The Man Who Loved Islands

by David F. Ross

  Max appears on Scotland Tonight; a late-night, current-affairs television programme. Questions are asked but it’s a light grilling, nothing heavy. Like Jim White interviewing Brian Laudrup, as opposed to Jeremy Paxman torturing Michael Howard, the young presenter brown-noses Max, and it seems clear that she is hoping for an invite to The Big Bang, so regularly does she drop into the conversation that she’s free that particular Saturday. Max laughs it off and focuses on the main intent.

  ‘See, when we talked aboot independence for Ailsa Craig? We were bein’ serious,’ he says.

  Abigail, the young presenter laughs.

  ‘Whit are ye laughin’ about?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, it’s just a small island, it isn’t actually a country,’ she says. She is trying to play along with what she assumes is simply a jokey statement.

  ‘So’s Malta,’ says Max. He isn’t smiling.

  ‘True,’ she says.

  ‘Wee Alex Salmond went tae the polls wi’ less chance ae winnin’ than us,’ Max says, ‘And now, Nicola’s gonnae keep tryin’ it until she gets what she wants.’

  ‘How did you vote in the 2014 campaign?’ asks Abigail.

  ‘Never mind that,’ says Max. ‘Our campaign will have nothin’ tae dae wi’ that sham. We’ve got a justified case, and ownership, and self-sufficiency.’

  Abigail has been warned about this interview. Colleagues have put Max Mojo up there with The Fall’s Mark E. Smith and Shane McGowan of The Pogues as the interviewer’s universally acknowledged ‘short straw’. But she is ambitious and jumped at the opportunity. She is now unclear, though, whether Max is taking the piss on live television or whether he actually believes what he is saying.

  ‘But what would you want to achieve from Independence for Ailsa Craig?’ Abigail asks.

  ‘Freedom,’ says Max calmly. ‘The freedom to do what we wanna do … the freedom…’ Once again he stares straight down a live camera and reaches right into the living rooms of thousands. ‘…to get loaded!’

  Abigail wraps the interview up sharply. Max promised he wouldn’t swear and he hasn’t, but his final line – stolen from Primal Scream – has lit up social media once again.

  As he speaks, The Big Bang tickets are being secreted into copies of The Big Issue the length and breadth of the UK. The deal done with the magazine is a genuine one this time. In the fraught months following the explosive trial in 1985 that sent numerous members of a Glasgow crime cartel to prison, Max Mojo disappeared. He and The Miraculous Vespas were unknowing pawns in a complex police sting that deliberately filtered substantial amounts of gangland money through the band via Washer Wishart, Max’s money-laundering father. Rather than accept any formal witness protection, Max elected to vanish and look after himself. As a consequence, he too was homeless for a time, before surfacing on Bobby Cassidy’s bleached Ibizan doorstep with an old, suntanned producer, the ‘lost’ master tapes of the band’s only recorded LP, and a new plan for world domination in tow.

  Abigail Smart wants to ask him about these times past, and about the bizarre kidnapping of a Boy George lookalike. But Max has assured STV that such questions, if asked, would simply be ignored. He is a difficult but engaging person, Abigail surmises, and when the ‘live recording’ red lights go off, she finds him funny and grateful for the extensive plugs she has given the event and The Big Issue as they prepare to distribute their most unique printrun ever, the following morning.

  Joseph Miller is back on the Ailsa Craig. He is watching something he never thought he would see: five helicopters chartered from the nearby Prestwick Airport and containing scribes and lenses representing some of the world’s media are swarming around a small, half-domed timber structure that is being pulled into position by two small barges. Two wooden pillars, which were already there, have been supplemented by two others. These will be the four points the stage will be tied to using heavy nautical ropes. Joseph’s concerns about the impact of Scotland’s unpredictable and often volatile weather are shared by almost everyone involved – apart from Eddie Sylvester, that is, who seems perversely certain that a storm to make Hurricane Bawbag look like some light drizzle is coming. The construction of the stage has pragmatically incorporated Hairy Doug’s sound and light rigs, the generators that will power them and portable dressing rooms and toilets. These have all been fitted back on the mainland, to allow them to be tested in advance and to save the additional carriage and complexity of fitting them in situ. Had the stage been planned for terra firma, everything would be fine. As it is, the sailing across was without major incident and the sea played along. Now though, fixing the structure to the posts using only ropes seems ill considered. But it’s only two weeks until the gig, so there’s no going back.

