Skagboys (16 page)

When the bottle came round, Alexander put his hand over his glass, and looked up at the waiter. — I’m driving.

Markland reminded Alison of an illustration of the Cheshire cat from a book she’d had as a child, as he turned to her. — Great, aw the mair for us! Here’s tae the new unit, he toasted.

Alison in Wonderland, Mum used to say
.

By the time she left the bar with Alexander, Alison was more than pleasantly groggy to the extent that she had to be careful as she lowered herself into the passenger seat of his Volvo. She thought there was no point in trying to conceal her state. — Wow … I’m not used to afternoon drinking, she said. — I have tae admit, I feel a wee bit sozzled n that’s pittin it mildly!

— Yes, thanks for taking one for the team, Alexander nodded, starting up the car, apparently genuinely pleased at her for drinking what was the best part of a bottle of wine.

Barry fuckin job this
…

With yesterday’s excesses, the lack of sleep and the early-afternoon effect, she was certainly feeling it. — S’awright …

— Don’t get me wrong, Stuart Markland’s a great guy, Alexander said, turning onto the South Bridge, — but he’s very much of the old school.

Alison was about to say that she had no objection to that, but quelled
her
talkative instinct.
You’re at work
, she kept reminding herself. But it didn’t feel like that, sitting in this upholstered car, the windows down, the sun blasting in. Alexander was a bit of a wanker, but he looked good in that suit, and she felt like flirting with him. She stretched her legs out, her gaze going down her shin bone to the red-painted toenails, jutting out her strappy flat summer shoes. The impression that Alexander’s eyes had made the same journey beset her, but as she turned quickly, they were firmly on the road.

— This is a very, very sad sight, he frowned, as they drove up West Granton Road. They pulled up outside the big, blue gasworks tower, and as they stepped out of the car, Alison saw the squad of men chopping away at a tree with cutting equipment, like a moving version of the slide Alexander had shown earlier.

— This one was exhibiting signs of infestation, he said, squinting in the sun, pointing out another stricken tree, which men were busy digging out. Then his arm swept over to a mini-forest on the other side of the gasworks tower. — These guys are still healthy. Well, for the time being. This really is the front line.

I want you up me
, Alison thought to herself, first just as an intoxicated subversive and vaguely malicious impulse. Then the growing kernel of lust, which seemed to flare up after she’d allowed herself that trangressive notion, both surprised and excited her, as they stepped off the tarmac onto the grass.

Along this stretch of foreshore, reclaimed from the river, two chopped trees were being hauled away to join some others in a pile. Although it was hot, the ground was growing mushier and Alison felt a cold, wet squelching in her feet. They moved close to a man two-handedly chucking splashes of petrol from a large rectangular can over the ruined trees. He was about to set them alight when Alexander shouted, — Wait!

The man looked up at him with a hostile frown. A second, authoritative-looking guy, with close-cropped black hair and thickset features, whom Alison assumed was the supervisor, stole menacingly over and growled, — Jocky, git these fuckin things burnt, glaring at Alexander in challenge, his jaw thrust out.

Alexander shot out what he hoped would be a disarming hand. — You must be Jimmy Knox. We’ve spoken on the phone. Alexander Birch, Dutch Elm Disease Control Unit.

— Aw … right, Jimmy Knox responded without a hint of deference, only taking the proffered hand with some reluctance. — Well, we’ve goat tae get these bastards burnt before the fuckin beetles in them git
airborne.
Then wir aw fucked, and he looked at Alison, who had raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, adding, — pardon ma French, doll.

— Of course, Jimmy, I just wanted to show Ms Lozinska … Alison here … Alexander ushered Alison close, and she stepped gingerly, unable to avoid sinking into another patch of wet turf. — Alison, Jimmy Knox. He and his guys are doing great work here at the coalface, and I don’t want to hold them back, he shook his head emphatically, — but I must show you the top of this tree. Please bear with us one second, he urged the bemused-looking foreman. — Look at this bark, and he bent over and grabbed a yellow handful of tree. — Rotten. Come closer, he implored Alison. — Look. All rotten, he declared again, his eyes misting.

