The Ossians

by Doug Johnstone

  He turned the paper over in his hands. He couldn’t fathom what it meant. Had someone been following him? He’d been imagining someone following him since Edinburgh, but he’d put it down to drug-addled paranoia. Then again, what about that guy in St Andrews at the gravestones? If someone really was following him, then why? And had they seen him down at the Discovery? Oh,Christ. But who would be doing this? If it was the police, why would they leave a note in his pocket? That was just stupid. Maybe Nick had arranged it, to put the shitters up him? That didn’t really make sense either. Shit.

  He couldn’t handle this, not the state he was in. He sat on the toilet, still looking at the note. The handwriting was neat, almost pristine. He didn’t recognise it. What did it mean, ‘your secrets are safe with me’? Everyone had secrets, but the only thing he could think of was this drug-mule business. Did someone else in the band suspect? If they did, why write a note? Why not just confront him? And anyway, it wasn’t any of their handwriting.

  There were too many unanswered questions. His head ached. He wasn’t going to solve anything sitting on the toilet, and he needed another drink, so he got up and headed back to the living room, folding the note and putting it back into his pocket. In the living room, Kate, Hannah and Danny were chatting and laughing around a small table with Dave and Sean, The Lithium Sea Monkeys’ guitarist and drummer. They were second-year art students who made short films in their spare time. Paul was on a sofa chatting to two bohemian-looking girls, all bangles and lace, and another dozen or so people were hanging around drinking and filling the room with smoke and noise.

  ‘Here he is,’ said Danny, as Connor entered. ‘Quasimodo. How’s the face feeling?’

  ‘It’s my Michael Jackson look,’ said Connor, trying to smile but unable to move his mouth muscles far enough. ‘You like?’

  ‘The lads here were saying we’re invited back anytime if we can guarantee entertainment like that,’ said Danny.

  ‘If Con tries that again we’ll not be going anywhere with him, right Han?’ said Kate. She looked at Hannah, who just dragged on her Marlboro Light, stubbed it out and got up.

  ‘I’m getting another drink,’ she said. ‘Anyone else?’ There were nods all round. She turned towards the kitchen but Connor held her arm.

  ‘Something up, love?’

  ‘You know what’s up,’ she said. She turned to face him and her voice lowered. ‘I’m really fucking angry with you, so it’s probably best if you stay out my way at the moment.’

  ‘But I was only trying to…’

  ‘I don’t think you know what you were trying to do,’ she said. ‘Whatever it was, I don’t think it had anything to do with me or Kate. There’s stuff going on up there’ – she made a tapping motion with her finger towards his head – ‘that needs sorting. Trouble is, you’re always too bloody loaded to do anything about it. Just let me know when you’ve straightened out a bit, and you want to talk about it.’

  ‘I’m not loaded all the fucking time,’ he said, still gripping her arm. ‘All right, I’m not sober at this precise moment, but we’re at a party, on fucking tour. We’re a rock ’n’ roll band, for Christ’s sake. We’re supposed to be drinking and taking drugs. I didn’t realise this was a teetotal fortnight or I wouldn’t have signed up for it.’

  ‘And I didn’t realise your drinking was going to be such a fucking problem,’ said Hannah. ‘Now let go of my arm, I’m going to get a drink.’

  ‘Wait, Han,’ Connor pleaded. ‘Look, there’s stuff going on, weird stuff that I can’t explain.’

  ‘What sort of stuff, exactly?’

  Hannah stood there, a look of anger and sadness on her face. Connor thought about the note in his pocket, the kitbag, the Discovery and the shadowy figures. Even in his drunken stupor, he knew he would sound like an idiot if he came out with any of it. He looked at the ground and shook his head slightly.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  She headed out the door. He slumped down at the table, and took a hit of whisky. The others were watching him.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘You all think I have a drink problem as well, is that it?’

