Tombstoning

by Unknown

  ‘That would be telling.’

  ‘Because if not, I might have a go at chatting her up myself.’

  ‘In that case, yes, there is something going on.’

  ‘I knew it. You look good together.’

  ‘We’re not actually together, you understand. Well, we might be. I don’t know, really.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll leave you to it. I wouldn’t have a chance with her anyway.’

  By the time Nicola returned, Jonathan and Plunge had somehow drifted back into orbit around them, and introductions were duly done. Nicola turned to Gary.

  ‘You were another of the ADS, weren’t you?’

  ‘For my sins.’

  ‘Have you kept in contact with Neil?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him in years, don’t know what he’s up to.’

  Plunge piped up. ‘I thought I saw him earlier.’

  The rest of them seemed to notice Plunge for the first time.

  ‘Really?’ said Gary. ‘Here? I thought he was a bit of a recluse these days. Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘We’re talking about Neil Cargill? Joined the Marines? Yeah, I’m sure I saw him earlier. It wasn’t in the reunion bit, he was over the other side of the club, on his own. He’s a stocky fucker, with tattoos? I’m sure it was him.’

  Plunge turned to point to where he had seen Neil. To the right of the DJ booth was a dark area, where the lights seemed not to reach into the corner, but there was no one there. They all craned their necks in comedy unison, like meerkats on the lookout, to see further into the dark recesses of Bally’s, the swarm of drunkards around them making it impossible to see clearly for more than a fleeting moment.

  ‘It was a while ago, about an hour or something,’ said Plunge, as if trying to justify the lack of a Neil Cargill in the corner of the room. ‘But I did see him.’

  ‘He got chucked out the Marines, didn’t he?’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Did he?’ said David.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure I read it in the paper or something. He fought in the first Gulf War – Desert Storm and all that – and then I’m sure I read that he got discharged not long after. Don’t know whether it was because he was injured or what, but there was definitely something in the paper about it.’

  ‘Seems weird,’ said Nicola, ‘thinking that someone our age was out fighting in wars ten years ago. Can’t imagine what it must’ve been like.’

  ‘Just watch the news, we’re doing it all over again,’ said Gary.

  David wasn’t really interested in talking about politics, the mention of the current conflict flicking a switch in him to off. He wanted to change the subject.

  ‘Right, seeing as how we’re here to remember our school days, I can’t help feeling that we should be getting into the spirit more. For a start, we are not nearly drunk enough. I suggest some drinking games. You lot grab a booth and I’ll get another round in.’

  It was past two and the three of them were seriously steaming.

  ‘Check out Mr and Mrs Loverpants there,’ said Nicola, pointing at a couple in the adjacent booth, virtually screwing each other on the stained, raggedy seating. ‘We were never that bad, were we?’

  ‘What, you mean the two of us?’ said David. ‘I never got the chance.’

  Nicola tried to hit him affectionately on the arm, only she missed and fell slightly against him. She righted herself. ‘No, I don’t mean the two of us, I mean us – our generation. We were never just out-and-out shagging in the middle of Bally’s, were we?’

  ‘Maybe we weren’t,’ said Gary, ‘but some people were.’

  ‘Really?’ said Nicola. ‘It’s amazing what you don’t remember. Like, I don’t remember so many of our year being such arseholes.’

  ‘That’s about all I remember,’ said David. ‘Although I was just sitting here thinking they weren’t as bad as they used to be.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Nicola. ‘They’re twats, the lot of them. Present company excluded.’

  ‘But what about the lot we were in the Lochlands with last night? They’re all right, aren’t they?’

  ‘Aye, I’m not talking about them either.’

  ‘Who are you talking about, exactly?’

  ‘The arseholes. The twats. Kirsty Boyd and her pals, and all the rest.’

  ‘Now Kirsty,’ said Gary, waving a green chartreuse around in front of his face, ‘she is an arsehole. And a twat. I’d still shag her, likes.’

  ‘Then you are a sad man, Gary Spink,’ said Nicola.

  ‘Nicola, you are absolutely right,’ said Gary.

