– Where’s Tam? she said to the man.
– Off the day, missus.
– When’s he on?
– Believe he’s on holiday.
– When’s he back? When?
The guy had whiskers coming out his ears.
– He’s gettin his leave in, he’s due to retire. Cleared his lockers. He’s off the rota.
– Where can I get hold of him?
– I’m sorry, missus, that’s no for me to say. That’s private.
– Private! The bastard’s pinched the story of my life! Not just my life, my life life—
– That’s between you and Tam, missus, nothin to do with ScotRail.
– Come on, it’s not about Tam, it’s somebody else—
– I telled him, said the man. I telled Tam plenty times, It’s only left luggage, it’s no worth cuttin your throat for, don’t get involved.
She took a taxi back up. It was 12.13.
– Where’s Alison? she said to the Admin Secretary.
– Gone for an early lunch.
– Did she say where, Marilyn?
– No. She said you were due to meet up with her at noon.
– Blast, was I? Thanks.
could you fling me
He was still in the maze. The student shouted again, after climbing the tower.
– I’m away to get a sandwich from the café. Do you want me to get you something? I could fire it over?
– That’s good of you, he said. Could you fling me a cheese-and-pickle?
Alison sat in a snug in The Prince. No sign of Lucy. Pain, ignore. She phoned Gwen. Off, busy. She texted her. She was waiting for Finlay to heat up her bacon, brie and cranberry ciabatta and bring it through.
Maciek came out of KostKutter and walked along UberStreet towards the top of Market Street. He had just come out of the manager’s office. He had arranged a bulk discount, big bulk, big discount, with the stuff delivered free to the communal flat in Torry. Being a catering squad foreman himself had helped. Now he would spread the word, picking his people. He had to counter Pawel and Lech. Pawel in particular was always pushing for action. Housing, transport, underpayment, illegal hours. Pawel was right. But there would be bad reaction against Poles if things went wrong.
Guy Bord had a date with Lord Provost William Swink, director of Swink Stillwater, owner of Mountain Heart. There were still aspects of the deal to tie up. It was probably best defined as private-public-private-private, the stage it had got to. They dined at the Elms, at a discreet table near the window. Guy had booked a posse of five tables in a semi-circle, like empty wagons, just to be sure no-one would overhear. He had paid the manager off.
William Swink preferred to be known as William Swink II, Yankee style. But even after forty years of black gold flowing, lots of the locals were still stuck in their ways.
– Guy, he said. Want a wet? I’ll get it.
– Table water, said Guy. I have to keep one eye on UbSpec’s partners, you know, when I get back. Lucy for one, he thought. Alison to an extent. Luna? Both eyes on her.
– On the rocks? said Swink.
– Absolutely.
– Two Mountain Hearts, dear, please, plenty ice, said William Swink. What specials do we have today?
Mountain Heart was the brand name many now used for the thing itself, for bottled water, like saying Coke for cola. It denoted pure spring water from the Cairngorm plateau, rushed cold and full of natural minerals to your table. It was pretty forward-looking when his father, a previous Lord Provost, had set it up in the late Sixties. Apart from Vichy, and that had unfortunate connotations, there hadn’t been that much of a market for – well, water.
– All the best, said William Swink II. This is the dog’s bollocks, eh, no healthy adjectives or chemical shite.
– Adjectives? said Guy.
– Cheers, said the Lord Provost.
– Oh, said Guy, right. Cheers.
The Leopard cursed the pair of them. Their specially planted buttonhole cameras kept swinging round, Bord and Swink. He couldn’t check their body language.
But the sound worked, the sound usually did. And at least the waitress in the Elms was tasty.
fuckin loonies
Guy was summonsed immediately, the minute he had paid the bill and said farewell to Swink. He flagged a taxi and promised the driver a fiver if he hit the gas. The driver was cursing UberStreet’s new pavementette, which would keep him off his favoured route permanently.
– Yes, terrible, said Guy.
– Fuckin loonies, said the taxi man.
– No way round? said Guy.
