Scratch

by Gillan, Danny

  This smile seemed more genuine. ‘That certainly adds to the frustration. But it doesn’t bother you, lying to your mum and dad? I hate it.’

  I shrugged. ‘They seem to be the only ones I can get away with it with, now. Besides, it’s part of the deal with parents, I’m used to it.’

  ‘That’s sad, Jim. We all did it when we were teenagers, but you’re in your thirties. Doesn’t it seem a bit daft that you still think it’s okay to hide everything from them? I’m cracking up, not being able to talk to mine about what’s happening.’

  I wasn’t following her. ‘But Andrea and Sammy know. You can talk to them; and me, obviously.’

  ‘Andrea and Sammy are great, but they’re not my mum or dad. My mum used to phone me every night when I first moved to London, to make sure I was okay. She understood you can do what’s right for you and still be crapping yourself about it. And my dad’s the same. It was him who made me feel strong enough to go in the first place, and he was the same when it came to moving to Germany. London was big, marriage and Germany were bigger, but this all feels like the hugest pile of shite I’ve ever been in, and I can’t tell them.’

  Had Paula just referred to getting back together with me as a huge pile of shite? I chose to assume it was the situation with Ingo she was talking about.

  ‘Listen, if it’s so hard, why don’t you tell them about leaving Ingo? You don’t have to say anything about me yet, but what’s so bad about admitting to them your marriage isn’t working out?’

  ‘They’re Irish Catholics, what do you think?’ Her voice was getting louder by increments.

  ‘I’m fairly certain they’ll work it out for themselves when Ingo doesn’t come over ever and you move in with me,’ I said. ‘Besides, I’m not sure about your mum but I get the impression your dad isn’t exactly a bible-bashing Papist.’

  Paula sighed. ‘It feels wrong, until I speak to Ingo.’

  ‘You are sure about it being over, aren’t you?’

  ‘Feck’s sake Jim, yes I’m sure. I love you. That doesn’t mean any of this is easy. Sorry if that bruises your ego, but it’s the truth. No offence, but you’re coming into this with feck-all baggage. It’s different for me.’

  ‘Joe Jackson,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s different for girls. Brilliant song.’

  ‘Feck off! I’m being serious here.’

  ‘I understand. You’re also shouting at me when I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve it.’

  ‘Have I been shouting?’

  ‘Yes, you have. Marita’s been looking concerned.’

  Paula breathed deeply a couple of times and smiled. ‘Sorry, must have needed a wee rant. You may have noticed I’m not quite as carefree as I used to be.’

  I laughed. ‘No idea what you’re talking about. You were always a psycho. You should think about maybe telling your mum and dad the truth, though. Or at least some of it.’

  ‘Yeah, well, so should you. About some things, at least.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I conceded. ‘More coffee?’

  Paula nodded and I looked around for Marita, but she must have been in the kitchen, possibly re-emphasising to Chef Gary how little chance he had of dancing with her that night. Rather than wait I got up and went to the counter.

  There were a couple of people in front of me and it was a few minutes before I got to place the order. As I turned back, I saw someone was sitting at the table with Paula. The reddish-brown hair was familiar, but it was the look of horror on Paula’s face over the newcomer’s shoulder that confirmed it was Kate. I didn’t have a clue what to do. Paula was telling me something with her eyes as she tried to maintain a polite, if faltering, smile, but I’d never been blessed with her gift for languages.

  I stood in the middle of the café for a few idiotic seconds, panicking. Upon further study I narrowed Paula’s message down to two possibilities. She was either saying, get the feck out of here before she sees you, or, get your arse back over here before I punch her. This wasn’t much help.

  ‘Jim, I have your coffees. Would you need a chair for your extra friend?’ Marita’s polite yet very loud voice asked from beside me. This resolved my dilemma, as Kate and everyone else looked round to see who the waitress was yelling at.

  ‘Kate, hi,’ I said, approaching the table after quietly but firmly declining Marita’s offer and relieving her of our coffees. ‘I didn’t see you come in.’

