‘It’s fine, Andy. Honest. Go.’
‘Sure?’ I sat beside her. Looked over at the phone. ‘I could phone Jim back and cancel?’
‘Just ignore me, honey,’ she gave me a small, tight smile. ‘It’s just been a long day and I was looking forward to curling up on the couch with you tonight.’ She stretched a hand out and tapped my right cheek. ‘Go have a drink with your brother. I’ll see you when you get home.’
Billy’s, as you would expect on a Tuesday night, was fairly quiet. Only about half a dozen people were dotted about the place, all of them regulars. Jim was leaning against the bar, facing the door as I walked in. He addressed the barmaid.
‘A pint of lager for the ugly brother please.’
‘And I’ll have the same,’ I said with a grin, ‘and a whisky chaser,’ I added. Jim raised his eyebrows at the extra drink but said nothing.
Armed with our drinks we sat down at a table near the back of the pub. Although we were happy to spend our money in the town’s trendier pubs we always felt more at home here, with its unpretentious chipped formica table tops. The quarter of a gill alcohol measures were also a part of Billy’s charm.
‘Busy?’ asked Jim.
‘Busy.’ I answered.
‘What’s with the whisky?’ he asked.
‘Busy.’
‘Do you think that we’ll get past the monosyllabic responses by the time you’re on to your second drink?’
‘Yes.’ I couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer and grinned.
‘Smart arse.’
‘So tell me,’ I asked. ‘You still seeing that girl you brought to my wedding?’
‘No,’ he smiled. It was his turn.
‘Are you seeing anyone else?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’
‘Morag.’
‘Piss off, nobody’s called Morag nowadays. They outlawed that name along with decimalisation.’
‘Morag.’ he repeated. ‘She’s a bit of a shag.’
‘So what was wrong with…?’ I couldn’t remember the girl’s name from the wedding.
‘Val.’
‘Oh right, Val. I should remember that name. People are going to be looking at my wedding photos for years to come and asking who was that girl? You’ll have moved onto girlfriend number five hundred and no one will know.’
‘Val.’ He repeated.
‘Right, enough,’ I said. ‘Mum’s worried you’ll never settle down.’
He snorted. ‘My position as favourite son will always be safe.’
‘Favourite son, my arse. You and your women are an embarrassment to her. She thinks you’re a male slut. I’m the more dependable, lovable type of man. I’ll get everything and you’ll get nothing when Mum dies.’
‘So what would you do with a collection of lace doilies then? Wipe your arse?’ We both laughed and as the laughter attracted the attention of the clientele, whose numbers were growing, I allowed its music to soak into my knotted muscles and drain some of the tension away.
Jim was in the middle of a detailed, loud and probably fabricated version of why he and Val hadn’t lasted when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned around. Saw a familiar face.
‘Malcolm.’ I injected my greeting with real warmth. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, you’re alright. I was just in with some friends,’ he waved vaguely at the far end of the bar. ‘When I saw you, thought I’d come over and say hello.’
‘How’s it going then?’ asked Jim.
Malcolm looked at me before answering, probably wondering if I had informed Jim of recent events. ‘Oh, eh, fine. Not bad.’
‘Why don’t you give your mates a shout and tell them to join us.’
‘No, it’s fine. They’d probably bore you two. Don’t know anything about rugby.’ Malcolm smiled, more like his old self, although he did seem reluctant that we should meet anyone that he was with. However, we persuaded him to join us for the duration of a drink. Once seated with a glass in his hand he soon seemed to relax. Always a witty guy he was soon giving better than he received as Jim tried to tease him. It was good to see him with a smile on his face again. Even when Jim, quite innocently, brought the subject round to work, Malcolm wasn’t fazed.
‘So what’s it like having this prick as a boss?’ Jim asked, nodding his head in my direction.
‘I’ve had worse,’ answered Malcolm with a tight smile.
We were sitting in the narrow part of the pub, just at the foot of a set of stairs that led to the toilets, so Malcolm had to move a few times to let people past. When one slim, fashionably dressed young guy tried to slip past, Malcolm lost the thread of his conversation. He even seemed quite distracted. Looking at neither of us, he excused himself.
