Reheated Cabbage (16 page)

Sarah hadn't even bothered to respond because this was hell and it couldn't get any worse but it
was
getting worse, much worse because she sensed a presence. Sensed it before she saw it. It was him.

Sarah looked up as they crossed Market Street, because Victor was coming towards them. His face, pinched and hard, his classical self-absorbed look, which broke into one of disbelief, then outraged pain, as he registered them coming towards him hand in hand.

Gavin saw him too. With a guilty instinct both regretted their hands flew apart. But it was over, her and Victor, and he'd have to know about it sooner or later. He liked Victor; they were mates. They'd drunk together, partied together, gone to the fitba together. Always in company, mind you, never just the two of them on their own, but they'd done it for long enough over the years for them to be more than just acquaintances. And Gavin liked him, he really did. He knew that Vic was what his dad would have called a man's man, which Gavin supposed was a sort of euphemism by omission for maybe not the type of guy a lassie would get much joy from in a relationship. But Gavin liked him. Vic had to know about him and Sarah, he had to know sometime. Gavin wished that it could have been sometime later, but it wasn't to be.

— Awright, Victor said, his hands resting on his hips.

— Vic, Gavin nodded. He looked at Sarah, then back at Victor, who was still in the gunfighter stance.

Sarah folded her arms and turned away.

— Oot last night? Gavin asked tepidly.

— See you wir, aye? Victor looked Gavin scornfully up and down, then turned to Sarah. His hateful gaze burned her so much that for a moment she forgot her toothache.

— Ah've goat nowt tae say tae you, she mumbled.

— Mibbe ah've goat something tae say tae you!

— Vic, look, Gavin said, — we've goat tae git tae the dentist –

— You shut yir fuckin mooth, lover boy! Victor pointed at Gavin, who felt the blood draining from his face. — Ah'll knock yir fuckin teeth oot then yi'll huv tae go tae the fuckin dentist awright!

The fear rose within. Yet part of Gavin's mind was working coldly, detached from what was going on around him. He thought that he should assault Victor first, in order to prevent Vic from hitting him. Yet he felt guilt towards Victor. And there was the self-preservation instinct. Would he be able to take Victor? Doubtful, but the outcome hardly mattered. What would Sarah want? – that was the question: the dentist. They had to get to the dentist.

— That's your answer tae everything, eh! Sarah said, screwing up her eyes and nose.

— How long's this been gaun oan? Eh? How long ye been seein that cunt?! Victor demanded.

— It's none ay your business what ah dae!

— How fuckin long? Victor roared, lunging forward, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her.

Gavin sprang at him and smacked Victor on the jaw. Victor's head jerked back as Gavin tensed, ready to follow up. Victor put one hand to his face and raised his other, signalling for Gavin to hold off. Blood spilled in droplets onto the pavement from his mouth.

— Sorry, Vic . . . sorry, man . . . Gavin felt confused. He'd hit Victor. A mate. He'd fucked his mate's bird, and then he'd panelled the boy for being upset. That was out of order. But he loved Sarah. Victor grabbing her like that, him ever having his hands on Sarah, over her, his
cock
in her, for fuck's sake. His large, ugly, sweaty cock that he held languidly as he pished next to Gavin in the East Stand toilets; expelling the cloudy, stagnant pill-filled lager urine into the latrine. His face twisted with a drunken belligerence that announced to the world that he was off on one for the weekend. It was too much, the idea of their cocks being in the same place, in Sarah's beautiful, beautiful cunt, no, not cunt, he thought, what a horrible word to use for her wonderful fanny. God, he wanted to kill this Victor fucker; just obliterate every fucking trace of him from this planet . . .

Sarah wanted the dentist's. She wanted it now. She was off down the road. Gavin and Victor started off after her at the same time. The three of them stumbled down the street in a confused and tense silence and ended up walking into the surgery together.

— Hello . . . the dentist, Mr Ormiston said. — Are you all together? He was a tall, thin man, with a red face and a shock of white, wavy hair. He had large blue eyes, which were magnified by his specs, giving him a crazed look.

— I'm wi her, Gavin said.

—
Ah'm
wi her! Victor snapped.

— Well, if you could both wait in here. Come through, my dear, Mr Ormiston smiled benignly, his toothy smile expanding as he ushered Sarah into his consulting room.

Gavin and Victor were left in the waiting room.

They sat in silence for a while, which Gavin broke. — Listen, man, sorry aboot aw that. We werenae seein each other behind yir back. We jist went hame thegither last night.

