Dead Men's Trousers

by Irvine Welsh

  Ponce plays a Navy Seal who bursts out of an Iraqi prison, coming across an encampment in the desert where a team of aid workers are held hostage by the enemy. He infiltrates the stockade, only to find out that the elusive weapons of mass destruction are stored there. He falls for one of the aid workers, played by Charmaine Garrity. There follows a strong action sequence with the actor depicted hanging from the wing of a plane, proving Chuck had a head for heights. But in real life it was essential to have those green screens, safety harnesses and stunt doubles. Jim dozes off just after Chuck’s most memorable line, where he drawls to an Iraqi general, — You can tell your boss, Mr Saddam Hussein, that this American does not like sand in his turkey and has kinda got his heart set on getting these good people home for Thanksgiving!

  At the airport, they retrieve the station wagon from the long-stay park, and Jim takes the wheel on the two-hour stretch out to Santa Barbara. Picking up their daughters and Sauzee, the French bulldog, from Melanie’s mother’s place, they gratefully continue on. Melanie drives this leg, with Jim in the front passenger seat. Grace is delighted to be with them, as is the younger Eve, but she fixes Jim in a reprimanding stare. — I don’t like it when you go away, Daddy. It makes me angry.

  Jim Francis looks round at his daughter. — Hey, Snottery Sleeve! When things make you angry, you know what you do?

  Eve shakes her head.

  — Pull in a very deep breath and count to ten. Can you do that?

  The child nods, closing her eyes and aggressively filling her lungs with air. Melanie and Jim exchange a smile as the station wagon leaves Highway 101.

  That night, after they put the kids to bed, and fatigue begins to creep up on them, Melanie, sitting with her husband on the couch, squeezes his hand and declares, — I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far. It’s not the money, even though it opens doors for us. We really can go anywhere now.

  — I like it here, Jim stresses. — Santa Barbara’s a great town. The kids love it. They love to see your folks. Grace is getting on great at the school, Eve will be there soon. Don’t worry about Harry, he’ll come to his senses. And we’ve got the tape.

  Harry was good at stakeouts. He’d felt anxious and excited in equal measure when he learned that the Francis family had returned. He hadn’t dared to go back to the house, but had waited outside the older girl’s school till it was finally Melanie, not the kid’s grandmother, who picked her up. Harry drove back to circle the neighbourhood, where he found that Jim was also present. He risked a glimpse in the rear-view mirror as he passed, and saw him, deathly still, as he supervised a shitting puppy on the front lawn. Turning onto the slip road that snaked above the block of houses where the Francis home was situated, Harry then pulled up. Vaulting over the barrier, into the forested verge that sloped towards the backyard of the target dwelling in that cul-de-sac, he scrambled down the bank, the leather bag containing the assault rifle slung across his back. From above, he could still hear the rumble of the traffic on the freeway. Keeping his distance behind a small oak, shielded in some thick foliage, he found an ideal station.

  Taking out his rifle and assembling it, Harry attached the sights. His heartbeat pumped up when he saw to his amazement that his quarry was now in the backyard! Harry scoped Jim Francis, as he bent down to pick up one of the kids, the younger, more demanding child. To his shock and cold revulsion, he found himself moving the sights down past Francis, onto the chubby head of his young daughter. That was the shot that would hurt Francis, and her, Melanie, the most. The urge to just squeeze made him giddy and he felt the rifle shaking as, with a concentrated effort of willpower, he unhooked his finger from the trigger.

  No no no …

  Not the children. And not Francis either, at least not until Melanie was forced to confront what he was. Until he confessed to her about those men he’d slain on the beach. Killing was easy. But it was a poor compromise. True vengeance, total justice and complete redemption, those were the building blocks of grace, and Harry had to strive for them.

  He again focused on Francis, as the kid ran into the house. His prey was looking off into the distance. Even from this range, and with Harry having the power of death trained on him, there was still something about this motherfucker that gave him the creeps. He felt the phantom constriction round his throat, and the rising of his heartbeat was real enough.

