Scratch

by Gillan, Danny

  ‘On reflection maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘I’m blaming you, mate,’ I said. ‘And I think I deserve another pint as an apology.’

  ‘As do I, from you,’ Terry reminded me.

  ‘Oh right, yeah.’

  ‘Oh straighten your face, Jim. She’ll forgive you,’ Kate said, with what sounded like a touch of disappointment. ‘I’ll get this round.’

  ‘Incidentally,’ I said to Sammy while Kate was at the bar. ‘Simon knows.’

  ‘And this is you just figuring that out?’

  Chapter 25

  I took several deep breaths and rang the doorbell.

  I stopped breathing completely when Paula opened the door. She looked incredible. She always did, of course, but this time she looked incredibly incredible.

  I knew she was having her hair done the previous day, but was shocked to see that the curly, long look had been replaced by a short, feathered bob. It wasn’t quite blonde but it was a lot lighter than it had been. I loved her hair long, but I loved this even more. Her features were emphasised without a curtain of curls to hide behind, and they deserved to be. The magic make-up can conjure had always been a mystery to me, the way it can, when utilised properly, make someone look completely transformed while still looking exactly like them self was a wondrous thing, and Paula had carried out some supremely proper utilising.

  She wore a tight, black shirt with tight, black denims, emphasising perfectly those parts of her that should involve straight lines, while pointing out subtly but clearly those that shouldn’t. She. Was. Fucking. Gorgeous.

  All I’d done was shave and put on clean boxers.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  ‘Uh, hiya.’ I was breathing again, but wasn’t ready for anything as complicated as conversation. I held up the plastic bag in my hand. ‘Wine.’

  ‘Okay.’ Paula smiled. ‘Are you going to come in or should I bring the glasses out here?’

  ‘In,’ I said. ‘I’ll come in.’

  Paula continued to smile as she led me into her parents’ living room. KT Tunstall played on the stereo and candles clustered on the coffee table, lending a wispy, romantic glow to proceedings. I. Was. Fucking. Terrified.

  ‘Relax,’ Paula said. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry.’

  ‘I think I should pour the wine.’

  ‘That sounds like a plan.’

  Paula had quickly forgiven me for my faux-pas with Louise in The Basement. We’d met for lunch twice since then, but both of us had skilfully avoided the subject of this weekend.

  If I was willing to accept a certain level of masochism in my character, I had to admit that, frustrating and annoying as fuck as the previous four months had been, they had allowed the level of anticipation to develop to an almost delicious level.

  The downside of this, though, was that I was now so blinded and confused by my own expectations, and so petrified I wouldn’t be able to meet Paula’s, that there was a real danger my brain (amongst other things) might explode.

  Being a stupid idiot (or wanker, I wasn’t sure), these fears manifested as a complete inability to structure even the simplest of sentences.

  ‘Here you go,’ Paula said, handing me a glass of red so full it wasn’t funny, and sitting next to me on the sofa. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’ I got halfway through the wine before I needed to come up for air.

  ‘So,’ Paula said.

  ‘So.’

  ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Yep.’ I smiled, in lieu of anything coherent to say.

  She rubbed my upper-arm. ‘Jaysus, you’re tenser than a Catholic at a Rangers/Hearts cup final.’

  ‘With Ian Paisley handing out the medals,’ I agreed. ‘I’m a wee bit nervous.’

  ‘So am I, it’s okay.’ She smiled. ‘How fecked-up is this?’

  ‘Only very,’ I said.

  ‘More wine?’

  ‘Oh God, yes.’

  This glass didn’t last much longer than the first.

  ‘Tell me you’re not going to sit there in silence till you’re so pished you fall asleep. That’s not quite what I had in mind for our first night together.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I put the almost empty wine glass on the coffee table. I nearly said ‘eh’, but managed to say nothing instead.

  ‘Right, mister. You need to relax. If I bite you it won’t be in a bad way, I promise.’ Paula took my hand and placed it on her thigh as she leaned across me to refill my glass.