  ‘Hi Jim,’ Kate said sweetly as she turned in her (my) chair. ‘I’ve been in for a while, actually. We were hiding at the wee table in the corner. I didn’t want to interrupt earlier, I could see you two were in the middle of something.’

  That would make it the punch her translation, then.

  ‘Right, okay,’ I said. I wasn’t stupid enough to say anything else, as I would no doubt end up contradicting whatever bullshit Paula had already made up. ‘Hah,’ I added, to fill some space.

  ‘Paula was telling me what’s been going on with you two,’ Kate said. ‘I wasn’t surprised, to tell you the truth.’

  Paula remained silent, a resigned look of intense hatred on her face.

  ‘Okay, well, there you are then, eh?’ I said. I needed some kind of clue from Paula about what story she’d told Kate, but she was keeping quiet, in a manner both mysterious and annoying.

  ‘I think it’s great,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t understand all the secrecy, but it’s really great, especially after such a long time.’ She almost sounded like she meant it.

  Paula must have come up with something tremendous to allow Kate so close to the truth. What could it be? And why wasn’t she helping?

  ‘Yeah, hey. Who’d have thought?’ I was going to have to say something that actually meant something soon if Paula didn’t intervene. But she just sat there, staring at Kate as though she’d mugged a disabled ethnic-minority orphan with AIDS.

  ‘I’m going to kill Sammy for not telling me,’ Kate said.

  ‘The old cunt, eh?’ I said desperately. This was getting surreal. I couldn’t think of any possible cover story Paula might have come up with which covered all these bases. Discovered we were twins separated at birth? Collaborating on a Nobel Prize winning paper that would wipe out climate change? Went half-each on a winning lottery ticket?

  Unless. But no, surely not.

  ‘I told Kate the truth,’ Paula said. ‘It’s fine.’ And yet she didn’t sound fine about it.

  ‘It’s so romantic,’ Kate said. ‘Love through the years. Through the decades. It’s like a fairy story.’

  Paula had told the truth, to Kate? Nice one. ‘Yeah, it’s great,’ I said. I looked at Paula again. She looked intensely miserable.

  ‘Anyway, I’d better get back to my mates before they leave without me. See you in work tomorrow, Jim, you big dark-horse. Bye, Paula.’

  ‘See you later,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm hrmm,’ Paula mumbled.

  Kate disappeared out of the door in a huddle of giggles and whispers with two other girls who’d been waiting there for her. I reclaimed my seat and took a sip of coffee. ‘Got to say, I’m surprised you told her the truth.’

  ‘I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I? She’s obviously been listening to every feckin’ word we said.’

  ‘Come on, she’s a daft, lazy cow and I’d happily see her killed, but she’s not anything to worry about. The only person you have in common is Sammy. He already knows, so what’s the problem?’

  ‘How can you be so casual about this?’ She was getting loud again. ‘We’re supposed to be keeping this quiet, but every two seconds someone else finds out.’ I tried to hold her hand but she pulled it away. ‘Don’t! Who knows who the fuck else is watching.’ There was ‘fuck’ instead of ‘feck’ again.

  ‘Right, I’m getting a bit lost now,’ I said. ‘I understand about Ingo, I do. I can accept you don’t feel right telling your mum and dad yet because they know him. I don’t see why a silly nobody like Kate can get you this upset, though.’
>
  ‘Jaysus, you’re such a feckin’ man sometimes, Jim.’

  ‘Why thank you.’

  ‘That wasn’t a compliment. A wee jealous bitch like her is going to tell every fecker she meets from now till Tuesday.

  ‘You think she’s jealous?’

  ‘Of course she feckin’ is.’

  Not that I cared, but there is a primal, juvenilely egotistic part in all men that likes to hear this sort of thing. ‘Of us?’

  ‘No, you feckin’ moron. Of me and Sammy. She hates that he’s my best pal and she only works for him. She’s been dying to find something that makes me look bad so she can use it against me.’

  Disappointed as a small part of me was to discover Kate apparently didn’t fancy me, that wasn’t what made me feel like a rusty spear had been shoved through my liver.

