I KNOW YOU

by
Mark Gallacher

They�d finished the champagne by the time the train pulled into Waverly Station. Frank had taken charge. He explained they�d be going to The Grassmarket in the city�s Old Town. They�d go to The Boston, an American theme bar Frank claimed he�d only had good times in.

They�d avoid the West End because it was full of office boys and hairdressers, all of them pretending they were somebody, with money in their pockets but nothing in the bank. In The Grassmarket there�d just be tourists and real people.

There were four of them, counting Frank. Isabel worked in customer services, while Greg and James worked alongside Frank in the programming department. They�d shared the same office space for over a year but this was their first time out together.

The Grassmarket was already half covered in shadow when they came to it, but sunlight still brightened the high walls of the old 18th century slum buildings. Slow moving tourists wandered aimlessly across the cobbled stoned square, with maps and backpacks, exhausted from having to notice everything and make some banal comment about it. A four piece jazz band played light-hearted music on a small wooden stage in the last of the sunlight, and the smell of cooking drifted from the open doors of restaurants and cafes. The quiet sounds of laughter and voices, the clack and clink of coffee cups and wine glasses on the tables outside, made their own small music.

Frank didn�t seem to notice any of it and he ignored Gerry�s request to go over and listen to band. Instead he marched straight up to the opened oak panelled doors of The Boston and ducked inside.

A tramp on the pavement next to the doorway, had started to rise, and he lurched forward just as Gerry arrived. The old man had eyes like blue coals and his face was twisted in a way that suggested he�d had a stroke. �You,� he growled and grabbed Gerry�s arm. �Ah ken you.�

�Get inside for God�s sake,� Isabel squealed. She pushed past Gerry and bolted into the pub, waving her hands as if to swat something unpleasant away.

Gerry tried to go past but the old tramp leaned into him. Gerry felt powerless and he despised himself for it.

�Dinnae you turn your back on me,� the old man warned him. His breath stunk and Gerry winced.

�Christ sake.� James pushed Gerry inside. �Move before the old bugger sets his fleas on us.�

Frank had found a table at the back of the pub. Isabel had already taken her coat off. She snuggled her backside into the leather seat. Frank admired her short dress.

�Didn�t you see it outside?� James shook his head. �God it was weird!�

�One of Gerry�s old wino pals� Isabel pointed at Gerry. �Wanted to catch up on old times.�

Frank glanced back and forth. �Seriously? That old tramp? Did you know that old wreck out there on the pavement, Gerry?�

�Don�t be stupid,� Gerry said. He hated the way his voice sounded.

James patted Gerry on the shoulder. �I think you thought he was God calling you to account.�

�Ah, was it your old Dad, Gerry?� Frank teased.

�What do you mean?� Isabel asked. �Give me a ciggy, Frank. I�m gasping for one.�

�Here.� Frank held a cigarette filter end up to Isabel�s mouth. She lowered her head to get the cigarette in her mouth. �Gerry�s an orphan,� Frank explained and lit Isabel�s cigarette. �Brought up in an orphanage. Didn�t even get adopted.�

�Aw. Poor wee thing.� Isabel whined and pouted. �No mammy. No daddy. No girl. No-one to love.�

�Can�t we talk about something else?� Gerry pleaded.

�Lighten up, orphan boy.� Frank leaned across the table. �Get the round in. Tell them to put it on our bill. Here�s the card.�

�Me?�

Frank winked. �Chop. Chop�

�Wait a minute,� Isabel interrupted. �So where are you really from then, Gerry?�

Gerry blinked. �What do you mean?�

�You�re not Scottish then. I can see that. Middle eastern maybe?�

�I�m Scottish.� Gerry snapped. �Want to see my passport?�

�But where were you born, Gerry?� Isabel tilted her head back and blew smoke into the air.

�I don�t know. Does it matter?� Gerry waved the smoke from his face.

�It could be somewhere exotic. That�s all I meant.� Isabel sighed. She fussed with her dress. �Anyway. Can�t you hurry up and get the drinks in? I�m parched.�

Gerry made it to the bar. He waited ten minutes in the throng before he finally caught the attention of a barmaid. She smiled when she came over. �Hallo, there. Good to see you again. Same again?�

Gerry stared at the girl. �I�ve never ever been in this pub,� he said. �I don�t know you. We�ve never met.�

The girl laughed. �Weird. There�s a guy looks like you. Foreign type.�

�You don�t know me. If you�d just open your eyes you�d see it. And I�m bloody Scottish. Can�t you hear my accent? I�ll have two pints and two gin and tonics. Put it on Informatics� Bill. Here�s our company card.�

Gerry felt bad for being rude. When the girl sat the drinks down on the bar he tried to apologise but she gave him a blank look and turned away.

