by Black, Tony
My head felt like Chewbacca had taken a dump in there. I was still on my back as I opened my eyes to find a young boy looming over me with dark panda eyes.
'Can you hear me?' His Converse All-Stars slapped at the landing as he padded about my supine form.
'Yeah. Just, maybe lower the volume.' I turned my gaze away, leaned up on one arm and caught sight of the pot that had come through the window. I kicked out at it, sent it skidding down the landing.
The lad spoke, 'Are you okay? Can you move?'
I tried to steady myself but everything was spinning. 'I think so.'
'Would you like to come inside?'
'What?' I felt weary. 'Did you chuck the pot?'
He shook his head, theatrically. 'Oh, God, no ...' He leaned over and tried to help me to my feet.
My knees caved. I stumbled a little, then found some balance. I leaned into the lad and headed through the door. He sat me on an old crate, an orange velour cushion the only concession to comfort.
The lad spoke. 'I don't know who that was chucking the pot ... they come and go, you know. He was edgy, must have been on the run or something.'
He wasn't the only one. 'And who are you?' I rubbed at my head, checked my fingertips. There was a line of blood. I felt beyond my hairline, the damage seemed minimal.
'I'm Craig. I was staying here, for a bit. I just came back to collect a few things.'
I knew the accent wasn't local, but I couldn't place it. If Ayrshire was like a condensed version of Glasgow then I could be onto something.
'Are you with Caroline?' I said.
Craig brought me a wet cloth, said, 'There's no ice. Sorry.'
I nearly laughed. 'I wouldn't have expected it. You've not much of anything.'
He gripped his palms together, looked at the floor. 'It's a squat ... what do you expect?'
I could feel some semblance of normalcy returning. At least the brighter lights had gone out, although a few dark motes still crossed my eyes.
'So ... Caroline?'
He turned away, 'How do you know her?'
I ran the wet towel over the back of my neck and tried to stand. I'd regained some balance, at least the room had stopped swaying. 'What does that matter? Look, she's pregnant and about to give birth, she should be in hospital.'
Craig's slightly-camp demeanour vanished in a second; he turned, tried to rush past me, but I found just enough strength to grab his arm.
He gasped, 'Let go of me.'
I felt breathless, dizzy. The sudden exertion was a step too far.
'Oh, fuck.'
Craig shrieked, 'Jesus you're bleeding hard.'
The pain shot through me, head to toe, seemed to touch every fibre of my being. This time there was no stopping my guts turning over. I chucked on the floor.
'I think you should have your head looked at ...'
'You're not the first person to tell me that, Craig.'
My stomach tightened again, I retched again. I was toppling onto one knee as Craig reached out for me.
'I think you're the one that needs the hospital,' he said.
I looked up, caught his eyes. 'Trust me ... Caroline needs it more.'
Something sparked in him and I had it down as humanity. If this was the bad influence my minister employer had spoken about then he needed to go back to his Bible and check his facts.
'Craig, please, take me to Caroline ... before it's too late.'
* * * *
We went from a squat to a flea-pit one-bedroom flat in Gorgie. It was an old tenement that had been sub-divided so many times the bathroom was in a hall cupboard and the kitchen squashed along one wall of the living room. The heavy hardwood doors and exposed floorboards added a false air of faded grandeur to the place that a few years ago must have been close to the condemned list. TV's property porn had a lot to answer for, they'd be reselling us avocado sinks as trendy must-haves soon enough.
Craig had got twitchy in the taxi on the way over, seemed to want to confide something in someone — it didn't turn out to be me. I was still scoobied about his role in all of this when he introduced me to Caroline where she sat on the sofa in the midst of her duvet-day. She was a pretty girl with a wide, trusting face. The red hair from her photograph was now subdued by a darker blonde, but the piercing blue eyes still shone.
'Hello, Caroline ...'
She clocked me and then her eyes darted to Craig, who held up his hands in histrionic style.
'Don't even go there ...' he said, shifting hands to hips. 'He's nothing to do with me.'