  ‘And what about you?’ Nicola said, turning to David. He looked a bit blurry, in keeping with the rest of the room.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Would you shag Twinkletoes over there, given the opportunity?’

  ‘No thanks. It would be like having sex with a teacher or an auntie. Not good, in other words.’

  ‘We had one or two teachers I wouldn’t have minded shagging,’ said Gary. ‘And I have a nice auntie, too.’

  ‘You are one sick fuck,’ said Nicola. ‘Really. Although, our art teacher Mr Thompson was a bit of all right, wouldn’t have minded getting him into the art cupboard once upon a time.’

  ‘Gary, which fucking auntie are you talking about?’ said David. ‘I’ve met your Aunt Kate, and if it’s her you’re talking about you really are a sick fuck.’

  Gary just smiled. David shook his head then turned to Nicola.

  ‘Mr Thompson!’ he said. ‘You fancied Mr Thompson? He was so gay. You had no fucking chance.’

  ‘I could’ve turned him though, eh? Don’t you think?’ she snuggled up to David’s arm and Gary laughed.

  ‘I reckon you could turn anyone,’ Gary said and it was David’s turn to laugh.

  ‘What, even straight guys?’ David said. ‘Turn them gay, you mean?’

  ‘Shut up, you cheeky fuck,’ said Nicola, letting go of his arm and shuffling clumsily out the booth. ‘I’ve still fucking got it,’ she said, doing a drunken shimmy. ‘Now, what are you pair of arseholes wanting to drink?’

  As Nicola tottered away, both men watched her go.

  ‘She really is something,’ said Gary. ‘I guess she was worth coming to this reunion for, wasn’t she?’

  ‘I reckon so,’ said David. ‘Although it’s been a laugh all round, frankly. Mind you, that could well be down to the fact that I’m steaming drunk and I haven’t really done any socializing with anyone except for you and her.’

  ‘So, what now?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Between you and her? You going for it?’

  ‘Dunno, just wait and see. We’re both old enough to know how the world works. At the moment we’re getting on great, so let’s just see where we go from here.’

  ‘And what about Arbroath?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Is it going to be another fifteen years before you come back?’

  ‘It’ll be another fifty years before I set foot in Bally’s again, that’s for sure. But I might make it back for the odd game at Gayfield, if you keep me posted. That’s if you’re going to be here, what with the plans for art college and everything.’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  Nicola was leaning over the table with a triangle of shot glasses between her hands, careful not to spill anything, when she jumped as if knocked from behind. She quickly dumped the drinks and turned.

  She was several inches taller than Mike Clarkson and was looking down on him. He had an evil glint in his eye.

  ‘Did you just pinch my fucking arse?’

  ‘Sorry, love, couldn’t resist it,’ said Mike, spreading his arms out in a gesture of goodwill, a near empty beer bottle in his right hand. ‘You’re looking so good these days, Nicky. What are you doing hanging about with a couple of losers like them?’

  ‘Just fuck off, Mike, eh?’ David shuffled round the booth to get up but Nicola gently motioned him to stop.

  ‘These two are about the o
nly gentlemen in this shitehole,’ she said. ‘Everyone else in here seems to be a jumped-up little prick with a hardman complex stuck in the fucking 1980s.’

  ‘Shame you think that way, love. I was going to let you come home with me, show you what a real man can do for a woman like you.’

  ‘Does this charm routine work on anyone? Ever?’

  ‘Then again,’ said Mike, ignoring her and looking at David, ‘I wouldn’t want the sloppy seconds of someone like David here, would I? Your bucketfanny is probably fucking rancid, eh, love?’

