The Stations of Bobby

And now for something really different! The reason I have been a bit neglectful of this blog recently is that I have been scrabbling to keep up to date on some other projects... so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone?! The following short story is a first draft - might be a bit bollocks, who knows yet? Some feedback would really help, so please feel free to comment!
(Oh - and any RBers reading will guess where I nicked the nickname from, so apologies and thanks to you-know-who!)

In a flat that soared so high in the sky that the only view was murky clouds, Tamara McKellon gritted her teeth against the protests of her arthritis ridden fingers as she carefully placed items in her cavernous bag in preparation for the evening’s mission. Crossing to the brass framed mirror that had been her pride and joy when she bought it thirty years ago, she carefully applied her favourite passion-red lipstick. It had been a while since she’d done this, she thought ruefully, staring into the mirror and wondering who the old woman was staring back at her.
This wasn’t the gallus young thing that Bobby had proudly escorted. Glam Tam, they’d called her, Bobby and his Dazzler. See ya Tamara, Bobby would call when he dropped her off after a night at the dancing, and she could hear him cackling as he strode off into the night.
Placing her fingers at her temples and her thumbs below her cheekbones, Tamara lifted until she could feel the strain at her hairline, and for an instant she saw the girl about town that was still buried somewhere deep inside. Then she let go and her face sagged back into its crevices that betrayed the ravages of time. Tamara sighed. Glam Tam was long gone.

Jamie furrowed his brow as he pounded his frustration out on the football that ricocheted off the wall of their block of flats. Mum had told him and Sean to scram while she made dinner and got the baby down. Did it matter that Jamie had been just about to reach level 11 on his Playstation? No. Did it matter that Jamie didn’t want to go outside and be stuck with whiny Sean? No. Jamie couldn’t stand it the way adults just pleased themselves all the time and Jamie had no choice but to put up with it. Eleven, he decided was the shite-est age to be, because you were old enough to know how rubbish being a kid was, but not old enough to do anything about it.
“Give me a shot -- ”
There was Sean, whining away as usual. Well fine –
“Owww – what did you do that for?”
Sean’s forehead smarted bright red from where the ball had smacked it.
“You said that you wanted the ball.” Jamie replied mutinously. Sean was going to tell mum, Jamie knew it.
“Not in the face though!” Sean stamped his foot in indignation, lower lip trembling, Jamie noted in disgust.
“It was an accident,” he muttered.
He went back to pounding the ball, pretending that was mum’s head, Mrs McKellon’s head, Sean’s head. Everyone that deserved it.

The lift doors pinged open and Tamara emerged briskly, determined not to betray the strain her heavy bag put on her aching shoulders. She crossed the lobby and winced as a cold blast of damp, stinging October air hit her full in the face. She could see today far enough, she thought, and briefly considered returning to her cosy flat and forgetting the whole thing. A promise is a promise though, she thought grimly. Unfortunately, she added to herself, cursing the sense of honour that had dogged her pursuit of fun for the best part of 40 years. Tugging her scarf tighter around her ears, she braced herself against the wind and walked out into the shadowy dusk.

Jamie glanced up with little interest as an old lady departed the building and walked quickly around the perimeter of the precinct, then his eyes narrowed as he recognised the stooped figure. Mrs McKellon. The very Mrs McKellon who complained to mum about the noise of his football – as if she could hear it up in her flat – which earned him a wallop and an evening’s ban from Playstation. And that was just her latest attempt to ruin his life; she was at it all the time. Nasty old bitch that she was, he thought darkly. People like her should just hurry up and die and leave us all in peace.
“Jamie, you said you’d give me a shot ages ago!” whined Sean, and Jamie irritably chucked the ball in his direction.
“Shut it a minute” he hissed. “I’m thinking.”
“What about?”
“I said shut it.”
As Jamie watched Mrs McKellon scurry into the quickly darkening dusk, it occurred to him that she looked nervous about something. She kept glancing over her shoulder, and was walking awful fast, even for her. Almost without thinking, he started to cross the concrete wasteland that served as a back garden for the flats, towards her.
“Where are we going?” demanded Sean, scuttling after Jamie.
“We’re going on an adventure,” replied Jamie. “Don’t ask questions or you can’t come.”
“I can come! Mum says you’re to look after me.”
“I don’t do what mum says, Sean, alright? If you’re good and you shut it you can come. We’re going to teach somebody a lesson, it’s gonnae be fun.” With growing confidence, Jamie strode after Mrs McKellon, careful to stay just far enough behind that she wouldn’t see him, but not far enough that he’d lose her. He had to pick his moment just right.
“It doesn’t sound like fun,” worried Sean in a cautiously low voice. “You say a lot of things are going to be fun and they aren’t. You said it would be fun to get into a fight with Tim O’Donnell and it wasn’t. It just hurt.”

