Scratch (17 page)

‘Okay, lager?’

‘That would be good, yes. Thanks.’

Paula ordered our drinks and paid a still chortling Mark. ‘
D’you
want to get a table?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely.’

I followed Paula to the corner table and sat opposite her with my back to the wall, just under
Gryff
the St Bernard.

Gryff
had been a major fixture in The Basement’s original décor. His head was stuffed and mounted on a shield-shaped wooden plaque, with a brass plate beneath his chin detailing the many rescues
Gryff
had effected in life, with quotes from some of the skiers he’d saved from a freezing, white grave saying such things as,
if it wasn’t for
Gryff
my kids wouldn’t have a dad
, and,
that big scary bastard led them right to me, I’m sorry I shot him now
. According to the engraving,
Gryff
had died in action in 1937. Apparently Sammy held
Gryff
in such affection that he’d stolen him when he’d left The Basement first time round, hence the canine cranium’s triumphant return.

I took a sip of my beer and looked at Paula, who took a sip of her beer and looked at me.

I smiled. She smiled.

‘So,’ we both said at exactly the same time.

We laughed, in concert.

I wasn’t sure if my face betrayed what I was thinking, i.e.
what the fuck is she doing here? Did she come here for me?
but her face clearly said, to me,
what the fuck am I doing here? Did I come here for
him
?

‘Sammy’s not on tonight,’ I said. ‘If you were looking for him.’

‘I know.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you not just feckin’
hate
awkward silences?’ Paula shook her head. ‘What age are we?’

‘Well I feel about twelve, just at the minute,’ I said.

‘Me too,
Jaysus
! At what point do we actually become grown-ups, do you think?’

‘That’s one of the many secrets our parents take delight in not telling us,’ I said, adding, ‘the bastards.’

Paula shook her head. ‘I came to say sorry for the other night. I woke up on Monday and remembered what I’d said. That was so unfair. I was a bit tipsy, if that’s any excuse.’

‘I take it you’re referring to the
I like you because you’re a failure
thing?’

‘Yes! How big a bitch am I? Honestly, Jim, my head’s up my arse just now; I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it; you had a drink in you.’ I hadn’t (ever) felt the need to forgive Paula, but I was happy to do so if it made her feel better. ‘How was KT?’

‘Christ knows,’ Paula said. ‘If I spoke to her I can’t remember it. No doubt she thinks I’m a twat. Everyone says she’s lovely, so I’m sure she is.’

Paula Fraser was the only person I had ever known who could both name drop and dismiss a very cool famous person without sounding like a pretentious knob.

‘Hell of a singer,’ I said.

Paula looked up. ‘Do you fancy her?’

‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘Don’t start that again.’

We both laughed.

‘Sheryl?’ Paula said, a mischievous look in her eye.

‘It was the
music!
’

‘Yeah, right!’

In about 1994 or thereabouts, I happened to mention to Paula I’d heard a song I liked on the radio. It was called
Run Baby Run
by someone I’d never heard of called Sheryl Crow. I had no idea what Ms Crow looked like when I mentioned this to Paula.

As it turned out, Paula saw a picture of Sheryl before I ever did.

‘Oh yeah,
that’s
why you love her,’ Paula said to me one night. ‘It’s all about the music, nothing to do with her being feckin’ gorgeous!’

I still had no idea what Sheryl Crow looked like at this point, so was vociferous in my defence of her music’s artistic merit. ‘It’s a brilliant song!’ I was often heard to shout.

It therefore became a running joke that any time I liked a female singer or actress or whatever then it must be because I fancied her, which was only ever true about eighty
percent
of the time, tops.

‘Anyway, I’m sorry,’ Paula said, more seriously. ‘You’re not a failure. I actually think you’re brave doing what you’re doing. At least it’s through choice with you.’

‘You’ll get back on your feet, don’t worry. When do you start your job?’

‘Not till August, I’ve got another few months of moping about feeling useless.’

‘When do you think Ingo will come over?’

‘I don’t know. His
grandad’s
pretty ill, and they’re really close, so Ingo won’t leave till he gets better or …’

‘Dies,’ I said, nodding.

‘Still a master of tact then, Jim?’

‘Sorry.’

Paula drained her Becks. ‘To be honest, it’s no bad thing we’ve got some space from each other. Since the school went under we’ve been getting in each other’s faces a bit.’

I perked up. ‘That’s a pity.’

‘It’s just the stress. It’ll be fine when we’re both working again.’ She raised her empty beer bottle. ‘Your round.’

I ordered our drinks from Mark, who had been joined behind the bar by Natalie, the girl who had been working with him at my leaving night.

