Trackman

by Catriona Child

  'No, I'm bloody not. Where are you? I'm double-parked out here.'

  'What? Double-parked where?'

  'Outside your flat.'

  I've no fucking idea what she's talking about, but she's obviously not in any bother so I wish I hadn't answered now. I wander over to the bedroom window and stumble over Jamesy's headphones on the way there. I pull the curtains open. It's too bright, squint against the daylight. Right enough, there she is. Double-parked, blocking the whole road.

  'Oh aye, I can see you now. What do you want?'

  'It's twenty to twelve, we said we'd meet at quarter past. I've been sitting out here for over half an hour.'

  She sounds like she wants to swear at me, but is holding the words in. Pammy must be in the car with her.

  Pammy.

  Quarter past eleven.

  The drain unclogs and everything floods into my brain, a big mess of realisation.

  'Fuck, the party. Crap. I'm sorry, Susan, I totally forgot.'

  'How long are you going to be? Are you even up yet?'

  'Aye, aye, I'm dressed and that. Just give me two minutes and I'll be right down.'

  As I hang up on Susan, I notice there's a text from Astrid. I must have slept right through it, along with Susan's twentyfour missed calls. Fuck, I was well out of it.

  hey u, 2 much 2 drink? lol! I do famby a 2 date –

  name the place & I'll b there x

  What the fuck? I scroll through my sent messages.

  hi goledhngdr ws fun famby a 2 date? x

  Sent at 1.57am.

  I'm such a prick. I don't even remember sending that. I didn't think I was that pished. I scroll through the rest of the sent messages.

  Thank fuck, that's the only one to Astrid. I can't believe she actually wants to go out again. It wasn't exactly a great first date, not with Jamesy arsing around and then the film breaking down, I didn't think she actually meant it when she said call me.

  Susan toots her horn outside. Come on Davie boy, you can deal with these later. I pull off my work t-shirt and chuck on the cleanest one within stretching distance, then spray myself with deodorant and grab my jacket. I stop by the bathroom on the way out; cock in one hand for a pish, toothbrush in the other. Then I'm out the flat and down the stairs.

  Pammy waves at me from the back seat and Susan starts the engine as I step out the main door of the building.

  I get in the passenger side, and don't even have time to do up my seatbelt before Susan's pulled away. The car beeps a warning at me. Seatbelt! Seatbelt! SEATBELT!

  'You look terrible, did you sleep in those clothes?' Susan says.

  'Nah, course not. I was up when you phoned, I'd just forgotten about the party.'

  'Davie, I've been phoning you for half an hour, I've buzzed the flat about ten times and you stink of booze. Do you think I'm an idiot?'

  She reaches over and rummages about in the space in front of the gear stick, then throws a half-eaten packet of Polos at me. I take three and put them all in my mouth at once. The mint burns against my tongue and I gag.

  'Sorry, Susan. I was working late and I ended up going for a drink after, eh?'

  'I couldn't care less what you were up to, you promised me you'd come to this party.'

  'I still am, I'm here aren't I?'

  'That's not the point. And since when did you go out drinking after work?'

  Fuck sake, Susan, chill out. I can't be arsed with this. My head hurts and Susan's driving is making me feel sick. I stay quiet and open the passenger window. I lean towards it and sniff the air like a dog.

  'Mummy, what's wrong with Uncle Davie?'

  'Nothing, sweetheart, he's just being very silly.'

  I turn round in the seat and smile at Pammy, but the hangover is starting to kick in, and it's too much movement. I wish I was still in bed.

  Susan tugs at the steering wheel and my stomach lurches.

  'You look funny, Uncle Davie.'

  'Do I? How come?'

  'Your hair's all funny.'

  I pull down the sun guard and look in the mirror. My hair's a fucking state: sticking up all over the place, and there's dry toothpaste stuck to my chin. I spit on my hands, clean my chin and then try to flatten my hair down.

  'Pass the hairbrush out of my bag, Pammy.' Susan says.

  Pammy wriggles about, kicking her feet against the back of my chair. I slide forward and take deep breaths.

  She taps me on the shoulder with the brush, and I pull it through my hair a few times. It still looks a fucking mess but it's a bit of an improvement.

