Tombstoning (11 page)

So had the Marines worked out? Were his parents proud? Hadn’t Gary said he’d joined the police? There were so many holes in David’s knowledge of the past, of the collective past of this town, there wasn’t a hope in hell of him ever catching up, even if he wanted to. He wondered if Neil would come along tonight, and thought it would be good if he did.

He looked at his watch.

‘Shit, it’s coming on seven o’clock,’ he said, quickly arsing the rest of his pint and nudging Gary. ‘We better get a bend on. I’ve gotta get back to the B&B and get something to eat before I head back out.’

‘We could just stay out,’ said Gary. ‘It’s only just down the road to Bally’s.’

It was tempting, but David had had seven or eight pints and nothing to eat, and he needed to freshen up and get his shit together for meeting Nicola. Christ, he hadn’t thought about Nicola for hours. He tried to picture their kiss from last night, but it seemed blurry and murky already in his memory, as if viewed from the bottom of the Keptie Pond. He hoped he’d get the opportunity to refresh that memory tonight.

Both David and Gary got up to leave, Jack waving his pint glass at them nonchalantly as they pushed their stools back. ‘I’ll give you a phone through the week, Gary,’ he said. ‘Sort out the details for this talk at the school.’ Gary looked pained at the reminder, but smiled thinly anyway.

‘Cheers Jack, nice meeting you again,’ said David.

‘Aye, and all the best to you too, David. Enjoy yourselves tonight, the pair of you. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

They pushed through the smoky babble of the pub and out the door, into the fresh air of a beautifully sunny Scottish evening. David felt the sun on his face and couldn’t believe how good the weather had been recently. He patted Gary on the shoulder and arranged to meet him in an hour and a half in Bally’s along with the other dregs of Keptie High School’s class of ’88. The thought didn’t fill him with dread, and as he walked purposefully up to the High Common he even started to hum a nondescript tune.

6
Reunion

Nicola downed another double gin and tonic and looked around. This had been a mistake. Not the idea of a reunion as such, but the sticky-floored venue they’d chosen was a massive miscalculation. Within ten seconds of entering the place she’d almost been puked on by a rubber-limbed boy with curly hair and the baggiest jeans she’d ever seen.

Bally’s was packed with kids old enough to be her offspring. Nicola knew it was a cliché to think that, but she couldn’t help it. It was the nightclub that time forgot. Nicola hadn’t seen the likes since they stopped showing
The Hitman and Her
, that ridiculous late-night celebration of the old-school, small-town disco mentality hosted by Pete Waterman and Michaela Strachan in the late 80s. These days Waterman was doing a television documentary about trains and Strachan was presenting wildlife programmes. Nicola felt similarly out of touch with her past in the face of the flashing lights, mirrorball, dry ice (dry ice, for Christ’s sake, she thought) and wrought iron and perspex that filled the large cattle-market dancefloor and sheltered booths arranged around it on two levels.

The reunion had hired out the ‘executive suite’ area of the club, which was little more than a handful of booths cordoned off with one of those old-style barriers – twisted rope tied between small stands. A squat, burly guy in a black pilot jacket stood guard over the entrance. They did have a section of the bar to themselves, which meant that at least they didn’t have to jockey for position and beers with the rest of the scum, avoiding the resultant arse-pinching and lewd comments that would entail.

Nicola was taking full advantage of the bar. She ordered another double gin and tonic and looked at the people filling the executive suite. There were about twenty-five here already, and they were expecting the same again to arrive. In the Lochlands last night there had been half a dozen friendly faces, swapping stories in a laid-back easy-going atmosphere. The current setting, with the shrieking kids half her age and the collection of thirty-something failures with droopy faces, seemed desperately unappealing.

As she was getting a goodnight kiss from Amy, the phone had rung. It was David. It was obvious straight away that he was reasonably drunk, which didn’t surprise or bother her. She knew he’d been at the football in the afternoon, and she drank the best part of a bottle of wine with her tea, partly to keep up with him and partly, she surprised herself by thinking, because she was a bit nervous. Nervous about the reunion, and a bit nervous of meeting up with him again after last night. It was just a kiss, that’s all it was at the moment, but it was a damn nice kiss, and she probably wouldn’t mind a few more like that.

