HAIRY BABY

by
Iain Bahlaj

1

In tanning room 2 of McSun�s, the bed buzzes to live. Jacky, in Hawaiian shirt, white chinos, the Frank McAvennie highlights, chews his chewing gum like Dempsey from Dempsey and Makepeace and tries to look at this beautiful sixteen year-olds� sixteen year-old tits without her noticing; and all the while pretending that he isn�t aware of her �well, aren�t you leaving?� expression.

It�s hard to multi-task, and she catches him. A drop of red paint splashes onto the white of her cheek and turns it pink. Jacky�s brain gropes for the next sentence, the one that�ll make this whole situation slip back gently onto the track to -

�Jacky!�

It�s Moira; she�s the fortysomething owner of this place, probably once a butterfly, she�s crawled back into her crusty brown chrysalis.

�What?�

Moira is excited; �It�s the phone!�

�What?� Jacky wonders what the big deal is - for a second.

He runs out of the tanning room, out of McSun�s, his leather slip-ons clip-clopping all the way . . .

Duran Duran on the radio; Jacky taps along. He doesn�t know whether he�s nervous or pretending to be nervous because that�s what�s expected of him. As usual his mind wanders. He�d better watch; the white wing on his red Capri is a reminder that sometimes it�s better to focus on driving.

At Forth Park he wanders into reception and asks for directions to Ward 3.

They�re waiting for him, her family, flanking the bed.

Claire�s sitting with the baby, pink dummy in the infant�s mouth.

Jacky walks over, chewing.

�Aw, here�s daddy,� � Jean, his mother-in-law coos.

�Congratulations, son,� Tommy, his-mother-in-law�s boyfriend grunts.

Jacky walks through the parting crowd to Claire�s side. He leans over and kisses her on the cheek and they look down at their daughter. Jacky still doesn�t know whether this is actual excitement and love, or if it�s an act he�s putting on.

Whatever; he kisses his daughter.

�Well, come on then, what�re you callin it?�

Claire looks at Jacky, then at her mum.

�Chloe,� Jacky says, mock-proudly.

Married life for a young man: Jacky, just in from work (the pub he goes to after work), is kneeling on the floor. Chloe�s on the changing mat, naked, kicking her legs about, looking cute. She must�ve just had her nappy changing � Claire finds out if she needs it by picking her up and sniffing her arse; Jacky finds that hilarious every time.

Jacky leans over her, looking down into her bewildered little eyes.

�You awright doll?�

He doesn�t do the baby talk stuff.

Chloe doesn�t answer, just keeps kicking.

�Lookin awfy white there doll, you want a one-hour session at McSun�s?�

Chloe starts trying to grab Jacky�s necklace.

�You want Daddy�s necklace? You want your dad�s chain?�

�You want to give her it?�

Jacky looks up at Claire in the doorway.

�What, the chain, will she no choke on it?�

Claire grins; �No, ya div, the bottle.�

She�s holding the bottle in a pot of boiling water. Jacky�s too busy looking at her stomach to notice. She�s had trouble losing the weight; maybe she never will. She might one of those fat women down at weightwatchers in the centre, moaning about their metabolism � her mum, in other words.

�Nah, maybe you�d better.�

�You want to get her dressed then?�

�Suppose so.�

Jacky puts his hands underneath Chloe, feels the soft baby flesh, just the hint of bone underneath, and something else . . . a familiar sensation . . . his fingers remember it, his fingers know, they felt it this morning . . .

- He sits Chloe on his knee and reaches for the romper suit -

. . . when he was shaving.

Fatherhood: shopping in Fine Fayre for baby food, dummies, nappies, and stuff he�s never heard of before called Gripe Water. Jacky asks for assistance three times before he finally makes his way to the checkouts, where that girl from Tanning Salon 2, the young shy one, is sitting, looking bored, a queue of three customers. There�s other checkouts empty but Jacky makes his way to hers.

He eyes her name badge. Her name is Sharon.

Her eyes meet his as she�s serving some old woman; she gives him a sweet shy smile, and Jacky knows by that smile that Sharon has no idea how she looks. She would�ve been plain once, an ugly duckling covered in acne, greasy skin. They tend to change after puberty; Sharon can�t be more than seventeen right now.

Once she�s aware she might turn into a right stuck-up bitch.

Girls like that need catching before they even realise they�re swans.

