Remember Me 1

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  “I'm not going,” he finally announced, plonking himself down on the sofa and reaching for the TV remote.

  “Good. It'll save a baby-sitter. I'm going.” Irene sat down on the chair beside him. “It'll be a laugh, and it’ll be good to see everyone else.”

  Barry glared at her.

  “So, if Paul's there, are you going to dance with him?”

  Irene blushed again.

  “Not if his wife is there with him. And not if you go with me.” Irene fiddled with the strings on her apron and then rested her hands on her stomach. “Anyway, why won't you go?”

  “Because it'll be embarrassing. I haven't kept up with anyone else. Everyone will have forgotten me. And I know that everyone else will have done so much more with their lives. They'll be living all over the world, doing big jobs, having tons of fun. I was no big shakes at school, and when everyone finds out what I've done since school, it'll just confirm what everyone said at Porty.”

  “But people didn't really talk about you, Barry.”

  “Exactly. I was a nobody then, and they'll just laugh at me when they find out I'm still a nobody now.”

  “Thanks. So, I'm a ‘nobody’ too then?”

  “You know what I mean...”

  “I just hope Paul's there, then. He was never a nobody. And he was sure to God never going to be a nobody either.” Irene replied, getting angry now, and deliberately winding her husband up.

  “You're not dancing with him!” Barry's face started to turn red.

  “I'll dance with whoever I want Barry. Especially if you're not there, you coward!”

  “If you dance with Paul, then I'm going to dance with Fiona Lewis.”

  Irene laughed, stood up and walked out of the room.

  When she got to the downstairs bathroom, she closed the door, and stood in front of the mirror.

  The reflection staring back at her had changed a lot in the past twenty years.

  She'd be lucky if Paul even recognised her, let alone wanted to dance with her.

  And Fiona Lewis?

  She thought of Barry and her, and the disco all those years ago when she'd seen Barry trying to get a hand up her top while they danced slowly to Dire Straits and 'Sultans of Swing.'

  For a moment she closed her eyes and fought back the tears, then when she'd recovered enough she escaped to her kitchen, found her phone, and called her hairdresser.

  “Sorry, Irene. We're booked that whole week.”

  “Why?”

  “It's the Porty Reunion. Haven’t you heard about it?”

  Irene lied, hung up and went to get the old yellow pages. She needed to book an appointment with whoever she could get.

  There's no way she was going to go the Reunion looking like she did.

  After she'd booked something with someone in Leith, she'd searched for and found her old gym membership card.

  At the time, she’d had three months until the Reunion.

  Three months to get fit, lose weight and tone up.

  Whatever it took. Paul was going to notice her. And bloody dance with her.

  Maybe it was about time she shook Barry up and made him jealous for once!

  -------------------------

  Duddingston Road

  Edinburgh

  10.30

  Iain Small stood in front of his mirror, his hand playing with the mound of fat that had slowly and imperceptibly buried his tummy over the past few years.

  Underneath there was still a six-pack, Iain was sure of it. There used to be one there, but even though Iain still worked out - although truth be told only very occasionally - years of drinking beer with his rugby pals, had covered the six-pack with a 'one-pack'.

  Quite a large one-pack.

  Until recently it had been possible to ignore it, but now, with only eight-and-a-half hours until the Reunion started, he couldn't help compare himself to how he used to look then, and how awful he looked now.

  Where had his youth gone?

  Iain had been popular at High School. He'd had lots of friends, and thanks to the Rugby Club, he was still friends with most of the people he used to hang out with back then.

  Iain had got older, life had moved on, but in many ways a lot had remained the same.

  The boys he'd be drinking with at the bar tonight, were 'his boys', the same boys he’d been hanging out with since he was eight, or even younger.

  Half of them still played rugby together every weekend, and most of them still got together every Saturday night in Town or down in Porty on the Esplanade somewhere.

  Even the girls that he talked to most weekends were still the same girls from school. The only difference was that a lot of them were now married to his friends. The fact that most of the boys he still hung out with, had, at one time or another, gone out with or slept with the girls who were now married to their friends, was no big deal.

  Nowadays, however, life and the choosing of partners had mostly settled down. Most of his friends had kids who were themselves now in the final years of school at the new Portobello High School, and Iain wouldn't be surprised if in twenty years’ time, his kids were still hanging out with the same friends they had today.

  Outside the rugby crowd, things were admittedly different. A lot of people had flown the nest, escaped their insular ecosystem and ended up in different cities, with flash careers and big mortgages. But Iain had never really seen the point of the rat race. After leaving Edinburgh Uni he’d got a job in a computer company in Leith, and had stayed there ever since.

  He was content. Happy. Loved his life. His friends. And his lot.

  Iain wasn't a millionaire, and realistically never would be. But he had almost everything he'd ever wanted in life, and was basically happy. Very happy.