  ‘I make you look bad?’

  ‘What? No, I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. That’s not … what I meant.’ She was less angry now. If anything, she seemed confused.

  ‘Are you ashamed of being with me, Paula? Do I embarrass you?’ ‘No, of course not, Jim. It’s just …’

  ‘What is it, just?’

  ‘Look, this was your idea to start with, that we shouldn’t rush straight into anything.’

  ‘It was my idea for us not to get physical until you told Ingo it was over, that was my idea. I think it was a good idea, for everyone. It wasn’t ever my idea not to tell anyone we were in love. That was all you. I think I’m starting to see why, now.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Paula said. I interrupted before she could go on.

  ‘Paula?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Please stop shouting at me.’

  She was about to jump right back in, but caught herself. She shook her head, not at me for once, this was directed at herself.

  ‘Feck. I’m so sorry, Jim. My head’s all over the shop. None of this is about you, I promise. You’re just the poor bastard who has to listen to me.’

  ‘I want to listen. I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, in theory at least, it’s part of the job description. But …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why does being with me make you look bad?’

  ‘It doesn’t, I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You did, Paula.’

  ‘I … it’s …’ She stopped talking and bowed her head, saying far more than I wanted to hear.

  ‘I think I need to go now.’ Strong enough words, but I wasn’t entirely certain my legs would hold my weight when I stood up.

  ‘What do you mean? Where are you going?’

  ‘Home, or somewhere else. Not sure.’

  ‘Jim, we need to talk about this.’

  ‘No, Paula. You need to think about this. You know where my head is. I love you and want to be with you. If you don’t feel the same then … I don’t know what the fuck the last couple of months have been all about. I’d appreciate it if you’d have the decency to let me know at some point, though.’

  I got up and left with as much dignity as my shattered nervous system could muster.

  I was already on the bus when I realised I hadn’t left any money to pay for lunch. I had no idea whether to feel bad about that or not.

  Chapter 22

  ‘Good news, man,’ Abe said when he arrived for work the following morning.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, locking the door behind him.

  ‘New KP starts today. No more dishes for you.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Don’t look so happy about it.’

  ‘Sorry, got a hangover.’

  ‘Out with your lady friend, were you?’ Abe said, not in any way sarcastically.

  ‘Hmm? No. I need to get on, see you in a bit.’

  ‘Yeah, cool man.’ Abe looked as concerned as is possible for a permanently stoned chef who doesn’t care about anyone else. He disappeared into his kitchen.

  My initial impulse on leaving Paula at the Brooklyn the day before had been to go to Terry’s. Unfortunately it was only three o’clock at the time and he was at work. I didn’t feel like going home, and so got the bus into town and wandered about Borders and HMV until five, then called his mobile.

  Before I got past ‘hello’ he excitedly told me he was going to the theatre with Ronni. Obviously, I didn’t believe him. I knew the only time in his adult life Terry had been through the doors of a theatre was the previous Christmas when he and I got very drunk and decided to go to the King’s and shout at the panto cast. We made it through the doors, before being swiftly informed by a front of house clerk with no sense of humour that we were too inebriated to be allowed access to the show. We called him something rude I can’t remember (proving his point, I suppose) and went back to the pub.

  But no, Terry was insistent they were indeed going to the Citizen’s Theatre to see Ronni’s cousin in a production of some famous play I’d never heard of (something about an Iceman, though I doubted it had anything to do with the X-Men). The scary thing was, he sounded like he was genuinely looking forward to it. I much preferred Terry when he was gay and confused. At least he was always available for a pint.

  With him otherwise engaged, I began to wonder if Paula had been right about needing more than one friend in your life. No doubt she was already pouring her heart out to Andrea, or Chrissy, or Steph, or Sammy, or another of her several hundred close mates.

  Me, I went to the off-licence and bought twelve cans of Stella, then went home and sat in my bedroom drinking them purposefully until I was blootered enough to lose consciousness. I think my mum may have come in at one point, and I had a hazy recollection of growling at her till she went away. I assume I spent the time dwelling morbidly on how shit my life was, but I honestly can’t remember.

