Waterline

by Ross Raisin

  He is in and out of sleep the night, the television on in the background, an educational programme he tries to get listening to, occupy the mind – how does the criminal justice system work? – it’s boring enough but it doesn’t knock him out, and he lies there gazing at the spasm of blue light on the ceiling.

  The next morning he is stood in the kitchen waiting for the toaster to finish when the entry buzzer goes. It is Renuka.

  She comes in and sits with him at the table.

  ‘I spoke to Robbie yesterday evening. I gather things were difficult.’

  ‘They were.’

  ‘It isn’t going to be easy, obviously, as we said before.’

  He nods.

  ‘He’s quite keen though, your son, to keep trying.’

  ‘Ye think?’

  ‘Well, yes – he’s sat in a cafe down the road waiting for me to call him. He wanted to come straight here, but I told him I needed to speak to you first.’

  She is smiling but he turns his face away from her. Out the window, it is started snowing.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He just said that you both need to keep trying.’

  He looks round at the tiny room: the unmade bed and the childlike paintings on the wall above it.

  ‘I don’t know I’m ready, Renuka.’

  She is nodding. ‘I know. The thing is though, if you leave it like this, things will only be more difficult the next time.’

  She is right. They will. Plus as well the boy lives on the other side the world, so nay doubt he’ll need to be going back anytime soon; and he is reminded again with a crawing of the stomach that he has come away from his family for this, for ten minutes in a chain bar and the da to tell him he’s no wanting to see him still.

  ‘The stupit thing is, I was that bloody terrified going there, I just needed to see him the more.’

  She is nodding again. Patient as ever. Plotting where all this puts him on his Cycle of Change; or thinking he’s a bastard just, who knows?

  He comes in the flat with Renuka and stands in the doorway looking at him.

  ‘Robbie. Come in. Want a cup of tea? Renuka?’

  Robbie and Renuka wipe the slush off their feet and go in the main room while he takes the kettle over to the sink to fill it up. He can hear him treading through in the other room, inspecting, judging. Renuka telling him that it’s his father that’s fixed the place up, with the blinds, the paint job, and Robbie keeping quiet; whatever he’s doing in there he’s no saying anything about it.

  He moves the television onto the floor and they sit down all three of them around the table. Get drinking their teas.

  ‘So,’ says Renuka, ‘I can be here, or not be here – just tell me which you’d prefer.’

  ‘No,’ Robbie says, ‘stay. It’s fine. Yes?’

  He nods.

  ‘Look, Da, yesterday – I didn’t mean to be difficult. Just there’s things I don’t understand.’

  ‘Aye, course.’

  ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘No, me neither.’

  Robbie is looking at the art work on the wall above the bed.

  ‘You an alcoholic, Da?’

  ‘No.’

  Renuka is keeping quiet. It would look better, he realizes, if there weren’t the empty cans of superlager on the floor by the bin.

  ‘Just I don’t understand how it’s happened. If I’d known how things were, I would’ve stayed. Course I fucking would. Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve felt that fucking guilty.’

  ‘Christ, it’s no your fault, Robbie, I didnae know any of this would happen. I should’ve answered your calls, you’re right. Things got on top of me just.’

  ‘Know you’ve lost the tenancy now? Alan couldn’t keep paying it forever.’

  He is glaring at him. Challenging him. Mick keeks down at his tea. The mug is chipped already. Pound-shop tollie, what do ye expect?

  ‘I’m no going back, son, if that’s what ye mean.’

  A long period of silence. Much tea drinking. Renuka glancing from one to the other of them, weighing up when is the right time to step in.

  ‘That’s another thing I don’t understand,’ Robbie says finally.

  He waits for him to go on, but he is gone quiet, looking at the table.

  ‘What’s that? What ye no understand?’

  ‘That’s where she is.’

  He looks up, but the face isn’t angry, he just looks horrendously fucking sad, which of course sticks the boot on a hundred times worse; and, together with it, he is seized with a feeling of desperate closeness to the boy, of wanting to be close to him.