  Susan looks round at me and then starts laughing.

  'I'm going to be the talking point today, turning up with you.'

  'I'm not that bad, am I?'

  She doesn't answer, just laughs at me and then Pammy joins in.

  'I'm more than happy to go back to bed if I'm not good enough for you,' I say.

  'No chance,' Susan pats me on the knee, 'I need company and this party can be your punishment for keeping me waiting.'

  'Aye, no doubt.'

  Susan pulls into the driveway of some massive house in Colinton. There's already five cars parked there, and room for about six more. There are balloons up all over the front of the house, and a banner across the front door:

  HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY JOSIE.

  'Fucking hell,' I whisper to Susan as we follow Pammy round the side of the house to the back garden.

  'I know,' Susan replies, 'imagine when it's Josie's eighteenth, they'll have to hire a castle.'

  We turn the corner of the house and Pammy almost falls over with excitement at the sight of the garden.

  There's a bouncy castle set up on the lawn, and a swing set to rival most council play parks.

  'See you later, I'm off to play in that,' I say to Susan.

  Someone shouts Pammy's name and she runs towards the bouncy castle. A woman approaches us.

  'Susan,' says the woman, 'so glad you could make it.'

  'Hi Lorna,' Susan replies and hands over a birthday present. 'This is my cousin, David.'

  David? What the fuck?

  'Nice to meet you, David. I'm Lorna, Josie's mum.'

  We shake hands and she leads us into the conservatory.

  'David?' I whisper at Susan.

  'Sorry,' she shrugs, 'these people make me nervous.'

  A group of women are sitting in the conservatory. I'm introduced and shake hands with them all, but I don't even bother listening to any of the names. I've no chance of remembering them.

  'The men are all in the green room watching the rugby, David, if you want to join them.'

  Susan just about pulls my arm from its socket, but she's got nothing to worry about. I fucking hate rugby.

  'Nah, you're alright.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Aye, I'm not really into egg-chasing.'

  'Sorry?'

  'He means rugby, Lorna; you know, the ball's shaped like an egg,' Susan explains.

  'Oh, I see. Well, can I get you both a drink? You're into that I assume?'

  'Aye, that would be great, cheers.'

  I feel like I've wandered back into the fucking Victorian times or something. The lassies in one room, the blokes in another. I bet they're in there smoking cigars and drinking brandy.

  Davie took the bin out for his mum. It was heavy and he dragged it along the garden path. As he pulled it through the gate, the bin caught on a loose bit of pavement and Davie lost his grip.

  Fuck sake, he said as the contents of the bin spilled out from where it had fallen. As he lifted it upright, something in the bin caught his eye.

  It was Lewey's rugby shirt, the one he wore to PE. He said he'd lost it at school. The front of it was ripped and there was blood on the collar.

  Lorna hands me lager in a glass, while Susan gets an apple Schloer.

  'Have a seat,' Lorna gestures to the sofa, and a couple of mums scooch up so we can fit on the end. I'm a bit freaked out by the whole thing. The mums look like they've walked rig
ht out of Stepford. Maybe I'm still drunk, but it's all a bit surreal. I didn't think people like this actually existed.

  I can see Pammy out the window on the bouncy castle and I wish I was out there with her. I don't think I'm making a very good impression for Susan. A football supporter who works in a shop. Full-time? Yes. Oh, I thought you might be a student or something.

  Davie sat behind the desk, two men in suits sat opposite him. He didn't make eye contact but looked behind them to the Niceday year planner hanging on the wall. There was a yellow star stuck on the day that Lewis had died. Someone had marked it off as being important. A day to remember. An important meeting? A holiday?

  We know you've been through a tough time, but you've missed too much work to be able to catch up now.

  Davie nodded. He hadn't been to any lectures since before the funeral.

  We think it would be best if you took some time out, and then came back and repeated the year when you're feeling better.

  Davie knew he wouldn't be back. He would never feel better.

  The first few mouthfuls of the pint are hard going, but I force it down and soon it begins to slide down easily. My fuzziness starts to clear. Hair of the dog.

