Espedair Street

This man looked like he wanted to talk. I considered walking away down Canal Street, so I wouldn't pass him... but what the hell. The lights changed. We met in the middle of the road; he put one arm out, as though to stop me, put his head to one side and squinted with one eye. 'Dan Weir?' he said.

'Yes?' I said. He smiled broadly and put out his hand, shaking mine. 'Glen Webb; remember me?'

Jean's brother; the one who'd been in the army, if I was right. I nodded. 'Yes, of course.'

He glanced at his watch. 'You got time for a drink?' He half-turned, to head along with me. He seemed honestly pleased to see me.

I shrugged. 'Well, why not?'

We went to a new, overly plush bar called Corkers; subdued lighting and plump green upholstery. A fan on the ceiling; is this the new insignia of yuppie hangouts in Scotland? Isn't a place proper without a prop? I had a pint of export, ignoring the attractions of inferior British copies of anyway awful American lagers. Glen Webb had a non-alcoholic lager .

'Thought it was you. Hope you don't mind me accostin you in the street like that.'

'No, that's all right.' I said. 'Doesn't happen very often these days.'

'You retired now, aye?'

'Aye, sort of,' I said. I'd never thought of it like that, but he was right. 'What about you? You look prosperous.'

'Oh, I'm doin all right for myself. I'm working for a firm in Glasgow now; just on my way to do somebody's books.' He laughed, and I thought: wrong brother. This was the accountant who'd been in England. 'Well, this is a right surprise. I was just talkin to Jean about you the other day.'

'How is she?'

'Fine. A lot happier now she's settled down again.' He took a sip of his gassy lager. 'You knew she'd got divorced?'

'No,' I said, surprised. And, right there and then, before the words were fully out of his mouth, something inside me seemed to leap.

'Did you know Gerald? Her husband, did you?' Glen asked. I shook my head. 'Ah, well, he wasn't a bad guy really, but I think they just... drifted apart, you know? And then she found out he was seein this other woman...' He shrugged. ' All sorted out now. You knew they had a wee girl?'

'Dawn,' I said, pleased to be able to remember.

'Aye. Well, Jean and her live in...' He frowned. 'Damn me, I can never remember the name of the place...' And I was sure he was going to say 'Bahrain', or 'Adelaide' or something, but he didn't. 'Arsey? Harris-egg ... something like that. I've got the address somewhere...' He reached down to his briefcase. 'Near Fort William; on the Road to the Isles.' He searched the briefcase for a few moments, then shook his head. 'Must have left it at the office. Never mind.'

'Arisaig?' I suggested. He snapped his fingers.

'The very place. Anyway; the two of them seem to be happy enough there. What about you? This you makin a sentimental journey, or what?'

'Yeah, I suppose I am,' I admitted.

'Aye, I always come up this way myself, just to look at my mum's old flat. Daft, isn't it? Doesn't even look the same since they were all renovated.'

'Aye, I know.' I supped my beer meditatively. 'Yeah, it is a bit daft.' We sat in silence for a moment. 'How's your mum?'

This time, I was sure the answer would be 'Dead', but I was wrong again. 'Ah, she's no too bad. She's in a wheelchair now; my aunt Marie looks after her.

'Aye, she was in the wheelchair last time I saw her.'

'Of course, aye; she told me about that. Thinks you're wonderful.'

'What? Who does?'

'My mum. Oh God, aye; she thought it was great, you calling in like that. Her with a famous rock star in her wee flat, taking tea.' Glen laughed. I shook my head, looked down. This has been my Modesty Act for so long it's no longer an act. I felt the way I had when I'd just left her flat that time, the way I had at the far end of Espedair Street quarter of an hour earlier; saddened.

'Whereabouts you livin these days?'

'Oh, I... move around a lot. I'm in Glasgow, just now,' I said, lying, and wondering why I lied.

'Ah, well, if you're ever moving around in the Highlands, you should drop in and see Jean. She'd appreciate it. Still talks about you a lot. You've got a couple of fans there, her and wee Dawn.'

'Really?' I tried to make it sound self-deprecating without making it sound insulting to them. I busied myself with my glass. My heart was misbehaving. This was absurd.

'Aw , aye,' Glen said, smiling. 'Great to be famous, eh?'

I agreed it was, most of the time. We spent another five or ten minutes talking about other old friends we had in common, and people we'd gone to school with, until Glen looked at his watch and started draining his lager. I finished my pint. 'I've got to go,' Glen said, taking up his briefcase. 'Here;' he handed me his card. 'Give us a ring if you want Jean's address... or my mum's; you're always sure of a cup of tea there.'

'Thanks.' We went to the door. A light shower had started outside and we stood on the pavement, under an awning, while Glen dug into his briefcase for a small umbrella. I looked up and down the street.

'Aye, you'll see a few changes in the old town, I suppose.'

There were actually fairly few in sight from where we stood, but I knew what he meant. I nodded. 'Aye. There weren't any places like this here then,' I looked back at the bar we'd just left. 'The Waterloo doesn't seem to have changed much, though... not from the outside, anyway.'

Glen Webb unsheathed the little Knirps and fiddled with it. 'That your old watering hole, was it?'

'No,' I said. '... I think the only time I was in there was once with Jean; I was celebrating because we'd got our first advance. Practically kidnapped her to get her to have a drink with me.'

'Oh, God.' Glen grinned, opening the umbrella. 'You wouldn't have needed to kidnap that lassie.' He nudged me with one elbow. 'If that was the time she told me about, she was nearly asking you to take her with you.'

Did I stare? I don't know. I looked at the man, and listened to the traffic roar. 'Aye,' Glen chuckled, 'you'd a narrow escape there.' He held his hand out again. We shook hands. 'See you again, sometime, Dan. Give us a ring. Take care now.'

'You t-too ... goodbye.' I said.

Glen Webb walked off into the bright drizzle. I stood, brows furled, thinking furiously.

I walked back to Gilmour Street, over glistening pavements, under slowly darkening skies, wondering if I was stupid enough to do what I was thinking of doing.

McCann was sitting with a half and a half in front of him when I strode through the doors of the Griffin. 'Oh fuck, it's Bill Haley. Ye want a drink?' McCann stood up.

'A pint of heavy,' I said. I rolled my eyes. 'Bill Haley,' I snorted.

'A pint of your finest heavy beer for Zippy Stardust here, Bella,' McCann said. I didn't bother to ask whether it was a deliberate mistake. 'Well you're lookin pleased wi yersel,' he told me. McCann's forehead was not a pretty sight, but I'd seen him with worse damage.

'Come and sit with me a minute, McCann,' I said. McCann looked at me oddly.

'Your check-up all right?' I asked once we'd sat down.

'Right as rain. They asked me aboot this, mind.' McCann pointed to his bruised, cut head.

'What did you tell them?'

Ah said the wife fell down the stairs.'

'The wife fell down the stairs?' (Apart from anything else, McCann is a widower.)

'Aye; on top of me.' McCann winked.

I shook my head. 'What about Wee Tommy?'

'Ah found his maw and paw; they were at his auntie's right enough. In a right state. Ah gave them that number, of yur lawyers. They were very grateful. Wee Tommy's in court Thursday; Ah called in again on the way back from the hospital an his dad wiz back an say in according tae yur lawyers they think they can get him oot on bail. That okay?'