Trackman Read online

  That's not true. I just don't have any flowers.

  Okay, so if I buy you flowers you'll use it?

  Yes.

  I don't believe you. They'd have to be black and white flowers to fit in here with the black sofa, white carpet, black rug, black and white curtains, that random piece of black and white art above the TV. I feel like I'm a piece on a chessboard in here, or riding on the back of a cow.

  You're a cheeky sod sometimes.

  'Where have you been anyway?' Susan asks me, handing Pammy a glass of milk and a digestive.

  'Just seeing Lewey,' I reply, and take a sip of tea.

  The word Lewey floats around me like an insect that won't go away. I try not to say his name out loud too often.

  'In this weather? Could you not have picked a nicer day?'

  'It was sunny when I left the flat this morning.'

  'Was it? It's been raining here all day. Hasn't it, Pammy?'

  Pammy nods, then takes a glug of milk, leaves a white moustache above her top lip. She wipes her sleeve across her face, and puts her glass down inside one of the rooms of her dollhouse.

  'You'll stay for your tea, won't you?' Susan asks, as I help myself to my fifth digestive.

  'I wouldn't mind, if that's cool with you.'

  I know that whatever Susan and Pammy are having, it'll be a hundred times better than anything I would have at the flat.

  'It's just spag bog, eh? Nothing fancy.'

  'Sounds great.'

  Susan puts down her tea and stretches her arms up in the air. She leans her head forward and rolls it from side to side. I look over at Pammy, who's copying her mum.

  'I've got new music for my class, but the warm-up doesn't seem to fit properly,' Susan says.

  Davie came in from work to find Susan marching on the spot in the middle of the hallway.

  Alright?

  Aye, don't mind me, just learning the routine for my antenatal class.

  Susan picks up her tea again. She glances over at Pammy then leans in towards me.

  'I've been meaning to phone you actually. Guess who I got a text from the other day?'

  'Who?'

  Not mum. Not mum. Not mum. Not mum.

  'Colin,' she whispers in my ear.

  'You're joking. What does that arsehole want?'

  'Sshhh. He said he wanted to see Pammy.'

  'I hope you told him to get to fuck.'

  'Course I did, I'm not an idiot.'

  'What did he say to that?'

  'Nothing. He didn't reply.'

  'He's not getting anywhere near Pammy, or you. How does he even have your number?'

  'Don't get all worked up.'

  She squeezes my arm, which is shaking.

  'Who are you talking about, Uncle Davie?' Pammy asks.

  'Nobody.'

  Susan wore dark sunglasses at the funeral to hide the black eye. She told everyone she'd been hit in the face by an over-enthusiastic punter at one of her fitness classes.

  Davie lay awake in his new room at Susan's house. He thought he heard something outside. The sound of the doorbell made him jump. Then someone was hammering on the downstairs window.

  Susan, open up! I want to see my fucking kid, you bitch.

  Davie went through to Susan's room. She stood against the bedroom wall and held on to Pammy.

  What's going on?

  Colin isn't taking the break-up so well.

  Susan rubbed her fading black eye.

  Davie opened the bedroom window and looked out. Colin was outside, pissed, staggering around.

  Who the fuck are you? Colin picked up a pile of stones from the driveway and threw them up at the window.

  Davie wanted so much to shout something back. To say something to get rid of Colin. Go down there and take him out with one punch.

  Fight or flight? Fight or flight?

  Fright.

  Get out of here or I'll phone the polis, Davie said, and shut the window.

  His words made him sound braver than he felt and his hands shook. Susan had met Colin at the gym. He was a fucking body-builder. Davie had never been a fighter, he knew Colin could kick the shit out of him.

  As Davie picked up the phone, he couldn't believe he had to dial 999 again; before he had a chance to hit the number though, he heard the sirens.

  The sirens. He was still holding the receiver.

  One of Susan's neighbours had beaten him to it. Davie watched as Colin was bundled into the back of the police car and taken away.

  I turn to face Susan. Her hair is tied in bunches and she's staring down into her mug of tea. It's only now that I'm actually looking at her that I notice the purple bags under the bloodshot eyes.