– Jist narra wee roads, Waverley, Thistle Street. The fuckin lights at the Library, they’re aye against you.
– I know what you mean, said Guy. Step on it, please, I’m tight for time.
He flipped the man a fiver, even though he was late, got through security by peering into a box in the wall, and sprinted up the North Turret stairs. The cylindrical stainless lift was reserved for, but seldom used by, the Leopard.
– Luna? said the Leopard, when Guy arrived in the Fastness, panting.
– No, said Guy. Just got here.
– Will I call her through, I mean? said the Leopard. Look, there she is.
Guy could see Luna, repeated ninefold on the console off to the side of the Leopard’s desk. She was curled up on the couch in a gown, with a good book or something. It must be a real tear-jerker, her shoulders were heaving.
– No, it’s okay, said Guy. Wouldn’t want to intrude.
– I think she likes you, said the Leopard. I thought there was evidence of that.
– You’re very lucky, said Guy. Then, with quick amendment, You deserve her.
– Not your sort, said the Leopard. Plenty between the legs, nothing between the ears. Now listen.
accident waiting
Lucy got back in her office, opened her top drawer, and detached a couple of hankies. She was lashing with sweat from the dash downtown.
Julie went to bed after midnight,
– Who the fuck’s Julie? Oh, her—
Julie went to bed after midnight, after filling her twin 70 cu ft alloy bottles out in the shed by the tennis court, and after saying goodnight to her father’s select Hogmanay party. She intended to sleep through that party and be up early for her New Year dive. Her scientist partners had flunked out, particularly Jamie. A real keep-your-powder-dry one, Jamie. She would dive alone. In her bedroom she ensured that the O-rings of her Calypso underwater camera were greased. Then she checked her wetsuit zip was free and working.
Julie a diver? thought Lucy. With that zip so free, Julie sounded more like an accident waiting to happen.
She might dream of strange fish. She might dream she was up close to a filling bottle, one hand on the handle of the portable compressor, watching the needle judder to the red. Knowing she could be blown apart, kneeling to observe. Well, a girl could dream.
Lucy found herself stiffening.
They had no sooner demolished their lemonades and, in Annie’s case, her small sherry (Jim, of course, drank nothing), when the bell ping-ponged for the third time. I’ll get it, said Annie, who had left her Forestry revision upstairs and was now really perky. Andy went with her to the door anyway, in case. They opened the door to his brother-in-law. There was a new woman standing beside him. Come awa, come awa, Hughie, said Andy, I see ye’ve got your squeeze-box? I beg your pardon? said the new woman.
Good for her, thought Lucy.
His accordion, said Andy. Your accordion, Hughie. They laughed. Jim grimaced at the level of humour. Georgina this is Annie, and this is Andy, Madge’s man, said Uncle Hugh. Hi Annie, hello, Andy, said Georgina, I never met your Madge, but I heard a lot about her. I heard she was a lovely woman.
Lucy paused, why and for how long she didn’t know. Then she went through and got a latte from the machine. And a diet bar.
Aye, weel, come in, the pair o ye said Andy. Dinna wear oot the step, eternally standi
n. They went through. Ludwig, Amande, this is Georgina. Happy New Year, Georgina, said Ludwig. What do you work at? Not a big lot really, said Georgina. I clean kirks and control taxis. There were a few exchanges, then Annie said, Hey we’ve got seven now and an accordion. If one more comes, we’ll have enough for Strip the Willow. Daft, said Jim. The accordionist has to play. He can hardly dance at the same time, stupid. Watch it, said his father, apologise to your sister. Well, she deserves it, said Jim.
Lucy dropped her sweaty tissues in the bin.
Strip the Willow. The ultimate social dance. Line of women, multiples of four, equal line of men. Travelling steps to get you up and down the lines, plus pivoting steps, whirling your own and every other woman’s partner round, weaving with crooked, uncrooking arms. You could hardly go wrong but, if you did, it just redoubled all the laughter.
She danced it first at those Communist socials, the socials her mother Marcie took her to till she was nine or so, and then, when disillusion, drink and death kicked in, never again.
