‘We kept his record player, too,’ said Rab from the doorway. ‘We got a bloke to come out and wire it up proper. There’s a
CD
player in the living room but I thought you’d want all this in here. It’s all yours, Davie. I think Joe would’ve liked that.’
Davie made a show of studying the hi-fi equipment set into an alcove of its own on the shelving, unwilling to turn around and show Rab how much the gesture had touched him. It had been top of the range in its day, and Davie knew it would still sound good. ‘Thanks, Rab,’ he said.
Rab cleared his throat and said, ‘Aye, well… I’ve got no use for it.’
Bobby raised his can of Carlsberg and said, softly, ‘To Joe, eh lads?’
Davie and Rab stared at each other for a moment, each thinking of the man who had taught them so much, then raised their own drinks – Rab’s can of lager, Davie’s can of Coke. ‘To Joe,’ they said in unison. They each took a slug and stood in silence, each wishing Joe Klein was still around.
Davie gave the albums one last look, then gave Rab a smile. ‘This was good of you, Rab. You’re a good mate.’
Rab’s brows drew together. ‘Fuck off. It’s just a bunch of noise to me. C’mon, let’s mingle...’
The living room was filled with people standing or sitting, talking and drinking, most of whom Davie did not know. One or two faces were familiar and he nodded to them as Rab led him across the room towards a tall, slim woman in her early thirties sitting in an armchair near the window, long dark hair framing a delicate face, her nose peppered with faint freckles. ‘Davie, this is Bernadette,’ said Rab, a big grin on his face. So this was Mrs McClymont, Davie thought and smiled, holding out his hand. She ignored it, rose to her feet and wrapped him in her arms for a tight hug.
‘I’m so glad to meet you, Davie,’ she said, her voice soft and warm, as was her embrace, her accent not as broad as he expected. Despite himself, Davie felt something flutter in his groin at the feel of her soft body against his. He felt guilty, this was Rab’s wife for God’s sake, but ten years without any physical contact was a long time. She stepped away from him and he hoped there was no visible sign of his arousal. ‘Rab speaks of you often,’ she said.
‘Aye,’ said Rab, ‘and some of it’s even true.’
Bernadette looked deeply into Davie’s eyes and said, ‘It’s good to have you home. Rab is so glad to have you back. Don’t listen to him, he’s missed you, I know he has.’
Rab looked shame-faced. Feelings were for songs, not something men talked about. Davie felt his own cheeks begin to burn and he wondered how a guy like Rab snared such a prize. Bernadette seemed to be a decent person, despite what Bobby had said about her family in Belfast, and in their line of business such people were rare. To cover the awkward moment, Davie turned to face a nervous little man with a shock of thick grey hair who was standing to one side. He looked crumpled, as if he needed a good iron, and was dressed in a shapeless brown suit, the shoulders of the jacket flecked with dandruff.
‘This is my solicitor, Gordon Spencer,’ Rab said, thankful to divert attention away from what his wife had just said. ‘You get in trouble again, Gordon’s your man.’
Davie shook the man’s proffered hand and looked into a set of watery brown eyes, seeing someone who looked uncomfortable in his own skin. Or maybe he was just unhappy being there. ‘Mister McCall,’ said the lawyer, nodding to him. His voice was cultured but weedy. Davie wondered how he fared arguing in a court. ‘How does it feel to be on the outside?’
Davie shrugged, not really wishing to discuss his feelings with a stranger. ‘It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
The man’s head bobbed in agreement. ‘That it will, that it will, I’m sure. Still, you have one advantage other fellows in your position do not – you are a man of property.’
