Remember Me 1

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  “Hang on a second, Emma’s just leaving the room.” Kerrin whispered.

  Another pause.

  “Can you remember that girl in Brunstane House, you know the one with big tits and the blue eyes that I used to fancy something rotten?”

  “What? Yvonne? The one who knocked you back about ten times?”

  “Yea. Yvonne McDougall. Well, I was just thinking, maybe if she’s there tonight, and I turned up in a flash car, then… ”

  “Shut the hell up, Kerrin. You’re married to Emma. You’ve been going out since the school Qually dance… what on earth are you still dreaming about Yvonne for?”

  “I’m not… I mean, maybe just a little. What about you and that girl Marie? You used to go on about her tons, when you were in fourth year?”

  “Marie McDonald? True, but she was way out of my league. She’d be about forty-six now. You’ve got to be realistic about these things, mate. I might have fancied her like crazy when she was sweet sixteen, but we’re all getting older. Have you looked in the mirror recently pal? I’m just saying. I’ve got Debbie, and I’m lucky she doesn’t dump me for someone better looking than me. You’ve got Emma. And you’re punching way above your weight with her mate. Way higher.”

  Kerrin pretended to laugh, but he knew Iain was right.

  “I told Emma I wanted to rent a car, and she just laughed. She told me to stop being an idiot. She just said that the car park’s probably going to be so full of cars rented by other twats pretending to be something they’re not, that I’d just be wasting my money.”

  “Shit,” Iain replied, changing the subject completely. “Have you seen the time? It’s gone six o’clock. I’ve still got to cook the kid’s their dinner. What time are you getting there?”

  “It’s still the same plan. We’re meeting in the Forrester’s Arms in Porty for a glass of Prosecco first, then getting the taxi’s from there.”

  “Seven?”

  “Like I said, that’s the plan, Stan. Be there or be square.”

  “Twat!” Iain laughed back, and hung up.

  Getting up out of his sofa, Iain walked through to his bedroom and kissed Debbie on the back of her neck, whilst she sat at the dressing table and started to apply her war paint.

  “What’s that for?” she asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

  “For persuading me not to hire the Corvette. It was a stupid idea, and you were right.”

  Debbie shook her head.

  What was it with men and school Reunions?

  Did it bring out the Twat-factor in all of them, or was it just her husband?

  -------------------------

  Northfield

  Edinburgh

  18.05

  Marie McDonald was nervous. A little scared. Annoyed. And much fatter than she’d realised.

  The dress she’d hoped to wear earlier this evening no longer fitted. Her bust was too large and was barely contained, and the sides of her dress just held her in. If she ate one too many biscuits this evening her dress would probably pop off.

  For a moment she did consider wearing it anyway - perhaps getting a little bit of attention due to the bust factor may not be too bad after all - she might need all the help she could get! But after only a few moments serious consideration she admitted to herself that it was not appropriate.

  The last thing she needed was someone to snap a photo and pop it on Facebook, only for a colleague of hers in Poland to see her dressed like a decadent Parisian tart.

  Although that was probably a little harsh, both for herself, and the Parisians.

  Luckily, the TK MAXX near where the old Meadowbank Commonwealth Stadium had come to her rescue.

  She managed to find a tasteful, yet rather cheap dress within twenty minutes, and even if she did say so herself, she looked great.

  All day long she’d been thinking about tonight.

  Would anyone recognise her? Would anyone remember her?

  What should she say about herself if anyone asked?

  One of the things she did not want to do this evening was to turn it into a fund-raising exercise. But she knew her own weaknesses, and she knew that she often used fund-raising as a method of diverting focus away from herself. And tonight was not about that.

  Also, tonight was about her.

  It was not about her kids. Or the orphanage.

  And the last thing she wanted to do was bore everyone else.

  Unfortunately, the few phone calls she’d placed to different charities over the past few days had not gone well. Corporations and people in Scotland were tightening their belts. The economy was not doing so well.

  Earlier that afternoon she’d found a school diary in a drawer in her old wardrobe. There were a few numbers in there of her old friends. She’d even drummed up the courage to call a few of them, but two of the numbers didn’t work anymore, and one had gone through to a family from Lithuania who had inherited the number when they moved into the house.

  So, she couldn’t arrange to meet anyone before the evening started, and she would just have to go to the Ball by herself.

  She looked at her watch.

  Only a few hours to go.

  Should she get there early, or turn up late?

  Deciding to be on time, she planned the timing for the umpteenth time: a small meal, shower, make up, and then an Uber to the Reunion.

  The cab was already set for 7.35pm.

  She looked in the mirror again.

  The person who looked back was no one special.

  Suddenly she felt very alone.

  Tonight would be dominated by friends hugging each other, air-kisses, real kisses, and people laughing and having fun together.

  She’d be lucky if anyone even remembered her.

  She closed her eyes and began to sob.

  Maybe she wouldn’t go after all.

  -----------------------------

  Cramond

  18.10

  Stuart Nisbet had sunk.

  Mentally, and physically.

