Sign of the Times

by Susan Buchanan

  “Actually no. I fell asleep. I thought you were going to be here. What time you working tomorrow?”

  “Nine.”

  “You’d better take a taxi. C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he said, as he guided his huffing, drunken girlfriend upstairs.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Next morning, Carl slipped out without waking Lucy. She’d need the extra hour’s sleep, after the state she’d been in. He had an appointment with his bank manager, but wanted to peruse his paperwork beforehand. After padding downstairs, he made coffee and took it through to his home-office. Everything seemed to be on track. The bank had lent him the money, but with rather stringent conditions. He pushed the papers aside, remembering he’d agreed to email his brother. Carl got on with everyone in his family. Perhaps it was because he was in the middle. Nine years younger than Fraser, nine years older than Izzy. Robert and Izzy were closest to him. That reminded him. As best man, he really ought to start thinking about Robert’s wedding. It had worked out well for Fraser, who was coming home for six weeks encompassing their father’s seventieth, his brother’s stag night and wedding.

  It took Carl longer than he thought to compose his email and he realised he’d run out of time. Robert would have to wait too. The wedding was only a few months away. He hadn’t even thought about his speech and was hoping to pick someone’s brains, who’d done it before.

  Carl looked at his reflection anxiously in the mirror. He couldn’t quite manage to go all out and wear a suit. He gave himself a shake. It was only his bank manager. He hurriedly scribbled a note to Lucy. “Can we have dinner together tonight?”

  “Hi Carl. Got your note. Yes, I can be home for dinner. If you’re good, I might take care of dessert,” Lucy’s voice purred at him as he drove along Great Western Rd. Carl could feel himself getting worked up. Lucy did that to him and then, when they did get it together, very occasionally, all his expectations were exceeded. It had been a while, he realised. He had been so caught up in everything else, the restaurant, family events, but then, Lucy’s schedule was hectic too. He was relieved Lucy was free tonight. They didn’t spend nearly enough time together.

  “Hi,” Lucy flounced into the hall, swinging her Gucci bag onto the table. Carl came towards her, apron on and utensils in both hands.

  “Hi,” he kissed her softly. But Lucy was having none of the softly softly approach. Her hands slipped down to his thighs. Carl groaned. He wanted to make love to her right now, but he had gone to all the trouble of making them a banquet for dinner. Lucy was in playful mode. Releasing him, she nipped to the bathroom, whilst Carl finished off preparing their main course. He was just dishing up, when she appeared resplendent in a black basque. Carl, lost, took one look at her and turned the gas off.

  “I’m knackered!” Carl grinned, sweat glistening on his upper body. It was always a marathon with Lucy. She was insatiable, but now he was starving.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Lucy replied wantonly.

  “Shall we have dinner then?” he asked tracing his finger along the curve of her bottom.

  “It’s not dinner I’m hungry for,” Lucy eyed him wickedly and laughing they reached for one another again.

  “You are one bad girl, Lucy Jameson,” Carl chuckled.

  Two hours later, Carl did what he could to salvage dinner. They lay spent on the sofa, Lucy’s blonde head on Carl’s stomach and chatted about trivial things. No family or work. Carl knew Lucy wasn’t taken with his family. She thought they were too interfering. Although close to her sister, Holly, she couldn’t relate to Carl’s troupe living in each other’s pockets. Their careers were worlds apart and Carl guessed Lucy was fed up listening to him go over every detail about the restaurant.

  “I am so looking forward to this ski trip,” Lucy enthused.

  “Yeah, it’s been a while since you’ve been on holiday,” agreed Carl. “In fact, it’s been a while since we went on holiday,” Carl realised.

  “Carl, we’ve only been on holiday twice.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Lucy sighed.

  “Well, we’ll need to rectify that. Once the restaurant’s up and running, let’s go somewhere exotic.”

  “Like where?” Lucy faced him, intrigued.

  “Well, what about Maui?”

  “No, full of Americans.”

  “Well, what about that place we talked about before?”

