by Ross Sayers
Taxis zoom by and swerve in different directions at the four corners. It’s freezin. The guys behind me take thur jaikets aff and stuff them in a backpack so they only need tae pay fur wan item in the cloakroom.
We shimmy in short bursts til we arrive at the front ae the queue. The bouncer makes eye contact wi me.
‘ID?’ he says.
A quick midnight snoop aroond Jill’s bedroom came up wi the goods, as well as a gid few metallic objects ah don’t even want tae know whit she uses fur.
Ah take oot the ID caird ah found in Jill’s top drawer.
‘When did ye pass yer test?’ the bouncer asks me.
‘Ah didnae.’
It’s a green provisional. Ah’ve heard that question catches a lot ae folk oot though. Ah’m still sober enough tae be on ma toes. Ma search ae Jill’s room only turnt up a miniature bottle ae Southern Comfort alcohol-wise, so ah necked it in the taxi here.
‘In ye go,’ the bouncer says.
The left hawn side ae the stairs is packed wi guys, but the right is fur lassies only and it’s a clear path. Ah run up and feel the male gaze burn intae ma back. Thur aw tight jeans and loose t-shirts. A quick pat doon fae the lady bouncer then ah head tae the top flair.
Underdog by You Me At Six is blarin. They iways play this yin. In fact, they rarely update the playlist and that’s part ae the appeal. Ah’m back in ma element, the first time since ah became Rose that ah really feel lit Daisy again.
A mass ae dark bodies huddle in clumps on the danceflair, some content in their groups and some desperate tae join others. The higher folk raise thur plastic cups, the mair ae a belter that’s playin.
Ah head through tae the back, the hip hop room, whaur it’s easier tae get served. Venom gies me bad memories so ah order two pints ae Coors, tan the first and walk away wi the second. The barman gies me a dirty look. That’s me on his radar noo. Watch oot fur that lassie in the stunnin dress, she’s neckin pints, might need tae refuse her service later.
It’s gid tae be back in here, even if it’s jist by masel. Naebdy can judge me cause ah don’t exist. They can fulm me dancin if they want, but ah don’t need tae worry aboot the notifications that might be waitin fur me in the mornin. Ah don’t need tae experience the mornin efter the night afore.
Ah go back through tae the main danceflair. Movies by Alient Ant Farm is on noo. Ah find a nook near a pillar and dance on ma ain. Robyn wid be proud.
Somebdy bumps intae ma back. Here we go. Some lad who isnae brave enough tae start a chat but is brave enough tae make back-tae-back contact and pretend it wis accidental.
‘Sorry,’ says the person.
But it’s a gurl, no a guy. Her eyes urr gone. She’s haufway through a Venom, but maist ae it seems tae be spillin ower the side ae her cup as she stumbles aboot. Behind her, her two pals gie me sorry smiles and ah smile back tae let them know ah don’t mind.
Efter aw, it is me who’s botherin me.
36
‘Ye huvin a gid night?’ she says.
So this is whit ah look lit on a night oot in Catty. Ah wish ah could say it’s a pretty sight.
‘Aye,’ ah reply. ‘Whit aboot you?’
‘Fuckin great. Huv ye met ma pals, thur…’ she looks tae find Frances and Imogen vanished, gone tae sit in the corner, away fae the speakers but still close enough tae keep eye on her. ‘Thur borin bastarts, actually.’
She’s sad, but she disnae show it. Mibbe she disnae know it. When ah drink, ah niver can tell whit parts ae ma personality urr gonna be ramped up and which parts urr gonnae be numbed. That’s part ae the appeal, ah suppose. Ye niver know whit’s gonnae happen.
Daisy doons the rest ae her drink and throws the plastic cup tae the flair. Wee green flecks ae dregs scatter on ma face.
‘Whit’s yer name?’ she asks, eyes unable tae properly take me in.
‘Rose,’ ah say.
‘Nae way,’ she says. ‘Ah’m Daisy! Daisy and Rose, whit urr the chances!’
‘Smaller than ye’d hink.’
She takes ma hawn in hers, sticky tae the touch, and leads me further intae the pack ae sweaty bodies. She swirls her heid roond, hair stickin tae her foreheid.
‘Here,’ she shouts in ma ear. ‘Ah need tae tell ye suhin.’
Ah lean in close tae her. She angles her heid lit she’s gonnae whisper in ma ear, then she sticks her tongue doon ma throat. Ah pray tae god ah only winch lit this when ah’m hauf cut cause she’s absolutely awful at this. Lack ae experience ah suppose. Her mooth is open as wide as humanly possible and her tongue sweeps roond mine lit it’s tryin tae win a game ae tongue wars that ah didnae challenge her tae.