The streets were busy; early evening revellers drifted around and irritated those on their way home from a hard day’s graft. Jamie had to duck and weave around secretaries and drunks to keep Mrs McKellon in his sights. He thought that he’d lost her and swore, then started in surprise when suddenly she was standing right in front of him. She opened her mouth to speak when Jamie was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and yanked backwards.
“What d’ye want with Mrs McKellon?” demanded Andrew. Andrew’d been normal, just one of them until a couple of months before when he’d joined the polis. Now he was all Holier Than Though and Jamie couldn’t stand it.
“Well? You’ve been following her ages – I’ve been watching.” Andrew gave Jamie a shake for good measure, which he did his best to pretend didn’t happen. One of these days, it’d be different, he thought.
“Have ye no’ got better things to than follow a couple of wee boys out for a walk in the evening?” Jamie tried to stop his face going red. “I’m just looking after my wee brother and you’re hurting me.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Andrew demanded and Jamie thought it best not to answer. “I’ve seen you watching Mrs McKellon and walking right behind her –“
Suddenly, Sean piped up.
“We just wanted to say that we’re awful sorry her husband’s died.” Jamie struggled free of Andrew’s grip. “We read about in the paper and thought it sounded awful so we thought we should pay our respects.”
“Well boys, that is kind of you,” smiled Tamara in her gravely voice. Everyone know that wee Andy was as daft as a brush, but surely these two didn’t think that she came up the Clyde in a spam tin? “Thank you very much.”
“Aye, well, any time,” Sean said solemnly, holding out his hand for Tamara to shake. “It’s a terrible time for you.”
Jamie shook his head in amazement. Look at Sean, the size of nothing, and he did this with every adult. On one hand, he had to admit that it was handy, but on the other, who’d want to be such a goody two shoes nonce?
“Right. You’ve said your piece, be on you way, both of you.” Andrew wasn’t sure how he felt at being so usurped by an eight year old; he just hoped that Mrs McKellon hadn’t noticed. The boys scarpered.

“Would you like me to walk you home now Mrs McKellon?” he asked solicitously .
“You’re alright son,” Tamara smiled ruefully. “I’ve got messages to get before I can get home. Thanks all the same, but don’t you worry about me.”
Andrew watched the tiny wee lady walk briskly into the now almost deserted streets, shaking his head at her tenacity. He hoped he’d be as tough when he got to that age. A moment later, he chuckled to himself as he saw her dart into the bookies’. That was her messages, was it? Well good for her.

Making sure that Andrew was safely on his way, Jamie snuck carefully to the wired window of the bookies’ and peered in. Sure enough, there was Mrs McKellon, a sore thumb amongst greasy men, standing on her own, watching a race. It was a bit funny, he thought, that none of the men were giving her any hassle – you’d have thought they’d at least be teasing a wee old lady by herself, but they kept a respectful distance and Mrs McKellon watched her race in peace. When it was over, she ripped up her ticket, and sprinkled the bits into her huge bag with a satisfied smile, then suddenly made her way to the door. Jamie had to duck behind the windowsill so quickly that he banged his head.

