Smokeheads (19 page)

The rain had stopped and it was dark now. Adam got out and felt a wet wind on his face, blowing in from the Sound of Islay, carrying a decaying fishy smell mixed with diesel and seaweed. It reminded him of a ropy eight-year-old Caol Ila he’d had once in a pub in Leith. Caol Ila was about two miles up the coast. It had been on his itinerary for a visit this weekend, something that made him grimace and laugh sadly to himself. If only they’d stuck to visiting distilleries instead of his idiotic plan to open one, maybe there would be four of them about to get on the ferry out of here instead of just two.

The back door of the other police car opened and Adam could hear Roddy swearing at the driver, who didn’t speak or move. Roddy struggled to get out of the car, moaning in pain and muttering under his breath.

‘Don’t just fucking stand there,’ he said when he spotted Adam. ‘Help me the fuck out of this car, will you?’

Adam offered an arm of support as Roddy eased onto his feet. In the jaundiced glow of the streetlights he looked like an evil ghost, ashen-faced, large bags under his eyes, sweat prickling his brow even in the cold wind. Adam wondered how he looked to Roddy.

‘Some fucking chauffeur service, eh?’ said Roddy, glancing at the policeman in the car. ‘Can’t even help a seriously injured and completely innocent man out of his car.’

‘Give it a rest,’ said Adam.

Roddy grinned and slapped Adam on the back. ‘Well, it looks like we’re getting off this God-forsaken dump of an island after all, doesn’t it? Any idea what the hell is going on? I couldn’t get anything out of Igor here.’ Roddy pointed a thumb at his driver, still sitting implacable.

‘Yeah, I have a fair idea,’ said Adam, watching Eric get out of his squad car and come round to join them. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

Roddy turned to Eric. ‘I was having a great time in that hospital, you know. Morphine on tap; a couple of cute nurses to flirt with. Then your mate here comes along and forces me out of bed, just when I was getting comfy. Any chance of an explanation?’

Eric looked at Adam then Roddy, shook his head. ‘Your friend has just said he’ll fill you in later. Meantime, you boys have a ferry to catch.’

He looked beyond them, making Adam and Roddy turn. The large ship was lit up, sparkling its way in to dock at the jetty, churning up wake as its engines chugged loudly into reverse to slow its progress, swinging round expertly till its prow was perfectly aligned with the apron ramp.

The sight of it dominating the tiny port held them mesmerised for a moment, watching its elegant manoeuvres, a strange mix of swan-like grace and brutal engineering.

The bow door descended and they heard car and lorry engines coughing into life, then a steady stream of vehicles slid out and up the steep slope away from Port Askaig, headlights sweeping round the rocks and trees then away, plunging the surrounding land back into darkness.

A handful of punters came out of the adjacent hotel and got into their cars, starting engines in the queue then slowly crawling into the ferry’s open mouth. Adam tried to think of their journey over here on the same boat only two and a half days ago, but it seemed so faint in his mind, like a dream, a vision of a simpler, quieter life before everything had become broken.

He turned to see Eric dump their bags on the pavement next to him. Four bags, two passengers. Adam gazed at Ethan and Luke’s bags, then at the Laphroaig bottle in his hand. He uncorked it and took several gulps.

‘Hey, don’t hog that,’ said Roddy. ‘I could use a wee dram right now.’

Adam passed the bottle over and looked at Eric.

‘A word of advice,’ said Eric, looking at them both. ‘Never, ever set foot on Islay again, all right?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Roddy. ‘After this weekend, it’s right at the bottom of my holiday destination list.’

‘I mean it,’ Eric said to Adam. ‘I don’t expect a sensible reply from this idiot …’

‘Hey,’ said Roddy.

‘… but you seem a decent sort. So please, just do as I say and never come back. It’s best for everyone if you stay away.’

Adam nodded as he took the bottle back from Roddy and drank.

‘We will.’

Eric looked at the bottle. Adam was holding it lazily by the neck, only a quarter full now. In his other hand, the carrier bag full of his clothes hung limply.

‘And maybe you should lay off the malt for a while,’ said Eric kindly.

Adam gave a little snort of laughter and put the cork back in the bottle. He slung it and the carrier bag into his holdall then picked it up, along with Ethan’s case and Luke’s bag. Eric handed the fourth bag to Roddy.

‘Goodbye, lads,’ he said. ‘Safe home now.’

Adam and Roddy turned and headed towards the ferry. Adam tried to let the engine roar and diesel stench fill his mind, blank out the images of Luke and Ethan.

Adam stared at the retreating lights of the Port Askaig Hotel, the fiercely bitter wind dragging tears from his eyes. Soon they rounded a bend in the Sound of Islay and the island lights were lost, just the huge, hulking mass of moors and cliffs and peat bogs alongside, shadowy and looming in the dark.

