Louise Welsh - Naming the Bones

The comparison bewildered him.

‘As long as I’m around, our dad isn’t in the past. I’m surprised Jack doesn’t feel the same way.’

‘He does, Murray. He just has a different way of expressing it.’

Perhaps Lyn sensed the pressure at the back of his eyes, because she took another tin from the shelf and asked again if he was sure he didn’t need anything.

* * *

The three of them waited together at the checkout behind an elderly couple. The old man placed his wire shopping basket at the end of the counter and his wife set four tins of dog food, a packet of cornflakes and a bottle of Three Barrels brandy on the conveyor belt. It scrolled forwards and Lyn started to unload Frankie’s trolley.

‘You had something you wanted me to tell Jack.’

‘Did I?’

He didn’t want to discuss anything in front of the other man.

‘Yes, just before the bus came. It got lost in the commotion.’

‘It wasn’t important.’

The cashier started to check their stuff through and Lyn and Frankie began bagging it. Murray moved to help, but Frank said, ‘You’re all right, mate, we’ve got a system.’

Lyn gave him an apologetic look.

‘Weeks of practice. Frankie and I have to get all this back now, but that’ll be me finished for the day. Maybe we could grab a coffee, if you’ve got time?’

He knew that coffee was code for pub. It would be easy to go with her, slip into the comfort of alcohol and company, allow his defences to drift until he was willing to become reconciled to Jack’s betrayal of their father’s dignity.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t even be here. I’ve masses of work to do and I’ve got to start my packing.’

‘Is that what you were going to tell me?’

‘What?’

‘That you’re going away.’

‘For a week or so, to Lismore.’

She laughed.

‘For a moment I thought you were going to tell me you were emigrating.’

‘No, just a wee trip to fill in some background. It’s where Archie ended up.’

‘Where he drowned?’

‘Yes, I thought I’d take my notes up there, get a feel for the place.’

He meant get a feel for Archie, but it would sound stupid out loud.

The bags were packed. Lyn slung one on the back of the wheelchair. Frankie rolled his wheels to and fro then said, ‘Stick another couple on there.’

‘I don’t want to topple you.’

‘Nah, that’ll not happen again. I’ve got the hang of it now.’

Lyn made a face behind his back, but she did as he asked and the three of them made their way slowly out of the supermarket. The sky had clouded over in the time they’d spent shopping and it felt as if it might rain. The promise of the day had gone. Cars edged along on the main road, but the landscape beyond the shop held a concrete bleakness that made it easy to imagine the bombed-out world of Archie’s sci-fi novel. Lyn placed a hand gently on the back of Frankie’s chair, steadying the bags. She’d restrained her curls, but the wind blowing across the car park threatened to free them again. She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes and gave Murray a smile.

‘Are you sure about that coffee?’

‘I’ve got to get back.’

‘To your dead poet?’

‘He’s beckoning through the waves.’

And for a moment it was as if Murray could see Lunan against the dreary expanse, hair floating wild in the water, arms outstretched as he drifted with the current.

‘Excuse me, Lyn.’ Frankie’s voice was weighted with exquisite politeness. ‘I’m going to have to use the toilet.’

‘No problem.’ She was brisk, all business now. ‘The staff facilities have good access here. Can you hold on while I get someone to let us in?’

‘It’s not an emergency.’ Beyond the grey of the car park a Burger King sign glowed red. Frankie nodded towards it. ‘Why don’t we go over there and you can have your coffee.’

‘Ach, I don’t know, Frank. .’

‘If you grab me an Evening News , I can sit on my own and let yous have a catch-up. I don’t mind.’

Lyn looked at Murray. He shrugged his shoulders, defeated. It was nigh-on forty years since Archie had drowned, his corpse was long since gone and the best Murray would do was revive his reputation. It could wait an hour or so.

‘Why not?’

Murray went into the Burger King with Frankie and the shopping bags, while Lyn went in search of a newsagent’s. He followed him awkwardly to the door of the disabled toilets. Frankie halted his chair.

‘Do you like to watch?’

‘No.’

‘So fuck off. I might not be able to piss standing up any more, but I’m still capable of wiping my own arse.’

‘One of the few pleasures left to you?’

‘Not even close, mate, not even close.’ He beckoned Murray towards him and when he got close whispered with breath that smelt of smoke and onions, ‘Tell your brother to take better care of her or I’ll be in like Flynn.’

Murray’s snort of amusement surprised them both.

‘I’ll pass the message on.’

‘Laugh all you want, pal. She’s too good for that poofy git. I’m what they call a catch these days.’

‘I guess times are tough.’

‘Not for me, they’re not. I’m getting decent money, I’ve got my own place and I’ve knocked the drugs. But do you know what my biggest advantage is?’

‘What?’

‘I’m a project. Lassies like a project. I’ll let her reform me, don’t you worry.’

He leered and rounded the chair into the cubicle.

Murray bought three coffees, garnishing his tray with a few sugar sachets and little tubs of whatever substituted for milk. He set it all at a table near the window then got out his mobile. There were no messages. He started to compose a text to Rachel but only got as far as Sorry before he spotted Lyn entering with Frankie’s paper. Murray shut the phone down without pressing Send. He couldn’t think what he would have said. After all, he could hardly describe himself as a catch.

Frankie sat on the other side of the room, resolute about ‘giving them space’, though Murray noted he’d chosen a seat with a clear view of their table. Lyn sipped her coffee.

‘We’d best not take too long. So what have you been up to?’

‘Nothing. The usual, just work.’

‘Just work. You should take a tip from Frankie’s book, get out more.’

‘I’ve been out all day.’

‘Visiting strip clubs, browsing round supermarkets. It’s some life you literary doctors lead.’

‘It’s all go.’

Murray drank some of his coffee. It had been a mistake coming here. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he could leave.

‘Will you come and see us before you head off?’

It was as if Lyn had read his mind.

‘Sure, if there’s time.’

She nodded. They both knew that there wouldn’t be. Murray felt Frankie’s eyes on them. Was it pathetic to feel jealous of a paraplegic? A recently homeless paraplegic, if he was under Lyn’s care.

Lyn regarded him over the rim of her paper cup.

‘Jack’s exhibition has had good reviews.’

‘Great.’

His brother’s treachery soured the pleasure Murray would normally have felt in his success.

Lyn held his gaze in hers.

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’

He shrugged, sullen as a recalcitrant first-year presented with a low mark they knew they deserved.

‘I met one of the other artists. Cressida something. How’s she getting on?’

Lyn raised her cup to her mouth.

‘Cressida Reeves? She’s more Jack’s friend than mine. They were at art college together.’

‘So were you.’

‘Yes, but they were in the same intake. I didn’t appear on the scene until Jack’s third year. I’d not seen her for years before this show.’ She looked at Murray. ‘Did you see her work?’