Boy Who Made It Rain (16 page)

Having spent two days emotionally malnourished, it was time to get my plate full again. School was beckoning. So was confronting Fran McEvoy.

Scum.

It was as if there was a troupe of trampolinists taking turns to do somersaults on my stomach. After pounding the streets of Glasgow all day I found myself lying on my bed, in the foetal position, listening to some of my mum's country albums and the battering rain outside. I don't know which was making me feel worse: the stomach pains, the weather or the pained voices in the music. All those break-ups, affairs, domestic violence and cash-flow problems. I was lying there thinking, bloody hell, why did we have to come to this shit excuse of a city, with its village mentality? (Rich, I know, coming from a boy from Eastbourne). I didn't have the energy to get up and turn the music off. I lay there and felt sorry for myself. It was an hour before I was due to be at Rosie's. I liked being punctual. A great virtue of mine.

‘Come in, I'll get you a towel,' she said. Usually we kissed or did something affectionate, but it was evident that Rosie wasn't going to make that move. I didn't approach either, which made me think that I was the one who always instigated the kisses, hugs, holding hands, stroking hair and all that other touching stuff. I guess this time I just stood there like a wet blanket. It's funny when things are decided, you see people in a different light. Gone was all the
mysterious guy tag
that had been placed on me. For
mysterious
read
pathetic dri
p. ‘Don't just stand there, come in.' She handed me the towel.

‘Thanks,' I said.

‘Have you been out all day?'

‘Yes.'

‘Glasgow?'

‘Yes.'

‘Where did you go?' she asked.

‘To the centre of the city and then the West End. Then I wandered around the university area and the grounds of the art gallery.'

‘Sounds great.'

‘It was okay, I suppose.'

‘So that's what you did the whole day?'

‘Pretty much.'

‘Until now?'

‘Yes.'

‘Just walking?' she asked.

‘And thinking.'

‘It's a wonder you didn't get arrested.'

‘I needed to think.'

‘What about?'

‘Us, school, Glasgow, me, you. Lots of shit. Pertinent shit.'

‘Wow, sounds like a great day out.'

‘It's what I needed to do.'

‘I heard what happened at school.'

‘Yeah, the guy's a mental case.'

‘Head banger.'

‘I'm going back tomorrow, you know.'

‘Is that wise?'

‘I can't run away forever, Rosie. I have to confront this guy…I have to.'

‘I think I agree.'

‘You do?'

‘Yes. Confront the mentalist.'

‘That's what I aim to do. I'm not going to allow this guy to intimidate me much longer. He's ruining everything.'

‘Any ideas how you're going to handle it?'

‘I have some idea, but I'm not adverse to seeking solace in some of the teachers or the police, if it comes to that.'

‘I don't think it'll come to that.'

‘I'm thinking of getting him on his own.'

‘And then what?'

‘Presenting him with a choice.'

‘Of what?'

‘Rationale or conflict.'

‘Speak English, Clem,' she said. She said that a lot.

‘I'm going to try and reason with him, and if he throws that back in my face then I will have no alternative other than challenge him to a scrap.'

‘A square go? You are going to ask Fran McEvoy for a square go?'

‘Just him and I.'

‘Really?'

‘With none of his merry band present. Just the two of us.'

‘Clem…'

‘…What other choice do I have?'

‘None, I suppose.'

‘Exactly.'

‘But McEvoy is always fighting, like he has loads of experience in it. It's the one thing he's actually good at.'

‘I played rugby at my last school.'

‘Rugby! Big wow!'

‘I'm stronger than him, and fitter.'

‘I don't doubt it.'

‘I fancy my chances if it's only the two of us, and fair.'

‘With that maddo? He wouldn't know the meaning of fair.'

‘Well if he's carrying anything I just have to be ready to deal with it.'

‘Christ Clem, you sound as if you're excited by it.'

‘I'm psychologically prepared.'

‘And what if he doesn't take up the challenge? Then what?'

