Buddha Da Page 17

  ‘Ah’m sorry pal, ah was only …’ Ma daddy turned tae ma mammy. ‘Liz, ah was only tryin tae help. See the Tibetans have this special way a helpin folk fae wan life tae the next … And ah thought it would help yer mammy. Ah thought we’d discussed it … ah thought.’

  ‘You thought. You thought. You never think, Jimmy, that’s your problem – never use yer brain, just open yer mooth.’

  Auntie Tricia laid wan haund on ma mammy’s airm an wan haund on ma daddy’s. ‘Look, this isnae the time nor place. Jimmy, ah think you’d better go.’

  ‘Aye, you get the hell oot of here.’ Uncle Paul was staundin, swayin fae side tae side in the livin-room door. ‘You go … or else ah’ll … ah’ll …’

  He squared up tae ma daddy, who was aboot six inches taller than him, then bent ower and boked all over ma daddy’s feet.

  Then he stood up straight again and cairried on talkin as if nothin had happened, ‘… make ye go.’

  While all this was happenin everybody seemed tae have forgotten aboot the lamas. Ah thought they’d went ootside but then ah noticed the door of ma granny’s room was shut and ah heard funny noises comin fae inside. Ah slipped intae the bedroom. There they were sittin cross-legged on the flair in fronty the coffin and they were singin. Ah suppose you would cry it singin but it was a funny kind of wailin singin. Ah’d never heard anythin like it though it was a bit like the Gaelic stuff you get when the Mod’s on the TV. They had their eyes shut and it was as if they were in another world. Ah was aboot tae tell them tae stop, tae get oot afore there was any mair trouble, but somehow ah couldnae. Ah just stood there listenin. Don’t know whit they were singin, but it seemed tae haud me in a kind of spell.

  Ah love singing and maist of the time ah just dae it, never really think aboot it, but sometimes ah feel as if ma voice is comin fae somewhere else, that it’s no me singing. Ah mind wan time when ah was rehearsin for the concert and it wis just me and the music teacher in the room. Ah shut ma eyes and it was like ma whole body was vibratin, like ah was a musical instrument and somebody was playin me. Ah could hear ma voice fae a great distance. When ah’d finished there was silence in the room. Ma teacher never made any comment, just sat. And listenin tae the lamas ah felt the same way. As though they were musical instruments and the music was comin through them. And the sounds they made, that at first seemed harsh and discordant tae me, had become the maist beautiful sounds ah’d ever heard. Ah sat there and closed ma eyes.

  Ah don’t know how long we’d sat there. It seemed like hours though ah suppose it was only a few minutes for the next thing, ma Auntie Tricia came in.

  ‘Ah think yous had better go the now, please. They’re gonnae dae the rosary.’

  The lamas bowed and left.

  Liz

  THE MORNIN OF her funeral was cold and clear, a frostin of ice on the car windscreens, everythin lookin dead clean, as if God done it specially fur ma mammy. She’d of liked that.

  Ah’d no slept that well the night afore efter aw that cairryon wi Jimmy and the lamas and Paul. Ah’d had these funny dreams aboot gettin chased by lamas in purple robes – ah was tryin tae get tae ma ain hoose but ah was lost and couldnae find it. When ah looked in the mirror that mornin ah looked ten year aulder, deep lines and daurk circles under ma eyes.

  It must be the worst moment in yer life when you walk intae that chapel and see yer ain mammy’s coffin sittin there. Ah didnae think anythin could of been worse than when ma daddy died, but it was. Ah was only fifteen when he passed on – ah just knew that ma life would never be the same again. Actually ah was a bit of a daddy’s girl when ah was wee but Mammy and me have become closer since ah grew up and had ma ain faimly; since she’s been ill we’ve seen each other nearly every day. And there she was, lyin in that coffin.

  The chapel was packed. All the faimly was there and Jimmy’s, as well as neighbours and folk fae the parish. Ah didnae know who hauf of them were but she’d a lot of pals fae the Glesga club who’d all turned up. Mr Anderson and his son baith came and sent a beautiful wreath. Nisha came too wi her ma, and Charlene – even though Anne Marie hasnae seen her much these days it was good tae see her there. The Mass was beautiful. Mammy would of loved it. Ah suppose she did love it, was there in some way.