‘Listen guys, I need to go. See you later.’
As he walked away Jim looked at me quizzically.
‘What was that all about?’
‘Beats me.’
‘Not having it,’ Jim said. ‘You and Malcolm were a wee bit awkward with each other there. You guys had a lover’s tiff?’
‘Work stuff,’ I said. ‘Confidential. I can’t say any more than that.’
Jim made a face but didn’t delve any deeper. He knew how seriously I took work issues.
After an abnormally long silence between us Jim cocked his head to the right, his eyes narrowing. ‘You see that guy?’ I turned to follow his gaze. ‘The lanky drink of pish in the black jacket,’ Jim added. ‘Don’t we know him?’
A tall, dark-haired man in a black jacket twisted away from us just as Jim asked the question.
‘Don’t you recognize him?’ I replied. ‘That’s Ken Hunter.’
‘That tosser? Barely recognised him. He’s gone all gaunt and heroin skinny.’
I looked again. He was even thinner than the last time I had seen him. As I looked, he turned back, taking a toke on his cigarette. It was a thin paper stick, looked self-rolled and I wondered if it only contained tobacco. He blew out and squinted at me through his smoke. I held his gaze. Challenged him with a calm look. It said, I know what you are and, given the flimsiest of excuses, I’d be over there and showing you what should happen to wife-beaters. What kept me in my seat was how it might reflect back on Sheila, and the bank. Wouldn’t do for the Branch Manager to be done for public brawling. But I imagined driving a fist into the bridge of his nose and took a small sense of satisfaction from that.
‘He keeps looking over here,’ said Jim ‘Didn’t you feel his eyes boring into your back? Don’t know whether he wants to fuck you or fight you.’
I turned away from Hunter, letting him know that he was being dismissed. Then explained to Jim in a low voice that it was him that brought Anna to the rugby club the night I met her. And I also filled him in on the branch gossip. How we suspected he was mistreating his wife.
‘Dickhead.’ Jim took a sip of his drink. ‘I always thought he had it in for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just. School and stuff. When we were out and about as kids. I always thought if he had a knife he’d be burying it in your back.’
‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ I smiled.
‘You didn’t see the way he used to look at you,’ Jim shivered. ‘Never liked the prick. Want me to sort him out?’ Jim pushed his pint glass to the side as if getting ready to stand.
‘Ignore him,’ I answered. ‘I can deal with Ken Hunter.’
We were the last to leave the pub. The barman asked us to finish our drinks with a curt, ‘Have you two no got a home tae go tae?’ Once the door had been locked behind us Jim asked me if I wanted to carry on drinking back at his place. He lived in a flat overlooking Ayr Harbour a mere two hundred yards away from where we stood. Swayed, would have been more accurate.
‘Naw, I’m bushed. Got work tomorrow.’
‘Will Anna be waiting for you?’
I nodded.
‘With a kiss or a kick?’ he chuckled, ‘And you keep asking me when I’m going to settle do
wn. Not me, matee. Answer to no one. Come and go as I please. Live the life of Reilly me. In fact I think I’ll change my name. Do you think Reilly Boyd would be better or Jim Reilly?’
‘Here’s twenty pence,’ I answered. ‘Phone someone that gives a shit, and get me a taxi while you’re at it.’
‘Phone a…’ Jim checked his pockets and I realised he was looking for his mobile phone. He’d taken to that whole thing better than me. I couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. Who wants to be contactable twenty-four hours a day? He looked into the distance as if accessing a memory. ‘My phone’s still on the charger at home. You can come over to mine and phone a taxi if you want.’
‘Naw, I know that if I go back to yours we’ll end up drinking to yon time. I want my bed, but a wee walk to sober up first might be in order.’
‘Awright, suit yourself. Away you go to that gorgeous wife of yours. See if she’s waiting up for some of that Big Boydy loving.’
