Scratch

by Gillan, Danny

Shit, now I’d done it. I couldn’t walk away from that with a polite smile, could I? ‘What’s the problem?’ I was a fool of a man.

  Kate looked surprised. ‘Really?’ There was hope in her voice, actual hope. It was horrible.

  ‘Yeah, what’s up?’ And with that I was committed (and possibly should have been). I let the office door swing closed behind me and approached the desk.

  ‘It’s these bloody stock-takes and profit margins. I can’t get my head round any of it. It’s all the fractions.’ She held up a sheaf of paper.

  ‘I used to do the stock when I worked here before,’ I said. ‘Maybe I can help.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yeah, Sammy was always happy to palm jobs off when he could. What are you struggling with?’

  ‘I’m struggling with the fact that I’m shit at arithmetic,’ Kate said. ‘There’s 88 pints in a keg but I have to count them in tenths, how does that work? And there’s 28 measures in a bottle of spirits, but I’m supposed to be able to know just by looking how much is in them to the nearest twentieth. That doesn’t make any fucking sense to me. Plus, how are you meant to judge when the bottles are wider at the bottom than the top? I don’t even know what’s halfway, so what chance have I got?’

  ‘Turn them on their side,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You turn the bottle on its side then judge the amount from how high up it goes at the base. Hasn’t Sammy told you that?’

  Kate reddened. ‘No, but I think he thinks I already know that sort of stuff.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘No. I’ve just been making it up the best I could.’ Her eyes dipped.

  ‘Did you lie to get the job, Kate?’

  She nodded. ‘I was a shit-hot barmaid, though.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I hate that. Do you think I don’t know what you all think of me, sitting in here while you do all the work? I’d fucking love to be out there, but I can’t because I’m too busy trying to work out all these bloody sums. Have you ever tried to work out staff costs as a percentage of overall takings? It’s a nightmare! I feel like telling Sammy to shove his Gross Profit up his arse, I’m telling you.’

  ‘That might be funny,’ I said. ‘He likes a good gay joke.’

  Kate sat back in her chair, sighed, and seemed to relax a little. ‘You would know.’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, he fucking loves you, doesn’t he? The only barman I’d ever give a job to after so long. So much potential, that boy! If that wee arsehole could only stick at something he’d be a star. Honestly, Jim, I hate you sometimes. Do you have any clue how paranoid I’ve been since you started? And then to make it even harder you’re with Paula, Sammy’s bloody golden child. You’re like the Anointed Ones. What chance have I got trying to compete with that? I can’t even do long division.’

  That Kate had chosen to be so honest was unexpected; that she was willing to expose her feelings about both Paula and me was brave; that she had told me things I didn’t know, good things, with regard to Sammy’s opinion of me was seemingly both selfless and altruistic. It would have been unfair of me to respond in anything other than an equally open, truthful way.

  ‘Paula hates you,’ I said.

  Kate laughed. ‘No wonder. I hate her, as well. It’s a girl thing. Natalie and Lucy hate me too, don’t they?’

  Again, honesty was the order of the day. ‘Yes, yes they do.’

  ‘Daisy the lazy cow,’ Kate said.

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘That door’s made of ply-wood, Jim. It’s not exactly soundproof.’ All traces of Kate’s earlier insecurity seemed to be gone now we weren’t talking about adding up numbers. ‘I’d be the same if I was them. I was the same in the last place I worked. I hated my prick of a boss. All he ever did was sit in the office kidding-on he had lots of paperwork to do and left the rest of us to slog it out behind the bar. Sound familiar?’

  ‘Well yeah, obviously,’ I said. ‘But why do you hate Paula?’

  Kate did a thing with her eyebrows that saved her having to say the words are you a muppet? ‘Why does she hate me?’

  I thought for a while. ‘I don’t actually know, to be honest,’ I said eventually. ‘She just does. I think it’s something to do with Sammy.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Of course it is. I hate Paula because Sammy loves her unconditionally and I wish he felt the same way about me. Paula hates me because I work for Sammy now and she doesn’t, so she’s scared I might take her place in his affections somewhere down the line, which is bollocks, obviously. As I said, it’s a girl thing.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me, then?’ I said, a little disheartened.