  His eyes were open and bloodshot.

  They remind me of painted boiled eggs at Easter. The shells have been peeled off but the colour has seeped through, leaving the white of the egg streaky. I'm overcome with a need to cuddle her, to look after her after all she's done for me. I don't though. I'm shit at showing emotion.

  I want to say something. I want to help, but as usual I stay quiet. You'd think I'd have learnt my lesson by now. Susan deserves better than me, I wish I wasn't so fucking useless. No fight, all fright.

  'Have you called the polis?' I ask.

  'Aye, I did that. Don't worry. It's all okay. I just thought I should tell you.'

  I'm still feeling crap when Susan starts making tea. I try to help her with it in an attempt to feel useful. I just get in the way though. She crushes the garlic with the presser and it might as well be my balls for all the man I am. She heats garlic and oil in a pan, then adds tomato and mushrooms. The windows steam up and it's like we're in a greenhouse. I open the hatch to the living room to let some air in.

  'Pammy won't stop watching that Lady and the Tramp DVD you got her.' Susan says as she dishes up. 'It's spaghetti a go-go at the moment.'

  The meal lasts a lot longer than it should. Pammy insists that we imitate the dogs from the Disney film, and we take it in turns to sook a spaghetti strand with her.

  'Do that again,' she shouts over and over.

  She presents us with her tomato sauce stained face, a strand of spaghetti hanging down her chin. Not that I'm much cleaner. I make a right mess of myself, splattering red spots of sauce all down my front and over the table. I wipe garlic bread around the edge of my plate and soak up the excess sauce. As I bite into the crusty bread and the garlic butter fills my mouth, I realise how much I miss living here.

  My stomach is bulging when Susan takes my plate away and I'm grateful for the elasticated waistband of the tracky bottoms. I've not eaten so much or so well for ages. Susan replaces my empty plate with a bowl of chocolate cheesecake.

  'Skooshy cream?' she asks, taking the can out of the fridge.

  'Aye, why not.'

  'I'll do it,' Pammy insists, as Susan tries to squirt cream onto her cheesecake.

  'Okay, but not too much,' Susan replies, handing her the can.

  Pammy presses down on it and covers her cheesecake and most of the table in cream. She looks up at Susan, hands back the can as if that was exactly what she'd meant to do. I can't help laughing at her wee face as she tucks into her pudding, scraping the cream and chocolate sauce off and leaving the biscuit.

  'Don't laugh, you'll just encourage the wee madam,' Susan says, but I can tell she's trying not to laugh herself.

  She scoops up the dollop of cream lying in the middle of the table and spoons it into her own dish, then sticks her tongue out at Pammy.

  'Oh, did I tell you I've started yoga?' Susan asks me, in between mouthfuls of cheesecake.

  I shake my head.

  'Aye, it's a lot more classes for me.'

  'Sounds good.'

  'Means that I can afford to take teenybash here to Australia soon.'

  'Oh aye.'

  'Skyping Mum and Dad's just not the same as being in the same room with them, she needs to spend time with her granny and grandad while she still can.'

  I avoid e
ye contact because I know what's coming next.

  'I was wondering if you fancied it?'

  'Not really.'

  'Come on, Davie.'

  'I can't afford it.'

  'I could help you with some of it.'

  'Nah.'

  'Someone has to make the first move. You can't go on like this forever.'

  I'm going to Australia.

  I take a mouthful of cheesecake, let it fill my entire mouth so I don't have to answer. Pammy is watching the conversation like someone at Wimbledon: her wee head moves from side to side. She stares at me, waiting for my response. I stay silent. Advantage Susan. The chocolate icing and cream dissolves in my mouth, leaving only soggy biscuit. I swallow it and take another mouthful. I don't want to get into this. Not now. Not ever. If mum wants to hide out in Neighbours land with Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Mike then that's her lookout.

  The temperature drops and the warm greenhouse changes into frosty igloo.

  'I spoke to your mum on the phone the other night. She was asking for you.'

  'Well, she knows where I am,' I reply, and push my plate away.