  David made a quick move to get up, but not quick enough and he felt the smash of the beer bottle against the back of his head as he lunged forward, grabbing Mike in a messy rugby tackle. The two of them tumbled to the floor. Like all drunken pub fights, the first few seconds were a ramshackle stalemate as both men clung onto each other, unable to extract limbs from the core of their scrum. But after a few moments Mike managed to wriggle a leg clear and kneed David in the bollocks, and as his grip loosened Mike got above him and smashed a thick forearm across his face. The bottle was gone from his other hand, but he was rabbit punching the back of David’s head, until finally he let go completely. Mike stood above him, screaming like a maniac and booting him square in the face when Gary jumped on him from behind. They struggled for a second before Gary also got an elbow in the face, shocking him into half-releasing his grip. Just then, several thick-set bouncers with no necks appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, the crackle of their headsets somehow heard over the throbbing bass from the dancefloor. Almost seamlessly, they separated Gary and Mike and lifted David from the floor, where he was beginning to prop himself up.

  ‘These cunts bothering you?’ they said to Mike, and David realized this was only going one way.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Mike, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. ‘Just jumped me for no reason.’

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it,’ said Nicola, glaring at Mike, but even as she spoke Gary and David were being lifted off their feet and marched to the door. She stood for a second looking at Mike, who met her gaze impassively, just a little smile creeping into the corners of his mouth, then she turned on her heels to catch up with the bouncers as they headed through the foyer. Out of the corner of her eye she could sense Kirsty and her cabal soaking up every second of the action. For a moment she thought about turning to shout something at them, but she couldn’t think what to say, so instead she fired on, catching up with the bouncers outside the front door as they held Gary and David up against the weather-beaten, puke-splattered pebble-dashed walls.

  ‘We don’t fucking like trouble in our club, have you got that?’

  ‘You know as well as I do that Mike started it,’ said Gary, before getting a hefty smack across the face.

  ‘We don’t give a flying fuck who started it. But we know Mike and we don’t know you, so he’s staying in and you’re out. Now, don’t go thinking about hanging about here, maybe catching up with him when he leaves, ’cos we’ll be here then as well, and we’ll be keeping an eye out for you. And just in case you were feeling really stupid, don’t go getting the police involved, because we know them as well, and they don’t take too kindly to getting called away from their chips on a Saturday night.’

  Gary and David were released and shoved nonchalantly backwards with enough force to make them both stagger and fall over in the patchy grass.

  ‘Now fuck off, the pair of you,’ said the bouncer at the front, then, glancing at Nicola, ‘and take this slag with you.’

  ‘Fuck you, prick,’ said Nicola, but the bouncers were already back inside the front door. The incessant beat of the music died as the door closed, to be replaced by the wash from the sea behind them. They stayed like that for a few moments, David and Gary on their arses, Nicola standing over them, before she sat down next to them on the grass and the three of them started laughing. They couldn’t stop themselves, as ripples of laughter passed from one to another, then back again, the volume getting louder as the laughter continued. Eventually they settled down, and were left surrounded by the sound of waves hitting the shore. There was no one else about, except for a lonely drunken figure slumped on a seat over by the crazy-golf course.

  ‘What a fucking arsehole,’ said Gary.

  ‘I think that pretty much goes without saying,’ said Nicola.

  ‘And those bouncers,’ said David. ‘They were the genuine article. Real 80s meatheads. I tell you, if anything’s going to take me back to my schooldays, it’s getting chucked out of this place by a bunch of skinhead bouncers who think they’re fucking Sly Stallone and Bobby De Niro. That is priceless. The perfect end to a perfect school reunion, really.’

  They got slowly to their feet, swiped at their dusty arses and headed slowly away from Bally’s, never looking back. Behind them, the drunk guy at the crazy golf seemed to stir a little as they disappeared round the corner.

  The sky was already gaining a watery grey wash around the edges as they said their goodbyes. Standing by the war memorial at the top of the High Common, they could see for miles: Gayfield and the harbour then the cliffs in one direction, Bally’s, Elliot Beach and the golf course the other way, and between them miles of slick, grey ocean, filling in the cracks of the world.

  Gary was heading west to his folks’ house on Monymusk Road, David was angling to walk Kirsty home, past the Keptie Pond and the Lochlands. As he always did at drunken goodbyes, David felt a slight, subconscious twinge of memory, at some base level his mind recalling that night, the last night he’d seen Colin alive. That, combined with the morning dew already forming in the air, made him shiver slightly.

  ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you,’ said Gary.

