by Zoe Strachan
When I returned to the street I couldn’t see Luke anywhere. Bastard, I thought, he’s just gone off without me. Then I tried to reassure myself that he’d gone for a pee as well, and he’d appear any moment, hands in pockets, whistling. I stamped my feet, gave my arms a brisk pat, as though I’d arrived early for an appointment. A car engine spluttered into life along the street, and I turned my back as the car slunk along the road towards me, hoping I didn’t look too dubious loitering there alone. I heard the click of a car door opening behind me, and then Luke’s voice, low and urgent.
Come on then. Get in.
What the fuck are you doing, I said, but I said it in a whisper as I slipped into the passenger seat and closed the door behind me.
You said you wanted to do something different. A change is as good as a rest, eh?
I leaned over to watch as he pressed a twist of paler wires to a darker one and coaxed the car back to life, feeling ice slipping over my back, unable to tell if it was nerves or the cold of the upholstery. He drove slowly to the end of the road then switched the headlights on and turned onto the coastal road.
So, he said. Where do you want to go?
I laughed and said, Anywhere.
Okay, he said, and put his foot down. The car leapt forward and then juddered as Luke crunched the gears.
Can you drive? I asked.
Do you want to take over?
No. My voice squeaked and he turned to look at my face.
Don’t worry, he said. We’ll bring it back.
I nodded, but a car was approaching on the other side of the road. He cut our speed and kept his eyes on the road. The car passed by, heading into town. Raindrops started to blotch across the windscreen, and he flicked several switches before he found the wipers.
Want to figure out how to put on the heater and de-mister, he said, waving at the panel below the radio.
So when did you learn about cars? I said, hitting a button that seemed to depict a windscreen and turning the fan on.
There was a kind of craze on the estate for a while. I didn’t really get into it or anything, just rode along with the older boys a few times, eh? And then once a pal and I took a couple of girls for a ride – he effected a smooth gear change – as a prelude to taking them for a ride, if you see what I mean.
Yeah, I see.
Got them all scared and fluttery, next thing they’re on the back seat. Not both at once, you understand. We took turns.
Spare me the details. What about the driving?
Oh, picked it up as I went along. Friend with a car let me practice sometimes.
Luke, do you have a licence?
Nah, course not – he swerved across to the other side of the road and then zigzagged for a moment or two – but if the police pull us, that’ll be the last thing on their minds.
Hmm, I said, uncertain of his logic.
Another few cars passed us and Luke turned onto a quiet single track road, swooping over the bumps and sending my stomach plummeting. I leaned back against the headrest and watched the wipers slapping rain off the window, the flashes of trees illuminated in the headlights. A fox froze in our path, eyes luminescent as it stared at us. It was holding something in its mouth, some smaller creature, bloodied and limp. Luke hit the brake, flinging me against my seatbelt, and the fox leapt through the hedge and away.
Do you know where we are? he said.
No, not really.
Me neither.
He grinned and started the engine again. Something about the movement of the car stirred me, or maybe I was just thinking of what Luke had said. I would’ve liked a friend like him when I was a year or two younger. It might have been me, leaning against the bonnet, waiting while I felt the vehicle shift in time with the rhythm of his body. I recast his story, dismissing the girls and imagining myself in his role, assured enough to drive a borrowed car, assured enough to unbutton my jeans and push his head down.
That wall on the right, he said, and startled by his voice I looked over just in time to see the castle gatehouse loom up beside the road, unfamiliar for a second in the darkness, and then we were past it and away.
We’ve just come at it a different way, Luke said.
Was there a light on, inside? I said.
I think so. I wonder if someone’s living there again.
Or it’s for security.
We kept going, past the turn off that would have taken us back towards the town. The rain shrunk into drizzle, and then swathes of white mist began rolling down from the fields onto the road. Soon they were charging the windscreen, dispersing, jousting us again. It seemed magical, as if we were in another world.
Do you believe in ghosts, I asked Luke.
No.
This looks spooky though.
Yes.
We reached a junction where a cluster of trees hunched over the road. Luke stopped the car and the engine stalled, the dark rushing towards us as the headlights cut out. In an instant it felt cold again. He fiddled again with the wires under the steering column, and I heard him mutter under his breath: fuck, fuck, fuck.
Is it all right? I said.
I can’t see, is all.
The engine stuttered and the headlights flashed on, illuminating the trees opposite us, an old milestone and a bench, and then it died again.
Fuck, he said again.
Take it easy.
I don’t want to fucking walk home from here.
My eyes were getting accustomed to the dark, but the mist seemed to be thickening around us. I wanted to lock my door, but didn’t. Luke took a deep breath, as though he was trying to calm down, but then he started muttering again, filling the silence with a litany of swear words. The ignition caught and he revved the engine.
Thank fuck, he said. Okay, where now?
Just keep driving.
How far? To Edinburgh? To Glasgow?
Anywhere. I don’t care.
I felt cheated when Luke remembered the petrol gauge and realised it had dropped into red; it seemed a prosaic end to the adventure. When at last we drove back into town, my nerves started twitching again.
