Authors: Danny Gillan
Scratch (23 page)
‘I know, sorry. I’m going up to bed, see you tomorrow.’
‘Night
night
.’
***
Two hours later, I was staring at my bedroom ceiling. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough for me to make out the biggest spider I had ever seen in my life scuttle across the plaster above me. It paused in its journey at a point which, were it to lose its grip somehow, would see it land on my face.
This image was enough to force me out of bed and put on the overhead light. The sudden illumination sent the spider sprinting towards the cornicing for cover. It was a big bastard, right enough. You never seemed to see wee spiders anymore; it’s always these huge two-inchers with the long, spindly legs and scary sense of purpose. Global warming, probably.
I was debating whether to kill it, trap it and throw it out the window or just hope it would go away by itself when my phone went
bing
-bong
.
- hi it
’
s me. you ok? -
Although she still hadn’t actually given me her number I took a chance and assumed it was Paula.
- think so. you? -
I sent back.
- bit freaked out. sorry for running away -
- getting used to it -
- sorry. I meant what I said. I do love you -
- me too you -
- no clue what to do about it though -
- snap -
- want to get lunch tomorrow? -
- yes I do -
- ok. call you in the morning -
- ok
g
’
night
-
-
g
’
night
-
I felt much better after this, and could probably have got to sleep if I hadn’t remembered about the big spider. It was nowhere to be seen, and I spent another hour lying wide-awake in bed, convinced it was waiting for me to lower my guard so it could launch an attack. You rarely think rationally at three in the morning, I find.
***
I drifted off eventually, and woke after eleven the following morning. It was closer to twelve by the time I was showered and dressed, and joined my parents downstairs.
‘Morning,’ I said, sitting at the dining table opposite my dad.
He looked up from his
Glasgow Herald
. ‘Afternoon. Found your bed all by yourself last night, then?’
‘I did, thank you.’
He held my gaze for a second, before nodding and returning his attention to the letters page.
‘Do you want something to eat? I’m doing French toast,’ my mum called from the kitchen.
‘No thanks, I’m going out for lunch.’
‘Really? Who with?’ Mum came out of the kitchen and looked at me expectantly.
‘Eh, Terry.’
‘Again? Oh, well, that’s nice.’
I didn’t realise how hungry I was until I first smelled, then saw, the plate piled high with
eggy
bread. I hoped Paula would phone soon.
‘When are you going out?’ she asked, smothering brown sauce onto her first slice.
‘Not sure.’ My mouth watered. ‘I’m waiting for him to phone. He wasn’t sure when he’d get out of the office.’
‘Okay,’ Mum said, giving me what looked like a suspicious look. I had spent the vast majority of my years on Earth lying to my parents without a worry, but now Joe’s assessment of my abilities in this area had me wondering. ‘Well, be sure to say hello from us. We haven’t seen Terry for ages.’
‘Will do.’
‘How’s he getting on at work?’ Dad asked, before shoving a forkful of
eggy
delight into his mouth.
‘Yeah, pretty good.’
‘He’s coping all right with the responsibility?’ I had, perhaps foolishly, told them about Terry getting promoted. To my old job.
‘Seems to be.’
‘I always thought Terry was a bit of a waster,’ my dad went on. ‘Looks like he might be proving me wrong.’
‘Could be,’ I said. ‘It’s early days.’ If Joe really wanted to see someone
fighting without fighting,
he should have a look at my dad.
‘At least he’s pointing in the right direction.’
Ooh, zinger
.
‘I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear how proud you are.’
‘Jim!’ Mum said.
‘Sorry.’
‘So, it’s Friday,’ my dad said. ‘Pay day.’ He looked at me.
‘Actually, I need to do a week’s lying time. This was a lie, but I viewed it as a necessary one. I was skint.
The looks they gave me had me wondering again about Joe’s opinion of my skills as a peddler of
pish
, but I stuck it out.
‘Oh well,’ Mum said. ‘Double next week, then.’
‘But …’
‘You have to pay what you owe in life, Jim,’ my dad said. ‘When you’re an adult,’ he added.
‘At least you won’t have to worry about money for cigarettes,’ Mum said. ‘Will you?’
This would just have to be next Friday’s problem. ‘There is that,’ I said. ‘I’ll be upstairs.’
I went back to my room and switched on the TV, praying Paula’s call would come soon. I was dying for a smoke.
