he really really was, just go to bed and go to sleep and go to yer fucking work, that was all he wanted, nothing more, nothing nothing more.
Bloody blues, he could sing blues alright, fuck that! It could even make ye smile. Coming to bed in her bra and pants, why not a coat and a pair of shoes, it was just bloody stupid. But thank god he wasnay nude, just thinking about that, if he had been, christ!
Andy shook his head and settled on his back again. Just because ye get sick of it. Ye think of Barbara too, how Barbara used to just like how she played people. Fiona was like that, she was.
Ye were just fucking laughable. Mind and body! Yer body isnt even yours. Stand at attention. She touches you and that is that. You tell yer body, Dont move at all costs! Just stupid. A-ten-shun! Flesh flesh flesh.
Lies! Why did she say that.
That is women. That for him was women. He had no idea. All the stuff behind him – he hadnt told her about that – his life, all the previous crap. He hadnt told her about a damn thing. Nothing. For all she knew he had a score weans and five bloody ex-wives. And why should he have told her? They had only just met for christ sake.
He listened for her breathing. Obviously she was awake.
I’m not telling any lies, he said. He swallowed saliva. Not because he was lying; he wasnt. It is simply that is what he was doing, swallowing saliva. He didnt have to justify himself. He stared at the hair at the back of her neck, his head now balanced on the palm of his left hand and he raised his other hand, lifted the hair free from her shoulder. But she edged away: only a little but enough, enough.
He lay on his back again. That was him now, that was him now for sure. No more no more, no more McCrimmon. No he didnt play for Barbara, of course he didnt play for Barbara. They could all go and fuck themself. It was the superficiality, he hated that above all. Ye wanted to be honest and straight with people and it didnt work. That bastard Tony who was his pal, supposed to be.
What did it matter, women or whoever? He was out of bed, had swung his legs out and over the edge without thinking, and he stood. It was quite cold and he shoved on his T-shirt. Fiona raised herself up on the bed. A cup of tea, he said, ye fancy?
Ye dont have hot chocolate? I’m joking.
He smiled. Sorry.
You say sorry a lot.
Actually I used to have some ye know, in the cupboard someplace.
Oh you’ve got a cupboard?
He scratched his head.
Tea’s fine, she added.
Ye sure?
Yes.
I definitely did have a tin of hot chocolate. I had Horlicks too. Things vanish in this house. Sometimes they turn up again, sometimes they dont.
Are you cold? she asked.
Me?
Ye’re hopping about.
Well it is cold.
Ye look like ye’re freezing!
Okay, he said and walked ben the kitchen. He did have central heating but it had the habit of switching itself off. What a facility! It only worked when it wanted to work which was hardly at all nowadays. Past tense, like most everything else.
It was true about things vanishing. It happened with a particular mug he liked. It disappeared then turned up out the blue. He thought of it as an independent wee soul who liked to visit other pieces of crockery. He told his daughter that story. It turned out the only mug was the one telling the tale. He hadnt seen her for a couple of weeks. She was a polite wee girl. He wished she wasnay. He wished she was a harum-scarum, a proper wee kid, one that didnt worry. She worried. At seven years of age. If she wasnay polite he might disappear altogether.
Ach, enough; enough enough.
He made a slice of toast and ate it while making one for Fiona who was delighted when he returned; amazed and delighted. He switched on the light. She was sitting up in bed, had pulled a cardigan over herself. What a smile. A beamer! The way to a woman’s heart, he said. He passed her the toast and placed the tea on the floor at the side of the bed.
Thank you!
It’s only toast!
The smell alone! When ye were making it, I wondered if it came from next door! I didnt even think I was hungry! Oh but where’s yours?
Mine, I scoffed it, while I was making yours. It’s just a wee toaster. It only makes one at a time.
It must be the last of its kind, she said, reaching for her tea.
Yeah, well. He shrugged.
She sipped at the tea, munched on the toast. He grinned. What? she said.
Nothing.
She lifted the last of the toast and put it into her mouth but noticed he was still watching her. What’s wrong? she said.
Nothing.
Ye’re just standing there watching me. Why arent ye coming into bed?
I’m waiting to put the light out.
You should have a bedside cabinet. It would be useful for putting things on, including a lamp.
I used to have one.
Yer books too, ye could put yer books on it. I know ye’re a reader.
Yeah. He smiled again, to which she noticed but made no reference. Another reason why he was standing there! He was waiting for an invitation! How come? It was his bed but he was the guest. Weird. It was an old pair of boxers too. Tried and trusteds; the kind ye wear to yer work, if ye are unlucky enough to have work to go to.
She had finished her toast now.
Ready? he said.
I’m fine, she said. He turned and switched off the light. In bed he faced out the way, away from her. She dropped her cardigan to the floor.
But it was weird. He hadnt been expecting to be in this situation. Which said much about him and where his head was. At one time he would have dressed for every occasion merely in the off-chance of bumping into a woman. Footloose and fancy-free. He was neither and this was neither.
But what exactly was it? There was nothing between them. She was in his bed but they hadnay slept the gether in the accepted sense: in other words sex, there wasnay any! They were in bed for sleeping purposes only. So that degree of familiarity did not exist between them. Nowhere near it. Not even a prolonged kiss like from her as well as him. She maybe pecked him at one point but not an actual kiss, not a proper one.
But she didnt appear to grasp any of this. She was acting as if they knew each other really well. Christ almighty he had only seen her twice in his life and the time before tonight was only hazy, very hazy, although she had a clearer vision. The truth is he couldnay remember a single damn thing about it. What could he remember? Nothing. He had been drunk. Another fucking night of nothing.
