‘Anything you want to ask, go ahead.’ Peter was the first to break, his expression a mixture of apology, regret and challenge. It said, I have treated you badly, with the best of reasons.
‘How long have we got?’ asked Kenny.
‘Good question. I knew you’d turn out to be a smart kid.’
‘Don’t do that,’ said Kenny. ‘Don’t act like you have any right to be proud of me.’
‘We have as long as you like,’ said Peter, sitting back in his chair, arms by his side. He was giving his son the view that he had nothing to hide. ‘When’s closing time?’ he asked with a smile.
‘So, we’re not talking the rest of my life then?’
Peter shook his head slowly. ‘I have other responsibilities.’
‘Why did you leave?’ Emotions surged within Kenny. He wanted to stand up and run out. He wanted to take both bottles and break them over his father’s head. He wanted to take his father’s shirt and shake answers out of the man.
The twelve-year-old inside of him wanted to run into a corner and hide and cry until his eyes were bleeding. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to be twelve and abandoned by the two people...?’ The rest of his sentence stuck in his throat and Kenny tried to wash it down with a slug of beer. He choked and his father was out of his seat and thumping him between the shoulder blades.
‘Fuck off,’ Kenny managed to say. ‘Don’t fucking touch me.’ He pushed him away with his good arm.
‘What happened?’ Peter looked at his broken one.
All sorts of answers crowded for release, but with a huge measure of will Kenny fought them back. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to calm down.
‘Long story,’ was the reply he settled for. ‘Your letter said you had to go. Want to tell me more about that?’
Peter shook his head. ‘Can’t. You can ask me about anything, but don’t ask about that.’
‘What about the birds and the bees? What about a lecture on the use of condoms and the one about avoiding dirty women? What about–’
‘I sent you letters.’
‘Fuck the letters. Aunt Vi only let me see them a couple of months ago. She was frightened the sight of them would send me off the deep end.’
‘God, you are so like me, son...’
‘Don’t call me son.’
‘I can take the anger. I want your anger.’ Peter’s eyes blazed. A tear sparkled on his cheek. ‘I can take whatever you want to deal out to me. You want to go outside and give me a pasting?’ He stood up. ‘That’s okay with me.’
‘Sit on your arse,’ said Kenny. ‘Even with one broken arm I could break every bone in your body.’ Kenny paused. ‘Tempting, but ultimately pointless.’
‘You’re that good, are you?’ Peter asked with a half-smile like he wanted to test his son.
‘Aye,’ said Kenny, not a trace of doubt on his face. Then he exhaled, his breath long and painful. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘I re-married. A girl...’ A distant smile as his mind played an image of her. ‘A woman called Kathy. Kathy Garrett. She called you the other night.’
Kenny nodded. Made sense.
‘She said you sounded really nice. It was her who convinced me that I should come and see you.’
‘Need much convincing?’
Peter reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. He opened it up and plucked two weathered photographs from the inside. Placing them on the table between them he kept talking. ‘Kathy knows the dangers of me coming here and still she sent me on my way. That’s the measure of her. She’s a good woman.’ In the first photo the colours were washed out, faded onto the fingers of the man who was positioning it on the table for Kenny to see. It was him. He was about ten years old and on his hunkers behind a football, wearing a Partick Thistle strip.
The other photo was much more recent. It showed the grinning faces of a boy and a girl. Both blonde. The boy was missing one of his two front teeth and the girl was trying to prove that she had a bigger smile than her brother.
‘Nick is twelve now. Loves Rangers, to my shame. Joy is thirteen going on thirty. Been here before, that one.’ Peter swept the photos back into his wallet as if afraid Kenny would rip them up. ‘They’re my attempt to make things right in the world.’
‘And yet here I sit, a reminder of everything you did wrong.’
‘Don’t you think I had sleepless nights? Worried about you endlessly? I missed you like someone had torn out one of my lungs.’
‘Words, Pete. Words.’