His hands were freezing, clutching Ethan’s quarter-cask bottle to his chest. He fumbled to uncork it then took two large hits, only just feeling the burn in his chest through the numbness of his mind and body. He looked at the bottle as he shoved the cork back in. It was almost finished.

He was on his own. Roddy had nipped inside to change out of his blood-soaked clothes, which were drawing attention and comment from other passengers. How had they ever become friends? How had they stayed friends over the years, with nothing whatsoever in common? He tried to think back to moments before the crash, Roddy driving like a maniac, drinking and snorting, angry at being dragged out to Stremnishmore and asked for money. Adam saw his own arm swinging through the air towards Roddy’s head, catching him on the ear, Roddy turning in anger. Then there was just darkness, so much evil in the darkness, so much to be scared of, so much to run away from.

And here he was running again. Running away from Islay and Molly, leaving her to cope on her own. Not that he thought for a minute she couldn’t cope on her own. But he wanted to be there, wanted to be part of her life, wanted to have the time to get to know her, to fall in love with her and live happy ever after.

What a joke. There was no happy ever after, not after everything that had happened. Molly would be fine, in fact she might even do a lot better on the island with Joe out of the picture. She would go on living her life, doing what she had to to survive, all the while keeping the dark secrets of the weekend tight within her chest like a tumour, a small malignant lump of anger and sorrow within her.

He would never see her again. He tried to get his head round that. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her at the Laphroaig distillery, wearing that green uniform, eyes sparkling, friendly smile. But he couldn’t. All he could picture was her bent over the barrel, blank terror in her eyes, or sitting staring out the window of her living room, dram in hand, an exhausted and empty look on her face.

An image of Joe tore into his brain, the stench of his burning flesh, the sight of his melting face, bubbling and blistering as he frantically waved his arms about. Adam hoped he wouldn’t lose any sleep over that, but he was afraid he might.

The same went for Ethan and Luke. So many ghosts, so much lost. So much carnage, pointless carnage, all because of a stupid car crash and an unlucky stumble into a crazy world.

He thought about Luke’s body, still out there in the freezing cold sea, blue and bloated now, tossed around by waves and tides like flotsam. He looked at Ethan’s Laphroaig bottle in his hands. There were about two swigs left in the bottom of the bottle. He uncorked it, carefully sipped, then slid the cork back in firmly and examined it. Just enough left in there for a decent dram. He made sure the cork was in tight then leaned back and hurled the bottle as hard as he could high into the blustery air. It flew into the night, spiralling neck over tail and falling into the surrounding blackness before finally hitting the water.

The wind roaring in his ears and the heavy thrum of the ferry engines drowned out any splash. He could just make out the bottle bobbing in the rough seas, appearing and disappearing from view, then finally gone into the dark.

‘That’s to see you on your way, Luke,’ he shouted into the wind, the words whipped into nothingness immediately.

He wondered where the bottle would end up. Maybe the currents would take it on an adventure around the world. Maybe the waves would do the same for Luke, take him on the trip of a lifetime, take him to witness things he could never have dreamed of. He hoped Ethan’s bottle would find him, give him a send-off into whatever adventure the ocean saw fit to give him.

He remembered something and knelt to open his holdall. He took out his jacket, went through the pockets and pulled out a wad of congealed paper mulch. It was his distillery plans, soaked in the loch and then dried along with his clothes, utterly useless now, just a shapeless lump of indecipherable pulp. He tried to prise a few sheets apart, but bits just flaked off in his hands, crumbling to pieces that were whipped away by the wind. He leant over the railing and opened his fingers, releasing the paper wad so that it tumbled down into the dark. He watched as it quickly dissolved and was scattered by the relentless waves.

He thought about his own body following, tipping over the small handrail and into the inky, oily mass of the sea. What would it feel like to throw yourself into the water? The sudden shock of the cold knocking the breath from your lungs, the icy fingers of water surrounding you, dragging you under into blissful oblivion, wiping all the evil thoughts from your mind, erasing your whole being, absorbing you into its unfathomable vastness, its cold, unthinking expanses.

His hands gripped the rail tightly, his fingers numb. He could easily imagine his body moving quickly up and over, then falling freely down into the deep. Then it seemed like he was really doing it, felt like he was climbing up onto the handrail, his blank mind watching it all from afar. He couldn’t work out how his body was moving, but it was, he was being drawn inexorably towards the churning wash beneath the ferry, hypnotised by the endless ebb and flow of the water below, calling him downwards, pleading for him to join with it.

He felt a strong tug on his arm and fell back from the edge.

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ Roddy shouted, holding on to his sleeve. ‘You could’ve fallen in.’

‘Maybe that’s the point.’

Roddy rolled his eyes. ‘Oh please, fucking spare me. I’m not going to have to spend this whole trip on suicide watch, am I? Come on, you’re better than this.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yeah, you fucking well are.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

Roddy shook his head. ‘I’m not going to give you the whole “You’ve got so much to live for” bullshit, you know all that.’