  ‘That’s how I couldnae be there, Robbie.’

  There is another stretch of quiet, broken again by Robbie. ‘See, even if I can get understanding it, I can tell you for sure, Craig won’t.’

  Renuka is giving him a pitying look and it seems at that moment like she’s about to put her hand on his. He withdraws it, gets it under the table.

  ‘He knows he didn’t act right, Da. Neither of you did. When I was staying with him, he said that. But then when you didn’t come back, it – he – it was too much for him, I think.’

  ‘Yous two come to blows?’

  Robbie gives a wee smile. ‘You might say that.’

  There is obviously more but Robbie has cloyed up, gazing out the damp window.

  ‘Either of you go another cup of tea?’

  Robbie shakes his head. ‘No. Thanks. I think we should call it a day for now, okay?’

  ‘Right.’

  They all stand up.

  ‘Where ye staying?’

  ‘I’m in a hotel in King’s Cross. My flight’s booked for next week. I can’t leave them any longer.’

  Renuka stays in the main room as he steps with Robbie to the door.

  ‘I am glad to see you, you know,’ Robbie says, and moves to put his arms about him. Mick comes forward uneasily. It is awkward and odd, being touched, and he stiffens up immediately. He can feel Robbie’s chin on his shoulder. After a few seconds, they pull back, and Mick is about to say that he is sorry but he stops himself. He worries how he smells.

  ‘I’ll call round again tomorrow, okay? You should get a phone.’

  He comes early the next afternoon. They sit on the tiny settee drinking coffee with the television on in the background. There is too much that needs saying to be able to say a lot, so they keep fairly quiet. He does anyway. Robbie is more conversational, if that’s the word for it – more an interrogation, which it seems at times he’s trying to hold himself back from but he can’t; all these questions that he needs answers for. Why didn’t he tell anybody he was leaving? Why did he go to London? What happened at the hotel? Why did he write the letter and then not make contact again, even when he was homeless?

  If there were straight answers that he could give, then it would be easier. Why did he go to London? Why did he do any of it? Christ knows. He needs to be fair but, to be open, so he attempts to tell him at least some of what he’s asking, even if he is light on the details.

  Later on they try again going for a pint. They give a bye to the bearpit up the way, and walk a while longer in the other direction until they come to a decent-looking place next to a private gardens that is white with a covering of untouched snow. His giro is come and he’s able to get the round in. Robbie of course is quick enough asking him how he’s living, so he tells him. Whatever he thinks about it, he keeps it to himself. A few others in. A couple of old English boys in ties and blazers. There are things that Robbie wants to tell him: how it’s been, all this time without knowing where he was. He was staying with Craig at first, he says, but then it got too much and he rented a temporary place for himself. Eventually he had to go back to Australia. His job. The family. Mick is wanting to ask him about Jenna and Damien, but he can’t bring himself to. Before he returned, Robbie tells him, he went down to Newcastle, wondering if maybe that’s where he’d went. Trying to dig out anybody he might have worked
with; persuading landlords and bookies to let him put up these posters that the charity had printed. The rare time he did find anybody that minded him – how he had to explain the whole story to them about what had happened.

  He doesn’t want to hear any of this but he knows he has to let him say it. He certainly doesn’t ask who it was Robbie found that used to know him. The thought of his mugshot up in a string of pub lobbies, there for every bevvy-merchant to have a gawp at – it’s no exactly something he wants to get thinking about.

  That evening, when they come back from the pub, he overhears Robbie in the kitchen, talking on his mobile phone. The tap is on while he washes up the plates from their curry carry-out, and Mick is through in the main room with the television on, but he can hear well enough.

  ‘. . . he’s got this flat, he’s . . . Yeh, I know, I know, but I want to . . . No, it’s fine . . . No, he’s on benefits.’

  The tap is turned off then and Robbie is saying goodbye. He turns the television up louder. Afterward, when Robbie has left, he wonders if he had meant him to hear.

