California (5 page)

9

“Where you going?” she said.

Her eyes were wet. She’d approached slowly, warily. Like she wasn’t sure how he’d react to her presence. He didn’t know himself. Not yet. Didn’t know why she was here. Found himself staring at her so long, she’d had to repeat the question.

“Away,” he said.

“Where’s that?”

He thought about telling her. Wondered how it would play. Decided he couldn’t take the chance. “I’m not daft. You’ll call the police.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Did it the last time.”

She looked hurt. “When?”

“Time that got us put in.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I’m not daft.” He attempted a smile; it felt wrong, his cheeks aching. “I ken what’s been going on. You and Len.”

She blinked at him, her mouth open. Lost for words.

“Or you and Golly. Doesn’t matter which one, really. The bairn looks more like Len, mind.” He sniffed. “Guessing he’s the one behind the telly and the new furniture. He’s the one been keeping you company while I was away. Because I’ll tell you this, sure as fuckin’ day, he’s the one got us sent down. You might’ve made the call, Fi, but he’s the one that really did it.”

“It wasn’t me. And the bairn –“

“I don’t care. I sorted it.”

“You what?”

“Pegged your boyfriend.” He held up a finger. “Just the once. I’m not an animal. And it was self-defence. Coming at us with this.” Shug showed the gun. Fiona moved away from him. “So I did what I had to do. Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it, like.”

“I thought you were different now,” she said.

“I am.”

“You just –“

“I wasn’t angry. No emotion in it. It was just something that had to be done, and it’s not like I went looking for it. They wouldn’t have let us out of there alive.” He looked back at the house. Ailsa had left them alone. “Anyway, I don’t have much time, so what did you want?”

“I want you to stay.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got plans.”

“What about us?”

“Four years gone, I didn’t expect you to keep yourself to yourself, Fi. Thought we sorted all that the last time we talked. You said you didn’t want to carry on with me in prison my whole fuckin’ life, and I telt you then that I didn’t have much fuckin’ choice in the matter.”

She shook her head, looked at the ground. Put one hand up to her eyes. “You haven’t been taking your meds, have you?”

“What fuckin’ meds?”

“You haven’t been taking them. You should take them.”

“I’m not on any fuckin’ meds.”

“You don’t take them, they’ll recall you. You know that.”

“I need to go,” he said.

“Shug –“

“Called the polis on us already, Fiona. I need to go.”

“What for?”

Shug nodded at the car.

“No, Shug, come on.”

He tapped his head. “I’ve got to keep the goal in mind, Fi. If I don’t then I’ll lose it, and if I lose it I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

She started crying. He didn’t move. Didn’t trust himself.

“Listen, I can’t stay here. I pegged your boyfriend, remember? Got into a ruckus with Golly an’ all. They’ll want us to ...” He shook his head. “I can’t stay.”

He wanted to apologise. He didn’t. Knew it was just the sight of her crying that made him want to do it.

“Why are you doing this?” she said.

“I don’t get you.”

She looked up. “You know he’s yours. Jamie. The bairn. He’s your bairn.”

“I was away.”

“And he’s three, almost four.”

Shug thought about it, tried to work out the maths. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t get the numbers to add up right. He frowned, started to get confused. There was a dull, painful throb in the back of his eyes. He tried to rub it out. When she came a little closer, he moved back towards the Land Rover.

“Whatever it is, Shug, we can deal with it. Whatever it is, you don’t have to run. You know they’ll catch you if you do. They’ll catch you and they’ll put you back in prison, and what am I going to do then?”

He shook his head, but he didn’t look at her. Same as it always was – soon as she didn’t want him to do something, she muddled stuff up to confuse him into agreeing with her. He’d been through it over and over in his head all the time he was inside, especially after that last fight in the visiting room. Her talking about commitment, him asking her what the fuck he was supposed to do about it when he was locked up. And she’d pressed the point, one hand on her gut like she needed a shit, until he lost his temper. Her fault. She had this way of mincing his head up when she wanted to, and he couldn’t let her do it to him again. Not when he was so close to getting out of here.

He moved back against the Land Rover. She put a hand on the bonnet.

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time, Shug?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“I’ve been waiting. That’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been working hard to make a nice home for you to come back to so you can be well again. And I see you for five seconds and all you can talk about is your stash. Next thing I know you’re off and I don’t get a chance to say anything.”

“You told Len I was there.”

“Because he told me to. I was scared.”

“Of him?”

“Of you. The way you were acting. Thought maybe he could come round and you’d see one of your old mates, and you’d calm down a bit.”

He flashed on the old days: Shug steaming drunk, wound up, lashing out at Fiona.

“Didn’t work,” he said.

“He told us to tell him as soon as you got out.”

“Aye, he’s a paranoid fucker.” He wiped his nose, nodded at her. “I need to go.”

“Shug.”

“Away from the car.”

“You not going to talk to me?”

“Just did.”

