Remedy is None

by William McIlvanney

  She waited till they had about three-quarters of an hour remaining to them in the lounge. She had wanted to put it off as long as possible and at the same time to have the atmosphere of the lounge as an ally in case she was forced to discuss it at length. Conversation drifted for a moment into silence. Having grown sufficiently accustomed to his new image of himself, Peter had been busy being gallant to her, making her feel at home in his happiness. He had just been joking with the waiter, giving her an oblique compliment. When the waiter had brought the drinks and left them, she decided to speak.

  ‘Peter,’ she said, ‘remember we discussed going down to Kilmarnock? Well, what about it? Could we? I would like to see them.’

  He prevaricated with a sip of whisky.

  ‘Not now, Jane,’ he said. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it tonight, eh? We’ll just keep tonight for celebrating. This is a night for Whitmores only. Exclusive lease.’

  ‘But we’ve put it off already. Please, Peter. It would just complete the night perfectly for me. Just say we can go down. That’s all.’

  Peter took another sip of whisky and waited vaguely for the reaction of his stomach as if thinking was a gastronomic process.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down to Kilmarnock. Soon. All right? We don’t have to name the day, just yet, do we?’

  But concession is tutor to demand, and reading his mood correctly, she had no intention of leaving it at that.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘But I’ve been thinking. Well, since the football team goes down to Kilmarnock next Saturday . . .’ She gave him a minute to turn the fact over before she proceeded to planting. ‘Well. I could come down with you. You could go to the match in the afternoon. And I could do some shopping. And at night . . .’

  Too late, he realized what was happening. The loophole of the indefinite future became a lasso on the present.

  ‘It’s ideal really,’ she said, pulling it tight.

  ‘But right out the blue like that? They won’t even know we’re coming.’

  ‘But they wouldn’t know anyway, would they?’

  ‘They might not be in.’

  ‘They might not be in any other time as well. That’s a chance we’re taking any time.’

  ‘But... I just don’t fancy it, Jane. I don’t even know them. And I’m quite sure they don’t want to know me.’

  ‘They will once they’ve seen you.’

  ‘I wish my bookie was laying odds on that.’

  ‘Come on, Peter. For my sake. Please. Just give it a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Just come down with me and see. That’s all. Please, Peter.’

  Peter shook his head, not sure whether it was in refusal or resignation. There should have been objections, but he had mislaid them somewhere in his immense feeling of well-being. All he could find was a vague and inexpressible misgiving, an incommunicable fragment of the reasons against it that he should have been able to provide. He was too happy to argue vehemently and he couldn’t bring himself to spoil the conclusion to the night that he had been looking forward to. But he couldn’t escape a sense of treachery in the bright warmth and the murmur of soft voices and the gentle, molten passage of the whisky. He might have known there would be something like this at the end of such a day, the pay-off of pleasure. It had all been just too good. So here was the evening presenting him with the bill. Yet he still felt too generous to quibble.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘All right,’ and an incipient huff surrendered to her smile.

  Mrs Whitmore’s happiness was complete. The room froze into a reflection of her joy and everything and everyone in it seemed to be employed on her behalf. She was so happy that she felt a little guilty. Pleasure of such intensity seemed somehow forbidden. She felt its physical luxury enclose her like a net. But its meshes were silken, silken. Slowly, they were drawing curtains on the evening, and ‘bed’ flashed like neon in the warm darkness of her mind. All that remained was to find some words to fill the interval, some mundanities of conversation, the more ridiculous the better, so that they didn’t disturb her anticipation by involving her interest.

  ‘Tell me about the football, Peter,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

  Part Two

  Chapter 14

  ‘THEN MITCHELL GOT HOLD O’ THIS LOOSE BALL. AH mean it looked as if there was nae danger. He’d hardly had a shove at it up to then, as well. That’s the thing aboot Mitchell, though. He can lie out a game for eighty-five minutes. But if ye just get ’im on it for the ither five, you’re home to tea. Anyway, this ball broke to ’im, ye know? He was standin’ facin’ his own goal too. He trapped it and turned in the wan movement. An’ then without stoppin’ he brought it right past the back, just as if he wisny there. Ye woulda thought the ball was fixed to his foot wi’ elastic. He moved in to about the corner o’ the box, an’ the centre-half cut right across. Then it was just a blur. Mitchell kinda juggled the ball over the centre-half’s foot. His right foot. An then, still in the same position.. .. Ah mean ye woulda thought he would shove it in tae Cairns. But naw. His right foot was still in line wi’ the centre-half an’ he blutered it wi’ his left. Really low an’ right inside the post. Inch perfect. Travellin’ like a train. The goalie was naewhere. No chance. It was like somethin’ out the Rover. Wasn’t it, Jim?’