  Maybe just take that shot …

  The sun was almost overhead. Soon the lens of the scope would glint through the bushes, and Francis would pick it up on his blazing, swivel-eyed radar. Harry lowered the weapon, bagged it up and threw it across his shoulder. Clambering up the slope, he pulled himself back over the barrier to the slip road. Got in the car and drove onto the freeway.

  The behaviour of his nemesis had convinced Harry that there was now only one way to resolve this. When he struck, it would be decisive, and Jim Francis would be no more. But that alone wasn’t enough. She would know, oh yes, Melanie would know, exactly what she had married, what a tawdry and pathetic lie her life was.

  Part Four

  June 2016

  Brexit

  33

  RENTON – VICTORIA’S SECRET

  The train rolls into Salisbury Station. I’m exiting, saying my farewell tae two young squaddies I chatted wi on the short journey fae Bristol. We were swapping stories and I told them about my brother, blown up in Northern Ireland three decades ago. I felt instantly bad about that disclosure, as it left them oan a bit ay a downer. The older ye get the harder ye have tae fight against being socially inappropriate, becoming mair prone tae narcissistic emotional outbursts. They were nice lads and the fact that they’re in soldier uniform is constant proof that a nation state isnae a kind construct if you urnae rich.

  I’m nervous as I’d got no reply after texting Victoria to tell her I wis en route tae Salisbury, and what train I was coming off. I said ah’d see her later at the crematorium. I’m thinking that Willow maybe read this all wrong and the guy who gave her a dose ay the John Knox is the last person she wants tae see at her sister’s funeral. But tae ma surprise, she’s waiting there, on the station platform. She now looks smaller, older and frightened. Circumstance has stripped the vivaciousness fae her. The Californian sun-bleached blonde hair is already fading tae a murky Blighty brunette. She seems both surprised and relieved when ah take her in ma airms and hold her. It was either that or touch her hand and say something too cold. — Oh, Vic, I’m so sorry, I gasp intae her ear, and her tense body relaxes in my embrace, telling me it was the right move. And tae think I had rehearsed clichéd shit like ‘how are you bearing up?’ So irrelevant, as the tears streaming doon her cheeks and her choking sobs provide aw the requisite information. It’s like hugging a pneumatic drill workmen use tae dig roads. But aw I can do is hud oan till they subside a little, then whisper in her ear aboot getting tea.

  She looks up, her eyes wet. She wisely hasnae worn mascara. Her lips curl doon in an oddly childlike parody ay misery, which ah’ve never seen fae her before. I take her airm, and as we exit the red-bricked Victorian station, the first thing ah see is the beautiful spired cathedral, which dominates the toon. She takes me tae a touristy tea room on a winding shopping street. It’s a fussy wee low-ceilinged joint, where two women, one an older, determinedly manageress type, the other a younger trainee, are chatting and busying themselves behind the counter. I order some tea and scones, and we sit doon away fae the windae, at Vicky’s urging. Of course: she’ll no want tae display herself tae her home toon in this frame ay mind. — You didn’t need to come down here for me, Mark, she says plaintively, her voice breaking.

  — Maybe we’re just going to have to agree to disagree on that one, I tell her. Fuck me, I would take on aw the pain in the world right now, just tae alleviate one moment ay her throttling sadness. I can’t believe I left it so long to see her.

  — I’m so sorry, she says, fighting back tears, as her hand reaches across the table and fastens onto mine. — This is so stupid and horri
ble, and yeah, so fucking embarrassing. She forces a big breath into her lungs. Her voice still seems so small, like it’s coming fae somewhere much deeper inside her than is normal. — I was kind of seeing somebody for a while, this guy Dominic … She halts as the younger lassie nervously approaches wi the tea and scones I ordered, setting them doon oan the table. I smile at her, catching the disapproving eye ay the manageress, who looks at ays as if ah intend tae pimp the girl oot.

  As she leaves, Vicky continues. — Dominic and I weren’t exclusive, but you know that … and he didn’t look after himself …

  Fuck … I don’t believe it … Not Vicky, no my English Rose … my English Bonnyrigg Rose …

  — … You were away, and we hadn’t really talked, like defined where we were going with all this, she looks downcast, — … I felt a vibe, but I worried that I was being presumptuous …

  Fucking hell, man, what the fuck … The tea room is so frightfully English, with its drapes, cluttered faux-country artefacts, and delicate bone-china cups and saucers. I feel like we’re two sticks ay Semtex in a decorative cake tin. — We really don’t need tae do this now, honey, I tell her, but I know she couldnae stop if she wanted tae.