His father shrunk at the shortened version of his name. ‘I expect it would be too much to use the word “Dad”.’ His voice wore a coating of acceptance.
Kenny didn’t answer; he simply raised an eyebrow in a what-the-fuck-do-you-think? gesture.
Peter placed his hands on the table and squared his shoulders. He exhaled. Bit down on his top lip.
‘After today I can’t see you again.’
The finality of it scorched through Kenny’s gut. He looked away, allowed it to sink in. Swallowed. His eyes stung. His chest tightened. He fought the emotion. He would not give in to it. He would not let this man see he was hurting. He felt, from the moment he sat down, that this was going to be a one-off meeting and having it spelt out so honestly was almost more than he could bear.
His father reached out a hand. Silently begging for a touch. His fingertips millimetres from his son’s skin. His own eyes were sparkling with tears. Kenny withdrew his hand from the table.
‘I can’t, son. I can’t risk it. The one compensation through all of this has been knowing my absence kept you safe.’
Kenny laughed. The sound was a harsh note that clashed with the everyday laughter that bounced around the room. ‘Aye. The letters. How much of that can you explain?’
‘Just what I wrote. Any more would be too much.’
‘Not good enough, old man.’
‘Please don’t ask any more of me, Kenny.’
‘You missed me as if someone had torn out one of your lungs.’ Kenny repeated his father’s words in a camp voice. ‘I deserve more than platitudes, you cunt. I was fucking twelve!’ He stood up and rushed from the pub, almost knocking a guy over in his rush to get out. The man turned to face up to him, read the look on his face and backed down.
Outside, Kenny marched up and down the pavement like he was desperate to get away, but knowing he couldn’t because the thing he was trying to get away from was straddling his back. His breathing was hard and fast. He fought for control. He needed more from his father, but he wasn’t going to get it if he carried on like this.
He marched back into the bar and sat in front of his father as if he had only gone off to the toilet.
‘Where are you living?’ he asked.
‘I can’t tell you that.’ Peter’s eyes were heavy with regret.
‘Can’t or won’t?’
Peter reached a decision. ‘Balquhidder.’
Kenny shot back in his chair. ‘You’re fucking kidding me?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I was up there not long ago. At the hotel further down the glen.’
‘What made you go there?’ asked Pete, shaken that they’d been so close.
Kenny shrugged. ‘Memories. You took me there when I was a kid.’
‘So I did,’ Peter said, his view lost in the past. ‘How can I ever make this up to you, son?’
Kenny shook his head. ‘You can’t. Or you won’t?’
Peter said nothing. He met his son’s challenge face on, with no answer but a legion of I’m sorry’s and a mountain of regret.
‘I feel like getting wrecked.’ Kenny stood up and looked at the bottle of beer his father had barely touched. ‘Want something stronger than that pish?’
‘A wee malt whisky wouldn’t go amiss,’ Peter replied, his face tr
ansformed with the hope of a thaw in his son’s attitude. Kenny read this and almost slapped him down again. Decided there was no point and walked over to the bar.
He returned with two double whiskies and a tumbler of ice and water.
‘What do you do up in Balquhidder?’ asked Kenny.
‘I work for the Forestry Commission. Kathy’s a teacher in the local school.’ He pulled a glass nearer and tipped a small amount of water into it. ‘I was a mess when we met. She cleaned me up and got me on the straight...’ He stopped when he read Kenny’s expression. ‘You’re not interested in all that stuff.’
‘The weird thing is,’ said Kenny, ‘I could never forget your face. But Mum? She vanished. A few years later and I really couldn’t remember what she looked like.’ As soon as Kenny thought he had dealt with his anger, something occurred to him and it flared back up again. He wasn’t going to hit the old bastard, but sure as fuck he was going to make him squirm. ‘Did you replace Mum as easily as you replaced me?’
‘It wasn’t like that. You’ve got to understand...’