  I've not finished it, but it's getting to that sickly stage where I can't eat any more. Susan looks at me but I stare down at my bowl and play with what's left of the cheesecake.

  'Tea?' she asks, scraping the uneaten cheesecake into the bin before dumping the empty bowls in the sink.

  'Aye, cheers.'

  Susan clicks on the kettle, then moves into a yoga pose as she waits for it to boil.

  'This is called Warrior posture, I'm still trying to memorise the sequence. The music is dead relaxing, all ohms and chanting. I really like it.'

  Pammy scrambles down from the table.

  'Hey, young lady. Did you ask to be excused?'

  'Can I be 'scused?'

  'Excused what?'

  'Please.'

  'That's better. Aye, off you go.'

  Pammy runs out of the kitchen. Now that we're on our own I dread what Susan's going to say.

  'So how's work?' she asks.

  'Same old shite really.'

  'When are you going to leave that place? You've been there too long.'

  'I know, it's not that easy though.'

  'I thought you were going to go back to uni?'

  We think it would be best if you took some time out, and then came back and repeated the year when you're feeling better.

  'Come on, stop nagging me, will you?'

  The kettle clicks off and Susan makes us both a brew.

  'Comfy seat?' She nods in the direction of the living room and I follow her as she carries the mugs through.

  As we enter the living room, Pammy spins towards the door and freezes. Musical statues. She's holding the MP3 player, and is wearing the headphones. Caught in the act.

  Without thinking I step towards her and grab the player out of her hand. The headphones get stuck in her hair and her whole head jerks towards me as I pull. She looks up at me and her bottom lip starts to wobble like Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston belting out a ballad. The wobble spreads across her chin and up the rest of her face, then sinks down into her shoulders. It's like the plug's been pulled out as the tears start. She runs to Susan and grabs onto her legs.

  'Careful, Pammy, I've got hot tea here,' Susan says, and shoots me a dirty look.

  'Sorry, I don't know why I did that. Sorry.'

  It all happened so quickly. The rush of blood as I realised someone else had the MP3 player, the sudden need to get it back. Mine. Mine. Mine.

  He sat on his hands, used his weight to trap them underneath him.

  'Sweetheart, you know you shouldn't play with stuff that isn't yours,' Susan says, putting down the mugs and giving Pammy a cuddle. The headphones are still caught in her hair and Susan untangles them.

  'You know you can't leave stuff lying about.'

  Susan hands me back the headphones. A strand of Pammy's hair is still tangled around the metal.

  'I know, sorry. I didn't mean to hurt her.'

  I don't know what came over me there. I was someone else. For that split second I forgot who Pammy was. I didn't see a wee lassie. I just saw someone who had stolen my MP3 player. Mine. Mine. Mine.

  I kneel in front of her.

  'Sorry, can we be friends again, please?'

  Pammy nods her head but doesn't look all that convinced. She's stopped crying though and seems a lot calmer. I love how kids have that ability to scream the place down in a fit of hysterics and then go back to normal in an instant. A click of the fingers. Everything forgotten. Pammy lets go of Susan and returns to her toy corner. Susan and I sit down next to each other on the sofa.

  The room's chilly and I can feel a draught tickling my bare ankles. I pull the socks up and the tracky bottoms down, try to cover my bare skin.

  'What is that thing anyway? It's nothing like my iPod.'

  'It's Alfie's. I think it's broken.'

  The MP3 player buzzes and my hand jerks in response.

  'Did you just get a shock off it?'

  'No, it's fine. Someone just walked over my grave, that's all.'

  I squeeze the MP3 player in my hand and it buzzes again. My hand twitches and I spill tea onto the tracky bottoms. Fuck. What's all that about? The first time it's done something and I'm stuck with an audience.

  'You did, that gave you a shock.'

  'No, it's fine, just a loose connection I think.'

  'That thing's not safe. Pammy could've been hurt.'

  'Aye, I'll give it back to Alfie when I get in.

  'I put the player down next to me, push it under my thigh out of sight. I really want to play about with it. I can feel it humming underneath me, my leg is singing all the way down to the bone. I need to get out of here. Something's happening.

