A Swallae Less

It was another heavy day of drinking and divebombing mentally before my funeral pyre of unopened bills and unread newspapers in the trashcan I call my alfresco fire or chiminea. I didn't have to pay B&Q prices either.

A bottle of dirt-cheap vodka takes the edge off the malaise and emptiness as I poke the fire with a sparkler I found in a drawer. I cannae mind buying sparklers. Maybe it was when the weans still lived at hame. For Guy Fawkes night or something. Before it all went tae shite.

The sky was miserable tones of Richter grey. Like a painting. No an earthquake. Just misery smeared across the sky.

"Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?..."

I dunno why I bother getting up most days. If I didnae, nothing would change, but lying in bed is nae fun. The pillow’s worn out, and it’s more reminders.

"You better let somebody love you before it's too late."

Don Henley and Glen Frey can suck my hairy boaby.

"I think they'd prefer my tits, pal!"

Who the fuck said that.

I turned round tae see my next door neighbour had changed.

I wasnae surprised, mind — the neighbourhood was shite, and I constantly felt oot the loop.

"I'm Diane."

Her voice was bright and annoyingly bubbly. Not quite saccharine, but still ten lines of coke more energy than I wanted tae cope with. Though her scent had a familiarity tae it — a light vanilla, like the dusting of powdered sugar on a soft bun or donut.

I’d be lying if my eyes didnae take in her aforementioned tits. She was a bit younger than me, but had a lived-in face that suggested wisdom and suffering in equal measures.

"That right, hen?" I asked, unsure what she wanted — a medal or something.

I was a pleasant fucker of a man, clearly. Charming tae the fucking core, me.

That’s why I had all these pals, and was looking for an out — an excuse tae stop talking tae little Miss Sparkler at number 32.

But she was persistent. Fucking grating. Though it was the first lassie... naw, first anybody I'd spoken tae in days.

She leaned over the fire and dropped a small bit of paper into it. I didnae get a chance tae see whit it said.

"Ah should chargeouor using my fancy alfresco fire!" I complained, half-serious.

"How about I cook you dinner?" she laughed.

"Ah’m no really good company, hen."

I wisnae lying. I was, truth be told, shite company. Since Leanne fucked off and the kids moved in wae their partners, I was a misery guts. Like Van Gogh, minus the ear and the ending.

"I insist. I make a mean steak and chips. My late husband said it was—"

Diane trailed off. The irritating smile she wore stretched thin, then slipped into something mournful.

"Late? Whit happened? Like, if you don't mind me asking?"

I wasn't sure if she was going to share or not. Wasn't even sure I wanted to know.

"Cirrhosis... Five years ago now."

She didn't cry, but didn’t need to.

"Ah… shit, hen. I’m sorry."

I meant it. Arse I was, but not without a heart.

"He was a swine. But was my swine. He drank... a lot."

I looked at the bottle of vodka. I wasn’t one to turn my nose up at it, but I felt less inclined to take a swallae after Diane’s revelation.

"Don't stop on mine or my Bill's behalf. It's your liver, your body. Nae judgement here."

Her smile, and the way she flicked the light red-grey, shoulder-length hair behind her ears, told me she meant it.

There was sadness behind that crooked smile.

A sadness I knew.

She sat down beside me and we chatted about nothing in particular. I couldnae keep my eyes off her as we blethered like we’d known each other for donkeys.

Now I was captivated not just by her tits, but by her deep blue, crystalline eyes — like precious gems in a crooked setting. Crooked, but warm. Kind.

Darkness had fallen when she said goodnight and brushed my shoulder with the softest touch of her hand.

I sunk the rest of the vodka because I wasn’t prepared to face the pillow alone tonight without it.

As I lay there, my eyes growing heavy, I felt the drink take hold — pulling me away from the bleakness, somewhere lighter.

And as I drifted, that cracked, warm smile and those deep blues were the last things I saw.