Page 21

Ducks!: A Glasgow Lads Short-Short Story

Robert McKenzie’s da had loved a weekend hangover. “You can sleep it off instead of taking it to work with you.”

The memory of his father’s life-shortening binges usually made Robert stop after a few beers. Last night, however, he’d not stopped at a few, and his head pure hated him for it now.

A door hinge whined. Robert opened his left eye, the one not pressed against the couch cushion. The sadistic morning sun made him squint.

Out of Liam’s bedroom tiptoed a young man in creaking white-leather trousers. He stopped at the sight of Robert. “Oh, you’re awake. Hiya.” Half his bushy black moustache flopped to dangle over his mouth, and he quickly pushed it back into place. Several of the black harlequin patches on his trousers had come loose as well, flapping despondently like the flags of forgotten nations.

“Unh,” was all Robert could manage, which seemed to satisfy Freddie Mercury. The lad’s real name didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this was the person who’d made Robert want to get blootered.

He shut his eye to end their conversation, and Freddie quietly saw himself out.

* * *

When Liam heard his front door close, he slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of flannel sleep trousers.

“Morning, Rabbie!” he called as he bounced into the living room, his head remarkably clear, considering how much he’d drunk at his Dead Celebrity party. “Happy Day of the Dead again!” He stopped when he saw his best mate’s face. “Och, you look well rough.”

Robert groaned. “Tongue feels like I licked a clothesdryer lint trap. Tastes like it too.”

“Did you smoke those cigarettes that were meant to be props for your Marlboro Man costume?”

“Of course not. I’d never break our pact.”

Liam believed him. Robert was faithful and honest, which made him the perfect friend and smoking-cessation partner.

“A nice cuppa will sort that hangover mouth. I’ll make it triple strength.” He waltzed into the kitchen, giddy with anticipation. “Also, I’ve a prezzie for you!”

Robert gave no reply. He’d been acting weird lately. Liam had hoped he’d meet a lass at last night’s party, one who could mend his broken heart, or at least make him forget his ex-girlfriend for an hour or two. He’d looked alluring enough in his cowboy hat and red denim shirt.

Liam put the kettle on, then scanned the worktop and tiny table to see if the Freddie Mercury lad had left a phone number or a Thanks for a good time! note.

Nothing.

Liam shrugged. Freddie didn’t matter. No one had mattered to him in a long time. Apart from his family. And teammates. And coworkers. And some of his customers at the pub.

And Robert. Always Robert. Especially Robert, despite the recent mysterious awkwardness between them.

Liam swept the crumbs out of one of the party’s big plastic crisps bowls and put it in the sink. As it filled with water, he pulled the carrier bag from the cupboard where he’d hidden it, behind the dog-eared cookbooks with titles like Cheap and Easy Noms and Feed Your Face for a Fiver .

Heart tripping with glee, Liam reached into the bag and took out the pair of rubber ducks, one pink and one yellow. “Yaaaaasss,” he whispered to himself.

He set the ducks in the water. Instantly the wee LEDs inside them began to blink—first blue, then red, then cycling through every color in the rainbow. Robert would absolutely die when he saw these glorious little guys.

Unless…unless he’d forgotten how much he’d loved these as a lad. What if he thought Liam a complete bampot? What if these wee duckies didn’t fix them?

* * *

Robert pulled the tattered tartan blanket up over his face. The only present he wanted from Liam at the minute was…fucking hell…Liam himself. But he couldn’t say that. He barely dared think it.

Liam appeared with a pair of mugs, still wearing his orange-and-black-striped shirt from an early Robin Williams sitcom. The rainbow braces were gone, at least. Robert tried not to remember Freddie tugging on them to bring Liam into a tongue-tangling kiss while they’d danced to “Blank Space,” and tried even harder not to imagine himself in Freddie’s shoes, filling that blank space in Liam’s arms.

“This is not the gift. This is just tea.” Liam set the mugs on the coffee table, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Robert sat up slowly, bunching the blanket over his crotch to hide his inconvenient stauner. Waking up hard was nothing unusual, but feeling self-conscious about it around Liam was downright bizarre.