  The perfume. Fuck, I’d forgotten about the perfume. My hand on her leg coupled with the scent of the same perfume she’d worn twelve years ago almost crippled me.

  We worked, back then. We worked. And we would again. I thought this, I told myself this. It was superb, back then. Surely it couldn’t be anything other than magnificent, now? Surely?

  Paula sat back and clasped my hand in hers as she looked at me.

  ‘Hasn’t this been a long time coming?’ she said.

  ‘Bruce Springsteen, Devils and Dust album, 2005,’ I said, flailing.

  ‘Jim, shut up. This has been a long time coming.’ Paula snuggled closer and threw an arm round my shoulders. ‘We’ve been a long time coming. You and me.’

  ‘Hold on to that thought. I have a feeling I may prove at least half of it wrong quite soon.’

  ***

  If you’re looking for details you won’t find them here. Some things are, and should remain, personal.

  All I will say is I didn’t quite master the conversation side of things that weekend, but, after a faltering start, I think (perhaps that should be hope) I did okay in other respects. It seemed we did still fit, after all.

  Ridiculously pleasurable as our waking hours were for me, the image I carried with me as I travelled home on the Monday morning was that of Paula sleeping. I’d forgotten how good she was at that. Sleep was an elusive concept for me, difficult to find without chemical assistance and all too easily lost again, but Paula was an expert.

  The peace was the thing that struck me most. She had, and had had, tougher shit than many to deal with in her life, but when she slept her face lost the worry, it lost the stress; it returned to its default state, one of peace, rest and potential. Her make-up may have been smudged and her hair in sweaty disarray, but that was when she was at her most beautiful; that was when I loved her most of all.

  I won’t deny I also had some other, more dynamic, images in my mind, but that was the one I clung to, the one that helped me sleep when she wasn’t there beside me at night.

  So, I was a happy man on that 44 bus, on that Monday morning. My only regret was that I had remained an inarticulate fuckwit for most of the weekend, but I hoped Paula would forgive me that one. We had forever to work on it, after all.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Good morning,’ my mum said. ‘I was wondering if you’d moved out without telling us.’

  ‘I told you I was staying at Terry’s.’

  ‘Yes, on Friday night. Today’s Monday, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Right, sorry. It turned into a weekender, I should have phoned you.’ I sighed. It was hard enough lying the whole time, never mind remembering to embellish the lie with another lie, even to my parents.

  ‘It would have been a thought, yes,’ Mum said. ‘Seeing as you’re not dead would you like some French Toast?’

  ‘I’d love some.’ Paula and I had eaten when we remembered to over the weekend, but I was still starving.

  ‘It’s nearly ready, shout on your dad.’

  Three slices of eggy-bread with tomato ketchup later, I felt a great deal better.

  ‘We’re shy a week’s rent,’ my dad said when he’d devoured his plateful.

  ‘I’ve got it here.’ I dug into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the wad of tenners it had been incubating since Friday.

  ‘Thank you.’ Dad gave the notes a cursory glance before handing them to my mum.

  Shaking my head would have been too obviou
s, so I shook my brain instead. ‘How was the DVD?’ I asked.

  ‘Hmm? Oh, yes. I haven’t had time to watch it yet, but thanks. Much appreciated.’ He had the good grace not to look me in the eye, which was something.

  ‘Did I mention I got promoted last week?’ I knew I hadn’t, I didn’t see the point. A more senior barman was still just a barman.

  ‘Really?’ Mum said. ‘Is that you a charge-hand again, then?’

  ‘Co-manager, actually.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Dad asked, suddenly interested.

  ‘It means I have joint responsibility for running the pub.’

  ‘Joint responsibility?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, joint, along with Kate.’

  ‘Better money?’

  One of the reasons I hadn’t mentioned it before now was that Sammy hadn’t clarified this point yet. ‘It will be, yes.’

  ‘Good to know,’ my dad said. I could hear the abacus clicking behind his eyes.

  I went up to my room to try and catch a nap. Paula’s parents were due back before lunchtime, so the plan was that she would spend the afternoon with them then meet back up with me that evening in The Basement. Sammy had allowed me the entire long weekend off, and I wanted to celebrate my last night of freedom before I returned to work the next day.

