A Year in Fife Park (8 page)

‘They’re not mine,’ she said.

‘We can wash them.’

‘Thirty seconds,’ she reminded me.

Pop. It took thirty-eight.

‘Shit,’ I said, sitting back. ‘We’re going to feel that.’

Even she looked like she thought it would be enough. 

‘How are you doing?’ she asked, eventually.

‘We drank a bottle of wine in half a minute.’

‘Generally, I mean. We haven’t talked for days.’

‘Huh, really?’ 

‘Yes, really,’ she said, sourly. ‘Glad you noticed.’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘Liar.’

‘I’m into this girl, Ella.’

‘Tell me about her,’ she said.

I did.

‘She sounds nice,’ Darcy told me.

‘Think she’s in the Vic tonight,’ I said. ‘With all the guys.’

‘That bastard there, too?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘All of them.’

’You’re missing out?’

‘See how much I care?’

‘Enough to drink wine with me, instead of beer with the girl of your dreams?’

‘That much. Exactly right, except I would be drinking Gin and Tonic.’

‘Aww,’ she said. ‘I’ll buy you a Gin and Tonic some time.’

‘To be honest, I asked her out and she said no. Ella, I mean.’

‘When?’

‘Last week maybe? The week before? I don’t know.’

‘But you’re still into her?’

‘She’s nice,’ I said. ‘Like I described her.’

‘Not that nice, if she turned you down.’

‘I’ve turned people down before,’ I said. ‘She was nice about it.’

She punched my shoulder.

‘You fucking pushover.’

‘You don’t know her,’ I said.

‘Still think you’re in with a chance?’

‘Who knows.’

‘You seem different,’ she told me. ‘Have you lost weight?’

‘Doubt it,’ I said. ‘I’ve got this plan, though.’

‘To lose weight? You don’t need to.’

‘To seem different. No, I mean, to
be
different.’

‘Huh,’ she said. ‘Oo-kay.’

‘Telling,’ I replied.

‘No, it’s not that,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to change.’

I looked at her. She looked at her feet.

‘My decision, anyway,’ I said.

‘Go on. Tell me about your plan, then.’

‘Yeah.’ I cleared my throat.  ‘Well, basically you can choose how you behave, but not how you feel, right?’

‘Sometimes you can choose how you feel.’

‘Yeah, but basically, you like some things, you don’t like others, you’re good at some things, bad at others, and so on.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Well, I think that if you pretend to feel a certain way for long enough, it can start to be how you actually feel, not just what you pretend.’

‘So if you feel sad, but you pretend to feel happy, then you’ll feel happy eventually?’

‘No, it’s more like... Well, OK, maybe. That’s an OK example I guess.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think so. I think that if you bottle things up and pretend they’re different, it can make you sick inside.’

‘Well, something else then. Little things.  Just like, your body language can tell your mind how to feel, almost as much as the other way round, so you just
act
like something, and it can happen. If you pretend not to be nervous, sometimes it will go away. Or if you pretend to like beer for long enough, you might actually start to like it.’

‘What if you feel tired?’

‘I don’t know, maybe you can ignore it. You might get a second wind, or something. I don’t think it’s the same sort of thing.’

‘But eventually you’ll fall asleep or die, or whatever.’

‘What I’m saying is that some things, like the way you react to things, might just be something you can train yourself to react differently. So if you’re always panicking, you can just pretend to be calm, and it might work.’

‘Except, if you’re panicking, you won’t remember to do anything you decided to do. That’s what panic is.’

‘Well, I’m talking about if you’re just not confident. You could just pretend to be confident. You could just act all laid-back, and not caring, and relaxed, and maybe eventually you’ll just feel that way. It sounds calm, and like a pretty cool way to live.’

‘Wow,’ Darcy said, bored. I’m not sure that I was finished, but she obviously was.

‘Yeah, well. That’s the plan.’

‘You know it makes no sense,’ she said. ‘Not really.’

‘I’ve been told as much,’ I said. ‘And you sounded just like him.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I think it’s a great plan,’ I said. ‘It all fits together.’

‘Are you just pretending to be Frank?’ Darcy asked.

‘No,’ I lied. ‘But there’s more to it, anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘Cause Frank doesn’t want anything, and I do.’

‘Well, I just think you just need to grow up,’ she told me, sadly.

‘Sorry?’

‘I don’t mean that in a harsh way. I just think you need to grow up, and it will happen by itself.’

‘Well, that’s good you don’t mean it in a harsh way,’ I said. ‘Because it sounded like a bitch-slap.’