“Are we gonnae mug her? Is that what we’re gonnae do?” asked Sean matter of factly as Mrs McKellon strode off with purpose. Jamie followed her, and Sean followed him, still talking. “I don’t think that’s a good idea and I’ll tell you why –“
“Shh,” Jamie cut him off. “We’re just following her, okay?”
“It’s just that –“
“Shhh—t.”
Jamie had just realized that they’d walked far beyond the roads around home where they were allowed to go, when Mrs McKellon entered a pub. And not just any pub. Jamie was unfamiliar with the surroundings, but he knew the name of that pub, he’d just never seen it in real life before. What was a grumpy old lady going to do in there thieves and murderers and people like that? Against his better wishes, Jamie wondered this out loud to Sean, and Sean – as usual – had a suggestion.
“Maybe it was a different kind of pub in her day and she doesn’t know that it’s changed? She doesn’t seem as though she gets out much.”
That’d be it. Momentarily forgetting his own desire to exact revenge on Mrs McKellon, Jamie worried a bit about her in there. He didn’t know exactly what went on inside the bad pub, but he’d seen enough telly to guess and it didn’t seem like stuff an old lady who spent her days complaining about the noise of footballs should be a part of. Uncertain of what to do, Jamie hovered by the door, Sean by his side, and was startled when it burst open and a man with broken capillaries and rancid breath stumbled out.
“Whit’s a coupla weans dain’ outside here?” The man enquired, leering unsteadily at the boys. “Yous been sent to get yer Da? Well you should leave him tae take a drink in peace, so you should… whit’s wrang wi’ yese? No answering?”
The man lurched towards them and Jamie shrank back in fear, making sure that he was between Sean and the man.

“Leave the weans alone,” came a voice from the shadows, and squinting into the dimness, Jamie saw another man, sitting right on the pavement. He looked happy enough, as if he’d been there a while and had no plans to move on.
“There not dain’ any harm staunin’ there,” he lazily continued. “They’re waitin’ on Tamara McKellon.”
“Is that right?” The leering man had stood up so his face wasn’t right in theirs any more, but they could still smell his breath as he looked them up and down in interest. “That your Gran?”
Jamie thought it best to nod. Suddenly the man’s demeanour changed entirely. “Well gi’er my best. We’re all missin’ Bobby,”
“Aye I will.” Jamie muttered, wishing that he would just go away. Sure enough, he did.
“Nothing to be scared of if yous’re Bobby McKellon’s grandkids,” promised the man on the pavement. “I’m sure your granda’s lookin’ up at the two of you and anybody that causes you trouble’ll be for it, nae bother.” With that he went off into peels of laughter that ended in a hacking cough.
“Jamie, we should go,” whispered Sean urgently.
“I know,” replied Jamie, but somehow he stuck where he was. What was old Mrs McKellon doing in there and how did these men know who she was? Jamie remembered being surprised when dad read out in the paper that her husband had died, he’d never seen an old man about.
The pub door opened again, blasting heat and banter out into the night, and a young couple passed by into the night. Jamie glanced inside. He didn’t see anything other than the normal stuff that happened in pubs, but he did catch sight of Mrs McKellon standing on her own at the bar. As he watched, he barman handed her a short glass with what looked like whiskey in it. She knocked it back and carefully placed the glass in her bag. Jamie’s eyes widened – the barman saw what she did and didn’t say a thing about her nicking the glass!
“Jamie, when she comes out again we’ll definitely go home, won’t we?” hissed Sean. “Mum’ll be going bonkers.”
They shrank back behind the door as it opened a third time ad Mrs McKellon emerged. She glanced from side to side, almost as if she knew they were there, then walked off – in the opposite direction from home.
“ ‘Mon Jamie, you promised.” Sean was hopping about almost as though he needed the toilet, but Jamie found himself, without meaning to, following Mrs McKellon. Sean darted about urgently, but then followed behind too. Mrs McKellon turned a corner and it was just the three of them in a totally deserted, quiet road. Jamie shivered a bit, then remembered that it was only an old lady – nothing to be afraid of. Still, he was grateful for how many bulbs were missing or broken from the street lights – only a couple bravely pierced the darkness and he was sure that Mrs McKellon couldn’t see them.
“Boys” Jamie’s heart jumped out his mouth and he froze, holding Sean’s hand, but Mrs McKellon hadn’t turned around. She was standing right under one of the only working street lights, facing ahead as though she was talking only to the deserted, boarded up tenements; the orange glow that surrounded her making the blackness of her silhouette even blacker. “Boys, you’ve had your fun, now leave an old lady alone, alright?” Mrs McKellon’s gravely voice floated back towards them, seeming almost disembodied, Jamie was frozen in sudden terror, gripping Sean’s hand. Sean stood next to him, seeming to be simply listening in interest.
“If yous go on up this road and carry on straight ahead that’ll be you home again. You’ll only get lost if you keep following me and your ma’ll be having kittens, so on you go.”
Mrs McKellon resumed her walk, carefully looking nowhere but straight ahead.
“C’mon let’s go.” Jamie lunged forward but was held back by Sean.
“No way! What right has she got to tell us what to do?” Sean’s eyes were popping in excitement. “We can walk along the road same as her. It’s a free country.”
“I thought you wanted to go home, now we’re going,” Jamie again tried to head in the direction Mrs McKellon had said was home. A gust of wind threatened to turn the normal drizzle into actual rain, and Jamie knew that if Sean caught another cold it’d be his fault. Not for the first time, he wished he was doing nothing but playing football at home with Sean.
“We don’t know that is the way home,” Sean pointed out. “We only know what she said and she’s an old witch so she could have pointed us in the direction of a load of murderers or anything.” Sean’s voice was too loud, it seemed to bounce and echo off the slick pavement and reverberate to where Jamie was sure Mrs McKellon could hear. “ The only way we know we’ll get home is if we keep on following her because she has to go back there too. Come on before we lose her.
Wishing again that he’d never started the whole thing, or at least that he was wearing a jumper before he strayed so far from home, Jamie resumed stalking.