He said he was running late and she’d agreed to meet him here, telling herself that it was ridiculous to need someone else for support. She was regretting that decision. She had wandered in and found the segregated reunion area, had her name ticked off by the bouncer and headed straight to the bar, only turning to see who else was in once she had a drink in her hand. Now she spotted a couple of people from the Lochlands last night, and just as she was about to make her way over, Kirsty suddenly appeared in front of her.

At school Kirsty Boyd had always had the airs of an American prom queen. She’d been short and trim, with big teeth and bigger hair. Tonight the haircut was more restrained (and about ten times more expensive, judging by the highlights running through it) but her figure was just the same, as was the plastic smile spread across her face, hiding a venomous tongue and a more poisonous mind. Kirsty had been the driving force behind this whole reunion, and Nicola suspected that she’d done it entirely to show off her own currently affluent situation and apparently perfect family life.

Kirsty was married to a square-jawed man who had made his money in construction and now owned the controlling share of a Scottish premier league football club, making him the youngest football director in the country. She lived a few miles out of town in a custom-built house with far too many bedrooms, all en suite, situated perfectly amid mature woodland, with a sea view, a jacuzzi, an indoor pool and a playroom with an enormous drinks cabinet. She had two small children that the nanny took care of while she was off doing charity work or fucking her fitness instructor. It was half
Footballers’ Wives
, half
Stepford Wives
, and it was all awful. Nicola wasn’t jealous of Kirsty, she was just wary of her presence and her motivations. She had seen Kirsty backbiting and scheming too many times, both at school and when she lived in Arbroath with Amy. She mirrored Kirsty’s fake smile and took a drink.

‘Nicola, hi! How are you?’

Air kiss, air kiss.

‘Good, thanks, Kirsty, and you?’

‘Oh, fantastic. Isn’t it great seeing everyone together again like this? Everyone keeps thanking me for organizing it, but you know it wouldn’t have happened without everyone turning up. I’m just glad that so many people responded to my idea of having it.’

She took a delicate sip of what appeared to be a glass of white wine. It was the first time Nicola had ever seen anyone drinking wine in Bally’s. Why had she arranged for the reunion to be here? Unless she had some kind of ulterior motive that Nicola couldn’t fathom.

‘And how are you, Nicola? How’s single parenthood treating you?’

‘Oh, you know, pretty damn good, I guess.’

‘I know it’s old fashioned to think so, but I have to say it’s so brave of you to bring up little Amy on your own. I mean, it can’t have been easy with her dad on the other side of the world and not interested in the pair of you.’

‘We do OK, thanks,’ said Nicola through gritted teeth.

‘And how is Amy? Enjoying school?’

‘Yeah, getting on great. Causing trouble, as per usual, but no more than any other kid.’

‘My two are absolute angels at the moment. They’re no trouble at all, they behave themselves so well I really don’t know where they get it from because Ian and I can both be so naughty if we want to be.’

Jesus Christ, thought Nicola, please let me get out of this conversation and back to the bar.

‘Did you come down on your own?’

‘Erm, well… ’ said Nicola, looking round.

‘How brave, but then you always were a brave one, weren’t you? Dashing round the world like that for an adventure and coming back with a baby! Why don’t you come over and have a gossip with the ladies. We’re just over here.’

Nicola felt a hand on her back lightly but firmly pushing her towards Kirsty’s little coven of sycophants, the girls who had never managed or wanted to escape from the thrall of Kirsty’s influence. Anita Milne, Lesley Masson and Claire Pollock were virtually indistinguishable from each other, their highlighted, shoulder-length hair, neat designer outfits and buffed appearance pathetically mirroring Kirsty‘s. Nicola would rather speak to just about anybody else than this lot, but she could feel herself getting sucked towards them.

‘All right, ladies, how’s it going?’

Nicola suddenly felt Kirsty’s hand fall away as David’s presence split them up, and he stood swaying slightly in between them. Kirsty was quick to react.

‘David Lindsay! How are you?’

She made to air kiss him, but David ducked nimbly out the way. The resultant awkward physicality of Kirsty as she tried to right herself made Nicola smirk.

‘My, we haven’t seen you around these parts since – when would it have been? – well, since Colin’s funeral, I suppose.’