  Whereas he’d probably only gone down about a metre before the buoyancy in his life-jacket had begun to drag him back to the surface, in his mind he’d felt himself falling and falling.

  Spiralling down and down.

  Deeper and deeper into a place he’d never been before.

  And then it had stopped.

  He’d found a place where everything was once again in balance, and the world around him had begun to stabilise.

  He experienced a strange but pleasantly surprising mental inner calm.

  For a moment he floated in the universe, doing nothing, trying nothing, striving for nothing.

  Just being.

  Existing.

  Nothing to prove.

  Nothing to do.

  Just being.

  An inner peace like he had never experienced before, engulfed him, and he realised that for the first time in years… perhaps his entire life… he was happy.

  Then he had opened his eyes.

  The world around him was grey and dark.

  Cold.

  His chest was hurting.

  Not painful.

  But full of a desire to breathe, to suck in air, to exist once more.

  His feet had taken over, kicking, propelling himself upwards, and almost immediately he was on the surface, surrounded by sea as far as the eye could see.

  Stuart gulped air, almost surprising himself with his appetite to live.

  He knew immediately that something had changed.

  His life would never be the same again.

  A few metres away his jet ski bobbed on the water patiently awaiting its master, having dutifully circled in an arc and returned to where Stuart had jumped off.

  Smiling, Stuart had struck out across the water, climbed aboard and fired up the engine.

  A moment later he was speeding back towards the beach, laughing aloud as the salt spray splashed his face and the wind buffeted against his chest.

  A man reborn.
<
br />   Upon arriving at the beach, he’d loaded the jet-ski on the trailer, changed, and headed home.

  Entering his garage, he stowed everything away, then found and dusted off his old pedal bike.

  His plans for this evening had belonged to his old life.

  Now they had changed.

  Yes, Stuart Nisbet was still going to the ball, but not in a super-car or a helicopter, but by bike.

  God had given him two good feet and a pair of legs, and tonight he would use them both.

  Chapter 15

  The Grange

  Saturday

  18.20

  McKenzie closed the front door and strode into the kitchen, his arm hiding the flowers behind his back, hoping to catch Mrs McKenzie by surprise.

  The kitchen was empty.

  The house was silent.

  “Fiona?” McKenzie had called out, wondering where she was.

  “Up here… in the bath.” She’d replied.

  Hanging his jacket on the back of a chair, he grabbed a bottle of non-alcoholic beer from the fridge and headed upstairs.

  “Are you not cutting it a bit fine?” McKenzie questioned, popping his head around the door, but keeping the surprise safely hidden out of sight.

  “Sorry, I was getting ready, but I realised I was a bit stressed, and… Little Bump started to kick!”

  “Bump kicked?”

  “Yup. It was amazing. So I stopped stressing and decided to relax and chill a little.”

  “Any room for me?” McKenzie asked.

  “No way. Two’s fine. Three’s a crowd. Sorry.”

  “Even if I give Mrs McKenzie these?” he asked, proffering the bouquet out from behind his back towards her. “I thought you might want to make yourself a corsage for the ball?”

  Mrs McKenzie smiled and blew him a kiss.

  “They’re beautiful, although I think you’re being a little old-fashioned. But the thought was nice, thank you.”

  “So, why are you stressed?” he asked, dropping the lid on the toilet, sitting down and taking a few sips of the cold beer.

  “It’s the school Reunion. Of course I’m stressed. School Reunions are the stuff of nightmares.”

  “Why? You were popular at school. And you’ve kept in contact with quite a few of your friends, so you’ll have plenty of people to chat to.”

  “I know. But… everyone’s going to be there. I’m all grown up now, I know, and I’ve got Bump on the way, but, suddenly I just feel like a little schoolgirl again, and all the old insecurities and doubts have magically resurfaced. It’s bizarre. Last night I even dreamt I was sitting my exams again. And that I failed them all and I have to re-sit them all in October again.”

  McKenzie laughed.

  He knew the dream.

  He’d had them too, over the years.

  A person’s school days never truly go away.

  “Okay, I’ve got a few calls to make before we leave, but we haven’t got much time. The cabs coming in forty minutes. What’s for dinner? Shall I make something or… ”

  “I’m not hungry, but I’ve left you a salad and some cold salmon in the fridge. Make your calls but be ready, Campbell. I promised to meet the girls at the bar at eight sharp!”

  Downstairs in the kitchen he wolfed down the salmon and salad, and then walked back upstairs to his study. Or what used to be his study. In a few weeks’ time the transformation to a baby’s nursery would be complete, and his book shelves and desk would have been replaced by a cot and a baby mobile hanging from the ceiling.

  He’d begun the redecoration a few weeks ago, but hadn’t made much progress yet. He’d miss his man cave, and he knew it.

  He was incredibly excited about Little Bump.

  Somehow, though, it still all seemed a little unreal.

  Fiona was getting pretty huge, but was there really, really a little person in there?

  And was it a boy or a girl?

  In a few years’ time, would the walls of his office be covered in Hibs posters, or pictures of ballerinas and sparkly handbags?