Davie looked from Spencer to Rab and saw his mate’s grin spread even wider. ‘Aye, mate,’ said Rab. ‘This flat’s all yours. Joe left it to both of us, but I’ve got my place out at Bothwell with Bernadette…’ he smiled at his wife and Davie saw then and there that Bobby had been correct, the big guy was head over heels about this soft-spoken woman. It made him even guiltier about feeling aroused when she had embraced him. ‘Anyway, I’ve signed the flat over to you. And Joe wanted the proceeds from his house to be split between you, me and Bobby, but when he died relatives came out the woodwork in Ayrshire – did you know he had folk down there?’ Davie nodded. Joe had mentioned them once. Polish miners who had been brought over to work down the pits back in the twenties or thirties and settled there. Joe didn’t see much of them. Davie knew there had been some dispute over Joe’s will, but then he’d gone away and didn’t think any more about it. Rab went on, ‘Anyway, they got a hefty wedge but there was some left over, so you’ve got a wee bit of money in the bank, too.’
Davie blinked as he took this in and said to Bobby, ‘You never told me.’
Bobby grinned. ‘Wouldn’t do you much good in the jail, mate. Thought we’d save it as a nice surprise for when you got out.’
The lawyer said, ‘It’s not a great deal, but it’s enough to tide you over until you start earning. And beyond, I’m sure, if you’re prudent.’
Rab laughed. ‘Aye, he means don’t go spending it all on burds and fast cars.’
The solicitor wasn’t finished. ‘The flat upstairs, too, should also be yours.’
‘The one that old dear lives in, the Polish woman,’ said Rab. ‘But Joe specified that she get to live there rent free till she dies.’ Rab pulled a face, showing what he thought of their old boss’s softer side. ‘Daylight fuckin robbery, so it is, but what we gonnae do? Gordon here thinks there’s a way round it, though.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Davie, quietly. ‘Mrs Mitchell stays there as long as she wants.’
Rab sighed. ‘Davie, son, it’s good to have you back, but in the name of God, you’ll need to toughen up. You’ve got a wee bit of cash, sure, but it’ll no last forever, the way prices are today. This isn’t 1980, son, you’ll no believe the cost of living.’
‘I think it’s right and proper,’ said Bernadette, smiling at Davie with her dark brown eyes. ‘Good for you, Davie.’
Davie smiled back at her but he was really uncomfortable now. Crowds were never his thing at the best of times, but he was finding it hard to cope with the tingle he still felt at his groin. Rab’s wife was attractive, and her physical proximity, the faint aroma of her perfume, her gorgeous brown eyes gazing at him, were all a growing reminder that he had not felt a woman’s touch for ten years. There were guys in the jail who could switch their sexual preferences when it suited them, but he was not one of them. He had spotted two girls when he entered the room, one blonde, one brunette, and they were watching him from the settee as they sipped something clear from long glasses. Rab must have followed his gaze, for he smiled again.
‘Davie, man, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘should’ve taken care of business first. Sorry, folks, but there’s stuff I’ve got to discuss with my boy here.’
‘I thought you’d already discussed business, Rab,’ said Bernadette, frowning.
‘Aye, love, but there’s a few things we never took care of, eh, Bobby?’
Rab jerked his head towards the girls and Bobby craned round to see them. He turned back, grinned, and peeled away from their little group to cross the room and lean over the duo. Whatever he said made them smile as they looked back at Davie.
‘C’mon, Davie,’ said Rab, gripping him by the arm and leading him away. Davie was grateful, for his face was beginning to flush again. He looked back at Bernadette, who looked puzzled till she saw Bobby chatting to the girls, and a small smile tickled her lips. As Rab led him past the girls, Davie saw them both appraising him, before giving each other a knowing glance. He knew they were deciding which one of them was going to welcome him back into the free world. He also knew that was why they were there, and that Bobby had probably selected them for the freedom they showed with their favours. Not normally Davie’s thing, but suddenly he wanted it very badly.
Rab left him in his room – ‘Take your time, son. And give her one for me.’ – before he closed the door with a wink. Davie sat on the bed, wondering just what the hell he was doing. He wondered which of the girls it would be. A sudden worrying thought struck him – what if, after all this time, he couldn’t stand up and be counted? What if he’d forgotten? Then another scary proposition presented itself – what if they both came in? Not being able to perform for one woman was bad enough, but two? He rubbed his face with both hands, wishing now that he had never gone along with this. Maybe he could get out, leave the flat before anything started, just slip away now, go for a walk, get away, be anywhere but here waiting for one girl or the other, or both, to walk through that door.
