Scratch

by Gillan, Danny

  ‘Exactly,’ I said.

  ‘And this was your idea?’

  ‘Not having an affair was my idea, not telling anyone is down to Paula. I’d happily tell the world.’

  ‘That you’re not having an affair?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m chuffed as fuck.’

  ‘The older you get the less sense you make, Jim. I worry about you.’ Terry looked as condescending as is possible while trying to lick brown sauce from your chin.

  ‘What about you, though? Ronni, last night, bit of a saga, no?’

  I’d left it as long as I felt capable before turning up at Terry’s door. Strange things had happened to both of us the previous night, and, after another poor night’s sleep, I’d finally accepted at half-eleven that morning that I was up for the day. After a hasty and less than thorough shower I headed straight for Terry’s place, as fast as my bus fare could take me.

  My head was full of Paula, but I hadn’t forgotten about Terry’s predicament. He seemed cheerful when he opened the door to me with a quick ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’, but, having spent almost an hour telling him my news, I felt compelled to now search for the truth of his matter.

  ‘A gentleman doesn’t comment on such things,’ Terry said. His nervous formality could mean only one thing.

  ‘Was it horrible?’ I asked.

  ‘How d’you mean?’ Terry looked confused.

  ‘You know, when it came to the crunch?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Poor guy, he was still pretending. ‘Do you think she’ll tell her uncle?’

  ‘Tell her uncle what?’

  ‘Sorry. So it didn’t come up, then?’

  ‘Jim, I’m getting slightly scared now. Tell me you’re not talking about my penis.’

  ‘What? Why would I want to talk about your penis?’

  ‘I have absolutely no fucking idea, but that appears to be what you’re doing.’

  ‘No, no,’ I said. This was getting away from me. ‘I mean the gay thing.’

  ‘What gay thing? Are you gay?’

  ‘No! Not me.’ This wasn’t going quite the way I’d envisaged.

  ‘Are you saying Ronni’s gay?’

  ‘What?’ I’d lost track now.

  ‘Is Ronni a lesbian? Is that what you’re saying?’ Terry looked distraught.

  ‘No!’ Christ, I was perplexed. If Ronni was a lesbian, would that make sense? Did two gay people of opposite genders cancel each other out? I was pretty certain it didn’t work that way but could I be sure?

  ‘Well what the hell are you going on about?’ Terry asked.

  ‘You!’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You’re a poof!’ It wasn’t my finest moment.

  Terry wiped the sauce from his chin. ‘Take a breath, James.’ I took a breath. ‘Good man,’ Terry continued. ‘Now, in words easy for you to say and remember, is there any chance you could tell me what the fuck it is you’re trying to say?’

  ‘Poof,’ I said, deflated.

  ‘Okay, I’m getting that you think I’m gay, would that be right?’ With the brown sauce gone from his chin Terry seemed extremely condescending, but I suppose I deserved it.

  ‘Mmhmm.’ I nodded.

  ‘Right, we’ve established that, so we have some progress. So, my next question would be, why?’ He said why really sarcastically, the prick.

  ‘The Nile,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’re in denial, have been since I met you.’

  ‘And what are you basing this on, exactly?’ Terry didn’t sound angry, more amused with a hint of baffled. I was having serious doubts about my theory.

  ‘You’re always talking about girls but you never go near them. You keep telling me about all these women you’ve slept with, but in two years I’ve never seen you even attempt to chat someone up. It’s pretty obvious you’re lying to yourself, mate.’

  Terry shook his head. ‘Jim, I’m not gay, I’m fat.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Look at me, I’m a fucking walrus. Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I need an insane Irish psychologist to point it out? I see it in the mirror every day.’

  ‘So you’re a wee bit overweight, what’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘I have a 48 inch waist, Jim. I’m more than a wee bit overweight.’

  Yes, Terry was big, but you stopped seeing that after a while and I didn’t know what he was going on about. ‘So?’

