The Glasgow Coma Scale, page 17
‘You know what Rose said to me? “I like you, just not like that.” This is like the smartest, most articulate person I’ve ever met, and that’s all she could think to say. So, you know, well done.’
‘You mean you werenae gaun oot? But Lynne said—’
‘Course she did. She put you up to it, I bet. Like that girl said, what, you just happen to be in the Ristretto on a Thursday night? I bet you were back here like a shot last night to tell Lynne the good news, that the plan had worked, you’d managed to humiliate me. In front of your friend, too. Or, no, she wasn’t your friend, was she? Your therapist, she said. Or was she one of your students too? Another one you fucked?’
‘Ya wee clype,’ he cried, horrified. ‘Ah nivver breathed a word about seein you and Rose, not one bluddy word.’
Lynne’s face had fallen in on itself like a failed cake, but her voice kept steady. ‘Siri, listen to me. He’s telling you the truth. This is the first I’ve heard of this – any of this. All I told Angus about this girl was what Raymond told me. I didn’t mean to drive a wedge.’
‘Oh. Oh, well, that’s okay, then, if you didn’t mean to. I bet you’re still pleased you did, though. Never mind this is someone I care about, never mind what I feel.’
‘That’s a horrible thing to say. Of course I’m not happy.’ Lynne was managing to stay brisk and no-nonsense. Angus, fearful, thought he understood now what she’d said about fights like this making her feel properly maternal towards Siri. ‘Are you all right? Please just tell me what happened. Was it—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. She’s made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want me hanging around her. Cramping her style.’
‘Then she isn’t a real friend,’ Lynne suggested.
The sky clapped white. Fireworks popped and popped, feather bursts of soft stars drifting windwards over the rooftops of the tenements opposite. ‘What the hell,’ said Siri, ‘would you know about friendship or anything else?’
‘Siri, lovey, listen. You’re seventeen. I know – I remember – how intensely you feel at that age. How thrilling it is when things are going well, and how devastating when they’re not. But Siri, you’ve your whole life ahead of you. You’ll meet someone new – lots of new people. Rose just wasn’t the right one.’ Siri’s face was blotchy and the whites of her eyes had turned ruddy, but she was quiet – seemed to be taking Lynne’s words to heart. Angus started to feel less tense, until, with a look of swinish cunning, Lynne added: ‘You’ve experimented, you’ve tried this thing, and it didn’t work out. So now you can get on with the rest of your life.’
Holy shit, Angus thought. He wondered if they’d notice if he dropped down off his chair and crawled under the table – the old duck-and-cover.
‘You mean now this phase of mine has come to an end,’ Siri suggested pleasantly.
‘Well, no, that’s not what I said.’
‘No, no, I get it. So I take it that since Dad’s dumped you, you might start going out with women? I mean, that was a phase too, and now that it’s come to an end, I guess you’re going to start from scratch again? Because that’s basically what you’re saying. That’s basically your argument.’
‘What I’m saying, if you’ll listen, is exactly what you said to me when I was going to see your father. About how blind we can be to other people’s faults – the things that are obvious to everyone but us. Isn’t that what you said to me before? That I might be too stupid not to let your father walk all over me when I next saw him?’
‘What are you, Lynne, some sort of . . . misery vampire? You’ve failed to achieve happiness in your own life, and now you’re deriving pleasure from other people’s unhappiness as well.’
‘Don’t compare my life with yours. That’s not what this is about.’ But Angus thought it was, almost broke cover by thanking Siri for daring to say to Lynne something he’d felt but failed to formulate, or flunked putting into words.
‘Go on, then – prove to me you were more committed to Dad than I was to Rose.’
Outrage made Lynne’s squawk an octave higher than normal. ‘Of course I was committed.’
‘No, I said prove it. Just look at this place – all the time you were together, you had your bolt hole to flee back to, in case things didn’t work out. How’s that for refusing to commit?’
‘Glendower Street is mine,’ she howled. ‘I’ve worked so hard for this place. I’ve slaved. I can’t believe this – don’t you remember begging me to let you stay when you and Raymond were fighting? And now you’re . . . bollocking me.’ Siri had the decency to look abashed. ‘It’s nothing to do with your father. I couldn’t afford to give it up. You don’t understand. I’d have lost so much—’
‘So it’s about money? Gosh, Lynne, that’s principled. Wow.’