‘Then I'll have to initiate it myself, won't I?'

‘I think you should just stick to the first plan.'

‘Of asking him to see sense?'

‘Yes.'

‘Just stick to that plan and I think you'll be okay.'

‘You think?'

‘I have a good feeling about it, let's put it that way.'

‘Well let's hope it's the right feeling.'

‘You don't want to do anything stupid.'

‘I won't.'

‘I know you Clem, you might do something impulsive.'

‘I've played it out over and over in my head. I just need to stick to the plan.'

‘Well, I'll support you.'

‘Thanks,' I said. I was surprised at her support.

My plan for McEvoy was flawed. Flawed on so many levels. I needed one for Rosie and me. A plan that would say ‘Rosie, it's been a blast old girl, but it's time to move on. I'll send you a postcard from Brighton.'

‘It's late, Clem.'

‘Yes, I should go.' I almost sprinted to the door.

‘Okay, see you tomorrow, then?'

‘Okay.'

‘You'll be fine Clem. Try not to worry.' She placed her hand on mine. That's the type she was. I was different.

‘I'll try.'

‘I don't want you to get hurt.'

‘I know you don't. We should protect each other,' I said. I think she thought I  meant that I wanted her to protect me, but you could never tell with Rosie. She was being ambiguous again. She liked that word. I'd miss her. Really I would. I'd miss all the new words she enjoyed saying.

‘We will.'

‘Shall I pop round before school?'

‘Erm…'

‘…We can walk together.'

‘If you like.'

‘Okay, see you tomorrow, Rosie,' I said and pecked her on the cheek.

‘Don't be late.' What was she saying? Of course I wouldn't have been late.

‘I won't. Promise.'

‘Night, then.'

‘Night.'

She shut the door before I looked away. The curtains were being drawn as I reached the bottom of the path.  It was curtains.

 

There was something all too familiar with that morning's conversation. As though the previous night never existed. A peculiar déj
à
vu.

‘I don't want you to get hurt,' Rosie said.

‘I know you don't,' I said, ‘I just got scared.'

‘We should protect each other.'

‘We will.'

When she went to gather her stuff for school I stood in reflective mood, weighing up the possible eventualities that would unfold. Feeling apprehensive, edgy yet strangely confident
I
was happy Rosie and I had discussed everything and she was standing beside as we went to school. My rock. The little devil on my shoulder, however, had different ideas and was nibbling at my ear quipping, ‘
just using this poor girl for your own means, there is no substance behind anything you say
.' While waiting at the doorway for Rosie to come bounding down the stairs, guilt penetrated my mind. I despised myself.
 

‘Are you ready?' I shouted.

‘A minute, just looking for something.'

‘We're going to be late.'

‘Why are you so eager?' she said as she scuttled down the stairs.

It was a still day, and still freezing. Both of us made breath circles from the cool air. Rosie blew bigger and more defined ones. Mine were whimsical and imperceptible. Rosie, I felt, could sense my anxiety, she broke long periods of silence with humorously inane conversations, which served only to try taking my mind off  the proceedings.

‘What would you call your band if you were in one?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Yes, you do, everyone has played that game. Come on what is it?'

‘It's
Approaches to Learning
,
' I said. Rosie guffawed and dismissed it out of sight.

‘That's pure shite.'

‘Okay, smart arse, what's yours?'

‘Don't know, never really thought about it.' I liked that acerbic wit about Rosie.

‘Don't talk shit, come on, I told you mine,' I said.

‘Okay, promise not to laugh?'

‘Cross my heart.'

‘Okay, it's
Bedroom Busker
.' I held it for a moment giving the impression that I was mulling over the beauty of the band's name, my eyes tightening to suggest that I believed this was an inspired choice.

‘Utter shit,' I said, but in truth I actually quite liked it.

‘What?'

‘I'd never buy anything from a band with a name like that.'

‘You haven't a clue.'