With a wave of his right hand, he turned and walked away from me and for the first time I sensed a note of loneliness in my brother. Perhaps for all his bluster, life was less than ideal for Jim Boyd.
12
I walked the long way home in a vain attempt to weaken the effect the alcohol was having on my body. My thought processes were fine but the signals weren’t quite getting through to my lower limbs. A patch of grass looked particularly inviting. Perhaps I could just lie down there for a minute.
Dangerous thinking, big guy, I thought. Better keep moving, wouldn’t want to wake up like a piece of frozen vomit. I began to run, but my head was angled several paces in front of my legs and they had to move faster to keep up.
Legs feeling a tad heavier than normal, I slowed down to a walk and, admitting defeat, looked around for a taxi. The roads were empty. If this had been a hot country, tumbleweed would be rolling down the middle of the road. Did some sort of deadly virus attack the people of Ayr while I was in the pub? Common sense made me concede that most normal people were in bed at this time.
When I was a boy and I wanted to get home quicker, I devised a system of alternately walking and running the distance from one lamppost to the next. Now would be a fine time to re-adopt this. But I was too tired.
Where were all the taxis?
Through these thoughts the realisation that I was close to home pushed through. My next obstacle would be Anna. She had probably assumed I would have been home hours ago. Would she be up waiting for me or would she be fast asleep?
Eventually, I reached the door and with relief tried to locate my keys. As I swayed on my front step I heard a cough carry in the night air. I turned to the right. At the far end of the road a streetlamp threw shadows on to the pavement. Was there someone there?
I squinted. There was a man there. Tall and lean.
My fingers had located my bunch of keys and I glanced down at my hand to select the right key for the door. When I looked back along the street it was empty. Jesus, I must have been drunker than I thought; imagining strange men in the dark. I fumbled with the key, twisted it in the lock, tripped over the doormat and fell into the hall, my head pushing open the door. I turned onto my back, laughing at my own clumsiness while trying to focus on the door lintel above me. A face swam into focus.
‘Anna, honey. There you are. Oh, there you are, no there,’ I pointed three inches to the left and laughed.
‘You big bastard, where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’
‘At the pub, just havin’ a few.’
‘A few?’ Anna’s face got closer, ‘A few?’
‘Aye, a few. What part of those two syllables don’t you understand? A feeeew.’ I was getting quite comfy down here on the carpet.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ Anna’s voice was higher in pitch, but coming out in a strangled whisper. Her teeth were bared and a stream of curses splattered down onto me.
‘Bastard…’ she repeated over and over and with each curse she bounced the door against my head. I tried to move out of the way and crawled a little further into the hall, which meant that my back was getting a beating. Then suddenly it stopped. Anna leant over me and pulled my head towards her by the hair.
‘If you ever do this again, you’re dead!’ she hissed into my face, hers contorted with rage. Then she let go of my hair and my head dropped onto the floor.
‘You’re on the couch.’
Her feet drummed away up the stairs.
I don’t know how long I lay there. My back wasn’t hurting too badly, but I could feel a few bumps on the back of my head and the patch of hair that she had pulled at was still sore. What anger. I couldn’t believe the force of her fury. Where did that come from? I crawled into the living room and up onto the couch. I propped a couple of cushions onto the arm rest, and tried to make myself comfortable. There was no question of going up to bed. Anna was far too angry.
Rightly so, I thought. I was taking the piss coming in so late. We were not long married for goodness’ sake. I should know better than to be so inconsiderate. She did have a right to be annoyed. She must have been worried sick about me. Best to leave her to calm down. I prayed that Pat had slept through all the banging, and hadn’t witnessed what an arse I was.
These thoughts accompanied the throb in my head well into the morning when sleep at last wrapped me in its bandage.
I was wakened by small fingers pulled at my eyelids, letting the light stream in. The thump in my head started up again. My skull felt as if it had tightened overnight. My fingers tested the tender part at the back. They withdrew quickly. Still painful.
‘Is he sick?’ I heard Pat ask.
‘No, Daddy was a naughty boy last night, so he slept here,’ Anna replied.