He picked up one of the mugs, a white one shouting TEXT GOES HERE in stark black block letters.

“Close your eyes,” Liam called out from the kitchen.

Robert obeyed. He hadn’t a Scooby what this present could be.

Liam set something heavy on the coffee table, something that made the sound of…lapping water? “Okay, open your eyes.”

Robert did, and stared at the wonder before him. The rubber ducks blinked in sync, as though caught up in the same rhythm of a song only they could hear.

He looked at Liam, feeling his own face go soft. “You bought these last week at the Barras, when we were there with Fergus and John. You said you were buying them for Molly and Dylan.”

“I lied. Besides, I already do enough for those wee monsters to earn Best Big Brother hunners of times over.” He sat beside Robert and swept a dusting of crisp crumbs off the edge of the bowl. “You like?”

“No. I love.”

Liam lifted his gaze to meet his, and for an instant it seemed as though Robert’s telepathic desire had been received—and returned with joy. It seemed as though the most natural thing to happen next would be a caress, then a kiss, then…anything, everything.

“Cool!” Liam said. “So you remember having these when you were a kid.”

“Of course I remember.”

“That’s a relief. It’s been a wee while, after all.”

Robert’s nod was a lie. At this moment—unlike so many moments these past weeks—it didn’t feel a wee while since they’d become the best of friends. The blinking, bobbing ducks had made time fold in on itself, bringing him and Liam back to each other as they’d been more than a dozen years ago: two lads starting the adventure of life, vowing to travel it together, forever.

* * *

The fuck was wrong with Robert’s eyes? Lately his gaze was too intense, his pupils too wide within the midnight-blue irises.

“Are you on drugs?”

Robert blinked at him. “What? No, of course not.”

“You can tell me. I’d understand if you needed a bit of speed to get you through that thesis that’s taken over your life.”

“I’m barely even drinking these days.” Robert ran a hand through his disheveled dark-brown waves of hair. “Probably why last night hit me so hard.”

“Mate, last night hit you hard cos you hit it hard.” Liam frowned as he took in his tiny living room. The couch was a raft on a sea of beer tins and empty crisps packets. “If I feed you, will you help me tidy up?”

“I’ll help you even if you don’t feed me.” Robert put a hand to his stomach. “Some dry toast wouldnae go amiss just now, though.”

“Perfect! My specialty.” As he stood, Liam reached out to offer a stay-right-here shoulder pat. At the same moment, his friend leaned in, and Liam accidentally batted the side of his head.

“Ow, fuck.” Robert’s arm jerked, spilling tea into his lap. “OW! FUCK.”

“Sorry.” Liam grabbed the nearly spent roll of kitchen paper from the side table. “Here, let me blot that for?—”

“I’ve got it.” Robert snatched the end of the kitchen paper. The roll itself bounced across the floor, unspooling like the world’s mankiest red carpet.

“Clearly you’ve not got it.” Liam moved to pick up the kitchen roll.

“Aye, I do. Now away and make some toast. Let me see to my own mess.”

“Why so jumpy?”

“I’m not!” Robert crumpled a sheet of kitchen paper and sopped up tea from the blanket on his lap. “I’m just…” He didn’t seem inclined to finish the sentence.

“Did it soak through to your trousers?” Liam asked. “I’ve got spare trackies you can wear while they dry.” Without awaiting an answer, he went into his bedroom and opened the wardrobe.

Wait, did he have any clean tracksuit bottoms? “Just a second while I rummage.” He checked every drawer, then the floor on the other side of the bed, with no luck. “Sorry, you’ll have to wear these.” He stripped off his own flannel sleep trousers and headed for the living room. “I’ve only just put them on, so?—”

The room was empty.

“Rab?” He leaned around the doorpost to check the bathroom, which was dark and silent. Robert had left the flat.

Sighing, Liam stepped back into his jim-jams. “Fine, then, just abandon me to the chaos.” He picked up his own tea and looked around as he sipped. The tartan blanket was still there, dripping tea onto the floor. Robert’s half-empty mug was there. The bowl of water was there.

The ducks, however? Those silly wee rubber duckies that had turned Robert into goo?

The ducks were gone.