by Shari Low
Claire took a large bite out of an apple Danish, nodding in agreement as she did so. ‘I know, Val. I’m just not sure where to start.’ When it came to parenting, Claire had learned to listen to every word Val said. Josie might be the louder, more brutally candid of the two friends, but Val’s wisdom and compassion hit the mark every time.
‘How’s Sam handling it? Have you spoken to him?’ Josie wondered.
Sam. Claire’s husband of nine years, ex-husband for another nine, and Max and Jordy’s dad. Despite splitting when the boys were young, they’d managed to both co-parent and maintain a friendship, even when he’d moved in with Nicola – five years younger, two stone lighter, far more glamorous, far less neurotic. Not that she was comparing. Much.
It hadn’t been without occasional flashpoints and differences of opinion, but they’d made their situation work. And Claire had managed not to resent the fact that he’d moved on and got a whole new happy ever after.
She’d thought about dating, about looking for someone else. Then – much to Jeanna’s disgust – swiftly filed it under ‘can’t be arsed’. Where would she find the time? Between building the business and bringing up the boys with only her brother Doug and Jeanna on hand to help, she barely found time to shave her legs, never mind all the other palaver that went with the whole ‘meeting someone new’ saga. So, instead, she’d settled for happy parenthood and maintaining an amicable relationship with her ex, which had been enough – most of the time.
Claire shrugged. ‘Not in the last couple of days. To be honest, I can’t face him telling me that I need to pull myself together. I’ve already got you three doing that.’ He’d say it nicely of course, but there was always that underlying history there. There was no getting away from the fact that Sam had felt sidelined during their marriage. Looking back, she could see that he’d been absolutely justified, but in the midst of raising the boys, working to pay the bills, juggling a million everyday things, she hadn’t seen it. Then, one day, it was too late.
It was inevitable, and yet, even now she found it hard to believe it had happened. Maybe because she’d been so sure they’d go the distance, that they’d make it. He was truly the only man she’d ever loved, and she’d felt that way from the first moment she set eyes on him…
Five
Claire & Sam – Millennium Eve 1999
‘This seemed like a much better idea when we were planning it,’ Jeanna hissed into Claire’s ear. ‘I hadn’t factored in that I’d be freezing my tits off, squashed to a pulp and this bloke next to me would be intoxicating me with Diamond White cider breath and a cloud of Benson & Hedges every time the wind blows in this direction. And you look like a tangerine. Just saying.’
Claire took another swig from her hip flask. It contained vodka and Coke and she now understood why Russians partook of that particular alcoholic beverage as she was fairly sure that the booze, and her shiny new bright orange Puffa jacket (Topshop, £19.99 in the Boxing Day sale), were the only things insulating her extremities and fending off frostbite in the sub-zero temperatures. Either that or it was just making her a little too drunk to care.
‘Stop being a downer! You couldn’t buy an atmosphere like this!’
The enthusiasm in her voice was so contagious even Jeanna’s face defrosted a little. She was right. Even the cold and the frequent blasts of biting wind couldn’t detract from the joyous, electric buzz in the air.
They’d thought about going to one of their local bars to welcome the new century – all student hangouts frequented by the rest of the gang from college – but they’d decided they could do that any time. The standard Hogmanay celebrations in Glasgow were rambunctious, over the top and went on for days. However, the Millennium party in Glasgow’s George Square, with nine stages around the area and live music headlined by the Human League, was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Couldn’t beat a bit of retro pop. A group of ten of them, all mates from school or pals she’d made in her first year at the Glasgow School of Art, were here with 100,000 others and there was absolutely nowhere else Claire would rather be. Sure, it was crowded, and yes, penguins would consider this a chilly environment, but by God, the crowds, the music, the revelry, the relief that she was wearing two pairs of thermal knickers, the anticipation and now the sheer excitement of 100,000 people shouting in unison made it worth it.
Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four!
She gripped Jeanna’s arm, as, like buoys on an ocean, a sea of people started bobbing up and down in synchronicity.
