4
Monday
In the slowly lightening morning Billie’s taxi is parked outside a scruffy two-storey building, on the ground floor of which is Ronnie’s Radio Taxis. As the wintry sun struggles manfully to clear the rooftops, an elderly hobo shuffles along the icy pavement, dipping every so often to examine some item of interest in the gutter. There is the faint sound of music on the thin air.
The hobo pauses to rifle a litter bin. A stray cur wanders across the street to sniff at the trail of rubbish in the hobo’s wake. As he shuffles abreast of the parked taxi, the hobo sees a discarded Lanliq bottle dully glinting in the feeble rays of the watery sun. He bends to investigate.
The passenger door of the taxi inches open and Frank McClusky’s bleary features appear opposite the hobo’s at the ground level. It is apparent that Frank has spent the night sleeping on the taxi floor. Frank looks at the bottle in the hobo’s mitt.
FRANK: Naw, I’ll stick with my usual, pops … pint of Head and Shoulders74 an’ a half-dozen rolls …
* * *
(The rehearsal room above the taxi office is still and bare now, except for a mike stand in the middle of the floor and a 5-watt guitar amp in a battered black case)
* * *
(Across town, in stark comparison to the quietness of Ronnie’s Radio Taxis, an ambulance with a police and prison van escort pulls up at the gates of the huge Victorian Glasgow City Hospital. The vehicles pull off through the gates following signs for the Neurology Unit)
* * *
(The rehearsal room is now in use again. Jolene idles across to the window as her fingers wander across the accordion keys)
JOLENE: (over music) You didnae happen to catch the news on the radio last night, did you?
(Billie is concentrating hard on perfecting her fingerwork on a somewhat convoluted guitar riff)
JOLENE: Billie?
JOLENE: You didnae happen to catch …
(Billie abandons her riff)
BILLIE: Naw … an’ nor did I happen to catch wur album track’s first outing ’cos somebody never thought to get in touch …
(She carries on strumming while Jolene takes over the melody)
BILLIE: … what you askin’ for?
JOLENE: Naw, nothin’, I was just curious.
(Jolene leans forward and peers through the icy window)
JOLENE: Yeh, the roofs do look quite slippy …
BILLIE: The what?
JOLENE: … there’s a wee auld guy just fell all his length on to a stray pooch out here.
BILLIE: On to a which?
(Jolene watches the dog struggle out from underneath the hobo, yelping. Frank emerges from the taxi in all the confusion, a pair of cowboy boots in his hand)
FRANK: (to stray cur) Don’t let him sit on you, son … take a bite out his bum …
(The dog looks at Frank, snarling viciously)
FRANK: … ahyah, bugger!
(He hotfoots it across the pavement in stocking soles and heads for the taxi office as the stray cur rounds on him. Upstairs, Jolene and Billie are still talking)
JOLENE: Okay, so we’ve got wurselves a geetar-picker, what about wur chantoose?
(They hear the sound of barking and door-slamming from downstairs)
* * *
(In the waiting room of the City Hospital there is a mixture of visitors and outpatients, all of them silent and sullen. A young man, with a shaven head, his face covered in defiant tattoos, chomps on gum, blowing intermittent bubbles and cracking them loudly. Next to him is an older woman with her husband and two young women. They’re all watching Cissie, who paces to and fro in front of them, pulling on a cigarette)
FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (loudly) She’s smokin’.
OLDER WOMAN: (to Cissie) This’s supposed to be a hospital.
SECOND YOUNG WOMAN: What aboot hur? She’s smokin’.
(She accepts a cigarette from her companion, as the older woman’s husband takes a packet from his pocket)
OLDER WOMAN: (to husband) Get you those away.
YOUNG MAN: Err she’s smokin’ …
(The young man takes a wad of gum from his mouth and hands it to the older woman)
YOUNG MAN: … huv that.
(He takes a cigarette from the older woman’s husband, breaks the tip off and sticks it in his mouth. There is a great plume of smoke as everyone lights up)
OLDER WOMAN: (sotto voce, to husband) Just you wait till I get you home!
HUSBAND: (between coughs) Good Christ, wumman, it’s the only pleasure I’ve goat …
(Tamara MacAskill’s head appears round the waiting room door, as the husband has a coughing fit)
TAMARA: Is there a Mrs Crouch here?
OLDER WOMAN: Hell bloody mend you!
(Cissie whips round)
CISSIE: How is he?
TAMARA: I was just about to ask you the same thing …
(She enters the room and closes the door quietly behind her)
TAMARA: Evening Echo, d’you mind having a word? I’m doing a follow-up story on Dorville.
CISSIE: Dor-wood.
TAMARA: Sorry?
(Tamara delves into her bag for a shorthand notebook)
CISSIE: Dor-wood!
(Cissie starts pacing again, lighting a fresh cigarette from a dogend)
TAMARA: I just need a couple of details from you …
(She flips the shorthand pad open)
CISSIE: Yeh, like gettin’ his name right … slope off.
TAMARA: I believe you were quite active on the Western music scene yourself at one time, is that true?
(All eyes swivel from Tamara to Cissie)
CISSIE: Last night he’s fine, this mornin’ he’s in for a brain scan …
(All eyes swivel from Cissie to Tamara)
TAMARA: How long’ve you been married?
CISSIE: What the hell kind of a jail is it that lets them exercise on the bloody roof in this weather …
TAMARA: D’you have any kiddies?
