Smokeheads

by Doug Johnstone

  ‘Pretty much,’ said Molly. ‘There are a couple of decent cops here, but Joe and Grant treat it like the family business. Joe’s dad did it before him for thirty-five years, his grandad before that.’

  ‘They look a right pair of cunts,’ said Roddy.

  ‘Correct,’ said Ash.

  Molly glugged at her pint.

  ‘You OK?’ said Adam.

  She slurped, trying to get through her drink. ‘I really think it’s best if I go home.’

  ‘Stay for a bit, Moll,’ said Ash. ‘If you leave, you’re letting them win.’

  ‘I don’t need the hassle.’

  Roddy puffed his chest out, sensing a damsel in distress. ‘What’s Joe’s problem anyway?’

  Molly sighed heavily. ‘It’s a long story.’

  Ash was agitated and fidgeting. ‘Sis, you’ve got nothing to feel bad about.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘I’m not sure you do.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as you think.’

  Ash’s eyes widened. ‘I hope to fuck you’re not making excuses for that bastard.’

  ‘Of course not. You know how I feel about him.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what happened to him, the way he treated you was unforgivable.’

  ‘I know that, it’s just …’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Roddy.

  Ash’s mouth was running off. ‘Joe gave her this big sob story for years …’

  ‘Ash, please …’ Molly said, but Ash had a tailwind.

  ‘All the Ileach thought his dad was this pillar of the community, a friendly copper and upstanding member of society, all the while he was beating seven shades of shite out of Joe and his mum behind their front door.’

  ‘Can we change the subject?’ said Molly.

  ‘Then once Joe left home and joined the force in some perverted attempt to please his twat of a dad, his mum killed herself, threw herself over the side of the ferry one night on the way to the mainland. That’s the story anyway. Joe lost it, basically, turned into a total nutcase. Round about then his dad keeled over from a massive coronary. Just as well because I reckon Joe was about to do the job for him.’

  Molly looked nervously over at Joe and Grant. ‘I’m sure the guys don’t want to hear all this crap.’

  Ash couldn’t be stopped. ‘But none of that matters a fuck, it’s no excuse for what he did to you.’

  ‘What did he do?’ said Roddy.

  ‘Ash, that’s enough.’ Molly gave her an evil glare, which finally seemed to get through.

  ‘I’m just saying he’s a total arsehole,’ said Ash. ‘And all the domestic abuse in the world isn’t an excuse for that.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Roddy said to Molly. ‘We’ll look after you. Stay.’

  Molly laughed bitterly. ‘You’ve no idea.’

  She finished her beer, stood up and put her coat on, fumbling with her arms in the sleeves.

  ‘Wait,’ said Adam, reaching for her. ‘If you’re definitely going, at least let me walk you home.’

  She looked at Adam, then at Joe. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Please.’

  She sighed. ‘OK, whatever. Let’s just get out of here.’

  Adam downed his whisky and pulled his coat on. They said goodbye and made their way through the crowded bar, Molly leading. A few feet from the door, Joe appeared and grabbed her arm.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’

  Molly tried to shrug him off, but he had a tight hold.

  ‘Let go,’ she said. ‘I’m going home.’

  Joe looked at Adam and laughed. ‘With him? Fuck me, your standards have slipped.’

  ‘Let go of her,’ said Adam, his pulse pounding in his throat.

  Joe laughed again. ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I’ll make you.’

  ‘Just leave it,’ said Molly, struggling.

  ‘Did you hear that, Grantie?’ said Joe as his short-arsed mate appeared next to him.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Grant, his eyes darting back and forth, the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth.

  ‘This cunt wants some action.’

  ‘Why don’t you just leave us alone?’ said Adam.

  ‘You come into my local and leave with my wife and expect me to hold the fucking door for you?’

  ‘Ex-wife,’ said Molly.

  ‘What’s the problem here?’ It was Roddy at Adam’s side.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m handling it,’ said Adam.