  The project’s costs are now running at £3.5 million, including the fees to the headline performers, which will be paid on invoice, but only post-gig. It’s evident that no one on the band’s side of the deal trusts anyone else. Three days after The Big Issue: Big Bang Special, and three-quarters of the golden tickets have been claimed. The Big Issue has a normal circulation of around a hundred thousand copies every week. With the organisation buying into the initiative described by Max Mojo, a printrun of five times that much was agreed. Almost ten thousand individuals, many of them vulnerable through drug dependency, abuse or homelessness, have been involved in the selling of them. A special price of three pounds per issue was accepted by the organisation and a reduction in the cost to the vendors of a pound has been negotiated. In addition, the Homeless World Cup has now also been added to the growing list of sponsors keen to be associated with this unusual and exciting act of twenty-first-century altruism.

  Every night, the national news is carrying interviews with punters who have successfully acquired a ticket for one of the most eagerly awaited events in modern music. Inevitably, some tickets are finding their way onto eBay, and the buy-it-now figures are truly eye-watering, but Max has limited these apparent abuses by the late announcement and the mechanism of the release of the tickets. Perhaps inevitably, there have been some negative consequences. Three separate Big Issue sellers have been assaulted for their stock, but by and large, the success of the venture has been claimed by almost all.

  It’s the evening before the gig: 28th of August 2015. A large table has been set up in the church hall of the Manse. Max has organised external caterers and in the kitchen of the old house adjacent, a modern-day Ayrshire banquet is being prepared.

  ‘Did ye’se get the Killie pies?’ Max shouts from the hall doorway.

  A muffled reply confirms.

  ‘It’s no’ a fuckin’ scranfest without the Killie pies, man,’ he says to his fellow dinner guests. They number thirteen including Max. He is sat at the centre, naturally. To his left sit Bobby Cassidy and then The Miraculous Vespas: Maggie, Grant, Simon and Eddie. At the end of the table is Andy Fordyce, a young follower of the Reverend Doctor who has been brought in to bless not only the dinner, but The Big Bang event and the apocalyptic scenario that Eddie is certain will follow it. For Eddie and Andy this is a ‘last supper’ in every conceivable interpretation. To Max’s immediate right are Joseph Miller, Hammy May and Hairy Doug. Next to Hammy is Donald McDonald, the local joiner who has embraced the challenges of building the stage and making the cottages on Ailsa Craig temporarily habitable. Donald was an old friend of Washer Wishart, Max’s equally larger-than-life father. He wouldn’t have accepted this thankless task otherwise. He has now submitted his invoices, but sees his work also as a way to repay an emotional debt to the old man, an opportunity denied him when Washer died in 2007.

  Next to Donald sits Jimmy Stevenson. Jimmy was the original van driver for both Heatwave Disco and The Miraculous Vespas. Like Hammy, Jimmy Stevenson is confined to a wheelchair, albeit Jimmy’s looks like a serious bit of standard NHS kit. By comparison, Hammy’s looks like a toy. Jimmy Stevenson is, to some extent, the guest of honour, but he is now well into his eighties and no longer has any idea where he is, or even who his d
inner companions are. He has been retrieved from the old folks’ home where he now resides. The final guest is Bernadette, a nurse accompanying Jimmy in the event that he struggles to make it to the dessert.

  Max turns the volume of his old faithful record player down. It has been playing Electric Warrior by Marc Bolan & T. Rex. Appropriately, Max waits until the end of ‘Life’s A Gas.’

  ‘Friends, compadres, musicians, fellow travellers … Jimmy’s nurse,’ he says. ‘Welcome all. This is a momentuous night for aw ae us. We aw stand on the brink ae immortality.’ He glances at Jimmy, and the oxygen mask that covers the old man’s mouth and nose. ‘Well, nearly aw ae us.’

  Two young chefs walk through from the Manse kitchen, carrying four plates each. As Max continues his opening address, they work their way around the rear of the table, setting the starter plates down from left to right along the wooden table. Wine is freely flowing; grapes are theatrically placed around long-stem candles. It feels like the opening scenes of a low-budget Peter Greenaway film.

