Scratch (46 page)

‘Eh, yeah, I suppose so.’ Paula smiled weakly.

‘You’d almost think the pair of you were a couple again, the way you tore into each other there.’

If I wasn’t already sure, this confirmed to me that Simon knew exactly what was going on. ‘Hah, old habits,’ I said, not fooling anyone.

‘Yeah,’ Paula said. ‘He was always easy to shout at.’

‘I’m sure he was,’ Simon said. ‘Don’t worry about Louise, James. It’s a slight bone of contention, I’ll grant you, but it’s a familiar one. She’ll be fine.’

‘Right, okay,’ I said. ‘Sorry though.’

And that was the end of the joviality for the evening. Louise told Simon she was ready to go home when she got back from the
ladies
, and Paula decided to go with them. Neither of the Fraser girls were able to do more than smile politely at me as they left. They both managed a hug for Sammy, though.

‘What did you do?’ Terry said when they had left.

‘Yeah, big man,’ Jed shouted from three feet away. ‘You threw a
fuckin
’
welly
in the spokes there, mate. Well done.’

‘You talked about Ireland, didn’t you?’ Sammy looked almost sympathetic as I nodded. ‘Paula should probably have told you about that one.’

‘It would have helped,’ I said. ‘I was only being nice like you said.’

‘On reflection maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘I’m blaming you, mate,’ I said. ‘And I think I deserve another pint as an apology.’

‘As do I, from you,’ Terry reminded me.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

‘Oh straighten your face, Jim. She’ll forgive you,’ Kate said, with what sounded like a touch of disappointment. ‘I’ll get this round.’

‘Incidentally,’ I said to Sammy while Kate was at the bar. ‘Simon knows.’

‘And this is you just figuring that out?’

Chapter 25

I took several deep breaths and rang the doorbell.

I stopped breathing completely when Paula opened the door. She looked incredible. She always did, of course, but this time she looked
incredibly
incredible.

I knew she was having her hair done the previous day, but was shocked to see that the curly, long look had been replaced by a short, feathered bob. It wasn’t quite blonde but it was a lot lighter than it had been. I loved her hair long, but I loved this even more. Her features were emphasised without a curtain of curls to hide behind, and they deserved to be. The magic make-up can conjure had always been a mystery to me, the way it can, when utilised properly, make someone look completely transformed while still looking exactly like them self was a wondrous thing, and Paula had carried out some supremely proper utilising.

She wore a tight, black shirt with tight, black denims, emphasising perfectly those parts of her that should involve straight lines, while pointing out subtly but clearly those that shouldn’t. She. Was. Fucking. Gorgeous.

All I’d done was shave and put on clean boxers.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Uh,
hiya
.’ I was breathing again, but wasn’t ready for anything as complicated as conversation. I held up the plastic bag in my hand. ‘Wine.’

‘Okay.’ Paula smiled. ‘Are you going to come in or should I bring the glasses out here?’

‘In,’ I said. ‘I’ll come in.’

Paula continued to smile as she led me into her parents’ living room. KT
Tunstall
played on the stereo and candles clustered on the coffee table, lending a wispy, romantic glow to proceedings. I. Was. Fucking. Terrified.

‘Relax,’ Paula said. ‘It’s me.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘I think I should pour the wine.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’

Paula had quickly forgiven me for my faux-pas with Louise in The Basement. We’d met for lunch twice since then, but both of us had skilfully avoided the subject of this weekend.

If I was willing to accept a certain level of masochism in my character, I had to admit that, frustrating and annoying as fuck as the previous four months had been, they had allowed the level of anticipation to develop to an almost delicious level.

The downside of this, though, was that I was now so blinded and confused by my own expectations, and so petrified I wouldn’t be able to meet Paula’s, that there was a real danger my brain (amongst other things) might explode.

Being a stupid idiot (or wanker, I wasn’t sure), these fears manifested as a complete inability to structure even the simplest of sentences.

‘Here you go,’ Paula said, handing me a glass of red so full it wasn’t funny, and sitting next to me on the sofa. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ I got halfway through the wine before I needed to come up for air.

‘So,’ Paula said.

‘So.’

‘Here we are.’

‘Yep.’ I smiled, in lieu of anything coherent to say.

She rubbed my upper-arm. ‘
Jaysus
, you’re tenser than a Catholic at a Rangers/Hearts cup final.’

‘With Ian Paisley handing out the medals,’ I agreed. ‘I’m a wee bit nervous.’

‘So am I, it’s okay.’ She smiled. ‘How fecked-up is this?’

‘Only very,’ I said.

‘More wine?’

‘Oh God, yes.’

This glass didn’t last much longer than the first.

‘Tell me you’re not going to sit there in silence till you’re so
pished
you fall asleep. That’s not quite what I had in mind for our first night together.’

