Glasgow, December 2019
Ah wis staundin ootside the Blythswood Square Hotel of all places, hauvin a cheeky fag and mindin mah ain business, waitin fur the lads tae saunter o'er an’ get this waddin done wi. Spoilin’ the silence, Big Magz hookies up, sparkin a Mayfair Super King and keekin up at the dreich sky.
'It’s no gonnae be a white waddin then, is it?' She says.
'Nah, he’s aff it.'
'Whit?'
'Whit?'
'Are you bein wide?' She glowers at me like ave tried to nick her battered sausage.
'Eh…' Ah says, always feart tae get a doin’ aff Big Magz. Yeh ne’er really ken how much she ken’s. 'Oh, there’s the troops noo.' It wisnae Hampden Cars but the Almichty, sendin his angels in a Skoda tae save ma bahookie.
'Oi oi oi!' Baldy Steve says as he stammies oot the motor. Paul an’ Johnnie in the backseat are jaked an aw’. Wouldnae hauv expectit anything less fae they lot than a roll an’ Bucky fur thir breakfast.
Steve bolts up the stair and rubs his haunds taegither against the batlic weather, pauchlin a squatch inside as his puss turns.
'Jesus, she's a bit orange, int she?'
'That's Gordon’s sister,' Magz says tae him, no turnin’ around.
'Guid thing were no hauvin this waddin in a chapel, ay? She’d need permission fae the polis tae march aroond looking like tha’.'
Big Magz taps her fag aff, no impressed wi any of these wallopers. Ah dinny blame her, tae be honest.
'Way-hay!' Paul shouts tae hauf the toon as the motor speeds aff. 'Budapest, man! Buda-fu… Oh hiya Magz, ah didny see you there.'
'I’ll didny see you! Yeh haverin bampot. Mah Gordon came back fae that trip wi bloody pneumonia. I telt youse boys tae keep him fae makin an erse ae hisel.'
'It wiz minus ten, Magz,' Paul says. As if we all didny stoat aboot Buda, Pest an every scheme in between wi nae jaekets in sight.
'Aye it wis awfy cauld there,' Steve says, 'An anyway Magz he prolly just haud the clap.'
'Youse are a right bunch ae reprobates,' Magz says, flickin the end of her fag intae the foggy yonder. 'Apart fae you, Johnnie, you're the guid wan.'
'It’s funny,' Johnnie says, strikin a riddy, 'Ah only met Gordon at his first waddin.' He keeks at me, as if it wis ma fault.
'That wis tae Fraser, aye?' Paul asks. 'Wis way before ma time.'
'Aye,' ah says, 'A guid few year ago noo. They done it the day aefter wee Nicola brought it in.'
'Oor Gordon’s a right lad’s lad, int he?' Steve says, howfin oan his vape. 'Twa waddin’s an ahm still waitin oan ma first winch!'
'Is ye, aye?' Magz says, smilin fur once in her life like the mither of the bride should. 'Fraser wisnae his first waddin.' She sparks anither Super King while Steve’s face droops.
'Yer aff yer heid.'
'Ah’m certainly no, sunshine.'
Steve sees me grinnin and glowers fur an answer. Whit wi me bein the high heedjin on aw hings Gordon related.
'Aye, it’s true,' ah says. 'Back in 2008, mibbe 2009. He’d met some American boy who’d come o’er tae the Uni. Some mad architect. They got merrit at City Hall in that New York, so's they did.'
'Aye, it wis magic,' Magz agrees, sookin oan her fag. Ah don’t hink she ever forgave Gordon fur dumpin a minted yank.
'It wis quality, aye,' ah says tae the lad’s soor coupon’s. 'A whole gang ae us flew over. The troops cuttin’ aboot Times Square wi bottles ae Mad Dug. Mind Magz, we found that wee shop wi Irn Bru and Tunnocks Tea Cakes? Bought the lad oot ae aw his stock.'
'Mental. When did he get divorced?' Johnnie asks.
'Eh…' Ah keek at Magz who shrugs. 'Ah dunno, tae no tell ye a lie.'
'Aye,' she says. 'So mind yer gubs in case the registrar overhears.' She flicks her fag forrit. 'Right boys, Magz is gaspin fur a bevy. Ah’m no gonnae sit through anither hoofter waddin wiout bein blootered.'
Only Johnnie’s shocked. Unfamiliar wi the ways o’ Big Magz.
'I’ll take you in, doll.' Steve grabs her arm and they daunder inside. 'Ahm only here fur the stovies anywhoo.'
Johnnie stays oot wi me, footerin wi his tie aw nervous like he’s aboot tae ask fur a massive tap.
'Whit ye been uptae?' Ah says.
'Hee haw. How’s the gaff?'
'Same as it wis when ye went an done a sly flittin when ah wis at ma work.'
'Aw rite Harry, calm doon, am only askin.'
'An am only tellin.' Ah spark up anither fag fur wantae sumfin else tae say. 'Hink you an Andy will be next?'
'Me an Andy gettin merrit? You're aff yer heid. Ma da dusnae even hauv a scooby aboot him, fur wan hing.'
'Your da?' Ah says, no understaundin. 'But ah ken yer da. Me an yer da wir pals.'
'Aye, but he dusnae ken Andy’s a big ragin’ tim.'
'Ah.'
'Naw, if we ever dae sumfin it wilnae be aw this palava. Doon tae Gretna fur the day and pick up a munchy box oan the way hame.'
'Thank God you telt me tae sling ma hook, Johnnie.'
'Aye, ah mind you’re too guid fur a munchy box, you are. Or at least ye hink so. 'Funny,' Johnnie says, as if we wis staundin in the steamie an no freezin oor diddies aff. 'Ye stert tae hink her sumfin after comin oot. Bein yersel an aw, but then folk like Gordon pop up an show yeh you’ve been dain it wrang the whole time.'
'Aye, wir no as fandabby as we hink whit wi Gordon scadgin a third wan.'
'An bein a bigamist, mare like.'
'Or a trigamist.'
'That’s oor Gordon.'