on the cooker. JOHN picks up his library book and turns his back on the lot of them. ERNEST sits too, but his eyes follow his mother about: he is not used to this silent, grim-mouthed woman. The smell of the chips is too much for him, and, while his mother busies herself cutting the loaf, he creeps to the table, opens the parcel up and sneaks out a chip: EDIE steals up on him as he is stretching out for another and hits him. He lifts his foot to give her a kick on the behind and MAGGIE, turning at that moment, sees the scuffed toe-caps of his boots and what remains of her self-control gives way. She screams at him:)
MAGGIE: Look at yer new boots! (She seizes him, shakes him and hits him) Ye’ve kicked the taes oot o them again! I’ll learn ye tae play fitba’ in yer best boots. (Crying hysterically, she belabours ERNEST who tries to get away, yelling, but she holds on) Whaur d’ye think I’ll find the money for anither pair? Oh, I cannae staun ony mair o this … I cannae staun it!
(She collapses in a storm of weeping. EDIE joins in out of fear and sympathy, and JOHN jumps up in alarm. He goes to calm her but she shouts at him:)
Leave me alane! Leave me alane! I hate ye! I hate the hale lot o ye!
(In a storm of tears she blunders out of the room. JOHN gathers the two frightened children to him and sits down an arm around each)
JOHN: Wheesht, wheesht, the baith o ye; wheesht. Listen. Listen tae me. Edie, Ernie, listen. I’ll try tae explain. (He sighs) Yer Mammy’s no really angry at ye … (the children’s tears stop in a series of sobs and hiccoughs) Your mammy’s just tired. She’s been oot a day cleanin ither folks’ hooses, and mebbe we ought tae hae helped mak things a bit easier for her. (EDIE nods her head vigorously) … When women gets that tired they kind o loss their heids; ye unnderstaun?
EDIE: I wis feart, Daddy. I’ve never been feart o’ ma Mammy before.
JOHN: She’ll be sorry ye were feart, Edie.
ERNEST: Daddy, am I no tae get playin fitba again? I hevnae got nae ither boots; the auld yins crushed ma taes. I’m the centre-forward! Ma chinas’ll kill me if I’m no in the team. Some o them’s got real fitba boots. Daddy, could you no get us a pair o real yins?
JOHN: I’ll try, son. I’ll try.
ERNEST: Bobbie Gray got his at the barras.
JOHN: (a gleam of hope) Oh aye … there’s the barras. We’ll need tae see whit Mammy says.
ERNEST: (a despairing cry) Aw naw! She’s a wumman; she cannae unnerstaun men!
EDIE: I’m awfu hungry, Daddy and the chips is gettin cold.
ERNEST: (desperate) Wull ye try, Daddy, wull ye?
(JOHN bows his head, holds it between his hands and groans)
JOHN: (to himself) Try. Try. As if I didnae try.
(EDIE plucks his sleeve)
EDIE: So could we no juist hae wur tea, Daddy? Mebbe ma Mammy’s gone tae her bed.
JOHN: Aye. We’ll hae wur tea.
(The children sit at the table and dive into the chips. JOHN slowly and painfully locates the tea pot and makes tea. he sets out cups: lifts the teapot and looks at the door through which MAGGIE had disappeared plainly wondering if he dare take her a cup. The door opens and she appears, her face begrutten, but calm)
MAGGIE: Well, come on then, come on! Which o yous has found the strength tae mak the tea! (In a whisper to JOHN) I’m sorry. Couldnae help masel. Think I’m needin something tae eat.
JOHN: (patting her) That’s a right, lass.
(EDIE offers her mother the chips)
MAGGIE: Naw, hen! I’m no for a chip. They gie me the heartburn. (She sits down and stretches for bread and butter: with a piece halfway to her mouth she stops and gives a kind of laugh) Heartburn! I wonder whit kind o a male idiot called indigestion heartburn? Ma Goad! I could tell him whit heartburn is! Ma Goad! Couldn’t I no!