Scratch

by Gillan, Danny

  This time I reached for her hand and held it tight. ‘Paula, look at me. I love that you care enough about Ingo that you don’t want to hurt him. All that says to me is you’re the person I always knew you were. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, thank you, I mean that. Feck, I’m nearly crying here!’ She sniffed and shook her head. ‘Why is this all so complicated?’

  ‘Because I was a wanker twelve years ago.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Thanks for reminding me.’ She laughed.

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  ‘I mean it about keeping hold of your friends, Jim. They’re important. Feck, they’ll save your sanity, sometimes.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll give it some thought, promise.’

  ‘You should. Right, another change of subject is warranted, I feel.’

  ‘You might be right,’ I agreed. ‘How do you feel about kids?’

  Chapter 21

  ‘… and then she asked if I wanted her to do it again! Can you believe that?’

  ‘I’m not sure Ronni would be too happy about you telling me all this,’ I said.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Terry said. ‘You should read her MySpace page. She doesn’t mention me by name but that is not a shy lassie, believe me.’

  ‘You both delight and disgust me, Terence,’ I said. ‘Pass us the ashtray.’

  Terry had celebrated his promotion by splashing out on a second-hand Xbox from Cash Converters, and we were happily trying to kill anything that appeared onscreen with a variety of comically powerful weapons.

  ‘How’s Paula?’ Terry asked, thrusting a laser-spike through the head of a surprised alien shopkeeper. ‘Ronni wants us to go out as a foursome sometime.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all she wants us to do as a foursome?’ I blocked a solar bolt with my hypershield and ducked behind a handy pile of corpses to reload my styx-shooter.

  ‘Hey, that’s my lady-love you’re talking about. She says she’d never do anything like that unless it was with people she didn’t already know.’

  ‘That’s comforting.’

  ‘That was a joke, by the way.’ Terry snuck up behind a comet-dog vendor and garrotted him with an electro-monoblade. He got bonus points for taking the head all the way off. ‘Three’s as far as she’s willing to go. Yes!’

  Terry had double-backed behind me and pumped four fission-caps into my kidneys with his sawn-off meta-rifle. Game over. ‘Die, ya bastard!’

  I put the controller onto the coffee table and lit another cigarette. ‘You do realise we’re supposed to be on the same team?’

  ‘That’s boring. So what do you say, should we go out with the girls next weekend?’

  ‘I’m working. Besides, Paula’s still not ready to be a couple in public. She’d probably freak if she knew you’d told Ronni about us.’

  ‘You can’t be a couple in public, and you can’t be a couple in private either. I’m struggling to see what you’re getting from this relationship.’

  ‘I’m getting a future, mate.’

  ‘So you keep saying. I’d be more worried about the present if I were you.’

  ‘Which is why you’re not me. I know you’re loving this thing with Ronni, but with me and Paula it’s a bit deeper than just having some fun with the fundamentals. This is the long haul, rest of my life, no more girls apart from Paula ever.’

  Terry looked at me. ‘Can you hear yourself? Don’t you think you should wait till you’re allowed to touch her before you start talking like that?’

  ‘That’s the weird thing. I’ve never even come close to thinking like this with anyone else; I ran a mile if they even tried to talk about moving in together.’

  ‘You seem to be forgetting she already said she wanted to spend her life with a guy once before, and it wasn’t you.’

  ‘This is different. Ingo was a mistake, she knows that now. Look how far she and I go back, and we still feel this way about each other. That means something. It’s …’

  ‘Don’t you dare say the ‘f’ word.’

  ‘What, fate?’

  ‘Actually I meant fabulous, reminds me of how you spent two years thinking I was gay, but fate is worse, if anything. Next thing you’ll be planning a family.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Terry said.

  ‘No, not really,’ I said. ‘We may have discussed a few names.’

  ‘Jesus, Jim. Be careful.’

  ‘With any other girl you’d be right, but this is Paula Fraser, the one who got away, only she came back. Apparently happy endings can happen, even to the likes of me.’