It was the blonde girl who came in. She stood with her back against the closed door and looked at him. She cast her eye around her.
‘Nice room,’ she said. She had a smoky voice, low and smooth. Davie wondered where Bobby had found her because she sure as hell wasn’t from around here.
‘I’m Vari,’ she said and smiled. Her teeth were slightly crooked but very white against the pale peach of her lipstick. Her hair was long and straight, her eyes, like Davie’s, a bright, piercing blue. When he saw her in the living room he had thought she was in her late teens, but now that he could see her clearly he realised with some relief that she was older, probably early to mid-twenties, which was good. He felt bad enough about the set-up without feeling like a child molester, too.
‘Vari,’ he said. ‘Nice name. Is it Highland?’
She shook her head and moved further into the room. She was slim but rounded in all the right places. ‘Different spelling. It’s short for something else.’
‘What?’
She gave him a coy smile and said, ‘You’ll laugh.’
Davie shook his head and she looked at him thoughtfully, sizing him up. Then she said, ‘You seen a film called
Spartacus
?’ Davie nodded. It was a favourite of his and the boys, particularly the scene where Kirk Douglas’s men stand up and proclaim ‘I am Spartacus’ to save their leader, even though they knew it would mean their death. They stood up and were counted. The thought made him nervous once more about what was going to happen. Vari continued, ‘So did my dad. He loved it so much he named me after Spartacus’s wife.’
‘Varinia,’ said David, surprised that he had hauled the name up from his memory. He knew he fancied Jean Simmons, though.
She was impressed. ‘Right. So, you can see why I shorten it.’ Davie nodded, understanding that Varinias were not that thick on the ground in Glasgow. ‘And you’re Davie, right? Davie McCall?’ Davie nodded as she stepped closer to him. ‘Davie McCall,’ she repeated, as if weighing it up. ‘Heard a lot about you.’
‘Any of it good?’ He asked, his voice betraying his tension. He swallowed to lubricate his throat. He had not been much good at this kind of thing before the jail, now he was even more hopeless.
‘Some of it,’ she said, very close now, and he could smell her perfume. He had no idea what it was called but its aroma made him feel light-headed. She reached out and touched his face, drawing a finger from his temple to his jaw. Her finger was cool but her touch was electric. ‘You’re not bad-looking, you know that?’
He shrugged. He knew he looked like his father. He never thought of himself as handsome, simply ordinary looking.
‘Nice eyes,’ she said, ‘like Paul Newman. Anyone ever told you that?’ She raised her hand a little to brush his hair with her fingers. ‘Nice hair, too, very dark. When you go grey you’ll be dead distinguished looking.’
She cupped her hand under his chin, raised his head slightly and leaned in to kiss him. Her lips were cool and soft and he could taste her lipstick. Her tongue snaked between his teeth and probed his mouth. His hands went to her waist and he began to lean back onto the bed, pulling her with him.
And then, as she expertly took off his clothes, he looked down and smiled when he saw that his body had not failed him.
I am Spartacus
, he thought.
* * *
Joe the Tailor told Luca Vizzini not to attend the party in Davie’s honour.
It would not be fitting
, Joe had said. Now he sat across the table in the café on Duke Street and watched as Luca completed tax forms. The café was empty, so the little Sicilian had taken the opportunity to catch up on paperwork. It was good to divert his thoughts from Bannatyne and Davie McCall.
Tax is important
, Joe always used to say,
pay a little and it keeps the wolf from the door.
Despite the cash rolling in from the drugs, Luca still liked working in his little café. Joe had bought it for him, way back when, and Luca felt at home here.
Joe had not said anything for an hour, he had simply sat there, watching. Finally, Luca tired of working at his figures and moved behind the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. He carried his cup back to the table and sat down facing his old friend.
‘I still think I shoulda been there, Joe,’ he said. He knew Joe wasn’t really present, but it made him feel good to talk to him.
The old man shook his head.
No, keep your distance
.
‘I don’t think he suspects nothin,’ Luca said.
David, he is not stupid
, said Joe.
He knows.
On some level, he knows what you did.