Cracking Up

By David Coffield

I didn't meet Katie until November; three weeks after. I didn't even mean to meet her. It was the diary. She'd left it in her car, the one I nicked after jemmying her stuff out the swimming pool locker - the car keys were the icing on the cake - loads of goodies and a free ride home.

I'd watched the pool for a few weeks, sitting on the embankment by the car park. A mile from sunny Pilton, and on a nice day, a nice wee walk. Then a wee seat on the grass, a wee read of the Record, a fag, a can, and a wee suss of potential victims going into the centre. I should probably tell you, because I'm always sussing things and my surname is Sussman, I'm called "Suss", have been since primary. My ma always said I could've got a PhD if it hadn't been for ma da - but that's another story. Anyway.

So this woman came to the pool on Tuesdays and Thursday, regular as clockwork. She'd three weans in tow, two boys and a girl, 5 and-unders. Looked a toff, Racing Green Discovery (new); the proverbial yummy mummy - reminded me of Nigella, on the cookery, on the box. Had a temper on her - always checking the kids. Shouting in a BBC accent. Never hit them, always yanking them into line.

I waited until they went in, gave them ten to get in the water. I bought a ticket and went into the changing rooms. No CCTV in there, not allowed; would be a bit pervy anyway, ha ha, ya beauty. Everyone was in the pool, just me and the lockers. The 50p locks broke real easy. I only did two, one turned out to be Katie's, and the bag was full. I don't sift - no time - swag and bag, "disguise" (my nephew's plastic glasses, nose and moustache), leg it. Only this time a plip key ring fell out. I plipped it. The Discovery flashed three times. Ho ho. A squeaky leather arsed ride home. Just as well mind, it was pishing down by then. And, normally, that would be the end of it. The cops would never find me, I'd fence the takings, fetch a snort, relax and drop out. Rinse and repeat, Suss - the proverbial human shampoo.

A few weeks later I decided to rake through the diary. Jojo (the missus) was giving Britney, Jordan and Billie ear ache for making a mess, me for being a wanker/loser/arsehole (delete as applicable), and, well… gie's peace. Kenny came round to see if I wanted to head down the gasometer for a sniff but I said naw. I read the diary from end to end. Naw, I studied the diary. Nigella was Katie. Her husband was Fergus, a lawyer. Her weans were Ben, Sam and Olly. Nigella's surname was Leask and they lived in Fairmilehead. I knew the street; me and Kenny had done some painting there. New houses. More like Tracy Island than houses. And then there was Netha who seemed to come from Iceland and was always looking after the weans. The nanny then. (Kenny reckoned it rhymed with nanny anyway).

And here's me, sunny Pilton, council penthouse with vestibule, debt up to ma ba's, three weans, a mad wife, and the life of a bottle of shampoo.

The diary grew more fraught. Nigella was stressed. The weans were on top of her, her social life had dived, Fergus was never there (unless Netha was), and she'd given up her career for all this. I pondered giving up my career but, no, I couldn't give up all this.

Jojo was ranting. I slammed the door, went out and decided to dial Nigella on the moby. Well, her moby.

"Hello? Katie Leask speaking"

I said nothing, I mean how do you say hello, I nicked all your stuff the other week? She repeated.

"Hello, Katie Leask, who's there?"

"Eh, hello. Ye don't know me, but eh, ah fun' yer diary."

"My diary?"

"Aye, it wis, eh, lyin' in the street, ah read the first few pages… goat yer name and address. Ah'm happy tae meet up and gie ye it… diaries is important things… personal an' that…"

"Eh, oh, I, well, it was stolen. Actually a lot more than that was stolen."

"Awfy. Cannae trust onywan these days, ken?"

"Very true. The police found the car in Pilton but we lost all the clothes and the electronics… Mobile. Blackberry. DS Lite. You know the gadgets."

"Oh, aye, the gadgets. Ah cannae live without them. Ah need ma gadgets. Onyweys, dae ye wanna meet up and ah'll gie ye yer diary back?"

"Ehm, yes, why not? Where suits? Do you know Grape in George Street?"

Grape? Jesus. "Aye, ah dae. Grape it is."

"How will I know you?"

"Aw, ah'll know you. No worries. Ah've a nose for such things".

When I went back to the flat the doorbell rang. Aw jeez, the cops. First time for everything.

"Mr Sussman? I'm DI Pilato and this is PC Lane. You made a call earlier on a stolen mobile. May we have a word?"

I won't bore you with this bit. But I said I found it and they couldn't prove anything. There were no prints in the car or anything to huckle me. Besides, I've watched five series of "CSI: Miami"; H would be proud - only his sunglasses don't have a plastic nose and moustache.

I went to Grape the next night. Wasn't sure whether she'd be there or not. She'd obviously reported me but then I'd got off so "wisnae me". But, sure enough, over in the corner supping a wine, there she was. Nigella in her LBD. I stared in the window and she caught me. I waved her diary. She waved back and I did one of those "I'll come in" hand signals. She nodded. I went in.

I was a bit taken aback with her close up. She was pretty stunning. The real Nigella would've been short changed, though the sparkly skin glitter would've wrecked her frisky squid and chips.