  ‘Sorry, mate. I could use your help with this stock business, though. I’m struggling like a girl, here.’

  ‘Give us a look.’ I’d always been good with unimportant things like numbers and words. I saw it as a curse, more than anything; another of those little jokes God amuses himself with. Here’s fun, he must have thought. Let’s make this Jim guy good at things he hates and crap at the stuff he’d like to do. That’ll be a laugh. And so, I couldn’t play the saxophone or cure sick animals (didn’t get the grades for vet school), but show me a squew-whiff stock count and it generally only took a minute or two for me to spot what was going wrong.

  ‘You’ve counted the wine in cases,’ I said.

  ‘I thought I was supposed to.’

  ‘You are, but you’ve got them all as cases of twelve when half of them come in boxes of six. That’s why you’re showing a deficit, you’ve counted twice as many as you should for the Merlot, Sauvignon and Semillion.’

  Kate’s shoulders dropped in disgust. ‘You’re kidding, how did I miss that?’

  I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself, Sammy obviously missed it too or he’d have told you.’

  ‘I’m guessing it probably didn’t occur to him I would be so daft.’

  ‘Just as well I’m here, then,’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to let you away with that one. I owe you big-style, Jim.’

  ‘No worries. Anything else you’re rubbish at?’

  ‘Don’t push it.’

  I laughed. ‘Sorry. You should maybe think about coming clean with Sammy, though. He’s a good guy, if you tell him the truth he’ll probably be okay.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ Kate said. ‘He’ll forgive me for lying like a Tory at the interview? I don’t think so.’

  ‘He might. I do know he’ll be fucking raging if you don’t tell him and he finds out for himself.’

  It occurred to me that this was prime blackmail material at roughly the same time it seemed to strike Kate, judging by the terrified look her face adopted. ‘You’re not going to…’

  I shook my head quickly. ‘I’m not a bastard, Kate,’ I said. ‘I just mean Sammy’s about the least stupid man I know; he’ll figure it out eventually. Remember he’s immune to pretty smiles, unless they happen to be surrounded by stubble.’

  Kate nodded. ‘I know. Every time he comes through the door I think he’s going to sack me.’ She looked up, suddenly hopeful. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a hand with the paperwork on, like, a regular basis?’ She smiled prettily, no stubble.

  I’ve mentioned before that most men will turn into Angel Delight when a gorgeous woman smiles at them, and this is true. But, once you’ve established someone as a flawed, not always likeable, basically as-messed-up-as-the-rest-of-us, human being, the ‘beauty’ aspect melts away a bit. This is helped further when your girlfriend hates their guts and you know that your scrotum would be turned into a doggy-chew if there was even a suspicion you were secretly conspiring about anything, with said gorgeous lady.

  ‘I don’t mind helping you out,’ I said. ‘But I’m not going to lie to Sammy if he asks me.’ I hoped Kate had mentally inserted the words or Paula at the end of that statement.

  She seemed to get the message. ‘Yeah, I know,’ she
said. ‘It’s not as though you wouldn’t tell Paula, anyway.’ I nodded. ‘Do me one wee favour?’ she said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Explain this bloody Gross Profit thing to me?’

  ‘No bother,’ I said. ‘Write this equation down, it’s all you need.’

  ***

  We’re not in a film. Terry’s words bounced around my head on the way to meet Paula in Stube after my shift. He was right, of course. In films about this kind of thing, if there was an attractive, initially-misunderstood-but-turns-out-to-be-all-right-in-the-end, other girl in the cast, her purpose was generally to serve as an alternative romantic-interest who could offer the ‘hero’ a happy ending when the main relationship went tits-up.

  Well, you know what? I didn’t fancy Kate even a little bit; not because I was blinded by Paula, it wasn’t anything like that. I just didn’t find her particularly attractive. Yes she was a good-looking girl, but that stopped being enough when I was about, oh, nineteen or so. Kate was cute, but she was also a liar who had conned her way into a job she didn’t deserve at the expense of my mate Sammy.

