Night Call
Tags: Short Story, Scotland, Flash Fiction, Glasgow

It was late at night and I was having a smoke and listening to some records. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I picked it up and answered anyway. My flatmate was at his girlfriend’s and I hadn’t spoken to anybody since I had finished work.

Hello? I said.

Right you, ya wee fucking wideo. You owe me fucking money.

I didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded very aggressive.

Who is this? I asked. I tapped my cigarette ash into the empty mug I was holding and looked out my living room window. I was three floors up. The street was quiet outside. I reckoned most people were sleeping, ready for work the next morning. The pubs were all shut. It looked like it was wanting to snow.

You fucking know who this is, the voice said. I want my five hundred quid by tomorrow morning, or I am sending folk round to your door. I know where you live, cunt.

I tried to think of who it could be. Nobody I was pals with anyway. I wondered if I was being pranked, but the voice sounded too angry. I didn’t owe anybody money. If I was skint, I just stayed in. I never bought anything on tic.

I’m not being funny, but I don’t think I do owe you money, mate, I said. I’m sorry.

Are you getting lippy with me, ya wee prick. I’ll come round there right now and I’ll fu —

I hung up on him. What the hell was all that about? I thought to myself. My record needed changing and I went and made myself a cup of tea. I thought about chaining the front door but decided against it. The security door downstairs was pretty sturdy.

When I went back through to the living room, I had five missed calls and two text messages. I took a gulp of tea and answered.

Hello? I said.

O, so you’ve fucking answered, ya cheeky wee cunt.

Listen, I said. I think you’ve got the wrong number.

There was a pause.

Who is this? The voice asked.

Stephen, I said.

Stephen who? It said.

Stephen MacDonald from Milkwood, I said.

There was another pause.

Did you used to go to St Bride’s? It asked.

Aye, I said. I took another drink of tea. Yes.

Fucking hell, Stephen, the voice said. It’s me. Gregor.

Gregor who? I asked.

Gregor McGill, it said.

Nicole’s brother? I asked.

Aye, the voice said. The very same. It laughed. Stevie, I’m so sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number. I thought you were some wee dick who owes me money.

That’s alright, Gregor, I said.

Stevie MacDonald, Gregor said. Fuck me. How are you getting on? Long time no see, he said.

Or speak, rather, I replied.

Haha, aye, he said. Or speak, aye!

I’m alright, Greg, I said. I took another drink of tea. Same old shite, I suppose. You know how it is.

I do, Gregor said. I fucking do, Stevie.

How’s your sister keeping? I asked.

Good, Gregor said. She’s teaching now, if you can believe it. Religious Education.

I’d heard, I said.

She loves it, Stevie. She wants to be a guidance teacher next year, Gregor said.

That’s great, I replied. Good for her.

It is, aye, Gregor said. She’s working hard.

Is she still going out with that guy Scott? I asked.

She is, Stevie, yeah, Gregor said. He’s a wanker, he said.

He is, aye, I laughed. He really is.

What about yourself, Stevie, Greg asked. Any birds on the go?

Me? I said. Nah, no for a while. I’m no bothered, really.

There was a pause.

Aye, well, Greg said. We always liked you, Stevie. We really did.

I stubbed my cigarette out. I couldn’t be arsed with it.

Thank you very much, I said. I still have your Gran on Facebook.

Greg laughed. She’s a fucking nightmare, he said.

Are you still at Argos? I asked.

Naw, Greg said. Currys noo. Back shifts, mostly.

That’s good, I said.

Aye, Greg agreed. Less people; less pish. I don’t mind it.

And punting too, obviously.

Aye, he said. He sounded a bit embarrassed. It’s more hassle than it’s worth, to be honest.

I can imagine, I said.

It’s mostly just admin. Admin and dealing with customers, he said. The same as any other services-based industry, I suppose. It’s exhausting.

I’d turned my flatmate’s TV on and scrolled through the TV Guide.

Anyways, Gregor said. I’ll be off. I’ve people I should be speaking to.

Aye, no bother, I said.

Unless you’re wanting anything? He asked.

What, I said. Me? Gear? It’s no really my thing, Greg. Thanks anyways, tho.

Hash an aw, he said. Good stuff. I’ll do you a discount.

I thought about the chilled-out hippy I bought grass from and decided I didn’t want to do him out of business. He was a nice guy.

You’re alright, I said.

No bother, he said. Same goes for Currys too. 10% off for friends and family. Worth using if you need it. Just give me a call and I’ll sort you out.

That’s really good of you, Greg, I said. Thank you, I will.

No bother, Stevie, he said. No bother at all.

I hope you find this wee guy you’re looking for, I said.

Aye, I will, he said. It’s a small town. Anyways, he sighed. Cheerio!

Cheerio, mate, I said, and he hung up.

I went through to the kitchen and made some cheese on toast. I’d no mayonnaise, so I just used tabasco sauce. It was nice, but it gave me heartburn.