Free Crystal's Song by Millie Gray

blame lay with the housing factor who should have kept the stairs in a decent state of repair. He’d been vehement that the accident had nothing at all to do with his own drunken stupor. Patsy thought back to Danny and the short time he had lived in the Restalrig Road house before his death. Such a pity it was that the Learig Inn had been so handy. Indeed, most people were amazed to see how well Danny could manoeuvre his wheelchair down to the pub. And it was an even bigger pity that on leaving there one night he’d decided to steer himself into the path of a No.13 bus. But at least his end had been mercifully instantaneous.
    The ground floor, left-hand house in a six-in-a-block tenement, which was situated next to the YMCA, really suited Patsy very well. It was small but the accommodation was much better than the room and kitchen in West Cromwell Street. Here, she had a living room, a couple of bedrooms, a small kitchen and a bathroom all to herself. Patsy truly regretted that she hadn’t had this house when Phyllis had been alive, since that would have been so handy being just minutes away from Restalrig Circus, which meant she could have spent much more time with the bairn. And now, with Phyllis’s other Granny, Mary Glass, being re-housed in Restalrig Road, in the superior flats just opposite the shops, life could have been so good for Phyllis.
    Patsy went over to the sideboard, took out her sugar bowl and poured half of the contents into a cup before handing it to Mary. “That’s half of what I have.” Mary nodded and from her pocket took out a brown paper bag. She carefully poured the contents of the cup into it and handed the cup back to Patsy.
    “Settling in?” Patsy asked, dragging a chair out from the table and sitting down.
    Mary silently nodded assent while pulling out a chair to sit down on. “Aye, wasn’t I just jammy bumping into Annie Forbes and her hating being in Restalrig Road and looking for an exchange back to West Cromwell Street. Cannae understand why she wasnae grateful for a lavvy aw to herself. Anyway …”
    Patsy knew Mary all too well and realised she wanted to tell Patsy something. “Private and confidential like,” she would whisper to Patsy when she was ready to confide.
    “Staying long enough for a cuppa?” asked Patsy. Mary nodded. “Well, I’ll just put the kettle on. Mind you, Mary, if you’re going to ladle in the sugar like you usually do, then you’ll have to take it out of that lot you’ve just put in the brown paper poke. Fair’s fair.”
    Patsy had just poured the tea when Mary blurted out, “Dod’s getting oot the morn.”
    “Oh, done his time already?”
    “Naw. Well … aye. You see, he got time off for guid behaviour.”
    “Good behaviour? Well, well, well.” And Patsy sucked in her lips as she savoured her tea. “That’s a first for him – so you must be real pleased.”
    Mary shook her head. “Naw. You see, when he comes oot o’ Saughton the morn they’ll be handing him his call-up papers afore they shut the doors ahint him!”
    “Are you saying they’re calling him up straight away?”
    “Aye.” Mary moved her head closer to Patsy. “I think the guid behaviour thing is just them taking my Dod for a hurl. I mean, they ken he doesnae knock the hell oot o’ folk unless he kens them real well. I mean to say, Patsy, have you ever known him to be charged with thumping anybody he wasnae on first-name terms wi”’
    Patsy took her time before answering, “But now we know for sure that we’re going to win the war …”
    “We are?” Mary replied, making no attempt to hide her incredulity.
    “Of course we are! Surely you’re no forgetting that, firstly, our braw Eighth Army sorted out Rommel at El Alamein in October last year and then just back there in July did the Russians no blooter all the German tanks at Kursk?”
    Mary looked away. “Okay, you might be right,” she said, turning back to face Patsy. “But why, oh why then do they want