I suppose we could just leave it somewhere. In the supermarket car park or something.
Luke continued round the roundabout and took the last exit for the town centre.
I’m not a thief, he said.
No, I agreed. Just a borrower. Like the little people behind the skirting.
What the fuck are you on about Richard?
Nothing.
If we get it back okay, it’ll be less suspicious. They might not notice for a day or two. Or know that we drove it off.
If we get it back okay, I thought.
There’s no one about, Luke said, as if he’d read my mind. It’s four in the morning.
He edged round the one way system, so slowly and carefully that I thought that if anyone saw they’d report him as a drunk driver. At last he turned into Trinity Wynd. The space the car had come from was still empty, thank god.
I’m not very good at parking, Luke said, stopping in the middle of the road and looking at the space. Reversing’s a bit dodgy too.
It was facing the other way, I said.
You’re right, attention to detail, that’s the key.
I wished I hadn’t spoken as he drove slowly round the block and into the car park by the abbey.
Three point turns a bit dodgy too?
Yeah. He smiled, turning the car in a big circle and nosing it back towards the entrance. Forwards though. You have to admit, I’m pretty good at going forwards.
Shit, I whispered, putting my hand on his arm. There’s someone over there. Guy with a dog.
Luke stopped the engine. He’s looking the other way. Waiting on the dog.
He’s walking again now, I whispered.
Duck then. Make it look as if the car’s empty.
The blood rushed to my head as I hunched over. I felt it throbbing in my ears, smelled the rubber of the mat in the footwell of the car. Luke had curled
himself to the side, and I felt his body pressing against mine, imagined the beat of his heart even through our jackets. Any minute, I thought, any minute the door of the car will open and a voice will ask us what we’re doing. And then what will we do, talk our way out of it?
Luke shifted and sat up. He laid his hand on my shoulder.
It’s cool. He went into the flats over there. Let’s go.
When I finally slid between my cold sheets, I lay there in the dark and smiled to myself, too nervy to sleep, trying to let the excitement that was still flickering through my body dissipate into warmth and tiredness. When I went to my morning lectures the next day I felt as though I was decorated with a medal, set apart.
16
Two words. Dear Calum … That was a start, Richard supposed. How nice to hear from you! The jaunty exclamation mark added little veracity to the statement. He sighed and deleted it. The problem was that he was a glutton for information, wanted to dispense with the niceties and gorge on every detail. How did Luke sound when he mentioned me? What does he look like? Does he still bite his lips, get embarrassed when he has to put salve on them? Did you guess Calum, ever, that while I was lying in that shabby little single bed opposite you I was thinking of him, how it would feel if he was fucking me, right there on the floor in front of that two bar electric fire?
The phone rang and Richard picked up to hear Rupe’s voice, distant as though he’d turned away from the receiver.
‘Tuula … Tuula? Did she just tell me to get to fuck? Is that what she said?’
‘Hey Rupe, how nice to hear from you.’ As he spoke, Richard typed the words again, minus the exclamation this time.
‘These Scandinavians. They’re so touchy. Anyway, just a quick call to say I love this iteration. It’s marvellous.’
‘That’s great. I took what you were saying about fun on board.’
‘And it shows. This is more like the thing. Escapism, that’s the key. You always get bogged down in the detail, Rich, when all we want is basic narrative. Who needs nuance when you’ve got guns, eh?’
‘Indeed.’ Richard cradled the phone on his shoulder and continued writing.
Are the planes still slicing through the sky above the university? I remember how the noise of them used to drown everything out.
‘We’ve started talking about the sound strategy. We need effects, we need tunes.’
‘Rupe, didn’t we speak about keeping the sound environment natural? 3-D, vocal retrospective?’
‘It will be natural, natural plus. Where’s the fun in shooting people if there’s no soundtrack? I’m telling you, we’ll be working on the sequel by this time next year.’
I don’t suppose you visit any of the old haunts, now you’re a family man. The old haunts probably aren’t even there anymore.
‘I’m not so sure …’
‘Hang on Rich, that’s my other phone. Okay, so I’ll see you on Saturday, right? We’ll thrash out the details and then it’s onwards and upwards.’
‘Saturday? Rupe?’ The tone changed and Richard stared at the receiver for a second. ‘Dickhead,’ he muttered, and starting typing again.
Thanks for passing on the message. No, I haven’t seen Luke for years, not since we were at university, in fact. If you see him again …
He heard footsteps in the hall, checked the time and realised that he’d promised to take Stephie to the chemist in town.
… tell him I said …
She knocked on the door of the study and Richard, knowing that what he was writing was inferior to what he’d wanted to say, what he’d always planned he would say, finished the sentence and shouted that he was almost ready. As the door creaked open he battered out his signature, noticing at the same time as he hit the send button that he’d muddled the ‘c’ and the ‘h’ of his name.
‘Sorry, phone rang, just give me a minute, okay?’
‘Keep your wig on,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait on you outside.’