Alison didn’t really want to get closer, but felt duty-bound to comply. As her right foot sank into some mud, she stumbled and almost fell, correcting herself, but kicking over the petrol can. Jimmy let out a semi-audible curse and Alexander jumped forward as it splashed against his back trouser leg. – It’s okay, he cooed as one of the men picked up the can, and planted it firmly into the soggy ground. At Alexander’s prompting, Alison’s hand reluctantly sank into the spongy bark, experiencing the same sensation as her feet in the sodden grass.

They stepped back to let the man ignite the trees. There didn’t seem to be much moisture in them, as the branches went up quickly, and the bark caught, sending a twisting curl of black smoke into the air. Alison watched the burn and crackle of the fire and was mesmerised by it. She was aware of Alexander, standing close to her, as the waves of heat flickered across her face. She could have stayed there forever, even though her feet were cold and submerging further into the soggy ground.

She heard Alexander stage-clear his throat, breaking the fire’s spell, and and they said their goodbyes to the crew. As they turned to leave, Alison could hear derisive laughter from Jimmy Knox and some of the men. She looked to Alexander, but if he had registered it, he evidently wasn’t bothered. She found it strange to be cross on his behalf, and also annoyed at him.

— These guys are all pretty pissed off, Alexander remarked, as they approached the car. — They were all taken on from the long-term unemployed register through the Manpower Services Commission’s Community Enterprise Programme. Now the government are changing the rules and making all the jobs part-time, on the reasoning that you can take twice as many people off the employment roll for the same costs. He looked at the groups of workmen. — Still doesn’t change the fact
that
there isn’t enough work to go round. Now these guys will have to either accept part-time wages or go back on the dole.

Alison nodded, thinking about a report in the evening paper, which noted that the Lothian Health Board had been forced to increase the waiting time between screenings for cancer patients in remission, due to central government funding cutbacks. It had arrested her, an article she would have previously passed over as mundane nonsense, put there to fill a local rag.

– I wonder where it’s all going to end up. Her boss shook his head as they climbed back into the Volvo. Alexander prodded his keys into the ignition, but rather than start up the car, seemed to think of something. He hastily turned to her, making strong eye contact. — Listen, what are you up to now? I mean, later?

— Nothing … how? She heard herself blowing out the women’s poetry group. For what? Why? She didn’t want to go home, to deal with the dark messages that would litter her answerphone. It was important to stay out.

— There’s a barbecue on at my mother’s place in Corstorphine. It’s her sixtieth birthday. It’ll be dull beyond words, but we don’t need to stay, just pop our heads in. I fancy dumping the car and getting a couple of beers. I don’t mind admitting I was a little jealous of you and Stuart with that vino, he smiled, eyes sparkling.

— Sure, why not, she replied in fake breeziness, actually wanting to listen to Alexander talk about trees a little longer. And all the time she was aware that the day, whatever it had been, had now become something else.

They headed into town and out past Tollcross where Alison thought about Johnny. How his eyes had glazed over and his mouth shrunk to a tight slit when she’d rebuffed his advances. Like he’d absented himself from his own body and she’d had to shout him back inside. On Dalry Road, Alexander suddenly braked, and pulled up. — That’s my brother, he said, and she looked over and saw a shorter version of him, also suited, swagger jauntily into what looked like a run-down pub. — He’s certainly slumming it, Alexander read her mind. — Let’s go in and say hello. I can leave the car here and we can all cab it out to Corstorphine together.

The Dalry Road pub was a standard working men’s dive bar, similar to many that straddled Leith Walk. Alison felt she’d been undressed a dozen times during the short walk from door to bar. Alexander, shifting uncomfortably in his suit, glanced into an alcove at the back of the pub, where his brother, Russell, sat with a man dressed in overalls.

Michael Taylor was still and silent as he looked at Russell Birch. His stare was hard. It seemed to Alison that the two men had been arguing.

— Hi. Mind if we join you? Alexander tentatively asked, picking up the vibe.

Russell’s eyes popped, first registering the shock at seeing his brother, then looking piercingly at Alison. — Mike … eh, my brother. He briefly looked at his perplexed drinking companion, before turning back to Alexander. — Be my guest. So, he asked, pulling up a chair, — how’s the forestry business?

— I’ve moved from the Commission to the District Council, Alexander said, sitting down and sliding over another stool for Alison.