  “In the Maldives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marangu Island,” said Lucy thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. We should visit the Maldives now before global warming puts them underwater forever.”

  “Good point. I’ll look into it. When do you want to go?”

  “Well that’s more up to you, isn’t it? The restaurant?” Lucy clarified, when Carl stared at her blankly.

  “Oh yes. Well, maybe end of January?”

  *

  The next week came all too soon. Although Carl wasn’t around much when Lucy was home, her absence affected him deeply. Even her asleep in bed beside him was enough sometimes. For once, Lucy was up before him, as she had an early flight.

  Carl luxuriated in the shower, then started on the wedding plans. He had the speech to write and more imminently the stag night to organise. They had opted for a day at Knockhill Racing Circuit followed by a night out in Edinburgh.

  A few calls later and thirty-five guys had signed up. Most of them would do the rally experience, but Robert was car mad. He appreciated the beauty of the machines and was never done talking about brake horsepower. Carl had suggested chipping in a few extra quid to let Robert have the Ferrari experience. The stag do would be a riot, just the thing to take his mind off the restaurant for a bit. His heart, body and soul were being poured into it. Hopefully once it was ticking over and he had some decent staff, matters would improve.

  *

  Carl missed Lucy. He left her several messages, but hadn’t spoken to her in days. Maybe she hadn’t got his messages. Even so, she might have called him. Carl sighed. He knew Lucy. She only thought about the here and now. She’d be thinking solely of her ski trip. It wouldn’t occur to her he might worry. OK, so she was Miss Well-Travelled, but you couldn’t be too careful.

  Over the next few days, Carl kept himself busy. He went to lunch at his parents’ again. Izzy, Flora, Robert and the kids were there.

  “How’s Lucy enjoying her trip?” Flora asked.

  “Fine,” Carl said.

  Izzy piped up, “You haven’t spoken to her, have you?”

  His baby sister knew him too well. Sometimes they felt more like twins than brother and sister. He was annoyed with Lucy for not phoning him. He also guessed that Izzy was about to get on his case and he wasn’t in the mood.

  “Not now Izzy,” Carl sighed.

  Izzy raised her hands in defeat, “It’s your life, Carl.”

  Carl was glad when Robert came back in and they started talking about the stag do. They were staying at The Sheraton off Lothian Road. Carl had booked treatments for them and as a joke had booked Robert in for waxing. Wait till his brother found that out.

  The next day, Carl was driving to Strathblane, when his phone rang. “Hi. How are you? Sorry I haven’t been in touch. There was no reception.”

  “Thank God, Luce. I’ve been worried sick.”

  He wasn’t impressed by Lucy’s statement that she didn’t ‘do’ public phones. She was in Italy, en route to see Holly. The conversation didn’t last long and it left him dissatisfied.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  The mock up menu was back from the printer. It looked great. The actual paper would be like that used for good wedding invitations, stiff as a board. It had scalloped edges and would nestle inside a leather bound cover, embossed with gold lettering bearing The Steadings, the phone number, email address and website. All Carl had to do now was dream up the menu.

  Carl parked in the nearest thing resembling a parking space in what remained of h
is car park and surveyed the buildings before him. The builders were making progress. Another few weeks and it would be ready to start putting fittings and furnishings in. He headed for his office, as he was interviewing serving staff. He didn’t want to risk all the good people being snapped up by other establishments hiring Christmas staff next month.

  The interviews were a mixed bag. He discounted the retired woman who wanted very specific hours. The other two he would keep under his belt. A quick look on Google kick-started his speech-writing crusade. He was unsure if he should do anything risqué. His mother might not like that, although the newlyweds would take it in good spirit. The last wedding he’d gone to, the best man had taken off his waistcoat, turned around to toast the bride and groom and shown the assembled crowd a blown up poster of the groom at university, bollock naked in a drunken stupor. It had raised a lot of howls and was one of the best speeches he had ever heard. But he remembered that the elderly relatives had been appalled. On second thoughts, he’d better not risk it.