  Ah don’t know what ah believe really. Ah’ve kept gaun tae Mass all these years but maistly that’s because of Anne Marie. Ah wanted tae bring her up tae believe in somethin even if ah’m no sure it’s true. Ah think it’s better than nothin. Jimmy and me have had some fights aboot it ower the years – he left aff gaun tae Mass when he was a teenager, but he’s let me have ma ain way in the end. He didnae mind Anne Marie gettin christened though he wasnae so keen on her gaun tae Catholic school. But ah wanted her tae get confirmed and get her first communion and all that, though ah don’t mind her no gaun tae the Catholic secondary right enough – she’s auld enough noo tae make up her ain mind. It’s just ah want her tae have somethin tae comfort her if she needs comfortin.

  And the service is a real comfort. The singin especially. All the auld hymns. ‘Sweet Heart of Jesus’. Anne Marie singin ‘Salve Regina’. Everybody was totally silent for that, except Auntie Rose, snufflin intae her hanky in the row behind. And at the end, efter the priest had put the holy water on the coffin and said the words we all filed oot tae ‘Star of the Sea’.

  That was when it got me. That was when ah felt the catch in the back of ma throat, the tears start tae come. Anne Marie took ma airm and we walked oot thegether, followin the coffin doon the aisle. Paul, sober as a judge the day, Jimmy, John, Alex and two of the men fae the undertakers cairried it. When ma daddy died ah was jealous of Paul, gettin tae cairry the coffin. It doesnae seem fair that women never get the chance tae dae that, cairry their loved wans tae their restin place.

  Through ma tears ah saw the folk in the chapel, all singin; some familiar, some ah didnae know. Then, sittin in the back row ah spotted the lamas. They looked as if somebody’d beamed them doon fae Mars wi their shaved heids and purple robes but there they were singin away, followin the words on the hymn sheet. And for a moment ah felt anger rise in me like a bitter taste – they’d no right tae be there, they’d never even known ma mammy. Then it faded as fast as it had come. They were only payin their respects.

  You think that a funeral’s the end but really it’s the beginnin. Mammy’s death had been that sudden that it seemed as if years had passed between findin her there on the Friday night and the funeral on the Wednesday. Everythin had been geared up tae the funeral; all the plannin, the preparation, the folk comin round, and efter it was all over ah felt totally exhausted, drained oot. Ah went tae ma bed at seven o’clock on the Wednesday night and never woke up tae nine the next mornin. Ah couldnae believe ah’d slept that long. Anne Marie had got hersel oot tae school wioot wakin me and ah was alone.

  Ah wisht she hadnae gone. Ah’d tellt her it she could take another day aff – thought we could mibbe have went intae toon thegether and had lunch, tried tae get back tae normal, but she wanted tae go in.

  ‘We’ve got a Maths test the day.’

  ‘When ah was your age that was a good reason for no gaun intae school. But you’re right, better get back tae normal.’

  Ah planned tae go intae work the morra. Mr Anderson had been dead good, tellt me tae take the week aff if ah wanted, but ah thought it’d be harder tae go in on the Monday mornin. And ah’d probably need tae take a few days’ holiday tae get Mammy’s hoose cleared so ah didnae want the work tae get backed up.

  Ah felt completely at a loose end. The hoose was a right tip efter this week, so ah tidied up, done a washin and hung it up. Ah thought aboot gaun round tae ma mammy’s and makin a start on things there but couldnae face it. Gaun intae toon wioot Anne Marie seemed like too much hassle and the thought of wanderin round shops lookin at claes just seemed daft. So ah decided tae go doon Byres Road. Ah could have some lunch and get a few messages in Safeway. And buy some nice cards tae thank the folk that had sent flowers. Ah was walkin do
on Byres Road when ah bumped intae David. Ah was in such a dwam that ah’d nearly walked past him when ah realised he was staundin in front of me, wavin intae ma face.

  ‘Hiya … you in there?’

  ‘Oh, it’s you … sorry, ah’m in another world.’

  ‘It’s OK. Ah’m glad ah caught you … ah was worried ah might be late.’

  ‘Late? You gaun tae a lecture?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Actually, ah was gaun tae meet you. For a coffee. It is Thursday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, aye, of course … is that the time?’

  Ah’d completely forgotten we were supposed tae be meetin.

  ‘Still OK for a coffee?’

  ‘Aye, ah’d quite like tae get a bowl of soup, actually.’

  ‘Cool. Will we go intae the Grosvenor then?’

