Scots terms
Bairns – children
Pal – friend
Hankie – slang term for tissue – the kind you wipe your nose with. I think Kleenex is the most well-known brand, but this can also be used to refer to the cotton ones that you wash and re-use.
Sweetie – Scottish term for sweets, but not always chocolate. Mostly the boiled sweets you get, or things like Rowantree’s fruit pastilles (probably another very British thing), or Haribo? It’s a very broad term. I wouldn’t use it to refer to chocolate though, only non-chocolate treats.
Telly (pronounced like Jelly but with a T at the beginning) – Television/TV
Script
Episode 24 – The Frog in your throat
I’ve been thinking a lot about lying recently. Not surprising since mine seem to be piling up around me like the antiques in the shop. We’re always taught, in school, by our parents, and family, that lying is wrong. But why does that only seem to apply to bairns? Everyone lies. Whether it’s to prevent someone’s feelings from getting hurt or to save your own skin. Why do we feel guilty though? Why do secrets and lies eat away at us, even if we have a reason for keeping them? Is it just me? I’d love to be one of those people who’s at peace with their lies, who doesn’t even have the smallest bit of guilt at not telling the truth, at keeping something to themselves. I’m not talking whate lies, the ones you utter to keep the peace, I’m talking about the big ones. The family secrets, the deathbed confessions, the body you buried in the back garden. Why do they become burdens? It’s like they have a mind of their own sometimes, caged birds desperate to get out.
Mine are not quite like that, not yet. They still nag at me more often than not. Always afraid I’ll get caught, thinking about what’ll happen if I do. Having to keep track so I don’t trip up over my own lies is a task I’m not that fond of. Nothing bad happened after I took that brooch from Marion, though. Which means I interfered with Fate, and nothing happened. Does that mean the Madam’s wrong? Is that possible? It doesn’t matter, I said I’d just do it the one time, just because it was my pal. I’m not going to do it again. That was it.
The usual lull had descended the shop, that time of relative peace before the havoc breaks in. And on cue, the bell above the door informed us of a customer. Chronos and I didn’t need to take bets on this one, it was obvious by the way he hesitated in the door, eyes darting around like a lizard after a fly. He was a special customer. I was about to make a bet with Chronos on how long it’d take him to plod over to the counter when his feet moved and he came over, unprompted. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me but glanced at Chronos as if he wanted to pet him. A part of me wanted him to try, just to see what the wee shite would do.
Instead, he rifled through his pockets, and after pulling out loose change, a scrunched up hankie, and an empty sweetie wrapper he planted the familiar business card on the table. Before he mustered up the courage to touch Chronos I told him to follow me up the stairs where the Madam was waiting in the front room.
The customer had the nice timing not to start spilling his guts until after I’d rushed in with the tea pot and cups. My boss asked him what she could help him with, and his answer was the last thing I’d been expecting. He’d been having blurred vision.
I’ve heard some weird reasons before, some I’ve even been adamant are more appropriate for a medical professional, but this definitely sounded like one of them. I took glances at him between pouring the tea. I say glances but it felt like I was just outright staring. It’d been a while where a customer’s problem had sounded so mundane.
My boss asked him when it’d started. He answered the day before, then corrected himself and said a week ago, a month ago. The more answers slipped from his mouth the quicker I gave up the pretence that I wasn’t staring. You know when you’re tired or just not really paying attention, and something comes out of your mouth during a conversation that you don’t know where it came from. You weren’t even thinking that, not consciously, yet there it is, an anomaly in an otherwise normal conversation.
The way the customer kept correcting his answer, the growing scowl of frustration as he enunciated each one, reminded me of that. Except, rather than it just happening once, like most people, every time he said something it was like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. His cheeks were beginning to flush, either with embarrassment or frustration, I couldn’t tell. The Madam held her hand up to stop him.
There was silence, his breathing laboured as if he’d sprinted up the stairs. Madam Norna let him calm down, but I could tell by the way her eyes surveyed the man on the sofa opposite that she was also using this time to think, to assess. I did the same, but I swear the woman can see things no one else can.