  The following morning, Robbie comes round with a new telephone in a cardboard box. As they get opening it, Robbie says that he’s spoke to Alan. He wants to come down and see him. Mick keeps quiet and concentrates on the box as he is told this.

  ‘Don’t worry. I told him it’s too soon. He can wait, but you’re going to have to see him sometime, with all he’s done.’

  ‘Aye, I know,’ he says, even though there’s absolutely nay fucking chance in hell he’s ever going to let that meeting happen. ‘And Craig?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to him, yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t want to see me, eh?’

  ‘He’s relieved we’ve found you, Da.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘He is.’ He puts down a handful of phone entrails. ‘He’s going to find it difficult that you don’t want to be in Glasgow, like I said.’

  They get on with taking wires and parts out of the box, arranging them on the floor, and they let the subject go quiet. One thing’s for sure: these telephone manufacturers don’t like making life simple. Even the phone isn’t a phone yet: it’s in blocks of plastic that need fitting together. Robbie gets reading through the instructions leaflet, and Mick is started on screwing the handset together, when the buzzer goes. He gets up and answers it. Beans. For a split second he considers telling him it’s no a good time, but then the great cargo of guilt that he’s carrying everywhere is straight away weighing upon him, and he changes his mind.

  This is the first he’s seen him in a while. A nervousness builds as he waits for him to come up the lift that he won’t be sober, that his clothes will be clatty. He has told Robbie that there is a guy he’s known, who helped him when he was on the street, but the most he’s said when Robbie’s asked what like he is, is that he’s from Paisley and he’s something of a queer ticket.

  Beans is puzzled at first that there is somebody else in the flat.

  ‘This is my son, Robbie.’

  ‘Yer son? Oh, right. How’s it going?’ He puts a hand out, and Robbie shakes it. ‘Keith. Ye come to stay?’

  Robbie glances over at Mick, understanding then that Beans obvious isn’t up to speed with the situation.

  ‘I’m here visiting for the next couple of days. I’m stopped in a hotel in King’s Cross.’

  Beans is giving him a quizzical look.

  ‘Where ye from? You an islander?’

  Robbie grins. ‘Naw. Govan.’

  Beans doesn’t look convinced. ‘That’s a strange accent ye’ve got. I’m no being rude.’

  Mick stands in the kitchen doorway, observing the pair of them.

  ‘No, don’t worry, my wife tells me the same. I’ve been living in Australia for ten years, that’s how I sound like this.’

  Beans laughs. ‘I knew it. I knew there was something strange about you. What’s all this?’ He has spotted the dismembered phone next to its box and is going toward it. ‘See me, I’m good with telephones.’

  He gets immediately trying to put the thing together. With no little success either. Making Robbie see him over the different coloured wires and screwdriver heads, demonstrating how it’s done. Robbie is clear intrigued by the guy. Right from the kick-off there is an easiness between them, which in fact shouldn’t be too surprising: he’s pretty straight down the line like that, Robbie, takes people as he finds them.

  The phone is fixed out in no time. Robbie gives it a call off his mobile phone to check it works. It does. He is connected. He is attainable 24/7 and nay excuses. Robbie notices then that he has a message from Jenna and he goes in the kitchen to make them a cup of tea and get reading it.

  ‘Who’s Jenna?’ Beans asks when he’s gone out the room.

  ‘His wife. They’ve a wean too, a toddler.’

  Beans goes quiet a moment, thinking.

  ‘He come over to see your flat, then?’

  ‘No exactly.’ He may as well tell him the score. ‘Turns out I’ve been on this missing persons list for quite a while. They were looking for me.’

  Beans is nodding slowly. ‘That’s good. They’ve found ye. That’s very good.’

  The last two days of Robbie’s stay pass quickly. The temperature is dipped to freezing but he’s bought a new two-bar heater and they keep most of the time to the flat, or the pub, Beans joining them for a pint but keeping on pretty good behaviour. The last afternoon, when Beans goes off, they get wrapped up and go on a long walk, at one point passing the subway station, Mick keeping quiet as they move by. It is good, being around him; he enjoys his company, always has. Strange how you forget. No that it’s perfect but. Obviously. There’s moments when he can feel Robbie is gone quiet and he knows that he’s thinking about things, withdrawing from him. Fair enough but. Fair enough. Robbie doesn’t bring it up but he knows that he is missing the family, and from what he can tell when he’s talking to Jenna in the kitchen, she’s feeling the same way.