  Dave and Sean looked down at their beers, and Danny tried to put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  ‘You just seem a bit all over the place at the moment,’ said Danny. ‘Everyone likes a bevvy, Con, me more than most. But you do seem to be taking everything a bit seriously. Like you said, it’s a tour, we’re in a band, it’s supposed to be a bit of fun. I think we all just need to chill out a bit. And with that in mind, I’m going to skin up.’

  Connor sat under a cloud. He felt like a kid being condescended to by his parents. Conversations started up again and his mind drifted. He looked out the window at the pummelling rain, caught in the yellow street-light glare as it pinged off the pavement. The clouds were so low you couldn’t see where they ended and where the river started. They were only a few miles and a couple of days away from Edinburgh, but Connor felt lost. But then didn’t he feel lost in Edinburgh as well? Didn’t he always feel fucking lost?

  Faces flitted across his mind – Nick’s twisted smile as he showed Connor the Stanley knife, the fan at the Edinburgh gig gazing at him from the half-darkness, Jim wishing him luck as they shook hands. Once they got some distance between themselves and Edinburgh, then things might settle down, might relax. Christ, he needed to relax. But how could he, with all this shit going on?

  Later, after more drink, grass and coke, he and Hannah argued again. Connor couldn’t even work out what they were arguing about. Doors were slammed. He couldn’t sleep. He sat up on his own drinking whisky, his eyes unfocused and his hands too shaky to skin up.

  He went to the toilet, banging into one wall, then the other. He didn’t recognise the swollen face in the mirror. It began to take the shape of a fat woman’s face with too much make-up on, and a nose which couldn’t decide which way it wanted to point. As he stood there trying to focus, he heard noises coming through the wall from the bedroom next door. As he listened, he realised it was the sound of a couple shagging. There were whispers and female moans, grunts and the rhythmic thump of a headboard on a wall. He stood there, captivated by the sound of it, trapped by the intensity of emotion. The moans and grunts and thumps gradually sped up, building in Connor’s ears as he looked in the mirror at a face he barely knew. The intensity of the sounds kept growing, and Connor felt a slight flicker of tension in his cock. He stood there wondering when the noise was going to stop and release him, he couldn’t walk away while it was still going on, he was caught up in it, helpless. Just as he thought it was going to go on forever, there was a loud final bang of headboard on wall, a female gasp, then a male voice saying ‘Jesus’. Shit, he recognised the voice – it was Danny. He’d know that accent anywhere. So Danny was getting his end away, good for him. Who the hell with? He tried to remember the girls who’d been kicking around the flat earlier, but couldn’t picture any of them. As far as he could remember, Danny had only been talking to the Belfast guys, himself, Hannah and Kate. He must’ve got speaking to someone else later on. Connor couldn’t remember seeing him chat up anyone, but he’d been lost in his own wee world for the latter half of the night, drowning in a sea of booze and paranoia, and arguing with Hannah over Christ knows what. Well, good for Danny, he deserves a break. Connor staggered out the toilet, glancing at the closed bedroom door. He would have to try and remember this tomorrow, quiz Danny about it. The lucky dog.

  He returned to an empty living room. He eventually fell asleep in a chair in front of the large bay window with a glass of whisky still in his hand, and dreamt in black and white that he was the Elephant Man being chased through the air by legions of dark, winged beasts.

  5

  Arbroath

  ‘Blood red and backwards

  The past will claim us all’

  The Ossians, ‘Declaration Of Arbroath’

  It was one of those miserable days when the sun never had a chance. The
sky was full of low fuzzy clouds that couldn’t even be bothered raining; they just sat there bored and tired.

  Connor had woken up after three hours’ sleep. He looked at his glass of whisky then downed it. He finished making the joint on the table next to him and smoked it. Then he rubbed a finger of speed on to his gums. He had a sore face in too many places to bother counting and a blinding headache. He raked through the kitchen drawers, found some Nurofen and took four, washing them down with lager. He put the rest in his coat pocket. Once everyone was up he tried frying some bacon and eggs, by way of an apology for his arguments with Hannah, but made a mess of it, and besides, no one was hungry.