  ‘Apart from the questionable literary allusion,’ Jim said in his professorial voice, ‘your account may be considered more or less accurate. It was a great game, though, Charlie. You shoulda been there. The boys was glorious. They really was.’

  ‘We were standin’ at the usual place too,’ Andy said. ‘We thought we would see ye there. Wee Alex Andrews was there. Shoutin’ like a daft yin.’

  ‘Naw. Ah don’t know,’ Charlie hedged. ‘Ah just didn’t fancy it. Couldn^t be bothered.’

  He was still recovering from the surprise of Jim and Andy visiting him like this. Lately he had lost any sense of the phases of the week. The focus of his life had so shifted that time lost all perspective, ceased to be ordered into a series of habits that promised to recur indefinitely into the future. Now suddenly into his mapless despairing thinking had come Jim and Andy, proclaiming Saturday night. With their smart suits and Italian shoes and their bright complementary appearances, they were like a vaudeville team. Their conversation too was sustained cross-talk, with catch-phrases and cross-references. They often told things in duet, finishing each other’s remarks. Mutual acquaintance had so worked on them that when they were together they seemed to speak parts written by habit. Listening to them, Charlie felt a response to their glib patter and easy acceptance quicken in himself. Because of the sense of dispossession of himself that he felt, the ease with which they seemed to inhabit their identities impressed him as something much finer than in truth it was. Its effect on him was almost apocalyptic. Sometimes when you think too deeply into the reasons of your life, uprooting every habit and blighting instinct with questions, your being becomes so barren that all you can do is let it lie fallow for a while and wait for any seeds of chance to blow in and take root. To Charlie this seemed such a moment. He had thought himself into limbo and now suddenly into it had happened these two people who were their own reasons. They seemed effortlessly to contradict Charlie’s despair. Being with them, he couldn’t help wondering if they didn’t have the right of it after all, being content just to go on from day to day being themselves. He had painfully left behind him everything he had accepted before and taken up his lonely position, entrenched in his own despair. And now Jim and Andy had caught him off his guard and infiltrated their fifth column of spontaneous enjoyment and made him wonder if his position was tenable at all.

  ‘That’s us second tap o’ the League,’ Jim said. ‘After that it’s the European Cup. We’ll take Real Madrid tae the cleaners. Scotia, the rickety cradle of soccer, will oncet again lead the van.’

  ‘Ah’ll have a penny poke of mixed metaphors, please.’ Andy said. ‘But we didn’t come here for to do wur roving reporter, did we now? Shal
l we tell the man?’

  Jim volleyed his eyebrows up and down, pouting sexily.

  ‘We bring you news, O Master,’ Andy said solemnly.

  He clapped his hands like a Grand Vizier and Jim went into his own version of an eastern dance, swivelling his hips and peering enticingly over his down turned hands.

  ‘Behold,’ intoned Charlie. ‘We know of a place, O Great One, where the V.P. flows like wine and the women are soft and yielding to the touch. Umpteen of them. Yea, a veritable harem.’

  ‘And each of them partial to a wee bit harum-scarum,’ leered Jim, dancing over to nudge Charlie.

  ‘There are all things for a man’s delight. Women beauteous as the dawn.’

  ‘And game as they come.’

  ‘Unlimited supplies of the sacred weed.’

  ‘An’ ye get free fags as well.’

  ‘Sweet music.’

  ‘The pick of the pops and the popsies. Can you beat it?’

  ‘Whit he means is we’ve been invited tae a pairty,’ Jim explained.

  ‘My crude compatriot would make a fairy-tale sound like a shopping list. But Ah suppose ye could put it that way. An’ not only that. But by public demand you are invited also as well. So get on yer hunting hat and let’s go.’

  ‘Naw, no’ me,’ Charlie said. ‘Ah’m no in the mood, Andy. Ye can tell me about it.’

  ‘Let us not talk mutiny, Charles,’ Jim said. ‘Since when did crumpet become a matter of mood. It’s a matter of principle man. We have an obligation to our fans. Are ye goin’ tae let all these women go to waste? Think of your responsibilities.’

