Uch okay, if ye’re having one.
Whisky?
Aye.
As Derek walked to the bar he could see the phone being used, a guy talking into it. Once it was free he would try Audrey’s number again — better now before the drink started hitting. He put both hands on the edge of the bar, shifting his stance; maybe go for a curry after, he was bloody hungry as well.
The barmaid came past and he called for two whiskies. Glenmorangies, he said, would ye make it doubles. . She turned to the gantry without acknowledging him, sticking the first glass up under the optic.
The phone was now available. He knew the Plymouth code. Would she be home! Of course. Unless she was out. He scratched at his ear, his finger nudging the brim of the hat. For some reason the woman was off serving somebody else. She had the second Glenmorangie poured but she had left it on the gantry shelf.
It was a pint of Guinness she was attending to, she must have been waiting for it to settle before topping it up, at which point he had come in with his order for the two whiskies. So now she was finishing the previous customer. Nothing wrong with that. He reached for the jug of water, poured a fair amount into the tumbler. It looked sickly. He wasni a whisky drinker. That was just that. He shouldni have ordered it. Impressing Fin. Doubles as well. Fucking typical. Foolish. But he was foolish. That’s exactly what he was. A foolish young man. Not a boy. A man. At his age and in his situation he was no longer entitled to call himself a boy, not even a foolish one, not even in his own head, especially in his own head. That was another fact of life.
Five pound sixty, said the barmaid, the second Glenmorangie in front of him.
Five pound sixty. . wwh! He got the money out, gave her a tenner. He raised the whisky to his lips while she was getting him the change. But he didnt drink any. It wouldnt be refreshing. Refreshing is the last thing it would be. There wasnt any drink that would be refreshing now, except tea, a cup of tea. With two sugars. He closed his eyes, smiling, but not at anything in particular.
by the burn
Fucking bogging mud man a swamp, an actual swamp, it was fucking a joke. He pulled his foot clear but the boot was still lodged there like it was quicksand and it was going to get sucked off and vanish down into it forever. He felt the suction hard on his foot but when he pulled, curling his toes as firm as possible, out it came with a loud squelching sound. Thank Christ for that. He shook his head, studying the immediate area, these marshy stalks of grass were everywhere; fucking hopeless. He glanced back across the wide expanse of waste ground and up to where the blocks of flats were. But he had to go this way and go this way right now, he was late enough as it was, he just couldnt afford to waste any time. He continued on, steering clear of the clumps of long weeds, the kind that told you where the worst of it was, but it was bad and each step now his boot sunk in an inch or so, but still not as bad as before. Imagine if he had lost the fucking boot but Christ almighty, hirpling down the road for the train then into the interview office, trying to explain to the folk there how you had just lost your shoe in a fucking swamp. My God, a fucking joke right enough. He stopped to look ahead. Then the rain started again and this time it wasnt a passing shower, the sky was full of dark grey clouds, he turned up the collar of his suit jacket, it was going to get worse, nothing surer. And he would get bloody soaked. What the hell time was it? Aw for fuck sake who cares, he plunged on, veering off towards the banks of the burn. You could actually hear the roar of the water; so it was probably running awful high. So there was no chance of him crossing at the usual stepping stones, maybe have to skirt right the way round through the wood to get to the bloody bridge. Aw dear. He hated having to go that way. By this time he had reached the last of the marsh and there was the ordinary grass and the short clumps of bushes. He passed the wee tree, most of its branches half snapped and trailing onto the ground. A kid’s sock dangled off one of them. Then the slope up to the bank of the burn. It was all slimy mud here and he had to steady himself by using his hand as a prop, stepping up in a kind of semi-circle. His hands were all muddy now and he had to pull off a couple of big docken leaves to wipe them clean. The roaring from the burn was really loud now, deafening. He waited a moment up on the bank, staring down at the swollen water, it came rushing, spray flying out, so high it looked set to overflow the banks. You couldnt even see the stepping stones where he would have crossed, probably about two feet of water were covering them. So that was it now there was no chance, the path across the bridge or nothing, that was for fucking definite, he just had no choice in the matter. He sighed, blowing out through his mouth. He felt a wee twinge across his shoulders and that was followed by a shiver. He actually did feel tired