Gerry sighed and turned around. James stood there in the huddle of customers. Gerry passed over two of the drinks. Even as he picked up the other two glasses from the bar, another customer pushed past him. �Sorry. Sorry.� Gerry muttered and resented his own timidity.

Gerry struggled to get back to the table. James stood there alone. Some other people had taken their places at the table.

�What happened? Where are the others?� Gerry asked.

James jerked his head. �Buggered off to another bar. Said they�d be back soon. Come on. Over here.� James led Gerry over to the jukebox.

Gerry looked around the bar. A group of American students formed a tight circle in the middle of the crowd and drank tequila shots. Their accents were sharp and loud. They had bright white teeth all of them, and tanned complexions. Gerry felt a vague jealousy, a small resentment towards their youthful good looks.

James talked and talked but Gerry could hardly hear him in the din. Gerry watched James�s mouth move. He nodded occasionally.

James saw an opening in the crowd. He slipped up to the bar again and came back with two double whiskies. Gerry tried to refuse but James insisted. �Get it down you!� James shouted. �Lighten us up. You have to be halfway legless in this dump to have fun. Christ, Frank sneaking off with Isabel. Married man and all that. He�s a slime bag. He can�t program for shit either. I took a look at his data management program. That piss he wrote couldn�t get an alarm clock to ring on time. Shit I�m talking about work again.�

They didn�t say anything for a few minutes. James looked at his watch a couple of times. Gerry stared into his whisky glass. Eventually James moved back to the bar, his balance a little off. Then he was back again with two more whiskies.

�Thing is, I hate it. The work.� James began to elaborate. �I didn�t want to be a programmer. It�s bullshit. I had ambitions to be a geologist. Shit for brains Frank, thinks I�m a nerd.�

Gerry could feel the whisky make a queasy mess in his stomach. He wiped sweat from his forehead again. James�s voice was gaining momentum, as if he couldn�t stop revealing the messy details of his life. He mentioned his father was an alcoholic, a brother he hadn�t saw in years. �We�re pals, aren�t we, Gerry?�

�We work together.� Gerry answered.

�Aye. That�s right. Pals. We know each other.�

James had that look of self-disgust some people have, when they�ve said too much about themselves and are disappointed afterwards to find out nothing has changed.

Gerry dared to lean back against the wall. His legs were definitely affected. He let his mind wander. There was some consolation, a secret pleasure to be had, watching other people. His thoughts wandered and then he realised he could see Isabel over at the bar on her own.

�I�ll get the drinks in this time,� he said.

Gerry made his way through the crowd to Isabel. She hadn�t noticed him yet. She seemed upset. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. �Are you okay?�

Isabel laughed. �I�m fine. I should have expected it. I just thought Frank wanted some harmless fun. Flirt a bit. You know? I left him chatting up some girl half his age.�

�Is there anything I can do to help?�

Isabel giggled. �You? I hardly think so.�

Gerry withdrew his hand. �You just seemed upset is all. That�s all I meant.�

Isabel closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She looked up at Gerry. �I�m sorry. I don�t mean to be mean. It just comes out that way.�

�Would you like a drink? It�s still on the company. I�m just getting a round in for me and James.�

Isabel wiped her eyes and flicked at the fringe of her hair with her long fingers. �I have a drink. Just send James over when you go back.�

�I thought you�d come over to us.�

�Just send James over.�

Gerry waited a while before he told James about Isabel. Then as if by accident, he said her name and pointed in the direction of the bar.

�No kidding� James peered over the heads of the crowd. �Whereabouts?�

�Over bye the bar there. On that red chair.�

�Back in a minute comrade.� James handed Gerry his nearly empty glass.

Gerry looked around. He was on his own again just when he didn�t want to be. He left the pub and wandered across the cobbled stoned square of The Grassmarket and made his way up the hill onto The Mile. The night air was cool on the skin, clean in the lungs. Edinburgh Castle loomed hugely against the sky. A harvest moon hovered above the gothic towers and tenements of the Old Town.

Gerry passed a mediaeval archway squeezed between two pubs. He heard a match flare in the darkness. Frank stepped out of the darkness into the twilight.

Frank didn�t say anything at first. Gerry nodded and stepped back. Frank threw the match onto the cobble tones.

�You don�t like me, Gerry. But that�s okay,� Frank said and looked along The Mile, as if he was talking to someone else, almost as if Gerry wasn�t there at all. �You think I�m a shallow bastard. A chancer.�

�I think you�re a bully,� Gerry answered.