“Shug –“

Kept his voice low, but the intent clear: “Get away from the fuckin’ car.”

Silence between the pair of them. Shug didn’t catch Fiona’s eye, stared at her midriff instead. Wanted to smack her. The only thing stopping him was the tremble in his hands.

“You made up your mind, then.”

“I promised myself,” said Shug.

“And that’s you set.” Her voice cracked: “Okay.”

She moved out of the way and Shug got into the Land Rover, pulled the door quickly shut behind him. She stepped out of the way, just managed to keep her fingers. Shug stared at the steering wheel. He could feel her watching him as he fumbled with the keys. Something hurt his throat, made the tremble worse. He ran one hand under his nose and sniffed back something wet.

Fiona was talking to him from behind the glass. A soft, pleading tone, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

It was for the best. He’d made himself a promise that he wouldn’t get distracted from the long-term goal. And so far he’d done well to keep that promise, despite what had happened. He sniffed and told himself the only thing he needed to do now was get the engine going, put the car in gear and drive off without looking at Fiona. If he could do that, the rest would be a piece of piss.

He turned the key in the ignition. The engine growled.

He saw her moving slightly in his peripheral vision. He put the car into gear.

Fiona said, “Please.” And it sounded as if she was in the car with him.

His hands went loose on the steering wheel.

“Fuck off,” he said, his voice thick.

And then he leaned on the accelerator, wrenched the steering wheel to one side, and lurched the Land Rover out of Ailsa and Steve’s drive, leaving Fiona far behind.

10

On the road, it was easier. He had room to breathe, time to think.

First thing he decided was: he wasn’t going east. Too many people back in California with phones and fingers – the police would already have the car description and registration. So he had to think they were already way ahead of him, and they would expect him to go east, straight to the airport. So he wasn’t going east.

South was out of the question, too. That was England, and too much to fucking deal with. There wasn’t much point in heading across to Glasgow either. If anything, he’d rather deal with Lothian and Borders than fucking Strathclyde. You couldn’t trust the fucking weegies as far as you could piss them. Mind you, Lothian and Borders were still cuntish, and probably still smarting because of the skip.

So: north. Into the wilds, the scenic route up through to Inverness, a straight shot and the last chance to see his homeland before skipping the ocean like a stone.

That was the plan. But the car had a thirst for diesel that meant Shug got as far as Bannockburn services before he had to stop. That was fine, though, because by that time, his gut thought his throat had been cut.

Shug parked the car and changed into Steve’s shirt. Then he bought a Ginsters egg and bacon, a bag of cheese and onion McCoys, a king-size Snickers, and washed it all down with a big can of Red Bull. Something the matter with the pop, though, because he was still bone-shattered, something cracking under his muscles every time he tried to move. He couldn’t drive until the caffeine kicked in, so he walked around the services until the Napa Valley caught him unawares.

There it was, a huge cardboard vista in the window of WH Smiths.

... and the wine is bottled poetry ...

Red vines. In the distance, a mountain shimmered in a heat haze. Above it, the bluest sky he’d ever seen. There were more than seven hundred wineries dealing with the kind of grapes, just saying their names made you sound posh and French and sophisticated: Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon ...

It was some advert for a travel guide that came free with a paper Shug would never read otherwise, but it sang to him. It told him that his dreams were closer than ever, reminded him that all this shite so far had been absolutely worth it. All he had to do was pick up some more clothes at the airport, as well as some luggage to put them in. He also had to remember to buy a return ticket else they’d have in him a windowless room all bastard night.

The Red Bull had started its growl. He breathed out through his nose.

Only other thing he needed was that guide. After all, it was fate, wasn’t it? The paper could’ve done anywhere in the world, but they’d picked his dream as theirs.

Shug approached the gated window, looked at the seal that ran around it. Alarmed, probably. Daft to think otherwise. He looked down at the pile of papers under the cardboard advert, the pile of travel guides next to it, then turned around to see if there was anything big enough and heavy enough. There were bins and benches, but they all looked bolted to the floor. Again, daft to think they wouldn’t be. Places like this, they were security conscious. Wasn’t some post office in Bathgate, was it?

Shug pulled the pistol from the back of his jeans. He checked around, but there was nobody walking around in here apart from him. He hefted the gun in his hand, then approached the window again. Ran through the motions in his head first, timing it, the muscles in his hand and arm micro-twitching in their rehearsal.

Then he put the butt of the pistol through the window. Glass rained onto his feet. He knocked shards away, pushed his arm through the hole up to the pit and grabbed one of the travel guides. Then he backed quickly off from the window and walked briskly back towards the entrance to the services, the alarm screeching behind him.

It was cold outside. He breathed deep, slowed down. He looked for the Land Rover.

Saw the police car idling next to it.

Shug kept walking, didn’t break stride. He tucked the travel guide into his jacket pocket, closed it up just in case the wind revealed the pistol in the small of his back. He walked the long way round the car park, kept an eye on the police car. He thought he saw two of them in there, both of them big enough to pose a threat. One of them was busy writing something down.