CISSIE: … he’s a deep-sea-diver, for God’s sake!
TAMARA: Did it come as a bit of a shock to you when he got into the lower reaches of the charts earlier this year with …
CISSIE: (interrupting) I wish to God he still was instead of harin’ about the country with a bandana round his nut singin’ Gene Autry numbers with a bunch of deadbeats an’ drug addicts …
TAMARA: Gene Autry … of course …
(She writes in her notebook)
CISSIE: … at least I knew where he was when he was trauchlin’ about the sea-bed in his …
TAMARA: (interrupting) … something about his ‘redundancy money’?
CISSIE: … what’d you say?
(She stops dead and looks at Tamara. All eyes swivel to Tamara)
TAMARA: Shouted down to the radio car, wanted you to fetch him food and cigarettes … of course, Brian and I thought …
CISSIE: Aw, my God …
TAMARA: … are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet.
CISSIE: Naw, I’m fine, I’m fine …
(A nurse appears at the waiting room door)
NURSE: Is there a Mrs Crouch here?
* * *
(Frank is seated on the floor of the rehearsal room while Jolene is trying to force a cowboy boot on to one of his feet)
JOLENE: It’s pretty obvious they’ve swole up durin’ the night …
FRANK: Don’t be ridiculous, if they’d swole up durin’ the night I’d be able to get my feet into them this mornin’ … ohyah …
BILLIE: So who we gonnae phone?
JOLENE: What about the wee cobbler’s in Maryhill Road?
FRANK: Yeh, get him to send over a coupla gallons of thon stretchy paint, this’s murder …
(Billie fixes them with a baleful look)
BILLIE: To replace the beanpole.
frank and jolene: (together) Aw …
* * *
(Fraser Boyle presses his finger to the doorbell of Cissie’s apartment, and keeps it there. He has a guitar case in his other hand. The elderly neighbour passes the landing on her way upstairs. She is wearing a slightly scabby fur coat over an overall and slippers and is carrying a half-pint carton of milk)
NEIGHBOUR: Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch …
(Boyle keeps his finger on the doorbell and watches the woman disappear upstairs. The apartment door is suddenly thrown open and Cissie appears. She is now dressed in a riding suit with a long divided skirt)
CISSIE: I told you awready, I don’t want to talk to any report …
(She breaks off on seeing who it is)
CISSIE: (to herself) … aw, God.
BOYLE: Thought you werenae in …
(He places a boot over the doorstep and leans against the doorframe)
CISSIE: I’ve just this minute got back, what d’you want? I’m in a hurry.
(She closes the door against Boyle’s foot and peers through the remaining gap)
BOYLE: I’ve brung the boy’s Dobro.
CISSIE: You’ve what?
BOYLE: Brung his Dobro. S’a geetar wi’ a resonator pan in the middle, d’you no’ remember me tellin’ you about it in the …
(Cissie reaches out and takes hold of the guitar case)
CISSIE: (interrupting) Yeh, fine, I’ll see that he … (Breaks off) are you tryin’ to be comical?
BOYLE: Naw, too quick, Gorgeous … that’s what you say after I’ve asked you.
CISSIE: Asked me what?
BOYLE: If you can lend me some dough?
CISSIE: Are you tryin’ to be comical?
BOYLE: See? That’s what all your best double acts’ve got …
CISSIE: You know he fell off the roof, don’t you?
BOYLE: (interrupting) … timin’. What?
CISSIE: Dorwood … he fell off the roof last night … it was on the news.
BOYLE: You’re kiddin’ …
(He looks up the stairwell)
CISSIE: Not this roof … D-Wing, he’s in intensive care, I’ve just come back to get his rosary beads!
BOYLE: That bad? Jesus … look, I’ll let you have it back, Friday …
CISSIE: Let me have what back Friday?
(The elderly neighbour reappears from upstairs and passes across the landing)
NEIGHBOUR: Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch …
CISSIE: (loudly) He’s only bringin ‘Dorwood’s Dobro back!
BOYLE: (loudly) I’m only bringin’ the boy’s Dobro back … (To Cissie) … d’you want me to run after the auld bag an’ give her a kickin’?
CISSIE: Beat it, ya louse.
(She tries closing the door but the guitar case gets in the way)
BOYLE: Heh, c’mon, sweetheart, I’m tryin’ to be nice to you while ma best buddy’s in the jile, yeh?
(He leans a hand against the door panel)
CISSIE: The only time you ever try to be ‘nice’ is when you’re after something’, an’ right now your best buddy’ isn’t in the jail, he’s in a locked ward at the City Hospital with a suspected cerebral haemorrhage!
BOYLE: What’s that — nose bleeds, yeh?
CISSIE: If he dies you’ve had it …
BOYLE: Dies?
CISSIE: You’ve had it, anyhow … now, get!
(She tries forcing the door shut)
BOYLE: I wouldnae do that, Gorgeous … if there’s one thing that drives me nuts it’s …
CISSIE: Bugger off!
BOYLE: … awright, awright, you’re upset, I can see that … tell you what I’ll do … save you gettin’ this door rehung … I’ll come inside an’ you an I’ll discuss how much you want to give us over a cuppa coffee, how’s that?
(He forces the door open and shoves his way past Cissie into the flat)
CISSIE: Hoi, come back here, where the hell d’you think you’re goin’?
* * *
(Frank, one boot half-on, hirples towards the door of the rehearsal room)
FRANK: (to Billie) I’m only goin’ to wash my gizzard …
BILLIE: Don’t you do a runner, d’you hear?
