Young Mungo

Their bathwater was lukewarm by the time they both climbed in. Mungo got in first and claimed the end without taps. He felt clammy, like he had just passed the worst of a fever, but happy and peaceful in every corner of his skin. James got in and poured his long legs around him. He rested a heaped plate of sausage rolls on the toilet seat and Mungo nodded at the party treats. “Who’s the missus now, then?”

James didn’t rise to it, instead he ripped into one of the pastries. A dozen buttery flakes stuck to his chest and dissolved on his damp skin. The rest floated on the water like leaves in a puddle. Mungo popped one into his mouth. The gristly meat was scalding hot. He ladled tepid bathwater into his open mouth.

James was wearing his fisherman’s cap again, chewing and laughing with an open mouth. Mungo reached out and pulled the cap from his head. “I’m no gonnae sit in a bath with you if you’re wearing a bunnet. It’s too weird.”

James covered his ears with his hands. “I wish someone had pinned them back. You don’t know what it’s like. You try going to school wi’ these. Never even think to sit at the front of a class.”

“I don’t mind them.”

James squirted brown sauce into his mouth. He shoved in another steaming roll and grinned through the sausage meat. “I think you might like me.”

“Mibbe.” Mungo lowered his chin on to the water. “I only have to look at them for three more days. I think I can hold my boak that long.”

“Three days.” James had forgotten for a moment. The green eyes turned to grey again.

Mungo shoved his toes under James’s balls, until the boy squirmed and a wave of water hit the carpet. Then he sat forward and, grabbing James’s cheeks, he pushed upwards till James’s fat lips parted in a forced smile. “Listen, if I only get three days I don’t want to spend it with a moody bugger.”

Mungo lay back down in the bath, while James glowered and rubbed at his face. “I bet I could kick the shite out of you.”

“I bet you couldn’t.”

“Only because ye’ve got hauners.” He tilted his chin in a challenge. “You only talk to me lit that because of Ha-Ha.”

Mungo nodded. “Correct. So watch your Fenian mouth or I’ll tell my big brother you showed me your willie.”

“But you liked it.” He sent a tidal wave of bathwater over Mungo.

“Aye, but I won’t tell him that. Will I?”

They lay back in the dissipating warmth. Mungo took James’s foot in his hand. He hadn’t looked at it closely before. His sole was surprisingly soft, it smelled of nothing at all. He put James’s big toe in his mouth, and they sat like that, with unflinching expressions, until James cackled first and tried to pull it away. Mungo picked a piece of sock oose from the tip of his tongue and under his breath he said, “You’re no fit to drink my bathwater.”

“Whut?” James was dabbing his finger into the water and eating the pastry flakes that were still bobbing there.

“It’s just a funny thing Mo-Maw says all the time. Some auld woman in the butcher’s will run her eyes the length of her and she’ll be like, ‘Auld cow, she’s no fit to drink my bathwater.’ I mean, imagine a line of wummin with thermoses in the hallway and Hamish working a velvet rope. ‘Not you Irene, you cannae come in. I don’t like the look o’ thon orthopaedics. Nae bathwater for you.’”

“I wish I could meet her someday. The bold Maureen.”

Mungo shook his head. “No chance. She would give me a showing up.”

“She sounds like a laugh.”

“Our Jodie doesn’t see it that way. But I don’t mind her, she’s only a danger to herself.” Something bright glimmered inside him. He held James’s foot to his face and dialled the soft underside as though it were a telephone. “Hallo-hallo. You want an appointment with Mrs Hamilton? Elevenses for three? Usual table, sir?”

It was ticklish. “Aye. Why not …” James started coughing again. He reached for his inhaler.

Mungo let go of his foot. “You need to see a doctor. I don’t like it when you hack like that.”

James rubbed at his bare chest, he tried to catch his breath. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I think it’s the doos.”

“Probably.” He tried to steer the conversation away from the birds. He wanted to wipe the concern from Mungo’s brow. “It feels nice to have someone worry about me though.”

Mungo slowly lowered his face under the water and tried to hide a broad smile. He bobbed back up. “Does it now? Do you think you’re my boyfriend?”

“Only if you’re my girlfriend.”

Mungo pressed his knee outwards and against the inside of James’s thigh. It made the blond boy writhe for submission. “Okay! We’ll no tell Mo-Maw that, but aye, I’ll be your boyfriend, Mungo Hamilton, for the next three days, anyhows.”

It had been his turn to forget for a moment. Mungo lay there a while, thinking about the time that was left, rationing his allocation and deciding on how he would spend the sweetness. Of course there could be more of this on the far side of Mr Jamieson’s visit, but that hardly seemed to matter. He was feeling childish – why did James’s father have to come home at all? James watched Mungo’s face darken. He made the boy turn around in the bath, until Mungo was settled and lying against his chest. They sent slops of bathwater on to the carpet. Mungo said, “Okay. You can meet her, but only for a minute.”

When James spoke again his lips were against Mungo’s ear. He bound Mungo’s wrists, held him still. “Good. Who knows? Maybe I can date yer Maw and be yer new da. Two birds with one stone. After all, you’re turning out a wee bit funny.”



* * *



Mungo went early, to see her for himself, and if he had to, to keep her away from the worst of the drink. James knew where to come and when. She kissed him and then she tucked him under the snack bar counter, out of view from the regulars. Mungo was gazing up at her while she charmed customers with snatches of gossip and false smiles. When she looked down at him the smile slid off her face.

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