  “Good evening everyone. Before I start, let me just say that the formative years I spent in the groom’s company means he had as much of a part in developing my sense of humour as anyone. So, although I have tried to make this speech as funny as possible, please blame Robert if it's not.”(laughter). He’d stolen this from a website.

  He discounted another offering on the website, suggested for weddings where Highland dress was worn.

  “Just in case the bridesmaids were wondering, nothing is worn under my kilt – in fact, I’d go a step further and say everything is in perfect working order.” No, Lucy would kill him. The male members of the bridal party would be wearing kilts. Robert had decided on Hunting Stewart.

  “Robert, out of all my brothers, is the only one to have asked me to be his best man. OK, that might be because I was about ten when Fraser got married, but all the same.” (laughter). “There’s one photograph that we’ve never really been able to show Jackie before.” Carl would either hold it up or project the image of Robert, aged one, his face covered in chocolate, wearing a filthy bib, a yellow dummy stuck in his mouth and not a stitch on.

  Carl read over what he’d written. Perhaps he should ask the other members of the family what they’d like to hear about. A few more clicks of the mouse and then the website blocked him, asking him for payment before it would show him any more examples. Damn, was nothing in life free? Carl’s stomach grumbled. Locking his office, he climbed up the hill to the shop to get a sandwich.

  “It’s me,” Izzy said. “Just calling to say that’s us booked up for Dad’s birthday. I take it you’ll be down on Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, cos I want to discuss what we need to take with us. OK, must dash, my four o’clock’s here.”

  On impulse, Carl decided he would go to the airport to meet Lucy. She walked out of Domestic Arrivals and was so distracted she banged straight into Carl. He kissed her, then wrapped his arms around her, not wanting to let go. He felt as if he lost her each time and had to start over. She was so distant. Even now, he felt reluctance in her. “I wanted to surprise you,” he told her.

  “Ye-es, well you did that all right.”

  “Nice surprise?”

  “Very nice surprise,” Lucy assured him.

  Lucy had some extra-curricular activities planned for them, so they arrived home quite late. Deciding it was his lucky night, Carl initiated round two. Lucy’s phone rang just as he came and he urged her to leave it.

  *

  Carl was at Glasgow Airport earlier than expected for Fraser’s flight. The last few weeks had disappeared and the wedding was now only ten days away. Inside the airport, Carl walked upstairs, past the money exchange and the post box and waited for them to emerge from Domestic Arrivals. He didn’t have long to wait. Fraser and Maisie, sporting matching mahogany tans, were two of the next passengers through. His brother, reserved as ever, didn’t hug him, preferring instead to clasp his hand.

  “Good flight?” Carl asked.

  “Not bad, although we did have some screaming kid kicking the back of our seats for the last two hours. Bloody parents.” Carl detected an Aussie twang in his brother’s voice.

  “Fraser!” their mother ran out the door and showered her eldest son in kisses. When they pulled apart, she beamed at him, and then greeted Maisie, in a slightly less exuberant fashion. The rest of the family soon tumbled over the threshold, to greet them.

  “Fraser,” Izzy acknowledged her brother.

  “Good to see you, Izzy,” and his sister gasped as Fraser clasped her to him. Carl raised an eyebrow. Fraser must be mellowing.

  *

  “I’ll be back tomorrow about eight,” Carl said to Lucy.

  “Have a good weekend,” she said, as he slung his rucksack over his shoulder and closed the door. Things had been a bit strained between them recently. Not even their proposed holiday drew them together. They never seemed to be in at the same time and Lucy was spending more time at work, although she was travelling less. Mistakenly, he thought that meant he would see more of her. But she pointed out that she needed to catch up with other, long neglected matters. He was beginning to feel envious of those other matters. He felt neglected. Anyway, now wasn’t the time to feel maudlin. They were off to Knockhill to enjoy themselves. Thirty-six men regressing to childhood for the day.

  An hour later they arrived at the racing circuit. The other minibus had arrived first, so Robert, Fraser and Grant came across to greet them, followed by a gaggle of Robert’s friends. Apart from Gary and Grant, who had opted for the racing car, everyone was doing the rally experience.