  ‘Aye, they have nice soup.’

  The Grosvenor is always dead busy but they’ve built an extension out the back and we managed tae get a table there.

  ‘Had a good week?’

  Ah didnae know whit tae say. Had it only been a week since ah’d seen him? ‘Well, no, actually … ah don’t know where tae start.’

  He put doon the menu. ‘Ah’m sorry. Is it somethin you can tell me aboot?’

  ‘Ma mammy’s died.’

  Ah don’t know if it was his voice, he just sounded that sympathetic and genuine, or if it was the shock comin hame tae me, but ah found masel startin tae greet, there and then in the middle of the crowded café, tears rollin doon ma cheeks, big sobs shudderin through me.

  ‘Oh my God.’ He came right round the table and put his airms round me, held me tight, hauf-kneelin beside me. He smelled nice, that vanilla smell again, some kinda eftershave or shampoo, so sweet and strong; and he was that warm, the heat of his body close tae mines. ‘Ah’m so sorry, Liz, so sorry.’ He stroked ma hair.

  Ah don’t know how long ah was greetin but suddenly ah was aware that everybody must be lookin at us. Ah pushed him away and started tae fumble in ma bag for a tissue. Ah pulled oot a wad of them and ma haunds were shakin that much ah couldnae unfold them. He took wan, separated it fae the rest and haunded it tae me.

  He went and sat on his ain seat and the waitress came wi our soup.

  Ah couldnae look up.

  ‘Do you want this now?’

  ‘Ah’m OK. Ah’m sorry, it just came over me all of a sudden.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s only natural. Do you feel like talkin aboot it?’

  ‘Aye, in a minute.’

  ‘Take your time. Eat your soup first.’

  The soup tasted good. It was the first time since last Friday ah think ah’d actually tasted ma food. When it was finished we sat for a moment, in silence. It seemed weird tae be sittin here across fae a total stranger efter what had just happened. In a minute the waitress came and took the bowls away, set doon wer coffee.

  ‘Can ah get yous sumpn else?’

  ‘No thanks. That was great.’

  Ah stirred the coffee, skimmin the foam fae the sides of the cup.

  ‘So,’ he says. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Friday. It was dead sudden.’

  ‘Must of been a terrrible shock.’

  ‘Aye. Ah’d just been round tae see her, then when ah got hame she’d phoned Anne Marie. And ah rushed back round but by the time ah got there …’

  ‘So you actually found her.’ He put his haund across the table and touched mines. ‘Tough.’

  Ah sipped ma coffee, then looked across at him. ‘See, the really awful thing is, we’d had a fight, just afore ah left – no really a fight, but she was gaun on at me and ah lost ma temper wi her, slammed the door. Ah feel that guilty.’

  ‘It wasnae your fault, though.’

  ‘That’s what the doctor says, she said it could of happened any time. But how come it happened then?’

  ‘It’s just how it is. Ah think most folk feel guilty when somebody dies.’

  ‘Ah know, but ah just wisht ah could of said goodbye, tellt her ah loved her.’

  ‘Ah’m sure she knew that. Ah mean you looked efter her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Suppose so. Ah was round nearly every day.’

  ‘Well then, she knew.’

  ‘Are your parents both alive?’

  ‘Ma da is, ma mammy died when ah was ten.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘It was awful. Ah know whit you mean about feelin guilty. Ah kept thinkin it must be ma fault somehow. She’d been ill for a while; ah didnae know whit was wrang, of course, they never tellt me, but she’d breast cancer. Ah never actually found that oot till ah was aboot seventeen. And ma da and ma aunties all kept tellin me ah had tae be a good boy, no worry ma mammy cos she was sick. Then just afore she died ah got intae trouble at school, no anythin major, just broke a windae playin football. But ah couldnae rid masel of the idea that ah’d somehow caused her tae die because ah’d been bad and it’d worried her. And you cannae ask anybody when you’re that age. Ma da seemed tae have enough grief of his ain wioot me addin tae it. Ah was the eldest as well, so ah had tae be strong for ma wee brother and sister. Everybody kept sayin how awful it was for them tae loss their mammy at their age. Sean was only five and Alicia was three and all the relatives kept makin this big fuss of them. And ah had tae be brave.’

  ‘Ah don’t know whit tae say. Here ah’m are, gaun on aboot lossin ma mammy at thirty-three and you were only ten. At least ah’ve had her all these years.’