  'You were thirsty, David. Can I get you another?' Lorna asks as she notices my empty glass.

  'Aye, cheers,' I reply. My social standing drops another notch.

  Susan joins in the conversation and is soon telling everyone about her fitness classes. The mums all sound impressed. It sounds like they're all members of gyms in Edinburgh but use them for coffee mornings, rather than breaking into a sweat.

  I know it's not very polite, but I find my mind wandering.

  I take my phone out and check that message I sent to Astrid again.

  hi goledhngdr ws fun famby a 2 date? x

  Man, what a tit.

  The conversation has moved onto the fucking X Factor, so I decide to delete old text messages in my inbox. The mums all seem to think Simon Cowell's hilarious, so probably wouldn't appreciate my input anyway.

  He's fucking awful. Everything about that show goes against what music should be about. It's not about money and being famous, it's about being creative and writing songs and playing your own music. The man's an arsehole.

  Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.

  ur such a fuckin prick davie leave me alone ok, wanker

  From Martha. Sent last night. What happened last night?

  I remember being in the pub; I told Martha about Jamesy, she went on about The X Files. How did I get from Mulder and Scully to being a fucking prick? Think Davie, think. Blow some of that fog away.

  Davie could feel Martha's leg pressing against his and knew, if he wanted to, he could kiss her and she'd kiss him back. He liked her, thought she was sexy as fuck, but she reminded him. Being here in the pub was too much like that night.

  Let's get out of here, eh?

  Cool, where to? Martha replied.

  I don't know, let's go get some food or something.

  Yeah, good idea, chips and cheese.

  Davie stood up and pulled Martha up out of the sofa, then they put their jackets on and left the pub. Davie didn't realise how drunk he was until the fresh air hit him and he began to sway. As they walked towards the chippy, he took Martha's hand and they walked close, leaning in on each other, bumping shoulders.

  They sat on a wall eating their chips, and then Davie kissed Martha. He closed his eyes and felt her hand on his thigh. Ring a ring a roses. Her tongue stud on his teeth. That tongue stud. It was imprinted on his lips. It left a dent that night that had never gone away.

  Davie pulled back.

  Sorry, Martha, I can't do this.

  Why not? What's wrong?

  I just, I can't. I don't like you that way. I'd just be using you. I've met Astrid now and I really like her, and I can't, tonight, I'm drunk, I've drunk too much.

  Martha didn't say anything, but he could see tears. She turned her face away and jumped down from the wall.

  You dick. I fucking hate you. Why do I always... I'm such an idiot.

  Martha threw the remains of her chips at Davie and took off along the pavement.

  I look down at my jeans, and can see the greasy stain from the chips and cheese which landed in my lap. I dig deeper, but there's nothing else. Nothing until I woke up this morning.

  'David,' Susan nudges me, 'Hilary asked you a question.'

  'Sorry, I was in a wee dream there.'

  'I just wondered if you can get the rugby score on your phone.' Hilary smiles at me.

  'Eh, no, not that fancy I'm afraid, sorry,' I reply.

  I can't think straight. I really just want to go home. My head's buzzing. This whole thing with Martha has thrown me off course. Should I text her? Apologise? I help myself to some crisps from a bowl on the table in front of me and try to push everything out. I can't think with all this talking going on. I'm halfway through a text to her, but I don't know what I want to say. I delete it, have to think about this later. Think about everything later.

  You can't just shut everything up and hope it'll go away.

  'Mummy, can we have the disco now?'

  This must be Josie. She has a 'Birthday Girl' badge pinned to the front of her dress. Man, just call me fucking Rebus with detective skills like this.

  'Okay, dear, give me a few minutes, I'll need to ask Daddy to help sort it out.'

  Lorna leaves the conservatory followed by Josie, and a few minutes later we hear raised voices and the sound of a crying child. The mums all smile at each other and pretend to chat, although you can tell they're all straining their ears to hear what's going on.

  Lorna reappears in the conservatory, with a tearful Josie clinging to her leg.

  'Peter has gone and left his laptop at work, it has all the music on it.'

  An iPod's all very well but what happens when your hard drive crashes, or you lose it, then you're fucked.

  What did I tell you?