Sod the cold. She would never forget this moment for as long as she lived.
Three! Two! One!
ROAR!!!!!
‘Happy New Year!’ she bellowed, throwing her arms around Jeanna and squeezing her tightly, before they both gazed upwards as a riot of fireworks began to fill the skies. And then more hugging: the rest of her friends, Mr Diamond White/Benson & Hedges, then every other person within a five foot radius, all the while laughing until her jaws hurt.
When the explosions of colour finally ceased, the mesmerising sound of a lone piper playing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ filled the cold night air, with nothing else but the smell of fireworks, love and optimism and sheer bloody joy. This was everything. Whether it was the occasion, the party or the vodka, Claire wasn’t sure, but she absolutely knew she was having the best night of her life.
As she sang along, a voice she didn’t recognise blasted in her ear.
‘You’re on fire!’
She gave the stranger – actually, the pretty handsome, easy-on-the-eye stranger – her widest grin. ‘I know!’ She’d never been complimented on her singing before, but she’d take it.
Her happiness was rudely interrupted by a thump on her back. Then another. Then another…
‘I mean you’re actually on fire!’ the voice said, urgently this time, accompanied by more slapping on the back.
Jeanna joined in, screeching profanities while she did so.
A small space started to form around her as everyone, Claire included, realised that the acrid aroma wasn’t the afterburn of the fireworks, but smoke coming from the bright orange Puffa jacket. She yanked the zip down, then the stranger pulled at the neck and managed to somehow get the whole jacket off her in one smooth motion. He tossed it to the ground and began stamping on what was left of the smouldering fabric – £19.99 up in flames. Literally. She was just glad that her hair had been tucked under her hat or she’d now be contemplating a whole new look.
‘Oh my God! Thank you! Thank you so much,’ she blurted, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Mr Diamond White/Benson and Hedges was slinking off into the crowd, cigarette still dangling from his lips. It must have come into contact with her jacket when she ambushed him in a bear hug.
‘You nearly killed my pal, ya no-good tosser!’ Jeanna yelled after him, but was thankfully prevented from chasing him by the crowd, which had ebbed back in their direction, surrounding them again and forcing them closer together.
Somehow, and Claire would forever swear it wasn’t deliberate, she ended up body-to-body with the bloke who had shown a brave talent for extinguishing burning padded outerwear.
She had to look up to meet his gaze. ‘No problem,’ he replied, his grin making his eyes crinkle and his face flush a little. And that was it. Right there. Claire, in a radical departure from her usual laid back, ambivalent, go-with-the-flow personality, decided in that second that he was hers. And no, it had nothing to do with the vodka.
‘I’m Claire,’ she said, going up onto her tiptoes so that she could get closer to his ear. ‘And that was my brand new jacket. May it rest in peace.’
‘I’m Sam. And I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, laughing, and Claire decided it was the best sound she’d ever heard. Even better than Prince singing about partying like it was 1999.
She kept eye contact, but paused, not sure what to say next. She was rubbish at this kind of stuff. Every relationship she’d had so far had been with someone she knew from school or college, s
o she had never done the whole ‘meet a stranger, chat him up’ thing. If only she had a pause button so she could press it, ask Jeanna what to say, then kick back into action.
‘Happy New Year,’ he said, filling the silence, and Claire realised they were both still grinning at each other like fools.
‘Happy New Year,’ she replied, as she realised he was leaning down to give her a hug. It was all the opportunity that Claire needed. Just as he was about to give her the customary kiss on the cheek, she turned her head, her lips found his and the next thing they were locked in a slow, mesmerising, utterly magnificent snog.
Claire heard Jeanna’s shocked, ‘Holy shit, how did that happen?’ but she ignored her, only coming up for air when her lungs were somewhere close to collapse. So far, the year 2000 was full of surprises and they were only ten minutes in.
When she recovered her power of speech, she blustered, ‘Sorry, I don’t normally snog random men…’
‘She does,’ Jeanna interjected. ‘Two postmen and the bloke that empties our wheelie bin so far this week.’