(Frank pauses at the door, gives a quick glance down, looks across at Billie, then exits)
JOLENE: (shouts from downstairs) You there, Billie?
(Billie consults her song-list on the floor in front and carries on working out chords on the guitar)
FRANK: (shouts from outside door) What one’s the toilet?
JOLENE: (shouts from downstairs) Billie?
BILLIE: (loudly) How’s wee Desmond fixed, can he do it?
JOLENE: (still shouting) I wasnae phonin’ wee Desmond, I was phonin’ the boy MacIndoo …
BILLIE: (loudly) Can the boy MacIndoo do it?
JOLENE: (shouting, but tailing off) I’m just about to phone wee Desmond.
(Frank finds the drivers’ toilet. It is a very basic affair with peeling walls and graffiti-covered doors. He opens one of the cubicle doors and looks inside. He frowns)
FRANK: Well, one thing’s for sure … I’m certainly not doin’ an Elvis down that one …
* * *
(Cissie’s Gene Autry radio is on, ‘Don’t be Cruel’ blaring from it)
BOYLE: (sings along)‘ … if you don’t come round, at least, please telephone …’
(In the kitchen Cissie removes a coffee mug from the oven, with the aid of a dish towel, and places it on a tray)
BOYLE: (still singing) ‘… don’t be cruel, to a heart that’s true
(Boyle is perched on the arm of a chair, with the radio on his lap)
BOYLE: (singing) ‘… don’t want no other love … baby, it’s still you …’
(He breaks off as Cissie enters with the red-hot mug on a tray)
BOYLE: … I remember the night me an’ Dorwood bought this off the boy up in Oilsville …
CISSIE: Here … grab that.
(Boyle lays the radio aside and takes hold of the mug handle in his gloved hand)
BOYLE: … cheeky sod wanted two hunner bucks for it …
(He raises the scalding mug to within a half-inch of his lips)
BOYLE: … I goes like thon.
(He lowers the mug and gives his ‘radio seller’ look)
BOYLE: He goes like that, I goes …
(He raises the scalding mug to his lips again)
BOYLE: So, tell me, how’s the boy?
(He lowers the mug without its having touched his lips)
CISSIE: On the critical list.
BOYLE: Not that ‘boy’, the boy, yeh?
(Boyle raises the scalding mug to his lips and is just about to drink …)
BOYLE: I don’t see his pitcher up …
(He lowers the mug and looks around the bare walls)
BOYLE: … in fact, I don’t see any pitchers up … this you doin’ a moonlight?
(He gets up and crosses to some packing cases, mug in hand)
CISSIE: Come outta there.
BOYLE: I remember you used to have a big coloured-in snapshot of him in thon cowboy gear I bought for his Christmas.
(Boyle pokes around the tea-chests)
CISSIE: What cowboy gear? You bought him a baseball cap an’ a pair of Johnny Sheffield swimmin’ trunks that nearly drowned him …
(Cissie gets up and goes over to Boyle and stuffs some crumpled notes into his top pocket)
CISSIE: … there’s twenty-seven quid there, drink up an’ disappear.
(Boyle lays aside the scalding mug without having set a lip to it and reaches for the crumpled notes in his top pocket)
BOYLE: They werenae Johnny Sheffield swimmin’ trunks, they were Johnny Mack Brown junior competition chaps, he would’ve grew into them …
(He smooths the crumpled notes out)
BOYLE: … you no’ heard nothin’, naw? Must be comin’ up for startin’ school … what’s that, about a year?
CISSIE: Seven months. When’re you leavin’ so I can fumigate the place.
BOYLE: Seven months? No’ long in goin’ in, eh? Any luck an’ he’ll’ve forgot all about you … ’much did you say was here?
CISSIE: What d’you need it for? Thought you were makin’ plenty off that fish … don’t sit there countin’ it!
BOYLE: (interrupting) … twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty- four … I make it twenty-five. Twenty-five quid isnae gonnae purchase what I’m after … naw, hold on, there’s two stuck tegither … lemme start again … one … two … three … four …
CISSIE: Are you goin’ to leave right now or do I have to get on that phone?
BOYLE: Who are you gonna phone, your Probation Officer?
(He laughs)
BOYLE: Seven, eight, nine …
CISSIE: I mean it!
BOYLE: … eleven, twelve, thirteen … what’d you get him for his burthday? November, innit? Or did you forget? Naw, naw, that’s perfectly understandable … takes a good coupla years for the old brain cells to knit back into place after takin ‘that kind of a doin’ … fourteen, fifteen … you still go to the meetin’s yeh? Sixteen, seventeen …
CISSIE: I’m warnin’ you …
(Lena Martell’s75 ‘One Day at a Time’ is playing low on the radio)
BOYLE: … ho, there’s your theme tune.
(He reaches out and turns the volume up)
BOYLE: (sings along‘ … show me the way, one day at a time …’
CISSIE: Get that off.
BILLIE: S’up … no’ makin’ you thursty, is it?
CISSIE: Get it off, I said!
(She makes a breenge for the radio, but Boyle grabs a hold of her, laughing. Cissie attacks him with her fists)
BOYLE: Ho, chuck that!
(He grabs Cissie by the wrists)
CISSIE: (enraged) Aaaaargh …
BOYLE: S’no’ ma fault he got took into care …
CISSIE: … I’m gonnae kill you!
