A want a smoke but A couldnae git back in the security door n A cannae leave Broonie. He’s git his heed practically on ma shoulder. The consultant walks back through n clears his throat loudly. A nudge Broonie till he wakes. He doesnae know where he is fur a minute, the mind clingin tae the fantasy ae the dream, seekin refuge fae the truth fur another two seconds. It’s back n it hits him like a skud right in the chops. He stands up n tells me tae wait wae a single, shaky palm. A know wit the cunt’s sayin. The arm comes up tae Broonie’s shoulder. The heed tilts tae show understanding, suhin human fur Broonie tae relate tae. A see the life drain fae ma pal, the shell completely undone. The wee boy is back fiddlin wae his hands n listenin tae wit the man is sayin tae him. Tryin tae understand wit’s happened tae his dad as he cries intae his jumper.

What Was Once a Game

Stacey’s sittin wae hur legs folded under hur on the couch, clutchin another cup ae tea. She cried when A told hur n A still huvnae been tae sleep. It’s gone five noo n the first light is startin tae smear the sky in the east. It’s a cold light this mornin n A don’t want tae see it. A’m still hangin on tae the dark, ma heart sinkin further wae the spread ae pastel blue against navy. The street lights always look different at this time. They lost that orange against purple look n just became strange-lookin, like a light left on in the daytime. The way A feel is better kept in the night. In the daytime, things huv a nasty habit ae becomin real.

A took Broonie in his door, past the polis n the crime-scene officers who wur leavin n headin away intae a Transit van. He cried himself tae sleep n A waited, alone wae ma thoughts. Yi huv tae hang on tae yir sanity on nights like this n endure this black duty. Inside the hoose wis quiet n awready didnae feel right. Wee Broonie, in this family-size ex-council hoose, but noo wae nae family but himself. A left, walkin by two uniform polis at the gate in a trance, n came straight tae Stacey’s bit. She pulled a jumper on n a pair ae jeans n hus been wipin the sleep n tears fae hur eyes since.

‘Aw, Alan son. A told yi they were out their depth!’

‘A know that, Stacey.’

‘A just can’t believe it’s come to aw this. Why did they dae it?’

‘Cos Broonie owes oot thousands. It’s been comin.’

‘Fuck sake. Poor Wee Broonie, man!’

‘Dire, int it.’

‘Sooner you’re out of here the better. This is the final straw, honestly. Just go n don’t come back.’

Stacey’s heed eventually falls on the cushion n A throw a cover over hur before A put ma trainers on n head back oot. The sun is up noo but it still looks that early way. A feel fuckin grey n A’m no thinkin straight, ma own mind malfunctionin n sparkin haywire. A’ve no hud enough tae eat n A’ve smoked too much cos ma chest feels that mad hollow way. A’m drivin half-sleepin back up the road. Even at this time in the mornin, A’m glad A’m walkin intae ma bit. Ma maw wid be in hur bed but there’s piles ae ironed washin waitin tae be taken up the stairs. There’s food in the fridge n the place is warm n tidy. A think aboot that orphan Broonie alone in his hoose as A lie in ma bed. If yi huv a family who ir alive n well n that loved yi, yi huv more than some. A’m thinkin aboot wit Stacey said as A drift aff finally, intae an uneasy sleep full ae bad dreams.