Shuggie Bain

by Douglas Stuart

Shug had seen it before, those with least to give always gave the most.

He was tired, he had been tired for a long time now. All he wanted was a rest.

“Get on wi’ yer fuckin’ life. Have a great life. Ah promise that nothing would piss the pig-faced baldy bastard off more. Guar-rant-teed.”

He felt something was wrong. Something inside him felt put together incorrectly. It was like they could all see it, but he was the only one who could not say what it was. It was just different, and so it was just wrong.

He reminded her of the colour of sausage casing, except it was less of a colour, more of a watery tint that has been spread too thin.

Whatever it takes Agnes, keep going, even if it’s not for you, even if it’s just for them. Keep going. That’s what mammies do.”

She was no use at maths homework, and some days you could starve rather than get a hot meal from her, but Shuggie looked at her now and understood this was where she excelled. Everyday with the make-up on and her hair done, she climbed out of her grave and held her head high. When she had disgraced herself with drink, she got up the next day, put on her best coat, and faced the world. When her belly was empty and her weans were hungry, she did her hair and let the world think otherwise.

It was hard at first to start moving again, to feel the music, to go to that other place in your head where you keep your confidence.

“It’s too much, Mammy. I can’t be the one to save everybody all the time.”

“Don’t make the same mistake as me. She’s never going to get better. When the time is right you have to leave. The only thing you can save is yourself.”

That’s her away. It was what you said when you disposed of something.