Farewell Tour of a Terminal Optimist

by John Young

  “Airport, The Gyle, Corstorphine, Haymarket, we stop at Waverley.”

  Skeates looks at the A-Z. “Corstorphine, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can you drop us off here?” Skeates points to the map.

  “Depends, this is a limited stopper.” He looks where Skeates is pointing. “You’re in luck, there’s a stop just up from there. I’ll give you a shout.”

  “Happy days!” Skeates settles back into the seat. “So, what’s at the house?”

  “I told you, I’ll show you when we get there.”

  “Come on, we’re going out of our way. I was expecting a night out in Glasgow. The least you can do is tell me.”

  “Nope.”

  He goes in a huff and chats to the driver. Suits me, as I’m feeling dodgy as hell and want to doze off.

  ***

  I wake to the shouts of the driver. “Hey boys, it’s Corstorphine. Your stop.”

  We clamber off into a fresh sunny day. Skeates strides up the road, I presume towards Gorebridge Close.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” I ask him.

  “Shit, Connor, it’s your house!” He laughs. “The road is second on the right, third street in. After that it’s up to you.”

  We make our way to Gorebridge Close and walk along it, looking at the numbers and for anything familiar.

  “Do you remember any of this?” he asks.

  “Sort of.” I stop outside number 10. The place has changed: flag gone, the house repainted, new fence, gates up between the front and back. Old council house looking well spruced up.

  “This is it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s got to be.” I look more closely because I’m not certain. I slowly open the front gate, seeking out a reminder of my time there so that I have the balls to see this through. Nothing stands out enough to convince me, and the longer it takes, the more I lose confidence. Then suddenly I see something that clinches it. There’s no doubt this is my old house, a place I left ten years ago, when I was five, fit and happy.

  “There.” I point to the side wall. It’s very vague, but triangles of blue are just visible beneath a coat of white – the saltire my dad painted. “It’s still showing through.”

  “On ye go,” he says.

  I peek through their side gate and see, round the back, the wall I’m looking for. Reassured, I wander up to the door and ring the bell. I don’t hesitate any more, now that I know we’ve found the right house. I’ve rehearsed the chat I’m going to give them. If they’re in any way decent they’ll let me get on with it.

  “What is this thing anyway, Connor?”

  “You’ll find out.” I ring the door again.

  “They aren’t in, let’s go.”

  “No, I have to get this,” I insist. “Come on, round here, you grumpy bastart.”

  “Are you breaking in? Hypocrite.” He laughs.

  “Only into the back garden. This way.” I open the side gate and we sneak down between the house and a wall.

  Skeates looks around, excited that I’m leading him up to mischief. The back garden is a mess of kids’ toys and patchy grass.

  “Where you going now? Aw shite, I stood in something. Dog shit.” He dances about, trying to wipe the mess off. “They have a dog, Connor,” he warns. “I’ve had enough of dogs for this trip.”

  We study the garden, waiting for a snarling hound to come jumping out from its kennel. There’s not a woof to be heard.

  “Well, it isn’t here, is it?” I say, and walk to the rear garden wall in front of a piece of discoloured cement.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  I search for something solid and find a piece of metal piping, which I use to hit the wall. I take great big swipes, which make a hell of a racket.

  “Connor! Carry on like this and we’ll be fast-tracked to Shotts for a permanent stay!”

  I ignore Skeates and carry on banging. Finally, the wall cracks and the mortar begins to flake and fall away.

  “What are you doing?” he asks again.

  I continue to ignore him, not just because I want to wind him up, but because I’m concentrating too much. I can see what I’m after. I chuck the pipe behind me and start to pick the bits out with my hands. Skeates watches me like I have a bolt missing. I flake bits of rubble onto the ground and peek into the small hole I’ve created. At last I see the wee plastic box which my sister and I poked in there ten years ago.

  “There it is.”

  “What?” Skeates shouts. Excited now, he joins me in rooting around with his fingers.