  ‘Yeah, keep in touch this time,’ said David. ‘Have you got a pen? We should swap numbers.’

  Nicola raked in her bag noisily, and eventually dug out a pencil and an old receipt. They exchanged numbers with Gary, then there was an awkward silence between them, no one sure what to say next. The evening seemed over, a line drawn under events by this ceremonial exchanging of details, after which nothing more should be said. Gary made awkwardly to hug David, who reciprocated in kind, then he kissed Nicola, and saying final farewells he walked along the path over the railway and headed home.

  David and Nicola visibly relaxed as they watched him leave. Being with Nicola was an easy, comfortable sensation, thought David; it felt as if he’d known her for the last fifteen years. He felt a lot more sober than he had even half an hour ago. Whether it was because of the physical exertion or the fresh air or the lack of handbag house pounding in his ears he didn’t know, but he felt a lot more together here, walking across the grass with Nicola, their arms entwined the way lovers’ arms do. They walked slowly towards St Vigeans Road, neither of them feeling the need to say anything.

  Eventually Nicola spoke.

  ‘I’m beginning to think you were right about this whole revisiting your past thing,’ she said. ‘I thought tonight was going to be a laugh, but it was pretty shocking really. Sorry for dragging you along.’

  ‘I’m not sorry. For a start, if I hadn’t come to Arbroath we wouldn’t have snogged last night, would we?’ He gave her a little nudge, and she smiled a coy smile at him.

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Anyway, I really enjoyed myself tonight, despite getting in a tiny fight and getting chucked out. In fact, that made the whole thing better. And I got to meet up with Gary again, which was pretty cool. I mean, we’re not about to start being best mates or anything, but it would genuinely be good to keep in touch with him this time.’

  Nicola looked at him.

  ‘You know,’ she said, ‘it seems we’ve totally switched our opinions about the past. Isn’t that weird?’

  ‘No, we haven’t. It just depends on what past you’re talking about. That kind of past’ – he indicated over his shoulder in the direction of Bally’s – ‘I can live without.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  They walked on further, ha
ppy in silence for a while, the sky brightening to the east.

  Outside Nicola’s house they kissed again, both of them more forceful and drunken than last night to begin with, then slowing and relaxing after the first few minutes, soaking up each other’s physical presence and drowning in it. Someone wolf-whistled them from the bottom of the street, but they didn’t break off, instead just giggled slightly into each other’s mouths in a communal sign of togetherness. Eventually they broke apart, and David actually felt dizzy.

  ‘You know, I’m going to go round the abbey tomorrow morning with Amy,’ said Nicola. ‘Before we head back to Edinburgh. Do you fancy coming?’

  ‘Yeah, that would be good. You can do your tour guide thing on me. Ignorant old history-hating me.’

  ‘I’m part of your history, amn’t I?’ Nicola said with a nose wiggle. ‘And you don’t hate me, do you?’

  ‘Hmm, let me think about that,’ said David, and they started to kiss again.

  7

  A Body

  The morning sun spread across the mown, stripy lawns, bouncing off the oddly luminescent green moss that clung to the ramshackle stones in the graveyard. Amy ran ahead while Nicola and David sauntered casually up what would once have been the nave of the abbey. In front of them stretched two parallel chains of column stumps, like rows of giant buttons leading to the ruined east end of the nave. A handful of foreign tourists in cagoules drifted around the peaceful, crumbling sandy red walls, touching the warm stone as if hoping to soak up the history of the place by osmosis. Amy disappeared behind a wall and as Nicola raised her hand to shade her eyes she winced involuntarily as the sunlight made her head throb. All those doubles last night hadn’t been the best idea, she thought, but they’d done the trick of getting her steaming well enough.

  ‘I take it you don’t really want the tour-guide spiel?’ she asked David, who passed her a bottle of Irn Bru which she gratefully accepted.

  ‘Yeah, why not? It might distract me from this stupid hangover.’

  Nicola took several swigs from the bottle and looked at David. He looked bleary and puffy around the eyes, but apart from that he seemed in much better shape than she felt. He’d been much drunker than her last night, hadn’t he?