  Joe laughed sarcastically. ‘It’s OK, he’s handling it, so fuck off.’

  ‘Sounds like you need a lesson in manners,’ said Roddy.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Joe, rolling his eyes. ‘Listen to college boy.’

  He released Molly’s arm, then in a swift movement punched both Roddy and Adam square in the face, buckling them over. He kneed Adam under the chin, knocking him off his feet, then rained punches down on the back of Roddy’s head, Molly grabbing his arm but failing to stop the blows.

  Luke arrived and shoved Joe off balance, enough for Ethan to pull Roddy out of reach. Adam looked up and shuffled backwards as Molly and Ash helped him up. Joe and Grant glared at them.

  ‘You lot, out.’ It was the barman, pointing at Adam and the rest.

  ‘He started it,’ said Roddy, holding his nose.

  The barman was nonplussed. ‘Doesn’t matter. I want you out.’

  ‘You can’t bar me,’ said Ash. ‘I fucking work here.’

  ‘You and Molly can stay, those four are leaving.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Adam, wheezing and rubbing his chin.

  ‘Let’s just go,’ said Molly, leading Adam to the door.

  The whole pub watched.

  ‘Run along now,’ Joe hissed between his teeth, fists clenched at his side.

  As Roddy passed, Joe dummied a headbutt, sniggering as Roddy flinched.

  ‘You better hope I never see you cunts again,’ said Joe. ‘I won’t go so easy on you next time.’

  11

  ‘Well, this is me.’

  Adam’s heart sank. They’d only walked a couple of minutes; he wanted more time with her. They stood outside a small brownstone terraced house on the Back Road behind the bay, Gillespie nameplate on the door. The others had gone back to the B&B where Roddy had more coke and three bottles of Ardbeg single cask stashed. Adam grimaced as he fingered the two Viagra that Roddy had slipped into his pocket.

  Molly smiled. ‘How’s the nose?’

  ‘Just a scratch,’ he said, raising a hand to it.

  ‘It’s still bleeding,’ she said. ‘Christ, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Yes it is, I married the arsehole.’

  Adam laughed and a bubble of snotty blood popped from his nose. ‘Aw, shit.’

  ‘You’d better come in till that stops bleeding.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  Molly fished keys out of her bag and opened the door.

  ‘Come on,’ she nodded inside. ‘I’ve got a thirty-year-old sherry-butt Laphroaig needs drinking.’

  ‘Ninety-seven bottling?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Well, in that case.’

  He followed her to the living room and she fetched the whisky. The decor was old-fashioned, patterned wallpaper, saggy sofas, mahogany display cabinets. There were framed pictures of Molly and Ash as kids, then as young women smiling with an old couple.

  ‘Mum and Dad,’ said Molly, handing him a glass of dark amber.

  ‘This their house?’

  ‘It was,’ said Molly, touching the picture. ‘They’re dead.’

  ‘Shit, sorry.’

  Molly shrugged. ‘Mum got cancer two years ago. At least it was quick. Six weeks after diagnosis she was gone.’

  Adam shifted awkwardly.

  ‘Dad drank himself to death not long after,’ said Molly. ‘Easy to do on this island. They found him on the beach one morning after a skinful.’

  ‘Christ, Molly, I�
�m so sorry.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to feel sorry about.’ She looked at him. ‘Your folks still alive, then?’

  ‘My dad is, my mum died from a stroke ten years ago.’

  He felt a tingle as she touched his arm, and thought about the last time he’d seen his dad. Christmas lunch just the two of them, his wee sister unable to make it back from whatever glamorous shit she was up to in Los Angeles. Without his mum there, Christmas was just silence and sadness, a reminder of what was missing as well as a glimpse into his own future, a string of lonely meals into old age.

  Molly sat on one of the sofas and motioned for him to join her.