  The box frees up and we pull it out. I hold it up for him to see.

  “It’s a lunch box,” he says, deadpan.

  “A time capsule.”

  “Eh?”

  “Erica and I put this little box in here. We collected our favourite small things and wrapped them up carefully and Dad cemented the box in there. Neither of us really understood the meaning of it or why we should bother, but Dad did. He knew we would come back to collect it when the time was right, when it would really mean something.”

  I unwrap the cellophane around the box, open the lid and see the bits of treasure we put in there a decade ago. A toy soldier, a newspaper clip, my sister’s wee doll and the photo: Mum, Dad, my big sister and me. The only one in existence of all four of us together. The only one I have ever seen. I stare at it for ages. Skeates stays quiet.

  Then I flop down and start to cry. I don’t care how it looks, I can’t control it.

  “Aw no, Connor, not now.”

  I bend over and I’m sick in the garden.

  Chapter 22

  I Need You Around

  We wander away from the house with Skeates cajoling me all the way.

  “It was like tearing Jekyll from Hyde getting you out of that garden.”

  I try to ignore him because I feel shit, embarrassed and emotional, but I can’t. I snigger.

  “What?”

  “It would be the other way round.”

  He looks at me with a big question on his face.

  “Hyde was inside Jekyll, so it would be like tearing Hyde from—”

  “Yeah yeah, funny, ha ha. So what now?”

  “Can we find a park so that I can go to sleep while you find somewhere to stay? I don’t feel too good.”

  “Aw Connor, come on,” he says, disappointment is in his voice.

  I cringe with the responsibility of ending Skeates’s fun and games. I’ve heard the same tone so many times with friends who’ve had enough waiting around for me. That’s why I stay in on Friday and Saturday nights. The same disappointment is written all over me and I retch, which reinforces the point.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be a daftie, Connor. Come on, let’s go and recharge our batteries. A quick plug in and a reboot and we’ll be firing on all cylinders.”

  I like that he’s including himself in the recharging even though he doesn’t need it. If anything, the guy needs a sedative. That simple gesture encourages me to get going. We walk back down the hill to where the bus left us and laugh about the mess we made at number 10.

  “Whoever lives in your old house will be scratching their heads for yonks about weird burglars who steal bits of wall and vom in their garden. What sort of bamstick would do that?”

  “A really shit Santa,” I add, and we both crack up.

  The expanse of Edinburgh skyline opens up in front of us. I have to admit it’s awesome, despite my current state of being. We’re a mile or so out of town and the castle is prominent even from here.

  “That must have scared the shite out of the English,” I say.

  “That was the point.”

  We take a bus to the centre and hop off just below the castle, which looms up above us on a massive craggy cliff. Below us is a big park and behind are the main shops on Princes Street.

  “In here,” Skeates says, leading me into the park.

  We find a quiet corner and
I sit on a bench in the sun like an old man wheeled out of the care home for a bit of air. It’s one of those fresh, windless winter days where the sun isn’t too shy with its heat. Even so, I wrap up in my jacket, big jumper and orange Ray-Bans, still clutching the time capsule.

  “OK, I’ll go and source food. You put your feet up.”

  Which is exactly what I do. I lie on the wooden bench watching the mums arrive at the play park with their bairns. The sound of children laughing is a unique noise, I think – peaceful, hopeful and carefree. I absorb myself in it and fall asleep.

  ***

  I wake wrapped in a tartan rug. Skeates has returned with a Whopper meal and a Coke each. With a nod of thanks, I eat most of mine and feel a bit better. I look at the rug and grin.

  “You looked a bit parky,” he says.

  I want to tease him for tucking me in with a blanket, but I’m so glad of its warmth that I decide against it.

  He laughs at me.

  “What?”

  “You look like a jaikey,” he says.

  I curl the rug round me and act all grumpy. “Change for a cuppa?”

  “Which hotel have you booked? The Balmoral, maybe the Castle?” I ask.