‘Sorry.’ I put the almost empty wine glass on the coffee table. I nearly said ‘eh’, but managed to say nothing instead.

‘Right, mister. You need to relax. If I bite you it won’t be in a bad way, I promise.’ Paula took my hand and placed it on her thigh as she leaned across me to refill my glass.

The perfume. Fuck, I’d forgotten about the perfume. My hand on her leg coupled with the scent of the same perfume she’d worn twelve years ago almost crippled me.

We worked, back then. We
worked
. And we would again. I thought this, I
told
myself this. It was superb, back then. Surely it couldn’t be anything other than magnificent, now? Surely?

Paula sat back and clasped my hand in hers as she looked at me.

‘Hasn’t this been a long time coming?’ she said.

‘Bruce Springsteen, Devils and Dust album, 2005,’ I said, flailing.

‘Jim, shut up.
This
has been a long time coming.’ Paula snuggled closer and threw an arm round my shoulders. ‘
We’ve
been a long time coming. You and me.’

‘Hold on to that thought. I have a feeling I may prove at least half of it wrong quite soon.’

***

If you’re looking for details you won’t find them here. Some things are, and should remain, personal.

All I will say is I didn’t quite master the conversation side of things that weekend, but, after a faltering start, I think (perhaps that should be
hope
) I did okay in other respects. It seemed we did still fit, after all.

Ridiculously pleasurable as our waking hours were for me, the image I carried with me as I travelled home on the Monday morning was that of Paula sleeping. I’d forgotten how good she was at that. Sleep was an elusive concept for me, difficult to find without chemical assistance and all too easily lost again, but Paula was an expert.

The peace was the thing that struck me most. She had, and
had
had, tougher shit than many to deal with in her life, but when she slept her face lost the worry, it lost the stress; it returned to its default state, one of peace, rest and potential. Her make-up may have been smudged and her hair in sweaty disarray, but that was when she was at her most beautiful; that was when I loved her most of all.

I won’t deny I also had some other, more dynamic, images in my mind, but that was the one I clung to, the one that helped
me
sleep when she wasn’t there beside me at night.

So, I was a happy man on that 44 bus, on that Monday morning. My only regret was that I had remained an inarticulate fuckwit for most of the weekend, but I hoped Paula would forgive me that one. We had forever to work on it, after all.

Chapter 26

‘Good morning,’ my mum said. ‘I was wondering if you’d moved out without telling us.’

‘I told you I was staying at Terry’s.’

‘Yes, on Friday night. Today’s Monday, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Right, sorry. It turned into a weekender, I should have phoned you.’ I sighed. It was hard enough lying the whole time, never mind remembering to embellish the lie with another lie, even to my parents.

‘It would have been a thought, yes,’ Mum said. ‘Seeing as you’re not dead would you like some French Toast?’

‘I’d love some.’ Paula and I had eaten when we remembered to over the weekend, but I was still starving.

‘It’s nearly ready, shout on your dad.’

Three slices of
eggy
-bread with tomato ketchup later, I felt a great deal better.

‘We’re shy a week’s rent,’ my dad said when he’d devoured his plateful.

‘I’ve got it here.’ I dug into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the wad of
tenners
it had been incubating since Friday.

‘Thank you.’ Dad gave the notes a cursory glance before handing them to my mum.

Shaking my head would have been too obvious, so I shook my brain instead. ‘How was the DVD?’ I asked.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. I haven’t had time to watch it yet, but thanks. Much appreciated.’ He had the good grace not to look me in the eye, which was something.

‘Did I mention I got promoted last week?’ I knew I hadn’t, I didn’t see the point. A more senior barman was still just a barman.

‘Really?’ Mum said. ‘Is that you a charge-hand again, then?’

‘Co-manager, actually.’

‘What does that mean?’ Dad asked, suddenly interested.

‘It means I have joint responsibility for running the pub.’

‘Joint responsibility?’

‘Yes, Dad, joint, along with Kate.’

‘Better money?’

One of the reasons I hadn’t mentioned it before now was that Sammy hadn’t clarified this point yet. ‘It will be, yes.’

‘Good to know,’ my dad said. I could hear the abacus clicking behind his eyes.

I went up to my room to try and catch a nap. Paula’s parents were due back before lunchtime, so the plan was that she would spend the afternoon with them then meet back up with me that evening in The Basement. Sammy had allowed me the entire long weekend off, and I wanted to celebrate my last night of freedom before I returned to work the next day.

It struck me that the previous three days with Paula were the closest thing I’d had to a holiday for many, many years. That I’d spent it less than five miles from my house didn’t take away from the fact that it was a bloody good one, as holidays go. No beaches and no sun, perhaps, but plenty of staying in bed late and lots of fun.