  Laughing to himself, he sat down at his desk, and pulled out his phone.

  Trying to get hold of Daniel Gray was proving more difficult than anticipated.

  According to the list McLeish had given him, Mr Gray was Headmaster at the old Portobello High School for over ten years, covering much of the period during which both Ronald Blake and David Weir had been teachers at the same time.

  He’d been the Headmaster there until 2001, then moved elsewhere, before retiring in 2010.

  After Portobello he moved to a school in Oban, and from there had retired to the small Hebridean Isle of Coll.

  According to the map McKenzie had looked at, you couldn’t get much more off the Grid, than there.

  The Google Maps view of Gray’s cottage was beautiful, located on the top of its very own beach, but miles from the nearest house.

  Based upon his retiring date, and assuming that he’d retired when he was sixty-five, that would make him seventy-four now.

  McKenzie couldn’t help but wonder if the reason Gray wasn’t picking up the phone was because he was dead, having passed away without anyone noticing.

  It was rather a morbid thought, but given McKenzie’s recent luck, he couldn’t put it past the realm of possibility.

  Fortunately, the next few seconds proved him wrong.

  “Hello?” a gruff but strong voice bellowed down the phone at him, picking up after only a few rings.

  “Good evening. This is DCI Campbell McKenzie of Police Scotland, based in Edinburgh. I’m calling you just now in connection with two murders that took place very recently within the premises of the old Portobello High School. I understand that you were the Head Master at the school for a number of years, and I believe you may know the victims, both of whom were serving teachers during your stint at the school.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “TWO murders? At Portobello High School?”

  “Yes sir. Unfortunately.”

  “Oh dear… ” the voice quivered at the other end of the line. “Hang on, please,… I think I’d better sit down.”

  The voice seemed less strong than before and McKenzie felt guilty for being so brusque and matter of fact without any social preamble. For all he knew, Gray, Wier and Blake could have been very close, and this news might be quite shocking.

  “May I ask who was killed?” the old headmaster enquired, his voice shaking.

  “Yes. Normally we wouldn’t do this over the phone like this, but given your current location, and the situation we have here in Edinburgh, I can’t really afford to send anyone over to speak with you from my team at this current time. Time is also of the essence, so if you would promise me not to repeat anything I am about to tell you, I would like to share two names with you, if I may, Mr Gray.”

  “Yes, I promise. Who were they?” the headmaster pressed, with McKenzie detecting a sense of urgency in his voice.

  “Okay, but I repeat, you must not reveal the following two names to anyone without discussing it with me first.” McKenzie reiterated. He was taking a risk. He didn’t know this man on the phone from Adam.

  “I’ve promised you once already. Please, get on with it man! Who were they?”

  “David Weir, a geography teacher, and Ronald Blake, an RE teacher.”

  “Oh shit… ” the old man, immediately swore, then went silent.

  “Mr Gray? Are you still there? Are you okay? Again, I apologise for just breaking the news to you so… ”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you officer. And I’m very busy. My apologies, but I have to go now… ”

  “Wait!” McKenzie interrupted him, fearing that at any second he was going to hang up. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about them. To establish if you could think of any reasons why someone may wish to kill them both? Did you know of anyone who had a grudge against both of them? Or either of them individually?”

  “No, sorry, I’m really busy. And I
can’t help you. Please don’t disturb me again. I’m an old man, and … Goodbye!”

  The line went dead.

  McKenzie nodded to himself and smiled.

  ‘Bingo.’

  Mr Gray’s actions, contrary to his insistence that he knew nothing, had just spoken volumes.

  Gray knew something.

  There was a reason why Blake and Weir had been killed, and McKenzie’s instinct had immediately began shouting at him that Headmaster Gray almost certainly knew what that reason might be.

  McKenzie glanced at the map again and googled how far away it was.

  He swore to himself as the answer came up.

  Coll was over one hundred and seventy miles away through the mountains and across the sea via a ferry from Oban.

  Unless Gray could be persuaded to be a little more cooperative over the phone, McKenzie was probably going to have to do a road trip.

  McKenzie picked up the phone and dialled the number again.

  This time it was not answered.

  -------------------------

  Joppa

  Edinburgh

  18.35

  Willy Thomson’s right hand was hurting. Really hurting. It turned out that the eejit he’d wacked in the face on the way home last night had been harder than he’d first thought. The chances were that Willy’s hand was broken.

  It hurt like shit.

  Willy was used to pain, but tonight he could have done without it.

  Tonight was going to be a special night. His night. The night he’d get payback.

  It also didn’t help that to take the edge off the pain, he’d now drunk most of a small bottle of whisky.

  Admittedly, it hadn’t been all at once, and he had managed to drag it out over the past two hours, but he still did feel the buzz and the adrenaline that shot into his veins whenever he thought of those who were guilty for his lack of success in life.

  Whisky was a good friend of his.

  In his line of work, and with his lifestyle, it was the fuel he needed to complete and succeed in a lot of the things he did.