I'd always thought her a little flighty, but that was all. Lots of people are flighty, but did a tendency to capriciousness have to mean that someone was abnormally split into different people?
I couldn't get drunk. My head was already confused and filled with the kind of bizarre images and muddled thinking that come with alcohol, so it seemed the alcohol could make no difference.
There was a piano player in the corner, working his way through a succession of '40s and '50s standards, like someone had just given him the Cole Porter songbook for his birthday. There weren't many other people about. A few came and went. No one else stayed as long as I did. I was expecting Jones to turn up soon, but I knew it wouldn't be that evening.
Just before twelve, I started to feel a bit off. I went up to my room. As I was cleaning my teeth, I realised I was going to be sick. Vomited two or three times, drank a glass of water, cleaned my teeth again, then collapsed into bed, hoping to fall asleep before the next wave of nausea arrived. I woke up half an hour later to throw up one more time, then went back to bed, and this time managed to sleep through until morning.
24
I found Two Feet at a building site the following morning. We'd had a brief phone call at seven-thirty as he was just heading out the door to work, and he'd said where I could find him. He sounded surprised and genuinely delighted to hear from me, unlike Henderson's guarded composure.
I managed to eat some toast and drink two cups of coffee, a glass of water and two small glasses of orange juice. I'd woken up still feeling rough, but was better for the light breakfast.
Someone had decided that what was needed just off the M8 near Springburn was another giant shopping mall. I arrived at the site entrance some time after ten. It was a bleak day, although the rain had stopped a couple of hours earlier. Even so, it was one of those cold, damp, sullen days in the west of Scotland that appeared at any time of year. Only the few new leaves on the trees said that it was neither the middle of August nor the depths of January.
There didn't seem to be much activity on the site. The guy at the entrance handed me an orange reflective vest and a yellow hard hat and told me I had to wear them all the time I was onsite. Putting them on for the first time, I felt a bit like a kid dressing up, but everyone else was wearing the same thing, or variations thereof, so the overall effect of the dressing-up box was to make me blend in, and consequently feel more comfortable.
I got to a part of the site where a steel structure had been erected, the bones of a building waiting to be filled in. All around were piles of bricks and concrete for mixing, and construction vehicles seemingly abandoned to the grimness of the day.
'I'm looking for a guy called Norman,' I said to a woman walking by. She, at least, seemed to have some sort of purpose about her. She barely stopped as she spoke.
'Norman? You mean Two Feet?'
'Sure.'
She pointed upwards and walked on without speaking further. I looked up. High above the ground there was a man sitting on his own, his legs dangling over the edge of a beam. I watched him for a moment. It was hard to tell from this angle and distance, but it could have been Two Feet.
I thought about shouting, but there was a slight wind and there's never been much volume about my voice. I looked around. At each corner of this structure there was scaffolding, with stairs running up the centre. I paused for a moment, but I'd come this far looking for Two Feet, and there was really nowhere else to go.
I walked into the middle of the scaffolding, all the time waiting for someone to shout at me and ask what I was doing, but it appeared that my outfit was enough to prevent any questions. I walked up the stairs until I got to the top platform, aware as I went that I was slowing down the closer I got.
There was a square platform, then a few planks with a makeshift handrail extending in either direction, at ninety degrees, along the two sides of the building. Beyond that there was a single steel girder, perhaps three feet in width, running along to the next corner, and the next platform.
Two Feet was sitting on the girder, about twenty yards away from the end of the planks and the platform, eating a sandwich. No handrail, no safety net, nothing between him and a headlong plummet to certain death. He did, however, have a lovely view over the whole of the city of Glasgow. Which, I must say, on a day such as this was hardly Florence.
'Two Feet!' I called out.
It was cold up here, a bit of a wind blowing. He turned and looked at me. He was holding a sandwich in one hand, the cup from a flask in the other. He broke into a smile.
'Hey, get in! Take a seat, man.'
I was trying not to look down. I couldn't look down.