BOYLE: Aye, like hell you are … it’s a blue do when a peace- lovin’ guy cannae check up on his kid’s welfare without some crazy doll …
CISSIE: (interrupting) Who said he was yours!
BOYLE: C’mon, Gorgeous, you werenae that drunk you cannae recall all they times when Dorwood was splashin’ about in the deeps an’ you an’ me were …
(He pulls Cissie close)
CISSIE: You an’ me were what! Quit maulin’ us …
(She struggles to get free)
BOYLE: … used to be right friendly us guys … d’you no’ remember?
(He starts kissing Cissie’s neck)
CISSIE: You’re forgettin’, I’m an amnesiac … gerroffa me …
BOYLE: Lemme remind you …
(He kisses her throat)
CISSIE: … chuck that. (Softening) Chuck it, I said … naw, please, Fraser, don’t … pl …
(Boyle’s mouth is on hers. Cissie continues to struggle during the long embrace but her struggles grow less until she melts)
BOYLE: (coming up for air) … d’you remember now?
(Cissie reaches down and unbuckles Boyle’s belt. She unzips his jeans. Boyle’s eyes roll, and shut)
BOYLE: (hoarsely) She remembers … aw, God …
CISSIE: (huskily) d’you mind if I …?
BOYLE: (quickly) … naw, naw … do it, do it …
CISSIE: You sure you want me to?
BOYLE: (eyes shut) … sure I’m sure, just hurry up an’ …
(Boyle’s eyes burst open in horror)
BOYLE: … waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!
(Boyle clutches at his scalded crotch with both hands)
CISSIE: One for the souvenir album, right!
BOYLE: Ya bitch!
(Cissie chucks the now empty coffee mug at him, grabs the Dobro case and makes a beeline for the front door)
* * *
(Outside the Bar-L Tracey is fixing a hand-printed notice to the front door. It reads: ‘WE ARE CLOSED NEAREST SOUL FOOD BAR “THE DIXIE CUP”, 418 W12 ST. NYC.’ Tracey goes back inside and crosses to the banquette where Shirley sits, in her street clothes, with the early edition of the Evening Echo. There is a head and shoulders picture of David Cole on the front page of the paper under a big headline which reads, ‘Barber Shop Slaughter’, with a smaller picture of barber Eric next to a sub-heading of ‘Close Shave for Eric’)
TRACEY: What’d Detroit say when you phoned? D’you tell them he got murdered?
SHIRLEY: They never said nothin’ … just to pay off the kitchen staff, lock everythin’ up, an’ somebody from some lawyer’s office, I didnae quite catch, would be along to pick up the keys … that could be any time. What’m I supposed to do, sit about here an’ wait to get my head blown off?
TRACEY: That’s what you get the extra one seventy-five a week for, Shirley. I’ll get you a coffee.
(Tracey crosses to the bar)
SHIRLEY: What d’you reckon it is, some kinda vendetta? There’s that Italian guy with the hair round the corner …
TRACEY: The fishburger franchise?
SHIRLEY: … he also does filled rolls. You don’t know what gets into some people … I’m just readin’ in here about a lassie that got both her ears bitten off at a dance in the City Chambers an’ she’s not even heard from the Polis … don’t gimme any sugar, I want to get into they cream culottes I got for Wee Sandra’s twenty-first on Thursday.
(She flicks over another page in the newspaper)
SHIRLEY: Aw, my God … hey, Tracey, look at this, who’s that?
(She holds the newspaper up to show a picture of Dorwood, his head bandaged so that only the eyes show, under a headline which reads: ‘SLIPPERY CUSTOMER FOR HIGH JUMP SAY DOCS’)
TRACEY: The Invisible Man?
SHIRLEY: Naw, it’s him … big thingmy’s husband … accordin’ to this he’s at death’s door.
* * *
(Dorwood lies on a bed in his hospital room. Only his eyes show in his bandaged head, and they are shut. There is a knock at the closed door. The prison officer at Dorwood’s bedside folds his newspaper, gets up, and crosses to unlock the door. The prison chaplain enters and walks across to the bed. He lays out his last rites paraphernalia)
* * *
(In another part of town Cissie is trudging through the freezing streets with Dorwood’s Dobro. She eventually finds a phone box, dumps the Dobro on the ground, and searches through her pockets for some money)
* * *
(In Ronnie’s Radio Taxis’ office Jolene sits straddled on a chair with her chin resting on her hands. She’s chomping on some gum. Billie stands in the entrance holding the door open)
BILLIE: (loudly) Are you gonnae get a move on up there! (To Jolene) Have you phoned to cancel yet?
JOLENE: I’m waitin’ to hear back from wee Desmond …
BILLIE: I thought you spoke to him awready an’ he couldnae do it?
JOLENE: I’m just after buyin’ myself a new rigout.
BILLIE: What kinda answer’s that? Are you gonnae hurry up!
(The telephone on the table rings)
JOLENE: I told him to get his mother to call … (On phone) Ronnie’s Radio Cabs, s’that you, Mrs Devaney?
(Frank comes clomping down the stairs, one boot on, the other still only half-on)
FRANK: You don’t happen to have a very long shoehorn, by any chance?
BILLIE: Out.
(She jerks a thumb towards the street)
JOLENE: (on phone) Hold on … (To Billie) Will we accept a transfer-charge call from a Glasgow telephone box?