  He had few regrets. Just one or two. But they were just small ones. Like, for example, never being brave enough to tell one of the girls at school - Marie McDonald - just how much he fancied her, or to ask her out. Marie had been special. Just being in the same room with her had made Iain nervous, and reduced him to a silly, quivering, speechless, spotty wreck!

  But that was the past. Iain was now married to Debbie, three kids - two boys and a girl, and a cat.

  Debbie had been in the year beneath him, and they’d got together one night after the disco down in the Town Hall in Portobello High Street.

  They split up several times, but always got back together and they’d eventually married eighteen years ago. They lived in a bungalow not far from the new school, and he drove to work in Leith every day.

  Edinburgh offered him everything he needed in life: employment, rugby, mountains, sea, a great social life and regular time with his friends.

  He was looking forward to the Reunion. Although he was in almost daily contact with his main friends from school, there were others who had moved on and found other lives far away from Edinburgh.

  He wondered how they were? Why did they leave Edinburgh? What took them away? How were their lives? Were they just as happy as he was?

  Perhaps a little part of him did wonder, if the grass was greener for those who had left and gone elsewhere? If they had found better lives, Iain knew that he was unlikely to be jealous. Curious, yes, but no, not jealous.

  Standing there, looking at himself in the mirror, the biggest problem that Iain had now was his 'one-pack'.

  And if that was the biggest problem he had, then things weren't that bad after all.

  Roll on tonight!

  -------------------------

  Northfield Broadway

  Edinburgh

  10.45

  Marie McDonald stepped out of the shower and towelled herself down in her bathroom. Technically she hadn't lived at her parent's house for over twenty years, but this would always be her home, even though it was her parents’ house.

  Her parents had left her bedroom as it was the day she’d caught the train down to London, and her new life, the August following her graduation from Edinburgh University. Her old posters were stil
l on her wall, and David Bowie and Duran Duran would be forever staring down at her whenever she woke up in her old bed. Her bed. The most comfortable bed in the entire world.

  And she should know. She'd slept in most of them.

  Since she left Uni, she'd lived the life of a nomad, going to whatever country needed her most.

  She'd studied History at Edinburgh, but upon graduating had ‘been called’ to spend a year doing Voluntary work in Africa. After a year of volunteering and being paid nothing, she’d decided to help an endangered tribe in South America. She moved continents and carried on doing much the same sort of work, but this time for a small salary. Not much. But it was something.

  She'd then spent several years in South America before returning to Europe.

  Almost accidentally she'd ended up in Poland, where she’d been taken by the plight of Roma children in an orphanage near Warsaw.

  When the charity which had run the orphanage had collapsed, Marie had almost single-handedly somehow managed to raise enough money to keep it open.

  Without intending to, the lives of over sixty previously abused, neglected and otherwise unloved children, now depended upon her.

  She couldn't leave.

  Hadn't wanted to leave.

  And she now lived there, full time, with no end-game in sight.

  In fact, as each year had passed, she’d unwittingly got herself in deeper. The orphanage had grown, expanding from sixty Roma children to a charity with several homes in different parts of Eastern Europe, and a total of over three hundred children.

  As the years had passed, Marie had become a recognised expert in many of the issues relating to the problems orphans faced - particularly those from Eastern Europe - and she was often invited to speak to various assemblies at the European Union, or to individual governments, or large corporations - in fact, anyone, anywhere that could help support her or donate much needed funds to her work and her charity.

  Increasingly, as her mission had expanded, Marie had done less of the hands-on caring, and more of a managerial and public speaking role, championing the little children's cause, and raising awareness of their plight, and the need to look after and love them.

  Marie was a passionate believer in education as being the solution to raise her children out of poverty and their often very hopeless past associations and lives. Through education, her children could empower themselves for good, solid, lives ahead.

  Her trip back to Scotland, planned serendipitously so that it coincided with the Portobello High School Reunion, was originally intended to be a long-deserved break, recommended by her doctor who was concerned about the effects of both physical and mental exhaustion.

  Although initially reluctant, she’d eventually succumbed to those badgering her to take a relaxing holiday, but no sooner had she booked her ticket to Edinburgh, than she’d started to make plans.

  She would visit Loch Ness, climb Ben Nevis, cycle along the Great Glen, and then find out who her parent's local MP was, and try to seek an opportunity to raise some ‘Overseas Development’ funds from the Scottish Parliament.

  And now, having discovered about the Portobello Reunion a week ago, she'd bought a new dress and lipstick.

  Marie was sure not many people would remember who she was. Over the years she'd lost contact with everyone, but she was still excited.

  She'd been happy at school. Learned a lot. She'd had good friends at the time. In fact, looking back on her youth, all in all she'd had very positive experiences.

  Marie knew that she'd been so busy looking after her children that she had neglected her own life, but now, tonight, perhaps there would be a chance to rekindle some friendships and build upon them for the future.

  Marie had always believed in fate, and as the hours ticked by and the Reunion got steadily closer, she couldn't help believe that her returning to Edinburgh at the same time as the Reunion was taking place, was more than just coincidence.

