[35] McNulty's Law

As soon as I pinned the large rosette to my lapel I immediately felt less than comfortable. I should have followed my instincts there and then by tossing it into the waste bucket. Instead I gallantly forced myself to take to the streets, convinced that my duty to humanity was infinitely more important than childish vanity. I felt the first pangs of embarrassment as I strode along Stevenson Street, aware that I was being followed by a couple of young neds.

“Haw mister, there’s a big floo’er stickin oot yer jaicket.”

“Geeza sook at yer lollipop Jimmy.”

They took it in turns to assault me with their cruel taunts. I halted the tirade by turning sharply as if to pounce. They scattered in different directions, one up a close and the other down towards the end of the street. Yet still I failed to get the message. My sense of purpose overpowered any discomfort as I made my way towards the first close at the end of the road. First call was a door with a hand-written cardboard nameplate which showed G McNulty. I knocked hesitantly. The door opened and I was faced with a haggard old man wearing blue and white striped pyjamas and a battered bunnet.

“Good evening sir, I represent . . .”

The old codger pushed me aside and rushed out into the street without acknowledging my greeting.

“Well, whit is it?”

I turned once again towards the open door and looked into the eyes of a great bulging battle-axe of a woman. She glared at me with threatening eyes and bared teeth. She had one hand on her hip while the other held onto the door. Her forearms were muscular and hairy. Her neck could have belonged to a Sumo wrestler.

“Good evening madam, I represent the independent...”

“Get loast pal!”

The muscular arm slammed the door inches from my face. The violent thud reverberated into the street. I pressed the doorbell across the landing. I waited. I tried again. I waited. I turned to leave but stopped as soon as I heard the faint sound of a lock being turned from inside the house. A muffled voice came from behind the door.

“Hold on, I won’t be long.”

I listened as a snib was unsnibbed, a chain was unchained, a latch was unlatched. The door swung open very gradually to reveal the head of a petite old lady. Warm, inquisitive eyes peered up at me. Her crackled face bore the merest hint of a smile.

“Good evening madam, I represent the independent candidate...”

“Come away in out of the cold son.”

She stepped back and beckoned me with a wave of her hand.

“Come in and sit by the fire.”

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all young man. Come in and tell me all about it.”

Soon I found myself in a small sitting room. Well perhaps it wasn’t so small, but it seemed that way. The place was packed with all sorts of furniture, ornaments, lamps and candlesticks. Every wall was covered with pictures and ornamental mirrors. The room was a veritable treasure trove of tastefully arranged hardware.

“Sit yourself down. I’ll just put on the kettle.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Nonsense. It’s not often I get visitors. Make yourself at home.”

She disappeared into the kitchen as I returned to admiring the room. The only modern fixture was a small television set. The only seating was an ancient but well preserved settee which I had to share with a fluffy white cat. He lifted his head and eyed me suspiciously as I took my place next to him. After a few moments he settled down again and curled up into a furry ball. Evidently I had met with his approval.

“Here we are then. Help yourself young man.”

She placed a tray on the table in front of me. I poured from an expensive china teapot.

“Biscuit?”

She held a plate in front of me.

“No thank you. I’ve only just eaten.”

“Well, if you change your mind, no need to ask.”

I sipped my tea and mulled over what to say next.

“Who did you say you were?”

She saved me the trouble.

“Ah yes.”

I placed the cup and saucer on the table and continued with my usual enthusiasm.

“I represent the independent candidate in the...”

“No, no, never mind all that. What is your name?”

“Oh, I see. Harry, Harry Lawson.”

I was grateful to her for putting me right.

“I’m Sarah Ramsay and this is Ginger.”

She introduced me to her feline companion. I opened my mouth to ask why her snow-white cat was called Ginger but decided against it.

“I bet you’re wondering why I call him Ginger aren’t you?”

“Er yes, it did occur to me.”

“Belonged to my late husband you see.”

She stroked his furry coat affectionately as she spoke.

“Blind as a bat he was. I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen. He was political you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He fought in the Spanish Civil War. He was badly wounded there as well.”

“How awful.”

I was genuinely shocked.

“Is that how he lost his sight?”

“He was blinded during a pub crawl in Govan.”

I spat out a copious spray of tea and spluttered uncontrollably.

“I’m terribly sorry Mrs Ramsay. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Och don’t concern yourself about it son. Help yourself to a wee biscuit while I switch on the television.”

I tried to compose myself and disguised my embarrassment by nibbling on a chocolate cookie.