Frank smiled. �In my family you had to fight to get noticed.�

�I wouldn�t know about that�

�No. You don�t know anything about families. Do you orphan boy?�

�Stop calling me that. You�ve got a smart answer for everything.�

�You�re lucky.� Frank looked directly at Gerry. �My wife hasn�t been a wife to me in three years. Not since we lost the youngest. Fuck, I think it even started before that.�

�I don�t want to hear,� Gerry said, but he knew he was too scared of Frank to walk away before he was finished.

�My wife�s disappointed by life. A lot of women are. My wife�s one of the extreme examples. She sees me as some kind of confirmation that after youth and children, there�s only the grave. The only reason we stay together is the kids we�ve got left. At least that�s what she thinks.�

Gerry shook his head, his turn to look down the Mile, anywhere but at Frank.

�It don�t matter to me what you believe,� Frank said. �I love my wife. There�s the pity of it. Ironic really. I don�t want to be unfaithful. But if I don�t have sex soon, I�ll fucking murder someone.� Frank turned around and walked away.

�Why don�t you tell her what you told me? Tell her that you love her?� Gerry called after him.

�She�s deaf to me,� Frank answered. He raised his hand and waved but didn�t turn around. �Now we know each other, Gerry. Don�t we?�

Gerry wandered further up the Mile. He found a fish and chip shop. He ordered haggis and chips, something he never ever ate. But he needed something heavy in his stomach.

He stepped outside the shop and stood on the pavement and began to eat. He considered what Frank had said, but he couldn�t feel sorry for the man. It was probably all lies anyway. People like Frank always lied.

Some fireworks were launched from the roof of a tenement, for reasons that would never be explained. They arched silently across the evening sky. They detonated, one, two, three, four of them, throwing off shells of brilliant light and colour.

Gerry watched the fireworks drift earthwards, falling like burning gossamer, darkening as they fell.

�Did you see that!� someone shouted from a pub doorway. �Did you just see that?�

Gerry sighed. He wanted so many things and all of it seemed to lie behind him. All his life he�d wanted to know himself. Why it was others found him lacking. His last girlfriend had left him over a year ago. She�d written a letter to him. It was more a list of all his failings. Gerry hadn�t recognised any of the things in it. And now he was alone, living a life where nobody really cared who he was or what he did. An orphan again.

Gerry knew with certainty after tonight he would never come back to the city again. But he didn�t want to go home alone. He didn�t want that defeat facing him Monday morning at work. So he would just have to go back and find the others.

He walked over to a public dustbin and threw the remains of his supper into the bin. He turned his back to the castle and headed back down the Mile.

When he went back into The Boston a wave of heat and noise struck him. People weaved and banged into one another. There was a kind of sweaty hysteria to the place, fuelled by booze and the incessant grinding out of the last few hours of a Friday night. The American students were still there, assembled around a small table, hanging onto one another. One of them was shouting he�d lost his backpack but didn�t care. Another pretended to play the bagpipes with a barstool propped against his shoulder.

Gerry smiled as he squeezed past them and one of the girls acknowledged him with a shaky wave. She raised her glass of beer but couldn�t hold it to her mouth and slammed it back on the table. This caused her friends some amusement and they roared with approval.

Gerry pushed his way into the middle of the pub. He caught sight of Frank with a girl up against a wall. The girl had her arms around Frank�s neck, still holding her mobile phone, while Frank nuzzled her ear.

Someone shouted out Gerry�s name and he looked across and saw James at the bar, alongside Isabel. They waved him forward. An unexpected surge of excitement rolled through him and he waved back. But his way was blocked by a large oak support that joined roof to floor, two tables either side, with a riot of shouting punters.

Gerry was momentarily flummoxed. A man leaned against the support, a leather sports bag wedged between his feet and the dark wood. He smoked and seemed entirely alone. Gerry noticed the likeness and laughed absurdly. He spoke to the man, who turned and appraised him coldly.

�They said someone in the bar who looks like me. It�s you.�

�I�m nothing like you. Go away.�

�I�m sorry.� Gerry apologized. �I didn�t mean - it�s just. Well you do look like me.�

�Not for long� the man answered and pushed past Gerry.

Gerry watched the man force his way to the door. The man fumbled for something under his jacket, while he pushed people aside with his free hand. He took out a mobile phone and glanced back over his shoulder. Gerry had the distinct impression the man was looking for him.