although it was only about half eleven in the morning, he felt a bit weak in fact. Then the rain on his head. He felt like going away home again, back to the fire, cup of tea and put the feet up. It was just a joke, the whole fucking thing. Away in the distance he saw a shape looming into view through the trees, then another one. Two blokes. They cut off but, taking a different route to get to the flats, up through the field. The rain now definitely getting heavier. He walked as fast as he could along the peak of the bank without slipping on the fucking mud, arse over elbow into the burn — probably he wouldnt have been able to save himself from drowning for Christ sake. Once upon a time aye, but no now. He glanced down as he went. The water was flowing that fucking fast. It was years since he had had a swim too, years. High time they extended the path along this way for the poor cunts living up the flats, the fucking council, it was out of order the way they didnt bother. They had been fucking talking about it for donkeys. He left the bank at the first opportunity, following a narrow trail into the wood and he took shelter beneath the first big tree. He started shivering again. Just the dampness maybe because it wasnt really cold. And he needed a coat. He really did need a coat man this was just stupid. He had one right enough he just didnt wear the fucking thing, he didnt like it. It was too big for him for a start, it was his brother-in-law’s. You could have wrapped it round him twice. But still and all he should have wore it, he could have carried it over his arm and just stuck it on and off, depending on what it was doing, if it was raining or not, he didnt have to wear it all the time. His suit shoulder nudged against the tree trunk now and he moved from it, it was slimy, it was really fucking slimy. He gave the material a good rub but the stain still showed, the mud or whatever it was. He caught sight of his boots, all soaking wet and bits of grass and leaves sticking to them, nettles, the lot. Some picture. The wife would be pleased. Once they dried but they would be alright, brand new — except because of the damp they would turn white probably. They werent that old either, bastard. Just like it when you needed everything to be right, when you needed to be at your best, the way you looked. Fucking Jesus. My God. Never mind. Never mind. They would do for the time being, as long as they stayed damp they would pass inspection. If he ever got out of here! Because the fucking rain was pelting down and thick heavy blotches were dropping through the branches of the tree and landing on his nut. Still another half mile through the wood and he would have to start moving soon, he couldnt afford to wait any longer oh but Christ he didnt want to go he would just have to make a run for it, he would just have to make a run for it, just forget about the rain because it wasnt going to go off now, it was on for the bloody duration. The smell of the tree was in his nostrils, it was like decay or something like it was rotten. A lot of the bark had been cut from the trunk here, peeled off. Somebody with a knife. Wee boys probably. Maybe big ones. He studied the bark that was left, the thick dark green stuff, all crisscross lines and it was like cobwebs inside it, a gauzy sort of stuff; it would be full of beetles, beetles and termites, maggots, all living off it, the bark was there to be eaten, they would eat it. He jumped suddenly out from the tree and started running, keeping his head down. At places the trail got really narrow and it took sharp angles and he had to slow down to avoid the traps, the bent branches and the roots and stumps of trees. It was a joke, it was just a joke. Then he was having to walk, he couldnt go any faster, it was just too thick, it was too thick. He had his hands in his trouser pockets. By the time he arrived in the office he wouldnt be in a fit state for the interview. They probably wouldnt even let him in the fucking door man they would send for the fucking polis, the way he was looking, the suit all fucking mud and the boots turned white because of the fucking dampness man it was just bloody out of order, you just had no fucking chance. He needed a car. Every cunt needed a car. That was what happened when you stayed out in the schemes, it was fine till you wanted to go someplace, once you did you were in fucking trouble. Stupid, it was just stupid. But it was a bastard, it really was a bastard, these bloody fucking bushes and swamps man what could you do, going for a fucking job, just when you needed to look right, it aye happened, that was the way it went, you just couldnt win, you just couldnt fucking win man never, you could never win. He glanced about him. Then he looked back over his shoulder. A funny feeling there. He walked on a few paces then slowed again, he stopped. He stopped and listened, he was feeling a bit funny, like somebody was watching him. It was like there was somebody watching him. He felt the twinge in his shoulders. There