The television came to life after some hesitant crackling and the picture settled down to reveal what appeared to be an opera. The English sub-titles suggested it was in Italian but I could not be sure as there did not appear to be any sound.

“I like the opera don’t you Mr Lawson.”

“Er yes, yes I do,” I lied, more concerned at the dryness of my throat as I struggled to devour the biscuit.

“Is there something wrong with the sound on your television set Mrs Ramsay?”

I hoped I might be of some assistance.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I like to follow the story but I just can’t abide that awful singing.”

I choked on the biscuit, splattering crumbs all over the cat. I decided it was time for me to move on.

“I really will have to dash Mrs Ramsay.”

“Oh must you? I really do enjoy having the occasional visitor.”

“It’s been a pleasure Mrs Ramsay but I really do have a lot of people to see.”

My grateful host followed me to the door and rushed to hold it open for me.

“You must come back and see me when you feel like a chat.”

“Yes, thank you. I will.”

I forced a smile and bade her farewell.

“Who did you say you were?”

“Harry Lawson.”

“No, not that. The politics.”

“Oh, I see. I represent the independent candidate in the forthcoming by-election.”

My introduction was well rehearsed. I never expected to be reciting it as I left a voter’s residence.

“Independent you say.”

“That’s right. George Harvey, local schoolteacher. Do you know him?”

“Which side does he swing to?”

I can’t imagine why at this precise moment my personal tailor should suddenly spring to mind.

“He’s more or less in the middle I suppose. The voice of moderation you might say.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

She sounded quite sincere.

“I simply can’t stomach those Marxist-Leninist-Trotskyites.”

“Quite.”

“Even less those petty-bourgeois landowners.”

“Well, I couldn’t agree more.”

I made a poor job of concealing my astonishment.

“You tell your nice Mr Harvey he can rely on my vote.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. Goodnight.”

I made my way towards the front of the close. I’d had enough.

“Remember what I said. Drop in any time now.”

I heard the door close and the locks, snibs and chain being secured. The old man in the striped pyjamas was sitting on the steps at the mouth of the close.

“She’s a right bampot that yin.”

“Mrs Ramsay?”

“Naw, naw. McNulty. That eejit that slammed the door in yer mug.”

I sat on the step beside him and breathed in the cold night air.

“Are you Mr McNulty then?”

“Whit? Are ye kiddin? Nae chance o that pal.”

He looked at me for the first time and eyed me up and down as though questioning my sanity.

“D’ye think ah’d marry that aul scunner? Naw, whit is it youse young yins cry it? Co-habitation? Aye, that’s us.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Six years on an off. But ah’ll never marry the aul bag. Ah’m no that daft. Did she show ye her parrot?”

“Mrs McNulty?”

“Naw, aul Mrs Ramsay fucksake.”

I could scarcely keep up with this exchange of pleasantries.

“No. But I did meet her cat though.”

“Never mind the bliddy cat. She shoulda showed ye her parrot. Swears like a bliddy trooper so it diz.”

He spat on the step and cleared his throat. I cringed visibly.

“Hid enough then?”

“Sorry?”

“Canvassin. Aw that politics lark.”

“Yes. I think I’ll call it a day.”

“Yer wastin yer time Jimmy. Naeb’dy cares aboot aw that rubbish roon here.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Gaun then. Surprise me.”

“Old Mrs Ramsay. She cares. In fact she sounded rather well versed on the subject if you ask me, and she gave me her support.”

The old man snorted his disapproval and toyed with his dentures, allowing them to pop out from between his lips and perform a merry jig before disappearing back into his mouth once again.

“Listen pal. If ye telt her ye’d git her a cooncil hoose in the black hole o Calcutta wi an ootside cludgie she’d still gae ye her support fucksake.”

I got to my feet and wiped the dust from my trousers.

“Anyway, I’ll have to be moving. It’s getting late.”

“Take ma advice son. Nix time stay in the hoose. Ye’ll get nae thanks fur tryin tae save the world.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

My tone was somewhat cynical but at the same time I wondered just how near he was to the truth. I looked back in time to see a muscular arm appear from inside the close and grab the old man by the scruff of the neck. He yelped like a pig as he was dragged into the darkness, his feet leaving the ground as he was hauled away like a rag doll.

“Git back in that hoose an dae they dishes ya lazy aul get.”

The voice boomed out into the street to be followed by the familiar slamming of the door.

“Some fuckin close this eh?”

I looked round to see a parrot perched on a cage behind Mrs Ramsay’s open window. I decided there and then that I certainly would pay her another visit.

Me and that bird are going to have a little chat.