  I gulp my tea down too quickly and burn myself. Bumps and ridges break out on my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

  'I'd better head,' I say to Susan.

  'You can crash here if you like.'

  'Nah, I'm on early in the morning. Got to be up at some stupid time.'

  'See what I mean. Always moaning about Virgin, but not doing anything about it. You need to make a bloody effort.'

  'Aye, aye.'

  'Someone has to keep nagging you.'

  'Where are my cords?'

  I know if I hang around any longer we'll end up fighting, and I don't like fighting with Susan. We usually get on so well.

  They're still your folks, Davie, no matter what's happened. You only get one mum and dad.

  'You mean you don't want to go home in those?' Susan says nodding at my get-up.

  I give her a look and she leaves the room. She comes back carrying my trousers, patting them all over with her hands.

  'They're still a bit damp, but they'll do. Your socks are soaking though, I'll put them in the wash.'

  I stand behind the sofa and change into my cords. They're cold and clammy against my skin. I slide the MP3 player into my back pocket and pat it. Soon. Soon.

  'I'd offer you a lift home, but I need to give teenybash a bath and get her to bed.'

  'Aye, nae bother, eh?'

  Susan and Pammy follow me to the front door.

  'I didn't know you were into Harry Potter,' Susan says as I tuck the book inside my jumper.

  'Aye.'

  I know it's shite compared to what I should have done, but I'll finish those books for you. I'll come out here and read them to you, so you know what happens at the end. I promise you'll get to know what happens. I know it's stupid, but it's all I can think to give you right now.

  'Lewis loved those books, didn't he?'

  I nod and concentrate on putting my soggy Converse back on. His name clings to me. Susan doesn't know about my promise. Nobody does.

  'Oh, before you go, I meant to ask if you'd come to a party with me.'

  'Aye, when is it?'

  'Not for a couple of weeks.'

  'Cool. Whose party?'

  'One of Pammy's friends. Jodie, I thi
nk.'

  'Josie, Mummy!' Pammy corrects her.

  'What? I thought you meant a real party.'

  'It is a real party.'

  'You know what I mean.'

  'Come on, I can't face it on my own.'

  'You're really selling it to me.'

  'Please.'

  'Aye, okay, but only as long as I'm not working or at the football or anything.'

  'Don't give me any of that, I know the football's finished for the season.'

  'Aye, whatever.'

  'I'll pick you up and take you home. You just have to show up.'

  'The sooner you get yourself a decent bloke the better. Have I introduced you to Alfie?'

  'Aye, very good,' she pushes me towards the door, 'out with you.'

  Pammy refuses to give me a kiss goodbye and I toy with the idea of giving her my brolly as a peace offering. It's still pissing down when I open the door though, so I change my mind.

  'Thanks for the tea and the socks,' I say, stepping outside and putting up the umbrella.

  'No problem,' Susan replies, 'and keep the socks. They suit you.'

  I lift up one leg of my cords and flash an ankle at them. Pammy laughs, but Susan isn't paying attention. She's looking over my head, down the driveway towards the street.

  'See you later,' I say.

  Susan pushes Pammy behind her and shuts the door. I hear it lock behind me as I make my way along the drive. I turn and look to see if anyone's waving, but the blinds remain shut. I stand for a moment at the garden gate, listening to the rain crackle off the umbrella, then I head back towards the bus stop.

  6

  Stop Whispering

  All the messing about that had been going on for weeks: the flirting, the teasing, the questions. Is something going on with you and Martha?

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  THE MP3 PLAYER buzzes at me all the way home on the bus, like a bee hitting itself against the window: manic for a few seconds, then calm.

  Zzzzmmmm.

  Zzzzmmmm.

  Zzzzmmmm.

  I leave it in my pocket, I'm conscious that there's too many people around me on the bus. I want to be alone before I start playing about with it; it feels like something I have to do alone. I don't know why I'm getting so worked up about a few vibrations, it's like it's coming alive though. There's more to it than just a normal MP3 player, I'm sure there is.