There were choices here. One of which was lose his fucking mind, which was the one that didn’t so much appeal as demand to be done, especially when the police car moved towards him. Shug stopped at a Cavalier, turned his back on the police. He pretended to fumble around in his pocket for his car keys, then glanced down at the driver’s side window.

Saw the elderly man staring at him. A split-second, and Shug thought it was Charlie, but then the man’s face changed into a stranger’s and started shouting at him from behind the glass. Shug stepped back as the man wound his window down.

“What d’you think you’re playing at?” shouted the man.

Shug looked over his shoulder. The police car was up the other end of the car park, moving slowly. Then the brake lights flared. The car came to a stop.

“Get out of the car,” said Shug.

“You what?”

Shug lunged through the open window, grabbed the old man round the neck and tried to pull him out. The man screamed for help. Shug reached for the pistol, brought up under the man’s quivering chins. The driver’s door opened easily and the man stopped screaming, moving quickly out of the Cavalier and quietly begging to keep what little life he had left. Once the old man was both feet on the ground, Shug shoved him out of the way and moved to the driver’s seat.

He looked up, saw one of the uniforms running towards him. Saw the police car already turned and pointed his way. He pulled the driver’s door shut and stamped on the accelerator. The engine roared and then choked, the Cavalier rolling forwards on a stall. Shug saw the police car turn up ahead, bearing down on him from the front, blocking him off. He put the Cavalier into reverse, suddenly aware of the small noises he was making in the back of his throat.

The engine coughed again, didn’t catch. The Cavalier rolled.

The driver’s door flew open. The uniform put hands on him. Shug let go of the steering wheel, tried to scramble over the gear stick. The uniform grabbed a hold of Shug’s jeans, yanked him back. Shug kicked out, screamed at the copper and twisted round to reach for his gun. Touched bare back instead.

Shug felt himself dragged out of the Cavalier. He saw the other uniform get out of the police car just before he was shoved against the side of the car. He looked down, saw the pistol at his feet but had no way of going for it. The pressure against his back was immense.

“Watch it with this one,” said the car copper. “He’s supposed to be a heid-the-ball.”

“You mental?” said the uniform, grabbing one of Shug’s wrists.

“Course he is. You only need to look at him.”

Shug stared at the copper who’d been driving, and then over his shoulder at the police car that stood with the driver’s door hanging open and the engine running. He was tired, but he couldn’t give up. Not now. He hung his head, felt the steel close around one wrist. Anticipated the uniform coming in for the other hand, and brought his foot down the uniform’s shin to his instep, felt a satisfying crunch as his heel ground bone and then twisted out from the copper’s grip.

Shug feinted to the left, ran right, vaulted the Cavalier’s bonnet and made for the police car.

He shoved at the other copper, but felt his hand catch on something, his body carrying on regardless. Then pain flared in his wrist, something kicked him in the back and the ground reared up to kiss him. He fell hard, the kick turned to solid weight between his shoulder blades and his arm pulled back across his arse. Shug saw the world through fireworks and kicked out, screaming.

“Told you he was a fuckin’ headcase.”

“Hold him. Hold the fucker.”

Shug threw himself around, felt the coppers struggle to keep a hold of him.

“Take the bastard’s legs, Bri. He’s a kicker, this one.”

Too right. Shug showed them what kind of kicker he was. He lashed out with both feet, screaming until his head felt like it was ready to explode.

Then a whip across the backs of his legs. Once. Twice. He yelled with the pain, scrambled up to his knees for a second before another blow brought him crashing to his stomach. Something shifted from his jacket, a weight lost.

“
Got
the bastard.”

His other arm, pulled up and clicked at the wrist. Something scraped against the tarmac. The Ginsters clawed its way up his throat, but he swallowed it back. He wasn’t going to spew for these two. He tried to kick out again, but the message didn’t reach his legs.

And then he saw the travel guide. It lay open on the tarmac, pages fluttering in the wind. He thought he saw the picture again, the one of the vineyard, and he stared at it, tried to brand it into his memory.

But there was Fiona with tears in her eyes. There was Len and Golly and blood on the lino. There was Ailsa with booze on her breath and a bruise on her cheek. He saw all of this, and the Napa Valley struggled to take, wouldn’t stay in his head long enough to focus on. The pages blew over, back and forth, and soon the image fractured into a million pieces, leaving nothing behind.

Shug felt the blood go from his arms. The floor lurched away from him as the coppers brought him to his feet. His dead legs buckled under his weight, the two uniforms holding him up. The copper who’d brought him to the deck moaned about the state of his trousers. The other copper leaned in nice and close and whispered a dull threat of revenge.

Shug didn’t hear him. He stared at the travel guide, willing the image back into his head. He was still looking at it when they shoved him into the back of the police car.

But he still couldn’t remember what California looked like.