This was followed by another long period of silence, not an uncomfortable silence, but a type of silence that led me to think that Rosie was being overtly introspective and ponderous. Apart from my own predicament, there was something significant on her mind. Something more pressing than what was on my own, which then went haywire. Approaching the school I was thinking that this whole episode was all some big Glaswegian conspiracy against me. I envisaged turning a corner to discover McEvoy, the NEDs, Cora, Connor, Miss Croal and Rosie's mum all laying in wait. Coshes and clubs at the ready for their veritable feast. A lynch mob.

The red sandstone façade faced both of us. School. Not a soul to be seen other than eager first- and second-years. We hurried in. Rosie accompanied me to my first class, music, like some muscle bound bodyguard. We sat alone in the class plucking away at one of the guitars. I played her
Pale Blue Eyes
by
The Velvet Underground
, and told her it reminded me of her. A lie. She seemed impressed by this more than the tune. The bell rang. We embraced warmly before Rosie trudged off to her art class.

‘I'll see you in English.'

‘Okay.'

‘Or do you want me to come and get you first?'

‘No, it's alright. I'll be fine.'

‘What if you bump into him?'

‘We'll stick with the plan.'

The class was a nice distraction. Writing chord progress-ions for two periods and trying not to sound different from everyone else out there. As much as I tried to be original, it all sounded derivative and teenage. I'd never make it out of the confines of my bedroom. I was destined to be a bedroom busker forever. The bell rang and my heart started like a sprinter off the blocks. I waited back in the pretence of tidying up, labouring over putting guitars in their covers, plectrums in their box and music sheets in their folder. I even started to put the chairs under desks until the teacher got wind of my actions.

‘That's fine, Clem, you're going to be late for your next class.'

‘Yes.'

‘Thanks. See you tomorrow.'

I hoped so. I really did hope so.

I walked briskly to English. Miss Croal looked happy to see me when I hurried into the class. The others already had their heads buried into some reading material.
Waiting for Godot
. I didn't have the heart to inform them that he never arrives. They were either going to be engrossed or dumbfounded by it. Rosie's eyes were planted firmly on me, relieved, no doubt, that I had made it safely between classes. She gave me a little wink. A very affectionate wink. Cora Kelly, who was sitting beside Rosie, made a joke face that suggested I was in some kind of trouble.

‘Sorry I'm late, Miss.'

‘That's okay,' she said, rather sycophantically. ‘I see your eye is a little better.' Indeed my eye was much better, just a touch of yellow discolouring underneath the socket, but no swelling. Certainly all the wandering around in the cold for the past two days helped it recover.

‘Yes, it was nothing really.'

‘Like you said.'

‘We've just started reading Beckett's
Waiting for Godot,
' she said, handing me a copy of the play. ‘You are familiar with it, aren't you?'

‘We read it at our last school,' I said.

‘Aye right.' The voice from behind me spluttered. Cora Kelly.

‘Some of us are just reading the intro.,' Miss Croal said. I took the book from her and made my way to my seat, opened the play at the introduction and began reading. It was familiar territory. Man's place in society. The meaning of existence. Why are we here? Why do we do the things we do? And then do them all over again? Beckett captured it and articulated it in an artistic, condensed fashion. I merely whispered, ‘what the fuck…' when I needed answers to the bigger questions. There will come a time when I'll give up and not search for a response. This school was one of them.

The two periods flew by. As time generally does when you never want it to. Time plays games with you. The big hand hits you hard. When you need it to slow down it speeds up, and when you need it to run it toils. I pretended to read more Beckett, words flashing through the brain without meaning or reason. I was miles away. It sounded like a knelling bell. Rosie waited at the door for me. Cora hovered around as she could sense something wasn't quite right.

‘Comin to the smokers?' she asked Rosie. Rosie looked at me as though waiting for my approval, which I gave with the flick of an eye.

‘I'll see you back in here in ten,' she said. Cora had already made her way to get her nicotine fix. ‘Clem, I'll stay if you want.'