  ‘Ah don’t think it matters when it happens. Yer mammy’s still yer mammy. It’s always too soon.’

  ‘How did yer daddy cope? It must of been hard raisin the three of yous on his ain.’

  ‘Well, he remarried actually. Two year efter she died. Ah hated him so much for daein that … but ah quite like her noo.’

  ‘Two year doesnae seem that long.’

  ‘It’s funny, ah studied Sociology for a while at uni and apparently between one and two year is the time when people make healthy new relationships efter death or divorce. Sooner than that and they’re on the rebound, and if they leave it later they get too set in their ways.’

  ‘Sociology – sounds like sumpn you’d read in New Woman. Though men do seem tae get remarried quicker than women.’

  ‘True. That’s because they’re mair helpless. Though tae be fair tae ma da, wi three weans tae look efter, you could hardly blame him for tryin tae find someone tae help him. He wasnae exactly a new man.’

  ‘Are you?’ The words came oot wioot thinkin. Ah suddenly felt embarrassed ah’d asked him. ‘Sorry, never mean tae be personal.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s OK. Ah think we’ve kind of got past the formalities somehow. Aye, ah’m a new man. At least ah hope ah’m are. Ah’d like tae see men and women free tae be who they are, no locked intae gender stereotypes, as they say in Sociology lectures. Ah mean look at me – ah’m no exactly macho man … mibbe ah’d could stay hame and look efter the babies while the wumman did a bit of hunter-gaitherin. Of course … it’s probably just an excuse.’

  ‘An excuse?’

  ‘For ma total and utter laziness. What ah really want is for some rich wumman tae pick me up so’s ah can gie up the job in Iceland and become a toy boy.’

  Ah laughed. It felt strange tae be laughin and ah put ma haund over ma mooth. The waitress came up and lifted the coffee cups. She put the tab on the table. David said, ‘Excuse me, ah think ah’ll have something else.’

  ‘Sure, what would you like?’

  ‘Do you still dae that brilliant dessert – the hot caramel shortcake with ice cream?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘That’s for me. Come on Liz, you have wan too. It is so decadent – they should call it “mortal sin”.’

  ‘OK, you talked me intae it. And another coffee, please.’

  David smiled. ‘Two coffees and two mortal sins.’

  Ah went up tae meet Anne Marie at the school at three thirty. It was the first time ah’d done it since she’d started the new school and a
h felt a bit daft staundin at the gate. When Anne Marie was wee and ah worked part-time ah used tae go and wait wi all the other mothers, watchin them comin oot in their neat uniforms, all excited aboot whit they’d been daein, ready tae tell you everythin. Secondary’s different. They’re all that big for a start. Anne Marie’s tall for her age but she’s only in first year; some of the aulder boys were like men. And when Anne Marie saw me waitin for her she didnae exactly look that chuffed tae see me.

  ‘What are you daein here?’

  ‘Ah just thought ah’d come up and meet you – ah was doon Byres Road daein some messages.’

  ‘So ah see.’ She took a couple of the bags aff me.

  ‘Ah only meant tae get a couple of things – should of brung the motor.’

  ‘You should of phoned me and ah could of met you doon Byres Road. Saved you comin all the way up the hill.’

  ‘Ah thought you were supposed tae have thon mobile switched aff in school.’

  ‘Aye, but ah switch it on as soon as ah come oot the door.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ah thought she’d be glad tae see me. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘OK. Ah should of had a note for bein aff though.’

  ‘How come? Ah phoned the school on Monday tae tell them aboot yer granny.’

  ‘Ma regi teacher says ah need a note as well.’

  ‘Well, remind me the night and ah’ll write wan for you.’

  We heided towards Byres Road.

  ‘What did you do the day?’

  ‘Just tidied up, done a washin. Went for lunch.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘The Grosvenor.’

  ‘Did you meet Nikki?’

  ‘Aye.’ Ah don’t know how ah said that – it just came oot. Ah never meant tae lie aboot David – why should ah? He was just somebody ah’d had lunch wi, a friend. No even really a friend, an acquaintance. So how come ah hadnae tellt Anne Marie the truth?

  ‘D’you want tae go for a coffee in Byres Road afore we go up the road?’

  ‘No really. Ah’ve got a lot of hamework tae catch up wi the night, Mammy.’