‘You know, I think of girlfriends my age as women,’ she said, abstractly. ‘But all the boys are still boys.’

‘That’s sexist as fuck,’ I said.

‘It’s just what I think. Boys mature later.’

‘Not always.’

‘Well, do you feel like a man?’ she said.

‘It’s not for you to say.’

‘That’s why I’m asking you.’

‘It’s not for me to say, either.’

‘Oh, convenient. So who?’

‘Well, when it’s true it’s just obvious. Nobody has to make a fucking decision on it.’ 

‘Well, there’s your answer.’

There was a tang of sulk in the air that probably didn’t help my case.

‘Fine, but that doesn’t automatically make you a woman.’

‘Oh come
on
, Quinn,’ she said, leaning over and slurring.

I turned away.

‘Alright, look,’ she said, conciliatorily. ‘Let’s go out there and get you some Gin and Tonic.’

‘Right now? Seriously?’

’Yeah, it’ll be fucking hilarious. We’ll just pretend it’s an ordinary night out, and go get some drinks in down at the Vic,’ she said.  ‘Just imagine what they’ll think when we waltz in there together, like nothing happened.’

‘Yeah, it’s the wine talking,’ I said.

‘Doesn’t make it a bad idea.’

‘What about Craig?’

‘Meh,’ she said.

‘But you’re sure you won’t regret it?’

‘Blah, blah, blah.’

She made a ‘chatty’ hand motion.

‘Whatever. I’ll get my coat.’

We sauntered into the Vic like we had a point to prove. Darcy was dead right about the reaction, I wouldn’t have credited it. Mouths dropped open. Pints hovered between face and table. Lance’s fag went out in the ashtray. Eventually the silence started to seem kind of rude. Mart stepped up to insulate the awkward.

‘Fucking hell, Darcy,’ he said. ‘How in the hell are you?’

‘You know,’ she said. ‘Getting on.’

‘Alright Craig,’ I said.

‘Quinn.’

‘Frank not out?’

‘Medics,’ Craig said. ‘Frank’s doing all the first year socials again.’

‘And the second year ones,’ Lance said.

‘What have you been up to?’ I asked.

‘Beers,’ Lance said. He raised his pint, grinning.

‘Look,’ I started.

‘This is not cool, Quinn,’ Craig said. ‘Not cool at all.’

I looked round. Darcy was at the bar.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing, don’t get riled.’

‘What are you fucking doing with her?’ he asked.

‘She’s alright,’ I said. ‘Just some drinks.’

‘She’s a waste of fucking space.’

‘Too harsh, mate.’

‘Easy,’ said Lance. ‘She’s right there.’

‘You’re being a dick,’ Craig said.

‘We’re all of her friends right here.’

‘Whose fucking fault is that?’

‘I don’t fucking know. Not all hers.’

‘What about her other friends? Julia?’

‘Who fucking knows what happened there?’

Those two had switched poles right at the end of the year, and gone from inseparable to repulsed by each other, over fuck only knows what personal bullshit.

‘Mate, she’s just not worth it,’ Craig said.

‘It’s not an effort,’ I said. ‘I’m going to help her with the drinks.’

Darcy was counting small change out of a huge purse at the bar.

‘Is it weird?’

‘How would I know?’ I said.

‘Does it seem weird?’

‘Fuck, yes.’

‘Should we leave? Should I just go?’

‘No, I think people are adjusting.’

‘It’s like they don’t even know me.’

‘They’re on edge,’ I said. ‘They don’t know what to say.’

‘Is Ella out?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘At the far table, with the DRH lot.’

‘Let’s go over,’ she said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Fucking, shut up. I’m not going to embarrass you. But you have to introduce me.’

‘Introduce you?’

‘Yes, and do it properly.’

‘Alright,’ I said. ‘I hope you’re in the mood for a proper conversation.’

She didn’t get that, but it didn’t take long.

‘Hey Quinn,’ Ella said.

‘Ella,’ I said. ‘This is Darcy. She’s a friend of mine. She wanted to meet you.’

‘Oh, nice. Hi Darcy. Why do you want to meet me?’ Ella said.

‘She wants to meet all my friends,’ I said. ‘Because she is completely wasted.’

‘Quinn!’ Darcy said.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It’s OK. We’re all wasted here.’

‘Well, I’m alright,’ Ella said.

‘Fuck. Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be?’

‘Quinn,’ Darcy said, pulling me to one side.