Most things about Natalie were short, brown or both. She had short, dark-brown hair; she wore a short, brown skirt with thick woollen tights underneath, and had on a short-sleeved brown T-shirt; she was fairly short in stature, and her skin was just short of milk chocolate coloured. My initial assumption was that she was Indian but this was based mainly on my own ignorance, so I couldn’t be sure.

‘Hi, Jim,’ she said, offering a hand for me to shake as Mark poured the drinks. ‘I’m Nat.’

‘Hi, Nat. Let me apologise in advance for the fact I’m going to be getting under your feet and in your way this weekend. Feel free to kick me when I screw stuff up.’

‘I don’t normally need an invitation, but I appreciate you offering it. How’s it going so far?’

‘So far, so shite,’ I said.

‘About the usual, then. Don’t worry; we’ll be gentle with you.’

‘Cheers.’

Natalie smiled. ‘We’re taught to respect our elders, where I come from.’

‘Right. Where is that?
India
?
Pakistan
?’

Natalie’s head tilted. ‘Springburn, actually.’

‘Shit, sorry! I didn’t mean—’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Natalie said, laughing. ‘My grandmother was born in
Carlisle
, if that helps.’

‘Eh,’ I said.

‘Everyone else in the family is from Bangladesh, right enough.’

‘Okay, right. Eh.’

Natalie was still laughing as Mark put the drinks in front of me. ‘He’s gone all racist,’ she said to Mark.

Mark gave me a less than endearing look. ‘She’s from fucking Springburn.’

I did something with my face, I’m not sure what. ‘I, eh,
hmm
.’ I paused and breathed, which helped. ‘You’re a couple of bastards.’

‘Finally! There’s some hope for him,’ Nat said. ‘Welcome to the family, Jim. I’ll try to help you through the confusing bits.’

I lifted the drinks. ‘To reiterate,’ I said, ‘couple of bastards.’

Their laughter, or at least its volume, died-off as I returned to Paula’s (and mine, It was
our!
) table.
Get back in the game
, I told myself. She needs you; she needs a friend, and it’s
you
. Be sensitive.

‘So Ingo’s been doing your nut in, then,’ I said as I sat back down.

Paula hesitated for a second before replying. ‘No more than I’ve been doing to him. Can we change the subject?’

‘Oh, okay,’ I said.

 
There was a pause.

‘Go on then,’ Paula said.

‘What?’

‘Change the subject. Your turn to talk, say something.’

Why didn’t women realise that if there’s one sure way of guaranteeing an uncomfortable silence it’s by telling a guy to
say something
? I scrambled around in my brain trying to think of a suitable topic.

‘This is where we were sitting when you chucked me,’ I said finally.

‘Is it? Wow, you’ve got a good memory.’

I don’t, actually, but I would never forget that. ‘I guess,’ I said.

‘Can you believe that was twelve years ago?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘I thought I was so grown up,’ Paula said.

‘Me too. You, not me,’ I clarified, making Paula grin.

‘Moving to London was fecking terrifying; I still can’t believe I did it.’

‘Me neither.’

‘I guess I’ve got my dad to thank. I was all set to knock back the job till he talked me into taking it.’

The bastard
, I thought. ‘I didn’t know that,’ I said.

‘Yeah, he’s always encouraged us to take risks.’

‘That’s nice. Do you ever regret it?’ I tried to keep the hope from my voice.

‘Never,’ Paula said, with soul destroying certainty. ‘It was the best thing I ever did,’ she added, pouring salt, lemon juice, and hydrochloric acid on the wound.

‘Even now, with things not going so well?’

‘Even now. I mean, I’ve met so many people. Ingo obviously, but everyone else, too. I’d have missed so much if I’d stayed here.’

‘Yeah, that’s true,’ I said. And she thought
I
could be tactless?

‘God, sorry, Jim, I’m doing it again. It’s different for you, this is your home, but I was only here for a few years.
Ireland
’s home for me, but I was young enough when we left not to be too attached, so I don’t really feel that about anywhere, now.’

I hadn’t thought about it like that. I tried to now, but it didn’t help. ‘Makes sense,’ I lied.

‘Anyway, what about you?’ Paula said. ‘No big love in your life?’

‘’
fraid
not,’ I lied again.

‘What about your woman Kate?’

‘No thanks. It takes a bit more than a pretty face, these days.’

‘These days? So that’s all I was, was it?’ Paula faked offence.

‘If even that,’ I said.

‘Wanker.’

‘No change there, then.’

‘So, when was the last time you fell in love?’

This was not a conversation I was keen to pursue. ‘Ages ago,’ I said, truthfully. ‘I seem to have become one of those ‘serial monogamists’.’