  They resembled a swarm of buzzing bees, with the constant drone of their chatter, as they headed over to the track. Their instructor explained about checking in and getting suited up. Robert would have his rally experience early and then his Ferrari experience as the culmination to the day. Some of the brood became a tad nervous before their turn, others were simply brimming over with nervous excitement. The instructor talked them through the various techniques, how to cope with oversteer and how to manage weight transfer.

  Finally it was time for the high-speed runs. As Donald flew round the track, nearly careering off a few times, the instructor muttered, “Hope he learns to control that.”

  “My turn,” clamoured Fraser.

  “He’s not as careful as I thought he’d be,” said Carl, as Fraser finished, flushed, close to Donald’s time.

  “Robert, you’re up,” cried Fraser.

  “Now, Robert, be careful. I promised Jackie you won’t come back in bits,” Carl joked.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be going up that aisle next week if it kills me.”

  “That comes once you’re married,” one of the lads put in. They all laughed.

  Robert shot round the track. “Thank God you’re not racing him, Grant. Did he hear what we said about remaining in one piece?” Carl asked, as Robert almost took out a barrier.

  “When’s his Ferrari 360?”

  “He’s already done his instruction. We just need to wait for his lap.”

  Robert was blinding in the Ferrari. He shot past them at, they calculated, one hundred and sixty miles per hour.

  “Woohoo!” Robert said. “That was incredible! Can I do it again?”

  “If you’ve got another few hundred notes to spare,” Adam agreed.

  They piled into the minibuses and swigged beer from their carry-outs. In just over an hour the bus deposited them at the Sheraton. Carl had the booking information.

  “Summers party please,” he said to the receptionist.

  “Fifteen twins and two family rooms?” she confirmed.

  “That’s us.”

  “So, meet here in half an hour?” Carl asked.

  “That enough time for you to blow dry your hair?” Robert ribbed Calum.

  “Cheeky git,” his friend dug him in the ribs. “Don’t you have nose-hairs to trim?”

  The receptionist moved away, grateful she
was finishing soon.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  “Are we right?” Robert asked.

  “Are we all here?” said Fraser.

  Robert counted, “Yep, let’s hit the road.”

  They headed past the Usher Hall and down Spittal Street into the Grassmarket. It was heaving. The rule was one drink per pub, so they ploughed their way through The Last Drop, The Black Bull, The Beehive and the Grassmarket Bar, by which point they were no longer thinking about the names. They made their way up towards Princes St and amazingly crossed the road without mishap. They wandered up Hanover St and nipped in to a bar near the Assembly Rooms. They hadn’t hired a stripper, instead choosing to pay a visit to one of Edinburgh’s male orientated establishments, Allsorts. Charlie told Carl that they could call for a ride, pardon the pun and the lap-dancing club would send someone to come and pick them up.

  “There are thirty six of us,” Carl reminded him.

  “Well they better find a big bus.”

  “Fair enough,” Robert shrugged drunkenly.

  Ten minutes later they were in taxis heading for the club. Carl felt weary already. This wasn’t his scene, but how could he argue with thirty-five blokes?

  “Phwoar, look at her,” Charlie said, “I wouldn’t mind a piece of that.” He indicated a blonde dancer wearing the tiniest black thong Carl had ever seen and a tassled top which barely covered her nipples. A few of the guys paid for dances. Carl felt uncomfortable. He knew he should be blokey, but it just wasn’t his bag. He left the room and found himself a quiet spot to call Lucy. Machine. “Hi. It’s me. Sorry, it’s a bit late. You’re probably in bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Carl was right. Lucy was in bed, but she wasn’t alone. As Carl was in Edinburgh overnight, she’d invited Robbie over. When Carl called, Lucy was otherwise occupied.

  Re-entering the club, Carl found a dark haired girl, gyrating over his brother’s lap. Robert was taking it in good fun, although he wasn’t remotely interested. The same couldn’t be said of some of Robert’s friends, whose eyes were out on stalks and whose hands lingered dangerously close to the dancer’s buttocks.