  A number of things occur to me when I ask that question. The question is cheeky, which shows how our relationship has changed over the last few days. But it’s also an acknowledgement that he’s always found something, he’s got us this far. I suddenly realise that he’s become the provider. I’ve become reliant upon him, a fact that I hadn’t completely understood until I asked that question. The sarcasm mixed with the truth makes me realise that if he doesn’t come up with something, I will have nowhere to go.

  It strikes me with guilt and surprise that I now not only like the guy that I once hated and feared, I’m now dependant upon him, I need him. When we started on this trip I worried that he was out to get me, or at the very least didn’t care what happened to me. Even that his recklessness would endanger us both. Now? Without him I may as well just curl up like a tramp until the park attendant finds me.

  “Nothing booked yet. But! I have been to a cash machine.”

  “Aw naw, what have you knocked off?” I don’t want him to steal stuff. Not just because I don’t like it, but because I can’t afford for him to get caught.

  “Nothing like that, Connor.”

  I look at him.

  “Honest. I pawned my watch.” He holds up an empty wrist. “It was a good watch, worth at least three times the two-hundred quid the tight bastart gave me for it. Nevertheless, when in need. Anyway, I can buy another one when I’m up and running again.”

  The provider. I feel too ill and exhausted to feel guilty for him having to sell something to take me to see my dad. It must have been an expensive watch, but I don’t ask where he got it from in the first place.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Sorry.”

  “No probs, Connor. I’m loving this trip. It’s a new start for me. Am no going back. I’m gonnae find Mum and set up near her.” He stands beside the bench for a while, staring up at the castle.

  I think about what he’s saying, glad in a way that he isn’t running away just for me, but sad that we’ll part company soon. I say nothing and can feel his gaze return to me.

  He shuffles his feet and asks, “Should I take you to hospital, Connor?”

  “No, I’m OK, just really tired.”

  He twists on his feet a bit like he’s thinking what to do. “Stay here for a bit, I’ll be back in a flash.”

  I nod and don’t ask what he’s up to. I fall asleep again. I have a vague feeling that Skeates returns and sits for a while before I nod back to sleep. Later he wakes me. “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere a bit more comfortable.”

  I notice that the kids have gone from the park, must be naptime. “Where are we going?”

  “So it’s a B&B tonight for you, I think.”

  “Is that not risky?”

  “We’ll just have to chance it because you look stuffed. And I found a place nearby doing offers of fifty-four quid for a twin room.”

  “Look what I have.” He holds up a used plastic bag.

  “What?”

  “Films. Bought a load of them for eight quid from the Action Cancer shop.”

  “Happy days. What time is it now?”

  “Three.”

  “Three! How long have I been asleep?”

  “About four hours. except when I brought you lunch.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah mate, you needed your batteries charged.”

  We make our way slowly along Princes Street, fighting our way through random-walking tourists.

  “What’s wrong with you lot?” Skeates says to a group of elderly Chinese ladies who have stopped right in front of us. “Did you leave your spatial awareness at home?”

  One of them smiles at him, hands him her phone and says something in Chinese. Skeates looks at me and grins like he’s about to run off.

  “Don’t you dare, Skeates. Take a picture for them.”

  “Spoilsport,” he says, and gets them to line up. He takes about ten selfies making a silly face and then one of the group before handing the camera back. They do a lot of nodding in thanks and we head off.

  “I could’ve used that phone,” he complains. “Given that ours are stuffed.”

  “We can borrow a charger,” I say. “In there.” I point to a phone shop across the street. “They’ll have charging points for old Nokias.”

  True enough, they do, and we plug our phones in while pretending to browse. A sales assistant comes to query us and Skeates gives him short shrift. I stare at my phone and wait until there’s enough juice for it to turn on.

  “Come on, come on.” I moan.

  “Mr Impatient. Who are you so keen to hear from?”