‘Straight to the point, Kirsty, just like I remember,’ said David. ‘I’m fine, thank you for asking. And I haven’t been here since then, you are absolutely correct. But it’s great to be back. You are looking fantastic, if I may say so, Kirsty. How do you get your hair to do that?’

David waved a hand towards Kirsty’s head, and a brief look of panic crossed her face as she thought he was actually going to run his fingers through her hair. She regained her composure and ignored his comment. Her gaze focussed on David’s other hand, which was lingering on Nicola’s back as the three of them stood there, like a polite Mexican stand-off. Eventually David spoke.

‘If you don’t mind, Kirsty, and despite the fact that you’re looking fantastic – did I say that already? Well, you can’t hear that sort of thing often enough, that’s what I always say – anyway, if you don’t mind, Kirsty, I have some urgent business to discuss with Nicola. I have to get her as drunk as me. So if you’ll excuse us, you fantastic-looking woman, I’m going to take her over there’ – he pointed generally over his shoulder to nothing in particular – ‘and buy her drinks. It’s been great meeting you again. Save a dance for me later on, will you?’

With that David grabbed Nicola’s hand and headed towards the bar. Kirsty watched them go with a sly look in her eyes, and turned to go and spread the gossip she thought she knew.

‘You’re drunk,’ said Nicola.

‘Absolutely correct, but actually I’m not nearly as drunk as I was pretending to be just then. I thought you needed rescuing from scary, plastic features over there.’

‘You were right about that.’

‘And I wasn’t lying. I do intend to get you more drunk.’

‘Good, because I fully intend to allow myself to be made more drunk.’

‘Then life is sweet. What have I missed round here?’

Nicola looked around her at the horror of Bally’s. If she wasn’t mistaken that was Atomic Kitten playing. She could see Kirsty and her cabal in close consultation.

‘Fuck all. Let’s get a drink in.’

Three shooters and Nicola was just about all caught up with David in the drunk stakes. The pair of them had started schmoozing around a few other people at the reunion, including some of the crew from the Lochlands the previous night, swapping small talk as they drifted around, separate but keeping a close watch on each other’s movements. They fell into different conversations but their communal two-way booze round kept them loosely tethered to each other, deliberately so.

David was talking football with Gary and a couple of other guys that he hadn’t known too well at school. One of them was nicknamed Plunge at school – David never knew why – but now introduced himself as Dean. The other guy was called Jonathan something, David forgot what, and his chin still stuck out like Bruce Forsyth. David’s only memory of Jonathan was seeing him running about at Andy MacDougall’s house party with a kitchen knife, screaming at the top of his voice that he was going to circumcise himself. They got the knife off him pretty quickly. That was the same party where Andy himself got locked in the bog and had to jump out the first-floor window. Strange night, David vaguely recalled.

He felt a slap on the back and turned to see the leering, perspiring face of Mike Clarkson. Clarkson had been a royal pain in the arse at school, a hardnut who bullied the hell out of the no-marks and nobodies. He wasn’t tough enough to be in the big league, but he had enough balls to bully most people at school, and enough pals to back him up if necessary. David’s friendship with Neil had made him less of a target for Mike, but he was still the subject of plenty of verbal from the guy, as was just about everyone else in their year. And here he was now, that same over-confident swagger to him, the same cautious eyes and tensed neck muscles, the same button-down collared shirt and crew-cut hair, the same pathetic need to get one over on everyone in the basest way possible. There might be plenty of good reasons for coming to a school reunion, but Mike Clarkson sure as shit wasn’t one of them.

‘David, how’s it hanging?’

‘Mike.’

‘Haven’t seen you round these parts for years,’ said Mike. ‘Since Colin died, eh? Nasty business that, right enough. Don’t blame you for buggering off, I suppose, having your best friend commit suicide.’

‘He didn’t commit suicide,’ said David with a sigh. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. The inquiry would say that, wouldn’t it? No point in making his folks more unhappy about it than they already were.’

‘It was an accident, Mike.’

‘There were folk that suggested he was pushed as well. I suppose that could’ve happened. How would anyone know? We all know what the cliffs are like, it would be easy as fuck to trick someone up there, shove them over and that would be that.’