‘I don’t have to understand anything.’
‘I loved your mum. Truth be told, I still do.’ Peter’s hands were wrapped round his glass.
‘Is that why you had an affair with Aunt Vi?’
Peter paused the journey of his arm as he was bringing the glass to his mouth.
‘And please don’t do me the disservice of trying to lie to me,’ said Kenny.
‘You’ve not made any mistakes, Kenny? You’ve done nothing wrong in your whole fucking life?’
‘You don’t get to bat it back to me, Pete. You fucked up. You get to answer for it.’
‘Naw,’ said Peter. ‘It doesn’t work like that, son. You’re an adult. You know how it works. I was a silly wee boy. Full of spunk and vinegar. The world was mine and I was going to take everything I could fit in my pockets. Yes, I made mistakes and yes I’ve been answering for them the last eighteen years and twenty-four days.’
Kenny was unmoved. ‘You had an affair with your wife’s sister. How easy does that kind of betrayal come to you, Dad?
Peter took the blow. Breathed deep as if taking it into his lungs. He had a penance and he was going to accept every last drop of whatever Kenny was going to throw at him. ‘I was young, I was stupid. I was a powerful guy in those days. People looked up to me and it all went to my head. I wasn’t a nice man, Kenny. But I’ve learned from those mistakes...’
‘Vi is convinced that Ian is your son.’
Peter’s face betrayed that he had his own suspicions all along. He shook his head, looked like he wanted to find a bridge and jump off it.
‘How much shit can one man shovel in his life?’ Peter asked and looked deep into the amber of the whisky. ‘Did Colin take it out on you?’
‘He still doesn’t know. I think he knows that you and Vi had an affair and he made me suffer plenty for that over the years. If he ever found out Ian was yours, it would send him off the deep end.’
‘We were good mates once. Colin was a good guy. One of the best. How’s your Aunt Vi?’
‘Not good. In fact, she thinks she’s dying.’
‘What?’ Peter shot forward in his seat.
Kenny filled him in on Vi’s health situation.
‘Where is she?’ Peter asked.
‘She’s in the Royal. You’re not going to visit her, are you?’
‘Wouldn’t be safe. If they ever found out that Vi and I were close...’
‘Who the fuck are “they”?’
‘Kenny, please trust me on this. I can’t tell you.’
‘So we just hide for the rest of our lives? That’s your answer?’
‘Aye.’
‘I say we take them on. You and me. Fuck hiding. There was a horrible accident nearly twenty years ago. Move on, for fuck’s sake.’
‘These people don’t move on, Kenny.’
‘In that case we take the fight to them.’
Peter shook his head. ‘I can’t anymore. I’ve been out of the game for too long. And you...’ – he looked at Kenny’s broken arm – ‘you’ve been taken off the board.’
Kenny took in his father’s words. Something was going on. Something in the wider scheme of things. Words and ideas formed in his mind and vanished before he could grasp them. Images came into focus and as he reached for them they broke up like the reflection on a pool when grabbed for by a child’s hand.
He bit his lip. If only he could figure this all out. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a motorway thick with fog. A step in any direction meant danger. Or it could take him to safety.
‘What did happen to your arm?’ Peter asked.
Kenny explained.
Peter nodded as he listened.
‘Tell me about this woman, Alexis.’
Peter studied Kenny’s face as he spoke.
‘You in love with her?’ Peter asked.
Kenny nodded.
Peter leaned forward on to the table his head in his hands. He groaned. ‘Fuck.’ He stood up, looked around him wildly.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Kenny.
‘Oh my God. I’ve got to go.’ Peter hurried to the door. Kenny followed and caught him out on the street.
‘Kenny, what have you done? You fucking idiot.’ Peter was striding back and forward much like Kenny was minutes before. ‘This is how they work. Fuck! I’ve got to get home. Make sure everyone is okay.’ His eyes were wild with panic.
‘Will you calm the fuck down and tell me what the hell is going on?’