Craig went over to fluff up Caroline's pillows. 'She's warned me about bringing men back, you know.'
'Oh ...' The confirmation that he was gay just added to my confusion.
'You pair aren't together then?' I said.
Caroline grabbed back her pillow, pushed Craig's fussing hands away. 'No, we're just good friends.'
If that was meant to be funny I wasn't laughing. This girl was a heavily pregnant runaway that her father had hired me to find. Now I'd set eyes on her I wanted some answers, but I sensed they weren't going to be the ones I expected.
I could see Caroline and Craig had set up home together in Poor Street and the idea didn't seem to appeal much to either of them. The impending delivery seemed to be weighing heavily, in more ways than one, on Caroline who looked to be near the end of her tether with worry.
'You should know, your father hired me to find you.'
Silence.
Craig pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the floor; Caroline had him in her gaze but he didn't look up as he buried his head in his hands.
'Craig ...' she said. Her stare flitted between her friend and myself. 'What's going on?'
I took a step forward, sat on my haunches beside her. 'Craig has nothing to do with why I'm here, I found him at the squat and didn't give him much choice but to bring me here.'
'Some mad Weejie cracked a pot over his head!' said Craig.
Caroline thinned her eyes and mumbled towards Craig, 'Bloody Florence Nightingale effect works on you every time.'
Craig pursed his lips, 'Hey, I don't hear you complaining about me nursing you!'
I felt trapped in a surreal sit-com. I rose to my feet again. 'Look, is somebody going to tell me what the hell is going on here?'
The earlier silence was joined by a rolling tumbleweed.
I pitched up the volume. 'Right, I have just about enough brain-cells left to suss that something's not as it appears here, but I'll be fucked if I can pin the tail on the donkey, so one of you better start talking or I'm on the blower to daddy ...'
Caroline kicked off the duvet; rising from the sofa was a struggle in her condition but she managed to find her feet before the red-cheeked anger subsided from her face. 'No! You can't!'
I repositioned myself a few feet away from her, she had a crazy look in her eye now and I didn't want her to hurt herself lunging for me.
'Caroline, calm yourself ...' I said.
'We came here to get away from him.' Her eyes filled with tears, she was sobbing as Craig appeared at her side and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.
'I showed them my palms, tried to reel-in any earlier threat I'd put out. 'Okay, okay ... don't get upset.'
Craig picked up a stray vibe from Caroline and went from placid to belligerent in a blink. 'You've no idea what she's been through with him ... '
His words seemed to set Caroline off again, her lower lip went into spasm and she sobbed. 'I can't see him ... I just can't ...'
I looked back to the door, touched the sides of my mouth and wondered if I could have created more panic with a hand-grenade. When my mobi started to ring the situation went atomic.
'Who's that?' yelled Craig.
I took out my phone, I could see it was Amy. 'It's just my friend ...'
Caroline joined in the yelling, added in some more sobs. 'Don't let him speak to my dad ...'
'It's not him,' I said. 'Look, I'll ding the call.'
I pressed can
cel on the phone, but at once I knew it was too late. Caroline creased up, she bent over and then her knees folded beneath her. The yell she let out went back all the way to my ancestors in Africa.
'Oh, shit,' said Craig. 'Oh, shit ... oh, shit ...'
He patted her back, tried to get her to stand.
'What is it?' I said.
'What is it?' snapped Craig. 'She's having the baby.'
* * * *
The ambulance ride out to the Royal passed in unreal fashion. There was some fuss getting Caroline fastened into the stretcher — her belly getting in the way — then some more when the paramedics refused to take both Craig and myself. In the end, I got the seat, because they figured my head needed looking at; I was already running out of quips for this.
I got a call out to Amy, told her where we were heading. She said she was jumping in a taxi right away.
'I tried to call earlier,' she said.
'Yeah, well, you could say I had my hands full ...'
'I see that.'
Curiosity got the better of me. 'What was it anyway?'
'I've got some news for you but it'll keep ... it's the kind of thing that's better delivered in person anyway.'
I hung up, intrigued.
