The Dead Beat (10 page)

She wobbled as she left the Sarry Heid. Ian took her elbow and steadied her. That last joint had really messed with her head. They’d smoked it between the four of them on the walk from Queen Street Station, then nipped into the pub for a quick pint before heading across the road.

She pulled the ticket from her pocket as they tottered across the road, the Barrowland’s neon frontage making her eyes throb. She looked at the ticket:

Next to her, Ian was walking with an odd limp. His idea of hiding a few joints in a cassette case in his shoe seemed pretty ridiculous now. The speed wrap she had tucked inside her pants was much less likely to get detected.

‘You’re walking like an idiot.’

Elaine turned. Gordon was pointing at Ian, his arm around Sam. They were inseparable. Elaine felt a twinge of something, not quite jealousy. She was happy Gordon had found someone after their brief knockabout together, but he and Sam were so boring these days, this was the first time they’d been out in ages. Sam was one of those girlfriends who locks down her man, takes him away from his mates, especially girl mates. She looked at Ian. She wasn’t like that with him, couldn’t understand women who were.

Ian gave Gordon the finger as he hirpled across the road, avoiding a taxi. ‘He won’t be slagging me off when he wants a toke.’

A guy was slumped unconscious against the wall of the Barras, another guy pissing up against Baird’s Bar next door.

‘Ian.’

Coming towards them was a woman with big hair and big tits, exposed in a low-cut top. She was hanging off a skinny guy in a Pearl Jam long-sleeve, peroxide hair to his shoulders. The woman was mid-twenties and had a look in her eye as if she didn’t take any shit off anybody.

‘Rose,’ Ian said.

Elaine watched as they greeted each other. They didn’t touch. There was something unsettling about that, as if they were consciously avoiding it. But she was being paranoid, it was the skunk in that joint. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She trusted him.

‘Rose, this is Elaine. Elaine, Rose is my boss at the
Evening Standard
.’

‘Colleague, not boss,’ Rose said.

Elaine noticed that Ian hadn’t mentioned that she was his girlfriend. Stupid skunk.

‘I’ve heard all about you,’ she said to Rose.

‘Jesus, don’t say that,’ Rose laughed. ‘I dread to think what Ian’s been saying about me.’

Her voice made it clear she didn’t dread it at all. She was confident and sexy and had no doubt that anyone talking about her would only say good things.

Rose smiled. ‘He hasn’t told me much about you.’

‘Not much to tell,’ Elaine said.

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Rose turned to the guy she was hanging off. ‘This is Alex, he’s reviewing tonight for the
Standard
.’

Ian nodded. ‘I’m doing it for the evening paper.’

This was a hierarchy thing. The
Evening Standard
was at the bottom, then the
Standard
, then the Sunday paper at the top. Ian had explained it to Elaine, who found the pettiness pathetic.

‘When’s your deadline?’ Alex asked Ian.

‘Midnight.’

‘You’re lucky, man, I have to phone it in by ten. Probably miss the encores.’

To make tomorrow’s paper, the review had to be written on the spot and phoned in to the office, five hundred scribbled words mumbled drunkenly from a phone box.

Gordon and Sam caught them up and were introduced.

Rose pointed at the entrance. ‘Shall we?’

She walked in without waiting for an answer, her arse wiggling too much.

‘You never told me she was so pretty,’ Elaine said to Ian.

He put on an air of innocence. ‘Is she? I hadn’t noticed.’

Wrong answer.

But she was being ridiculous. She needed to get some more mellow grass next time.

Inside, the place was jumping but the Screaming Trees were struggling. Mark Lanegan looked fucked, holding onto the mic stand for dear life. The two fat guitarists made up for it, rolling around on the stage and going nuts, but Lanegan stood there, eyes screwed shut, looking like he’d just drunk a pint of his own piss. Even ‘Nearly Lost You’ sounded tame to Elaine.

She excused herself to brave the bogs. Rose trooped along and stood with her in the queue.

‘How long have you and Ian been together?’ she said.

‘Three or four months.’

‘Sounds pretty casual if you don’t even know how long.’

Elaine frowned. ‘Four months. What about you and Alex?’

Rose laughed and flicked her hair. ‘That’s just tonight to get on the guest list.’

A cubicle became free and Elaine went in. Pulled the speed wrap from her pants, unfolded it and dabbed some on her tongue. Felt her eyes ping open like a cartoon character’s. Pissed and wiped, then left.

Rose wasn’t around so she headed back upstairs and went straight to the bar. Three pints of lager and a JD and Coke for Samantha. She wasn’t buying for Rose or her fuckbuddy.

Harder to carry the pints in these thin plastic glasses, the JD jammed between her fingertips. The house lights were up between bands. She looked through the crowd and spotted Ian, but he wasn’t with Gordon and Sam. He was standing arguing with someone. She didn’t approach them, but stood and watched, anonymous in the murmur of the crowd.

The other guy was the same height as Ian but broader across the shoulders. Better looking. Shoulder-length curly hair, high cheekbones, and even from here she could see he had sharp blue eyes. A Dinosaur Jr. T-shirt clung to him, revealing muscle definition.