  Hangovers and lethargy washed through them, and they sat mostly in silence with the television on for an hour or so, just the occasional burst of Paul’s prattle breaking the monotony. Connor kept glancing at Hannah, but she ignored him. Danny and Kate kept smiling at each other, but no one else noticed. Connor felt like he was trapped in a bubble, cut off from the rest of the world by a thick chemical film.

  With daylight disappearing fast, they dragged themselves out to the van. They eased into the vehicle like pensioners on a bus. They were due at the Alexanders’ house for tea and Connor couldn’t think of a single place in the world he would less like to be. Then again, at least they didn’t have to play a gig with these hangovers.

  They drove up the coast, The Zephyrs on the stereo. The road passed through rolling farmland, at this time of year barren, muddy and depressing. The occasional tree stood lonely on the horizon, bare branches a tangle of nests. Screeching crows circled the trees and once or twice they saw a rusty tractor ploughing a field for no apparent reason.

  About halfway there, Paul broke the silence.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘Con, Han – why don’t we forget about last night? Drink was drunk and things were said that shouldn’t’ve been. It doesn’t mean anything. Christ, if everyone was held accountable for their drunken actions the world wouldn’t get anywhere. Just remember we’re all mates and we have been for a long time. We’ve got a long way to go on this tour, so why don’t we just put it all behind us and get on with things. OK?’

  Connor looked at Hannah, who was just staring out the window. No one said anything.

  ‘OK?’ said Paul, more pointedly.

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Connor. ‘Look Han’ – he was talking to her back – ‘I’m really sorry about last night. You were right. About everything. OK? Can we just forget about it?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Hannah, still facing forwards.

  The road into Arbroath was flanked by a golf course then football pitches on the right, factories and a caravan park on the left. Connor hadn’t been down this road since last Christmas and he felt nauseous. He hated his parents. OK, maybe not hate, but he resented them, at least. And he resented this town, for all the usual bullshit reasons that people hate the suffocating small towns that shape them. He looked at Kate. She didn’t look too comfortable back in Arbroath either. She was fidgeting with the door lock, and picking at invisible threads on her jeans. Neither of them had been keen on stopping here on the tour, but Paul had pointed out they weren’t exactly rolling in cash, and they had to take advantage of every free bed and meal they could if they were to make any decent money. It was a year since either of them had been back, so the arguments and constant bickering that seemed to pepper every Alexander family gathering had faded from their memories a little. Now, on the road to their parents’ house, it was all coming back.

  What made it worse was that the rest of them got on so well with Jean and Alan. They’d met them a few times in Edinburgh, and Hannah had been up to Arbroath a couple of times. In fact, Hannah got on with them best of all, and couldn’t understand Kate and Con’s problem. They seemed perfectly nice to her, if a little eccentric in a jaded, bohemian way. At least they were still together, she’d pointedly told Connor once.

  They approached a filling station.

  ‘Can we stop?’ said Kate. ‘I need to get a few things.’

  ‘We’re almost there,’ said Paul.

  ‘Just pull over and let me out.’

  They pulled into the forecourt and Kate and Hannah went into the shop. Hannah started flicking through magazines while Kate absent-mindedly scanned the shelves of chocolate and crisps. She was thinking about last night, which had been pretty fucking great. She could’ve guessed Danny would be attentive in bed, then again she’d gone out with plenty of guys who’d seemed nice enough until you got them into the bedroom, where they became selfish bastards. But for all Danny’s tender touches and thoughtfulness there was also something pleasantly raw about him, the sheer bulk of him. They’d shagged twice in quick succession, the first time with him on top, the second time more slowly as Kate took control, playing with his cock until it was hard then sitting astride him and moving up and down on him gently for what seemed like an age until they both came again.