Ah break away, wipin slevers on the back ae ma hawn.
‘Sorry,’ she giggles. ‘Ah niver normally dae that. But thur’s suhin aboot you. Ye remind me ae… somebdy. Ah cannae quite remember who though.’
Ah laugh.
‘Aye, ah get that a lot.’
Beating Heart Baby by Head Automatica is next on the playlist. Ower at the DJ booth, a guy hawns his phone tae the DJ, hopin his personal list ae songs is gonnae override the DJ’s carefully curated picks. A shake ae the heid fae the DJ. Denied.
‘Listen,’ ah say, ‘ah know ye’ll no remember this in the mornin so jist let me tell ye. Ah’m you.’
Daisy’s body jitters tae the music, her arms flailin. She nearly catches a guy on the napper and ah gie an apologetic look. Sorry aboot her. Sorry aboot me.
‘Whit?’ she asks. ‘Whit does that mean?’
‘Ah’m you. Ah’m you fae the future. Ah’m Daisy as well.’
‘Oaft! Cool! Whit’s that like?’
‘It’s kind ae shite, mate. Ah miss seein yer face in the mirror.’
‘Well, ye can huv a loan ae it whenever ye want. Here, come wi me and we’ll get Skittle bombs.’
Her hawn reaches oot fur mine again but ah slip it oot ae reach. Ah lean intae her ear.
‘Ah know ye’re no gonnae remember this,’ ah tell her. ‘Ye’re no gonnae remember maist ae tonight. Ye’re gonnae wake up the morra and ye’re gonnae hate yersel. Ye’re gonnae hate that ye’ve done it again. Ye’ll message Frances and she’s gonnae huv tae fill ye in wi whit ye did. Ye’ll pretend ye hink it’s funny but really, even though ye’d niver tell anyone, ye’ll be mortified. Ye’ll huv some bad thoughts. Ye’ll hear that voice ye iways hear, tellin ye ye’re worthless. Ye’ll hink the bad thoughts urnae gonnae pass. But, trust me, ye’ll get through it. But someday ye’re gonnae need tae be honest wi Frances. Ye’re gonnae huv tae admit ye need her. Ye’re gonnae need tae admit you care whit she hinks ae ye. Ye care so much ye sometimes go through her Twitter likes tae see if she’s liked any tweets aboot folk bein bad friends. And ye pretend ye don’t care whit Frances hinks cause ye know, deep doon, that she disnae hink ye’re a gid friend. And someday she’s gonnae realise that ye’re no worth the effort. Ye’re gonnae need tae change, Daisy. Ye’re gonnae need tae be a proper friend wan ae these days.’
Ah lean back. Daisy’s got her eyes shut.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Ah couldnae really hear that? Did ye say ye know ma pal Frances?’
She bumps intae another group ae gurls. She turns and joins them, squeezin intae a space that disnae really exist. She’s their problem noo.
Ah slink away and place ma unfinished drink on a bench at the top ae the stairs. Folk urr cryin and winchin and screamin intae phones tae the pals they cannae find.
Ah locate ma jaiket fae the dark corner ah stashed it in, pit it on and head doonstairs. Ah can jist aboot make oot the openin riff ae The Middle by Jimmy Eat World startin up behind me.
Sunday is spent on the couch. Ah only hud a pint and a hauf at Catty last night but as ah’m quickly findin oot, Rose’s body really isnae as capable as Daisy’s. Capable wi alcohol that is. Fur aw ah know, thur’s some talent Rose hus that ah’ve n
o discovered yet. Mibbe ah’m excellent at the javelin noo. Or if ah see an equation on a chalkboard, mibbe ah can solve it nae bother. But wi D-Day 6 days fae noo, ah’d rather no find oot whit ah’m missin.
Ah nip doonstairs tae the Co-op at one point tae get some munchies. They dae these dirty fries covered in cheese and jalapenos that is lit heaven in a foil container. And the best part is aw the calories urr goin tae Rose’s belly insteid ae mine. Unless the calories transfer back ower when ah go back tae ma ain body which ah hink wid be completely unfair.
While ah’m oot, ah wander doon Great Western Road and pit a bet on at Coral ae another result ah mind fur sure. Liverpool 1-1 Everton.