The customer couldn’t have been much older than me, maybe late twenties at the most. He was dressed casually, a jacket and jeans, mismatched socks, and shoes that looked like they’d seen better days a few years ago. He didn’t have any jewellery; no watch, smart or otherwise on his wrist, no ring on any of his fingers. He had the appearance of anyone you’d walk past in the street, smile awkwardly to when your eyes met as they sat opposite you on the train to work. His knee was bouncing up and down, erratically, quickly, like someone waiting for a job interview or bad news. His hand rested on his knee, but he was picking at a patch of his jeans that was scuffed, trying to turn it into a tear. His eyes were closed, but when they’d been open, he’d never looked at either me or the Madam. The teacups were more interesting than us, but his hadn’t been touched.
After a few more moments of silence the Madam asked, in her softest, calmest voice, if he was currently sitting in a living room. At first, I thought whatever was wrong with him had infected her as well. That’d be a first; a contagious problem. I hope that’s not a thing. I really do.
The customer’s answer was no.
I felt my face scrunch into a frown. It’d been a while since I’d felt so confused at one of these conversations. Did he not think the front room was a living room? Granted, there was no telly, but everything else was living room-esque. Sofas, cabinets, and a coffee table.
My boss’s second question was if he was wearing jeans. He said no.
I stared at his jeans, the same ones he was trying to poke a hole through as we spoke. I then started to question if they were jeans, why would he be saying they weren’t? I resisted the urge to reach out and feel the fabric to confirm.
Despite my utter confusion, the Madam nodded knowingly at each answer she was given. I waited patiently for an explanation. Eventually she informed him that he was unable to tell the truth.
He said no.
It hadn’t been a question. If this lad couldn’t tell the truth, then every word out of his mouth was a lie. He was sitting in a living room, but that was the truth so he couldn’t say. He was wearing jeans, but he couldn’t say that either. My head began to twinge, knowing I was in for a complicated conversation.
My boss inquired if he knew who had done it. He said yes, which meant no. *SFX: sighs irritably* Just to save myself the confusion, I’ll just skip straight to the answer. Due to this lad’s inability to tell the truth, every question had to be a yes or no answer, which went as slowly as you might expect.
At some point in the last fortnight, this lad had woken up one morning and found that he couldn’t tell the truth, not even about wee things. Someone asked him the time, and he lied. Someone asked him for directions to a place he knew, and he sent them the opposite way. Eventually the Madam’s card had found its way into his possession, and here he was, hoping she could solve his problem.
Luckily for him, she was an expert in it. I’d never seen her throw her hands up in defeat at a special customer. When she instructed me to go to the cabinet of wonders, I was giddy with excitement. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been allowed to go in there? Ages. Had anything changed? Were there new things to get distracted by?
I was looking for an incense cone, at least five. As soon as I opened the doors to the cabinet, I noticed the changes. The jars all labelled with letters had moved down to the bottom shelf. Where there’d been crystals and amulets before was now pieces ae paper with foreign symbols on them. I’d only ever seen incense sticks on the top shelf, but now there were only cones. They came in a rainbow of colours, there was even a white one sitting in the middle, as though it were an amalgamation of the rest. I was looking for the brown ones, similar in colour to the skin on an almond or hazelnut. It was hard to smell since the odour of the cabinet itself is so overpowering. I got a waft of coffee grounds, with a hint of apricot, but that could’ve been something else entirely.
I put the five cones into the customer’s outstretched hands, and for the first time he looked at me and gave me a half-smile to show his appreciation. As I sat back down my boss instructed the customer to burn one a night for five nights. By the time the last one had burnt itself out he’d be back to normal. If not, then he was to come back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a special customer return to the shop unless instructed, but there was a first time for everything.
The customer opened his mouth to say something, perhaps a thank you, perhaps a question, before he firmly closed it again, his shoulders slumping with disappointment. I started to feel bad. How frustrating must it be to not say what you want or even what you mean? Speech is such a large part of human agency, and to have it robbed from you like that was criminal.
Before he left, the Madam asked him one last question. Had he told anyone anything important in the days or weeks leading up to the curse? He confirmed that he had but being unable to elaborate the Madam let him go.
I sat, watching as the untouched tea in the customer’s cup rippled as the shop door was opened and closed, waiting for a story.
“He has a frog in this throat”, the Madam informed me.
