Long Time Dead

I picked up my shirt, flung it on. This was an argument I was never going to win so I played cautious. ‘The fact is, Amy, I care about you, and I don’t want you hurt. Can you get your head around that?’

She nodded, moved closer and put her arms around me. ‘I don’t want you hurt either.’

I sighed. Way things were shaping up, that wasn’t going to be an option.

Chapter 30

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE happiest of days; I’d opened up to Amy and found myself experiencing something close to joy. Never a good state for a drinker: it means something bad is just around the corner. It’s the alky’s rationale. Days are meant to bring grief; it’s in the contract. The minute something starts to go right, panic sets in.

I holed up in an East End drinker. I’d given up staying out of Shaky’s manor. The self-destruct button had been flipped, nothing mattered to me any more. If he found out I was still working the case after he’d warned me off, so be it. Like I said, I expected grief… it was in the post.

The thing about getting together with Amy was that it meant dredging up more memories of Debs. I couldn’t escape them, she was still a part of me. My hands trembled as I picked up my mobi. I was well on, blootered drunk. Had put away the best part of a bottle of low-flying burdie. It stung on the way down but I was past caring; I needed drink… I needed to be drunk. To block out the hum of thoughts circling inside my head. If it ended me, so be it.

Ringing.

I cursed her loudly. ‘Fucking pick it up, Debs… what you doing to me?’

I wanted her to tell me she was okay, that I could move on.

Ringing.

I needed to know things were over between us for good. That all the hurt of our past was behind us. That I was free to stop worrying about her.

Ringing.

I wanted nothing from her, nothing. Why couldn’t she see that? Why did I need to hear the words? My head was a mess. I knew I was in bad shape. I belched up a sliver of whisky-perfumed bile.

Voicemail.

‘Oh for fucksake… Debs, Debs… it’s me. Why are you doing this? Why? Why can’t you just speak to me? I need to hear your voice. I’m sorry for everything… everything that went wrong between us. I know you don’t want to hear it but it’s important to me to let you know I’ve moved on. I just need to know you have too… that there’s a world without Gus and Debs. Tell me, please, and I’ll stop calling… I just need to know, Debs… that’s all I need to know. We never spoke. We never talked about this. We just split. Please, Debs… tell me life goes on, eh. Please-’

The call timed out.

I sat the mobi on the bar.

The barman came over. ‘You okay there, mate?’ He was an Aussie, blond and buff – aren’t they all?

‘Oh, aye… give me another Grouse, eh.’

He looked unsure, put hands on the bar. ‘I think you might have had enough, mate.’

I leaned over, grabbing his shirt front. ‘Look, I’ll say when I’ve fucking well had enough, right?’

The Aussie unhooked my fingers, motioned to the door with his eyes. ‘Think you better go now.’ He pointed me out to the street.

‘I’m going nowhere until I get another fucking drink!’

For a moment we stared at each other in silence. I was ready to go to blows. He’d have flattened me into the floor, and knew it, but I was wankered, totally wrecked.

My phone buzzed on the bar top.

I picked it up. I had a text. From Debs.

My hand trembled as I opened the message. It read: Life goes on Gus – Debs.

‘Mate, I think you should call it a night,’ said the barman.

I looked up from the mobi. ‘Yeah, yeah… all right.’

My head felt light as I walked out the door and into the dark night. A Festival crowd wandered past yakking about some comedian they’d just seen. They laughed as they recounted some of the gags, slapping each other on the back as they went.

‘Shut yer fucking faces!’ I roared. How dare they be so happy around me. They turned and laughed at me.

‘Oh, aye… laugh it fucking up.’ I was ranting. This is what I’d come to, ranting at strangers in the street. There was a time when I picked my battles – now they picked me. More and more I was at war with the world. For what? It didn’t matter.

A low screech began in my head. I could hear it, spinning around in there, mashing with the thoughts and memories. I was lost to reality. I had fallen low. I staggered down the street, feeling my way along shop fronts and walls. My legs were rubber, my feet on the end of them had no coordination, slipping and sliding all over the pavement. ‘Well… you got what you wanted, Gus,’ I told myself.

My legs suddenly buckled beneath me.

‘Be careful what you fucking wish for,’ I muttered.

Debs had contacted me. She’d broken her silence. I’d got what I wanted – why wasn’t that enough? Why hadn’t that changed everything? My thoughts mashed, all the dark imaginings subsided, but became supplanted with new, more morose musings.

‘Life goes on, Gus… that’s what she fucking said.’

I had worn her down. She wanted nothing but to be left alone and I’d forced her to give me one last out. Well, now I had it.

I’d pressed some buttons lately. My mam, who deserved to be comfortable in her retirement, had had to look at me with shame in her eyes. She’d explained herself to me as I sat before her in a state of utter deterioration. Christ, what must she have thought of me? Her son, her only remaining son, coming to her in wasted condition looking for words of comfort. I was pathetic. Truly worthy of pity.

I crossed the road at the lights and tried to straighten myself to get through the doors of what looked like the Station Bar. I couldn’t be sure, because I couldn’t see clearly. The sign above the door was a blur; fuck, the door was a blur. Everything was melting before me. I wanted to find oblivion, fast.

I got some looks on the way in but I didn’t care. I had reached a point of drunkenness I had never experienced before. My entire mind seemed steeped in alcohol. I felt ready to blank out, but I couldn’t stop the craving.

‘Give me a Grouse, please.’

To my astonishment, I was served.

I put the glass to my lips and downed it.

‘Get me another, please.’

The drink came. I sipped it slower. Tried to get my bearings but it soon became clear there were none. I had entered a world more surreal than Weekend at Bernie’s. I became vaguely aware of other people in the bar; they were engaged in conversation, laughing, joking. I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I felt lost in hurt and pity.

A bloke in a black leather coat approached me. ‘How you doing?’

His face was a blur and I didn’t recognise the voice.

Fired out, ‘Well… well.’

I took up my glass again, drained it.

I tried to order another but I seemed to have lost the power of speech now.

‘Get him oot ay here!’ I heard the shout, but couldn’t trace it.

I tried to move but collapsed onto a tabletop.

I heard the glasses smash and a woman scream out.

‘Oh my God… he’s bleeding.’

I tried to steady myself on the floor. I could see nothing except a red mist. My hands slipped on the wet