FRANK: Or a half pound of margarine might do the trick …
BILLIE: (to Jolene) Is it for a taxi?
FRANK: Naw, it’s for this stupit boot …
JOLENE: (on phone) Is it a taxi they’re after?
BILLIE: (to Frank) Right you … adios.
JOLENE: (to Billie) Who d’we know cried … (On phone) what was their name again?
* * *
(The prison chaplain anoints Dorwood’s bandaged forehead. Dorwood lies still in his bed)
CHAPLAIN: Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.
PRISON OFFICER: Amen.
CHAPLAIN: Lord Jesus Christ, our Redeemer, cure the weakness of your servant, Dorwood … heal his sickness and forgive his sins. Expel all afflictions of mind and body, mercifully restore him to …
(There is a deep sigh from Dorwood and the prison chaplain leans his head down towards the bed)
CHAPLAIN: (with renewed urgency) … may you live in peace this day, may your home be with God in Zion, with Mary, the virgin Mother of God, with Joseph and all the angels and saints.
(He makes the sign of the cross over Dorwood)
PRISON OFFICER Amen.
* * *
(Fraser Boyle comes hobbling painfully into the living-room of Cissie’s apartment, sticking a wet flannel down the front of his jeans. He hobbles across to the phone and picks up the receiver. He rattles the rest up and down and listens. He takes the receiver away from his ear and glares at it)
BOYLE: Ya bitch …
(He picks up the handset, rips its cord from the wall, and smashes the lot into the fireplace. He takes a swing at the TV and boots the screen in)
BOYLE: … bitch!
* * *
(Billie’s guitar is propped up against the wall of the taxi office, Jolene’s accordion sits on the table. The phone is off the hook. Jolene, with a large pair of shears in her hand, is concentrating on cutting up two sets of old street maps, selecting the least tatty sections from each, and sellotaping the pieces together into one large, if slightly misleading, entity)
JOLENE: You never mentioned what outfits you played with …
(Frank sits on the stairs, still struggling in vain to get the remaining boot on)
FRANK: Naw?
JOLENE: We asked you several times but you kept goin’ to the toilet.
FRANK: It was that brown lentil lasagne Shorty made for supper last night … if there’s one thing …
JOLENE: (interrupting) That was Boston Bean Broulé an’ it was me that made it …
FRANK: (quickly) Naw, naw, it was very … I might even write a piece about it … in fact, I saved some on my shurt so I could send it away an’ have it analysed … look.
(He displays a stain on his shirt front)
JOLENE: You’re askin’ for a fat lip.
FRANK: Am I?
JOLENE: Chuck tryin’ to be smart, I’ve had better patter off a bumper sticker. Were they mostly all Country, yeh?
(Frank has returned to his ongoing struggle with the recalcitrant boot)
FRANK: Were what mostly all …?
JOLENE: Your outfits?
FRANK: Naw, this’s just camouflage … I tend towards a Harris tweed two-piece an’ a brogue pump, myself … aw, sorry … bands we talkin’ about? Country-ish, yeh … you ever come across The Texas Chainsaw Trio? They had a bazooka in their lineup …
JOLENE: A bazooki, you mean?
FRANK: Naw, a bazooka … they were heavily into martial rock at the start … blew a big hole in the boy Henderson’s good cardigan at one of the university hops, his Maw had a leary … that’s when we swapped over to ‘swamp music’ … lead singer was the spittin’ double of Jerry Reid …
(He tugs at his boot)
FRANK: … or was it Al Reid? I’m not too sure … you wouldnae like to give us a hand with this, would you?
JOLENE: Here … why don’t you just cut the legs off an’ have them as slip-ons?
(Jolene holds out her shears)
FRANK: That’s an idea.
(He goes to take the shears, but Jolene snatches them away)
JOLENE: God, you would, as well … there must be four hunner bucks’ worth of boot there …
FRANK: You reckon?
JOLENE: … more like seven or eight hunner … I used to go out with a guy an’ he had a pair that were identical, only newer.
FRANK: They don’t come any newer … any newer an’ they’re still chewin’ the cud.
JOLENE: He only ever wore them the once.
FRANK: I’m not surprised.
JOLENE: Took us to this pancake roadhouse in Faifley when I passed my drivin’ test … you ever been there?
FRANK: Only the once.
JOLENE: I’m not surprised … you couldnae tell what was the pancake an’ what was the plate, they were identical.
FRANK: Mebbe you’re meant to gnaw them, naw?
JOLENE: We tried that, you still couldnae tell.
FRANK: Naw, the boots … mebbe you’re meant to gnaw them?
JOLENE: Gnaw them?
FRANK: Yeh, gnaw. Here … d’you fancy gnawin’ that for us?
(He holds the boot out to Jolene)
FRANK: S’what your Eskimo does with his footwear of a mornin’ … gets his old lady to gnaw it for him …
JOLENE: (ignoring boot) So what’s with you an’ the beanpole?
FRANK: … softens them up a treat …
JOLENE: Last time me an Billie bumped into her was ten years back …
FRANK: … feart yur fillin’s’ll fall out, yeh?
JOLENE: … where’s she been hidin’ all this time?
FRANK: S’far as I know she hasnae been hidin’ …
JOLENE: Good friend of mine said she seen her up in Aberdeen last Christmas with a toddler in a go-chair … you an’ her winchin’, yeh?
FRANK: Naw … an’ chuck referrin’ to her as ‘the beanpole’, her right name’s Cissie.