Despite having spent a good three hours the night before (in between panic attacks about the big spider) and a couple so far that day thinking about it, I still didn’t know what to make of Paula’s revelation. She loved me.
She
loved
me!
Holy Jesus fuck.
It was, of course, the best thing that had ever happened to me in my life, ever. That was a given. But I couldn’t help thinking about that taxi journey home. The way Paula almost seemed to flinch when I took her hand; the fact that we barely spoke a word to one another for the entire ten-minute trip. The fact she had felt it necessary in the pub to point out that she wasn’t a bitch. Why couldn’t she be a bitch?
And, the biggest worry of all, that she was obviously petrified of anyone saying anything to anyone about anything. What did that say, really? That there wasn’t an ‘us’ to talk about? That it was a nice idea but it couldn’t happen so I shouldn’t be stupid? So why did she say it, then?
I wished she would hurry up and call.
By
I was beginning to wonder when exactly they ate lunch in Germany.
By
I was desperate for a cigarette, if only to quell the hunger pangs.
By
I had accepted she wasn’t going to phone and went for a walk to the BP garage, where I bought four bags of steak and onion Walkers and twenty Marlboro lights. All of the crisps and three of the Marlboros were gone within fifteen minutes. She hadn’t phoned. Why would she do that? Why would she text me in the middle of the night to say she would, then not?
The answer was obvious, even to me.
I had never experienced unrequited love, reciprocated love then a broken heart within the space of twenty-four hours before (at least not all with the same person). It was not a nice feeling, not nice at all.
I wandered the streets aimlessly for a while, I think I actually kicked a couple of pebbles along the pavement at one point, before heading back home to get ready for work.
Being a barman, getting ready for work involved putting my cap on and checking I had change for the bus so it didn’t take long.
‘Are you away already? I thought you didn’t start till six,’ my mum called from the living room, as I trudged down the stairs at
.
‘It’ll be busy. I thought I’d get in sharp. Can I borrow change for the bus?’
‘Wait till I check my purse. What happened to Terry today?’
‘I guess he couldn’t get away. It’s no big deal.’
‘That’s a shame. I could tell you were looking forward to seeing him. Here.’ She handed me a couple of pounds worth of silver.
‘Cheers. I’ll be in late, take your key out of the door before you go to bed so I can get in.’
‘I’ll remind your dad.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Shed.’
‘Okay, bye.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Jim?’
‘Fine, bye.’
‘Most people grow out of their ‘surly teenager’ phase when they stop being teenagers, you know.’
I smiled. ‘I think we can both agree I’ve turned out to be a bit of a late developer, in many ways.’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘Okay. See you later.’
***
I was outside The Basement by 5.20, and decided to go in for a coffee and a brood before starting my shift. I pushed the wooden door open and was hit in the face by a wet bar towel, which was unexpected.
I had a flashback to the Moosehead years as I smelled stale lager and felt my eyes blur and my face go sticky. Then there was the noise. It sounded like the Baghdad
Barras
on Suicide Sunday (
all bomb jackets half-price, get yours fast and have a blast!
). People were shouting, glasses were breaking, music was blaring and staff were wailing.
I wiped my eyes clear and pushed past the first couple of bodies, heading for the bar. The place was rammed, and they all had suits on.
It was Friday, it was tea-time, and I shouldn’t have been surprised. I just hadn’t banked on such an immediate immersion in the nightmare of
twatdom
that is the ‘office big night out’.
I wanted a coffee and a brood.
‘Jim! Get your arse back here, we’re in the shit!’ Mark shouted from behind the bar.
‘I don’t start till six!’
‘What?’
‘I don’t—’ I gave up. Mark couldn’t hear me over the throng and I knew he wouldn’t care if he could. I was there and they were struggling. Was I part of this team or not? Yes. Yes I bloody was!
I elbowed a few more be-suited
bams
out of the way and squeezed through the hatch. I quickly assessed the situation. Mark, Natalie and another girl I’d never seen before were hopping about like mad, pouring pints and taking money, trying to stem the tide of
tossers
screaming drinks orders at them. How best to be of help?
They had split the space behind the bar between them and were defending a third of the front line each, so where should I insert myself to be of the most use? Tricky. Mark was probably the strongest of them, but that assumption could have been down to nothing more than familiarity and sexism so I couldn’t be sure. I decided to observe the girls’ performance for a while before making my final—
‘Jim, get your coat off and pull a fucking pint for Christ’s sake!’ Mark yelled at high volume with extreme emotion.