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Skunky forces like a Pirates of the Caribbeanlaugh. ‘Missus still thinks he’s got a job.’ He says in a stagey whisper. ‘When’s she after arriving with the bairns?’ He shouts at Paoul.
‘Bairns?’
‘Kiddies. Missus. When they come Scotland?’
‘Next week. What I can do?’ He looks up at me, his face torn with worry.
‘Can’t you, like, say you need time to find a bigger place?’ I feel I have to come up with something.
‘Missus, she buy ticket. Bringing children also.’
‘Dinnae greet now, mannie.’ Skunky throws his arms open. ‘Something will turn up, never you bother.’
‘Bollocks!’ Aiden with the stick mutters, stares at me with blank green eyes. His head all small and lumpy under close-clipped mousey hair.
‘Well, I suppose it’s always worth hoping.’ Fuck knows, I’ll say literally anything, however dumb.
Aiden gobs into the fire and keeps his eyes fixed on me. Paoul goes back to his letter. The guy from Sudan sits on his oil-can carving a stick with an old kitchen knife and seeming to notice nothing.
‘Dinnae mind Aiden. Here, help you chill out.’ Skunky winks as he hands me his bottle. I take a swig and he’s right – I feel like I need it.
‘Aiden’s one of those life don’t go straight for.’ Skunky waves me to take more. This time it goes to my head like I’m about twelve. ‘Left home at fourteen, in’t it, Aid? Trouble with the polis? Served a stretch…?’
‘Shut the fuck up, Skunk. Like you’re so clever landing up here?’ Aiden’s still staring at me. It’s beginning to spook me.
‘Aye, we’re none of us too clever,’ Skunky turns wistful. ‘Mustafa here no’ speaks a word. But he’ll have seen a thing or two on his travels. Cannier than all the rest of us.’
I glance at Mustafa, wood shavings falling from his ripped combats onto cracked feet, his skin dusty grey, the only colour in his African skull cap. He shows no sign of knowing he’s being talked about.
‘So, what about you, Gethin?’ Spunky continues. ‘With your no spare clothes and twenty-odd quid. Bolted in a hurry is it?’
‘Oh,’ I say, weak as fuck. ‘Mainly I needed to get away from my mum.’
‘Kicked you out, has she? New fella is it?’
Immediately I feel bad dissing Mum. As if she would ever kick me out.
‘No, my mum wouldn’t…?’ Rub my eyes against the smoke, an excuse to avoid their looks.
‘So, go on, what’s the crack with your ma, laddie?’ Skunky leans forward to force eye contact.
‘Well, she’s been a bit pushy – you know how parents can be?’ I give them a what-can-I-do smile.
Aiden looks blank and Skunky raises a massively hairy eyebrow.
‘Where’s your da, then, son?’
‘Well,’ I start, not sure how much to tell. ‘I’ve never actually met him, but he lives in Lochgillan.’
‘So, you’re away to find your long-lost daddy? Fair warms the cockles, eh, Aiden?’
Aiden spits into the fire. Gives me another look. ‘How are you at building shelters?’
‘Shelters? Yeah. My mum took me and my friend on a bush-craft thing once. We learnt to make shelters out of branches and twigs. Did a bit of that shit for Duke of Edinburgh too, know what I mean?’
I’m babbling crap and it serves me right when Aiden says, ‘Let’s see you get building, then?’
I wander around looking for a couple of sturdy branches. There are some longish pieces on the pile where the dreadlocked bloke’s still chopping. But I’m guessing I need to find my own. I walk further into the woods, passing scruffy tents and couple of shelters made from tarpaulin, crates, scraps of corrugated iron and wooden pallets. There’s a strip of carpet outside one of them and a stripy sun lounger.