— I heard. How’s that working out? Russell asked. Alison was aware that he was checking out her legs and sat down with care, smoothing her skirt across her thighs.

— The job’s good, but this Dutch elm catastrophe is killing us. What about the pharmaceutical business?

— Booming. Everybody wants something for the pain, Russell smiled, turning to the man beside him. — This is Michael, he’s … Russell hesitated, the word ‘colleague’ seemed to play on his lips before he looked to the boiler suit, — he works beside me.

— Ditto Alison here, Alexander responded. — You heading to the old girl’s?

— Yeah. Just going. He shook his pint glass.

— Driving?

— No.

— Let’s have another and get a cab, Alexander said, pointing at Michael’s drink. — Lager?

Michael shook his head. — Not for me, thanks. I have to go. He got up, leaving about a quarter of his pint. — Russell, I’ll see you later.

Alexander watched him leave in mild bafflement, then went up to get a round of drinks.

— So what’s my brother like to work with? Russell asked Alison when her boss was out of earshot.

— Aye … it’s good, she said awkwardly, — it’s just my first day but.

On Alexander’s return, the brothers began catching up and Alison felt herself drifting out of the conversation. She watched a skinny young guy with red hair come into the bar. For a split second she thought it was Mark Renton, but it was just another product of that white-skinned ginger factory they had somewhere in Scotland.

She’d never quite known what to make of Mark. He was okay now,
but
he’d been a cruel little bastard back at primary. She remembered that nickname he’d casually given her:
the Jewess
, which had made her self-conscious about her nose. It was strange to think of him now at university, and Kelly probably heading there too. Alison looked at the successful Birch brothers, tried to contemplate what they had that she didn’t. She’d always been good at school, even if she had fucked up her Highers. That had been when her mother was first diagnosed. But she could retake them. If only she could concentrate. It seemed that gift of staying power had been taken away from her: that crippling loss of cerebral stamina. Life now seemed a constant quest for the next fleeting distraction. She wondered if that focus would ever return.

The sour miniatures of cooking wine the grotty pub sold were almost undrinkable after the quality lunchtime tipple in the wine bar, and Alison was relieved to be in the back of the taxicab with the Birch brothers. It dawned on her she was with two men she didn’t really know, yet she was heading for their mother’s birthday party. And they seemed so competitive with each other. — You stink, Russell gracelessly said to Michael.

— Spilled some petrol down my leg at work. I’ll get cleaned up properly at Mum’s.

They reached Corstorphine, and a prodigious, red sandstone villa. Its enormous gravel driveway was already full of cars, with more parked outside on the street. When they got round to the back garden, a large space with a stone perimeter wall and established bushes, trees and flower beds, people had assembled awkwardly on the patio and lawn in small groups. Alexander and Russell’s father, a weary-eyed man with grey hair and loose folds of skin hanging around his face and neck, stood barbecuing sausages, burgers, chicken parts and steaks.

As Russell circulated among the clusters of neighbours, relatives and friends, Alexander introduced Alison to his father, Bertie, who responded with perfunctory manners. Leaving him to his task, Alexander explained that his dad was fifteen years older than his mother. Alison discerned an isolated old man, work contacts frayed, a busy Rotary-Club-and-coffee-mornings wife off involved in her own activities, preoccupied children hitting the hectic self-absorption of middle age, with elderly golfing partners dead or dying. His eyes, shifty and flinty, seemed to indicate a spirit looking to escape the ponderous residue of its body.

Bored by the crowd, Alison instead enjoyed the assortment of kids running around a paddling pool, growing increasingly feral in each other’s company. Of the adults assembled, one couple stood out. A full-mouthed woman with ineptly dyed blonde hair threw her head back in raucous
laughter
at something said by her companion: a big, muscular, shaven-headed man in a badly fitting suit. Then her face froze in silence as she punched him squarely in the chest, before breaking up into hysterics again.

Bringing her over a glass of wine, Alexander saw where Alison’s gaze was, and introduced her to the blonde, who was his sister, Kristen. — Nice tae meet you, she grinned. — This is Skuzzy, Kristen announced, turning to Alexander. — You’ve no met Skuzzy, eh no?