  ‘So, before we get stuck in, ah’m gonnae pass tae Joey, who’s remindin’ us why we’re aw here,’ Max concludes.

  ‘Fur the dosh?’ suggests Simon Sylvester.

  Everyone laughs as if he is being deliberately ridiculous, whilst secretly acknowledging the truth in his statement. It still isn’t clear how or when that money will work its way to each of those to whom it is due.

  ‘Fuck off!’ says Max. ‘Joey?’

  Joseph stands. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a piece of paper that has seen better days. Sellotape is keeping it together. He unfolds it, and then passes it to a surprised Bobby. ‘Here, mate. This is your night,’ says Joseph.

  Bobby takes the paper, and with it, several deep breaths. He stands and reaches for his glasses. His arthritic hands hold the paper awkwardly. They, like the rest of him, are trembling. He says nothing in introduction, pressing straight into a recitation of The Man Who Loved Islands by his brother, Gary Cassidy. Bobby reads the last line slowly and sits down again.

  Joseph has been watching the reactions of the others. He notices Maggie has taken Grant’s hand. Eddie Sylvester and Andy, his disciple, appear to be praying. Jimmy Stevenson is rocking slowly back and forth. Hammy is still eating and eyeing up Jimmy’s untouched plate. Hairy Doug’s eyes are closed. He may be asleep.

  As Bobby finishes the reading, tears roll. He wipes them, embarrassed at how regularly they flow nowadays. He makes a joke about how their fathers – his, Joseph’s and Max’s – would’ve booted their collective balls for not acting like real men. He reinforces this point by highlighting the love of golf from their father’s generation: ‘Ye can communicate wi’ yer mates as ye walk away in a different fuckin’ direction fae each other. Standin’ oan the tee whisperin’ that ye’ve got a lump oan yer baws, then ye head intae the rough for ten fuckin’ minutes tae recover fae sayin’ it out loud. There wis nae call for face-tae-face revelations.’

  The younger diners nod in acknowledgement of the Scottish temperament. They toast absent friends. Joseph thinks of two young women: first his daughter Jennifer, to whom he has recently posted an extensive and very personal written apology. A strange birthday present, admittedly but one that might make future birthdays with her a possibility. It is a long shot, but if this unusual experience has demonstrated anything, it is that long shots are sometimes worth taking, despite their risks. The other woman about which he has thought is Megan Carter, in many ways the catalyst for the whole situation. If she hadn’t prompted him to confront the obvious fact that he missed his oldest friend, he wouldn’t have responded to Hammy’s SOS call in the way he did. Joseph hopes Megan is safe and content, wherever she now finds herself. The others listen. No questions are asked. It’s beginning to feel like one of Grant Delgado’s group-counselling sessions. Bobby wishes Hettie was here, but she is preparing for the opening of her newest exhibition the following weekend. Bobby suspects she wouldn’t have come, anyway. It is enough that they are speaking again, but too much to hope for more, perhaps. However, her absence is notable, for Joseph as well as Bobby. More than this though, Bobby naturally wishes Gary was here, although if he was, none of this would be happening. Bobby, and Joseph for that matter, have found a form of redemption in this crazy stunt. They have recaptured something that had been lost: a joy for life and for all of the possibilities it still presents. They have appreciated that ambition isn’t only for the young. It is their chimera; both of them clinging to this fantasy for different reasons and outcomes. Bobby Cassidy has been slowly but gradually drowning in the strangeness of life; of no longer being the carefree youngster he once was – the physicality of his impermanence writ large across his aching, misshapen hands and his inability to walk long distances without feeling like a stroke was imminent. But the vision that he now shares with his childhood friend has taken these debilitating thoughts and placed them in a locked box under the stairs. They will return no doubt, but he is focused on the here and now, and, despite his reservations, he owes Joseph, Hammy, Laurie Revlon and, improbably, Max Mojo for restoring the balance.

