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‘Sorry.’

‘I’m disappointed in you, Jim. No puppy-dog look?’

I laughed. ‘I figured I’d outgrown it.’

‘Since Friday? Shame, that was always a favourite.’

‘Seriously though, sorry about the, you know, damp ... crotch.’ I could probably have worded that better.

‘And that’ll be the end of that conversation, thank you. Still, at least you didn’t punch me.’

‘See? I’ve matured.’

‘Ah,
there’s
the puppy-dog.’

Five minutes later Paula had dried off in the
ladies
and I had very carefully placed a fresh bottle of beer in front of her.

‘Sorry about rushing away on Friday,’ she said after taking a swig. ‘I’d promised Sammy we’d go out.’

‘No, no problem.’ She’d come to apologise? Interesting. ‘I had my thing going on. Don’t worry about it.’ I was going for casual. ‘It all got a bit blurry towards the end anyway.’

‘The best nights usually do.’

‘They do when Terry’s picking the drinks.’

The pause that came next wasn’t awkward, but it was definitely there.

‘Listen, I hope you don’t mind me getting in touch tonight,’ Paula said eventually.

Pfff
!
‘No, it’s cool.’

‘Thanks. I needed a bit of space away from my mum and dad.’

‘Believe me I understand all about that, and I only moved back today.’

As I dragged my eyes eight-inches upwards to meet hers, I reflected that Paula must be feeling pretty lonely. She’d been away from
Glasgow
for over a decade and, Sammy and her family aside, I was probably her only point of contact in what must now be an unfamiliar, possibly even scary, city. I tried not to feel in any way glad about this.

‘I mean they’re great and I love being able to spend time with them,’ Paula said.

‘Yeah, but parents are parents, aren’t they?’ I wanted her to know how much I understood.

‘You don’t understand, Jim. They really
are
great. I’ve spent five years screwing up my life and getting into shit-loads of debt and they’re being so
brilliant
about it. They haven’t once said I’ve made any mistakes or messed anything up. All they keep saying is I was really brave to try and
it’ll
all work itself out and I’ll see it’s been worth it in the long run.
That’s a lot to live up to, you know?’

‘Eh, yeah, of course,’ I said. ‘That’s harsh. They need to give you a break.’

‘There’s only so much positive reinforcement you can handle before you start to feel unworthy. I feel like I’ve let everyone down and they haven’t even noticed.’

I was starting to lose the thread of her argument and decided to steer back to more familiar waters. ‘Add all that to having to come back here after so long. You must be feeling pretty isolated, especially with Ingo still being in
Germany
.’ Damn, why did I bring
him
up?

‘Not really, no,’ Paula said. ‘We’re on the phone all the time.’

‘Yeah, but after so long being away you’re bound to be a bit—’

‘And, you know, I saw Chrissie and Jane and all that crowd at the party Damian had for me last night. Jill and
Steph
couldn’t make it so I met them for lunch today.’ These were all people we had both known when we were together.

‘You’re still in touch with all those guys?’

‘Oh yeah,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to keep your friends. Thank God for Facebook, eh?’

‘Shit, yeah.’

‘And I’m still close to loads of people in London. Add that to my mates in
Germany
and, Christ, if I had a tenner for everyone who’s tried to phone me this weekend I could pay my debt off and move back tomorrow! If only, eh?’

‘Yeah. Shit.’

It’s slightly disheartening to learn the one true love of your entire existence has kept in touch with every single person she’s ever met
except
you.

She asked to meet you tonight,
I reminded myself.
That has to mean something.
Okay, maybe, but what?

‘They’ve all been with me through everything,’ Paula said.
Lucky fucking them.
‘But, you know, they’re all so bloody successful. Chrissie’s opened her third salon and
Steph
is two starters and a decent kitchen porter away from a Michelin star. And here’s me, five years later, bankrupt and living at my feckin’ mum’s.’ She shook her head and finished her beer.

‘Yeah.’ It was all I had in me to say.

‘
That’sh
why I asked you to meet me, Jim,’ Paula slurred, at which point I realised she’d obviously started drinking at lunch with Jill and
Steph
. ‘You understand me.’

True or not, I was never going to pass up a comment like that from Paula Fraser. ‘Yes, Paula. Yes I do.’

‘You understand ‘
cos
you’re as big a feckin’ failure as me.’

Oh.

‘Well, you know,’ I said.

‘You understand what it’s like, being a total waste of space.’

‘Hey, I wouldn’t—’

‘I know, I know. I’m not a total waste, but it feels like that, sometimes.’ She smiled. ‘And I love that I can talk to you about it. Someone who knows how it feels.’

‘Yeah, anytime.’ She was drunk and vulnerable, I told myself. She didn’t know she was insulting me. She just needed to let it out, and she chose me. She felt comfortable admitting her weaknesses with me - that was the important thing.