JOLENE: What’s that short for … Cystitis?
FRANK: Now you’re askin’ for a fat lip.
JOLENE: Aw, yeh? Like who’s gonnae gimme one … you?
FRANK: Could be.
JOLENE: Away you go, you couldnae hang a fat lip on a Hallowe’en cake if I gave you a pipin’ bag fulla marzipan.
* * *
(Boyle is in a phone box in the street near Cissie’s apartment)
BOYLE: (on phone) … naw … ‘Winnie’ like in ‘pooh’, an’ ‘bay-go’, as in ‘bay-go’ … ‘Winnie … bay-go’ … what? Naw, that’s the make of trailer they’re in, the party’s name is Jim Bob O’May … naw … Bob, capital O, apostrophe, M-a-y, as in ‘Darling Buds of …’, they’ve got one of these portaphones, you must’ve number … he’s no’ got an address, that’s what I’m sayin’ … I’ve just looked, they’re no’ there … what d’you suppose I’m phonin’ Directory Enquiries for? They’ve moved … what? ’Cos they got fed up gettin’ parkin’ tickets, how the hell should I … hullo?
(He takes the receiver away from his ear and stares at it)
BOYLE: Ya cheeky …!
* * *
(Cissie has now arrived at the rehearsal room and sits with Frank in one corner while Billie and Jolene sit in the other. Billie is tuning her guitar while Jolene straps her accordion on. Cissie bends down to the guitar case on the floor, and springs the catches)
FRANK: Boy, am I glad to see you, they were all for givin’ us the heave an’ getting wee MacIndoo an’ boy Desmond in … what’d you say this was … a Dumbo?
CISSIE: Dobro … Dopyera Brothers, 1932 … it’s got a resonator pan in the middle …
FRANK: Ah, yeh, right … (To Billie and Jolene) S’got a resonator pan in the middle …
CISSIE: Dorwood only ever played it the once so watch it …
(She lifts the Dobro out of its case)
FRANK: C’mon, you’re talkin’ to the guy that inherited a Skiffle-jo …
CISSIE: How’s the arm?
(Frank takes the guitar from her)
FRANK: Naw, that’s the neck … looks awright to me, s’not warped or nothin’ …
(He runs a thumb across the strings)
CISSIE: That arm.
(She gives Frank’s tattoo a prod)
FRANK: Ohyah … sore … kept me up all night …
(He slips the Dobro around his neck)
FRANK: … that an’ the brown lentil lasagne … so, what made you change your mind? Not that I’m not grateful. I thought I was never gonnae see you again … wasnae anythin’ to do with …
(He footers with the tuning pegs)
FRANK: … your discoverin’ somethin’?
CISSIE: Yeh, I discovered where that eighteen grand came from …
FRANK: Naw, I meant somethin ‘to do with you an’ me.
CISSIE: (interrupting) … an’ how much I loathe that crummy slug.
FRANK: … okay, so it’s a banal scenario … boy meets girl … boy falls head over heels … boy gets head punched in … boy gets tattoo …
CISSIE: Give us a coupla quid, will you?
FRANK: … boy parts with all his dosh …
(Frank produces a single one pound note)
CISSIE: That’s just eighteen fifty you owe me.
(She pockets the pound note)
FRANK: … tell me about this toddler.
CISSIE: (sharply) What toddler?
BILLIE: You ready, you pair?
(She and Jolene make their way to the mike)
FRANK: I’m ready … what d’you want to kick off with … ‘Billy Goat Gruff’?
(Billie and Jolene freeze in their tracks)
FRANK: It’s about the only cowboy number I know all the verses to …
* * *
(Fraser Boyle’s fish van lurches to a halt outside Timberwolf Tierney’s — aka The Tall Cowpoke’s — DIY store in Cowcaddens.76 Boyle climbs gingerly out, a lumpy newspaper- wrapped parcel under his arm. He hobbles painfully across the pavement. Inside the store Roxanne is serving a customer)
ROXANNE: Is it furra boudoir? (Loudly) We goat any they ‘easy- assemble’ wardrops in stock? Thur’s a customer oot here luckin’ fur a tallboy. (To customer) Jist the wan, aye?
(Boyle shoves the door open and hobbles in)
ROXANNE: (loudly) Jist the wan. (Greeting Boyle) Well, howdy, stranger … huvnae saw you since the hot-dog stall at the Cowdenbeath Rodeo … this you hud yur vasectomy? (Loudly) Ye there, Timber?
(In the backshop Drew and the Tall Cowpoke are sitting with their feet up enjoying a late lunch. Drew is poring over a crossword on the ‘Fun Page’ of the early edition of the Evening Echo)
DREW: (reads) ‘Seven across … “Asbestos underpants no answer to Jerry Lee’s outsize spherical blazers?” … five, five, two, an’ four …’
(Boyle hobbles through into the backshop clutching his parcel)
DREW: (musing) … ‘Asbestos underpants no answer to …’
TALL COWPOKE: (to Boyle) Ye want some coffee? Still hoat …
(He pours himself a cup. Boyle dumps the parcel on the table and unwraps it)
DREW: (musing) ‘… Outsize spherical blazers?’
BOYLE: ’Much?
(The Tall Cowpoke eyes Cissie’s Gene Autry radio)
TALL COWPOKE: Whit is it, a cigarette boax?
(Boyle plugs the radio into a socket)
DREW: (musing) ‘… Asbestos underpants?’