‘Everything. Us two here. The broken arm. The prostitute. It’s all part of the plan, Kenny, and they’ve got us exactly where they want us.’
48
Mason Budge stood in the shadows and watched the two men walk to the corner. Nice, he thought. Everything was falling into place, just as the boss suggested it would. He was a very clever man, devious as all hell, but that made it such a pleasure to work with him.
He thought of the old woman in the hospital. She’d had her uses. The stroke and the heart attack thing was just a bonus, but she’d unwittingly played her part in the whole opera beautifully. Because that was what it was: an opera minus the music and the fat bastards in black.
Movement caught his eye and it was the whore running out of O’Neill’s door.
‘Hey,’ he shouted, ‘where the hell are you going?’
Alexis’ head swung round. She spotted him and her face lengthened in alarm. Then she spun and ran in the opposite direction.
‘Don’t make me fucking run, woman,’ he shouted. ‘It will be worse for you when I eventually catch up with you.’ Her answer to this threat was a panicked clatter of heels on pavement as she increased her speed.
Budge caught her without too much trouble. This meant he wasn’t too annoyed with her.
‘Where do you think you’re going, young lady?’ he asked, holding on to her arm.
‘Let me go, Budge.’ Her voice was shrill. ‘I can’t take any more of this.’
‘Need I remind you of the deal you struck with the boss?’
‘I don’t care.’ She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Stop,’ Budge shouted in her face. Cowed by this display of aggression, she stopped moving and hung her head.
‘You love him, don’t you?’ Budge asked.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ She flicked her hair back from her face and stared defiance into his.
‘Whatever,’ said Budge. ‘Doesn’t really matter. Despite your pathetic efforts, the final pieces are now on the board.’
‘Ho!’ a deep voice shouted from further up the street. ‘Let her go, ya wanker.’ The drum of feet and a large, broad-shouldered youth was in his face. ‘Ah said let her go, fuckface.’
‘Mark,’ said Alexis, ‘just
go. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’
Mark grabbed her other arm. ‘No. You’re coming with me. The boss trusted me to look after you. And thanks, by the way, for running away. Makes me look like a total tosser.’
‘Mark, please,’ Alexis said, stepping closer to Budge. ‘Just go.’
‘Naw, I’m no going without you. So Mr...’ – he looked Budge up and down, looking for a suitable epithet – ‘...Mr Bawjaws can go and fuck himself.’
‘Go on,’ Budge said and smiled. ‘Make it interesting.’
Mark was bouncing on his toes, looking from Alexis to Budge. Ready to attack.
‘Mason, I’ll do whatever you want. Just let Mark go,’ Alexis shouted, her face a picture of panic.
Budge could read the expression on the boy’s face. He was wondering why the woman was acting so scared; looking at him and thinking there was nothing to be scared of. The boy’s posture read of nothing but confidence. He was sure he could take Budge.
Budge was happy to disabuse him of that notion.
The boy lunged. Budge slipped to the side and avoided him easily. As the body mass passed him, Budge brought up a knee and caught the boy in the gut. A fist to the cheek and the boy was on the ground. Breathing heavy. His face bright with surprise. And fury.
The boy jumped to his feet. ‘I made that easy for you, ya cunt. Now I’m about to make it much, much harder.’
Budge was light on his feet, ready to move in either direction. He was enjoying himself. This was like a warm-up to the main event. Except the boy surprised him. He feinted to the left but before Budge could read what was happening, the boy was inside his defences and planted a hook on his chin. Budge had moved with the punch and this diffused much of the intent but it did hurt. He rubbed at his jaw.
‘Not so cocky now, ya bastard,’ said Mark.
Nobody hits Mason Budge. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever made contact with him. The fun had gone. It was time to put a stop to this.
Alexis read his expression and she was shouting in his ear, ‘No, Budge, no. He’s only a kid.’
Beyond the Rage Page 27