flag with the white St. Andrew’s cross, while his mates brandished the Union Jack or England’s red-and-white St. George’s cross.
Andrew paused to deliver that brilliant, knee-weakening smile for his own camera. Colin turned away again. His hands shook as he rewrapped the sandwich, which now felt like glue in his mouth and lead in his stomach. Last night now seemed nothing but a dream.
Forget him , he told himself. He’s already forgotten you.
= = =
Halfway down the long series of concrete steps that led toward the center of Drumchapel, Colin stopped. He turned to examine the trio of high-rise tower blocks, the central one of which had been his home for twelve years, and tried to see them through Andrew’s eyes.
On a sunny day like this, they looked quite decent, save for the tallest one, due for demolition next year. Its sickly gray-brown exterior was stained and dilapidated, just as his own building had been before the refurbishment two years prior. Now, his tower and the one beyond it bore a blue, white, and gray facade that gleamed in the sunshine. From the outside, they looked as smart as any middle-class block of flats.
But Andrew wouldn’t see that. He’d see the tower blocks’ notoriety, for the drugs ring that had been pinched there. Or he’d see their cost to the taxpayer, since the blocks were 100 percent social housing.
He’d see rubbish.
Colin spun on his good leg, then continued down the remaining steps, resisting the urge to look out over Glasgow and wonder which street Andrew belonged to.
He reached the main road just as his bus was approaching. A lass his age waited at the stop, cooing into a blue pushchair stroller.
“Big day for you!” she told her baby. “Gonnae be good for Mummy?”
The bus creaked to a stop, and the girl made her way to the wheelchair entrance. As she boarded, Colin noticed her wide-open diaper bag dangling precariously from her shoulder. He flashed his bus pass at the driver, then hurried over to help her before—
“Och, fucking hell!” the lass cried.
The diaper bag’s contents had spilled all over the wheelchair lift. Two pale-yellow baby bottles rolled off the stair and onto the street.
“Stay there, I’ve got it!” he told her as she wavered, nearly falling back onto the pavement.
“Be careful,” she said to him, sounding on the verge of tears.
He grabbed one of the bottles out of the gutter, then bent down and reached under the bus for the second, watching the rear wheel to make sure he wasn’t about to be pancaked. “Hah!” He stood and waved the bottles as she collected the last fallen diaper.
“You’re a star,” she said, zipping the bag shut with emphasis. “And I’m an eejit.”
Colin looked at the handful of other passengers, none of whom had budged to help the teen mum. He was struck with a memory of riding the same bus long ago with his own mother and baby sister. How Mum had shouted at Emma for crying, then at the other passengers for staring, and finally at Colin for…what, he couldn’t remember. Existing, probably.
He found two seats with room in the aisle for the pushchair. The lass sank down beside Colin and shoved a stray lock of blond hair from her face. “I’ve only just left home and I’m already knackered. Naebody telt me how much work it’d be to bring a baby out, even a quick trip up the town to see a mate.”
“It’s pure meltin’ the day, too.” He handed her the bottles, then tugged the front of his football shirt, hoping he didn’t already stink of sweat.
“I know, but my friend’s only in Glasgow for the Games, so it’s now or never.”
“Couldn’t she come out to visit you?”
“It’s too far. Plus I hate people seeing where I live.”
Colin knew the feeling. “The Drum’s not exactly a happening place.” His phone beeped inside his kit bag. “Just a sec,” he told her as he pulled it out. There was a text from an unfamiliar number.
This time I won’t forget you - A
Colin’s
Andrew paused to deliver that brilliant, knee-weakening smile for his own camera. Colin turned away again. His hands shook as he rewrapped the sandwich, which now felt like glue in his mouth and lead in his stomach. Last night now seemed nothing but a dream.
Forget him , he told himself. He’s already forgotten you.
= = =
Halfway down the long series of concrete steps that led toward the center of Drumchapel, Colin stopped. He turned to examine the trio of high-rise tower blocks, the central one of which had been his home for twelve years, and tried to see them through Andrew’s eyes.
On a sunny day like this, they looked quite decent, save for the tallest one, due for demolition next year. Its sickly gray-brown exterior was stained and dilapidated, just as his own building had been before the refurbishment two years prior. Now, his tower and the one beyond it bore a blue, white, and gray facade that gleamed in the sunshine. From the outside, they looked as smart as any middle-class block of flats.
But Andrew wouldn’t see that. He’d see the tower blocks’ notoriety, for the drugs ring that had been pinched there. Or he’d see their cost to the taxpayer, since the blocks were 100 percent social housing.
He’d see rubbish.
Colin spun on his good leg, then continued down the remaining steps, resisting the urge to look out over Glasgow and wonder which street Andrew belonged to.
He reached the main road just as his bus was approaching. A lass his age waited at the stop, cooing into a blue pushchair stroller.
“Big day for you!” she told her baby. “Gonnae be good for Mummy?”
The bus creaked to a stop, and the girl made her way to the wheelchair entrance. As she boarded, Colin noticed her wide-open diaper bag dangling precariously from her shoulder. He flashed his bus pass at the driver, then hurried over to help her before—
“Och, fucking hell!” the lass cried.
The diaper bag’s contents had spilled all over the wheelchair lift. Two pale-yellow baby bottles rolled off the stair and onto the street.
“Stay there, I’ve got it!” he told her as she wavered, nearly falling back onto the pavement.
“Be careful,” she said to him, sounding on the verge of tears.
He grabbed one of the bottles out of the gutter, then bent down and reached under the bus for the second, watching the rear wheel to make sure he wasn’t about to be pancaked. “Hah!” He stood and waved the bottles as she collected the last fallen diaper.
“You’re a star,” she said, zipping the bag shut with emphasis. “And I’m an eejit.”
Colin looked at the handful of other passengers, none of whom had budged to help the teen mum. He was struck with a memory of riding the same bus long ago with his own mother and baby sister. How Mum had shouted at Emma for crying, then at the other passengers for staring, and finally at Colin for…what, he couldn’t remember. Existing, probably.
He found two seats with room in the aisle for the pushchair. The lass sank down beside Colin and shoved a stray lock of blond hair from her face. “I’ve only just left home and I’m already knackered. Naebody telt me how much work it’d be to bring a baby out, even a quick trip up the town to see a mate.”
“It’s pure meltin’ the day, too.” He handed her the bottles, then tugged the front of his football shirt, hoping he didn’t already stink of sweat.
“I know, but my friend’s only in Glasgow for the Games, so it’s now or never.”
“Couldn’t she come out to visit you?”
“It’s too far. Plus I hate people seeing where I live.”
Colin knew the feeling. “The Drum’s not exactly a happening place.” His phone beeped inside his kit bag. “Just a sec,” he told her as he pulled it out. There was a text from an unfamiliar number.
This time I won’t forget you - A
Colin’s
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