Fallow Page 12

  ‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘If you haven’t got room then you haven’t got room.’

  She looked up at me. ‘I think we can squeeze you in. How many?’

  I told her three and she nodded. ‘There’s a few beds going in the bunkroom. How does that sound?’

  The bunkroom, it turned out, was a series of bunk beds crammed into a garret at the top of the Groveview. The woman on the desk had described it as an economic option, meaning it was for teenagers and backpackers. Mikey, Isaac and I stood in the doorway. Nearly every bed was filled either by a sleeping youth or their rucksack. I found our three empty units and we put a piece of clothing on each one, just in case a Manuel or a Margueritte decided to branch out into our space.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘This is us.’

  ‘It’s very… eh…’ said Isaac.

  Mikey loved it. He claimed the top bunk and climbed up. ‘Bagsy this,’ he said. ‘This is mine.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I told him. ‘Top bunk’s the worst.’

  ‘No it’s not. Bottom bunk’s worst.’

  Isaac intervened before things could get too heated and we headed outside. The woman ignored us as we passed through reception. We stood on the pavement with our hands in our pockets. A bus’s gears crunched as it sped past and a constant stream of pedestrians waddled by.

  ‘What now?’ said Mikey.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, then turning to Isaac, I said, ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘No offence or anything, but we don’t know you. What’s your plan?’

  ‘I’m heading north, but I’m in no rush.’

  ‘What’s going on up north?’

  Isaac shook his head. He had a penny sized bruise above his right temple where I’d dinged him with the canister. ‘Couldn’t be telling you that, Saint Paul. Top secret. Top secret operation.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, not wanting to get drawn into his nonsense. ‘Let’s get some food.’

  We caught one of the buses going the other way into town. Mikey and Isaac sat together and I had to park myself beside a smelly man in fluorescent work gear.

  ‘See the thing about this,’ said Isaac, nodding to the world lurching by the windows, ‘is that it’s all an illusion. It’s a trick the mind plays on itself. To cope.’

  ‘Aye?’ said Mikey, checking the sandstone tenements and flat roofed pubs.

  ‘Aye. It’s been researched. The mind can’t cope with how fucken…’ Isaac shook his hands by his temples, ‘with how fucken weird the world is. So we see a version of reality. Like this, for example.’ He held the front of his jacket closed over his shirt. ‘What colour’s my top?’

  Mikey shook his head. ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘See?’ He opened his jacket up again. ‘It was white. But you didn’t know that because your brain hid it from you. It’s all a fucken mirage.’

  I watched as Mikey pulled his own T-shirt out from his stomach. He looked down at it and nodded. I was sure he was telling himself the colour in his head, in case he forgot.

  ‘I found that out the hard way,’ said Isaac.

  I leaned forward, onto the backs of their seats. ‘Found out what?’

  ‘About it all being an illusion. That’s what turned my hair white. When I found out it was such a shock that it went white and never turned back.’

  ‘What happened like?’

  ‘So, it must have been… I want to say five or six years ago. I was in a bad place. A bad old place. I was very, very alone. Lived alone, slept alone, so on. I was doing a lot of late night reading.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I was staying, for some reason, up in Dundee. In this horrible place… I don’t even want to describe. But I got a call from my cousin. My cousin’s a good person. You two’d like him. A very gentle person. He says to me, he says, Grant, there’s a party this weekend. You need to come to this party.’

  Mikey’s head flicked round. ‘Grant?’

  ‘Aw. Aye. Grant’s my real name like. My civilian title. Anyway, my cousin comes and picks me up and we drive down. Only thing is, is this is no normal party. It’s one of those whole weekend things in a field. Big fucken generator slap bang in the middle of it all. Girls man. Girls all over the shop. And all the way down I’ve had this worm in my ear. This little worm talking to me. Telling me I’m this, that, and the next thing. Saying, Aw Grant, aw Isaac, you’re no good. You’re a piece of shit, no one’s going to want to talk to you. That sort of stuff…’

  He trailed off and scratched at the skin behind his earlobe and I sneered at the back of his head. This nonsense, I thought. This bullshit.