Andy, said Ludwig, sorry I have not seen you this long time. Aye, we’ve missed ye, said Andy. Each arm of Ludwig’s Cintique chair was angled modishly, like a nursery ski-slope, so Ludwig had to coddle his lemonade single-handed. You know I never go back to Hamburg yet? I ken, I ken, said Andy. Sonia, Wilhelm, Eva, I always hope they die quickly. Nae use tormentin yersel, Ludwig man. But I know there are those who fire not yet touches, said Ludwig. They scream for air, suck draughts, they press low to the floor. Horrible, said Andy, horrible. They drown dry in their own house, said Ludwig. Terrible, terrible thing, war, them that have kent it, said Andy. Tough tae thole, tough tae endure, tougher tae leave ahind, said Andy. Dae we ever, man? Sometimes I think we jist repeat, repeat.
Then on top, last January, said Ludwig, I get a letter from a woman I never hear of, in Germany. She has been going through her husband’s papers, and finds my name, some family cuttings. She finds something else too. This is the worst. This woman’s husband has been in the camps in Poland. I don’t wish to listen, said Amande. Come, Georgina. They went through to the kitchen. The others stayed as Ludwig continued.
The very bad camps. And he is there in uniform. Birkenau, the Birch Wood, the big camp of Auschwitz. And did this woman’s husband hae a brither, said Andy, is that it? My brother Kepler, I always had fear and doubt, said Ludwig. My own brother, to do such stuff. Aye, if only they’d kept Birkenau as a birch wood, Andy said. There’s certain folk should be kept stuck on the flat o their erse, till they learn tae leave things be. Good idea, Andy, said Ludwig. To make fascists stay in the house, wear always carpet slippers. Absolutely force them tae wear them, said Andy. Eh, Ludwig?
Jim had always admired Ludwig, the way he had recovered from his accident with the hopper and rotating knives, but now he felt distaste rising, focussed on that hook. The hook seemed to attract tragedy and to signal too much defeat. He felt guilty about deserting Ludwig, so he went through to the kitchen.
Alison poked her head round the door.
– Sorry, sorry, sorry, said Lucy. I know we said noon.
– It’s okay, said Alison, I ken ye’re – preoccupied.
It sounded as though a person had been taken over.
– I am, I am. Three, then?
– Like I said, said Alison, there’s been this bust-up. Otto’s trailin new stuff for Guy. I dinna ken fit’s behind it.
– Not Underwater Sex again!
– No. Funny thing is, I think they’re aa set tae concede on the Civil War.
– Marilyn doesn’t think so.
– Pity, because we’ve deen that muckle research. Specially trackin that early Lucy—
– Ur-Lucy, said Lucy. She’d be three hundred and eighty, I think, this year. If she’d lived, poor lass.
– Aye, said Alison, I mind ye were fine pleased. Findin anither Lucy fae days lang syne, anither Cooncil worker—
– Right. But what exactly is UbSpec after?
– Otto’s sayin they want a freer hand.
– A freer hand. Well, we knew that was coming.
– And they want the Joint Working Group to be jist an annual review body. Annual review! I tellt Otto tae ging an fuck himsel.
– Did he?
– He cam back an said, Quarterly?
– Okay, but what are we saying?
– I’ve aaready gone an said it.
– Yes, but that’s just another of their dummies. What have you said to the free hand nonsense? We need to play this. You and me. There’s no point calling in the Chief Exec. He won’t come. Three o’clock? Four?
– Let’s leave it, said Alison, till the morn. I’ve a special date wi Finlay the nicht, an I want tae nip aff sharp an get a fresh blouse an things.
– Congratulations, dear. How old is he?
– Auld enough tae be oot on his ain.