  Far more important than any of that though, was the fact that this ‘hero’ wasn’t going to need an alternative. I had Paula, and that was going to work out. So fuck you, Hollywood.

  Besides, I wasn’t a hero (didn’t get the grades for that, either).

  ***

  Paula was already there when I arrived, and had bought me a pint. I slid into the seat opposite her and smiled. Unusually, Paula didn’t seem to be wearing make-up, and I thought she looked tired.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, you.’

  ‘What are you so happy about?’

  ‘You’ll never guess,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ Paula looked at me uncertainly as she lifted her Becks and took a swig.

  ‘Kate’s thick as mince!’

  She only snorted a wee bit of beer out. ‘You’ve figured that out, then?’

  I told her what had happened (I said I wasn’t going to lie).

  ‘Seriously? Poor cow,’ Paula said. She was smiling, though not as much as I’d have expected.

  ‘I know. She’s peeing her pants that Sam’s going to bin her.’

  ‘She should just tell him.’

  ‘That’s what I said. He’ll go mental when he works it out.’

  ‘Mental? He’ll rip her tits off. He phoned earlier on, he’s already pulling his hair out with her. Going for the sympathy vote’s her only chance.’

  ‘I told her that was her best bet. It’s up to her.’

  ‘Suddenly I don’t hate her quite so much,’ Paula said.

  ‘Me neither.’ I laughed. ‘I had to show her how to work out her Gross Profit, she didn’t even know that, and she wants to run a pub.’

  ‘You helped her?’ Paula’s face straightened.

  ‘Eh, yeah,’ I said.

  ‘You helped that wee jezebel?’ Paula was all business, all laser-beam eyes. She could be scary when she wanted.

  ‘Jezebel?’

  ‘Too much?’ Paula said.

  ‘A little bit. The eyes were good, though.’

  ‘Thanks. What would have been better?’

  I thought about it. ‘Bizzum?’

  ‘Too Scottish. Irish lady here, remember.’

  ‘Probably best sticking with bitch then.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘Sammy said he was going to check up on me. I hope you told him I’d been appropriately contrite?’

  ‘I did. Don’t worry, he likes you again.’

  ‘According to Kate he loves me.’

  Paula smiled, though not as warmly as I’d become used to. ‘Let’s settle for fond of you. He always has been. Why do you think you’ve got a job?’

  ‘Sheer talent and charisma, with a dollop of sympathy.’

  ‘Don’t get cocky. He’s fond of you and you can pour a pint, be happy with that.’ Paula drained her bottle. ‘Now, you need to get me a beer and I’ll tell you about my day.’

  I wondered what that meant. ‘Yeah, no bother.’

  As I waited at the bar for our drinks, I looked over at Paula. She smiled, but she looked uncomfortable. Her eyes left mine and dropped for a second before returning. She looked pale, too, maybe even a touch drawn. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail, not something I’d seen her do since … now I thought about it, I hadn’t seen Paula with a ponytail for twelve years. Oh holy fucking Jesus, no. I’d been so eager to gossip about Kate when I arrived I hadn’t spotted Paula’s ‘I’m about to end it’ look.

  ‘My heart froze’ doesn’t cover it. My heart did freeze, but so did my ears, my testicles and the contents of my bowels. I could have shat a stalactite. My hand shook as I handed a tenner over to pay for the drinks, and I spilled half my pint on the nowhere near long enough, six-yard walk back to the table.

  ‘So,’ I said. Unfortunately I said it in a high pitched falsetto which killed what little dignity I’d managed to muster. ‘So,’ I said again, deeper this time. ‘Tell me about your day.’ By force of will I pushed all of the trembling down to my legs, and they vibrated manically underneath the table.

  Paula gave me a horrible look. ‘I spoke to Ingo earlier.’

  ‘Okay,’ I just about said. Her next words were already echoing in my head. We’ve decided to give it another shot. How could she do this to me? How could she come back into my life after so long and then do this? I can’t deny there was anger there, but it was more than that. It was shock, disbelief, confusion; it was an almost primal sense of injustice and plain wrongness. My brain became un-tethered from my spinal-cord and flopped around inside my head like an epileptic jellyfish. I barely heard Paula speak.