  ‘So, I wasn’t always this size. I was only twelve stone when I was thirty. Women can bang on all they like about looks not being important, but it’s a lot of bollocks, believe me. Eventually I gave up trying, it was too embarrassing.’

  ‘What happened when you were thirty?’ This was all news to me. I’d assumed he was always a chubber. ‘Was it glandular?’

  ‘Hah, I wish,’ Terry said. ‘It was the pies, Jim, just the pies. Well, not just the pies, the chips didn’t help. And the crisps and chocolate biscuits, they’re certainly a contributing factor.’

  ‘So all your stories about girls …?’

  ‘All true, mate, just not recently, sad to say. I’m afraid my glory days were over long before I met you. Or at least I thought they were until I got to know Ronni. Honestly, your leaving Combined Utilities is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She’s a bloody demon!’

  ‘Happy to help.’ I needed some time to process this. My best friend had just told me he was straight. That’s not the kind of news you can simply accept without thinking it through. ‘Are you sure you’re not gay?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘But you’re always eying up guys,’ I said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘In the pub, you’re always checking out fit young guys, I’ve seen you.’

  Terry’s face went pink. ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, mate. You are.’ I held his gaze and nodded.

  He took a breath. ‘If, and I’m not admitting anything here, but if I might occasionally have … appraised … the appearance of a couple of guys now and then, it had sod all to do with lust, believe me. It was jealousy, pure and simple.’

  ‘Jealousy?’

  ‘Yes, Jim. I don’t want to shag them, for Christ’s sake, I want to look like them.’

  ‘Right, wow.’ Come on, I told myself. This didn’t change anything; he was still Terry, still my mate. Just because he was a bit different from what I’d thought shouldn’t be allowed to get in the way of our friendship. ‘Okay, okay,’ I said. ‘I can deal with this, it’s not a problem.’

  ‘Glad to hear you don’t think it’ll come between us.’ Terry wasn’t even trying to disguise his amusement at my confused state, but I barely noticed.

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ I said. ‘I’ll just have to get used to it.’

  ‘Let me know if I can help you with that at all.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks. First Paula and now this; a lot’s changed in the last few days. So you and Ronni really got it together?’

  ‘A good time was had by all, but I’ll say no more than that.’ Terry’s leer said plenty more.

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Sounds like I had more fun than you did with Paula.’

  ‘We’re thinking long term, mate. If we jumped right in she’d feel like shit about Ingo and I’d feel like a bastard for stealing her away from him.’

  ‘That’s what you are doing; you should feel like a bastard.’

  ‘No I’m not. Things have been rubbish with them for ages; they just haven’t admitted it yet. She’s going to speak to him before he comes over, tell him the truth; she just wants some time to think about the best way to do it, and to tell her family.’

  ‘And you’ve said you won’t go near her till they’re divorced?’

  ‘No, not divorced, don’t be daft. Only till she’s let him know they’re finished. And I didn’t say I won’t go near her, just that we wouldn’t get physical. I’m still going to see her.’

  ‘And h
ow long is this going to be for?’

  ‘As long as she needs, a few weeks, could be a month or two. The guy’s grandad is dying; she doesn’t want to make him any more miserable than she has to.’

  ‘Sounds dodgy to me.’

  ‘It’s not dodgy, it’s grown-up and mature.’

  ‘Are you sure about all this?’ Terry said. ‘Sure she’s not messing you about?’

  ‘Of course I am. I want to get it right this time. I managed to chase her away first time round; I don’t want to do it again. She’s the one, Terry. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.’

  ‘That actually does sound quite mature. That’s a new concept for you; it might take me a bit of getting used to.’

  ‘How do you think I feel? I’ve been going round telling everyone I know that my best friend was gay for two years. How embarrassed am I going to be now?’

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ***

  Terry was seeing Ronni again that night and, after pretending I was joking about telling everyone he was gay, I headed towards home. I wasn’t working that night, Sammy must have taken pity on me to give me a Saturday off, and I was killing time until Paula called.

  We had left The Grind at three that morning and split the taxi fare home, having agreed my ‘no nookie’ idea was the wisest, if most frustrating, way to proceed.

