Doug Johnstone - Smokeheads

‘Don’t tell me, landfill indie?’

‘What?’

‘You know, mortgage rock — Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Editors, all that dreary pish.’

Adam shook his head. ‘That’s more Roddy’s bag.’

The truth was Adam didn’t mind that stuff either, but really he’d pretty much given up on music after Britpop and had regressed to his dodgy metal past, digging out old Thin Lizzy, AC/DC and Motorhead albums and sticking them on his cheap iPod imitation.

They walked back to the table. Ash and Roddy had disappeared.

‘What did you put on?’ Luke drawled. He’d clearly had a few joints back at the B amp;B.

‘Abba,’ said Adam, smiling at Molly.

Ethan made a face. ‘Not the Mamma Mia soundtrack? Debs loves that garbage.’

‘Christ no,’ said Molly. ‘The real deal.’

‘Very cool,’ said Luke, nodding.

‘See?’ said Molly, nudging Adam. ‘A man after my own heart.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Adam. ‘I need the loo.’

The tiny bogs were rammed so he decided on an al fresco slash, heading out the delivery door to a courtyard stinking of piss and stale beer, lit by a sliver of moon.

As he was about to unzip he spotted two figures in the shadows across the courtyard. He pressed himself into a dark corner.

‘Fuck, it’s freezing out here,’ said the taller of the two. Roddy.

Adam watched as Roddy got something out of his pocket, then heard a loud coke sniff.

‘Hey, ladies first,’ said the other figure, punching his shoulder. Ash.

He offered up something. She held her hair back, leaned in and snorted. They sniffed and laughed then she kissed him hard, grabbing his crotch.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Bad moon rising.’

She knelt and whipped his jeans down in a quick movement. Adam saw her head moving forwards and backwards.

‘Fuck,’ said Roddy, holding her head in both hands.

Adam watched for a moment then turned back to the pub.

He waited his turn in the urinals, stopping to examine his saggy face in the grubby mirror afterwards. He washed his hands then pulled them still dripping down his face, trying to freshen himself up. He gazed at himself again, then sighed heavily and left.

By the time he got back to the table, Ash and Roddy were sitting there as if nothing had happened, except for a smirk on Roddy’s face and a flushed colour in Ash’s cheeks.

She took a big swig of JD and turned to Roddy. ‘So it’s basically your fault the world economy is fucked and we’re all skint.’

‘We’re not all skint,’ said Roddy, patting his wallet.

Ethan groaned. ‘Don’t get him started.’

‘We’re being made scapegoats by the fucking media,’ Roddy shouted. ‘Fund manager is a job like any other.’

‘Except you make millions at the expense of ordinary punters,’ said Adam.

‘There is that.’

‘And get huge bonuses when you succeed, but no punishment when you cock up.’

Roddy beamed. ‘I didn’t make the rules. And anyway, I don’t fuck up, I’m still making pots of money. The best in the business like me are always going to make money. Ask Luke, I got a shit-hot return on his little nest egg.’

Adam turned to Luke. ‘Roddy invested for you?’

Luke shrugged.

‘Just as a little favour, you understand,’ said Roddy. ‘I wouldn’t normally take on something that small.’

Adam turned to Roddy. ‘But people like you have fucked this country’s reputation for being good with money.’

‘Me?’ said Roddy. He pointed at Ethan. ‘Take it up with RBS Mortgage Boy over there.’

Ethan shook his head, having none of it. ‘You’re joking. I design databases, how the hell is it my fault?’

‘Your employers managed to work up twenty-four billion in debt, that’s not a kick in the arse off the Scottish government’s entire budget. White Stone are doing very nicely, thanks, so it’s not our fault, is it? It’s not about avoiding risk and all that safe, steady shite, it’s about knowing which are the right risks to take and taking them.’

Ethan breathed out. ‘It’s guys like you taking risks and screwing it up that mean we all have to pay in the end.’

‘Life’s about risks,’ said Roddy. ‘If you grew up and realised that, maybe you’d be a lot better off than you are now.’

‘If you’re so rich, Hedge Fund Henry,’ Ash slurred, ‘why aren’t you at the bar getting the fucking drinks in?’

‘On my way,’ said Roddy with a smug smile.

Ash slid over to Luke.

‘So what’s your story, quiet boy?’ she said.

He examined her with narrow eyes. ‘Musician.’

‘What do you play?’

‘Bit of everything.’

‘Drums?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I have a thing for drummers. Strong hands and lots of energy.’

She stroked his arm. He looked at Roddy at the bar, then at her hand.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Flirting, what does it look like?’

‘You’ve spent all night flirting with Roddy.’

‘So what?’

‘Not interested.’

Ash laughed. ‘OK, take it easy, Ringo, just being friendly.’

Across the table, Ethan got up to help Roddy with the drinks.

Adam took a deep breath and turned to Molly. Serenity now.

‘I couldn’t help noticing you’re not wearing a wedding ring.’

Molly laughed.

‘You couldn’t help noticing?’ she said, a tease in her voice.

‘Actually, Roddy noticed at the distillery.’

‘I didn’t think I was his type.’

Adam felt sheepish. ‘He was looking for me.’

‘Was he, now?’

‘It’s just that you were wearing one last time we met, and you mentioned your husband. Remember, at the Feis Ile?’

Her smile faded. ‘A lot’s happened since then.’

Her look made him want to rewind. ‘I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. You obviously don’t want to talk about it.’

He put his hand on hers on the table. She shook her head with a resigned look. ‘It’s not that, it’s just…’

‘Hey,’ shouted Roddy, dumping the drinks and sitting down next to Ash. ‘It’s PC Plod. Evening all.’

Adam followed Roddy’s gaze and saw the police officer who’d stopped them earlier standing behind him, looming over their table. He was in a dress shirt and leather jacket, still wearing the gold chain. He looked drunk and itching for trouble.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Molly, sliding her hand out from under Adam’s.

‘This should be good,’ said Ash.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ he said to Molly.

‘Fuck off.’

He grabbed her arm and gripped firmly. ‘I said introduce me.’

‘Hey,’ said Adam, seeing the look on Molly’s face.

She turned to him and sighed deeply.

‘Adam, this is my ex-husband, Joe.’

‘Maybe I should call it a night,’ said Molly, looking round.

After some huffing and puffing, Joe had retreated to the other side of the pub where he was chatting to a short weasel with sunken grey eyes and a twitch. Both of them were hammering pints and nips and staring.

‘Don’t let those pricks get to you,’ said Ash. ‘They’re just a pair of bullies.’

‘Who’s Gollum with the Bill?’ said Roddy loudly.

‘Joe’s cousin Grant,’ said Ash. ‘My year at school, total inbred sadsack. Ileach rumour has it that his mum had a thing going with her cousin. She never admitted who his dad was, anyway. Plus, she was on methadone when she had him, and probably shooting up as well. Anywhere else in the country he wouldn’t have enough brain cells to snare a job as a fucking toilet attendant. Here on our wonderful island he gets welcomed into the constabulary thanks to family contacts, and gets to act out his snivelling little grudge against the world. He’s got no mind of his own, does everything master Joe tells him.’