  Joseph, on the other hand, knows the source of his depression has been an overactive and sensitive brain. His anxiety only manifests itself in dark, disturbing thoughts that force him to retreat. He has found himself at odds in a world in which cheerfully faked apathy is the default setting. He has struggled to cope with the knowledge of having one day to die, and with every exhausting morning following another night of patchy pockets of sleep, he began to assume that that day had come. An irrational response, admittedly, but the brain is defiantly strong and his worked out how to overpower the various medications ascribed to keep it dormant. But now, that same, uncertain brevity of life has provided a stimulus of positivity that Joseph Miller didn’t previously realise he possessed. The Big Bang has become everything, almost to the point that, if death suddenly came after its conclusion, he begins to feel it would all have been worth it.

  So they all drink and fondly recall those who can’t be there. They indulge the emerald-green Reverend Doctor and let him say a prayer to an invisible entity above their heads, despite his inference that this god will smite them all the following day. They laugh as Max Mojo lifts a slightly downbeat mood and regales them with self-depracatory – and undoubtedly libellous – tales of nights out with such luminaries as Jimmy Somerville, Pete Burns and the girls from Bananarama. Bobby notices Max’s phone on the table vibrating on silent. It’s an incoming call from a ‘CC’. Max ignores it. He tells of a bacchanalian orgy involving surviving members of The Sex Pistols and also of Camden lock-ins with The Pogues and Nick Cave’s Bad Seeds. Finally, Max talks of the time he headbutted Bob Geldof at the recording of the Band Aid single. Where Max’s other stories have the definite aura of elaboration and exaggeration, Bobby knows this one to be true, as Geldof also appeared in The Miraculous Vespas documentary to confirm it. Grant Delgado isn’t aware of this, despite having been present at the Live Aid recording. The story from Max’s perspective is revealing and so full of apparent regret and yearning, that Grant appears to soften his attitude slightly to Max. Although never as close as Bobby and Joseph, Grant and Max once shared something unique. They were friends briefly, and over these last two weeks a tiny part of why that was once important to both of them has returned. Only Bobby seems to have noticed that ‘CC’ has tried to call Max five times. A message alert has also flashed up briefly. It read ‘Max. Call me. It’s URGENT…!!!’ It, too, goes unanswered.

  Bizarrely, given the multitude of things that could yet go wrong, almost everyone is looking forward to the gig now; everyone except Jimmy Stevenson. His nurse goes to the loo, leaving Hammy watching over Jimmy. She returns to find that the old man has fallen forward and his face is now fully submerged in pie and mash. Hammy had just turned away for the briefest of seconds, he proclaims, defensively. An ambulance is called. It arrives sharply. Jimmy is lifted into it like an old Marshall amp being carefully loaded into his own old 1972 Cam
pervan. He won’t have long, his nurse says. But she assures them that he really wanted to come tonight, to see old faces.

  Bobby and Joseph are standing outside, watching the ambulance pull away. Both doubt that Jimmy even knew where he was, and perhaps not even who he was. There’s a sudden prevailing sadness as they regard the indignity of an almost lifeless Jimmy Stevenson being pushed around, fed, cleaned up, unable to do anything for himself. He’s close to death and they know they won’t ever see him again. Jimmy was once a close friend of Bobby’s dad, Harry. Another link with the past now all but severed.

  Inside the hall, old classic records are getting an airing and Grant and Maggie are dancing. The relaxed air is thick with marijuana smoke.

  Still outside, Bobby and Joseph are reflecting on how far they’ve come in just a few short months. Thanks to The Big Bang, people across the world now know the story of Gary Cassidy, the Scots Guardsman who saved his friend and comrade’s life during the Falklands conflict and returned to the UK to find a malignant newspaper media accusing him of desertion. The tragedy of the Cassidy family, and of Gary’s very specific battles with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, are now the subject of a bidding war between several film companies. Max Mojo’s assertion that this outrageously expensive venture will eventually more than wash its face financially appears, amazingly, to be coming to fruition.

  ‘Ye aw’right, boys?’ A voice in the darkness, beyond the wall.

  ‘Aye,’ says Bobby.

  ‘Ah’m Stevie Dent. Ah’m wi’ the Daily Mail. Ah’m a pal ae Max’s. Is he in?’

  ‘Wait there,’ says Bobby.

  But Joseph innocently opens the gate and ushers the man in. He stands next to the journalist and asks him if he is on the press list for tomorrow.