  It struck me that the previous three days with Paula were the closest thing I’d had to a holiday for many, many years. That I’d spent it less than five miles from my house didn’t take away from the fact that it was a bloody good one, as holidays go. No beaches and no sun, perhaps, but plenty of staying in bed late and lots of fun.

  ***

  ‘Good weekend?’ Natalie asked with feigned innocence as she poured me a pint.

  ‘Yes, thank you. It was perfectly pleasant.’ I sat at the bar to wait for Paula.

  ‘Any … stories?’ Natalie’s eyebrows hiked up an inch and stayed there.

  ‘None I’ll be sharing with you, young lady.’

  ‘Aw, boring bastard. At least tell me you didn’t disappoint yourself. Did it all come back to you? Lucy and I were worried.’

  Jesus, you’d think I’d been a monk before Paula came back, the way these guys went on.

  ‘Like riding a bike would be the wrong thing to say under the circumstances, but I think I did okay, yes.’

  ‘Good man, well done!’

  ‘Thanks for your support. Who you on with?’

  ‘Your co-manager’s in the back preparing for her triumphant return to active duty. There’s a ton of paperwork on the desk waiting for you already that she’s thoroughly enjoyed ignoring all weekend.’

  ‘Oh joy.’ Tomorrow was to be my first official day in my new position.

  ‘Hi, honey,’ Kate said, coming out of the office. She’d clearly been doing some serious work with her make-up bag, and looked great. I allowed myself a brief, objective assessment - nope, not a patch on Paula.

  ‘Hiya,’ I said.

  ‘So, how was it?’ Kate asked conspiratorially. ‘Is everything still working?’

  ‘Fuck off the lot of you,’ I said. ‘It hasn’t been that long.’

  Natalie turned to Kate. ‘He says all systems were go, and they went.’

  ‘That’s good, Jim, I’m so happy for you.’ Kate wasn’t even being sarcastic, the patronising—

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Paula said, appearing next to me. ‘Mum had a million stories to tell me about the weekend.’

  ‘That’s more than your man here has,’ Natalie said. ‘He’s surprisingly discreet, for a guy.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Paula said, not completely serious.

  ‘Drink and a table?’ I said.

  ***

  ‘Did they have a good time, then?’ I asked when we’d sat down under Gryff’s watchful glass eyes.

  ‘Seem to have,’ Paula said. ‘Mum, anyway. Dad always pretends he’s not bothered, but I saw him smile to himself a few times when Mum was telling me what they got up to.’

  ‘A good weekend was had by all, then,’ I said.

  ‘It was.’ She smiled and sipped her wine. ‘Nice to see you’ve remembered how to speak.’

  ‘I know, sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with me, I was so nervous.’

  ‘Why? It’s only me.’

  ‘Only you? It’s because it was you. I was so desperate not to fuck up that I couldn’t think of anything to say.’

  ‘So it’s not that you find my company boring, then?’ There was a fraction of a joke in her tone, but I don’t think it was quite half.

  ‘Fuck, no. You don’t think that, do you?’

  ‘You had me wondering, there. You expect awkward silences on a first date, not after a hundred and one.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said. ‘But it was the first, you know, proper date.’

  ‘So that accounts for Friday night. You weren’t exactly a chatter-mouth on Saturday and Sunday either.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ I did know, I just didn’t really know why. ‘The nerves didn’t go away, even after we’d …’

  ‘You’re allowed to say it, Jim. We are grown-ups now.’

  I smiled. ‘After we’d … become reacquainted in an intimate way.’

  ‘Jaysus, you’re still nervous. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand and it’s doing my nut in.’

  ‘You’re not the only one.’

  I was getting worried. This wasn’t going to end up being an issue, was it? ‘This isn’t any old relationship, Paula; it’s us, you and me. That’s a fucking huge thing to me.’

  ‘Eh, me too,’ she said.