Efter ah get ma winnins, ah chap on Jill’s door. She’s been locked in her room aw day, ah’m guessin nursin a hangover. Ah thought aboot goin tae the ABC last night when ah left Catty. Ah thought seein Jill in a bad state might make me feel better aboot seein masel in a bad state. In the end, ah walked aw the way back tae the west end and saw plenty ae sights that made me feel better aboot masel, but worse aboot Glasgow. Ah wis brought up tae hink it’s the best city in the world, and mibbe it is, but thur’s plenty ye widnae pit in the Lonely Planet guidebook. And unless ye’ve been tae every city in the world, how can ye say which wan’s best?
‘Ye shidnae treat yer body lit that,’ ah say through the door tae Jill. ‘Aw that alcohol damages yer insides. Ye only get two bodies in this life.’
Ah slide a couple ae hundred quid under Jill’s door.
‘Fair enough, bad joke,’ ah say. ‘Here’s some digs fur ye. Since ah ate aw the Jammy Dodgers. And the Caramel Wafers.’
A few seconds ae silence, then she replies.
‘That you, Daisy? Did ye say suhin?’
‘Aye,’ ah say louder. ‘Ah said that’s ma digs. Ah knew whit the Liverpool score wis gonnae be today.’
‘Sorry, ma ears urr ringin fae last night. Ye don’t need tae.’
‘Aye, but ah want tae.’
‘Cheers.’
Ah keep ma ear tae the door. Thur’s some kind ae metallic clickin sound. Ah cannae tell whit it is. Dae ah really want tae know?
D’ye realise whit it takes tae create a hale new identity?
‘Urr ye still oot there, Daisy?’
Ah race back tae the safety ae the livin room as quietly as ah can. The less ah know, the better. In less than a week, ah’ll be Daisy again and ah’ll niver huv tae wonder aboot Jill’s dodgy dealins ever again.
But she’ll still be here, in this flat, in the same part ae the city as me. Ah wonder whit we’ll dae when we eventually pass each other in the street? A polite nod? A raise ae the eyebrows? Will she be jealous that ah got back tae ma real life and she niver did? She seems fairly content wi her lot in life. A job, friends tae go oot wi on Saturday night, and a nice flat across the road fae Paesano? She’s daein awright, as it happens.
But then ah remember, she disnae know whit Daisy really looks lit. Even ah’m startin tae forget.
Part Four
Off the Rails
37
It’s Monday mornin and ah’m up afore Jill. Ah pit the telly on and watch a bit ae Everybody Loves Raymond. Usually ah’m no up til Frasier and usually ah like it that way. Every character in this programme makes me want tae scratch ma eyes oot, includin the kids. Insteid ae safe sex videos, high schools shid show an episode ae Everybody Loves Raymond tae the kids tae show them whit happens when ye don’t use condoms. Family happens.
Jill comes intae the livin room, shruggin her backpack on tae her shooders.
‘Why urr ye up so early?’ she says. ‘If ah didnae huv work ah’d be sleepin til twelve at least.’
‘Ah’ve got a plan,’ ah say, slurpin a moothful ae Frosties. ‘Aw, Frosties urr so underrated, man. Ah’ve no hud them in ages.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye, ah usually huv Cheerios.’
‘Naw, ah meant, ye’ve really got a plan? Whit is it?’
Ah tap ma nose, then continue rubbin the skin. Rose husnae got her nose pierced, and ah miss the wee indent ae the hole under ma fing’r.
‘It’s a secret,’ ah say.
‘A secret?’
‘A secret plan.’
Jill sighs.
‘Or urr ye no tellin me yer plan cause ye know it’s stupit and ah’d tell ye no tae dae it?’
‘It’s a low risk, high reward plan,’ ah say. ‘Ah promise.’
‘Jist promise me ye’ll be careful awright? Mind ye don’t exist here. If the polis lift ye there’ll be aw kinds ae questions that ye don’t huv answers fur. And ah don’t exactly want the polis roond ma door when ye tell them whaur ye’re livin. Ah’ve got a new identity but it willnae withstand the polis tryin tae poke holes in it.’
Ma eyes drift back tae the screen. This Raymond guy, who “everybody loves” apparently, lives across the road fae his mum and da, that’s the basic premise ae the programme. But how can he no jist move? That’s whit ah’d dae. The hale show shid’ve lasted wan episode whaur his parents get on his nerves and he goes “right, bye” and moves tae the other side ae the country.
‘Daisy?’ Jill says. ‘Urr ye listenin tae me?’
‘Aye, aye. Nae polis. Huv a gid day, sweetheart.’