— Did ye fuck her? Victor said in a low, ugly voice. The side of his jaw was swelling up. He'd bitten into his tongue and the sour trickle of blood was running down his throat. Victor was bobbing around in the pool of his own misery, testing its depths, seeing how far out he was from the edge.

— That's fuck all tae dae wi you, Gavin replied, feeling his anger rising again.

— She's ma fuckin bird!

— Look, mate, ah ken yir upset, bit she's no your fuckin bird. She's goat a mind ay her ain n she's finished wi ye. Youse ur finished, ye understand that? That's how she wis wi me last night, cause youse ur finished!

Victor's face twisted into a leery smile. He looked at Gavin in a different way, like Gavin was the sad case, the imbecile. — Ye dinnae git it, dae ye, mate?

— Naw, you dinnae git it, Gavin retorted, but he could feel his confidence waning. He tried to work out why he was feeling fearful of Victor, who had backed down after he had struck him with just one blow. It was because, Gavin realised, because he could never sustain violence. It came to him in a reactive way, an instinctive blow, but he lacked the mental stamina for a real battle. Gavin couldn't bear the thought of winners and losers, but with everyone in the gutter, everyone debased: violence, the warped sibling of economics. It was a good thing Victor had backed down.

Victor shook his head. Felt the satisfying range of his physical and psychological pain. In it, he measured the extent of his coming retribution. He'd get Mr Gavin fuckin lover-boy Temperley later, but the aggression of his old pal had shocked him. It seemed so out of character. What he had done with Sarah, that was out of character as well. Gav was okay. Gav was sound. There was talk about him grassing up cunts to his work at the dole, but he could never, ever believe that of Gav, even if those DoE fuckers put him in that position. A resignation issue, surely, it would be. Surely. But swinging for him like that, that wisnae Gav. Anyway, Victor rationalised, it had been better to let Sarah see him get hurt, the sympathy vote, he could tell it had put a bit of doubt in her. Gavin could be taken out in other ways. — This has happened before, Gav. She's been wi other guys. But she eywis comes back tae me. Ah'm no sayin that it doesnae – Victor's voice rose and his fist smashed against the table,— GIT OAN MA FUCKIN TITS . . . cause it does. It hurts cause it's ma fuckin woman.

Gavin felt deflated. He went to speak, but stopped, knowing that his voice would come out biscuit-ersed, that the uncertainty would be threaded right through it.

Victor continued. — She went wi Billy Stevenson the last time. You ken him. The time before that it wis that Paul. Paul Younger . . . He spat out the names like poison and Gavin shook under them as though they were thunderbolts. He didn't like Billy Stevenson, a smart, arrogant cunt. Him with Sarah: it was a horrific thought. Victor's cheesy spunk-and-lager urinating cock inside her now seemed quite a pleasant consideration. Paul Younger was
okay
, but so fuckin anodyne. How could a woman like Sarah go with a fucking nobody like that? Paul fuckin Younger! Victor couldn't have mentioned two more hurtful names if he'd tried.

— Billy Stevenson? Gavin repeated, hoping that he'd somehow heard wrongly.

— She did it tae git at me, for when ah went wi Lizzie McIntosh.

So Victor had shagged Lizzie as well. Gavin liked Lizzie. He knew that she punted around a bit. It was hardly a surprise that Victor and her had got together. It was strange. Prior to a few moments ago Gavin had never thought of Victor and him having had their cocks in the same place, bar some club, pub and football-ground urinals. Now they had shagged not one, but at least two of the same women. He started to think about other girls he had been with that Victor might know. Edinburgh, what a fuckin place: everybody had shagged everybody else. No wonder Aids spread so fast. They blamed it on the skag, but the shagging was as much to blame. It had to be. The myth that junkies didn't have a sex life. Plenty of birds wasting away in the hospice whose only injection had been of the meat variety could testify otherwise. He thought of his old deceased mate Tommy, Lizzie's ex, his paranoia after shagging her last year. He couldn't ask her though. Not about her and Tommy. He knew that Tommy and her split up prior to Tommy getting into the junk, but he had to go and take the test. The demons came in the night. They always came.

— It meant fuck all tae me, man, it wis jist a ride, eh? Ye ken what it's like whin yir aw eckied up, Victor continued. Gavin found himself nodding, stopping when it seemed too self-incriminating. Victor didn't miss the opportunity.— That wid be whit it wis like wi you n her but, eh?