  I don’t answer him and he returns to his own screen, which has booted up before mine. Mine finally wakes up with a bing bing bing bing, honk…

  I silence it as the text messages and missed calls go nuts.

  Skeates glares at me. “Mr Bloody Popular!”

  I grin at him. “What’s up, Mr No-mates?”

  He reads whatever messages he has, stuffs his phone back in his pocket without answering, then stands there staring at me like he wants me to hurry up. I ignore him because my missed calls haven’t stopped coming in yet. Plus, Emo’s messages have my heart racing for both good and bad reasons:

  “Connor, please please phone me. Please come home. And yes! I am missing u.”

  “Connor, ur mum is crazy with worry. She’s been phoning u every hour. The hospital is going mad. U have no medicine with u. Ru alright? The doctors say u have to get to a hospital, u must be really ill. Please, Connor, I need to cu too.”

  The messages from Emo keep coming, too fast for my heart to keep up. My hands shake.

  “Connor please call me.”

  “The police r saying something about a car. What have u done? For goodness sake please call.”

  “The Trolls have been searching for u and Skeates. What have u done to annoy them? They r really dangerous.”

  “Oh, shit,” I whisper.

  Skeates leans over my shoulder, reads the message about the police and grabs the phone from me. The charging cable pulls out of the wall and swings to the floor.

  Chapter 23

  The Last Night

  I try to grab my phone, but Skeates holds it up high.

  “Give me that back!” I shout.

  “Connor, listen to me for a moment,” he says. “Don’t get worked up.”

  I jump for the phone, but Skeates keeps it in the air and our ruckus irritates the customers around us. The assistant looks wary about coming over, given Skeates’s demeanour earlier. I worry he might phone the police. My heart is racing, I want to see what else Emo has said and reply.

  Nobody moves for a moment, then Skeates bolts out of the shop with the phone. I hobble after him, shouting all the while. He stops at the next junction.

  “Sor
ry, Connor. Listen for a minute. You can’t answer these. You have two days. Then you can do what you want.”

  “Give me my phone back!”

  He looks like he’s about to throw it across the street, then changes his mind. He hands it over to me.

  “It’s up to you. You want to see your dad, then keep silent until you do. Look at that last message. The polis are looking for us about that stolen car. That’s curtains for your dad trip.”

  I snatch the mobile from him, finish reading the texts and reply to Emo right there on the pavement, fearful that my battery will die again before I’m done. Skeates huffs and stares in disapproval.

  “I can’t say where we r or where we r going, but I’ll be back soon. I promise. Tell my mum I’m alright. I’ll come and see u. I have no battery left. Connor”

  The phone cuts out again and I stare at the blank screen. “Happy now?”

  He grumbles, then says, “Come on, let’s go watch films.”

  “You’re just jealous because I’m so popular,” I tease him.

  “People want to see me alright.”

  “Oh yeah, like who?”

  “Two ducks,” he says and laughs. He shows his phone: “You show up here again Skeates – you are dead. The Trolls.”

  “Do they really call themselves ‘The Trolls’? I thought it was a joke nickname!” I laugh. “Wallies!”

  “Yeah. The funny thing is I think they want to see me as urgently as your wee girly friend Emo wants to see you. Connor and Emo, whhhhooooooeee!” He gives me a friendly push as we enter the B&B.

  We go straight to the room, which he’s already filled with tins of beer, Coke, sandwiches and crisps. He stacks the pile of old films on a table: Repo Man, Kill Bill, The Hunger Games, The Silence of the Lambs, and we settle in for a back-to-back movie night.

  ***

  The next morning, I push Skeates out of his bed and throw a toothbrush at him. “Let’s get going.” The rest in a warm bed has worked and for a short period I feel great.

  We head downstairs to check out of our room, then feast like kings on our free breakfast.

  “Only one more night to go, Connor,” Skeates says between mouthfuls of bacon and egg. “Big day today and tonight’s going to be massive.”