'You fancy coming back here?' I shouted.
'Just on my break, man. Come and sit down, don't be a pussy,' he called back.
He turned back to the view.
'Don't look down,' he shouted without turning round, then he laughed.
I stared at him, the curious sight, the slightly hunched figure, looking exactly like the Two Feet I'd known twenty years previously, sandwich in hand, his hard hat placed on the beam. Up here I don't suppose anything was going to fall on his head.
He'd said not to look down, but I couldn't even countenance moving out onto the beam without first assessing the entire area. I looked down. I fought the instinct to curl up in a ball on the floor next to something solid, and the other instinct to close my eyes, and kept looking at it. I looked up at the view, letting my eyes fly over the city as I gripped the last piece of scaffolding, then back down to the ground, then along to Two Feet.
'Not sure I can do it,' I said.
He didn't look round, instead making a small movement with his sandwich. The movement said, 'Your choice. I'm here if you want me.'
Presumably he wouldn't sleep up here. I could go away for the day, sit on a chair that was only a couple of feet off the ground, and then come back to greet him at the exit. Yet I knew that there was more than that going on. I recognised that Two Feet didn't usually sit out on this beam admiring the view. The Two Feet I knew cared little for views. He would've been far more likely to be found eating his sandwich in a small hut, the walls of which had been covered in pictures of naked women.
I was being tested. I had no idea by whom, and I didn't think for a moment that Two Feet was part of it, but for some reason on the day that I had come to see him, he had decided to sit on a beam who knows how high above the ground, and while I could easily wait and see him at some point when he got down, I knew that if I did that then I wouldn't be told the crucial piece of information I would find out if I spoke to him up here.
Realising that, however, did not make walking out onto the beam any easier.
I had an exact recurrence of the feeling of fear that I'd had on the plane. Same thing. Same trepidation, same desperate need to be somewhere else.
I swallowed. Swallowed my fear. Was it that simple? Then I walked along the planks with their slender handrail and then, once the planks and the handrail ended, I stepped out onto the beam, determined not to look down, walking straight ahead, my eyes on Two Feet the whole time.
There was a slight wind, which seemed magnified by the situation. Just had to keep telling myself there was no reason why I couldn't keep walking in a straight line, and that if I did so, then I'd be fine.
Think about something else. Think about Jones. Jones was more than one person, that was what Henderson had said. Previously I would have thought that was insane, but now I was looking for one quarter of a man, and genuinely believing that was my quest, so why shouldn't Jones be the same?
Mouth dry, palms hot, heart racing as quickly as it had done when I'd been on the plane, I reached Two Feet and sat down hurriedly beside him. I dangled my legs over the edge, but kept my weight back.
'Jesus,' said Two Feet, 'that was brave. I just shuffled along here on my arse.'
I let out a rather desperate little laugh and looked straight ahead. The whole of Glasgow lay before us, but I couldn't tell w
hat I was looking at. It all seemed the same from up here, identical in its grey, overcast melancholy. And I was disconcerted to find that sitting here was just as terrifying as walking along the beam in the first place.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' said Two Feet.
'No,' I said, my voice sounding strange, 'I don't think so. It looks kind of bleak.'
'You want a sandwich?'
'What kind?' I said, then quickly shook my head. 'Doesn't matter. No thanks.'
'Coffee?'
'Sure, that'd be nice.'
He poured me a cup. As he turned to do so he laid down the sandwich he was eating, and then inadvertently knocked it over the edge. I made one small, jerky movement to try and grab it, enough to give me a sharp jab of fear, and then he tutted loudly, muttered, 'Shite,' then leaned forward to watch the downward plummet of his tuna mayo on white.
He watched it fall, obviously feeling there was no need to shout out a warning. In my head I pictured a sandwich falling through the air, but I couldn't bring myself to lean forward and watch the real thing.
'Wasted,' he said, straightening up, the sandwich obviously having reached its destination. 'I'll check it out when we get down there, see what state it's in.'