‘Don’t you feel anything?’

‘About what?’

‘About everything that’s happened. About Ethan and Luke.’

‘Of course I do,’ said Roddy. ‘I’m not a complete fucking moron. I know you think I am, but I’m not. I’ve been through the wars same as you, seen some terrible shit and lost two friends, you think I don’t feel it? Maybe I just deal with that sort of shit better, maybe I just put it behind me and get on with life.’

‘I don’t know how you can do that,’ said Adam. ‘Put it behind you and get on with life.’

‘I just do,’ said Roddy. ‘What else is there to do? Jump in the fucking sea? What does that prove? Nothing, except that cunts like Joe and Grant have won, they’ve got to you so much you can’t take it. I refuse to let those pricks win, and if you do by ending it all then you’re just as big an arsehole as them.’

‘Piss off, Hunter.’

‘Fuck you, Strachan.’

Adam felt his blood heating up and surging wildly through his veins.

‘This was all your fault anyway,’ he said, voice rising.

‘We’ve been over this fucking shit,’ said Roddy. ‘You’re right to be angry, but not at me, dickhead.’

‘If you hadn’t been such a prick behind the wheel, none of this would’ve happened.’

‘If, if, if,’ said Roddy, exasperated. ‘You can’t live your life thinking about what-ifs. You just have to get on with it. Live your life, be a man of action for once.’

‘A man of action?’ Adam’s vision went blurry, his muscles tensed, a burning sensation rose up in his throat.

‘That’s right.’

Adam grabbed Roddy and swung him round against the handrail. He punched Roddy’s injured shoulder, making him cry out and crumple in pain, then pushed him back against the rail, bending him backwards over it. He had a hold of Roddy’s coat and shook him with all his might, the wind gusting and whipping around them in a frenzy.

‘What if I just throw you in right now!’ He was screaming in Roddy’s face, spit flying.

Roddy had an elated look on his face. ‘That’s the fucking stuff, let it all out.’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

Roddy was grinning. ‘If you push me over, I’ll take you with me. Then we’ll be fucking living, won’t we? Until we drown, of course.’

‘Maybe I really don’t give a shit,’ said Adam, keeping Roddy pinned. ‘Maybe we both deserve to die.’

Roddy raised his eyebrows then spoke quietly. ‘I don’t think you mean that.’

Adam felt his resolve weaken and knew Roddy was right. He could feel his fury abating already, his hold of Roddy’s coat loosening, the black fog of his mind clearing as he pictured the two of them tumbling over the side of the ferry and into the water, gripping each other until the force of the impact split them for ever.

He couldn’t kill Roddy, just like he couldn’t kill himself. He would have to keep living, with everything in his head, whether he liked it or not. A fucking life sentence.

He eased off on Roddy, let him back up, then finally let go of his coat and stepped away.

Roddy smiled, eyes wide. ‘That was quite something, eh? Felt the blood pumping, didn’t you? I know I fucking did.’

He rubbed his shoulder and grimaced, then pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket. He shook out four and put them in his mouth. He got his hipflask out and took a glug to wash them down.

‘Codeine,’ he said. ‘Got ’em by chatting up one of those nice nurses. Bollocks weak compared to the morphine, but they take the edge off. Fancy some?’

Adam looked at the bottle. Take the edge off. That sounded like something he could use.

‘Why not.’

He popped four in his mouth and Roddy held out the hipflask.

‘I got the barman downstairs to fill up with something special from under the bar,’ he said. ‘See if you can nail it.’

Adam shook his head but took the flask, swigging quickly to wash the pills down. He took a long sniff then another big sip, letting the malt roll around and over his tongue, his tasting skills kicking in instinctively. He lost himself in the process, letting the aromas curl over his tongue, the taste sensations coming at him thick and fast, a blast of salty sea breeze to match the wind buffeting them, huge flavours developing, sticky sweetness of toffee, a kick of mustard, oak smoke and worn leather. It was a thing of beauty, one of the finest malts he’d ever tasted, definitely one of the big guns.

‘Ardbeg,’ he said.

‘Which one?’

‘It’s old. Maybe twenty-five years. From a vintage year like ’74 or ’77.’

Roddy smiled. ‘Come on, then.’

‘The ’74 Provenance?’

Roddy shook his head. ‘You are a fucking enigma, Strachan. I seriously don’t know how you do it.’

Adam shrugged and took a big hit from the flask, this time drinking it straight down. He hoped it would warm his chest. He waited for the effect to kick in, but he still felt cold.

Roddy took the flask off him and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on, let’s get in out of this fucking wind, I’m freezing my bollocks off out here.’

Roddy turned and went inside, holding the door open. Adam stared one last time out to sea then followed Roddy into the lounge.