  I’d meant what I said to Terry; I didn’t want to mess this up with Paula. I was a lucky, lucky bastard to have a second chance with her. There were obstacles ahead of us, but I was determined to support her through them. This time I would make damned sure I didn’t make her think I didn’t want her to stay with me and if not being physically intimate with her in any way and denying to everyone we knew that anything was going on between us was the best way to prove I loved her, then that’s what I would do.

  Paula was meeting Sammy and her sister, Andrea, for lunch that afternoon, so couldn’t give me a definite time when she would be able to call. Andrea and Sammy had been friends for as long as the Frasers had been in Glasgow, and it was she who had introduced Paula to Sammy and therefore to pub work and so, in a way, to me. I’d always had a soft spot for Andrea. One thing I doubted had changed no matter how many years had gone by, though, was that putting the three of them together in any room containing a wine list (or worse, a wine-waiter) was only going to end in one way. Paula had wisely conceded that she would be in no fit state to meet me that night, but had promised she would give me a phone when she could.

  I felt a pang of guilt as I withdrew some cash from the hole-in-the-wall; guilt coupled with panic about how I was going to cover a double-dunt on rent the next week. I debated whether to buy a few beers to take home with me, but decided against it. It was a weird thing about my parents’ house; whenever I was there their abstinence seemed to rub off. Going home tipsy wasn’t an issue, but the idea of getting drunk there was decidedly odd and unappealing.

  Almost every Saturday night for the last God knows how many years had meant one thing - the pub. It was just what happened, no thought or planning required. With Terry going all straight and hooking up with Ronni, though, I was suddenly stuck for a way to fill my evening. I had a weird flashback to my childhood, watching The Price Is Right with my mum and dad on a Saturday evening, eating crisps and reading comics. A pleasant enough memory, but I didn’t think five bags of Quavers and the latest issue of The Amazing Spider-Man would be appropriate, now.

  I didn’t exactly have many options, though. I was about to kick another pebble along the pavement when my phone bing-bonged.

  Given her likely lack of sobriety I was disappointed but not too surprised that Paula would text rather than call as I pulled my phone from my pocket. I was surprised when I looked at the screen. It wasn’t Paula (whose number I now had stored), but her dad.

  - james might I interest you in a drambuie -

  This was a tricky one. Having a drink with Joe was potentially a more interesting path to take, but I wasn’t too sure of the timing. Did he suspect something? I was still pondering when another message came through.

  - my treat kellys seven oclock I will be there anyway –

  Well, if he was paying.

  ***

  Celtic‘s game was on the Sunday that weekend, so Kelly’s was only very busy as opposed to mental busy. There was less greenery on display than would be if there had been a match, and the crowd were as subdued as you could reasonably expect of a bunch of drunken Catholics. I waived a couple of hellos to some familiar faces before recognising Joe standing at the bar, his back to me. For once, I would get to sneak up on him.

  ‘Evening, doctor,’ I said in his ear.

  ‘Holy fuck!’ The man turned round. It wasn’t Joe. ‘What’s your game, pal? You nearly had me shite myself, there.’ He was a master of the threatening glare, whoever he was. And he was a fair bit bigger than me.

  ‘Oh God, mate, sorry. I thought you were someone else. My, eh, doctor.’ I tried not to tremble as he eyed me suspiciously.

  ‘You’ll need a fucking doctor if you try that again, wee man.’

  ‘Ah James, I see you’ve met Vincent,’ Joe said beside me, giving me a by now familiar fright.

  ‘Is he wi’ you, Simon?’ Vincent asked.

  ‘He is my guest Vincent, yes. Is he troubling you?’

  ‘I suppose not, but tell him to watch who he whispers at in future.’

  ‘I will. James, I think you should include a pint for Vincent in this round as a peace offering. I’ll have a Drambuie.’

  ‘Eh.’ I thought this was supposed to be his treat. ‘Yeah, okay. Lager?’ Vincent nodded slowly, calmed but apparently not fully appeased. I sighed. ‘Short as well?’

