corrugated, criss-crossed.
– Horny-handed, eh? he said. What do you think? I must have put some work in, in my day.
– Hold on, she said. I thought of something a minute ago. Never mind Tam’s version, did you never listen to the tapes yourself?
– Patients hadn’t accrued those kinds of rights. It was their tape, the NHS.
– It was your memories!
– They were reserving them for use in psychotherapy, but when the second op blew up, they put me out in the long grass. A home overlooking a soothing landscape and a bendy river. I escaped of course. Holed up on an island, other places. And the rest, with my memory, is not history.
– Tam— said Lucy.
– I don’t think I’m Tam —
– No, but where’s he now?
– Oh, he tried to make a go of writering but nobody could make money from him. He’s down at Left Luggage. He keeps the drafts in a spare locker. They all have a locker or two they work themselves for bonus. It’s understood.
– Will he still have your front end ?
– Lurking, I daresay. He took care of it. I spoke to him only last week, when I drifted back. He did offer me the draft. But doubt very much that I could face it.
Lucy stood up.
– Hey, been a real big day.
– Like Need to go, over again?
– No, like Goodnight, buster. Sleep tight.
– Night, he said. Thanks for the douche.
– Forget it— said Lucy, and bit her tongue.
– Already have, he said.
– Okay, you, she said. I’m off early, Edinburgh tomorrow, so I’ll leave a breakfast out. Oh, and a shirt and pants from the chest. Of my late father.
– Breeks too would be good, he said. Some sort of trousers.
april 7
the inner or the outer man
He spent part of next morning baggily wandering the house. There was a lot of sculpture, some busts, some abstracts. He got lost several times, and kept seeing the same photograph or painting where he didn’t expect. Kept dunting his shin on some kist or chest in a darker hallway.
He got frightened of the house and came back to his room with a tray of stuff from the larder and fridge.
He wasn’t happy in his room either, so he went through to Lucy’s. He looked for matches on her bedside table. He found them on the black marble mantel and lit the old gas fire.
He put his hands on top of the marble and toasted his chest and points south. His right finger traced and retraced the pale veins on the mantel, the twigs and branchings.
It almost reminded him, but of what?
From downstairs a grandfather kept dinging.
He wanted to go down, arrest the pendulum.
But wasn’t sure about finding his way back up.
The gas fire was still giving out its low blue roar when she came in from the evening train.
– What you doing on my bed?
– Sorry, I was away there. My room was cold.
– It’s centrally heated.
– I couldn’t see that.
– I’ve brought us tea. I got Marks and Sparks kippers at Waverley. Build you back up.
– Couldn’t look at a kipper, sorry. Smell.
– Do you want to go down to the station now? See Tam? Tam must know your name, surely?
– I was A13 to him, he said. Before they picked me up for thefirst op I had been wandering. Nobody had an earthly where I’d been. No papers or nothing. A13 .
– He calls you A13 ? Hardly.
– No. Jim. As in pal. Tam’s originally from Glasgow.
They went down in her Morris Traveller, going round by St Machar Drive and the Prom to avoid the centre.
– This car’s a throwback, he said. It’s not like the other cars I see.
It was a modest, pleasant estate, with curved ash external framing.
– It’s an honest trundler, she said. I don’t take it to work. I keep it in the garage against rust, away from the haar and the salt air.
– What crap is that? he said. Down there. UberSea ?
– A set of surf-viewing chambers, said Lucy. Not everybody can enjoy surf on their own. It evens up the opportunity. The Uberdeen Buddhists have endorsed it. The season ticket works out quite cheap. You can reserve a
– Horny-handed, eh? he said. What do you think? I must have put some work in, in my day.
– Hold on, she said. I thought of something a minute ago. Never mind Tam’s version, did you never listen to the tapes yourself?
– Patients hadn’t accrued those kinds of rights. It was their tape, the NHS.
– It was your memories!
– They were reserving them for use in psychotherapy, but when the second op blew up, they put me out in the long grass. A home overlooking a soothing landscape and a bendy river. I escaped of course. Holed up on an island, other places. And the rest, with my memory, is not history.
– Tam— said Lucy.
– I don’t think I’m Tam —
– No, but where’s he now?
– Oh, he tried to make a go of writering but nobody could make money from him. He’s down at Left Luggage. He keeps the drafts in a spare locker. They all have a locker or two they work themselves for bonus. It’s understood.
– Will he still have your front end ?
– Lurking, I daresay. He took care of it. I spoke to him only last week, when I drifted back. He did offer me the draft. But doubt very much that I could face it.
Lucy stood up.
– Hey, been a real big day.
– Like Need to go, over again?
– No, like Goodnight, buster. Sleep tight.
– Night, he said. Thanks for the douche.
– Forget it— said Lucy, and bit her tongue.
– Already have, he said.
– Okay, you, she said. I’m off early, Edinburgh tomorrow, so I’ll leave a breakfast out. Oh, and a shirt and pants from the chest. Of my late father.
– Breeks too would be good, he said. Some sort of trousers.
april 7
the inner or the outer man
He spent part of next morning baggily wandering the house. There was a lot of sculpture, some busts, some abstracts. He got lost several times, and kept seeing the same photograph or painting where he didn’t expect. Kept dunting his shin on some kist or chest in a darker hallway.
He got frightened of the house and came back to his room with a tray of stuff from the larder and fridge.
He wasn’t happy in his room either, so he went through to Lucy’s. He looked for matches on her bedside table. He found them on the black marble mantel and lit the old gas fire.
He put his hands on top of the marble and toasted his chest and points south. His right finger traced and retraced the pale veins on the mantel, the twigs and branchings.
It almost reminded him, but of what?
From downstairs a grandfather kept dinging.
He wanted to go down, arrest the pendulum.
But wasn’t sure about finding his way back up.
The gas fire was still giving out its low blue roar when she came in from the evening train.
– What you doing on my bed?
– Sorry, I was away there. My room was cold.
– It’s centrally heated.
– I couldn’t see that.
– I’ve brought us tea. I got Marks and Sparks kippers at Waverley. Build you back up.
– Couldn’t look at a kipper, sorry. Smell.
– Do you want to go down to the station now? See Tam? Tam must know your name, surely?
– I was A13 to him, he said. Before they picked me up for thefirst op I had been wandering. Nobody had an earthly where I’d been. No papers or nothing. A13 .
– He calls you A13 ? Hardly.
– No. Jim. As in pal. Tam’s originally from Glasgow.
They went down in her Morris Traveller, going round by St Machar Drive and the Prom to avoid the centre.
– This car’s a throwback, he said. It’s not like the other cars I see.
It was a modest, pleasant estate, with curved ash external framing.
– It’s an honest trundler, she said. I don’t take it to work. I keep it in the garage against rust, away from the haar and the salt air.
– What crap is that? he said. Down there. UberSea ?
– A set of surf-viewing chambers, said Lucy. Not everybody can enjoy surf on their own. It evens up the opportunity. The Uberdeen Buddhists have endorsed it. The season ticket works out quite cheap. You can reserve a
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