  Vicky shakes her head and smiles tightly, no really hearing ma intervention. — Anyway, he gave me something, brought me a present back from Thailand … She looks up at me.

  This is so hard for her tae say. It’s horrible seeing her like this, but if she only knew how much ay a relief it also is for ays tae hear this, thinking it was me who had given the present tae her.

  — This really was before you and I got properly … well, whatever we got, she chews on her lower lip. — I didn’t know, Mark. I gave it to you, right? I did. I’m so sorry.

  I slide my chair round next tae Victoria’s, pulling her to me, my arm around her shoodirs. — It’s just one ay those things, babe. A quick visit tae the doc’s, a week on the antibiotics and it was gone. It’s no important.

  — It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever picked up an STD. Honestly, she says, gaping lamps, the palm ay her hand literally on her heart.

  — Unfortunately I can’t say the same, I confess, — though it has been a while. But as I say, these things happen. And I cannae point any fingers at you, for going with somebody else. My instinct is tae run when feelings start tae get intense in that way.

  — You said you were with that woman, Katrin, for quite a while. You’re maybe not as much a commitmentphobe as you think, she says generously.

  — That was an emotionally barren relationship, and it probably suited ays at the time, I tell her, glancing at the manageress looking at me like I’m a Rottweiler who has just shat on the lawn ay her country garden. — Then Alex came along, and he had certain needs, so I stuck around way too long, trying tae make it work.

  — I wish you weren’t so nice about this … I mean, you give a guy a dose of the clap and he says it’s not important … but I know it was. I know that’s why you didn’t get in touch.

  — No … I saw somebody else too, I admit. — From my own past. It was nothing, and as you say, terms were never defined, but I thought that I’d given it tae you.

  — Oh God, what a pair we are, she gasps in something like relief. I’m wondering if she believes what I’ve said or thinks I’m just making it up tae help her feel better. — How did you … did Willow … does she know about the STD?

  — Yes, she did, and no, she doesnae ken aboot the Maria von Trapp. As I said, these things happen. It was just a daft wee accident. Your sis, honey … that’s the real deal. I’m so sorry. I squeeze Victoria tighter. Then a juddering bolt surges right through ays as Marianne and Emily gatecrash intae ma thoughts and ma fingers painfully intertwine with hers.

  — You’re really are a nice guy, Mark, Vicky says, tearing me away fae my ain pulsing angst. This is a fucking roller coaster. I cannae even speak. I thought getting older would make things easier. Does it fuck.

  Her big haunted blue eyes. I want tae swim in them. I’m barely reacting tae the worst compliment you can gie tae somebody like me: a nice guy. Tae my Leith lugs, it’s always a euphemism for a sap, even if she doesnae mean it that way. Sometimes ye have tae step past yourself. Past aw those voices you’ve always heard in your heid. All the shite that you’ve let define ye: that ignorance, certainty and reticence. Because it’s fuckin crap, all of it. You’re nothing but a work-in-progress until that day you fall out of this world into the land ay dead men’s trousers. — I love you.

  Vicky lifts her head, and looks at me, joy and pain bursting out through her tears. A snottery bubble explodes from one nostril. I pass her a napkin. — Oh, Mark, thank you for saying it first! I missed seeing you so much. Christ, I love the shit out of you, and I thought I’d blown it!

  I’m fuckin useless at receiving praise and this is as high as it gets. I respond wi humour, tae reduce the unbearable tension and the strangulating rapture inside ay me. — If you’re referring to your nose, then yes, you just did. If you mean you and me, I’m afraid you’re no getting away that easily.

  Vicky puts her beautiful, reddish, blubbering face onto mine and her lips send soul-scorching kisses through me. I can taste the salty discharge fae her beak, trickling over our lips, and I love it. We sit there for ages, oblivious even tae the undoubted scrutiny ay the manageress, and talk about her sister. Hannah died in a car crash in Dubai, where she was on a break fae her duties working for an overseas aid organisation in Africa. A driver in a car in the opposite lane went into cardiac arrest, lost control and smashed intae her head-on, killing her instantly. Ironically, he survived, and was resuscitated with minor injuries. Vicky looks at her watch, and ye sense that she’s been putting it off. — We should make our way to the crematorium, she says.