‘Please will you stop turning everything I say on its head? Okay, listen – say I had sold, moved in with Raymond. Where would I be now? We’re all on thin ice, Siri, all the time. One bad decision and I could have ended up on the street.’ She gestured helplessly at Angus. ‘Like him!’
I am surrounded, Angus thought, in the sense of besieged, by smart women. As Siri thumped ungainly towards the doorway, he retreated from the table until his back was against the kitchen wall. He had the feeling that, were he to push a little harder, the fragile plasterboard might give way, letting him take refuge in the bathroom.
‘That’s it, Lynne, I’m going. I hope you’re happy to have got all this stuff off your chest. Honestly, though, I doubt it. I doubt you ever will be.’
After Siri had left, Angus and Lynne took their accustomed seats at opposite ends of the kitchen table. Siri had ruined, by one thoughtless mention of China, the ideal Lynne had hugged close for so long – that she alone could heal Angus, regenerate him, have him fall into her arms. In the manner of anyone in a crisis for which he was partly responsible, he found himself regretting, far too late, not having been straight with her from the start.
Lynne fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers at the middle of the table, and he, unable to dream up any panacea to rectify the situation, waited with dread for the tone she’d take. Resentful, cringing, furious; it wasn’t going to be good.
‘What’s her name, this girl?’ The fight had hoarsened Lynne’s voice, and the words came out strangely staccato – a wooden doll that had just learned to speak.
‘China,’ he mumbled, feeling an obscure desire to invent a pseudonym for her.
‘What an interesting name.’
Angus struck the table edge hard. ‘Aw, don’t gies it.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. Or is it a nickname? Fragile, is she?’
‘Ye know fine well what ah mean. Play the innocent,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘This is gonnae turn intae yir usual passive-aggressive guff, and ah’m no staunin fer it, okay? Ah went oot wi sumdy fir coffee. And no, she isnae ma therapist either, so ye can forget that angle. Ah’ve nuhin tae be ashamed of.’
‘Of course not.’ Lynne drew a breath he fancied he could hear go cold as it entered her mouth. ‘I just think it’s funny that this is how you repay me.’
‘Coffee,’ he repeated, with frosty emphasis, ‘wi a pal.’
‘Contrary to what seems to be everyone’s opinion, I do have a brain in my head. Feelings, too, if you hadn’t noticed. I gave up a lot for Siri, not that she’d thank me. And now you—’
‘Feelins,’ he scoffed. ‘Ye mean prejudices. Lynnie, one thing ah have noticed—’
‘Lynne! My name,’ she nearly screamed, ‘is Lynne.’
‘All right, Lynne. Sit down, doll,’ as, disgusted, she started to get up, ‘this may come as a shock to ye. See when ye’re confronted wi sumhin disnae suit ye? Sumhin ye dinnae like? Ye never seem tae consider altering yir attitudes, jist bulldoze blindly oan. Achieve yir aims by way ay sheer bloody-minded persistence. Try and make things ye don’t like jist – disappear.’
She went silent. You’re doing it right now, he wanted to cry out. Then, ‘I took you into my home,’ she croaked. Oh, that he might live without ever hearing that again!
‘Aye, took me in’s right.’
‘I dressed you, fed you—’
‘So an act ay charity,’ he leapt in, ‘is just a way to make yirsel feel good? A donation tae the karma fund? Lynne, listen, let me reassure ye, you are gonnae be rich, rich, rich in the next life.’
She stood. ‘My God!’ It burst from her, a real scream. ‘I can’t do this any more. I was stupid to think I could.’
The wind picked up; rain, startled, slapped against the window. ‘Christ, Lynne.’ He recalled his resolution at the Ristretto: be kinder to her. With an effort, he moderated his tone. ‘You saw what nick ah wis in, that day on Sauchiehall Street. How much longer d’ye think ah’d huv managed unaided? That wis jist days’d done that tae me.’ Expecting her to break in at any moment that now was their chance to find out, and kick him out. Of course she didn’t. ‘Ah am . . . profoundly grateful. Every time ah pass by Kelvingrove Park ah nivver fail tae think whaur ah might be without ye, and ah give thanks. Okay, mibbe ah should huv thanked ye directly once in a while. But – and ah do mean this kindly – ah cannae give ye whit ye’re after. You know that. You’ve alwis known that, just willnae admit it.’ Her face was morose, cowish – and despite everything, she still hoped, Christ’s sake, you could see it in her eyes, unwilling to believe that this wasn’t just a test of her selflessness. He dropped his voice. ‘Admit it tae me now, darlin.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘What I’ll admit,’ she cried, and though her shoulders rose as she tried to rile herself up again, he could hear right away that her heart wasn’t in another tantrum, ‘is that it’s made it damned easy for you. It’s given you all kinds of licence, knowing how I feel, knowing I’d never . . . say anything. Try and push things.’