  Terry leaned forward on the couch. ‘Okay, Jim. I want you to listen carefully. You know how in movies there’s always a point where one of the characters says something you just know is going to come back and bite them on the arse later? Well, that’s exactly what you just did.’

  ‘Bollocks. This is real life, Terry.’

  ‘Exactly! That’s even more guaranteed to go balls-up than a film.’

  ‘But if this was a movie I’d be the hero. The hero always gets the girl at the end.’ Made sense to me.

  ‘What if you’re not the hero in this particular story? Ever think about that?’

  ‘So who’s the hero if it’s not me?’

  ‘I don’t know, you fucking egomaniac,’ Terry said, exasperated. ‘Maybe it’s me; maybe I get the happy ending with Ronni. Or maybe it’s Paula, and you’re only a supporting character on her journey. Hell, it could be Patrick fucking Barry, for all we know.’

  ‘Why would anyone make a film about Patrick? He’s a boring prick.’

  ‘They wouldn’t, I’m just saying—’

  ‘Unless he’s a serial killer. I could believe that,’ I said.

  ‘Jim, focus. No-one’s in a film, it was a bad analogy. Just be aware not everything’s a done deal, okay? Don’t set yourself up for a massive fall, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Your concern is touching, truly,’ I said, as sappily as I could. ‘But I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I hope so.’ His duty apparently done, Terry lifted his controller again. ‘Another game?’

  ‘But of course,’ I said. ‘Please don’t kill me this time.’

  ‘Can’t promise anything, it’s a cut-throat galaxy out there.’ The mayhem recommenced. ‘Patrick could be a serial killer, couldn’t he?’ Terry said, as he gleefully flailed the flesh from the back of an innocent Gordian plumber with his static-mace.

  ‘Too right. He’s got the beady eye, that’s a dead giveaway.’ I was valiantly trying to match Terry’s ferocity but couldn’t quite muster up the required blood lust. Plus, I was struggling to get my hydro-needle dartbow to work at full capacity.

  ***

  ‘Have you ever seen Paula again?’ Mum asked a couple of days later as she footered in the kitchen preparing sandwiches for lunch.

  ‘Not for a while, no,’ I said, drying the few dishes on the draining board. Despite what Joe/Simon thought, I’d quickly realised I could still blatantly lie to my parents with relative equanimity. They’re always the easiest people to fib to, probably because you start doing it at such a young age. ‘She pops in to the pub to see Sammy now and then.’

  ‘How’s Ingo’s grandad doing?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Still much the same, I think.’

  ‘No sign of him coming over yet?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, but I haven’t really heard either way.’

  ‘I hope he makes it over soon. Paula must be awful lonely without him.’

  This was not a good area of conversation. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘No idea, he’d gone out by the time I was ready this morning. Probably over at B&Q fondling the fixtures. I swear he’d rather look at shelving units than page 3 girls.’

  ‘Mum!’ Being an only child, I was secure in the knowledge that my parents had sex once in the seventies and then, duty done, put the whole thing out of their minds to better allow them to concentrate on annoying me for the rest of the
ir lives.

  ‘Oh shush,’ Mum said, with a sly smile I didn’t want to think about. ‘Anyway, it must be strange for you to see Paula again after all these years. I know how fond you were of her.’

  ‘Eh, yeah, it’s a bit odd sometimes I suppose.’

  ‘Especially with her being married. Is it hard for you?’

  Something felt weird, and I was confused until I realised it was simply the fact I was apparently having a conversation with one of my parents about emotions, something I couldn’t recall happening before. I managed not to freak out by reminding myself I was obliged to lie.

  ‘It is, yeah,’ I said. Banking some sympathy couldn’t hurt; it was rent day soon. ‘It kind of brings it all back, you know?’