‘You’re a star, Jim.’ Paula reached across the table and squeezed my hand. It was bliss. She sat back in her seat and blinked rapidly a few times. ‘God, I’m a bit pissed,’ she said. ‘I’d better make a move.’

‘Really?’ It was early and I was disappointed as she stood to leave. But, if she needed her bed she needed her bed. I was just glad I’d been able to cheer her up a bit, and delighted she didn’t seem so drunk she wouldn’t remember in the morning. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Get a decent sleep and stop worrying. I know what you’re going through.’

‘Aw, cheers, Jim.’ Paula leaned down and kissed my cheek. ‘Sleep’s off the agenda, unfortunately. Chrissie’s decided to have another party in my honour tonight. KT
Tunstall’s
going to be there, apparently. It was great to see you, thanks again. I’ll call you soon.’

‘Yeah. Bye.’

I’d have quite liked to meet KT
Tunstall
.

Chapter 12

Was Paula right, was I a waste of space? A failure?

These thoughts clogged my brain on the Tuesday morning as I rounded the corner of my parents’ street and, confident I was out of sight of the front room window, lit a cigarette.

I waited in the rain for ten minutes before the bus appeared.

Paula’s friends and family were right, she hadn’t failed. Okay, her business had gone under, but that didn’t make her a failure. It simply made her someone who wouldn’t make the same mistakes next time. I believe the term is
life-lesson
.

As I rode the 44 bus towards the first day of my exciting new career doing exactly the same thing in exactly the same place as I’d started my first not particularly exciting career, I pondered what lessons life had taught me. Beyond
never pretend to stop smoking when you haven’t,
I couldn’t think of any.

I knocked on the wooden door of The Basement at 9.30 on the dot, proud to be punctual. At 9.37, it was finally opened by a sleepy-looking Mark.

‘All right, mate,’ he said.

‘All right,’ I replied to his back as he turned and headed towards the bar.

For some reason pubs always look smaller with the house lights on. Presumably it’s because there are no shadow-strewn corners for your imagination to populate. And also because you’re sober and about to start a shift.

Mark was finishing off the remains of a roll and sausage when I reached the bar. ‘You all set for your first day?’ he asked, mid-chew.

‘Yeah, no bother. Like riding a bike.’

‘Last time I tried to get on a bike I was on my arse within three seconds.’

‘Thanks for the encouragement,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome. Grab a mop, the bogs need cleaned.’

‘Wonderful.’
There’s nothing like breaking the new boy in gently
, I thought, as I headed for the cleaning cupboard (or at least what used to be the cleaning cupboard) next to the
gents
.

‘Jim?’ Mark called, as I stomped across the litter-covered wooden floor (no doubt I’d end up sweeping that, too).

‘What?’ I turned, huffily defiant.

‘We don’t open till eleven. You’ve got time for a coffee.’ Mark was doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement as he brandished an almost-full glass coffee pot. ‘Unless you’re really keen, in which case don’t let me stop you.’

‘Bugger that,’ I said with relief. I knew he’d seemed like a decent guy.

Over the next half-hour I learned I had told Mark pretty much my entire life story at my leaving do. I therefore took the opportunity to redress the balance and ask him lots of deeply personal questions about his own life, some of which he was happy to answer, others of which he subtly warned me against pursuing by telling me they were none of my fucking business.

I learned, for example, that he was twenty-two, he’d been working in pubs since turning eighteen, and he’d taken the charge-hand job in The Basement to see him through the summer but was going to study Community Nursing (whatever that was) in the autumn.

I also learned, for further example, that he was in a very happy relationship with Susan but that was none of my business; he wasn’t going to tell me his hourly-rate because it was none of my business; and he thought I was a bit of a sad-case, but that was none of his business.

Honesty isn’t something you either pursue or expect when working in an office (apart from with Terry, of course), but I’ve always thought far more of people who are willing to risk the discomfort of truth over the easy comfort of a placating lie. I say that having been the recipient and whatever the opposite of ‘recipient’ is of both, on many occasions.

Anyway, I liked Mark. Leaving aside his sickeningly solid hair-line and ability to be more senior, and probably more intelligent, than I was despite his youth, he was nice enough.

At
ten o’clock
there was a knock at the door and Mark let in a skinny young guy in chef’s whites whom he introduced as Abe. After a brusque ‘’right, mate,’ Abe disappeared through the door that led to the small kitchen, and could soon be heard clattering pots and pans around and swearing loudly to himself in the manner of all chefs everywhere.

With our coffees finished, Mark ran me through the set-up routines for the bar. Surprisingly little had changed since my last stint as a glug-dealer, and I was indeed soon sweeping the floor. Next came stocking the fridges and shelves, then slicing fruit and filling the ice-bins. That done, I had no further excuse.

‘I suppose I’d better do the toilets now,’ I said manfully.

Mark was sitting at the bar counting the till-float, and he looked up with a smile. And a shake of his head. ‘Jim, other than sweeping up the crisp packets and fliers from the floor, have you had to actually clean anything so far?’