— Naw it wisnae! It fuckin well wisnae, right!

— Well, that's the wey ye'd best remember it then, mate, cause that's it finished.

— Naw, you n her's fuckin well finished, that's whit's fuckin well finished, Vic. This isnae the same is her shaggin some twat like Billy Stevenson or some arsehole like Younger, she'd jist be a ride tae they cunts, this is somebody who cares aboot her, right!

— Naw it's no fuckin well right! Find yir ain fuckin bird tae care aboot! Sarah's mine! Ah love her!

—
Ah
fuckin love her!

— Yuv only kent her five fuckin minutes! Three fuckin
years
! Victor thrashed his chest with his fist.— Three fuckin years!

Ormiston the dentist came running through. — Please! Keep the noise down or go away! I'm having to extract two wisdom teeth here.

Gavin swiftly raised his hand to silence the dentist, then stood up over Victor. — It's her n me now, ya cunt! Right?! Git used tae it, cause that's the fuckin wey it is!

Victor stood up. Gavin moved back and Victor punched the air in front of him. — IS IT FUCK!

— Right! Out of here! I'm going to call the police, Mr Ormiston shouted. — Out! Now! You can wait outside! Just get the hell out of my surgery! I'm trying to extract two wisdom teeth . . . The dentist's voice disintegrated into a woeful, bewildered plea.

Victor and Gavin reluctantly shuffled outside. They stood apart from each other, then Gavin sat on the steps while Victor continued leaning on the wrought-iron railings of the Georgian building.

They stared at each other for a minute, then looked away. Gavin felt himself chuckling lightly, his trickle of laughter soon becoming an uncontrollable cascade. Victor started to join in. — What are we fuckin well laughin at here? he asked, shaking his head.

— This is mad, man, totally fuckin mad.

— Aye . . . lit's git a drink ower thaire. Victor pointed to a basement pub on the corner.

They went in and Gavin bought two pints of lager. He thought that he'd better pay, feeling guilty as he did about Victor's chin. Besides, Victor wasn't working, as far as he knew, though he hadn't been signing on at the Leith office.

They sat in the corner, slightly apart.

Victor stared hard at his bubbling pint of lager. — Tae me, he said, without looking up.— Ah dinnae see how ye kin say ye love her. He raised his head in a plea and met Gavin's eyes. — Ye wir E'd up, man.

— This wis the next day but.

— It's still in yir system.

— No that long. We didnae . . . we didnae dae anything that night . . . ah mean, ah cannae make love when ah'm E'd up, ah mean, ah kin make love but no git it up, if ye ken what ah mean . . . Gavin stopped, seeing Victor's face contort in rage.

— Still dinnae believe ye love her, he exhaled, gripping the table, his knuckles whitening.

Gavin shrugged, then suddenly looked inspired. — Look, man, they say that Ecstasy's like a truth drug. They gie it tae couples in therapy n that . . .

— So?

— So ah
do
fuckin well love her. Ah'll prove it. Gavin pulled a small plastic bag out of the watch pocket of his jeans, tentatively extracted then swallowed a pill, washing it down with a mouthful of lager. He grimaced, then said, — It's you that doesnae love her, it's jist a habit wi you n ye cannae lit go. Feart ay rejection. That's aw it is, Vic, fuckin male ego. You take one ay they pills n then tell ays ye love her when it kicks in.

Victor looked doubtfully at him.— Ah've no goat the hireys, man . . .

— Fuck the hireys, this is important, this is oan me!

Feeling inflated and virtuous, Gavin dug into his bag for another pill.

— C'moan then. Victor held out his hand and took the pill from Gavin, which he quickly necked.

The pub was strangely deserted for Sunday lunchtime, except for an old guy who was drinking a pint and reading a newspaper, looking a model of contentment. — Quiet in here the day, eh, mate? Gavin smiled at him.

The man regarded him with mild suspicion. — New management. They've no started the bar meals yet.

— Right . . .

Gavin went up to feed the jukebox. It was switched off. A tape of easy-listening music was playing. It was Simply Red's
Greatest Hits
.— It's a tape, eh, he said to Victor, who gave an uncomfortable scowl, before spinning in his seat and springing up to the bar.— What's the story wi the jukey? he asked the youngish woman behind the bar, who was washing some glasses.

— Broken, she said.

Victor felt in his pocket of his bomber jacket for a tape. It was the Metalheadz'
Platinum Breaks
. — Goan, stick this oan fir ays.