Claire ignored her, and Sam… Well, he was just standing there, staring at her, with that amused grin still splitting his face.
‘But you did save me from melting and…’
She didn’t even get the words out before he was leaning down, kissing her again.
‘Christ, she’s going to have lips like a sink plunger if we don’t save her soon,’ Jeanna said to Carrie, another one of their gang. The music had stopped now and people were slowly making their way out of the square, giving a bit of breathing room to those still there. ‘Come on, let’s go. Claire, are you bringing Romeo?’
Reluctantly, Claire stopped kissing him again. ‘Are you here with anyone?’ She really hoped he said yes, otherwise she’d start to worry that she was kissing the face off a bit of a weirdo who wandered around on his own on milestone occasions, putting out jacket fires.
Thankfully, he nodded in the direction of two other blokes who were standing a few feet away. ‘That’s my brother, Des, and my mate, Gary.’
‘Oh. Good. We’re all heading back to our flat for a party. You’re welcome to come if you… you know… you don’t have plans. Or more lives to save.’
‘Des, do we have plans, mate?’ he shouted over.
Claire could see the family resemblance. Same height, same dark hair, same squarish jawline, just as handsome. ‘Yeah, we’re going to—’
Sam stopped listening and turned back to Claire. ‘We don’t have plans,’ he said, completely blanking his brother’s reply.
His reaction gave Claire the giggles. ‘Good. Then you’re welcome to come to our place. Just to make sure I don’t stand too close to a candle, or electrocute myself with the toaster.’
In the end, Des and Gary blew off whatever other plans they had and joined them. By the time they’d walked back to the flat that Jeanna, Claire and three of the other girls shared on the south side of the city, the hip flasks were empty and they were singing Deacon Blue songs, interspersed with a bit of Proclaimers. Sam had held on to her hand the whole way, but there had been no chatting, just a whole lot of singing, laughing and shouting New Year greetings to everyone who passed. It was like the whole city was carried away on the excitement of the new century. Or, as in their case, just using it as an excuse to sing, dance and snog strangers.
Halfway down their street, they could hear ‘We Like To Party’ by the Vengaboys thundering from their flat. About two dozen other people were already packed in with Joyce, the one flatmate who hadn’t come along to George Square, and there was a mass cheer when the new arrivals joined the revelry.
The first person Claire saw was her brother Doug. A year younger than her, they’d always been close, especially since he grew up to be so good looking that every one of her pals inevitably fancied him. Claire gave him a tight hug.
‘Happy New Year, ugly,’ she whispered.
His laugh was low and loud. Jeanna had observed many times that it was also ‘so fucking sexy it made your knickers melt’, but the only effect it had on Claire was to give her an irresistible urge to ruffle up his impeccably groomed Ricky Martin hair. She loved her brother. They might have lucked out on the parent stakes, but at least they had each other.
She introduced him to Sam, then gestured that they were going to grab a drink. Taking hold of Sam’s hand again, she led him through to the kitchen, where they got a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge, then handed another two back to Des and Gary, who were now being dragged into the living room to dance by Jeanna and Carrie. They didn’t look like they were complaining.
‘I’ll be back in a second – I just need to make a quick phone call.’ She caught his puzzled expression, but it was too noisy in here to explain. Instead, she ducked out and fought her way back through the crowd to the phone on the wall by the front door. She quickly dialled a number. ‘Grandad, it’s me! Happy New Year!’ She could hear the TV in the background and knew he would be watching an old movie.
‘Och, it’s yourself,’ he bellowed back jovially. ‘Your brother’s just off the phone too. Sounds like quite the party over there.’
Yep, definitely quite the party, Claire thought. ‘Did you go down to the social club?’
The power plant Fred worked in had its own club attached to it for the workers. Fred had been going there for over forty years on Hogmanay and tonight was no different. He was happy there, alongside the men he’d worked with for most of his life. Like him, many of them had raised their families and were close to retiring. Some still had their wives by their sides, but others were on their own, so it was the perfect place for them to get together.