When they wheeled Caroline in she was panting and gasping — I could hear her even behind the oxygen mask — it didn't look a good sign. Neither did her slapping fists off the mattress. I was less fazed when I started to hear some of the screams from the maternity ward: I imagined a Guantanamo Bay waterboarding session sounded much the same.
'Will she be okay?' I asked as they wheeled her away.
There was no answer save the boilerplate, 'She's pregnant.'
As I watched her go, some bright spark in blue-green scrubs put a wheelchair down in front of me and motioned 'in'.
I frowned, 'No chance. I walk fine.'
I managed two steps before my knees went. Seems I'd been running on my last reserves of adrenaline.
'Like I thought, that gash tells a different story,' he said. 'How much blood did you lose?'
I touched my head, felt the dried and crusty wound on my fingertips. The blood had seeped all the way down into my shirt collar, I traced more all the way to my waistband. 'Would you like me to estimate in millilitres?'
'Looks like you took quite a clatter.' If this dude was a doctor, I figured he should be putting his skills to use on someone who needed them.
I wanted to play wide, say, 'No shit, Sherlock.' But went with a peacemaker, 'Yes, quite a clatter.'
They spent half an hour or so patching me up. The wound in my head needed stitches and I landed a nice Rab C-style head bandage to complete the look of a complete jakey.
I was woozy, maybe a little drugged, when Amy brought in the news: 'She had a little girl.'
I tried to smile, but my head hurt too much, 'You know she's not keeping the kid ...'
Amy bit her lip, nodded. 'Yeah, she said ... I could hardly blame her.'
'What ... is everything okay?'
Amy moved towards the edge of the bed, sat. 'She's fine ... been chirping away like a budgie.'
I tried to sit up but the tight, white linen constricted me, 'What about?'
Amy put on her shit-stopping serious look, 'It's not pretty, Gus ... Not in any way.'
I motioned to my head, 'Do I look like someone who needs sugar-coating?'
Amy stood up quickly, seemed agitated. She took off her coat and put it over the chair by the bed. The place was like a furnace, I couldn't fault her for that, but the rolling up of sleeves indicated an altogether different purpose. 'I checked out our minister ...'
'And?'
'Well, let's just say you were right to have your suspicions.' Her eyes burned into me as she spoke. 'He's in line to be the Moderator of the Church of Scotland.'
'Now, that's a big gig.'
She nodded. 'The biggest, comes with the Right Reverend title ... you could see why he has Oscar night nerves.'
'Indeed he does.'
Amy put her arms round her slim waist, hugged herself, 'Gus, I feel strange talking about this, but Caroline said some stuff when she, well after the birth, I think she was still under the drugs, but ...'
I pushed down some of the sheets and edged myself up. I could see Amy's distress, so motioned her closer. 'Look, if there's something I need to know, you better just spit it out.'
Amy started to cry. She was a tough girl and this came out of the blue. I'd never seen her like this before. 'Hey, what's the matter?'
She put her hand to her mouth, 'Caroline says ... he's the father.'
I slumped, felt the air sucked out of my lungs like a punch to the gut. 'What?'
I looked at Amy and saw the emotional dam burst. 'She says he raped her. She was coming home late, just nights on the town with Craig ... Urquhart hated him because he was gay, called him deviant, an affront to God. He said she had lost her way and he needed to set her on the right path ... Gus, Caroline ran away because she hates the sight of her father and who on Earth could blame her?' She put her face in her hands and sobbed harder, 'Gus, it's too sad for words ... just too sad for words.'
I couldn't listen to any more. I felt a burn in the pit of my stomach that I knew as anger. It was at the kindling stage just now, the worst kind. I had known anger all my life and could tell this kind, the controlled variety, was far more powerful than the volcanic eruptions. I was ready to flay Urquhart alive.
'Give me my phone over,' I said.
'You can't use a phone in hospital.'
'Fuck it. Give me it.'
She passed me the mobi, it smelled of fags, Silkies.
