It feels liberating to be heading away from Edinburgh, and all its negative associations. He will never experience any of that nonsense again. When the exhibition comes, he concedes to himself that he will probably go, but just to open it, see John, and possibly Elspeth and her family, and then he’ll get the fuck out of Dodge. He shakes, zips up, washes his hands and examines the red wine stain on his T-shirt. It approximates the shape of Ireland. He weighs up the possibility of tackling it, but it needs more than just water, and he senses that any efforts will be fruitless. Besides, he now finds it amusing.
When he exits, the first thing he sees is the man who spilled the wine, looking fearfully at him. However, Francis Begbie’s stare does not linger on him, but rather on the passenger sitting next to him, on his left, whom he instantly recognises, despite the glasses and the thinner hair. The old Fort boy looks like he’s aged welclass="underline" wearing a light blue shirt, open at the neck, with navy trousers, reading a magazine called DJ. Frank Begbie looms over the nervous, drunken flyer, then leans across him, as the other man, aware of a lurking presence, lowers his magazine and looks up, his eyes widening in the shock of recognition: facing the dyslexic boy he took that punishment for, years ago, all in the solidarity of teenage friendship. Frank Begbie keeps his breathing slow and even — in through the nose, out through the mouth — as he says, with a smile, — Hello there, my old buddy. Long time no see.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to Elizabeth Quinn, Robin Robertson, Katherine Fry, Tom Mullen, Trevor Engleson, Tiffany Ward, Alex Mebed, John Hodge, Danny Boyle, Andrew Macdonald, Robert Carlyle, Grant Fleming and Cely and Cassandra of the Two Hearted Queen coffee shop, Chicago, IL.