  I pay the young lassie, leaving a decent tip. She smiles appreciatively, as the manageress tracks our departure, her face set in Thatcherite cheerlessness. Ootside, we walk through the Queen’s Gardens, along the grassy banks ay the River Avon. — It’s pretty cool here. Wish thaire wis time tae see Auld Sarum and Stonehenge.

  — Honey, we are going to have to continue this romance in LA, because your accent has gotten so thick, I can barely understand you, and she laughs and my soul ignites.

  — It has, hasn’t it? Been back a lot lately, seeing some old pals.

  — I’m dreading seeing mine, cause they were Hannah’s friends too.

  Fuck me, ah wish ah could take her pain, but that’s the narcissistic element ay love talking. It’s no yours tae take. All you can dae is be there.

  It’s maybe a crass thing tae say, but wi its big chessboard walls oan the main building and the tower, Salisbury has the coolest crematorium ah’ve ever seen. As the mourners acknowledge each other, I leave Vicky tae her grim meet-and-greet duties. An attendant, noting me taking in the architecture, explains that Scandinavians designed the facility. Tae me it feels uplifting rather than morose, reminding me ay the DMT trips, like a launchpad tae the next life. Nonetheless, the funeral is shite, as the untimely death ay a young person always is. I obviously didnae ken Hannah, but the outpouring ay grief and torment is real enough tae evidence a pretty amazing and deeply loved woman. They talk about Hannah’s VSO work, culminating in NGO stuff in Ethiopia and Sudan, then working for a human rights charity based in London. The sort ay person a total wanker, that never did a thing for anybody in their lives, least of all themselves, would dismiss as a do-gooder. — I wish I’d known her. I kind of miss not knowing her, I tell Vicky.

  Instead I get tae meet Victoria’s remaining family and her friends. Her mum and dad, the dimmed life-essence in their eyes set in ashen pallor, have had everything ripped out ay them, and are clearly broken. I’ve lost two brothers and my ma but I still feel it doesn’t give me a notion of the kind ay road they have tae go down in order tae get back tae any sort ay normality. Vicky helps, and they cling tae her like limpets. They can see the bond between us and don’t seem tae be unhappy about it. They probably wish I was a bit y
ounger. Fair enough, I feel the same way.

  As funerals do, it made ays think ay the people I know. How I have tae make mair time for them. It takes practically two minutes to put this resolution tae the test as I switch my phone back on after the service at the chapel of rest. I’m rereading that old email from Victoria. She wisnae ditching me, she was assuming I was ditching her because she gied me a dose. I then see three missed calls from an Edinburgh landline number. My first thought is: my dad. He’s healthy, but he’s no young any more. Things can change so quickly. When the same number goes again, I pick up as I watch Vicky and her parents shake hands wi the departing mourners.

  — Mark, it’s Alison. Alison Lozinska.

  — I know who you are, Ali. I recognise the voice. How are ye?

  — Good. But it’s Danny.

  — Spud? How is he?

  — He’s gone, Mark. He died this morning.

  Fuck.

  No Spud.

  No my snottery-nosed old comrade in misadventure … Berlin … What the fuck …

  I’m feeling bits ay masel breaking off inside. No believing a word ay it. Not fucking having it. — But … he was getting better …

  — It was his heart. They said it was weakened after the poisoning, following that kidney donation.

  — But … oh fuck … how is your son, the name pops into my head, — how is Andy taking it?

  — He feels terrible, Mark, he thinks he should have tried to help his dad more.

  — He couldnae be Spud’s parent, Ali, it’s not on him.

  Ali is silent for such a long while, I’m wondering if she’s hung up. As I go to speak, her voice starts again. — I’m just glad Danny did something so good wi his life, donating that kidney tae save that bairn.

  This is obviously the narrative that’s been spun, so I’m fucked if I’m ruining it. – Aye, it was a great thing he did. How did he — what happened?