I dialled Urquhart's number and he answered on the second or third ring. My voice was firm, the tone as dulled as my emotion. 'Hello, Minister, this is Gus Dury.'
'Oh, hello … I was hoping to hear from you.' He managed to make it sound like a pleasant enough social call. Like I was about to offer to drop off some cakes for a fete. 'Have you uncovered anything?'
My tone sharpened, 'You better believe it.'
'Well, that's wonderful news.'
'Is it?'
'Well, yes, I-I ...' Some of the pulpit-confidence subsided.
'I've found your daughter, Minister ...' the last word stung as it passed my lips, felt I needed to spit it out. 'But I've ran into a few extra expenses along the way.'
He played dumb, milking a reverence he had no entitlement to. 'I don't understand.'
I ramped it up, my volume, my aggression, the lot. 'Understand this, my good and godly man, the price is now two-thousand in cash by this afternoon.'
'What?'
'You heard, Minister ... You ever want to hear that Right Reverend bit upfront then you better be where I first met you at five in the p.m. And bring cash, I don't take cheques, not from the likes of you.'
I killed the line.
* * * *
I'd never had a good experience in a hospital, didn't think I ever would. I knew I wasn't alone in that regard. But something stabbed at me this time, this one time that I was able to be around for the birth of a child had wounded me more than I could say.
When Debs lost our baby, I knew that was it. They told her we wouldn't get another chance. And we never did. I don't mean to bring life into this world: we had no chances left after that. The child was our last one.
It killed me to think about those days, so I didn't.
There were times when I couldn't look away, though, and that's where the alcohol came in. I wasn't drinking to forget, I was drinking to obliterate.
When people ask me why I drink so much, I know the answer: because oblivion is the only place I feel comfortable.
I tugged my beanie hat over the head bandage and turned into the shop on the corner of Easter Road and London Road. I ordered up a packet of Marlboro. On auto-pilot, the girl reached for Lights.
'No, give me the red-tops,' I said.
I was back on the lung-bleeders and I knew they'd be skating on the River Styx before I att
ended any fucking hypertension clinic.
On the way towards the Leith San Siro I felt a calm enter my blood. My father had played there, was a kent face all round these parts. When I thought about him now, I knew I had no feelings in my soul for him. I knew how Caroline felt, perhaps not emphatically, but I knew the neighbourhood of her hurts.
She'd never be free of what her father did to her, I knew that. She'd never lose the guilt, and the pain, and the neat store of recriminations she'd package up and take with her wherever she went, for the rest of her life.
But our time was finite and the mind could sometimes be tricked to forget. I didn't want to think about her life being written-off, I wanted to think she was stronger than me.
I didn't want to think about the child at all.
Amy had gone to see the poor mite, but I didn't want to store the image in my mind. Just now the child was merely a jumble of words and thoughts to me; I couldn't allow it to become flesh and blood. I had a dark place in my heart reserved just for these sentiments, and that's where I placed that poor child.
Amy was standing outside the Coopers Rest, oblivious to a pack of jakies' interest in the pavement scoreline. I waved from across the street and she nodded, dowped her fag on the wall.
I'd asked Amy along, not as back-up or decoration, but because she set the tone I wanted. She had edge.
'Hello ...' I said.
'He's inside.'
'Already?'
'Been here since I arrived ... why do you think I'm standing in the street?'
There was rarely an answer for Amy's questions.
'Right, then ... let's do this.'
She nodded and reached for the door handle.
Urquhart was sitting in the snug with a bottle of Highland Spring. Still. He had a pinched, grey pallor on him today. The look didn't so much say he'd been rumbled, as presented a pontifical so what to the world.
We made our approach slowly, but kept eyes on him the whole way. On our way he stood up, and his eyes lit on Amy.
When we were a couple of yards from his table he spoke, 'Who is this?'
Amy looked him up and down, she blew out her Hubba Bubba and popped the bubble fast. Her look said an answer to his question was going to be a long time coming. She sat down and crossed her legs towards the bar.
'You don't ask any questions, Minister,' I said. I called to the barman, 'Rum and coke, twice.'
