William McIlvanney

Walking Wounded


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fixed the holidays’.

      ‘I’ve always wanted you to surprise me like that,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

      ‘You’re going to Pontin’s Holiday Camp with the kids,’ he had said. ‘And I’m going to East Africa on safari.’

      Bert Watson had cured himself without ever mentioning it to Marie. His only active concession to the mania around him had been the line they were doing in lion rampant pullovers. Everybody else was cashing in, with flags and scarves and wall-posters. Why shouldn’t he? The pullovers were doing well. That was something. You have to be sensible, he thought, as he looked at Duncan.

      ‘How would you be going to get there, Duncan?’ he asked.

      ‘Through America,’ Duncan replied crisply.

      ‘Through America? How do you mean?’

      ‘Go to New York first. Then right through America.’

      Duncan referred to it like a main street.

      ‘But America doesn’t border Argentina, Duncan. That still leaves you with a certain distance to go.’

      ‘What? You mean Central America and that? Oh yes.’

      ‘And South America. Argentina’s quite well down the map.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘You’re talking about 7,000 miles.’ Abandoned dreams have their uses.

      ‘As much as that?’

      Duncan pursed his lips and nodded. He looked as if he might be wondering whether to take another five pounds with him.

      ‘7,000 miles. You ever been out of the country?’

      ‘Blackpool,’ Duncan said. Then he added significantly, ‘Twice.’

      ‘Blackpool in England?’

      ‘Is there another, like?’

      ‘I don’t know, Duncan. I just wondered. But that’s all?’

      ‘Well, with my mother and that, I don’t get about much.’

      ‘Sounds as if you’d like to make up for it. You would go overland then?’

      ‘That’s it. America, Central America. The lot.’

      ‘You heard of the Darien Gap?’

      ‘The what?’

      ‘It’s jungle. In Panama. There’s no means of transport there.’

      ‘Bound to be something.

      ‘Uh-huh. Who would you be going with?’

      ‘Well, Danny Wright would like to go. If he can get away.’

      ‘Who’s Danny Wright?’

      ‘He’s a mate of mine. Well, not a mate really. But Ah know him. He’s keen to go.’

      ‘He from Graithnock, too?’

      ‘Originally. But he works in Coventry now. We’ve been on the phone a lot. We would meet up in London. Heathrow Airport.’

      ‘And what about Danny Wright?’

      ‘What about him?’

      ‘Has he been abroad much?’

      ‘He’s been on holiday to Spain. But he’s not absolutely sure yet.’

      ‘You mean you might go yourself?’

      ‘See how it turns out.’

      Samantha’s shock was growing. Her eyes, among other things, were popping. Bert Watson thought of Duncan’s dead father. He had a vague image of a grave in turmoil. He remembered a Latin phrase from school:in loco parentis.

      ‘Duncan,’ he said. ‘This is a hosiery, not the Clydesdale Bank. Be fair. How can I do this? I’m just the manager here. Mary Simmons is talking about wanting a fur coat. Jackie Stevens was telling me he fancies a different car. Am I supposed to advance them the money as well?’

      ‘But this is a special case,’ Duncan said.

      ‘Special case? Every man and boy and most of the women in Scotland would like to go.’ Except Marie, he thought. ‘Be fair, Duncan, it can’t be done.’

      ‘Ah mean it’s not every year we’re in the Finals of the World Cup.’

      ‘I’m beginning to think it’s a good thing. It can’t be done, Duncan. It’s a daft idea. Anyway, we can’t spare you from the factory for three months. We’ve got our summer lines to get out.’

      Duncan thought about it.

      ‘That’s it?’

      ‘That’s it, Duncan.’

      Bert Watson felt sorry for Duncan and glad at the same time. He was saving him from himself. Somewhere the subsoil settled in a peaceful grave.

      ‘Well, thanks for talkin’ about it anyway.’

      Duncan stood up.

      ‘No problem, Duncan. You can see it all on the telly, anyway. Probably get a better view.’

      The price on the sweaters was right. That meant the error was in calculating the cost of two dozen woollen dresses.

      ‘Ah’ll let ye know when Ah’m givin’ in ma week’s notice.’ When Bert Watson looked up, Duncan was on his way to the door.

      ‘Duncan! What did you say?’

      ‘Ah’m not sure exactly when Ah’ll be packin’ up. See, Ah’ve got to try an’ make as much money as possible. An’ Ah’ve got to give maself time to get there. Could take six or seven weeks, they reckon.’

      ‘You pack up your job, that’s it.’

      ‘Ach, well.’

      ‘Duncan! Don’t do this.’

      He came out from behind his desk.

      ‘Ah’ve got to.’

      ‘Duncan. Listen. Take another few weeks to think about it.’

      ‘Ah’ve thought about it for months.’

      ‘What about money?’

      ‘Ah’ve been savin’ up for four year.’

      ‘How much?’

      ‘Ah’ve got over a thousand. But Ah’m leavin’ half for ma maw. So she’s all right.’

      ‘Four years? How did you know we would qualify for the Finals?’

      ‘Ah just knew.’

      Bert Watson felt awe. He stared into the impenetrable blueness of Duncan’s eyes and knew they were as far from his control as Argentina. No wonder Sally’s face and the face of just about every woman in the place softened a little whenever Duncan’s name was mentioned. Christ, Bert Watson thought, I think I feel the same about him myself.

      Here was a boy who didn’t know South America from another planet. His knowledge of the world wouldn’t have covered a lapel badge. But he was preparing to travel 7,000 miles on a few hundred pounds to watch a football team. And he was going. The eyes allowed of no alternative. If you couldn’t help him, he understood. But he was still going.

      Bert Watson remembered that Duncan’s father had been a first division football player. That and the fact that Duncan was leaving money for his mother finished Bert Watson. He felt the injustice of being confronted by an innocence as brave as Duncan’s. He briefly tried to muster sensible arguments in his mind – the need to keep a job, the hazards of the trip, the importance of career. But he wasn’t hypocritical enough to let them reach his mouth. Duncan was right. Who needs a career? It was never any substitute for a life.

      He