Ian shook his head then waved a dismissive hand. The other guy was pleading, hands out in supplication, but Ian was having none of it. He shoved the guy on the shoulder and the guy just took it like he deserved it. He tilted his head to the side, trying to reason with Ian, who looked round as if he didn’t want to be seen with this guy.

Ian shook his head then pushed past the guy and headed towards the bar, obviously looking for Elaine. She took a sip from one of the pints and stood watching the other guy. He looked crestfallen. Elaine’s mind buzzed. This wasn’t just an argument over a spilt pint, it looked like it mattered, like it meant something. The guy turned and headed toward the stairs.

She saw Ian at the bar, craning his neck looking for her. She headed towards him.

‘Where have you been?’ he said.

‘Bogs then bar,’ she said, handing him a pint. ‘I couldn’t find you.’

They both took a drink.

‘What did I miss?’ Elaine said.

‘Not a lot.’

Maybe it was nothing.

‘Where are Gordon and Sam?’

Ian nodded towards the stairs. ‘Went to look at the merch stall.’ He looked worried.

‘Everything OK?’

He gulped his pint and looked at the place he’d been standing arguing.

‘Maybe we should go,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t feel great, too much skunk. I think I’m going to throw a whitey.’

He looked fine, and he never took a whitey.

‘You’ll be OK in a minute,’ she said.

‘I really think we should go.’

‘You have to review it, remember?’

He glanced around.

‘Let’s just go and chill at the back,’ he said.

They walked to the back of the hall, where he slumped against the wall behind the sound desk. She realised she still had Gordon and Sam’s drinks, so headed off to look for them.

As she scanned the crowd, she kept hoping she’d see that guy again.

Eventually she walked right into Gordon and Sam up the back, huddled together.

The music and lights dropped and a massive cheer went up. Strobes flashing. The band strode out and launched into ‘Rusty Cage’.

Elaine glugged her pint and stared at Chris Cornell. She decided not to go back to Ian, this was a good spot, she could see perfectly. She tried to soak it up and stop her mind ticking over.

She couldn’t.

Halfway through, Ian appeared at her shoulder.

‘You feeling better, babe?’ she said.

He nodded and gave her an awkward kiss. She tasted of beer and skunk. He’d sparked up another one on his own. So much for having a whitey.

He was scribbling in a notepad now.

‘Writing nice things?’ Elaine said, nodding at the page.

‘Of course.’

She looked around, wondering where the guy was.

Soundgarden raged through ‘Loud Love’ and ‘Hands All Over’ then sloped off. Lights stayed down for the encore.

‘Think I’ll phone this in,’ Ian said, waving his notebook.

‘I thought your deadline wasn’t until midnight?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got enough, might as well do it now. Don’t want you hanging around for ages afterwards while I dictate it.’ He put on a smile. ‘I’ll meet you outside, yeah?’

Soundgarden came back on stage, Cornell with his top off. ‘Jesus Christ Pose’ then ‘Full on Kevin’s Mom’ and they were gone.

Elaine joined the sea of bodies swaying towards the stairs. Always a crazy bottleneck in this place. She looked around for Rose, and for the guy Ian had been arguing with, but couldn’t see anyone she recognised.

She stumbled out the entrance.

‘Elaine.’ It was Rose behind her.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Great show, huh?’

‘Yeah. Where’s Alex?’

‘Doing the review. Ian too?’

Elaine nodded. Awkward silence between them. Loads of bams wandering around, raucous noise from the Celtic pub.

She saw Ian coming from a phone box across the street. He flinched when he saw that she was standing with Rose, then crossed the road.

‘Ian.’

Elaine somehow knew who it was without turning. The look on Ian’s face, a flash of fear. She turned and saw the guy from the argument.

Ian was paralysed.

The guy certainly perked up Rose’s attention.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your beautiful friends?’ the guy said.

It was cheesy charm, but he had the charisma to pull it off, somehow.

Ian shook his head and sighed like a tired old man. ‘Ladies, this is Johnny.’

Johnny took Elaine’s hand and kissed it. She was dismayed that she actually felt a tingle of something at that touch. Ridiculous.

The guy moved on to Rose’s hand.

‘Your brother Johnny,’ he said.

Elaine turned to Ian. ‘You have a brother?’

Ian’s face was full of apology.

‘Not just a brother,’ Johnny said, putting his arm around Ian. ‘A twin brother.’ He mugged putting his head on Ian’s shoulder. ‘Can’t you see the family resemblance?’

Parking was the usual nightmare, even at a quarter to eight in the morning.

Cal nudged his Mini round the rabbit warren of the Royal Edinburgh Hospital looking for spaces, but cars were already double and triple parked, blocked in or sprawled across chevroned spaces with big warning signs:
PLEASE LEAVE FREE – EMERGENCY AMBULANCE ACCESS AT ALL TIMES
.

Martha sighed in the passenger seat. They could take as long as they wanted to find a space as far as she was concerned. She knew this was for the best, but she was nervous.