Not too far down the road, Mrs McKellon entered a grubby corner shop, the kind that smelt funny and mostly only sold stale biscuits and stuff for making roll up cigarettes. Jamie and Sean slunk in behind her. Jamie knew that the shop was too wee for them not to be seem but he didn’t want him and Sean to stand outside on that road. Mrs McKellon gave no sign of having noticed them as they slipped behind the only aisle that there was and stood quietly.
A girl with stringy hair moved aside to let Mrs McKellon go first, but Mrs McKellon told her that she was alright and waited patiently her turn.
“This must be the messages she told Andrew she was going,” muttered Jamie. None of this made any sense to him, and he didn’t think that it was ever going to.
“Aye maybe.” Replied Sean distractedly. “I don’t know about her. Why would she come this far just to get some messages? And why a yuck wee shop like this one?” So intent was Jamie on alternately listening to Sean’s thinking and praying that the shopkeeper wouldn’t hear him, that he didn’t hear Mrs McKellon walk up behind him until it was too late.
“What did I tell ye, ya dirty wee brat?” She demanded in a menacing hiss. Jamie got such a fright that he jumped right backwards and a shelf’s worth of jam and Branston pickles clattered to the floor with an almighty crash.
“Don’t talk to my brother like that!” yelled Sean, and Jamie wasn’t quick enough to catch him from rushing at Mrs McKellon with a head-butt. Andrew was, though. Jamie was relieved and frightened all at once when Andrew materialized from nowhere and grabbed Sean before he collided with Mrs McKellon.
“I knew that the two of you were up to no good,” he announced triumphantly, yanking Sean by the shirt collar as though he was a stray kitten. “Shocking it is, attacking a wee old lady who’s your neighbour no less. No shame at all.”
Sean’s face was going red and Jamie couldn’t tell if it was anger or because he couldn’t breathe because Andrew was holding him so tightly. “I never attacked her she attacked us!” he protested furiously. “We were in here just minding our own business and she came over and shouted and she’d no right!”
It seemed that Sean’s quick talking had overstayed its welcome where Andrew was concerned. “Neither of yous have got any right being around here at this time at all,” he replied grimly. “I am taking you both home.” Andrew strode to wards the door, dragging an apoplectic Sean with him. With sudden bravery, Jamie spoke up.
“I didn’t do anything. You can’t make me go anywhere.”
“I think you’ll find son, that –“ But whatever Andrew thought that Jamie would find would forever remain a mystery as Sean suddenly managed to wriggle free of Andrew’s vice like grip and tear out the door. With a moment’s hesitation and glance at Jamie, Andrew chose to take off after Sean and Jamie could hear their footsteps battering down the cracked road now sleek with drizzle. He didn’t know what do to. Sean and him and both been yelled at before, even by the police, but not chased and never so far from home. It was all out of control and now he was here, alone, with no idea where Sean was or what would happen to him with Mrs McKellon staring at him with ice hot fury and the shopkeeper frowning suspiciously from behind the counter. He decided that brazening it out was his only option.
“I’d be for it if I came home without tea.” The slight tremble in his voice belied the forced nonchalance Jamie affected, casually picking up a packet of dried macaroni and some ketchup. “This’ll do.”
Under Mrs McKellon’s scrutiny, he sauntered up to the counter, and then remembered he’d no money.
“Don’t suppose you’d give me this on tic?” he managed what he hoped was a winning smile while his heart threatened to thump right out his chest and scalding tears of terror threatened. The shopkeeper slowly shook his head.
“Beat it son,” he growled quietly. “Go on efter yer brother.”
“Why should I? I can go where I want.”
“You’re not buying anything,” the shopkeeper pointed out, and Jamie reluctantly realized he had no choice. “So get out my shop.”
“I’m gonnae nick these then!” Jamie had no idea who’d said the words when he noticed that he was waving the macaroni and tomato sauce about, and realized that it was him. Desperately, he made a mad dash for the door, but was halted by the growl of the shopkeeper’s voice.
“Put them down, son.” Jamie whirled around to see the shopkeeper, still behind the counter, pointing a gleaming gun at him. Jamie was dazzled. He’d never seen a real gun in real life before, and to think that it was pointed at him over macaroni and tomato sauce! With a yelp of fear, he dropped his packets, and, trying not to notice that the glass tomato sauce bottle had smashed and its sickly red contents were oozing all over the floor, Jamie scuttled out the door in the direction that he thought Andrew and Sean’s footsteps might have headed.