He’d sounded fine to me. Every lie had been enunciated to perfection, and I presumed she didn’t mean literally. Again, I hope that’s not a thing. My boss told me that it was an old curse people used to cast on others, so they’d never be able to tell the truth. Sometimes it worked in making them unable to speak, others it actively made every word from their mouth a lie. Mercifully, there were few people alive who could cast such an archaic curse, and our old pal Madam Anora was probably behind this one.
Madan Norna continued that the customer had cheated on his partner and had hidden it from her for months before the guilt was too much for him. He confessed to his partner, and understandably they hadn’t taken it well. Just no for the reasons you might imagine. The partner actually knew about the cheating, they just didn’t want to acknowledge it. They were happy to stay with him and bury their head in the sand. This plan had obviously been foiled by the customer coming clean. These events had led them to Madam Anora, who’d cursed them to never tell the truth.
I cleaned away the cups and pot of tea, washed them in the sink and floated dazedly downstairs. Fionn was there with Chronos, having arrived after I’d gone upstairs. He noticed my confused stare and asked what was wrong. I told him about the customer and what had happened. What I was having trouble getting my head around is why? Why would someone not want to be told about their partner’s infidelities? Going so far as to curse them to not tell the truth when they did? Not knowing and continuing in ignorance wasn’t the same as finding out and then doing nothing about it. Wouldn’t you want to know why, at the least?
So even if the customer cheated again, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the partner. They wanted to be ignorant, or they wanted to ignore the cheating. Why?
Fionn was silent for a few moments, and I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t know either or he did and just didn’t know how best to explain it. Eventually he told me that sometimes people just can’t let go of a relationship, even if it’s bad for them. Because it’s easier to be in the relationship than out of it. Despite his words I still don’t understand, and probably never will. Relationships ofthat kind have always eluded me, so I’ll just have to take his word for it.
The only conclusion I can safely draw from this particular story is that people act strangely sometimes, and that Madam Anora must get almost as much business as we do.
Script – Scots
I’ve been thinkin’ a lot aboot lying recently. No’ surprising since mine seem tae be piling up roond me, like the antiques in the shop. We’re always taught, in school, by our parents and family, that lyin’ is wrong. But why does that only seem tae apply tae bairns? Everyone lies. Whether it’s tae prevent someone’s feelin’s frae getting’ hurt, or tae save your own skin. Why do we feel guilty though? Why do secrets and lies eat away at us, even if we have a reason fae keepin’ them? Is it just me? I’d love tae be one ae those people who’s at peace wi’ their lies, who doesnae even have the wee’est bit ae guilt at no tellin’ the truth, at keepin’ somethin’ tae themselves. I’m no talkin’ white lies, the ones ye utter tae keep the peace, I’m talkin’ aboot the big ones. The family secrets, the deathbed confessions, the body ye buried in the back garden. Why do they become burdens? It’s like they have a mind ae their own sometimes, caged birds desperate tae get oot.
Mine are no quite like that, no yet. They still nag at me, more often than not. Always afraid I’ll get caught, thinkin’ aboot what’ll happen if I do. Havin’ tae keep track so I dinnae trip up over ma own lies is a task I’m no that fond of. Nothin’ bad happened after I took that brooch frae Rowan, though. Which means I interfered wi’ fate, and nothin’ happened. Does that mean the Madam’s wrong? Is that possible? It doesnae matter, I said I’d just do it the one time, just because it was ma pal. I’m no gonnae dae it again. That was it.
The usual lull had descended the shop, that time ae relative peace before the havoc breaks in. And on cue, the bell above the door informed us ae a customer. Chronos and I didnae need tae take bets on this one, it was obvious by the way he hesitated in the door, eyes dartin’ roond like a lizard after a fly. He was a special customer. I was aboot tae make a bet wi’ Chronos on how long it’d take him tae plod over tae the counter when his feet moved and he came over, unprompted. He wouldnae make eye contact wi’ me, but glanced at Chronos as if he wanted tae pet him. A part ae me wanted him tae try, just tae see whit the wee shite would do.
Instead, he rifled through his pockets, and after pullin oot loose change, a scrunched up hankie, and an empty sweetie wrapper, he planteed the familiar business card on the table. Before he mustered up the courage tae touch Chronos, I told him tae follow me up the stairs, where the Madam was waitin’ in the front room.