Pat’s mouth formed an eloquently small circle, showing equal measures of shock and pleasure that his Dad could behave badly.
‘Do we have a sore head this morning then?’ Anna peered down at me with an affectionate smile. A smile that surprised me. Where was the wild woman from last evening? Had I had a nightmare? The pain in my head testified, however, that the events of the previous night really did happen.
‘You go up and have a shower and a shave, Andy. I’ll see to Pat’s breakfast,’ Anna walked through to the kitchen as if it was just another day. Not the morning after she had beaten a door off my head.
I sat up, holding my head as I did so. A couple of paracetamols would have to be first on my agenda. I looked up and saw Pat staring at me. His eyes shone with unasked questions. I ventured a smile. At least my facial muscles didn’t hurt.
‘Were you really bad, Dad?’ he asked.
‘Really bad,’ I answered.
‘What did you do?’ he looked tiny.
‘I stayed out way past my bedtime.’ He nodded wisely at my answer. It made perfect sense to him.
My day at work went past in a smog of questions, self-recrimination and a little fear. Was Anna really capable of such violence?
But it was my fault. I knew that. No more socialising unless Anna was with me, I decided. But why shouldn’t I go out for a drink with my brother? A loud noise made everyone in the room look over at me. I realised that I had just heaved a huge sigh. Head in my hands, I swore. God, this was enough to give me another headache.
‘Woman trouble already, Andrew?’ Roy Campbell entered the room.
‘Why would it be woman trouble?’ I answered. ‘There’s more to life than women.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he answered. ‘Can’t live with ’em, can’t live with ’em.’ He laughed far too loudly at his own joke and patted Carol Bunting on the shoulder, ‘Isn’t that right, Carol?’
‘Yes, Roy, whatever you say, Roy, get your hand off me, Roy,’ she said flatly and looked up at him with a bored expression. When he turned around in mild shock she mouthed, ‘Twat’ at his back.
‘Christ, women are touchy these days,’ said Roy, ‘One silly cow chains herself to the railings and the next thing we know we’re not allowed to touch women on the shoulder.’
In one sentence our Operations Manager trivialised a century of women fighting for their rights.
I’d had enough.
‘Roy, do yourself a favour, say what you’ve come to say and then piss off before you alienate three-quarters of my staff.’
‘Bloody hell, Andrew. I couldn’t offend anyone. I’m just having a wee laugh.’ He turned around and caught Carol making another face at him. ‘Isn’t that right, Carol?’
‘Yes, Roy,’ she answered with a face devoid of expression. ‘You’re dead … funny.’
‘Right. See.’ Roy opened his arms, completely missing the irony. ‘I’m funny, it’s official.’ Then, his change of tone signifying he meant business now. ‘Andrew we need to talk … in private.’ He filled the last two words with the importance of a papal decree and spoke them loud enough to make sure that everyone in the vicinity heard him.
In the interview room he sat down in the biggest seat. Roy always made sure he had the biggest seat. His face read of disappointment.
‘Kay is in the clear,’ he clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘We don’t have enough evidence to lay the blame fully at his door. Fly bastard. He was too clever this time.’
‘So what do we do?’ I sat down.
‘Dunno. Make sure that shirt-lifter doesn’t get near the cash again.’
‘Roy, for goodness sake. Give the guy a break. One, you said yourself that there’s not enough evidence; two, his sexuality is none of your business and three … we do have another suspect.’
‘As far as I’m concerned Sheila Hunter is not a suspect.’
‘She was present at as many of the differences as Malcolm. How’s it going to look at Head Office if you haven’t investigated her?
‘Right enough,’ he said. The thought of not looking good at Head Office was always enough to have him reconsider his options. He looked into the distance over my left shoulder and thought aloud. ‘Sheila is still off sick, but looking to come back to work. I hear her husband’s been laying into her …’ I recoiled at his tone; it was as if he was dismissing his violence to her as just one of those things. ‘She’s due a visit from our Occupational Therapist … why don’t you go along with her?’
A Suitable Lie Page 8