Richard logged on to the Somme wiki and saw the Saturday meeting that Rupe had been talking about. It was likely to go on late, turn into another overnighter, the kind of thing he’d have enjoyed if Stephie hadn’t been staying. And Loren, of course.
In the hall, Stephie was tying a patterned headscarf round her hair. Looking at him in the mirror, she said, ‘Your neighbours arrived.’
‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘Were they speaking to you?’
‘No. We waved at them, but the man just nodded.’
‘Yeah, I get the impression they think I’m some kind of oik because I don’t own a Barbour jacket. So, will we go and get you stocked up then?’
‘Brilliant, just hang on a minute.’
He followed Stephie through to the kitchen, where Loren was standing by the sink, gulping down a glass of water.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Stephie said.
‘I’ll be fine here,’ Loren said, turning round. ‘It’s so warm, maybe I’ll just lie on the grass and read or something.’
‘Sure you’re sure?’ Stephie frowned.
‘Yeah.’
They turned out of the village in time for the afternoon show on the local radio station and drove along the side of the sea loch to the sound of country and western classics. As the road curved Stephie wound down her window and clicked her camera phone at the changing view. Richard felt the air hurtling into his ears, clearing his head.
‘Pretty nice, huh?’
‘Not bad.’ She grinned, and started singing along with Dolly Parton.
They split up when they reached the town, arranging to meet at a bar by the harbour when they’d run their various errands. Richard arrived first, chose a seat at a picnic table outside. A row of cars was waiting to board the ferry to Stornoway, doors hanging lazily open and passengers ambling around, smoking, leaning over the rail to look down into the water. Even the breeze was warm. Along the street he saw Stephie walking towards him, her head turned as she too looked towards the ferry. A horn sounded, followed by a distorted announcement. The passengers began returning to their vehicles, slamming doors and starting engines. Richard thought Stephie’s posture straightened, as if she was imagining running, getting on the boat herself. When she reached him he said, ‘You looked as if you were about to make a bid for freedom.’
‘What?’ He pointed at the ferry. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yeah. The boat. It just looked tempting, I guess. But where does it go?’
‘That one? Stornoway, I think.’
‘Hmm. Ever been?’
‘No.’
‘Scared the Wee Frees’ll get you?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Silly. It’s not as if they could be more judgemental than the good citizens of Leckie.’ She frowned, held her hand up to shade her eyes as she looked back towards the ferry.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Do you want a drink or will we just head back?’
She smiled and sat down opposite him. ‘White wine spritzer, please.’
He nodded and went into the bar, dark in contrast to the bright afternoon. The television was playing silently in one corner, and a couple of tourists were already tucking into grilled langoustines and chips, their springer spaniel sprawled across the floor beside their table. The dog opened one eye as Richard stepped over it but otherwise seemed unperturbed. While he waited for the barman, a jovial Yorkshireman, to pour the drinks he read the specials blackboard. The words ‘catch of the day’ were written in large letters and while he seriously doubted that was what was on the tourists’ plates he still felt a pang of envy, seeing them on holiday together, drinking real ale to his lager shandy. When he went back outside the light dazzled him. He set the glasses down and noticed that the gangway to the ferry had been detached.
‘Looks like I missed my chance at escape,’ Stephie said, picking up her glass and swirling the ice round to create a small whirlpool. ‘Cheers.’
The horn sounded on the ferry, and it began to move slowly from the quay.
‘It isn’t
that bad here, is it?’ Richard said.
‘It isn’t bad at all,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful, today. Feels like we’re on holiday.’
‘Yes.’ He was about to say something about work, but managed to swallow his words. ‘It’s nice to see you,’ he said instead. ‘Even with Loren here as well.’
Stephie looked at him. ‘Don’t you like her?’
‘Actually I do quite like her. But I was enjoying spending time with you. Are you still okay about her being here?’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
‘I mean, it doesn’t make you think too much about your boyfriend? Or upset you?’
‘There’s no point in thinking about him. Like I said, he was a twat. It just took me a bit longer than it should have to realise it. You could say that Loren did me a favour.’
Richard started to speak but Stephie got in before him. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to where the ferry was rounding the peninsula. ‘How long will it take to get to Stornoway?’
‘Three hours, just under,’ he said, realising that his chance to pick at Stephie, to press her into speaking, had also slipped away.
The tone of the light changed as afternoon slipped towards evening, and around them people relaxed into their drinks, secure in the knowledge that the sun wouldn’t set for hours yet. Stephie raised her glass then yelped as she noticed a wasp inside it, crawling towards the splash of liquid left at the bottom. She slammed the glass down and pushed it towards Richard, who shrank back.
‘What do you want me to do about it?’ he said. ‘I hate wasps.’ But he took the glass by the stem and gave it a tentative shake. The wasp spiralled out, hovered in the air for a second as if disorientated, then swooped towards the more obvious target of three teenage girls with ice cream cones.
‘At least you didn’t make that much noise,’ Stephie said. ‘Anyway, will we have another one?’
Richard watched the girls colliding with each other as they danced away from the wasp. ‘I’d better not,’ he said. ‘You have one though. I’ll just have a Coke or something.’