  ‘Ah’ll let you worry about that, Jim. Ah know ye’ve got a fine sense of public duty. Whose pairty is it, anyway?’

  ‘Eddie Gibson’s,’ Andy said. ‘His folks’re away for a weekend somewhere. So Eddie’s got the fambly mansion to himself. It’s quite a house too. Plenty o’ rooms tae get lost in.’Jim interpolated caddish laughter. ‘And he has invited a formidable array of cuff. Everything’s laid on, man. Booze. Talent. Record-player. Snuggery with room for as many couples as you care to mention. What a set-up, Charlie. Carpets will be rolled up and hair will be let down. Morals will be left at the door. Trousers optional. Cost of admission: one bottle of nothing in particular. Cold tea, if you’re stuck. How can ye refuse, man? How can ye refuse?’

  ‘You canny, Charlie,’ Jim said. ‘You just canny. How can ye sit here in preference to that? It’s like turning down Hawaii for a week-end in Arran.’

  ‘Aye, just you wade in there then, Jim,’ Charlie said. ‘An’ good fishing. But it’s no’ for me. The way Ah feel the noo, Ah don’t think Ah could muster enough patter tae last me through a sentence. Ah just don’t feel like all that merry chiff-chaff an’ casual talk.’

  ‘Who said anything about talk?’ Andy’s hands spread in appeal. ‘If it’s taciturn you feel, that’s the way you play it, boy. Tight as a clam. A man of mystery. Ah can just see it. Ye come in wi’ a fag hangin’ out yer mouth. Ye give the company a friendly sneer. All eyes are on you. Then it’s just a matter of pickin’ out the one ye fancy an’ noddin’ towards the bedroom. It always works in the pictures.’

  ‘No’ in the ones Ah’ve seen. Naw, thanks all the same, boys. But Ah’d feel like the proverbial spare one at a wedding. You go an’ have a few for me.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Jim said in a tone of brusque competence. ‘Just a minute.’

  He made a great show of restraining Andy, took out an invisible stethoscope and proceeded to sound Charlie methodically.

  ‘Hm. Uh-huh.’ He nodded sagely to himself.

  ‘Just as I thought. The so-and-so’s deid.’

  ‘I demand a second opinion,’ Charlie said.

  ‘All right then.’ Andy supplied it. ‘Ye’re damn near deid. But we’re givin’ ye a chance tae get back to life. Lazarus, I say, git up off yer hunkers an’ walk. With us down to this place here an’ see whit life really is. Come on, Charlie. Whit dae ye say?’

  ‘Ach, Ah’d just be a drag on the rations, Andy.’

  ‘Such modesty,’ Jim said. ‘Listen, friend. Nobody who brings a bottle with him is ever a drag on the rations. Anyway if ye just leave one o’ yer heads at the door, nobody’ll be any the wiser. An’ ye can tuck that third leg o’ yours out of sight. An’ as for yer leprosy, Ah’ve told ye often enough before – whit’s that among friends?’

  ‘Ye know, Jim,’ Andy said, ‘Ah don’t think this man fully appreciates yet the chance he’s getting. Do ye know some of the people who’re going to be there?’

  Andy proceeded to rhyme off a series of girls’ names, accompanying each with a brief biographical note, touching upon appearance, past history, and potential. Charlie listened amusedly. He wasn’t unwilling to be persuaded. Already he had fallen into the same idiom as Andy and Jim, feeling again its old familiarity. It was reassuring just to listen to them and to fall in with their mood, to concern yourself with football matches and parties and girls without worrying too much about anything. In this company Charlie could almost believe that the only thing that was wrong with him was that he had lost touch with these casual aspects of his life, and that this loss was the cause and not a symptom of the way he felt. And after all, you needed these trivial concerns, these parts of your life that you could take for granted and be jocular about. They were the essential ballast of your everyday life that kept you sane, saved you from becoming too introvert. This was the law of levity that governed your existence.

  ‘There you are then, Charlie,’ Andy said. ‘The riches of the Indies. At your disposal. Just stretch out yer hand, man. And watch ye don’t get it cut off. Or better still, just get yer jacket on and come down with us.’

  ‘Ah must admit Ah’m tempted, boys,’ Charlie said uncertainly. ‘But Ah don’t know.’

  For the first time for a while Charlie seemed to see light at the end of the dark warren of circuitous thought in which he had lost himself since his father’s death. He relished the prospect of going out with Andy and Jim. For the moment everything suddenly seemed simplified and he could not readily bring to mind the reasons for not going with them, except that in the past weeks impassivity and isolation had become almost habitual with him. And it was this instinct which now made him reluctant to be ferreted out of his inactivity.

