The yob’s eyes filled with fear. Main relaxed his grip so that he could speak.
“You’ve got it all wrong Mister!”
Main re-applied the pressure. “Wrong, my arse!” he snarled. “I heard what you were saying back there about McKirrop. Start talking!”
“All right, all right! We were there that night, but you’ve got it wrong. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Talk, you bastard!”
“I can’t — You’re hurting me!”
Main let the yob move away from the wall. It was a mistake. As he straightened up, the man brought his right knee up into Main’s groin and Main doubled up in pain on the floor. Just at that moment the door swung open and another man from the table came in, the man in the leather jacket.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demanded of his companion who was holding the side of his face and standing over Main.
“This guy says he’s the kid’s father.”
“What kid? What are you talking about?”
“The kid’s grave in the cemetery, for Christ’s sake!”
“Jesus!”
The talk of Simon gave Main new strength. Despite his pain he launched himself at the yob who’d kneed him and caught him in the midriff. The man fell backwards with a gasp on to the wet floor with Main on top of him. “Where is he?” rasped Main through gritted teeth. “Where is Simon?”
“You’ve got it all wrong pal,” said the man in the leather jacket but Main persisted.
“Where is he?” he repeated, grabbing the yob on the floor by the throat.
“Get him off me for Christ’s sake!” squealed the man.
His companion kicked Main hard in the ribs, and, as he rolled over in pain, took another kick, this time to the side of his face. Pain exploded in his head but he still rose above it and struggled unsteadily to his feet to charge in again. “Where... is... he?”
“The bastard’s off his head,” complained the first yob; his voice had become high and almost girlish with fear.
Leather jacket caught Main with a vicious punch as he came in and again Main fell back. He saw his assailant grab a bottle of toilet cleaner which was perched on the window sill and, through his pain, he thought that it wasn’t going to make much of a weapon; it was plastic and soft. As he struggled to his feet the contents of the bottle were flung at him and caught him full in the face. In an instant, his eyes were filled with bleach.
Main let out a scream of pain and heard the door bang as the yobs ran out. His eyes were screwed tight shut, but there was no escape from the progressive burning of his eyeballs. He stumbled towards where he thought the wash basins were and groped wildly for the taps. Everything seemed hard, unforgiving and elusive. He found the top of one tap and water started to flow. Main flushed it maniacally up into his face, fearing that he was about to lose his sight for ever. He was only dimly aware of other people having come into the Gents.
Nine
The nightmare inside Main’s head was taking him to the very limits of endurance but he knew that he must not pass out. He had to keep flushing the chemical out of his eyes if he was to have any chance at all of keeping his sight. He had never known such pain. His eyes felt as if they were on fire and the pressure inside his head was slowly pushing them out of their sockets. The pungent smell of chlorine was catching his throat, making him splutter; his breathing was uneven through shock. His hands frantically sluiced water up into his face.
Very slowly the pain started to subside and Main became aware of voices in the background. They had been there all along but the fear of going blind had blocked everything else out of his reckoning. At first it was just a hubbub, but then he made out one voice that was louder. “What the hell’s going on?” it asked.
Main continued flushing his eyes. His breathing was returning to normal.
“I asked you a question!” said the voice.
“Bleach... in my eyes,” said Main haltingly.
“That was a stupid thing to do.”
Oh Christ! thought Main. He couldn’t grace the comment with a reply.
“Just look at the mess in here!”
“If only I fucking could!” exploded Main as the sheer crassness of the comment reached him.
“How on earth did you come to get bleach in your eyes?” continued the questioner, backing off a little.
“Someone threw it at me,” answered Main through gritted teeth.
“Bloody hell,” replied the man. “I’m not having this sort of thing in my pub. I run a respectable establishment. This sort of thing is not on!”
“Oh good,” said Main sourly. The pain had subsided sufficiently to let temper take hold but he continued with the sluicing.
“I haven’t had to have the police here once in all the time I’ve been licensee and I’m not starting now. Pull yourself together and get out of here. I don’t want your sort in my place.”
“Maybe we should call an ambulance, John?” suggested a voice from the background but the suggestion was half-hearted as if not to offend.
“I’m not having any ambulances either. You! Get out of here! Do you hear?”
Main felt the hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off to continue cleaning his eyes.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Main raised his head from the sink at last, and paused for a moment to let the water drain from his face. He turned his head slowly and opened one eye cautiously. His vision was blurred but he could see and that was all that mattered. The landlord’s angry face swam into view. He was a fat man with heavy jowls and a large brown wart on the side of his turned-up nose but Main thought him the most handsome sight he had ever seen. He straightened up and started dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He was a foot taller than the landlord who took a pace backwards.
The man’s voice took on a more conciliatory tone. “I just want you out of here. I’m not going to call the police or ask you to pay for the damage; I just want you out of here. All right?”
Main looked at him sourly but felt good inside. He could see. He started to leave without another word. The small group of men near the door parted like the Red Sea, one of them brushing water off his jacket which Main had sprayed him with when he smoothed back his wet hair. As he left the bar he heard the barmaid’s voice telling everyone how she suspected there was something odd about ‘that man’. He had been behaving strangely earlier.
“There’s a lot of weirdos about,” ventured another voice before the door finally closed behind him and Main found himself out in the quiet street and the darkness which caressed him like a friend.
Main walked all the way home. There were a number of reasons, some connected with embarrassment about the way he must look after the fight in the pub, some connected with giving himself time to think on his own but mainly because the cold night air felt good on his eyes. It was making them water which interfered with his vision but not unpleasantly so. There were haloes round all the street lights.
As he walked along he kept feeling his ribs, trying to decide whether or not any had been broken. He concluded not. He had already decided that the injury to his cheek was superficial although it was quite badly swollen. He thought about the pub landlord and cursed under his breath but all in all it had probably worked out for the best. Police involvement might have meant press interest — and having one of their English teachers involved in a pub brawl might have proved less than popular with the governors of Merchiston School, extenuating circumstances or not.