  'Oh no,' the mums chorus.

  'Can we go and get it? I could drive?' asks Hilary.

  'No, apparently the office is locked and Peter doesn't know the code for the alarm.'

  'What about a CD instead?'

  'We stored them all in the loft once we'd burned them on the laptop, trying to get rid of some of the clutter.'

  Idiots. Idiots.

  'We have a PC, so I was wondering if anyone has an iPod with them they could plug in?'

  The mums all shake their heads, although a few pretend to search in their bags and jackets.

  'I could murder Peter, honestly. I said to him yesterday morning, whatever you do, don't forget the laptop.'

  I shake my head along with everyone else. That Peter. I feel my jacket move. As Josie's crying increases, so does the movement from my jacket.

  You've got to be kidding me, Jamesy. I can't play the lassie a song in front of all the mums. Jamesy, stop it. You've gone too far this time. This can't work. I shuffle on my seat. Jamesy, will you just sit at peace. I try to act as if nothing's happening, but it makes me look more guilty.

  'Are you okay there, David?' Lorna asks.

  'Eh, aye. Where's the bathroom, please?'

  'Just along the hall, third door on the right.'

  I lock myself in the bog and take Jamesy out of my pocket. He's going fucking mental.

  What? I can't let you play her a song. Everyone would see.

  What are you talking about? No. No fucking way.

  INPLUGMEINPLUGMEINPLUGMEINPLUGME

  Plug you in where? Stop fucking about. Slow down, I don't know what you're talking about. Look where? Your headphones?

  There's a wire with a USB connector hanging from the side of Jamesy, where the headphones used to be.

  How the fuck did you do that?

  INPLUGMEINPLUGMEINPLUGMEINPLUGME

  Jesus, Jamesy. How did you do that? Tell me. Nah, tell me. You always keep me in the fucking dark. I look at the USB connector again, push the tip of my finger inside it. I can't belie
ve it. I must be out of it. It's the drink, that's it, I'm still drunk. Come on, I'm not leaving here until you tell me how you did that. Ah, you wee fucker. You can't keep shocking me every time you disagree with me.

  Okay, okay, I'm going, I'm going. Just when I think I've got you sussed.

  I flush the toilet and wander back to the conservatory, where the disco debate is still going on.

  'Lorna, I've got an MP3 player if that helps. It's got, eh, a USB connector.'

  Susan looks up at me, and I can tell she's wondering what the fuck I'm blethering on about.

  'Is the music appropriate, no swear words or anything?' Lorna asks. Josie has stopped crying and is staring up at me.

  'Aye, it's fine. I can stay by the computer and play DJ if you like? Make sure nothing dodgy comes on.'

  I'm totally winging it. I've no idea if this is going to work or not, and Jamesy plays what he wants to play. He plays what needs to be played.

  'David, you're a lifesaver. The computer is just through here.'

  I follow Lorna through to what looks like the dining room. A table covered with plates of food has been pushed up against the wall, and a PC is set up on a desk in the corner. The wooden floor is a perfect dance floor for Josie's disco.

  Jamesy fits flawlessly into the side of the computer. Like I had any doubt. He's so smug. Look what I can do, Davie. I'm fucking brilliant.

  Plug in baby.

  I sit next to the PC and squeeze my hands around him.

  Music begins to play from the speakers.

  Nelly Furtado Maneater by Nelly Furtado Maneater by Nelly Furtado Maneater by Nelly Furtado Maneater b

  Is this appropriate? The kids all seem to love it. They come in screaming from the garden, and start to sing along. The disco starts with a vengeance. I don't know what I'm going to do when this song ends. Sorry, kids, it's a short disco. One song only.

  What a shite song too. How can they like this? But they do, they know all the words. They're dancing away to it like it's the fucking height of disco.

  It's coming to an end. What now? Jamesy, help me, give me a heads up. What do I say? You got me into this. Aye, you fucking did. I'm going to end up sitting here looking like a tit. What will I say? The battery's gone, or it's broken?

  I don't have to worry though. Nelly Furtado flows seamlessly into Take That's Shine. Jamesy, you don't provide ear plugs for the DJ do you? I fucking hate Take That.