  Mum gave an understanding nod. ‘You’ll find someone soon, Jim; try not to let it get you down. I know you’ve had some … problems holding onto girlfriends in the past, but there’s someone out there for all of us. You mustn’t give up hope.’

  Problems? What fucking problems? ‘Yeah, cheers,’ I said.

  ‘I know you’re getting older, and I remember how difficult it was for your dad when he started losing his hair, and we’d been married for years by that point. He’s always saying how grateful he is that he met me when he did. He’s convinced I wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he’d been going baldy, the silly bugger.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘I have to be honest,’ she went on, ‘he did have a fine head of hair on him when we met. Dark brown and a wee bit wavy, you know, like yours used to be.’

  ‘Okay Mum, I get the point.’ If this was her trying to cheer me up I was glad she didn’t do it very often.

  ‘It probably was the first thing I noticed about him, his hair. He used to use Brylcreem to slick it back, like Elvis.’ She looked at the ceiling.

  ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m getting a wee shiver thinking about it.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, her gaze dropping back to Earth, pausing a moment to stare at my scalp before finally meeting my eyes once more. ‘He was a good looking man in his twenties, that’s all I’m saying. And so were you.’ Jesus, was she doing this deliberately? ‘And you still are!’ she added quickly, though not quick enough for it to do much for my ego.

  ‘I appreciate that, ta.’

  ‘Just remember, Jim. What’s for you won’t go by you.’

  I couldn’t believe she’d just used my least favourite cliché ever on me, but was too demoralised about my hair to say anything. ‘Cheers. I’m going out now.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m meeting Terry for lunch.’

  ‘Again? I think you see more of him now that you did when you worked together.’

  ‘It’s important to keep a hold of your friends,’ I said.

  Mum looked at me proudly. ‘That’s very wise, Jim. Say hello to Terry for me. Has he met himself a nice boy yet?’

  ‘Oh right, about that …’

  ***

  ‘Hi, Terry,’ I said, sitting down.

  ‘Hi, Chrissy,’ replied Paula.

  Early on, we had settled on The Brooklyn Café in Shawlands as a suitable lunchtime rendezvous spot. It was tucked round a corner from the main road so there was little chance of anyone we knew passing (though we always sat at the back away from the window, just in case), and they did a decent lasagne. We had become regulars.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ Marita the waitress said. ‘What could I give you this day?’

  Paula looked at me and I nodded. ‘Two lattes and two veggie lasagnes please, Marita.’

  ‘We can sell you other things, you know,’ Marita said with a smile.

  ‘And I swear we’ll try them one day,’ I said.

  ‘That I doubt extremely,’ Marita said. She’d moved to Scotland from Poland only a few months earlier, but her English was improving by the day. Paula had let slip what she did for a living on one of our early visits, and now Marita made a point of serving us whenever she could, in the hope she might pick up some tips. ‘Hey Paula,’ she said. ‘I have a new verb, listen to me: I fornicate; you fornicate; we fornicate; they fornicate; everyone fornicates. Would you like to fornicate with me? Hey?’

  Paula smiled calmly while I did actually bite my tongue. ‘That’s excellent, Marita,’ Paula said. ‘Did they teach you that at your night-class?’

  ‘No, no. Chef Gary told me. Now I can go to the parties without feeling like the glupiec. I mean foolish, sorry.’

  ‘I need to go to the toilet,’ I said. I managed to hold the laugh in until I was halfway up the stairs.

  Paula was alone with our coffees when I returned. I heard someone scream from behind the kitchen door as I retook my seat. It was a man screaming, in much the way you would if, for example, an irate Polish waitress had just stamped on your foot with her heel.

  ‘He told her it was another word for dancing,’ Paula said.

  ‘And you set her straight?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’s going to a party tonight. With Gary and his mates, funnily enough.’

  ‘Prick,’ I said, shaking my head.

  ‘It’s not funny, Jim.’

  ‘I know, sorry.’ She even looked cute when she was shouting at me. ‘Anyway, how’s you?’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I got a letter from the Uni. this morning. They want me to go in for an induction next month.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’

  ‘No, it’s just brought it into focus. I am actually here and I am actually staying here.’