Manjit the shopkeeper smiled ruefully at Tamara. “Wee eejit,” he mutterered with a chuckle. “Maybe that’ll teach him not to act like such a dipshit until he’s big enough to take it.”
“Aye, maybe,” smiled Tamara, carefully avoiding the spilt ketchup as she approached the counter. “Why’ve you got a gun? It must’ve cost more than the value of this shop. It’s surely not worth it.”
Manjit smiled, revealing surprising gleaming white teeth. “Och it’s no real. It’s a glorified BB, not even loaded. Just helps to keep wee shites the likes of them under control. And, you never know – all they –“ he paused, chosing his words carefully. “—Robberies a while back. I was feart I’d be next.”
“Had you reason to be?”
Tamara smiled, and Manjit relaxed a little. She was an auld lady, no need to watch what he said around her.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Aye,” agreed Tamara, fumbling in her deep bag. Finding what she was looking for, she emerged triumphantly. “You are.”
Manjit’s heart started to thump as hard as Jamie’s had as he stared in shock at the old, but most definitely real, gun that Tamara pointed at him.
“Shame yours is no loaded.” Tamara grinned, and Manjit caught a brief sight of Glam Tam in her feverishly excited smile.

Jamie stared mournfully out his bedroom window at the murky dawn breaking over the city. He decided that he was happy enough to be grounded for the rest of his life. There was a bit too much to outside for the minute, he thought, watching Sean sleep peacefully.

Tamara didn’t notice the drizzle that dripped down her neck as she worked quickly, aware that the grimy sun would break out of the heavy clouds at any minute. Her knees sunk into the damp dirt as she carefully buried the contents of Manjit’s safe in the soft earth covering a grave. The glass and the remnants of the betting slip joined the cash that was laughably too much to be the takings of a corner shop, and finally, the gun. Tamara had no use for it any more.
“Night Bobby. Sleep well darlin’.” Her words her stolen by the icy wind as she kissed her muddy fingers and touched them to the smooth, freezing stone.