  ‘I know, sorry. It’s just, this is it for me, the big one, the rest of my life, till death is hopefully cured and doesn’t do us part. I’ve never opened myself up to that before.’

  ‘And what? Now you’re thinking you shouldn’t have?’

  ‘Christ, no.’ I was rubbish at this. ‘The total opposite. I’m loving it, I can’t wait for it to be the rest of our lives; I can’t wait to meet Taylor and Sam; I want us to get a flat tomorrow - I know we can’t, but I want us to.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? I want all that, too.’

  ‘I know you do, and there isn’t a problem. I’m just, I think, because I’ve never really got to that stage before, I’m terrified of messing it up. Remember I said to you the worst thing you can say to a guy is say something? That it makes us go blank?’

  ‘It makes you go blank,’ Paula said. ‘I remember that, yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s how I felt all weekend. Like someone said say something to me in a big, scary voice. Not just say something, but say something now or ruin your hopes for a happy future with the woman you love forever. And I know you didn’t, and wouldn’t ever, say that to me. The fucked up thing is I was saying it to myself. Over and over I kept telling myself to speak, to say something funny, to tell a story, make a joke, to say something. And so, because I’m an emotionally retarded wanker, I clammed-up completely and couldn’t think of a single fucking word. I’m really sorry.’

  Paula shook her head at me (in a good way, for once). ‘Jim Cooper, you are, you really still are, the biggest wanker I’ve ever met in my life.’

  ‘Eh, thanks?’

  She reached over and held my hand - above the table, in full public view. Then she brought her other arm forward and held my other hand, squeezing both tight. She pulled me towards her and kissed me - on the lips, not the nose (I swear I heard an awww come from behind the bar).

  Paula pulled back a couple of inches and gazed at me with those eyes.

  ‘You need to get over all that shite, you know,’ she said.

  ‘I know, I’ll work on it, I promise.’

  ‘See that you do, mister. My kids are going to need a daddy who talks to them. I’ll be teaching people to speak at work all day, so you’re doing the heavy lifting at home.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I said. ‘As long as you keep me right with the grammar.’

  ***

&n
bsp; If this was a film, and I was the hero, that would be the perfect place for the end credits to roll and the soppy music to start.

  Chapter 27

  But, not a film, not a hero.

  Happily ever after is probably the single biggest lie ever perpetrated on the world (possibly pipped by Freedom through Democracy). Real life doesn’t end until it ends, and the only personal experience I have of a genuine case of happily ever after is my own grandad, or Papa, as I called him.

  Papa got up one morning several years ago, had a breakfast he thoroughly enjoyed, spent the morning laughing with his family, ate his favourite lunch of skinless sausages and beans watching Going for Gold, and died peacefully and painlessly in his chair as Countdown started that afternoon.

  On that morning, for that wonderful man, happily ever after would have been appropriate.

  For the rest of us, we need to wait for the final whistle.

  There were still numerous problems facing Paula and me. Chief among them in the days following that glorious, if tongue-tied, weekend, was that we both still lived with our parents, and neither pair knew about our relationship.

  We had acknowledged that Simon almost certainly had a fair idea, but that didn’t mean Paula was ready to admit it. If only for her mum’s sake she was determined to allow a respectable amount of time to pass following the death of her marriage before she publicly ‘moved on’.

  As far as my own parents were concerned, I didn’t have much of an issue either way. I didn’t tell them because it might make things awkward until Paula had told hers, but it wasn’t that big a deal.

  What this meant for us in practical terms, unfortunately, was that there could be no repeat of our ‘intimate re-acquaintance’ (had I actually said that?) until one of us had an empty again. We could have gone to Sammy’s or Andrea’s, even Terry’s (God forbid), but, yeeuch. Neither of us felt any desire to bunk up on someone’s couch, worrying about what might be heard through the wall by nosy ears as we fumbled in the dark, terrified our host might decide they wanted a drink of water. We had grown up, a bit.

  So we were back to scratch again. Meeting up in secret, if not quite so secret. Okay, we allowed ourselves to move past the nose (or rather below it) when we kissed goodnight, but that quickly began to feel like scant consolation.