(The radio stutters into life playing the Wild Bunch Fiddlers’ version of Jerry Lee’s ‘Great Balls of Fire’)
TALL COWPOKE: Aah … s’a musical cigarette boax …
BOYLE: S’a Gene Autry wireless, ya mug.
(Boyle switches the radio off as Roxanne enters the backshop)
ROXANNE: D’ye no’ hear me shoutin’?
(The Tall Cowpoke examines the radio)
TALL COWPOKE: Where d’ye pit the fags, in the back?
ROXANNE: (to Drew) Away oot an’ ask that customer is it aw wan if it’s a ‘vanitry’ unit? I cannae see any wardrops …
TALL COWPOKE: (to Boyle) Tenner suit ye?
(He pulls a wad of bills, receipts, banknotes, and invoices from his dungaree pockets)
BOYLE: That’s worth at least a hunner, ya doughball … if she hadnae took the Dobro I wouldnae’ve came here.
ROXANNE: (to Drew) They come in rid, off-white, an’ olive, tell him.
(Drew chucks his newspaper aside and slouches out to the front shop, stuffing a fried egg roll into his face)
BOYLE: Make it fifteen.
TALL COWPOKE: I huvnae goat fifteen …
ROXANNE: (loudly, to Drew) Thur’s wan olive left …
(The Tall Cowpoke sifts through the litter from his pockets)
TALL COWPOKE: … two fives … three wans … four two bob bits …
ROXANNE: (loudly to Drew) … naw I tell a lie, it’s avo- cadda …
TALL COWPOKE: … an’ them’s yur invoices.
BOYLE: What invoices?
TALL COWPOKE: I’m gonnae huv a joab gettin’ squerred up offa cadaiver, umn’t I?
(Boyle runs an eye down the invoices)
BOYLE: (reads) ‘Seventeen hinges … five pund of screw- nails …’?
TALL COWPOKE: D’ye want tae dae a cheque?
(He slides Drew’s ballpoint pen across the table to Boyle)
BOYLE: I’ve awready done a check … last night … couldnae believe ma … ‘cadaiver’, what ‘cadaiver’?
TALL COWPOKE: Yankee boy … goat hissel offed at the herrdresser’s …
(He picks up the Echo and folds it to the front page)
BOYLE: Got hissel’ what?
ROXANNE: (loudly, to Drew) … unless he wants tae go fur the beej, which I personally think luks clatty.
(Boyle snatches the paper from the Tall Cowpoke’s hand)
BOYLE: … Holy Christ.
* * *
(Shirley is seated at one of the Bar-L banquettes, a plug-in phone to her ear, and a pen poised over the ‘Sits Vac’ page of the Evening Echo. A long list of vacancies has been scored through in felt-tip)
SHIRLEY: (on phone) … yeh, I’ve eaten there myself, I must say it was very nice … would you like me to bring along my diploma from Hamburger University?
(There is a rattle at the Bar-L front door)
SHIRLEY: (on phone) No, this was the three-day residential course in microwave technology and personal hygiene …
(The front door rattles again)
SHIRLEY: (on phone) … no, hygiene …
(The rattle gets more insistent)
SHIRLEY: (on phone) … sure, no problem … see you then, then … thanks, bye.
(She replaces the receiver and circles the Pancake Roadhouse vacancy. The front door rattles violently)
SHIRLEY: (loudly) Yeh, awright, I’m comin’.
(She gathers up a bunch of keys. She sees a shadowy figure fuzzily visible on the other side of frosted-glass deco door. She sticks the key in the lock, makes a half-turn, and hesitates)
SHIRLEY: (to herself) Yeh, that’s right, get your stupit head blown off. (Aloud) We’re shut. Who is it?
* * *
(Inside the taxi office Billie stands by the front door, straining her eyes in the gathering dusk. Frank and Jolene sprawl in their chairs)
FRANK: … Doris Day, your bahookey.
JOLENE: It was so Doris Day … (To Billie) Who sang ‘Windy City’ on the Perry Como Hogmanay Special in 1958.
BILLIE: (looking out of the door) If she’s not off this next bus that’s it …
FRANK: (to Jolene) D’you give in?
JOLENE: If this’s another one of your trick questions you’re gettin’ that boot rammed down your gullet …
BILLIE: (turning) I don’t know if you realise, Jolene, but we’re in serious trouble here …
JOLENE: Naw, we’re not, we’ll catch up … (To Frank) Right, this’s for twenty points … what famous Country singer …
FRANK: (interrupting) You havenae answered the previous question …
BILLIE: (interrupting) I’m not talkin’ about your stupit game! I’m talkin’ about the beanpole!
FRANK: Chuck callin’ her that, I’ve awready chastised her for …
BILLIE: Shuttup!
(Billie paces the length of the room and stands with her hands against the wall, looking at the floor)
JOLENE: (sotto voce, to Frank) What famous Country singer appeared in the John Ford movie, My Darling Clem …
FRANK: (interrupting) Roy Acuff!
BILLIE: Shuttup, I said!
* * *
(Ralph Henderson, of Melon, Brolly and Henderson, solicitors, stands inside the Bar-L Piano Bar and Grill and casts his eyes upwards to the art deco detail around him)
SHIRLEY: … Tracey an I’s wiped the surfaces an’ turfed all the perishables out the back for the bin motor, Mr …?
(Shirley, dressed for going home, pulls on her gloves)
SHIRLEY: … sorry, I didn’t catch your name through the glass.