  ‘Mate,’ he said. ‘That worm. I had that worm for a long time. A good long time. But as soon as I got myself in amongst that party, it was gone. Gone for good it turned out. I had what you’d call a dead good time that weekend, I’m sure. I woke up in the mud, Monday morning. My cousin was gone and I felt like a railway had been like installed over the top of me. I reached out, through the filth, and my hand touched upon this.’

  He reached down and fiddled inside his boot. He pulled out a torn pamphlet. On the front I could make out the words ‘Let HIM understand you.’

  Isaac slapped the front of the pamphlet. ‘The Church of the Real Presence of the Divine Christ. That was how I found them. A fucken book, buried in the dirt at a rave. Tell me, Mikey. What’re the chances of that?’

  Mikey shrugged.

  ‘I’ll tell you what the chances are. They’re so low as to be impossible. Something that I very firmly believe is the concept that there are absolutely no coincidences in this life. Something meant for me to be there, to reach my hand out and grasp this fucken book.’

  He twisted in his seat and held the pamphlet over his shoulder to give me a look. Beneath the dry crust of muck on the front cover was a Chicano gentleman holding a bowl of bananas.

  ‘I’ve been a fully paid up member ever since. Never been so happy. Never been so whole.’

  Mike and I sat in silence, digesting the story.

  ‘Wait,’ said Mikey. ‘What about the hair thing then?’

  Isaac laughed. ‘Oh aye. The hair thing. Well, I managed to cadge a lift back up the road with some truckers and they were giving me funny looks the whole way. When I got back home I was supremely surprised to check myself out in the mirror and see this,’ he held out a strand of his hair, ‘staring back at me.’

  ‘So is that where you’re off to?’ I asked. ‘That church? The real thingy of the special Christ?’

  ‘The Real Presence of the Divine Christ,’ corrected Isaac. He thought about my question. ‘Sort of,’ he said.

  The bus dropped us off in town and we found ourselves a pub that did food. A table near the back with no one around. We put in our orders for burgers and pints up at the bar and settled down to wait.

  ‘Never mind about me,’ said Isaac, leaning into the table, checking for eavesdroppers. ‘What about this one,’ he nodded at Mikey. ‘What’s your story then pal?’

  Mikey took his pint away from his mouth. ‘What story?’

  ‘All the intrigue, all the drama. You got the fucken jail man.’

  I put my hand down on the table. ‘I don’t know if this is a good thing to talk about.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Isaac. ‘There’s nobody about. Let him talk.’

  Mikey shrugged. ‘It was all right.’

  ‘No,’ laughed Isaac. ‘Come on. This is a safe place, me and your brother. You can talk about it. In the eyes of the Christ you’re forgiven.’

  Mikey moved his pint around in a circle, cycloning the liquid. ‘I mean, it was boring, aye. Really boring. You could go to the gym or do some work, do some cleaning and maintenance and that.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But everyone there was…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They were so horrible man. Just, like, so fucken rude and nasty. You’d go to the gym and try and have a go on the machines
and then someone would come along and make you get off them cause they wanted a shot. So you’d just go back to the cell and then you’d have to sit with Ricky.’

  I frowned. I’d never heard that name before. ‘Who’s Ricky?’

  ‘He was the guy in my cell for most of the time. He never told me what he did. I didn’t say to him about mine either, but he knew. Everyone knew. Fuck…’ he said, breaking off and holding his fingertips against his eyes.

  ‘Here,’ said Isaac, but then the barman was bringing the food over, so we all stopped talking and sat their quietly as the burgers were distributed. On our best behaviour for the barman.

  We ate our meals and drank our pints and went looking for another pub. There was a lot of wanky-looking places in that bit of town. A load of guys with their hair shaved funny at the sides, hanging round outside having their fags. I rolled myself one and we went past those places and found somewhere more suitable. I let them head inside to get the round and I stood by the door to finish my fag.