She fingered the leaflet she’d brought with her, the one they’d sent with the appointment letter. She already knew all the ins and outs of ECT, this was her fourth set of shocks in three years, but she reread the introduction in an attempt to calm herself.

No shit. So much stigma attached. And yet it had been the only thing that had worked for her. Five years of different pills, each prescription less effective than the last. Feeling herself sink into a black hole. Then after reading stuff online and convincing her doctor, a feeling like no other after her first shock, someone punching the lights back on in her life.

She had her appointments record with her. Three previous courses, each consisting of six shocks, two per week spread over three weeks. Once a year, so far. Maybe there would come a day when it wasn’t needed, or when the risk of side effects became too much, but for now this was the least dreadful solution, and sometimes the least dreadful solution can be pretty damn good.

‘Fuck it,’ Cal said. Even the Mini couldn’t fit anywhere around here. Eventually he just parked on a double yellow on the outskirts of the hospital grounds and they got out.

Martha could use a coffee but she wasn’t allowed. Nil by mouth for two hours before treatment because of the general anaesthetic. Nothing at all to eat for eight hours, just fluids. So the whisky last night was OK. She probably wouldn’t mention that to the consultant, in case he pulled the plug.

The Royal was Edinburgh’s resident nuthouse. Not that such terms were used around here, very much frowned upon by those in the psychiatric profession. But it was a nuthouse.

Originally a Victorian sprawl, peppered with sturdy oak trees strangled by ivy and holly bushes, it had accumulated growths like the Elephant Man over the years, prewar pebbledash here, sixties tower blocks there, miserable grey concrete of the seventies giving way to sickening bright colours on the newest buildings.

They walked past the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services building, where she’d attended as an outpatient since the age of thirteen. All softly spoken counselling and role playing. Then the allotments and greenhouses for rehabilitating patients, then the psychotherapy department. A year of talking things through in there amounted to fuck all.

They walked past the mortuary. Martha didn’t think about what was inside.

Then they were at the Andrew Duncan Clinic, whoever Andrew Duncan was. Probably some old mental guy. Through the automatic doors, down a gloomy corridor stinking of bleach and they were there, the ECT Department.

She liked how they didn’t have the full name. Electroconvulsive Therapy. Even here, in the hospital, there was a stigma, they didn’t want to talk about what went on beyond this door. Or maybe they were just saving on the lettering of the sign.

Cal looked at her. ‘You OK?’

She nodded.

‘You don’t have to do this.’

She buzzed and was let in. ‘You know I do.’

It was the nurse she liked, the Irish one. ‘Colleen’ on her name badge. Red hair in a feather cut, motherly smile.

Martha handed over the letter.

Colleen flicked through a box on her desk and came out with some paperwork. She handed over the forms on a clipboard. ‘If you want to take a seat and fill these out, dear.’ She looked at Cal. ‘And who’s your handsome friend?’

‘My brother Cal.’

‘Ah well.’

Martha sat down and went through the forms. Just checking on her physical and mental health since the last visit. She’d already discussed this with her GP last week, but she knew from over the years with the NHS there was nothing they liked more than triple-checking things.

She signed the consent slip last and handed back the forms. Colleen got up and took the clipboard through to a room behind her. Martha knew how this worked. From here into the prep room, lie down, needle in the hand, count back from ten. Then according to Cal’s footage, into the treatment room. Plugged into heart-rate and blood-pressure monitors, and something that checked brain function. Then a couple of probes on the head, shoot a little juice across, bingo. No shuddering or jerking, thanks to the muscle relaxant and the anaesthetic. Like watching paint dry.

Colleen came back.

‘The guys will be ready for you in a second.’ She looked at Martha. ‘Just try to relax.’

Martha put on a smile. ‘This is me relaxed, believe it or not.’

Colleen smiled back. Martha wanted to hug her.

Cal rubbed her hand, and she let him. She shot him a glance.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said.

‘I know.’

A middle-aged guy popped his head through the door. Martha recognised him from last time, the anaesthetist. He spoke to Colleen and disappeared.

‘Let’s get you going then,’ Colleen said.

She showed them through, and Martha climbed onto a trolley. The anaesthetist gave Cal a look, but didn’t say anything.

Another man was there with the anaesthetist, taller, side parting, air of authority. He didn’t introduce himself but his badge read ‘Dr Pardew, Consultant’. Martha recognised him from last time as well. He lifted the clipboard and stood above Martha. He didn’t show any signs of recognising her. She supposed he must do this to a lot of people.

‘Feeling fit and well?’ he said.

‘Fine.’

‘Nothing to eat or drink in the last few hours?’

She shook her head and wondered if she stank of booze.

‘OK, just lie back and relax.’

She felt the needle puncture her skin and slide into her.

‘Now, count back from ten, will you?’

‘Ten.’

She thought about Gordon with his face gone.

‘Nine.’

She thought of herself in a secure unit, the one and only time she’d been committed, for her own safety, three years ago.

‘Eight.’

She thought of her dad lying on platform 8 of Waverley Station, and what had led him there.

She was gone before she reached seven.