�Hiya!� Sharon says. �You�re the guy fae McSun�s ay?�

Jacky chews out the words; �Aye, that�s me. You can call me Jacky though.�

More fatherhood later: bath time. Jacky�s keeping an eye on Chloe while Claire finishes off the ironing downstairs. She�s getting bigger, Jacky notices. Claire says she doesn�t think she is but Jacky notices it more because he sees her less � that�s his theory anyway.

She seems to enjoy the baths though, splashing about, kicking her legs, soaking the grouting.

Claire shouts that she�s got the fire on downstairs, that he should bring Chloe down.

Jacky leans into the bath and lifts his daughter; and there it is.

A feeling of disgust starts to simmer in his stomach, mixing with the after-work pints.

Jacky investigates; he turns Chloe round.

And there it is, on her back, just below her right shoulder blade would be if she weren�t so chubby. It�s matted down, darkened by the water, black, as horrible as the stain on Gorbachev�s head.

Jacky shivers, wraps the towel round Chloe, making sure not to brush it with his hand as he does so. Then it�s downstairs, fast, to hand her to Claire.

�What? Nah, there�s nothing there. Why, what did you think you saw?�

Jacky�s on the couch. Is he dreaming, how pissed is he?

Claire�s fingers rub the hair, weave through it, as she puts Chloe back on her back.

Sickness, heat. It feels like the Sahara in there with that fire burning.

�She�s just a beautiful wee lassie, that�s all. Ih, my beautiful wee lassie?�

Chloe makes a yelping sound.

�Aren�t you just, aren�t you just ma beautiful wee baby girl?�

Jacky has to get out of that living room.

He does.

�What if we get caught, they�ll kill me?�

�Nah, it happens aw the time, this. They take it for granted.�

�You�re jokin, in the . . . Kings? Ma uncle drinks her schometimes. Do you ken -�

Jacky shuts her up with his mouth, ramming his tongue past her lips, tasting the vodka and cokes he�s been buying her all night, reading the battling IRA and UVF graffiti on the wall above the cistern.

Sharon�s bleary eyes open for a second as Jacky�s right hand scurries up her thigh.

�It�s awright,� Jacky says, soothingly, his right hand sliding underneath her Fine Fayre top. �Everyhin�s awright.�

Chloe�s in the bath, her hair sculpted into one horn; Unicorn-esque, her mum thinks it�s cute. She�s playing with her My Little Pony, dipping it in and out of the water. She doesn�t know it�s a pony, or little, or hers, but she likes the movement of her arm, the splashing sound, and the colour pink disappearing underneath the white bubble bath and then reappearing. It�s fascinating.

The shouts from downstairs are muffled; Chloe wouldn�t understand the words anyway. She moves onto her Barbie. She plunged her underneath the bubbles.

There�s a bang, the sound of the vase Chloe�s dad�s mum bought Chloe�s mum and dad as a wedding presents. More shouts, the type of words Chloe will repeat at school, the words that will land her facing a corner of the class.

Another bang: the iron, it leaves a dent in the wall.

More shouts.

Chloe looks at the My Little Pony in her right hand, then the Barbie in her left. She wonders if she can move them together.

She makes them kiss without knowing what a kiss is.

A quieter bang: the wedding photograph. The one where Claire looks like meringue and Jacky looks like a member of Bucks Fizz in a kilt. Shattered.

Chloe keeps playing to a soundtrack of footsteps, doors opening; a zip.

Then someone she recognises appears.

Jacky looks at his daughter, and the hairy patch. It�s thicker, wider, longer. He has to fight his natural urges just to lean over, ruffle the horn out of her hair, and give her a kiss on the cheek.

�Cheerio darlin.�

Chloe watches him leave then, realising its gone, starts to try and wonder where the Pony is.

2

At Beath Leisure Centre, Jacky�s at reception, his appearance staring back at him from the glass. In pool attendant�s uniform: ocean blue polo shirt, white trousers, with his hair only slightly receding, his slight bald patch invisible from this angle, he doesn�t look bad; he�s still got it. �Angels� is on the radio; Vicky, the new receptionist, is telling Jacky about her last bikini wax. Jacky had already noticed that Vicky waxed; during her last swim her bikini left little to Jacky�s keen imagination.

