‘Don’t give me the fucking cold shoulder, Debs. I’ve said I’m going, haven’t I?’

She stood up. Usual watched her movement as she came over and snatched the hairdryer from my hand. ‘I was only trying to help.’

I turned away from her, punched out at the open door. The hinges shrieked, then dust rose from the door frame and along the skirting. As I looked at my knuckles Debs shook her head. She said nothing as she turned away from me and started to dry her hair. The tension in the small flat had become too much to take. I stormed into the hall and snatched down my coat.

‘Fuck this for a life,’ I yelled.

The quarter-bottle of Grouse in my pocket cracked off my hip as I threw the coat on.

Chapter 28

I hadn’t landed in the street and ripped the knees out my trousers while sober since I was a boy. Since the day Michael was born. The sensation of dropping to the ground felt familiar enough, like the direction of my life speeded up to a few milliseconds, but the collapse stung my pride. I’d come down like a meteor. For some reason, an image of my father flashed. Was it the thought of my brother, going back to the past? I don’t know, but I saw my father hacking the legs off a gangly winger when he was playing in the reserves. It must have been one of his final matches; he carried a bit of a paunch then, but had lost none of his ferocity. I remembered the tackle had got him sent off, effing and blinding at the ref as he went. The winger’s ankle had broken. I could see his face torn by pain as I raised myself, brushed off the wet, black slush and the white snow from my trousers.

An old woman stood back from her tartan shopping trolley. ‘Are you all right, son?’

I felt such a fool, heat rose on my cheeks. ‘I am, yeah.’

‘You took an awful clatter.’ She had a woolly hat pulled down over her brows, stray white curls escaping its edges as she pointed to my legs. ‘You’ve cut the knees out your trousers!’

I tried to laugh it off. ‘I’ve done worse to myself.’

‘Wait there, son.’ She went back to her trolley and reached in a hand. She removed a little paper bag — it had the name of the chemist shop down the road on it. She struggled in her gloves to open it, said, ‘I’ve got some Germolene… It’ll take the sting out.’

As I watched the old woman I felt like taking her up in my arms and blessing her kindness. It seemed surreal to me, in this world, that there were still people with any compassion for others. I said, ‘There’s no need, dear. It’s very kind of you, but really, I’m fine.’

She seemed to freeze in the street. I watched her breath escape beneath her dentures, but she didn’t say another word. I wondered if I’d offended her, if I’d broken some protocol that had been instilled in her long before I was born; the thought wounded me.

‘Thank you,’ I said. It seemed so trite. ‘Mind how you go on those pavements.’ I smiled at her as I went. She stood holding the little paper bag, unmoving.

At the end of the road I turned back and saw her shuffling up the street, trailing the trolley behind her like a child with a teddy bear. What I wanted to know, as I stared at her on the frozen path, was who would look after her?

As I walked, my father followed.

I couldn’t shake the memory I’d dislodged.

The reserves drew a fair crowd then. Cannis Dury was still a big name, even though his World Cup outing had faded in Scotland’s collective memory. I tried to recall if Michael had been at the game, but I couldn’t. I’d blocked him out. I was used to memories of my father flooding back to me unbidden, but I didn’t want these heartscalds to be confused with any recollections I had stored of my brother.

I clutched the quarter-bottle of Grouse in my pocket again, played with the seal. I had just about worried the label away; it no longer felt smooth, it was coarse on my fingertips. I tried to still my jittering hand — had this become some kind of obsessive compulsion? It was like a nervous tick, a disorder. I pulled my hand from the bottle. It sank to the bottom of my pocket and lay still. I schlepped all the way to the Mile. At Parliament Square a crowd of shivering Japanese tourists spat on the Heart of Midlothian: they’d obviously been told this was an existing tradition at the site of the old Tolbooth. I thought, these days, it was more likely to get them arrested.

I felt low as I walked. My thoughts lit on my father again, then, inevitably, my brother. I hoped I was getting closer to finding his murderer, but I was also getting deeper into the shit by the day. I’d pushed Debs away too, and I knew she couldn’t take much more; the real question was how much more could I take?

Dr Naughton’s receptionist greeted me with a cheery hello and directed me to a chair in the waiting area to the side of her desk. Two piles of National Geographic lay on the table but I still didn’t have the urge to read anything. As I sat, I heard the door from my therapist’s room open. She was ushering out a patient. The woman looked like a librarian or a schoolteacher; some of the teachers I’d had were walking wounded — I wondered if I’d fallen into this category now.

My palms began to sweat as the doctor called me in.

I kept my coat on, covered the bloody knees that showed beneath my torn trousers.

‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with your coat off?’ said the doctor.

I shook my head. ‘I’m fine.’

She stood up, adjusted the thermostat on the wall. ‘And how are you today, Gus?’

‘I said already, I’m fine.’

She let the sting of that settle. I turned away, didn’t want to catch her reaction.

The child’s tricycle still sat in the corner. She caught me staring at it again. ‘I thought we might try to talk about something different today,’ she said.

‘Oh, yeah?’ I snapped. I really wasn’t in the mood for playing the patient any more. I wiped my palms on my coat sleeves.

‘Would you like to tell me about your working life?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, sweet Lord.’ I knew I was being difficult for reasons of my own, it wasn’t her problem. I checked myself. ‘Look, my career is over. The trade’s finished, and I’m what you might call on the scrapheap. So, not a good choice of subject really, doc.’

She sat forward in her chair, put out her elbows as she crossed her fingers together. ‘We can talk about whatever you like.’

I didn’t want to talk about anything, so that was going to be a short conversation. I stood up, sighed, ‘Is there much more of this to come?’

Dr Naughton’s voice softened. ‘That’s up to you… Do you feel you’ve made any progress with these visits?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. I don’t much like going over the past.’

She motioned to my chair. There was nowhere to hide in the room so I sat down again. ‘Surely there must be some moments of happiness you recall.’

I kept my hands in my pockets, manoeuvred my coat over my knees again. ‘Some…’ They all involved Debs; it touched a deep part of me, registered why I was there.

‘Would you like to tell me about one?’

I dredged up a few images: expressions on her face, how she looked at one time or another. How happiness felt. My heart seemed to still inside me, and a warmth washed over my mind. A precious memory lit up; I almost smiled.

‘We were at the birth of my niece, Alice…’

‘Go on.’

‘It was special. Debs had taken a real interest when Jayne got pregnant — my wife, we were married then, she’d lost a child and couldn’t have another… I think she got something out of being around Jayne, do you understand?’

‘I understand, yes.’

I fiddled with a hangnail as I spoke. ‘It was all, y’know, baby talk and baby books and clothes and so on for months. Jayne and Michael were so young it was a bit of a shock to them both but I think it focused them, it was a

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