  The morning of his flight, they sit in a cafe along the high street eating ham, egg and chips. Robbie says he wants him to come over to Australia for Easter.

  ‘I’ve talked to Jenna about it. It was her idea, actually.’

  Mick looks up at him without speaking. Robbie’s got that face on him that says he’s ready for a fight if one is needed.

  ‘That’s kind of you, son. See but –’

  ‘I’m paying for your flight.’

  He shakes his head. ‘It’ll cost a fortune.’

  ‘I know. Tell me about it. But you can’t afford it and I’d be paying the fare to come over here anyway. And this way you’ll see Jenna and Damien.’

  Hard to argue with that, but he tries.

  ‘See, I’m no long in the flat yet, is the thing. I don’t know if I’m allowed.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to your key worker and she says it’s fine.’

  He winces at Robbie using the word.

  ‘Fucking hell. Da, I’m only talking about a couple of weeks, it’s not like I’m asking you to come out and live with us.’

  ‘No, course, I know that. Just it’s a big thing, is all. I’ll need to think about it.’

  It is decided but, and he knows it.

  The next few days he is thinking about it constantly, sitting in the flat or on one of the afternoon walks, worrying. Guilt, money, the whole caboodle. An agity excitement that breaks through but when he imagines being there. Seeing the grandwean – although of course he understands well enough that part of that is because Damien is too young to understand any of what’s happened. Unlike his maw. He is nervous about the thought of seeing her, what she must think, all this time that Robbie has been gone from them because of him. If he could be employed by then, it would be easier. Obviously he couldn’t afford the flight still, but maybe he wouldn’t feel like such a bloody leech – he’d be able to pay for things when he’s out there. It isn’t looking too rosy though, the job search. It’s enough of a struggle convincing them that he is a reliable, time-keeping, non-bevvie
d type of individual, let alone that he’s qualified for anything. He goes into the office and sits waiting for his turn, never with the least expectation any more that anything will come of it.

  One afternoon when he is returned from a hailstorm, there is a flashing red light on the telephone. It takes him a while retrieving the message, but when he has, it is Robbie, saying that he’s wanting to speak to him so he’ll call back later the evening.

  When he rings again, Mick is in the middle of cooking tea. He turns the grill down and wipes the grease off his hands before going through to answer.

  ‘Craig is coming,’ Robbie says.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Craig. He’s coming over here for Easter.’

  There is silence on the line.

  Jenna probably in behind, listening.

  ‘Da? You hear what I said?’

  ‘He know I’m coming?’

  ‘He does. He needed a bit of arm-bending, but he’s coming.’

  . . .

  ‘Da, it’ll be fine.’

  ‘The Highlanders as well?’

  He can hear Robbie chuckling. ‘No. It’ll just be us.’

  He goes on to explain the arrangements: where he’ll be staying, the food they’re going to eat, the trip down the coast they’ve got planned with Jenna’s sister and her own baby. He doesn’t take much of it in. Robbie says that he’ll call again next week when he’s booked the flights. He puts the phone down and goes back through the kitchen to get the grill turned off. The tops of his hash browns are burnt, but he plates them up as they are, with sausages, beans, and goes to sit down at the table and eat, as the hail starts up again outside, tapping and scratching against the window.

  Chapter 42

  He is on the bus, the top deck, looking out for any signs of a toy shop. He’d tried down the high street but with no luck, so he decided instead to get a bus into the centre. Even now though, it’s no looking likely. He gets down the stair and steps off. Wanders up a busy shopping street for a long time – clothes stores, fried-chicken shops, pharmacies, junk stalls – nothing. In the end, without any particular thought, he goes into a sports superstore.