The customer had the nice timing no tae start spillin his guts until after I’d rushed in wi’ the tea pot and cups. Ma boss asked him whit she could help him wi, and his answer was the last ‘hing I’d been expectin. He’d been havin’ blurred vision.
I’ve heard some weird reasons before, some I’ve even been adamant are more appropriate fae a medical professional, but this definitely soundeed like one ae them. I took glances at him between pourin’ the tea. I say glances but it definitely felt like I was just outright starin’. It’d been a while where a customer’s problem had sounded so mundane.
Ma boss asked him when it’d started. He answered the day before, then corrected himself and said a week ago, a month ago. The more answers slipped from his mouth the quicker I gave up the pretence that I wasnae starin’. Ye know when you’re tired, or just no really payin’ attention, and somethin’ comes oot ae your mouth durin a conversation that ye dinnae know where it came frae. Ye werenae even thinkin that, no consciously, yet there it is, an anomaly in an otherwise normal conversation.
The way the customer kept correctin’ his answer, the growin’ scowl ae frustration as he enunciated each one, reminded me ae that. Except rather than it just happening once, like most people, every time he said something it was like he hadnae wanteed tae say it at all. His cheeks were beginnin’ tae flush, either wi embarrassment or frustration, I couldnae tell. The Madam held her hand up tae stop him.
There was silence, his breathin laboured as if he’d sprinted up the stairs. Madam Norna let him calm doon, but I could tell by the way her eyes surveyed the man on the sofa opposite that she was also using this time tae think, tae assess. I did the same, but I swear the woman can see ‘hings no one else can.
The customer couldnae have been much older than me, maybe late twenties at the most. He was dressed casually, a jacket and jeans, mismatched socks, and shoes that looked like they’d seen better days a few years ago. He didnae have any jewellery, no watch, smart or otherwise on his wrist, no ring on any ae his fingers. He had the appearance ae anyone ye’d walk past in the street, smile awkwardly to when your eyes met as they sat opposite ye on the train tae work. His knee was bouncin’ up and doon, erratically, quickly, like someone waitin’ fae a job interview, or bad news. His hand rested on his knee, but he was pickin’ at a patch ae his jeans that was scuffed, tryin’ tae turn it intae a tear. His eyes were closed, but when they’d been open he’d never looked at either me or the Madam. The teacups were more interestin’ than us, but his hadnae been touched.
After a few more moments ae silence the Madam asked, in her softest, calmest voice, if he was currently sittin’ in a living room. At first I thought whitever was wrong wi’ him had infected her as well. That’d be a first, a contagious problem. I hope that’s no a thing. I really do.
The customer’s answer was no.
I felt ma face scrunch intae a frown. It’d been a while since I’d felt so confused at one ae these conversations. Did he no think the front room was a living room? Granted, there was no telly, but everythin’ else was living room-esque. Sofas, cabinets, a coffee table.
Ma boss’s second question was if he was wearin’ jeans. He said no.
I stared at his jeans, the same ones he was tryin’ tae poke a hole through as we spoke. I then started tae question if they were jeans, why would he be sayin’ they werenae? I resisted the urge tae reach oot and feel the fabric tae confirm.
Despite ma utter confusion, the Madam nodded knowingly at each answer she was given. I waited patiently fae an explanation. Eventually she informed him that he was unable tae tell the truth.
He said no.
It hadnae been a question. If this lad couldnae tell the truth, then every word oot ae his mouth was a lie. He was sittin’ in a living room, but that was the truth so he couldnae say. He was wearin’ jeans, but he couldnae say that either. Ma heid began tae twinge, knowin’ I was in fae a complicated conversation.
Ma boss inquired if he knew who had done it. He said yes, which meant no. *sighs irritably* Just tae save maself the confusion, I’ll just skip straight tae the answer. Due tae this lad’s inability tae tell the truth, every question had tae be a yes or no answer, which went as slowly as ye might expect.
At some point in the last fortnight, this lad had woken up one mornin and found that he couldnae tell the truth, no even aboot wee ‘hings. Someone asked him the time, and he lied. Someone asked him fae directions tae a place he knew, and he sent them the opposite way. Eventually the Madam’s card had found its way intae his possession, and here he was, hopin’ she could solve his problem.
