Big Lou said nothing. She liked Matthew, and he liked her, and these exchanges were good-natured, even if Big Lou meant every word of her criticism. But now it was time for her to prepare Matthew’s coffee, and besides, there was an important piece of information for her to impart to Matthew.
While she clamped the grounds container in place, Big Lou asked Matthew over her shoulder whether he had heard of Cyril’s misfortune. Matthew had not, and while the espresso machine steamed and hissed, Big Lou related the melancholy story of Cyril’s detention by the Lothian and Borders Police.
“Angus will be very upset,” Matthew ventured.
“Aye,” Lou said. “Cyril is his only real friend.”
Matthew thought this a bit extreme. “Oh, he’s got other friends, I think. Domenica, for example.”
“She tolerates him,” said Big Lou. “But only just. Have you heard the way she talks about him when he’s not there?”
“There are people down at the Cumberland Bar,” said Matthew. “He’s got friends there.”
29
“Not much use having friends in a bar,” said Big Lou enigmatically. “Anyway, Cyril meant a lot to Angus. And now I expect they’ll put him down. That’s the way it is for dogs. Step out of line, and that’s it. We had a dog in Arbroath that worried sheep and a farmer shot it. No questions. That’s how it is for dogs.”
Matthew half-listened to this dire prediction. He was thinking of friendship: even if Angus had few friends – which he did not think was true – then how many close friends was it possible to have? Big Lou herself was hardly one to imply friendlessness on the part of Angus; Matthew had not heard her mention any friends, and he had always suspected that her life outside the coffee bar was a solitary one, immured, as she was, in her flat with all those books.
“What about you, Lou?” he asked. “You say that Angus doesn’t have many friends, but how many do you have? I’m not trying to be rude, asking this question – I was just wondering.”
Big Lou reached for the polishing cloth. There was never any dirt on the bar, but that did not prevent her polishing it assid-uously, staring into the reflective surface in the hope of finding a speck of something that she could rub away at.
“Friends?” she said. “Friends? I’ve got plenty, thank you very much, Matthew. Plenty of friends.”
Matthew, leaning against the bar, took a sip of coffee. “Here in Edinburgh?” he asked. “Or up in Arbroath?”
Big Lou polished energetically, moving her cloth in large circles that threatened to collide with Matthew’s elbow. “Both places,” she said. “Arbroath and Edinburgh. And some in Glasgow and Dundee. Everywhere, in fact.”
“Who are your Edinburgh friends, Lou?” pressed Matthew.
“Not counting us, of course.”
Big Lou glanced at him. “You’re very inquisitive today,” she said. “But since you ask, there’s Mags and Neil and Humphrey and Jill Holmes and . . . well, quite a few others. I’ve got my friends, you know. Probably more than you have, Matthew, come to think of it.”
Matthew smiled. “Maybe, Lou. Maybe.” He paused. “But, I 30
We never see them in here, do we? Who are they? Mags, for instance, who’s she?”
Big Lou finished her polishing with a final flourish and tucked her cloth away beneath the bar. “Mags,” she said, “since you ask, is a very good friend of mine. I met her on the corner of Eyre Crescent, on the way down to Canonmills. She was standing there when I walked past.”
Matthew stared at Big Lou. “You met her on the street? She was just standing there? And you went up to her and said . . . ?”
“It wasn’t like that,” said Big Lou. “Mags was working in the street when I went past. I stopped to have a word with her.”
Matthew rubbed his hands together. “This gets better and better, Lou,” he said. “Working in the street, Lou? What exactly was she doing in the street?”
“Working in the street,” said Big Lou in a matter-of-fact tone.
“You see, Mags drives one of these small steamrollers that road crews use. She was sitting on her steamroller with a cigarette in her mouth and she bent down and asked me if I had a light. I didn’t, but I said something about her steamroller and we started to chat.”
“Just like that?” said Matthew. “You started to chat? Two complete strangers?”
“Not complete,” said Big Lou. “Mags, you see, came from Arbroath. Unlike you, Matthew, she came from somewhere.”
Matthew looked crestfallen. She was right, though, he thought.
My trouble is that I come from nowhere. Money, education –
these give you freedom, but they can take you away from your roots, your place.
“Something interests me, Lou,” he began. “What sort of woman thinks of getting a job on a road crew? How did Mags end up doing that?”