  ‘What gives with ye, Charlie?’ Jim was obviously baffled. ‘Ye’re no’ still goin’ wi’ Mary, are ye? Ah thought Ah’d heard . . .’

  ‘Naw, naw,’ Charlie helped him out. ‘We packed it in. The other week there.’

  ‘Do I detect the rattle of a broken heart, fond lover?’

  ‘Ye’ll detect a rattle on the side of the heid just directly,’ Charlie said. ‘Naw, Ah think Ah’ll survive.’

  ‘No’ at this rate ye’ll no’.’ Andy shook his head gravely. ‘Speaking in my professional capacity as your physician, Sir Charles, I must warn you of the danger of letting your fractured ego set in its present position. I recommend strenuous exercise of the libido.’

  ‘Come on, Charlie,’ Jim said. ‘Don’t let it get you. It happens to everybody. Come on out and forget it.’

  That was all Charlie needed to sway him. By the easy way in which they categorized his feelings, they made it seem perfectly normal, a commonplace state of mind. He was the traditional disappointed lover, trying to forget his disappointment. He had a convenient peg on which to hang his troubles for the moment, leaving him free to enjoy the evening for its own sake.

  ‘Fair enough, then,’ he said. ‘But Ah’d have to change an’ give maself a shave.’

  ‘Well, it’ll be a come-as-you-please sort of caper, Ah fancy,’ Andy said. ‘But suit yourself.’

  Charlie went through to the kitchen and put on a kettle. He washed and shaved carefully, going through all the familiar actions like a ritual that evoked his old self. Everything he did seemed to normalize the situation further. He savoured the cool contact of the clean white shirt against his skin, chose his tie as carefully as a politician chooses his policy, a
nd then spent time on the exact tying of it, as if he was putting the knot on his rediscovered assurance. He did it all methodically and deftly, feeling himself firmly buckled in the armour of normalcy.

  Left in the living-room together, Andy and Jim exchanged a significant glance like a password. Jim gave a congratulatory wink that included both of them. He lifted a newspaper and spoke from behind it in low tones in case Charlie should come in.

  ‘Ay, Charlie’s no’ that far gone, anyway,’ he said, ‘that he canny hear the call of the crumpet.’

  ‘But just take it easy,’ Andy said. ‘Let’s not push our luck. Phase Two doesn’t come into operation until we’ve all had a wee bit drink. Fair enough?’

  ‘Roger. Over and out,’Jim said. ‘Here. When did Charlie say Elizabeth and her boy friend would be in from the pictures? It’s nearly half-six the noo.’

  ‘Well, they went to the late afternoon house. Probably no’ be in till after seven.’

  ‘By which time the birds will have flew. We’ll nip down to Gowdie’s and have a few jugs of aphrodisiac. Hey, Charlie. Get a jildy on man. There’ll no’ be a virgin left.’

  Chapter 15

  GOWDIE’S WAS A BIG PLAGE, A SORT OF ARCHITECTURAL Siamese twin. The bar, where Charlie and Andy and Jim were, was the original building, but with the shift of the social bias towards the acceptance of women drinkers, it had grown a more refined extension. Gowdie had bought out the seed-store next door and now it blossomed with plush furniture and bright fittings. The large cocktail lounge was Gowdie’s ambush laid for the latest clientele, a conspiracy of soft lights and tasteful decor. Lush leather chairs beckoned the more bureaucratic bums, wooed the soft flanks of women in smart suits, whose rings flashed casual wealth as they lifted long-stemmed glasses in the amber glow of wall-lights. Fish swam back and forth along the walls in the inset aquaria, weaving through pseudo seaweed, looking phantasmal and goggle-eyed through the coloured glass. Waiters in smart white jackets bent politely towards men who ordered particular brands of particular drinks. The lounge was connoisseur country where men were impressive and women were impressed, and didn’t need a purse. Voices were seldom raised, unless the remark was clever. The small groups talked together quietly and drinks were incidental to other things. A hand would touch a knee. Two heads would come close. These activities continued suavely and restrainedly, oblivious to the rowdier enjoyment in the bar, except that occasionally the sliding-door to the latter regions would be pushed open, and someone would head for the lounge toilet with the polite ‘Excuse me. But they’re queuin’ up through-bye.’