– Tomorrow then, first thing. Enjoy the boy.
i’ll hoover beneath you
Jim entered the kitchen. There was a loaf out on the table. Amande was slicing it. The year could not be expected to proceed much further without sandwiches. What kind of sandwiches are you proposing? said Georgina. I don’t know, said Amande. Andy wasn’t expecting people. You’re never sure, are you? said Georgina. He is equipped with eggs and bacon, but has no ready pastry for the quiche, said Amande. Could you let me through to the sink, please, said Jim. Mais oui, said Amande. Yes, a quiche is nice sometimes, said Georgina. Why don’t you make boiled egg sandwiches? An endless hollow crystal drummed on the metal sink. The people will let fall petty morsels on his carpet, said Amande. Oh well, that’s out then, said Georgina. What else has he got? said Georgina. Some cheese, Brussels sprout. Jim made the water drum louder. Brussels sprouts? Oui. Probably just the cheese then, said Georgina. You could grate it so it sits fluffier and goes further. On his carpet? said Amande. The water was on full blast. What? said Georgina. On his carpet? said Amande. Yes, grated cheese is bad to get out, said Georgina. I remember an occasion when. Would you shut up! said Jim. Would you shut up about cheese and carpets, and speak about something serious for a change? Hélas, hélas, attention, said Amande, you are not so kind. As my father? said Jim. Not so soft, I think you mean. Not so kind as you used to be, said Amande. Well things change, don’t they, he said. Do they? said Amande. Why is this? Dunno, he said. Parce que, Amande. I’m Jim, that’s all I know.
– Are you fuck, said Lucy. Aloud. She surprised herself.
The door opened. A cleaner said, Oh, I thought there was no-one here. Then I heard voices.
– Do you need in? said Lucy. What time is it?
– Three o’clock, said the cleaner. I’ll just be five minutes. You’re not usually messy. I’m cleaning early today, I’ve got special leave for my sister’s henny.
– I’ll go and sit in reception, said Lucy.
– No need. When I come back, just lift up your feet and I’ll hoover beneath you.
– Thanks, said Lucy. That’s a big help.
Jim poured himself a glass of water, now that the tap had run clear. When he turned with his brimming glass, Amande was pulling at her ringless finger and Georgina had put her head in the larder. That’s me, he said, plinking the glass down. Bye, ladies. He was just pulling the back door closed behind him, when his father came through. Fit’s aa this nonsense, his father said. It wasn’t a question. Come in back in this very minute. It wasn’t even a coherent command. Fit on earth’s the point o goin oot an gettin frozen? said his father. It’s totally brass, ye must be aff yir chump. Ye’re nae Admiral Byrd. I never said I was Admiral Byrd, did I? said Jim. I’m only out for a flamin run. Dinna start bawlin at me! said his father. Well, that’s what I need, a flamin run! Jim shouted. Selfish brat, ye’re aye oot on some ploy, said his father. What’s the point o the Council buildin this hoose for ye, an ye winna even bide in it? Some of us are not the Council’s puppet, said Jim.
Get you, thought Lucy.
– D’ye mind? said the cleaner, who had trundled back in.
>
– No, said Lucy, and lifted her feet.
Vera smart, said his father. The Council is welcome to my share of the house, said Jim, if that’s what bothers it. Bothers it! said his father. I dinna ken why we bothered tae win the War, said his father. Eh, Ludwig, fit’s this, ye aff already? said Andy, seeing who was through in the hall, climbing into his leathers. Bye, said Ludwig. It is a big pity, all this shouting. Bide, bide, Ludwig man, said Andy Endrie. The quines are just makkin the sandwiches, look. Bide. I think I go before it over freezes, said Ludwig. Annie’s eyes glistened, standing beside Ludwig. She was helping him with his difficult fastenings. Now we’ll never get that dance, she said. We’ll never get enough folk to be in the house at the one time.
Ye see that, said his father, when Ludwig had gone, ye spile aathing. I think you’ll find there’s somebody better at that than me, said Jim. I’m sick to the teeth of the way you treat me, he said to his father. His father swung the flat of his hand at his son’s impudent face. He telegraphed it, so that it missed. Get oot, he said, and never darken this door again. Until ye’re prepared tae say a sorry. You’ll be the one that says a sorry, said his son, and made good his slam.
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