She growls, grabs her keys fae the table and leaves me in peace. Ah change the channel.
The box is lighter than ah expected. Ah slide it aff the seat as ah get oot the taxi and pay the driver.
The Christmas lights in the pub windae are on but it’s difficult tae appreciate them in the daylight. Christmas shoppers, done at Braehead fur the day, sit inside wi hefty bags at thur feet. A pub lunch, fur a treat. The customers urr mainly aulder folk, makin the maist ae retirement or jist bein aff work on a weekday.
Ah step inside. The gurl behind the bar is stockin cans ae juice intae wan ae the mini fridges. She stands and turns tae me.
‘Hiya,’ she says.
‘Hiya, can ah get a lemonade?’
‘Draught?’
‘Please.’
She grabs a glass fae below the counter and starts fillin it wi the juice gun.
‘Whit’s in the box?’ she asks.
What’s in the box? What’s in the boooooxxxxx?
‘It’s no Gwyneth Paltrow’s heid, don’t worry,’ ah say, and the lassie disnae smile. ‘It’s jist shoes.’
‘Really? What’s wi the holes?’
‘Tae let them breathe apparently. Wife in the shop said it’s a special type ae leather that needs constant oxygen otherwise the shoes… die.’
Ah pay fur the drink and make ma way tae the furthest away, quietest table ah can find. The lemonade is flat but ah drink a few gulps so ah don’t stand oot. The door tae the kitchen swings open and ah hear a radio playin Underneath the Tree by Kelly Clarkson. A modern classic, if ye want ma opinion.
Ah’m jist aboot tae pit ma plan intae action when a group ae four aulder ladies come in and sit at the table right next tae mine.
‘Is it table service?’ wan ae them asks tae naebdy in particular, while another woman goes tae the bar.
It’s clearly thur Christmas Day oot. Two ae them wear tinsel roond their necks. The other yin on the opposite side ae the table clocks me. A young lassie, sittin alone in a pub on a Monday efternoon. Must be wan ae they lazy students.
Thur’s too many ae them, too many eyes that could turn me in. Ah decide tae carry oot ma plan in the bathroom. It willnae huv the same impact but it shid still work.
That’s the plan, until ah overhear wan ae the women say:
‘Well it’s no like she wisnae lookin fur trouble, dressed the way she wis.’
The rest ae them nod.
‘If ye dress like a hoor, ye shidnae be aw that surprised when ye’re treated like a hoor. No that ye’re allowed tae say that these days.’
Again, a roond ae noddin fae the
group.
‘Anyway, we huv tae order at the bar,’ another says. ‘They don’t dae table service. Lazy gits, they’ll no be gettin a tip aff me. Ah’ll sit wi the bags if youse want tae go up.’
The rest leave and she stays behind tae guard the assorted bags. She sits wi her hawns on her belly, lookin oot the windae. She sits, no hurtin anyone. But look at the way she’s flauntin they bags. They bags wi aw thur nooks and cranny’s fur wee creatures tae hide inside. She’s clearly askin fur it.
Ah lift ma box and speak tae it.
‘Okay, boys. Time tae go on an adventure.’
The woman disnae look up as ah approach the table. Ah cough. Her big earrings quiver fae her earlobes as she turns her heid.
‘Aye?’ she says.
‘Hullo,’ ah say. ‘Ah wis sittin at this table earlier. Ah hink ah might huv dropped a charm aff ma bracelet. D’ye mind if ah huv a quick look?’
She leans back in her chair and looks oot the windae again.
‘If ye must. But be quick.’
‘Ta.’
Ah drop tae ma knees and open the box under the table. The mice scuttle aboot in excitement at the light and sudden freedom. Ah tip them oot, huvin tae flick wan or two stragglers tae leave the safety ae thur wee temporary hame. The guy in Pets Paraphernalia said this particular breed wur wan ae the friendliest ye can get. That wis a shame. Ah hud really hoped fur a breed ae ankle biters. Ah bought six anyway, hopin they might rile each other up.
Wan immediately dives intae an open handbag. Result. Ah close the box and get back up.
‘Wait a minute,’ ah say, twistin ma wrist. ‘Ah’ve jist remembered, ah’ve no even got a bracelet. Whit a daftie ah um. Thanks anyway. You huv a gid Christmas. Ba-bye noo.’
The wife opens her mooth tae respond but ah’m gone, past wan ae the several fake Christmas trees, past the other three women at the bar, and past the condiments trolley, whaur ah ditch the box.
