It was me that found Duggie Watts first, with his guts leaking out across the cobbled close like hot strawberry jam over the crusty top of Gran’s rice pudding.
‘Aw, shite,’ I said out loud and I was amazed how grown up I sounded, just like Dad. Then I turned and went back along the close, and up the stair into Mrs Gammie’s dance studio where the piano was plonking and Rose and her wee friends were jinking up and down pretending to be fairies, despite their muckle elephant feet. Mum gave me a skelp for not bringing back the milk she’d sent me out to buy, but when she tried to send me back out again I just shook my head.
I never told anyone I’d found Duggie first. I never told anyone anything much after that. ‘Aw, shite,’ was the last important thing I said for twelve years, which would have been dead embarrassing, except nobody heard me.
So when they found Colin Bates dead in London I kent exactly what he looked like, even though they didn’t show that on the telly, just a dark mark on the floor where the sofa had been.
They'd bashed his head in and his brain had leaked out of his skull like grey stew from a bread bowl.
Somewhere, Rose and her friends were probably still dancing like elephants in a studio with pipes that leaked like . . .
I stopped typing and looked back at the first paragraph. The strawberry jam and rice pudding line. Yeah, that was the one. No improving on that! I deleted the rest and sent that line on in to Evil Editor's Bad Analogy exercise.
Opening: McKoala.....Continuation: whoever