�You should totally let me do it,� Jacky says. �Quick, painless. I�ve got a Black and Decker Sander that�ll do the trick.�

Vicky laughs, those thick pink lips parting . .

. Kyle and Chelsea are toy-fighting behind their dad.

�You two quit it!� Jacky tells them, wishing that they�d find somewhere else to go. �Anyway, this waxin stuff, I�m thinking about it myself, like. I heard that it makes you look bigger.�

�Just stuff your socks into your trunks!� Vicky tells him, �or do you already do that?�

�Nah,� Jacky assures her, �that�s all real, one hundred per cent Scottish beef.�

Chelsea screams. Jacky turns round to see Kyle holding her by the hair.

They�re an embarrassment sometimes; Kyle has a spare tyre of flab hanging out from his t-shirt, Chelsea has a squint Jacky�s sure is getting worse - but when he tells Sharon she brushes it off, they�re perfect to her, her little angels.

�Hiy you two! Quit it or you can fuck off to Somerfield and wait on your mum there.�

Kyle gets off his sister.

�And pull your t-shirt down Kyle for Christ�s sake.�

He turns back to Vicky; �I hate it when she�s backshift. They�re needing to build a cr�che in there.�

�Does she work a lot of shifts like?� Vicky asks.

�Aye. It�s no too great, to tell you the truth. I feel like we�re drifting sometimes, hardly seeing each other and that.�

�That�s a shame. That�s what happened to my mum and dad, that was one of the reasons. That and the fact my dad had a girlfriend.�

Jacky laughs; Vicky doesn�t. He was sure it was meant to be funny, too.

�Well, as long as it works out in the end everything�s-�

He�s interrupted by the phone. Probably some fat old thing wondering when it�s ladies� night, so she can float like Shamu without any male eyes to perv on her.

�It�s for you Jacky.�

�What?�

�It�s somebody called Claire?�

�Claire?�

It�s like a ghost on the phone, some zombie Jacky thought he�d killed a while back, risen from the dead. An upset zombie, an angry one.

�I was just wonderin if you could come over and speak to Chloe.�

�I dunno,� Jacky says, �I�m at work, and I�ve got the bairns and that.�

�It�s pretty important Jacky, and I ken there�s two pool attendants down there I�m sure they could spare you for half an hour.�

�It�s against Health and Safet-�

�Fuck Health and Safety.�

�Why�s it important, what�s happened?�

�It�s Chloe.�

Chloe. Jacky hasn�t seen her in ten years, since her fourth birthday. Sharon sends birthday cards and tells Jacky if she�s bumped into her down the Mercat, but Jacky had no real interest in his first-born and Claire moving to Kirkcaldy with her new boyfriend provided him with a good excuse to stop making any effort. Nine miles is so far away . . .

�What�s wrong, like?� Jacky puts on his concerned voice.

�You come over here and I�ll tell you.�

The phone is slammed down.

Jacky turns round to see Kyle and Chelsea wrestling on the chairs.

�You couldnae do me favour could you?� he asks Vicky. �Keep an eye on they two for me?�

�Suppose so,� Vicky says. �What�s wrong though? You look like you�ve seen a ghost!�

�Just somebody . . . I need to see and that. I�ll try and be back in half an hour.�

It�s a nice house, semi-detached, in a private scheme, the kind of scheme you call Spam Valley. Her boyfriend�s supposed to be a teacher, and when he answers the door he looks the part; a right miserable prick, in Jacky�s opinion. He talks like a robot:

�Claire�s in the kitchen.�

�Cheers,� Jacky chirps back.

�She�s up the stairs,� Claire spits at him, �never left her room a week, willnae go to school. She took an overdose of paracetomol the other night and she�s only alive because she spewed them up.�

�Why did you no phone?�

�What, you?� Claire laughs a dead laugh. �Who else was I suppose to phone, what other strangers am I supposed to phone, ih? The only way I�ll phone you is if I get a job in fuckin callcentre, Jacky.�

�Well why did you phone the day then?� Jacky�s pleased with himself, he�s got her there.