‘Darcy, this is a
terrible
idea. I think she’s fucking sober.’

‘You are a fucking moron, Quinn,’ Darcy said. ‘I’ll fix this, you just keep your mouth shut.’

‘Yeah, OK.’

‘Ella,’ Darcy said, with a flourish. ‘Aren’t you in our Philosophy class –
The Good Life
?’

‘Yeah,’ Ella said. ‘I just put in the essay today.’

‘Us too,’ Darcy said. ‘This fool helped me after my PC ate the file. It’s fucking handy having a geek around. ’

‘Hey,’ I said.

‘Oh, shut up,’ Darcy said. She turned back to Ella. ‘He
so
is.’

‘And it is a thankless fucking task,’ I muttered.

‘What did you write about?’’ Ella asked.

‘Eudaimonia,’ Darcy said. ‘It’s a looooad of bollocks.’

‘Change,’ I said. ‘Question 3.’

‘Yeah,’ Ella said. ‘Me too. Change, I mean. I wrote about how most people want things to be different but hate it when things change.’

‘I reckon most people want things that don’t make sense,’ I said, meaningfully.

‘And then philosophers put them into words,’ Ella said, clapping her hands together.

I walked Darcy home that night, arm around her shoulder. We went the long way, which is to say that we went the short way, with a lot of zigzagging. Darcy was unusually quiet as we came up on the Whey Pat. She rubbed her eyes.

I was half scared she might pass out completely, leave me dragging her like so much dead weight down City Road. She used to do that, clock off like a light going out, be properly unconscious for hours. We used to think it was something that just happened to her, but I think it’s something that happens to anyone, eventually.

‘They won’t be my friends,’ she wailed, suddenly.

‘They still like you,’ I said. ‘Mind the steps.’

‘It’s not the same,’ she said, stumbling.

‘Mart was really genuine.’

‘It’s never going to be the same.’

‘You never know,’ I said.

She looked at me, appreciatively. But also like I was an idiot.

‘You’re like my Dad, sometimes,’ she said. ‘He’s such a smart man. He does whatever he wants.’

‘I don’t do what I want,’ I said.

‘He just tells people how it’s going to be, and then they do as he says. He was always telling us stories about his work.’

‘He sounds nice,’ I said.

A chill wind hit, as she stood at the top of the stairs to her flat. I stood at the bottom, looking up. She shivered for a second, and then smiled again.

‘Ella’s so lovely.’

‘So lovely,’ I said.

She pushed the key into the door on the third try, and stepped inside.

‘See you,’ I said.

‘Night, hun.’

Media Sift

I found some old chat logs in a lost folder of my Fife Park archive. You never really remember anything, right. I spent hours poring through my youthful conversations looking for gold, but it was all mundane and teenage.

I found my old Final Fantasy 8 save games; that’s where February went, in the Fife Park year. I’d forgotten that. I found a box of photographs. I looked happy, of course. Sometimes I was thinner than I remember ever being.

I used to skip meals, for days on end. I remember it as a montage, some Rocky-style weight loss video, all fast cuts and motivating music. But, now I think about it, I kind of tortured myself. For months, for nothing, because I didn’t realise that my weight had fuck all to do with how likely I was to get laid, to meet someone, to be popular.

I found old emails from Darcy. And emails to Darcy. She would send me a page of nothing at all, and I’d try to be precocious when I replied. It’s nothing like I remember. Every time I think of myself, I look differently.

I’ve still got the music, too. I keep that folder of pirate MP3s safe as houses, backed up across a multitude of sites, because it is the most direct line I have to these memories.

These memories put me in the mood for more than just memories. I’m remembering things, but also feelings, and some old feelings can be bought for a price. I put out the word that I wanted some cannabis.

It has been years since I bought dope. I’ve hardly even touched it since St. Andrews. Took about two fucking weeks to get some, so nothing new there. I don’t know any drug dealers, or have any friends with pretensions to know any. But somebody sorted me out.

I didn’t specify the type. I went through a friend of a friend who didn’t even know there were types. So, when it came, it was a little mystery gift. I almost forgot I’d asked for it. I kind of hoped it would be hash, but of course it was skunk. What else is there?

I made a single joint and smoked half of it before putting it out. Later I smoked the rest. McQueen would have called me a lightweight. I can hear his voice in my head, just imagining it. But I have always been cautious, and one of the main reasons is because, just occasionally, I haven’t been cautious enough. I wanted to be pretty stoned, of course. I wanted to remember that feeling, and all the little things that go along with it.