hand should be,'
'member and keep away from London. It’s full of killers and fools.'
'Aye, that’s good advice for your money,' said the ticket collector. 'So do you want this ticket to Aberdeen?'
'What do you think?'
'I think you should bugger off.'
Jackie’s song echoed from the exit.
I hesitated, caught between the impulse to run after the old man and an urge to thump the ticket- collector.
I said, 'Who the fuck do you think you are?'
He shook his head, and started to walk towards the waiting queue. I made to follow him, then a small figure caught my eyeline. I turned and said, 'Hi Mum.'
We wandered down past the Stalinist facade of the concert hall and into the city. I reached towards my mother’s carrier bag but she pulled it away from my grasp. The last time we’d met I’d taken her to an Italian restaurant I’d read about on the flight from London. This time I didn’t even have the price of a cup of coffee. The change hung between us as we walked towards the cafe of her choice.
I’ve drunk coffee in Starbucks from Manhattan to Inverness and never yet enjoyed the experience. We queued, ordered, Mum paid, then we waited to see what we’d paid for.
Perhaps it said something about the indomitability of the human spirit that no matter how hard the coffee corporation tried they couldn’t guarantee service with a smile. Our server looked like he’d had a rough night. His skin had a veal-calf pallor and there were red rings round his eyes that told of late nights and smoky rooms. He clattered our cups onto their saucers, swilling milky coffee over the side.
I lifted the tray and said, 'Ever thought you were in the wrong job?'
'All the time, pal.' He leant forward and whispered low enough to exclude the other customers. 'I’d prefer one that didn’t involve dealing with wankers.' Getting things off his chest seemed to cheer the boy up. He smiled, resuming normal volume. 'Mind and have a nice day.'
I started to answer, but Mum put her hand on the small of my back. She should have been a nightclub bouncer. There was no arguing with that steady pressure. I bit back my words and we made our way to the only seats available, two stained chairs set round a table littered with a debris of sandwich wrappers and dirty cups. I slid the tray between the mess.
Suddenly I wanted a pint.
Mum set our cups on the table and started to fill the empty tray with the rubbish. A plastic sandwich pack sprang open and her mouth grew tight as she forced it shut.
'Do you have to pick a fight with everyone you meet?'
I watched her hand the tray to a passing employee with the smoothness of a fly-half passing a rugby ball. One minute the guy was loose-limbed and unburdened, the next he was laden.
'Bad manners annoy me.'
Mum folded a napkin and placed it between the saucer and the cup to soak up the slopped coffee. She rubbed a paper hanky over the spills of the previous customers, then put her carrier bag on the table between the lattes.
'It’s me that’s the pensioner, not you.'
'Aye, sorry.'
She smiled to show me the reprimand was over then reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope with her address written on it in my handwriting.
'I’d best give you this before I forget.'
'Oh, right.'
I took the envelope from her, feeling the cord that seems to stretch from my guts to my groin tighten.
'You said it was insurance documents.'
'That’s right.'
I slid it into my inside pocket wondering if Montgomery’s envelope would be my insurance or a bait to my downfall.
'Your dad always said you had a good head on you, underneath all the carry-on.'
'Thanks, Mum.'
'I brought you a couple of things.' She unfolded the plastic bag and pulled out a three-pack of navy socks. 'I thought you could probably do with these.'
'Thanks.' I lifted them up trying to look interested in the 80 per cent wool, 20 per cent acrylic mix. 'Great.'
'They were on sale in the Asda. How are you for pants?'