  ‘Still, at least my folks dying gave me the kick up the arse to leave Joe,’ she said. ‘Ash was still living here with them and she lost the plot. I had to look after her. I had an excuse to get out.’

  She sipped and Adam did likewise.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, nodding at his glass.

  ‘Very fresh,’ he said. ‘I get lemon, rosewater and almonds amongst the seaweed and smoke.’ He paused. ‘The finish has great balance.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? I’m sure I get some heather and coffee in there too.’

  Adam took another sip. ‘Yeah, I can see that. Like coffee-flavoured chocolates or something.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Molly smiled and looked at her glass. ‘You realise this whisky is older than we are? That’s kind of incredible to think about, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  She looked at the picture of her parents then got up and opened a door on the cabinet to reveal an old turntable. She lifted an album from alongside and put it on, lazy jazz emerging.

  ‘My dad’s records,’ she said. ‘This is Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. I’m sure half the reason he liked Dizzy was because we had the same surname. He used to call me “Little Dizzy” when I was wee.’

  ‘You must miss them a lot.’

  Molly sat down. ‘I’ve had plenty of other shit on my plate. The divorce, looking after Ash. Sometimes it feels like I’ve never really had time to mourn.’

  There was silence between them, washed by flowing trumpet lines.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said after a while. ‘How the hell did I get hooked up with a bastard like Joe?’

  Adam shook his head.

  ‘I wonder myself, every day,’ she said. ‘But he wasn’t always like he is now. He was sweet and caring in the beginning, full of ideas and energy. All that stuff Ash said in the pub about his dad was true, but he never seemed affected by it initially, never let it get him down. We used to stay up all night making plans. This sounds stupid now, but we used to have this crazy idea about starting up our own distillery, fixing up one of the old disused places and running it as a small family business.’

  Adam felt his pulse race as his hand came up to check the papers in his jacket pocket.

  ‘That doesn’t sound stupid at all,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level.

  ‘But somehow all those dreams faded.’ Molly sighed and looked up. ‘You don’t want to hear all this.’

  Adam wanted to keep her talking so that he could keep looking in her beautiful eyes. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘When he joined the police, that was the start of it.’ Molly was whispering now. ‘He didn’t want to follow his dad originally, but he couldn’t get decent work anywhere else, and the force was great pay and conditions. I tried to talk him out of it, but he joined anyway. Somehow he gradually became hard, like his dad, as if it was a competition. Eventually we got to the stage where we never talked about plans or dreams any more. When his mum died, he shut me out, this big macho thing about taking the pain on his own.’

  Adam swallowed heavily. ‘What did Ash mean about the way he treated you?’

  Molly hesitated and looked away.

  ‘Forget I asked,’ said Adam.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘We tried to have kids, but it didn’t go well. I had three miscarriages.’

  ‘Christ, Molly.’

  She shrugged. ‘Happens all the time, it’s much more common than you think. But Joe didn’t take it well, he blamed me. He drank a lot and started getting abusive. Shouting and screaming at first, then …’

  Adam reached for her hand but she pulled it away. He didn’t know what to say or do, so he just raised his glass and sipped.

  ‘Anyway, it’s all in the past now,’ she said, looking round and taking a deep breath. She waved an arm. ‘So this is where me and Ash live.’

  ‘You don’t seem to have much in common with her.’

  ‘She’s changed a lot since Mum and Dad died.’

  ‘You lost your parents too.’

  ‘It’s harder for her, she’s eight years younger than me. I have to look out for her. She used to make jewellery, you know, beautiful silverware. She was going to set up her own company. Now she just works in the pub, drinks herself stupid every night and fucks whoever’s in front of her.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘You mean who do I fuck?’

  ‘Shit, that’s not what I meant at all,’ he said, flustered.

  ‘I’m winding you up.’

  ‘Thanks. I meant what do you want to do with your life?’

  ‘As opposed to being a shitty little tour guide?’