  I made it into work somehow, remembering as I descended the stairs that I was on with Kate. The joys.

  So far, she hadn’t said anything other than a quick hello when she let me in, then her usual crap about having lots of paperwork to do. It could only be a matter of time before she mentioned meeting Paula and me, though.

  There were a couple of deliveries that morning, and it was nearly opening time when I finished checking them against the order sheets and delivery notes. This was supposed to be a ‘management’ task, but I’d quickly discovered it was far easier to do it myself rather than wait about, impatient draymen staring at me, until Kate got her arse in gear. Although we had never discussed it, Kate now left her keys beside the till when I was on, to better facilitate me doing all her work for her.

  Sammy was due in that day, too. He didn’t do shifts as such; he just nipped in every now and then to check up on us. Normally I enjoyed watching Kate panic as she tried to be efficient, but I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him today, as I had no idea if he would have spoken to Paula. I didn’t have a clue what had happened in The Brooklyn. Did I split up with her? Was it even possible to split up with someone you hadn’t kissed for twelve years? I hadn’t intended to end it; I certainly didn’t want to end anything. Then again, I didn’t want to be an embarrassment, either.

  But, slip of the tongue or not, that’s what she’d said, and I needed her to think about that. Then I needed her to apologise and tell me everything was going to be okay and she had taken care of things with Ingo and was now ready to declare her love for me to the world. So, nothing major.

  I unlocked the door at eleven to discover a scrawny teenager in a white tracksuit, brandishing a crumpled piece of paper in his hand and a look of malice-laced nervousness on his face.

  ‘Thank fuck, man,’ he said. ‘I’ve been ringing the bell for ages.’

  ‘We don’t have a bell.’

  ‘What’s that then?’ He pointed at the doorframe.

  ‘The dimmer switch for the lantern at the top of the stairs. It says light underneath it.’

  ‘Well ah didn’t fuckin’ know that, did ah?’

  ‘Okay. Sor
ry, who are you?’

  ‘Jed. Jobcentre sent me.’ He handed over the paper, which had the Jobcentre Plus logo at the top and confirmed that James Patterson was due to start a two-week trial as Kitchen Porter. I took the chance that Jed was James Patterson, and led him inside.

  ‘Abe,’ I shouted. ‘Your KP’s here.’

  Abe emerged from the kitchen, a large carving knife in his hand. He looked the defiantly bewildered Jed over in silence for a couple of seconds, then said: ‘Right wee-man, get your arse in here and we’ll see if you’re any use.’

  ‘Less of the wee-man, pal,’ Jed said, slouching towards Abe.

  ‘Listen, wee-man. I’ll call you whatever the fuck I like, understand?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll fuckin’ see about that.’ Jed followed Abe through the swing door. They’d only just met and had already laid the groundwork for the traditional Chef/KP relationship. I reckoned they’d get on great.

  I returned the keys to their home beside the till and went through to the office. ‘That’s us open,’ I said to Kate, who was hunched over the small desk.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ she said. ‘No sign of Sammy, yet?’ She sounded nervous.

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘Okay. Cheers, honey.’ Now she sounded relieved. The concept of anyone being scared of Sammy was so alien that I almost laughed. He had high standards and made sure you did your job, don’t get me wrong, but he was never a prick about it.

  The place didn’t get more than half-full over lunch and I didn’t need to ask Kate for help at any point. I was by now master of all I purveyed, and could probably have operated the till blindfolded. A greenfly in a side salad and two forgotten lattes was the extent of the complaints, so insignificant I barely noticed as I removed the offending items from the bills.

  I was used to doing Abe’s dishes after service, and it came as a shock to realise I would have nothing to do between three and six (five, if we got some office drinkers in), bar make the odd coffee.

  On any previous afternoon I would have luxuriated in the time this gave me to think nice thoughts about my future with Paula. Today, I panicked about the time this gave me to think horrible thoughts about my potential lack of a future with Paula.