  I would need to watch that Isaac character. He was too mad to be a threat to us, but I didn’t like the way he made Mikey talk. That sort of thing could be dangerous. Luckily if he ever did mention it to anyone there was no chance they’d believe him. Plus, there was something amusing about his deranged stories. It made me feel good to listen to them and notice all the lies and misunderstandings.

  I remembered the day Mikey came back, on the bus in the afternoon. I stood at my bedroom window and watched him come up the path, carrying everything he had in one clear plastic bag. Our mother was pleased to see him and I suppose I was too. He came inside and I went down to say hello. I’d been along the road to visit him over the years. I’d seen him age in fits and bursts.

  He was quiet. He stood in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, as our mother made cups of tea and he looked at something on the floor.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I’d asked.

  ‘All right,’ he told the something on the floor.

  This pack of social workers and police had come round within a week. Three of them in total. They wanted to speak to Mikey alone. I stood behind the living room door, listening. They were telling about all the expectations society had of him now he was on parole. All the things he couldn’t do, like leave the country or even spend a night away from home. He’d be able to do those things in future if he proved to them he could be trusted. They wanted him to speak to someone, because they’d heard from his social worker in the jail how beneficial it had been for him.

  What did he think of that?

  He thought it might be all right.

  Just before the end they’d asked him whether or not he was concerned about whether or not anything in his home environment would put him at risk of reoffending. He’d been quiet for a long time. Someone had gone, ‘Well? Is there? You need to tell us if there is, Michael.’

  I had my ear pressed tight against the wood, seething, fuming alone in the hallway. We’d already had to move house in anticipation of him coming out. The social workers had visited us and explained that we were too close to a school or a park or something. What else did he want? What else did the little shit fucken expect?

  ‘No,’ he’d said. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll try my best.’

  ‘That’s a good attitude,’ one of the others had said. ‘Good for you, Michael.’

  They’d come every week and demand the living room. Our mother usually went out but I’d pretend to head up to my bedroom. I’d always sneak downstairs and listen in. They were sorting him out an ongoing appointment with a local shrink. Someone the wee lamb could talk to, discuss his offending in a safe place.

  It wasn’t long after that the press showed up in the street. I had to take things into my own hands. There was no other option, as far as I could see.

  I ground my fag against the wall of the pub and went inside to find Mikey and Isaac.

  We drank into the night and once the pubs were closed we began the long walk back along Sauchiehall Street to the hotel. Isaac was mad with the drink. He was stumbling and whirling about, falling into the gutter. Mikey and I had to carry him between us. When we got to the Groveview I made him stand up by himself.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ I said, ‘or they won’t let us in.’

  ‘You pull yourself together,’ he laughed.

  ‘Right,’ I said, holding him by the shoulders, seeing how well he could stand.

  The same woman as before was sat up at the desk. She gave us a brief glance as we passed. ‘Evening,’ I said.

  She said, ‘Hm,’ and went back to her ledger.

  ‘Is it evening?’ shouted Isaac, falling into the door to the lounge. It swung open, revealing what was inside.

  ‘No,’ said the woman, standing up.

  All the furniture had been pushed against the walls and a huge plastic sheet was spread over the carpet, swathed in some kind of oil or jelly. A gaggle of shining middle-aged people looked up at us from the sheet, all of them naked, most of them in various stages of intercourse. The loyal customers.

  ‘What…’ said Mikey.

  ‘Close that door,’ the woman said, barrelling past us and slamming it herself.

  Isaac leaned on the wall. He hadn’t seen inside the lounge. Too pissed.

  ‘Upstairs,’ said the woman, furiously. ‘Now. This is your last evening at the Groveview.’

  We waited until we were at the top landing before we burst into laughter. We wiped our eyes and howled outside of the bunkroom. Mikey put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself.

  ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Did you see…’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know.’

  ‘Wassit?’ asked Isaac. ‘What’s all the? Y’know?’