‘Aye, I did, lass. There was a ceilidh on and Harry Colquhoun’s missus near danced my feet off ’cause that old bugger was too busy moaning about his varicose veins.’ That made Claire giggle, but she didn’t have time to reply before he went on, ‘Now away back to yer party, lass, and don’t be worrying about being on the phone to an old git like me.’
‘I’m pretty fond of old gits,’ she joked, ‘except the ones that moan about their veins.’
Fred was laughing now. ‘Aye, well I’m glad about that. I’ll see you tomorrow for your steak pie, ma darlin’.’ It was a Scottish tradition – steak pie either just before midnight on Hogmanay, or at dinner time on the first of January. Fred had always done the latter.
‘See you then, Grandad. Doug and I will bring pudding and beer.’
‘That’s all we need for a right good night. See you later, lass,’ he added and she could hear the warmth in his gruff voice.
Her grandfather was an old-school, working man and she adored him. Now that she knew he’d had a good night and was happy, she could relax and enjoy the rest of the celebrations.
Back in the kitchen, Sam looked at her searchingly. ‘Look, if this is a bad time…’
‘It’s not,’ she said, slightly puzzled.
‘Or if there’s someone else you’d rather be with…’
‘Why would you think that?’
He shrugged. ‘The phone call? If there’s a guy…’
She cut him off right there. ‘I was calling my grandad!’
‘Your grandad?’
‘Yes! To wish him a happy New Year.’
He visibly sagged with relief. ‘Oh, thank God. I had visions of some bloke charging in here and declaring his undying love for you, then punching me in the face.’
‘Grandad’s not the violent type,’ she giggled. ‘At least, not since he gave up bare-knuckle boxing.’
He flinched, then immediately grinned when he clicked that she was kidding.
OK, time to get back to the flirting stuff they were doing earlier. ‘Do you want to dance?’ Claire asked, really hoping he’d say no. She’d had enough of being jostled for one night. And besides, she was now feeling like this guy was a little bit into her, and if he realised that she danced like a malfunctioning robot on coke, he might change his opinion.
‘Are there any other
options?’ he asked, and she could see he was teasing her now.
‘That depends,’ she answered. She could play this game too. Actually, usually she was rubbish at it – she had no dating game whatsoever, but something about him made her insides turn to mush and it made her bolder than she’d ever been in her life. She had no idea how to be seductive or coy, but for the first time ever she was managing to pull off something close to sexy.
‘On?’ he asked.
She leaned back against the kitchen worktop and took a swig from her bottle. ‘Are you married, engaged, going out with someone or a serial killer on the loose?’
It struck her that she should probably have asked at least a couple of those questions before she snogged the face off him. It also struck her that it was now heading towards 3 a.m., she’d consumed a considerable bucket of alcohol, and yet she had never felt more clear headed in her life.
He feigned contemplation for a few seconds. ‘No to the first three and hell no to the last one. I hate the sight of blood.’
‘Then there are definitely a couple of other options.’
Who was saying this stuff? Who? The words were coming out of her mouth, but her gob appeared to have been hijacked by someone whose inhibitions had gone up in flames with their Puffa jacket.
This was crazy. She’d met this guy tonight. They’d barely spoken half a dozen sentences to each other. She absolutely did not buy into casual sex. Usually she’d be self-conscious about her flatmates hearing anything, about what to say in the throes of passion, showing her body to a stranger, but yet…
‘Come right this way,’ she said, her grin as wide as his, as she grabbed another couple of beers and then led him to her bedroom.
Six
Denise – 2019
The windowless room was silent, except for the gentle hum of some kind of electrical machine coming from somewhere outside. The walls were cream, a warm contrast to the navy carpet, with a bank of flowers on a pedestal in one corner. She had no inclination to sit on any of the four chairs that surrounded a grey marble coffee table in the centre of the room. She’d sat there already, a few days before, on her first visit.