  ‘Which is something you already knew,’ I said carefully.

  ‘I know that. I just … fuck …’ She trailed off and looked down at the table.

  I was getting scared now. She usually said ‘feck’.

  ‘Are you going to chuck me?’ I flashed back to Terry’s theory that I might not be the hero of this story, and put my coffee down before I jerked its contents all over the place.

  Paula looked at me like I was an imbecile, making me feel much better.

  ‘No, I’m not going to chuck you, you moron. Not everything’s about you, you know.’ Praise be to Jesus and all his lieutenants!

  With that established, I felt able to proceed calmly. ‘So what’s up?’

  Paula shook her head (my life was full of people shaking their heads at me, for some reason). ‘Germany, the school, it was a big dream for me. It was supposed to be my way of proving to the world I had what it took, that I could be a grown-up. Now what have I got?’

  A couple of possible answers occurred to me. I opted for the least potentially humiliating first. ‘A well paid job at a respected university?’

  ‘Yeah, and I’ll be giving half my wages to some bank in Germany for the next twenty-odd years.’

  There was an element of exaggeration there I felt, but I understood her point. Time for answer number two. ‘You’ve got me.’

  ‘I know, I know, Jim.’ She reached over the table and held my, well, have a guess - hint: it rhymes with sand and isn’t as erogenous as people seem to think. ‘I love that, I really do. But I need to sort my life out. I want to do it with you, but I still need to do it.’

  ‘So we’ll do it together. Let me help you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t have a clue, but I’m happy to work on it.’

  She laughed. ‘Just make sure you leave room on the couch for me when I come home from my shitty well-paid job at that respected university.’

  ‘It’s a deal. I’ll even make you mince and potatoes.’

  ‘Don’t! You’ve never experienced frustration until you’ve tried to explain mince and tatties to your German mother-in-law.’

  ‘It’s a cultural thing, those Europeans will never understand.’

  ‘They’re basically Philistines when it comes to food. I don’t think I saw a deep-fat fryer the whole time I was there.’

  ‘Point proven.’

&nb
sp; ‘Two vegetable lasagne,’ Marita said, placing two huge plates in front of us. ‘And Paula, Chef Gary has now offered apologies. No dancing for him tonight, never mind the fornicating.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  We ate in comfortable gluttony for a while.

  ‘Are you really worried about starting work?’ I asked after a while.

  ‘Not about the actual work; I still love teaching. It’ll be an adjustment teaching English speakers German again instead of the other way round, but that’s okay. It’s just, for five years I’ve been running things my way. I, well we, were in charge, we made all the decisions, hired the staff, paid all the bills, or not, as the case may be. It’ll be weird going back to being an employee.’

  ‘Less pressure, though.’

  ‘I kind of liked the pressure.’

  ‘Because it made you feel important?’

  Paula gave me a look. ‘No.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Well, maybe a bit. I felt like I’d achieved something, that’s all. Like I could hold my head up.’

  ‘You can’t now? It’s not like you’re going back to carrying plates and pulling pints, now that might be embarrassing.’

  ‘I’m also living at my mum’s and can barely afford this lasagne.’

  ‘It’s on me,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I know, but that’s all temporary. Once things are sorted with Ingo and we can start looking for a flat you’ll feel better. I’m feeling pretty optimistic about the future, by the way.’

  ‘I am too.’ She smiled, but without much humour. ‘It’s the present I’m worried about.’

  ‘You sound like Terry.’

  ‘Don’t tell me all this sneaking about isn’t doing your nut in. I hate lying to everyone all the time. You must, too.’

  ‘It’s mainly just my parents I have to lie to, so no, not really. If you’re asking whether I’m eager for this particular phase of our relationship to pass, then yes, duh! It’s not because I want to stop lying, though; it’s because I want to start doing other things.’