‘Ye nivver needed tae say anyhin,’ he protested. ‘Ye think ah huvnae got eyes in ma heid? What you call not pushin things isnae how the rest ay mankind would describe it. Christ, do ye think ye’ve nuance?’
‘I can’t help it. It’s what I feel. It’s who I am. I’m not like you, I’m not able to just pretend.’
‘Pretend whit? Who’s pretendin? Ah nivver led you oan. Let me state categorically. Ah nivver said anyhin ye could misinterpret. This is all you.’
‘Yes. No. I know. But you’ve been careful not to rock the boat, or set me right. Go on, deny it – if it was up to you, I’d never have heard about this girl from your class, I bet.’ Her eyes went wide as a thought struck her. ‘There were classes, weren’t there?’
‘Of course there were classes. My God, Lynne, listen to yirsel – in fact, no, ye know whit, listen tae me instead. Let me spell this out for ye. Not – interestit. There, okay? Nivver – gonnae – happen. Ah’m no tryin to fight it, life is not one constant furious struggle tae repress ma base desires, and ah dinnae go tae ma bed nights and crack wan aff thinkin of ye.’
In a tiny voice she said, ‘You don’t need to be crude.’
‘Ye think no? Right, look – here’s me literally haudin up ma hauns. Ah’m sorry ye’re upset.’
‘No, you can’t do that – insult me, then pretend it’s my fault I’m offended.’
Angus, exasperated: ‘Ah love it, aw these rules ye set me, nippin ma heid. “Dinnae say this, dinnae do that, ah’m so innocent and unworldly ye’ll make ma hair curl if ye so much as swear. Don’t dare go treating this gaff as yir ain, ye’re here oan my sufferance and dinnae forget it. Oh, but if ye do happen tae go oot – which ye will, by the way, any time ah demand it – ah’ll need full details on whaur ye go, who ye’re with, et cetera.” You, Lynne, cannae dae that. Attach conditions tae yir charity, it isnae charity any mair. And sometimes it frightens me, the way ye act.’ He stopped, worried that this last statement might, in a weird way, flatter her: you still have power, even if it’s only the power to scare.
Her face had gone pale and still. At last she spoke. ‘Is there anything you’d like to add?’
He laughed, incredulous. Here was a tactician’s trick, allowing him to exhaust his rant, then, when he was spent, challenging him to begin it all over again. He remained unconvinced Lynne was half the innocent she pretended. ‘Nup. No, ah think that just aboot covers everyhin.’
‘Well, thank you,’ she said finally.
‘Christ, Lynne – can ye no—’
‘No, no, don’t say anything more. You’ve been very thorough.’
She stared out past him, through the scrim of rain streaming down the kitchen window, through the frail screen of bare tree limbs, through the windows of the tenement facing on, into those other kitchens, where other people were living their anonymous, warm-blooded, oblivious lives – going about them so easily. In the tiny twitches of her jaw, mechanically clenching and loosening, he thought one moment he could discern resignation, the next, fresh resolve.
In Angus’s experience, a big blowout of a stramash like this was often followed by a period of strained and excessive politeness. The thing was not to let the fight get forgotten, absorbed into the goings-on of their lives, and to that end he gave a great sigh and asked, ‘So, whut we gonnae dae now?’
To his surprise, Lynne had an answer ready. ‘Did you mean what you said to Siri last week? About your plan being to get a place of your own?’
‘Aye. That wis the plan awright.’
‘Then we need to think,’ she said, and had no difficulty saying it, ‘about finding another place else for you to be.’
Call his bluff; fine, he’d call hers right back. ‘Ah think that might be for the best.’
She stared at him with those big round appealing dolly eyes, but he was resolute: he wouldn’t plead and he wouldn’t apologize. As far as he was concerned, they could each go to their graves convinced they were right. This was the trouble: they’d been complacent. From the day they met, their relationship had been so skewed and unhealthy that neither of them had ever imagined the situation getting so fucked it couldn’t be salvaged. Still, he wondered exactly how either of them would be able to back down from this ultimatum without starting the whole damn merry-go-round trundling again.