�Because she wanted to talk to you. I dunno why, it was a shock to me too, but she wants to talk to her dad. And when she said that I was like, �who, Jacky� because it sounded that stupid.�

�Look, I never came here to listen to this. So if you want me to go, I�ll ��

�I never wanted you here in the first place, Chloe did, and since you�ve done sweet fuck-all for her since she was born I think maybe you�re due her a favour. Ih? It�s first on the left, by the way.�

Jacky�s looking at the family photos as he walks up the stairs: Claire, Robot, two boys around Kyle�s age, and Chloe, looking quite pretty, looking like Claire used to before the fat set in. Dark features, green eyes, she�s the best-looking person in the family, Jacky tells himself, proudly.

He knocks on a door decorated with the usual teenage stuff � that poster of road signs with new meanings, the KEEP OUT one.

�Who�s that?� the voice is tearful.

�It�s . . . your dad.� The words don�t sound right coming out.

�Come in then.�

The room�s in darkness.

Jacky fumbles for the light-switch and the room flashes into something approaching life � various posters of some guy with make-up like the guy out of the Cure, along with the singer that shot himself; CDs scattered everywhere, a diary on a computer desk.

�Put it � off.�

Chloe�s voice is doing that post-crying trick, the one with the short fractured breaths. Jacky looks at his daughter, sitting on the bed, only slightly chubby, with long jet-black hair, a pale face, and eyes that have gone totally Panda through a combination of tears and mascara.

�But it�s pitch-black . . .�

�I�ll put � the � lamp � on.�

Chloe reaches over and switches the lamp on. Jacky turns the big light off.

�Awright if I sit down?� He approaches the double bed.

�Aw � right.�

Jacky sits down.

�So . . . did your boyfriend split up with you, is that what this is?�

�I � dinnae � have � a � boyfriend.�

�I dunno why, then, you�re a braw lassie.�

Chloe snorts sarcastically.

�I�ve � got an idea � why,� she says. �Turn around.�

�What for?�

�Just turn around,� Chloe insists.

Jacky does what he�s told and turns round to face the door. He hears movement behind him, the bed creaking. To help fill up the silence he starts to speak:

�You�re a good-looking lassie, Chloe, you�ll get people jealous. You�ve got to mind that the stuff you put up with it�s . . . it�s like me at work, it�s -�

�Dad,� Chloe interrupts. Her breathing is almost back to normal now. �Could I ask you a question, and would you give an honest answer?�

�Totally,� Jacky says, �you�re still my daughter.�

�It�s something people at school have been saying about me, my mum says it isn�t true but she�s bound to say that. I thought you�d be more honest.�

�I will, I will.�

�I�m ready now. You can put the big light on.�

Jacky switches the big light on.

�Now turn round.�

Jacky turns round.

She�s sitting on the bed, but turned sideways, her eyes looking directly into Jacky�s, her expression filled with some emotion Jacky can�t name or describe or remember seeing before. She�s sitting like that with only a bra uptop and her back coated with a thick rug of hair that starts round her shoulders and stops only at the small of her back. It�s a man�s back, and on a man it would cause Jacky disquiet, but in these circumstances it causes his stomach to drop to his groin, spinning all the way; his arms to hang limply by his sides, the saliva in his mouth to curdle, his legs to lose all muscle.

�Dad, am I hairy?�

The way she says it signifies that it might be the second time, that Jacky might�ve ignored the first. So he has to say something now, he has to get his tongue working, to try and fight the slime and break the rigor mortis in his facial muscles, to say something . . .

Finally he manages.

�What?�

Chloe�s bottom lip starts to vibrate then curl, that face with the unknown emotion twists into pure anguish, the eyes narrow into slits and leak salt water.

�Dad � am � I � hairy?�

Jacky feels like those old-fashioned entertainer guys, the ones caught in the big spotlight, all the attention on them.

�. . . What?�

�At � school � they � say � my � back�s � hairy � they � call � me � werewolf � and � I � just -�

The last words are indecipherable; maybe �die� is in there.

�. . . What?�

Chloe is lying face-down on the bed, crying, duvet pulled up to hide her shame; Jacky is still standing in the same spot. For how long? He doesn�t know, but in a minute he�ll leave, go down the stairs, not bother talking to Claire. He�ll go out into the car and hope to forget everything, to forget the whole scene, the address, the names. He has to drive back to the leisure centre to pick up Kyle and Chelsea but he doesn�t want to do that, he realises, he wants to go somewhere else, somewhere away from all that. Hopefully by the time he makes it outside to the car he�ll have forgotten everything; and then he can think of that other place to go.

� Iain Bahlaj
Reproduced with permission

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