Open Wounds by Douglas Skelton sampler

8 douglas skelton
with her empty pram, the constant monologue that only she
understood, and the pink carpet slippers on her feet. They had
once been fluffy but were now worn through; they were coming
apart at the seams and her toes poked out from the front, but she
scuffed along the pavement, talking to the empty pram and not
noticing anything that was going on around her.
Until she saw the man in the car.
Approaching from the rear, first she saw a dog sitting up in the
back seat, but as she drew level she noticed the two men inside.
The driver was young; a baseball cap perched on top of his head,
his scalp cropped to the wood at the sides, the first wisps of a
moustache tickling his upper lip and a fag dangling from the side
of his mouth, jerking up and down as he spoke.
But it was the other one who caught Jinty’s attention. He was
nearing forty, his dark hair greying at the sides and also cut short,
but not cropped. His face handsome, but not like a pretty boy. A
thin scar ran down one cheek. And his eyes were blue like the sky,
but sad and cold. Jinty knew this man, knew what he was. And as
he turned those cold, sad blue eyes on her, she felt the air chill and
she was afraid. So she pushed her pram faster to get by, to get
away from that man, that car and that street. She wanted no part
of what was going to happen here.
The man saw her scurry past as fast as her footwear would
allow, then dart a look at him through the windscreen before
ducking down to reassure her non-existent child. He knew she’d
recognised him, feared him, but he was used to that. It was nothing
unusual.
The windows of the blue Rover were cranked open all the way
to prevent the interior turning into a furnace, but it was an exercise
in futility. He fanned himself with a copy of The Sun while beside
him, the boy talked. There was nothing unusual in that either. Like
many a Glasgow ned, Jimsie was garrulous. The man didn’t mind
the chatter. It reminded him of old friends, long gone.
‘I was watching this programme the other night on the telly, a
documentary. I watch a lot of documentaries, me. They’re a lot
better than most of the other shite that’s on, eh, McCall?’