Shuggie Bain

by Douglas Stuart

He prayed for strength. Why did no one want a whole chicken any more?

It had been a long time since he felt thawed all the way through, all of him warm at the exact same time.

“That’s nice of ye to say,” replied Nan with a thin smile. “Why don’t ye shove yer arms up yer arse and gie yer insides a big hug from me.”

Shug had the talent to sell it to you like it was the thing you wanted the worst. He had the Glasgow patter.

She had loved him, and he had needed to break her completely to leave her for good. Agnes Bain was too rare a thing to let someone else love. It wouldn’t do to leave pieces of her for another man to collect and repair later.

“He’s no the reason you’re headed down the plughole, is he?” Agnes didn’t answer. He began to howl meanly: “Ah-ha, ya daft eejit. Doin’ yersel in for a man.”

“Do ye know what to do, if ye really want to get yer own back?” He paused. So like a man, she thought, to have an opinion on everything. “What?” “It’s quite easy. Ye should just get the fuck on with it.” He slapped his hands and threw them open in a wide tah-dah gesture. “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.”

The woman was unperturbed. “Well, ah should be oot there havin’ a guid laugh. No dancin’ the fanny fandango for a funny wee fella lit you.”