That, at least, was the Two Feet we'd all known and been slightly perturbed by.
He handed over the coffee in the smaller, handle-less inner cup of the flask, steam rising into the dank air.
'Milk, no sugar?' he said.
I nodded. My hands were shaking slightly as I took the cup from him. Fear rather than cold, but the warmth felt good either way.
'Great to see you, man,' he said. For a dreadful moment I thought he was going to clap me on the back, but after the initial movement of his hand he seemed to think better of it.
'You too,' I said. 'You're doing this now?'
'Yep,' he said smiling. 'Like the Boss said, I got a job working construction...'
I took a sip of coffee, looked out over the city. Filter. Nice. I thought I sensed citrus, and tried to take my mind off our perilous location.
'Ethiopian?' I asked.
'No,' he said. 'Tesco's.'
Talking about the coffee hadn't worked. I tried to work out what was best. Stare at my hands, look straight ahead, or look at Two Feet. I wasn't doing well. This wasn't going to last so long.
'You back up here full time?' he asked.
It was apparent that, like Henderson, Two Feet had received no tidings of my death in a plane crash. It was possible I hadn't died in the plane crash; but equally possible that no one had thought to tell them. These guys would hardly have been top of Brin's list.
'Looking for the Jigsaw Man,' I said.
'Shit,' said Two Feet at the mention of his name, as though he hadn't given him any thought in two decades.
'You been to the Stand Alone?' he asked.
'Sure,' I said. 'He still owns the joint, but hasn't been there in a while.'
'Me neither. Been a long time. You speak to Henderson?'
'Yep. He gave me your number.'
'He's all right?'
'Still working at the same place, wearing a suit, living with some guy in the west end.'
'He's living with a guy? You mean...?'
'I thought you spoke to him a few years back?'
'Sure thing, man, but he didn't tell me he was an arse bandit.'
That was Two Feet.
'Well... he's living with a guy. Married.'
'Shit.'
'So, you never went back to the Stand Alone? Never saw the Jigsaw Man after that time he left for Laos?'
'The Jigsaw Man went to Laos? Jesus. There was all kinds of shit going on that I didn't know about.'
He was shaking his head, looking out over the city. The grey city. The oppressive weight of it was dragging me down, as if it wanted to push me off this beam, so that I'd fall with such speed that I'd descend into the ground, become part of the city itself.
'Talked to Jones a few days ago,' he said. 'That's what was so weird about you calling. First Jones, then you. Weird.'
'What she want?' I asked.
'She was looking for you.'
'What'd you say?'
'That I hadn't heard from you since Fanque pegged it.'
I looked at him, and then, having decided that I could no longer look at the view, stared into the steaming coffee.
So Jones had been to see Janine and Two Feet. I wondered if she'd also been to see Henderson and he'd decided not to tell me. That was one of the reasons why he was worried. Jones, or some part of her, was searching.
'You get her number?' I asked.
'Nope.'
'Did you see her, or just speak to her on the phone?'
'Well,' he said.
He thought about something, and then dismissed it with a minimal head shake.
'What?' I asked.
'Doesn't matter,' he said.
'Really,' I persisted. 'I'm pretty desperate for information here. Anything will do.'
'All right,' he said. 'She called on my mobile while I was here. Was over there, up by what's going to be the bowling alley.' He turned and pointed, but I didn't follow his directions.
'If she called on your mobile, how come you don't have her number?'
'Didn't show up on my phone. Don't know anything about that kind of shit. Is that weird? I mean, it might be. The whole thing was weird.'
I shrugged.
'Spoke to her for about five minutes,' he continued. 'There wasn't a lot to say really. Wasn't as though she and I had ever been close. You and me, me and Henderson, we'd been friends, then you two were friends with her, and Fanque mucked in with everybody, but she and I.... whatever, we were different sorts of fish.'
'Did she ask about the Jigsaw Man?'