  He was out like a light when he hit his bunk. Mikey and I sat on the corner of mine as our laughter fizzled out. Our shoulders were touching and we looked at each and the look we gave was: everything’s going to be all right, eh?

  ‘Oh hell no,’ said a voice from across the bunkroom. ‘Oh no you don’t.’

  I went creeping round the bunk beds to see what was going on. I found a boy and a girl, lying on their fronts between two bunks. There was a battleships board and a bottle of vodka between them.

  They looked up at me. ‘Hey,’ said the boy. ‘Sorry. Did we wake you? I just got my frigate sunk.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘G5,’ the boy said to the girl.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nada.’

  The boy took a deep swallow from the bottle of vodka.

  ‘G5,’ the girl said too and the boy shook his head.

  ‘You motherfucker,’ he said, removing a peg and taking another drink from the bottle. He offered it up to me and I accepted.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked the girl. They were both dark – dark haired and eyed. I told her my name and she smiled. ‘You’re local. That’s good. You never get to meet locals in places like this.’ She rotated her head around to mean the bunkroom.

  I handed the bottle back to the boy and he told me his name was Brett. ‘And this is my sister, Lou.’

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘A7,’ said Brett.

  Lou shook her head and Brett drank some vodka.

  ‘Have you seen what’s going on downstairs?’ I asked.

  ‘There was a whole bunch of people waiting when we came up,’ said Brett. ‘A very excited bunch of people. They asked Lou and me if we wanted to hang out.’

  ‘They’re swingers,’ I said. ‘There’s a big swingers party going on in the lounge.’

  Lou laughed. ‘We dodged a bullet there.’

  I realised then how drunk I was. It wasn’t like me to talk to strangers like that. My mouth was running away from my brain.

  ‘We’ve been kicked out,’ I said. ‘The woman on reception.’ I couldn’t get the idea out of me in a way that made sense.

  The pair of them laughed. ‘So what’ll you do?’ asked Brett. He twisted around on the floor to look up at me and
I saw the muscles beneath his T-shirt move.

  ‘Dunno. Just find somewhere else.’

  ‘We’re heading off tomorrow too. We’re going to get the train down to Ardrossan. You can catch a ferry, I think, from there?’ He looked to his sister.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘To Arran. The Isle of Arran.’

  ‘You could come with,’ said Brett. ‘On the train.’

  When I got back to our bunks Mikey was asleep too. I stood on my bed and pulled myself up to the top bunk so I could see him. He was curled up in a ball with the duvet wrapped in his arms. I freed it from his grasp and laid it out over him so he wouldn’t get cold in the night.

  Isaac was laid flat on his back, his arms at his sides. I didn’t bother fixing his duvet for him. I slipped into my own bunk. It was the first night I’d slept without Mikey by my side for some time. We’d been in the tent, then the man’s bed and then the van the night before. I spread out my arms and legs.

  ‘What’s your angle?’ said a voice behind me. I shot up. It was Isaac. He was on his side in the bunk at right angles to mine. His face was a mess from the drink.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You heard me. What’s your angle?’

  ‘You’re pissed,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Isaac. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You just keep yourself to yourself, all right? Be glad you’ve only got a bruise on your head.’

  Isaac laughed. ‘If you strike me down I’ll come back more powerful and... eh... something.’

  We weren’t even given the luxury of a long lie the next morning. The receptionist burst into the bunkroom to rouse us.

  ‘Check out’s in quarter of an hour,’ she said, leaning into my bunk.

  I glowered at her through my hangover. ‘Fine,’ I said.

  She turned to go but her fury stopped her. ‘Do you know,’ she hissed over her shoulder, ‘the work I had to do last night? All because of you and your drunkard pal?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  She started to explain but evidently was too annoyed. She stormed from the bunkroom, her dress trailing behind her. I got Mikey and Isaac up and then went to the toilets for a wash. I took a detour past Lou and Brett’s bunks, hoping to catch a glimpse of them, still asleep. Despite the rank cloud in my mind I could still remember Brett turning on the floor to look up at me, his back all twisting vines and ropes.