knock but I wasn’t hopeful; had my suspicions he’d be given a good few reasons to keep schtum.
I leaned out of the bath, grabbed over my tabs that I’d sat by the sink. I lit a red-top, caught the familiar Marlboro stench.
Davie Prentice was, for sure, as wide as a gate. But I didn’t have him down as a killer. Taking up that kind of damage took bottle and fat Davie had none of that. The suggestion that he might even be mixed up with someone who had the cobblers required to put a bullet in a man didn’t square with the devout coward I knew him to be. If Davie Prentice was mixed up in my brother’s murder, he was being fucked over too, worse than any Calton Hill rent boy.
I turned the sum of my thoughts over to my subconscious, zoned out in the warm water. In no time I was comatose, dead to the world.
Had been crashed out for God knows how long when I got jerked back to reality. The bathroom was in darkness, the water freezing as Debs stormed in and pulled on the light.
‘What the fuck is this?’ she yelled.
She held something in her hand, but my eyes wouldn’t adjust to the sudden brightness. ‘What, what is it?’
She slapped the item into the bathwater; the little wraps of speed fell out of the baggie. I tried desperately to pick them up.
‘Gus, how could you?’ She started to sob. ‘I trusted you.’
She couldn’t look at me, turned and fled.
The wraps were a bust. No way back for them. Let the lot go down the plughole with the bathwater. When I dressed, Debs was sitting in the living room, there’s a phrase, stony-faced.
In the time I’d known her, I’d seen every expression there is to see on Debs’s face. I’d say there were some I would never want to see again, and prayed I never would, but this one was perhaps the expression I knew least how to deal with.
Said, ‘Sorry.’
Her look went up a notch in intensity, almost a wince – an ‘Are we here again so soon?’ God, it wounded me.
Added, ‘I am, truly.’
She stood up, raised her hands, dropped them again. ‘Gus, I can’t take this any more.’
This shithole flat of ours was too small to hold the tension. You couldn’t have a barney when there was nowhere to run off to, slam doors behind you. I went for the mainline: ‘Well, what do you want me to say or do? Tell me, I’ll do it.’
She walked to the kitchenette, filled a glass with water from the tap. The dog watched her as she moved. I did too. A bellicose look burned in her eyes, kind that kept the whites permanently on display. I admired her ability to keep her anger in check; I never could. She slammed down the glass. It wobbled on the counter, some water spilled over the brim. ‘I don’t know what you can say or do, Gus . . . you’ve said and done it all before. But bringing wraps of charlie into our home.’
‘It was speed.’ I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
‘I don’t care what it is – it’s drugs!’
Fuck. Hoped she wasn’t gonna go Nancy Reagan on me, start the just say no spiel. I sighed, knew I was onto a loser. I dropped myself in the chair. Truth told, I didn’t have the heart, or the passion, for another row. I wanted to make her see I was contrite, but I wanted her to know I was hurting inside for reasons I could do nothing about. I wondered if she’d forgotten about Michael for a second, but I knew Debs better than that: this was all about my brother. She was wondering where it was leading me, and us, to.
Debs raised the glass again, sipped. I watched her put her hand through her hair. ‘Look, Gus. I’m sorry too.’
I turned to face her. ‘You are?’
She came round the edge of the counter, crouched before me. ‘I know you’re hurting.’ She took my hands in hers. I didn’t want her, or anybody’s, sympathy. My pain was my problem. I removed my gaze. She said, ‘I just don’t want you going back on the drink. You said you’d stay clean.’
‘I am clean . . . more or less.’ I pushed my luck: ‘I think
I leaned out of the bath, grabbed over my tabs that I’d sat by the sink. I lit a red-top, caught the familiar Marlboro stench.
Davie Prentice was, for sure, as wide as a gate. But I didn’t have him down as a killer. Taking up that kind of damage took bottle and fat Davie had none of that. The suggestion that he might even be mixed up with someone who had the cobblers required to put a bullet in a man didn’t square with the devout coward I knew him to be. If Davie Prentice was mixed up in my brother’s murder, he was being fucked over too, worse than any Calton Hill rent boy.
I turned the sum of my thoughts over to my subconscious, zoned out in the warm water. In no time I was comatose, dead to the world.
Had been crashed out for God knows how long when I got jerked back to reality. The bathroom was in darkness, the water freezing as Debs stormed in and pulled on the light.
‘What the fuck is this?’ she yelled.
She held something in her hand, but my eyes wouldn’t adjust to the sudden brightness. ‘What, what is it?’
She slapped the item into the bathwater; the little wraps of speed fell out of the baggie. I tried desperately to pick them up.
‘Gus, how could you?’ She started to sob. ‘I trusted you.’
She couldn’t look at me, turned and fled.
The wraps were a bust. No way back for them. Let the lot go down the plughole with the bathwater. When I dressed, Debs was sitting in the living room, there’s a phrase, stony-faced.
In the time I’d known her, I’d seen every expression there is to see on Debs’s face. I’d say there were some I would never want to see again, and prayed I never would, but this one was perhaps the expression I knew least how to deal with.
Said, ‘Sorry.’
Her look went up a notch in intensity, almost a wince – an ‘Are we here again so soon?’ God, it wounded me.
Added, ‘I am, truly.’
She stood up, raised her hands, dropped them again. ‘Gus, I can’t take this any more.’
This shithole flat of ours was too small to hold the tension. You couldn’t have a barney when there was nowhere to run off to, slam doors behind you. I went for the mainline: ‘Well, what do you want me to say or do? Tell me, I’ll do it.’
She walked to the kitchenette, filled a glass with water from the tap. The dog watched her as she moved. I did too. A bellicose look burned in her eyes, kind that kept the whites permanently on display. I admired her ability to keep her anger in check; I never could. She slammed down the glass. It wobbled on the counter, some water spilled over the brim. ‘I don’t know what you can say or do, Gus . . . you’ve said and done it all before. But bringing wraps of charlie into our home.’
‘It was speed.’ I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
‘I don’t care what it is – it’s drugs!’
Fuck. Hoped she wasn’t gonna go Nancy Reagan on me, start the just say no spiel. I sighed, knew I was onto a loser. I dropped myself in the chair. Truth told, I didn’t have the heart, or the passion, for another row. I wanted to make her see I was contrite, but I wanted her to know I was hurting inside for reasons I could do nothing about. I wondered if she’d forgotten about Michael for a second, but I knew Debs better than that: this was all about my brother. She was wondering where it was leading me, and us, to.
Debs raised the glass again, sipped. I watched her put her hand through her hair. ‘Look, Gus. I’m sorry too.’
I turned to face her. ‘You are?’
She came round the edge of the counter, crouched before me. ‘I know you’re hurting.’ She took my hands in hers. I didn’t want her, or anybody’s, sympathy. My pain was my problem. I removed my gaze. She said, ‘I just don’t want you going back on the drink. You said you’d stay clean.’
‘I am clean . . . more or less.’ I pushed my luck: ‘I think
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