  There was a reason she was here today.

  And tonight, she could feel it in her bones, something big was going to happen.

  Something very big indeed…

  -------------------------

  Joppa

  Edinburgh

  11.00

  Willy Thomson reached from underneath his duvet and hit the top of his clock, stopping the bloody alarm and knocking it off the bedside table.

  His head hurt.

  And as he began to stir, he realised that his right hand hurt too. A lot.

  Pushing back the duvet, he lifted his hand to his face and saw the dried blood and the bruising, and slowly began to remember the cause of it the night before: too much beer, and a cheeky bastard who’d disrespected him on his way back home.

  Willy smiled to himself, thinking about the beating he'd given the man. He'd done a good job, considering how drunk he was.

  Last night had been a good bash, thanks mainly to the wallet he'd got from another stupid tourist in the Grassmarket: drunk, having too much fun, and not paying enough attention to his valuables, which in this case amounted to two hundred pounds, a French driver's license, a credit card and a contactless debit card.

  Willy could sell the driver's license and the credit card, and with a little luck he'd still be able to have some fun with the debit card for a few days, before he passed it on to his mate in Leith.

  As he lay in his bed, Willy contemplated the best course of action for the rest of the day.

  Stupidly, he'd let himself have too much fun last night, and now, even without getting out of bed, he knew he was facing a hangover.

  A hangover was the last thing he needed. There was a lot to do today, and he wanted to be sober tonight, at least at the beginning of the evening, so he was able to think clearly and make plans as events unfolded.

  He'd been looking forward to the School Reunion ever since the rumours started circling that one was on the cards.

  Willy's life was a mess. Since he’d left school, he'd been in prison three times - theft, assault and attempted murder - and he’d struggled to hold down any form of job for long.

  If it wasn't for the Council looking after him each month with dole money, the flat, and the rich pickings he lifted from the tourists who flocked to the eternal honey pot that was Edinburgh, Willy would have long ago wasted away and died from starvation or cold.

  Willy survived from day to day, and when things were going well, from week to week.

  The reason why Willy was a mess was due to a lack of decent parents while growing up (they were drunk most of the time), lack of friends (who would want to hang out with such a loser who stank to high heaven?), and his complete lack of education and absence of any skills or training.

  Probably the most relevant of all that small list, was his lack of education.

  Willy knew he was smart, though, which meant that his ignorance was purely down to his old school teachers.

  Willy's life had been one long struggle. He'd had to fight for everything he ever had - which admittedly wasn't much - and Willy couldn't see an end in sight, any time soon.

  Things would have been very different if he'd had a decent education. He could have been rich by now. Clever. Living in a big house with his girlfriends. One of them might even have stuck around long enough for Willy to have got married. Maybe he would even have been mad enough to have a few screaming kids. Unlikely, but possible.

  At school however, instead of helping him turn his already rubbish life around and teaching him something useful that could have got him into a good job, his teachers had instead belted him at almost every opportunity. Willy had very quickly been identified as a trouble maker, and since that moment his teachers had done their best to make as much trouble for him as possible.

  They'd had it in for him since the moment they'd first laid eyes on him.

  All of them.

  Tonight though, was going to be payback time.

  Willy was a big man now. Not small like he was when the teachers took advantage of him and
bullied the crap out of him.

  Tonight, if Willy could find any of the teachers on his list, he'd make them pay.

  Yep. Tonight was going to be dead good, and by the time the evening was over, at least one of them bastard teachers was going to be good and dead.

  Chapter 7

  Portobello High School

  Edinburgh

  'Operation Blue-Building'

  Incident Room

  Saturday

  11.05

  McKenzie stood at the front of the portacabin waiting for the room to settle down. Recognising the evening shift should have finished several hours ago, he acknowledged with a smile and a nod some of the uniforms who were still present.

  McKenzie clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention.

  “Okay, good morning everyone,” McKenzie began. “Apologies for the late start, but most of you here pulled almost two shifts yesterday, so I wanted you to get some proper rest. For some of you it's also been a long night, I know, and I appreciate you still being here, but I hope we'll get you home and in bed as soon as possible. From tomorrow we'll go back to normal times again, okay?”

  There were no objections.

  “DI Mather, can you update us on what the night shift covered, and any items for the day team to get going on?”

  Mather pushed himself off a desk at the side of the room, nodded at McKenzie and stepped across to the whiteboard assembled against the wall.

  “Thanks Guv. It's been a busy night.” He lifted up his phone and showed it to the room. “You've all seen the videos. We've had a team in Fettes working on them since three this morning. They've been trying to find out who posted them, and where they were filmed from. Anything that could be useful. And they've been trying to take them down. It doesn't help that it's a Saturday morning, but both Facebook and YouTube have promised to take them both down by lunchtime. That was the good news. Unfortunately, there's very little the videos can tell us. They were posted from burners using fake accounts. Which means they could have come from the public or someone involved in the murder. We'll never know.”