"Hello, ah'm, eh, Davie Sussman… Suss… or Davie…"

"Katie… you called me from my mobile…?"

"Aye, an' the polis came round…! But ah fun' it wi' yer diary so… wisnae me. Anyway. Wan diary. Still in good nick."

"Thanks. And the phone?"

"Oh, eh, aye, here ye go…" Damn. Practically an i Phone.

"Thanks. Would you like a drink Davie?"

"Aye, sure, call me Suss."

I felt like I was on a first date. What on earth was going on here? Anyway, I had a drink. We had several drinks. And got talking. She was well bored with her life. Apparently I was a good listener; actually I sat in stunned silence. If I'd all that gear, I wouldn't be bored! Jeez, no. But she was. It got to the point where I wasn't sure who was feeling sorry for who. Or whom. She thanked me and got up to go.

"Well, if ye're bored some night, gie's a shout, ah'll show ye how the other half live…!" What a line! Did I just say that?

"Might take you up on that." Aye, right.

But she did. A few nights later she taxied over to Pilton, we met up on a street corner, and went for a walk. Kenny and Bazza screeched to a halt in a new Beemer.

"Youse waantin' a lift?" Bazza cackled. God, they're joyriding. The car'll be from Blackhall or something.

"Ah don't…"

"Yes, that would be lovely", says Ni… Katie.

"Sound. Get in."

"Is this yours?" she asks Kenny, "It's lovely."

"Aye, doll, this is ma Tuesday car…" He laughed. We ker-dunked over the speed bumps at 80 and headed out to Lauriston Farm, parked at the seafront. Kenny got out a different kind of speed.

"Ye wantin' a go, pet?" I glared at Kenny but she replied "Yes, I've never tried that, I usually… used to… stick to coke at dinner parties…"
Bazza hooted, "Aye an' we usually stick tae Irn-Bru wi' pies…!"

Within an hour we were higher than a Peter Powell stunt kite and resumed the joyriding. We hit the bypass and dropped Katie off at the Dreghorn. She could walk from there. I thought that would be that. But no, we met up again, this time up Calton Hill. We sat on the National Monument, legs swinging over the edge like a couple of school kids. I'd had a fight with Jojo, stormed off, so this time Katie sat and listened to me. Then she butt in.

"It was you that stole our stuff wasn't it?"

That took me aback at bit. But there was no need to lie now.

"Aye. Ah'm sorry. Ah've never done this before."

"Stolen stuff?"

"Naw, gone out with the vic. It's a weird one."

"What did you do with the stuff?"

"Fenced. Kept the Nintendo though. Britney's got it. We need the money for the weans… and Jojo's habit."

"What habit?"

"Smack. Cannae get her aff it. Ah'm no a junkie like, ah just take the odd… now and then, but Jojo…"

"Can you get me some?"

I looked at her blankly. I didn't expect this. A snog… or maybe more, as the mags always put it, but no this.

"Are ye sure? Ah mean aye ah kin, but are ye sure?"

"Yes. I've always wanted to try it. Just once."

Just once. I took some of Jojo's and got some spare kit. At first, Katie did OK, high and low, normal. I pointed her at the dealer boy - cut out the middleman. We met up a few more times, each time she looked a bit more drawn, calmer somehow, but we talked and talked and talked. It struck me that if I'd met someone like her and she'd met someone like me we'd have wound up the ideal middle class family; met in the middle, evened each other out. And then she dropped out. Wouldn't answer calls. I even wrote once.

I went back to shampoo-mode; a regular Tim O'Tay. Jojo was getting rehab via the GP. She was doing well. Me and Kenny went back to the painting; we stuck City and Guilds on the van - though that bit was bollocks. Bazza bought a taxi. Bazza! The kids went to school and seemed to survive, thrive even. The debts cleared. We weren't that well off but we were breaking even and, although the odd plate still flew, this was good, this was normal, this was O.K.

"Are you taking them or am ah?" Jojo shouted from the kitchen.

"Ah'll go. Ladies! Cozzies! Ootside in TWO minutes!"

Me, Britney, Jordan and Billie piled into the van and headed to Ainslie Park and into the pool - a Family Day Ticket. Ten minutes later Billie piped up.

"Da, ah'm needin' the toilet"

"Well, pee in the water like everyone else" Britney added helpfully.
"DON'T", I shouted, "'mon wi' me, petal…"

I lifted Billie out the water and we padded round the side of the pool towards the changing areas and toilets. Billie raced ahead but stopped smartly at the end of one of the locker rows. I caught up with her and looked at what she was looking at. A haggard, dirtily clothed, woman with a crow bar stood facing a locker. She looked half-round and right at us, started to sob uncontrollably, and fell to her knees in front of the locker - she couldn't do it. I walked over and kneeled down beside her; Billie stayed put. I took the jemmy out her hand and put it onto the floor. Lifting her face by her chin I looked at her and she gazed back, face wet with tears like a newspaper in the rain. She looked at Billie and smiled, then back at me.

"Hello Suss".

THE END