Gerry looked down at the sports bag. His heart beat hard in his chest. An absurd notion took shape in his head. Gerry looked back again for the man but he was gone. Gerry could clearly see the doorman at the open doors, a hue of blue evening light on the cobblestones outside.

�The bag. The bag. The bag.� Gerry muttered over and over. The small rational voice that normally governed him was falling apart.

Gerry lunged forwards and banged into one of the tables sending glasses flying. Someone shouted at him but there wasn�t time. He elbowed and hustled his way ever closer to the bar. His mouth was dry. James was there, half standing on a stool, waving him on.

Gerry couldn�t hold onto his panic any longer. He raised his arms up in alarm. �There�s a bomb!� he screamed. �There�s a bomb! A bomb! A BOMB!�

�What?� James had heard him but didn�t understand. He held a hand to his ear and shook his head. Isabel turned and waved her fingers.

Gerry could see the view behind him reflected in the mirror along the bar. The American students raised tequila glasses, the alerted doorman moved through the crowd to get to Gerry. The whole tight little box of humanity seemed to sway a moment, as if the pub was a ship that listed.

Gerry blinked. The American students started to rise into the air. Disappeared. The explosion shut out the light. A thunderous roar slammed Gerry to the ground. A rolling wave of heat passed over. It felt as though the ground was rushing into the air, disintegrating as it rose. The air became ash and glass and wood and burnt meat.

Then nothing.

Car alarms wailed outside. In the blackened charcoaled destruction of the pub, mangled bodies lay slumped across broken furniture, amid glass and nails and broken masonry.

Gerry staggered to his feet and held the back of his head where he�d been burned to the skull. The bar was gone. Ripped clean from its fittings to the back wall of the pub. The plaster along the walls had been torn clean off with it and shredded electric cables hung from holes in the brickwork. The dreadful groans and whimpers of the wounded fluttered like the burnt edges of paper.

Gerry found Frank on the floor by the wall. He turned him over. Frank�s face was an obscene, swollen mess of lacerations and torn flesh. His eyes were impossibly white and bright in that bloody mask.

Frank looked around hysterically and tried to sit up but couldn�t. His mouth hung open and he tried to suck air in, but nothing seemed to be reaching his lungs. His chest heaved up and down.

Gerry held him. �Take it easy, Frank. Don�t move. The ambulances will be here soon. You�ll be all right.� But Frank wasn�t going to be all right.

�Your love your wife and kids, Frank. You said so. I�ll tell them. I promise I�ll tell them what you said.�

Frank stopped looking around. He watched Gerry. He let his head rest on the floor. Blood leaked obscenely from his mouth. A low gargling rattled in his lungs and then he died.

Gerry stood up. He staggered across splintered wood and broken tiles. He vaguely recognized human body parts among the wreckage and thrust his arm out to push the scene away. He neared the entrance to the pub. The doors lay on the cobblestones outside, amid a pile of broken chairs and glass and the shreds of torn clothing. The tramp was spread eagled on the road, one shoe missing. His coat flung open like something rotten had burst.

�Jesus Christ, Gerry.�

Gerry half turned. James came forward and reached an arm around him. They leaned against one another. �I think my ribs are busted,� James gasped. �Christ it hurts. You better get your head looked at Gerry. The bastards. The bastards. What did we ever do to anybody?�

�Where�s Isabel?�

�I don�t know. I can�t find her. She�s disappeared.�

�Frank�s dead.�

�Murdering bastards all of them, Gerry. It�s a miracle we�re alive. Come on.�

They staggered out onto the square. Tourists ran around with mobile phones, tripping over a swathe of debris scattered across the square.

A woman took pictures. She saw Gerry watching her and hid her camera away as if it was part of the crime.

The first ambulances arrived. Police vans pulled up and policemen were suddenly everywhere, pushing the hysterical onlookers back. The first bodies were carried from the pub. Then came more survivors, the ones that could walk. Staggering through the wreckage they apologised to one another in a kind of stunned bewilderment.

�I can�t see Isabel,� James croaked and began to cry. �Ah, Gerry. Gerry. This is no way for folk to go. Just ripped out of existence. Your head�s a mess, Gerry. We need someone to look at it. Ah Christ.�

�It�s alright.� Gerry smiled and tried to comfort James, but he felt as though he was very far away. �I got to sit down.� Gerry lay down on the cobblestones, next to the old tramp.

James staggered away. Gerry plucked weakly at the air. �Don�t leave me alone,� he whispered but James was already gone.

�I�m sleepy� Gerry said. He turned his head and looked at the old tramp. �I know you,� Gerry whispered and closed his eyes.

� Mark Gallacher
Reproduced with permission

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