HENDERSON: Henderson … Ralph (Pronouncing it ‘Raif’), Melon, Brolly and Henderson … Jamaica Street.
(He passes a business-card to Shirley)
HENDERSON: Tell me something.
SHIRLEY: … Shirley.
HENDERSON: … is that a pokey hat?
(Shirley’s hand instinctively goes to her head)
SHIRLEY: Naw, it’s a beret.
HENDERSON: No … up there.
SHIRLEY: Where?
(She follows Henderson’s gaze upwards)
SHIRLEY: Aw, yeh … so it is.
(She and Henderson ponder the frieze for some moments)
HENDERSON: Don’t let me keep you.
SHIRLEY: Naw, right. If you ever find yourself footloose in Faifley an’ feel like a pancake, give us a phone …
(She moves towards the door)
SHIRLEY: … I’ve left wur uniforms folded inside the Blüthner … bye.
(She goes out into the street. Moments later Tonto enters the bar)
TONTO: Thought that gabby doll wis never gonnae go … where d’you want us to start?
* * *
(In a corridor of the Glasgow City Hospital Cissie is standing in front of a grim-faced nurse)
CISSIE: What d’you mean I’m too late? I’d to come on the bus, I’ve brought his bedsocks an’ his rosary beads …
NURSE: I am awful sorry, Mrs Crouch.
(Cissie pushes a hospital room door open and stares at an empty bed, its sheets thrown back)
CISSIE: Sorry? What you tellin’ me sorry!
* * *
(Jim Bob’s Winnebago is parked in the darkness outside the Ponderosa club in Wishaw. Jim Bob and his band The Wild Bunch are onstage inside the club for a soundcheck. Jim himself is in a crumpled linen suit. He leans into his mike and delivers the words of Hank Williams’ lament ‘Your Cheatin’ Heart’ with an off-handed conviction)
* * *
(Billie is driving the taxi on the road to Wishaw. Frank and Jolene are crammed into the back seat with all sorts of clothing and equipment)
BILLIE: … Naw, you’re gonnae have to explain.
FRANK: Me? Why me?
BILLIE: (over shoulder) ’Cos it was you that got us into this mess!
FRANK: S’not my fault she vanished off the face of the earth.
BILLIE: It was you that gave her the quid!
JOLENE: I told you we shoulda hung on till Mrs Devaney phoned.
BILLIE: What time we supposed to be on at?
JOLENE: Lemme find out … pull over here.
(The taxi pulls up at the corner where a newsvender has his pitch)
NEWSVENDOR: (hoarsely) Err’s yur Times, Echo, feeeeenell!
(Jolene leans her head out of the cab window and whistles. The newsvendor flips an Echo out of the bundle under his arm and crosses to the taxi)
NEWSVENDOR: Err’s yur thurty-five pee, sweetheart.
(He holds out the folded copy of the Echo)
JOLENE: I thought it was only twenty?
NEWSVENDOR: Err’s yur fifteen pence delivery charge, darlin’.
JOLENE: Err’s yur fifty, get yourself some elocution lessons.
(The taxi pulls away from the kerb. Jolene flicks through the pages of the Echo)
FRANK: Hey, is that not …?
(He gestures at a picture on the front page)
BILLIE: (over shoulder) You found it?
JOLENE: Gimme a tick, I’m still …
(She carries on flicking the pages)
JOLENE: (to herself) … aargh!
(Frank bends his head to get another view of the front page. He sees David Cole’s picture)
FRANK: Mebbe it’s just me but this guy on the front page …
(Jolene suddenly rips out the page with Dorwood’s ‘Invisible Man’ picture and scrunches it into a ball. Underneath are the entertainment listings)
JOLENE: … quarter past.
(She chucks the scrunched-up paper ball into the space between the front seats)
BILLIE: (over shoulder) Quarter past what? It’s nearly ten to the now …
(Frank eases the scrunched-up paper ball towards his hand, and picks it up. He surreptitiously un-scrunches it)
JOLENE: Aw, naw …
BILLIE: What?
JOLENE: … naw, it’s awright, I thought I’d left my new rigout back at the ranch …
(Frank steals a sideways squint at the torn-out page with Dorwood’s picture on it)
JOLENE: … I got the fright of my life there.
(Frank mouths the report on Dorwood’s ‘Fight for Life’ in astonishment … until it is snatched from his grasp by Jolene. He looks at her as she scrunches the page up into a ball again and stuffs it in the ashtray)
* * *
(A straggle of cowboys and cowgirls make their way towards the dimly-lit entrance to the Ponderosa Club. The Tall Cowpoke’s ‘covered wagon’ pulls up alongside the Winnebago, and the Tall Cowpoke, Drew, and Roxanne disembark)
* * *
(Cissie stands thumbing a lift along the darkened Wishaw road. A snatch of Jim Bob O’May’s version of ‘Your Cheatin’ Heart’ hits her ears as a van drives past. She breaks into a run as the van’s brakelights flash on some twenty yards up the road. Cissie reaches the van, slides the door open and clambers gratefully aboard. ‘Your Cheatin’ Heart’ is still on the radio)
CISSIE: You’re not goin’ anywhere near …
(Fraser Boyle leans across Cissie and locks the van door)
CISSIE: Aaaargh …
(Meanwhile, in the back of the van, two eyes glint through the slits in bandages behind the fish crates in the darkened interior as they lurch towards Wishaw)