She turns to Euan, still looking at Simon. — Well, he obviously isn’t going to introduce us. I’m Marianne.
Euan extends his hand, glancing over at his brother-in-law whose fingers now caress Jill’s dark-stockinged thigh, as her tongue goes into his ear.
And Euan is looking at Marianne, who watches the scene in sheer loathing. Yes, he considers, she might even be close to his age, but there is something majestic about her. All the flaws of ageing, the lines, the bags, the crow’s feet, seem to have been airbrushed from her. He wonders if it could be the drug. All he sees is the essence of this strikingly beautiful woman. — Euan, he introduces himself. — Have you known Simon long?
— For years. Since I was in my teens. I’d say twenty per cent a blessing, eighty per cent a curse, she informs him in a monotone voice. To his ear, it straddles scheme and suburb.
— Wow. In what sense? he asks, moving closer to her, and looking at Simon.
— He’s a menace to lassies, Marianne says matter-of-factly. — He makes them fall for him, and then he just uses them.
— But… you’re still here, in his company.
— Then I’m still in his control, she laughs joylessly, then bitterly lashes out and kicks Simon’s shin. — Bastard.
— What? Simon breaks his grip on Jill to glare at her. — Are you fucking mental? Calm doon!
— Fucking bastard. Marianne kicks out again, then, looking at the younger woman, acidly scoffs, — You poor wee fucking cow. He’s an old cunt now. I least I was conned by a young, exciting guy, and she rises and throws the contents of her wine glass over him.
Simon Williamson sits immobile, wine dripping from his face, as the oohs and aahs of the nearby drinkers reverberate. Euan fishes out his hanky and passes it to his brother-in-law. — Go after her, Simon urges him, nodding at the departing Marianne. — Talk to her. Been stalking me for weeks, knowing I’d be up from London for Christmas. She resents that she’s no longer young, but it happens to us all. I mean, get the fuck over yourself, he intones in a rising plea to the bar, before turning to Jill. — Repeat after me: I will never turn into my mother!
— I will never turn into my mother, Jill says emphatically.
— Attagirl. Simon appreciatively grapples her knee. — It’s all a state of mind. You obviously have the big-match temperament.
— I’m ticklish, Jill chuckles and pushes his hand away, before asking, — Do you think I could work for Colleagues? I’ve no got an MBA but I’ve an HND in Management Studies fae Napier and I just need another four credits to get it made up tae a BA.
— If BA stands for beautiful arse — and I think in your case it does — then it seems to me that you have all the essential attributes! Though all potential partners, as we call them, are subject to the most rigorous and searching interview procedures, he purrs.
Euan is done with Simon’s company. Perversely, his brother-in-law probably meant well in his own twisted way, but he has filled him full of drugs, and attempted to get him to cheat on his wife, the man’s own sister! He hesitates for a second, before rising to follow Marianne. In the event, she has only got as far as the bar, where she stands, holding her bag as if waiting on somebody. — Are you okay?
— I’m fine, Marianne says, the second word hissing out.
— Are you…?
— I’m waiting on a cab. She waves her phone, the motion seeming to precipitate its ringing. — Here we go.
— Ehm, if you don’t mind me asking, which way are you going? I’m going to bow out too.
— Liberton, Marianne responds in a vague tone, tucking her hair behind one ear. — Any good?
— Yes. Great.
In the back of the cab, the relative heat gives Euan another set of E-rushes. They head up the Bridges towards the Commonwealth Pool. It isn’t that far from his house. But he can’t go home in this state.
She picks up on his agitation. — Are you okay?
— Not really. Simon spiked my drink with MDMA powder. It was apparently his idea of a big festive joke. I’m not used to drugs… these days, he feels the need to add, worried that she’ll find him a little straight and dull. He suddenly glances at her feet; small, dainty and strapped into heels. — You have very beautiful feet.
— Kinky that way, are you?
— No, but perhaps a little obsessed. I’m a foot doctor, a podiatrist, he explains, as they pass his employ at the Royal Infirmary.
Jill has gone to the toilet with Katy to do some powder, leaving Simon the opportunity to get back on Tinder. However, he sees Terry advancing towards him. — Where have you been?
— Took that yin in the green toap roond tae Thistle Street Lane in the cab. Thanks tae your daft wee MDMA ah jist chowed at her fanny till she went bananas. Didnae even ram it. Now she wants tae see ays again, the lot. Thinks ah’m like that aw the time. Telt her tae git the fuck oot ay ma cab!
— You’re a gentleman, Tez.
— N ah saw your brar-in-law, that Euan cunt, sneakin oaf wi that Marianne bird, Terry declares, his eyes dancing in front of Simon. — How come ah nivir rattled that yin back in the day? Fit as.
— Knobbed her aw weys fir years. First her faither threatened me, then her fucking husband. Obviously I was still banging her when she got married, and at her instigation. But I was a gent. I told her I found it inherently ungracious breaching a pussy bequeathed to another chap, so I always jacksie-rammed her eftir that. Taught her how to orgasm on anal, the lot.
— Gap oan the CV for lean Lawson, n thaire’s no many ay thaim, he says, put out. — Cunt, if she wis that much ay an imposition, ye should’ve slipped me her phone number, ah’d have got ye oaf her mind. Or mibbe that’s what ye wir feart, ay!
— That. Will. Be. The. Fucking. Day.
— Shoatie, Terry glances at the two young women returning from the toilet, — here’s the fanny back: time fir the fuckin charm offensive!
The first to rise in the McCorkindale household on Christmas Day is Simon Williamson. He hasn’t been able to sleep, as is always the case when he’s done loads of alcohol or drugs. He regards this wanton consumption as a weakness, but as it’s Christmas, and pretty much a rarity for him these days, he resists beating himself up about it. Euan soon joins him in the kitchen, still looking a little blitzed from the night before. – That was some stuff, he gasps, his voice low. — That powder. I couldn’t sleep.
— Ha! Welcome to my world. Try doing some ching and base on top of it, like me –
— You are on your own! I had to get back to Carlotta. Luckily she’s a heavy sleeper. I lay awake beside her the entire night, all sweating and stiff like a drug addict!
— On that note, how was Marianne? Did you go to hers?
Euan seems to think about lying, before realising the futility of it. — Yes, I really needed to get myself together before going home. I had an interesting chat with her. She’s a very complicated woman.
Simon Williamson raises a solitary brow. — The untrained eye would certainly see it that way.
— What do you mean?
— She’s not complicated at all. Complicated is good. Complicated is interesting. She’s neither.
— Well, she seemed that way to me.
— A damaged simpleton can appear complicated because their personal behaviour is erratic and they have no impulse control. But that is not good. Damaged simpletons are merely exasperating and tiresome. I told her several fucking decades ago that she’d gotten obsessed with me and that I wanted nothing more to do with her. But no, she kept coming back, demanding to see me. The spoiled daddy’s girl used to getting everything she wants. Simon Williamson stares brutally at his brother-in-law. — Her faither, first gaunny kill ays for riding her, then gaunny kill ays for no riding her! He shiver-shrugs, as if literally casting off a chilling cloak of injustice. — The entire family is a bunch ay controlling nutters.