‘The waitin lists for cooncil flats, but. Ye any idea? Seven, eight, nine year if ye’re no disabled, if ye’re ay . . . sound mind,’ he concluded, risking a smile.
She wasn’t looking anyway. She had reached into the cupboard over the sink and was turning mugs upright, checking inside each one first to ensure it was clean. He had the sense she was already putting things back how they’d been before she’d taken him in – how they would be again once he’d gone. Fresh skin growing over a healing wound. The other day he’d noticed that her old artwork had disappeared from the wall above the telephone, replaced by a framed photograph of some forested Swiss valley which might have been the original she’d once worked from. ‘Just leave it with me.’
‘Ah could alwis try makin masel a mair suitable candidate so ah could jump the line,’ he suggested. ‘Hack off a limb or sumhin.’
Lynne turned to him, a mug in each hand, looking ready to smash them together. She didn’t laugh. Indeed she seemed, for a while, to be taking the suggestion quite seriously.
THIRTEEN
A big fuck-off unfriendly city, this, in many regards, but at other times it felt like just a small town with ideas above its station. Angus was not, therefore, altogether surprised, as he waited beneath the arches of Central Station for Lynne to park nearby, to spot Cairry-Oot Aidan entering the Arundel office party. A cracking bird on his arm, as well, the sly so-and-so: one of those ladies impressed by the silent type, Angus presumed. The others entering comprised a glum set of Lynne’s more or less antipathetic workmates, filing like doomed animals into one of the arches and down a brick staircase towards the unhinted-at catacombs underground.
On the tracks overhead, with a shattering roar, a train accelerated south out of Glasgow, shaking down fat droplets of brackish condensation from the tunnel roof.
What people forgot about the phrase ‘the least you could do’ was how it tended to lead to doing a lot more than you actually wanted to do. When he’d agreed to accompany Lynne to what she had described as just an office party, Angus had anticipated something low-key at the St Vincent Street offices – 5 p.m. kickoff, couple of boxes of supermarket wine, paper hats, a chance to act on the year’s pent-up resentments and crushes. You’d see snogging, you’d see fighting, you’d be home by ten. It was his fault for not asking, but he resented her withholding the information that this was an actual night out.
In his back pocket, his newly reactivated mobile phone quivered. He assumed this’d be Lynne saying she still couldn’t park and he should go on in alone – a suggestion he would disregard – so he was surprised to see Cobbsy’s name come up on the screen. Still sending out APBs about likely easy touches to everyone in his address book? When the little electronic envelope opened, all the message said was: ‘Hear about Bobby?’
The only Bobby Angus knew was Bobby Imison, the gay kid who Cobbsy’d once introduced him to, who’d come to Glasgow hoping to find a sugar daddy, or whatever they were called. Bit daft, but harmless – he wondered what the boy might have done that called for one of Cobbsy’s messages. He texted back: ‘Heard what?’
Lynne turned up as he was sending the message. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Oh, aye, uh-huh. Think so.’
‘Shall we go in?’
The party was taking place in a section of disused tunnel deep beneath the railway station, converted into a nightclub for folk who didn’t mind a curved roof so low over your head you could touch it without stretching. Poor Arundel folk, going from one lightless underground location to the next. The air smelled of mildew; there was the tang of brick dust too, as though the chamber had been very freshly excavated. For the party, it had been filled with superannuated office furniture – old chairs and desks topped with unwired computer screens. Seamily illuminating one end of the arch, an antediluvian photocopier lay open as an invitation to anyone stotious enough to hop up and scan their underwear, or worse. The sound system was playing what seemed to be music composed for kitchen cutlery, over which a robot-tuned voice gabbled at a pitch no human being had ever reached, and two individuals were reeling about in a strobe light’s twickering green cone. Angus checked his phone. Hardly seven o’clock and dancing already: a worrying sign. Noticing him watching them, the pair in the strobe paused and turned to face him. They were suited and booted, but in the flickering he glimpsed inhuman countenances: one wore a clown’s sinister gurn, the other had the head of a donkey. Masks, just masks, but for a moment his heart froze in real misgiving, and he wondered what underworld Lynne had brought him to.