'Man, what is it with that guy? No, she wasn't interested in him, just you. You didn't break her heart or nothing, did you? I mean, if you and Jones got it on, no offence or nothing, but you'd have seriously oversnagged. She was fit.'
I continued to look into the coffee. I wasn't going to answer that, or question his assessment.
'You were going to tell me something,' I said.
'Aye, right. So we talk for about five minutes. I got the feeling that something wasn't right. Then the conversation ended, and I put the phone away and turned and looked out over the site. And there, up by the entrance, there was a woman in, you know, hard hat and high-visibility at least, and she was putting something in her pocket, turning away. Could have sworn it was her. Felt it, right down to my boots. She'd been watching me the whole time we'd talked. I really have no idea what that was about. None. But I'm sure it was her.'
I kept looking at my coffee. I was no nearer finding the Jigsaw Man, but I was pretty sure that Jones was about to find me. I'd just have to hope that when it happened, it was going to be on my terms.
'Anything else?' I asked.
He stared away out over the bleak cityscape, and I knew that there was indeed something else coming. I just had to wait until he was ready to say it. He was finding the words, I guessed, as I could feel it was another one of those things that really didn't make sense. He wasn't comfortable.
Eventually he shook his head and said, 'I don't know, man...'
I was steadfastly looking at my cup of coffee, which was quickly cooling.
'Go on,' I said, without looking at him.
'You know,' he said, then waved a slightly bemused hand, 'you know, I never got what was going on. I knew I was missing so much that I didn't even try to think about it.'
'There was just the five of us hanging out in a café,' I said. I glanced at him, but didn't enjoy the movement, and quickly looked back at my cup. Took a drink. 'And Henderson was gay.'
'If you really think that was it, you were even more detached than me. I mean, how did we end up together? It just happened? You guys, how did you end up as friends? Kite, Fanque and Henderson, like you'd all walked out of the damned Beatles song. Did you get friendly with them because they'd been mentioned in t
he only song with your name in it?'
'We talked about that at the time. You were Henry the Horse,' I added, laughing uncomfortably.
'And who was Jones?'
'What d'you mean?'
'There was never a jokey name for Jones.'
'I don't know...' I said, the sentence drifting off. I tried to remember the café, and the relationships between the five of us. All those years ago. Fanque and Henderson and me, it had been funny, but not in a weird way. It hadn't seemed weird to me, at any rate. It was like the time in the '80s when the Welsh rugby team just happened to have a Holmes and Moriarty in the same team. A peculiar coincidence.
Two Feet stared straight ahead, while his right hand rustled in his bag and produced a packet of biscuits. He distractedly took a milk chocolate digestive, offered the packet in my direction, and then laid it back down on his bag at the slight shake of my head.
'I wondered,' he said. 'Always used to wonder... I felt out of it. I knew I wasn't really one of you, but what about Jones? Where did she come into it, 'cause it seemed to me like she was one of you and not one of me? Mr Kite, the Hendersons, Pablo Fanque, all characters in that stupid song, and yep, there's no Jones – and there sure as Hell ain't a Two Feet – but I knew there had to be something. Then one day, I don't know, a few years ago, I'm at this girl's house. Ended up staying the night. Great tits. Nearly got a shag again in the morning, then she got a whiff of my breath and went off the idea. Anyway, while I'm lying there in bed, waiting for her to get out the shower, I notice the poster on the wall. A copy of the original poster for the Benefit of Mr Kite, the one Lennon used as the influence for the song. So I get out of bed and take a closer look. And I know, know even before I start looking, that somewhere on there I'm going to find the name Jones, and I also know that I'm not going to find the name Two Feet. Or Norman.'
'And did you?'
I glanced round again, and this time I managed to continue to look at him.
'Sure,' he said, his voice suddenly lighter. 'Right on down there at the bottom. The name of one of the two printers. Jones. Knew I'd find it.'
'Seriously? The printer? That's a total coincidence.'
Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite! Page 15
