Dr Naughton put on her professional tone; she had her clipboard back: ‘How do you feel today, Gus?’
It seemed a totally meaningless question, even as an opener. ‘Fine. I feel fine.’ Was I nothing. I burned inside. In the last few days I’d replayed a million and one scenarios that might have led to Michael’s murder. Every one was possible, and every one twisted in my gut like a bolt.
She made that face of hers, one that says Trust me, I’m a doctor. I wondered if she practised it in the mirror. ‘Do you think we made any progress in the last sessions?’
I nodded. She seemed a good person and I didn’t want to upset her, but I thought it would take more than a few hours of chat to see any progress in my life.
‘That’s good.’ She sounded pleased, one of her Kicker boots started to tap on her chair leg. ‘Maybe you’d like to tell me some more about your upbringing.’
Or maybe not. I looked out the window. There were icicles on the railings. They’d thaw before I would, but I played along, said, ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Can you tell me something you remember from your adolescence?’
I had a store of memories from this time. The one I thought of first was when I met Debs. I toyed with telling her about that, about how she thought I looked like I’d been hit with a brick. The memory spiralled on to the time I took her home to meet my family, and it ended with another first: my raising a hand to my father. I decided against telling the doc.
‘I, erm, went to university at seventeen,’ I said. ‘I was the first in my family to go. It was quite an achievement. My mother was just rapt…’
She sensed an opportunity to probe. ‘And your father… How did he react?’
I huffed, ‘He didn’t.’ My father was hacked-off — anything that took the sheen off his accomplishments was worthy of frowning upon.
She pressed: ‘He never commented?’
I remembered his face, wanted to punch it yet. ‘He did, yeah, about six months later… when I bailed.’
It must have been in her middle-class programming to attack me for that decision, but she held it back. Her face held firm, she let some distance settle between the years then continued, ‘Do you want to tell me what he said?’
My palms itched. ‘He laughed and said I had shown myself up. Not him, because he had told everyone I’d be back like a whipped dog before the end of the first year. Bastard knew exactly how to get me back as well — it was all his fault. He ruined my chance.’
Dr Naughton looked impassive. She kept a hold on the level of emotion in the room by remaining so calm herself. She said, ‘What was the subject you studied at university?’
She never asked the questions I expected, the logical ones. ‘Don’t you want to know why I left?’
‘Only if you want to tell me, Gus.’
I leaned forward in my chair, planted my elbows on my knees. ‘He beat my brother so badly that he ended up in hospital. He’d duffed us all up for years but this was something else, this was savage. He’d kicked him about like a football.’ The memory set off a tick in my brow; I smoothed it away with my fingertips. But the image still burned. ‘He was so black and blue, his face such a horrific sight, that my mother woke up screaming in the night for months.’ It wasn’t the physical beating she’d upset herself over — it was the damage it had done him inside his mind. ‘Michael was so ashamed, knew he couldn’t hide his bruises like we were supposed to, that…’ I wondered if I should tell her this. I had never spoken of it before, it was Michael’s business and no one else’s, but now he was gone. ‘He put a clothesline around his neck and jumped from the back dyke. If the line hadn’t been rotten through he’d have made a job of it.’
The doctor lost her composure — her hand jerked on her clipboard. ‘My God.’
I had gotten to her, broken that steely reserve. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you.’
My words helped her gather herself. ‘You came home to protect your brother?’
I had been used to protecting Michael — this one incident aside, he had fared better than all of my father’s children. ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel I resented him for that…’
She spoke softly, ‘It’s what you feel that matters here, Gus.’
I didn’t know what to feel any more.
Chapter 21
Hod was due for release from hospital. I waited for the call. Mac had told me that Hod had some information to give me; apparently he’d come good. I’d already decided what my next move was going to be: if Hod had come up with the goods then it was time to do some serious head-stomping.
I sat in front of the tube, flicking, when I caught Gordon Ramsay calling a chef an arrogant twat, thought: Has the man no sense of irony? It was some ‘reality’ shite, couldn’t watch more than a second. Had the notion to suggest Tyson as one of Gordon’s next star turns — like to see him try the rough stuff on Iron Mike. Might even tune in for that.
Flicked some more, found an infomercial for a lateral thigh trainer. Kept going through the channels, hit the twenty-four-hour news. Some academic banged on about the end of capitalism, said we’d be binning globalisation and going back to small-scale economies. A bloke in the street had said something similar to me the other day: ‘We’ll see the horse making a comeback yet!’
I knew who I believed.
News said the oil price had slumped and Scotland was facing a whack to its offshore development. We’d lost our banks — some that were older than our dodgy Treaty of Union — our businesses were going to the wall by the hour, but I found something to smile about: the man who had been the country’s one and only billionaire had lost his title as Scotland’s richest man. His fortune had been slashed, he was even forced to sell his?50 million Cap Ferrat mansion. If I had any tears left I spent them laughing that he had to sell his?2 million yacht as well.
‘Welcome to reality,’ I said. Could see the day when some of the plutocrats that had been pushing the trickle-down economic model would be trickling down to the job centre. And it wouldn’t be long.
My mobi started to ring.
‘All right, my son,’ said Hod.
‘It’s John Wayne!’
‘I’ll be fucking John Wayne Bobbitt if I have to spend another night in here surrounded by nurses.’
I laughed that up, said, ‘Thought there was only two sure things in life — death and a nurse.’
Hod guffawed, ‘Aye well, no’ in uniform, that’s for sure. The food’s fucking awful as well; my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.’
I saw where this was going. ‘You checked out?’
‘Aye, oh aye… Want to come and collect me?’
‘I can hardly say no. When?’
‘Now, mate… sooner if you can make it.’
I flicked off the TV, said, ‘I’ll get in the car.’
I left the dog behind, chucked him some Bonios.
The roads were still iced up. No sign of a gritter the entire route. I drove in the teeth of a fierce wind all the way to the hospital. When I arrived Hod was out front in a short-sleeved shirt, three buttons open. The dash said it was about two degrees above freezing, but he looked unfazed. His second skin poking out his collar did the job. He smoothed down the corners of his tache as I pulled in — still couldn’t get used to the sight of it. ‘You want to drop round Wyatt Earp’s gaff to give him his mozzer back?’
‘Shut it, man. You’re just jealous of my manliness.’
‘Ah-ha, of course, your manliness… that’s what it’ll be. And I thought I was just embarrassed to be seen with someone who looks like he’s one of the Village People.’
He gave me the finger, said, ‘Fuck off, I can take it.’ We pulled out laughing. I was glad to have my mate back in one piece; didn’t think I’d ever been happier to see him. We headed for the Wall but got stuck in a static lane of traffic.
‘These roads are murder,’ said Hod. He winced, went on, ‘Sorry, didn’t mean… you know.’