  ‘And I told him it was over.’

  ‘Well you’re a heartless big cunt then, aren’t you!’ I did actually shout this, sadly.

  ‘What?’ Paula said, shocked.

  ‘What?’ I said, bewildered. What did she say? She’d told him it was over? ‘You chucked Ingo?’

  ‘You called me a big cunt.’ She looked at me in horror, her mouth almost as wide as her eyes.

  I took a moment (I had to, really). There were only about a dozen other people in Stube including the bar-staff, but I could feel every one of them peering at us. ‘I … apologize for that,’ I said, still numb. ‘I, eh, thought …’ Strangely, I struggled to find the appropriate words. The woman I loved had confided that she’d taken a huge step, one I’d been asking, urging, her to take for months, and I’d called her a cunt for her trouble. Like I said, not a hero.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Paula said.

  ‘You’re not a cunt, I’m so sorry. I thought you were splitting up with me.’ The jellyfish found its mooring again, but it was still too shell-shocked to be of much use.

  ‘So that’s what I should expect if I ever do?’ Paula was smiling. Only a little, but it was better than nothing.

  Confused as I was, this was enough to start me worrying again. ‘Are you going to?’

  ‘If there weren’t people watching I’d probably slap you right now, Jim.’ There was an element of affection in her voice.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. I was starting to feel more sensible, thank God. ‘Major paranoid episode, there. I got freaked out by your ponytail, you had one when we finished before. Non drug-related flashback.’

  Paula’s hand moved up to her hair. ‘I couldn’t be arsed washing it,’ she said. ‘You’ll need to get used to that, mister.’

  As life (and future) affirming statements go, you’ll need to get used to that, mister, probably wouldn’t reach many people’s top ten. For me, right then, though, it buried all that love of my life shite in a deep, dank grave.

  My brain was suddenly swimming again, but in highly pleasant, warm, nutritious waters this time. The jellyfish became a dolphin, frolicking and gambolling in a wondrous state of security and—

  ‘Speaking of cunts,’ Paula said. ‘My day’s been one. If you’re at all interested.’

 
‘Fuck, I’m sorry.’ Bloody brain chemicals, they’re dangerously distracting, them. I made a mental note to give my head a severe talking to when time allowed and returned my full attention to the reality at hand.

  ‘Is Isaak dead, then?’ That was better.

  ‘What? No,’ Paula said.

  ‘Oh right, so he’s better?’

  ‘No, he’s the same.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I told Ingo anyway,’ Paula said. ‘I had to; I couldn’t keep up all the lying.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh,’ I then said. ‘Eh,’ I added, to clarify. This had implications, big fucking huge ones. Bloody good ones for me, obviously. How did I verbalise this realisation? I said, ‘eh,’ again. Good at the shit I didn’t care about, crap at the stuff I did. Story of my life.

  ‘Is that it?’ Paula said. ‘Eh!’ An impartial observer would probably have ticked disgusted if asked to judge the expression on her face at that moment. I had to get my head together.

  ‘No, no, sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘Sorry.’ I breathed, which helped. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Stop saying sorry.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I breathed again, more deeply this time. That helped more. The problem I was facing was simple. Paula had taken this massive step, and I needed to be there for her as she worked through it; sadly, tragically and pathetically though, one short, three-letter word was blinding my every sense. I could see it, whether my eyes were closed or open; I could hear it no matter what other sounds happened to be happening; I could, I’m dismayed to admit, both taste and smell it (or at least my imagined version of it); I was trying as best I could not to dwell on how it would feel to touch it. Starts with ‘s’, ends with ‘x’, has a big ‘eeeeee’ in the middle.

  ‘I’m… not sorry,’ I said. ‘How bad was it?’

  Paula shook her head, though not at me for once. ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘He cried,’ she said plainly. ‘So did I.’

  ‘Did he… accept it?’ I had to be careful; I didn’t want to seem too interested in my side of things.

  ‘He had to; I didn’t give him a choice. It was just so sad.’ Paula was on the verge of tears. ‘He sounded like a wee boy.’

  ‘Do you think he was actually surprised?’