Luckily fae him, she was an expert in it. I’d never seen her throw her hands up in defeat at a special customer. When she instructed me tae go tae the cabinet ae wonders, I was giddy wi excitement. Do ye know how long it’s been since I’ve been allowed tae go in there? Ages. Had anythin’ changed? Were there new ‘hings tae get distracted by?
I was lookin fae an incense cone, at least five. As soon as I opened the doors tae the cabinet, I noticed the changes. The jars all labelled wi letters had moved doon tae the bottom shelf. Where there’d been crystals and amulets before was noo pieces ae paper wi foreign symbols on them. I’d only ever seen incense sticks on the top shelf, but noo there were only cones. They came in a rainbow ae colours, there was even a white one sittin’ in the middle, as though it were an amalgamation ae the rest. I was lookin fae the brown ones, similar in colour tae the skin on an almond or hazelnut. It was hard tae smell since the odour ae the cabinet itself is so overpowerin. I got a waft ae coffee grounds, wi a hint ae apricot, but that couldae been somethin’ else entirely.
I put the five cones intae the customer’s outstretched hands, and fae the first time he looked at me, and gee me a half-smile tae show his appreciation. As I sat back doon ma boss instructed the customer tae burn one a night fae five nights. By the time the last one had burnt itself oot he’d be back tae normal. If not, then he was tae come back. I dinnae ‘hink I’ve ever seen a special customer return tae he shop unless instructed, but there was a first time fae everythin’.
The customer opened his mouth tae say something, perhaps a thank you, perhaps a question, before he firmly closed it again, his shoulders slumping wi’ disappointment. I started tae feel bad. How frustratin’ must it be tae no say whit you want, or even whit you mean? Speech is such a large part ae human agency, and tae have it robbed frae ye like that was criminal.
Before he left, the Madam asked him one last question. Had he told anyone anything important in the days or weeks leadin’ up tae the curse? He confirmed that he had, but being unable tae elaborate, the Madam let him go.
I sat, watchin’ as the untouched tea in the customer’s cup rippled as the shop door was opened and closed, waitin’ fae a story.
“He has a frog in this throat”, the Madam informed me.
He’d sounded fine tae me. Every lie had been enunciated tae perfection, and I presumed she didnae mean literally. Again, I hope that’s no a thing. Ma boss told me that it was an old curse people used tae cast on others so they’d never be able tae tell the truth. Sometimes it worked in making them unable tae speak, others it actively made every word from their mouth a lie. Mercifully, there were few people alive who could cast such an archaic curse, and our old pal Madam Anora was probably behind this one.
Madan Norna continued that the customer had cheated on his partner, and had hidden it frae her fae months before the guilt was too much fae him. He confessed tae his partner, and understandably they hadnae taken it well. Just no fae the reasons ye might imagine. The partner actually knew aboot the cheatin, they just didnae want tae acknowledge it. They were happy tae stay wi’ him and bury their heid in the sand. This plan had obviously been foiled by the customer comin’ clean. These events had led them tae Madam Anora, who’d cursed them to never tell the truth.
I cleaned away the cups and pot ae tea, washed them in the sink and floated dazedly doon stairs. Fionn was there wi Chronos, havin’ arrived after I’d gone upstairs. He noticed ma confused stare and asked whit was wrong. I told him aboot the customer and whit had happened. Whit I was havin’ trouble getting’ ma heid aroond is why? Why would someone no want tae be told aboot their partner’s infidelities? Going so far as tae curse them tae no tell the truth when they did? No knowin and continuin in ignorance wasnae the same as findin’ oot and then doin’ nothin’ aboot it. Wouldnae ye want tae know why, at the least?
So even if the customer cheated again, he wouldnae have been able tae tell the partner. They wanted tae be ignorant, or they wanted tae ignore the cheatin. Why?
Fionn was silent fae a few moments, and I couldnae tell if it was because he didnae know either or he did and just didnae know how best tae explain it. Eventually he told me that sometimes people just can’t let go of a relationship, even if it’s bad for them. Because it’s easier to be in the relationship than out of it. Despite his words I still dinnae understand, and probably never will. Relationships ae that kind have always eluded me, so I’ll just have tae take his word fae it.
The only conclusion I can safely draw frae this particular story is that people act strangely sometimes, and that Madam Anora must get almost as much business as we do.