  ‘No, no, working at Laphroaig is great, I just mean …’

  ‘You’re quite easy to wind up.’

  Adam pressed the button on his watch and sneaked a look.

  ‘You leaving?’ said Molly.

  ‘I wasn’t looking at the time.’

  ‘Then what?’

  He sighed. ‘My watch has a heart-rate monitor on it.’

  ‘Really?’ she said, holding his wrist for a better look. ‘What’s the damage?’

  ‘105 bpm.’

  ‘Holy shit, are you an alien or something?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I mean it,’ she laughed, placing a hand on his chest. ‘Are you running the hundred metres in there?’

  He liked the feel of her touch, could smell her perfume mingling with the fumes from his whisky glass. She let go of him and sipped her dram.

  ‘Actually, I’m taking night classes at Bowmore High,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Chemistry and maths. Never did much school first time round. Working at the distillery, though, I realised I’ve got a pretty good palate. I figured maybe in the long run I could do chemistry at uni and try for a job with one of the big drinks guys, or even better as a stillman or master distiller.’

  ‘That would be amazing.’

  ‘It’s a pipedream.’

  ‘I think you’d be fantastic at it. Like you say, you’ve got a beautiful palate.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ She smiled then shrugged. ‘My dad worked in the warehouse at Lagavulin his whole life, had to retire when he knackered his hip. He would be so proud if I managed to make something of myself.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d be proud of you no matter what you do.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She sipped her whisky. ‘You know in the old days they used to hand out several drams a day to all distillery staff, to stop them stealing bigger amounts of the stuff? Cask strength, too. My dad got pissed every day at work for thirty years.’

  Adam nodded. He’d heard the stories, but never really believed them.

  ‘They basically created an island full of alcoholics,’ said Molly, shaking her head.

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘So what about you?’ she said.

  ‘You mean, am I an alcoholic?’

  Molly smiled. ‘No, I mean do you want to work in a whisky shop your whole life?’

  Adam felt his heart thud against his ribs. ‘Actually, I have big plans.’

  ‘Do tell.’

  ‘You’ll laugh.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It’s quite a coincidence, really, considering what you were just talking about.’

  ‘You’re
going to become an alcoholic?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Come on, out with it.’

  He took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out creased papers, plans and photos and began to unfold them in front of her.

  ‘I want to open a distillery here on Islay.’

  12

  Molly raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak, which Adam took as a cue to crack on.

  ‘There’s a derelict farmhouse distillery out at Stremnishmore, you know it?’

  ‘On the Oa?’

  Adam nodded.

  ‘Heard of it, never been there, though. It’s pretty remote out that way.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Adam, spreading everything out on the sofa between them. ‘I went to see it last time I was on the island, a lot of the equipment is still in decent condition. The owners are happy to sell. It still has a water supply from Loch Kinnabus, everything’s in place to get it going again. I’ve had a business plan put together and some quotes, reckon I can get the whole thing operational for a million pounds.’

  Molly shuffled through the papers and photos, smiled and sipped. ‘Where are you going to get that kind of money?’

  Adam looked down at his drink. ‘That’s why I’m here this weekend. I’m going to ask Roddy.’

  ‘Why bring him all the way here to ask?’

  Adam looked up. ‘I just thought if he saw it he’d understand. He’s never been to Islay before. I hoped he’d get caught up in the spirit of the place.’

  Molly looked through the stuff Adam had given her.

  ‘Do you think he’ll go for it?’ she asked.

  Adam nodded. ‘It’s a good investment. There’s a growing market for Islay malts, even with the recession. Look at Bruichladdich and Kilchoman. Small boutique operations are springing up all over the place. This would be the only distillery on the Oa, with a distinct character all its own. I know enough about the whisky industry to market it properly. Obviously I’d need to employ the right people, but there’s lots of industry experience here on the island, I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem. I could even hire you.’

  ‘Getting carried away a wee bit, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you wait to see what he says?’