  Vincent smiled. ‘A whisky wouldn’t be an insult.’

  ‘No bother.’ I was glad I’d lifted some cash now.

  ‘I’ll be at the jukebox, James, I fancy some Thin Lizzy. Vincent, it’s been a pleasure.’ Simon (as was evidently his name that evening) nodded a salute and disappeared into the wall of bodies.

  I spent an uncomfortable couple of minutes standing next to Vincent as I waited to be served. I kept my eyes on the barman but I could feel Vincent staring at me. ‘Are you his nurse?’ he said, after I had given my drinks order.

  ‘Eh, no, hah. He is actually a doctor, sort of.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘I’m having my doubts.’ The drinks arrived and I pushed Vincent’s towards him.

  I mumbled another apology as I grabbed the other drinks and turned, but Vincent grabbed my arm before I could escape. He leaned his head close to mine and spoke quietly, ‘Does he do haemorrhoids?’

  ‘Eh, I don’t think so,’ I said, desperate to get away. ‘But I’ll ask if you want.’

  Vincent let go of my arm. ‘You do that. Tell him I’ve got piles of them, hah!’ He started laughing at his not very funny joke, the pitch of his giggles getting higher as his face became redder. ‘Piles of them, hah!’ He was clearly thrilled by himself and bent down to place his hands on his thighs as he struggled to contain his glee.

  ‘Right, okay. See you later then.’ I moved away from the still laughing nutter as quickly as I could without spilling my pint.

  I pushed towards the wall-mounted jukebox and found Simon pouring over the song selection.

  ‘James, I feel Whisky in the Jar would be a popular choice in this particular hostelry, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Waiting for an Alibi. Any thoughts?’ He took his Drambuie and sipped.

  ‘Your choice, mate,’ I said.

  ‘Alibi it is, then.’ He punched in the code.

  ‘Is Vincent a friend of yours?’ I asked, as the song began.

  ‘Only met him twenty minutes ago. He seemed lonely so I thought I’d introduce myself while I waited for you to arrive.’

  ‘There may be a reason why he’s on his own.’

  ‘Now, James, don’t judge too hastily. It’s not uncommon for men of a certain age without a wife or family to find themselves living a solitary existence
. Human beings are social animals, and if we don’t have a clan to call our own we go looking for one, hence the popularity of pubs. They started as a place where lonely men could meet and talk to other lonely men, and thereby feel a little less lonely for a few hours. It’s a noble thing.’

  ‘No, Simon, pubs are places where friends gather to enjoy each other’s company over a beer or two, always have been.’

  ‘That may be what they have evolved into for your generation, but it wasn’t always so. What were your plans tonight before I got in touch?’

  ‘Eh, I was on my way back home, actually. I was probably going to put my feet up in front of the telly.’

  Simon did that enigmatic smile of his and sipped his Drambuie. ‘Didn’t take a lot of convincing to change your mind, did it?’

  As often seemed to be the case when I was in Simon’s company I felt a vague desire to hit something. ‘Do you mind if I nip out for a smoke?’

  ‘Not at all. You should think about stopping more, you know.’

  ‘Not in the mood for a lecture, Simon.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, James. I meant you should think about stopping more than you already do, that was all.’

  ‘I’m not following you.’

  ‘You’re already lying to your parents about it, yes?’ How did he know that? This guy was a mind reader. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not a mind reader,’ Simon said. ‘Paula told me.’

  ‘Oh.’ So what else had Paula told him?

  ‘To me such a fiction, especially one so unnecessary in a man of your years, says one of two things. Either you’re a masochist and at some level enjoy both the inconvenience of hiding your habit and the knowledge you’re almost guaranteed to be caught out eventually. The alternative is that, at least at a subconscious level, you want to stop smoking and hope the lie might somehow warp into fact. That you waited until you were living under the same roof as your parents before you began this pretence when, if it had simply been about garnering favour, it would have been far easier and more practical to do it years ago when you only saw them once a week could point to either conclusion.’