  No matter what happened now, she and Danny could never be just friends again. She wanted him now, and she wanted to be with him in the future, too. The thought scared her a little, because things were so unformed, so precarious between them, but she had a gut instinct that Danny was worth holding on to, that one day she could love him, if all the breaks went their way. The thought shocked her. She didn’t fall in love easily. She’d been in and out of plenty of relationships since school, none of which felt like this one. Mostly she’d just been playing around, without investing much emotion in what was going on. Maybe it was different this time because she knew Danny as a friend first. That was why she didn’t want to tell Connor, or anyone else for that matter. She hadn’t even discussed it with Danny, for Christ’s sake. To mention it, to have it spoken of, was to expose it to possible destruction, and she wasn’t ready to take that chance yet. What if she fucked it up? What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if, what if. Why had Danny told Hannah? She wasn’t happy that anyone knew and, although she trusted Hannah, she was Connor’s girlfriend, and it put her in an almost impossible position.

  ‘Putting it off, huh?’ It was Hannah next to her.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The parental visit. I assume this is a delaying tactic.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that. I just don’t feel up to all that stuff. Not with this hangover. Plus I think my period is coming on and I’ve run out of painkillers. I’m sure I had some, but I can’t find them.’

  Kate wasn’t happy being back in Arbroath but, unlike Connor, who seemed to rage against the whole town for whatever reasons, Kate’s gripe was specifically with her mother, who always knew exactly which buttons to press.

  ‘How are things going with Danny boy?’ said Hannah. ‘Anything to report?’

  Kate was disgusted to find that she was blushing like a schoolkid, the blood unstoppably rushing to her face as she remembered last night and the feel of Danny inside her.

  ‘Look at you, you’ve taken a total beamer!’ said Hannah. ‘What is it? Have you shagged?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Oh my God! And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘I’m not going into details, for God’s sake.’

  ‘No, but, you know, generally, how was it?’

  ‘Great.’

  Hannah squealed and Kate found herself smiling widely.

  ‘This is so exciting,’ said Hannah. ‘You and Danny are getting it on! You really need to tell Connor now. I mean, how am I supposed to keep a secret like this?’

  ‘I’ll tell him, I just need to find the right time. Maybe tonight.’

  ‘Good idea, cos if you don’t, I’m probably going to blurt it out drunk.’

  ‘Please don’t. Anyway, I thought you were hardly talking to him after last night.’

  ‘Oh, I’m just making him sweat a little. Let him know what he’s missing out on if he keeps pissing me off.’

  ‘What were you arguing about anyway?’

  ‘To be honest I was pretty steaming, and I ca
n’t really remember. Stupid really. I probably owe him an apology.’

  ‘I doubt that very much.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it takes two and all that, and I probably didn’t help by flying off the handle.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, it’s Con who keeps doing idiotic shit.’

  ‘He’s not that bad, just a bit highly strung.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it. He’s lucky to have you, you know.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Hannah quietly before perking herself up. ‘Right, let’s get stocked up on comfort food and painkillers.’

  Back in the van Connor had finished skinning up and Danny was eyeing the lit joint.

  ‘Sure that’s a good idea?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m just smoking it now so my fucking hippy parents don’t hog it all,’ said Connor, passing the joint across. ‘They’d probably think they were being all decadent and wild. Bastards.’

  Connor watched as Danny inhaled deeply. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something from last night he was going to ask Danny about, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He pictured the last time he’d seen him, sitting across the table late into the night, Danny skinning up expertly with one hand. Maybe all this grass was knocking his short-term memory to fuck. It would come to him later on, once he’d had a few more drinks.

  The girls returned with crisps, chocolate, juice, painkillers and a couple of newspapers.

  ‘There’s a review of last night in the local paper,’ said Kate.

  She flung the folded paper at Connor, who quickly scanned it.

  ‘Not bad, only three factual errors,’ he said. ‘Apparently we’re a Glasgow-based band; Kate, you were playing guitar last night; and at one point we played a song called “My Evil Sin”. How does this shite make it into print? Fuck’s sake.’ He passed the paper to Danny, who read through it carefully.