The Guts (37 page)

—But, like, said Outspan.—I did go for a coffee with a woman in chemo. Once. We said we wouldn’t talk about it but we talked abou’ nothin’ else. It was a bit borin’.

—I’d say so.

—Nice bird, though.

Les was looking at his phone.

—There is actually a site, he said.

—I wasn’t jokin’ abou’ tha’, said Outspan.—That’s on the level.

There was a kid beside them, one of the boys they’d given a can to.

—D’you want some of these? he said.

The kid’s hand was out but Jimmy couldn’t see anything. Then he did. It was a plastic bag – a Spar bag.

—What have you got for us there? said Les.

Des was on his knees now, looking into the bag. He put his hand in.

—Lads – don’t, said Jimmy – too late.

There was something sticking out of Des’s mouth, like a tail. He was eating a mouse.

—Wha’ the fuck are yeh doin’?

—Mushrooms, said Les.

That was what was sticking from Des’s mouth, the mushroom’s tail – or stalk.

Les held up a fistful and put his head back.

—Magic mushrooms? said Jimmy.

—Hope so, said Les.

He shoved the crop into his mouth. The kid was shaking the bag at Jimmy and Outspan.

—Want some?

—Fuck off, said Jimmy.

A good night out with the lads – actually, more a night in with the lads – was heading out of control.

But Outspan was relaxed.

—Fuckin’ eejits, he said.

Des had spat his share back onto the grass.

—I can’t swallow them, he said.—They’re not even washed.

—Snob, said Outspan.

—They’re too dry, said Des.

Les was chewing away. The kid was gone.

—Jesus, said Jimmy.

—Relax, said Les.

He drank long from his can.

—Wha’ happens? said Jimmy.

He knew nothing about drugs. He was a white middle-aged man in the music business; he should have had a new nose from all the cocaine use. But he’d never seen cocaine.

—I’ll start hallucinating in a while, said Les.—Any minute now.

Des was rooting through the mushrooms he’d spat out.

—One at a time, he said – he mumbled.—That’s the trick.

He put a tiny mushroom into his mouth, then took a swig.

—You an’ me in one tent, Liam, okay? said Jimmy.

He was calmer now. He wasn’t going to look after this pair. Anyway, with Les’s military training, he’d be able to find the antidote – whatever the fuck – in under the trees over there. He’d boil the bark or lick a lizard or something. Jimmy would be asleep – he didn’t care.

—Definitely, said Outspan.—These cunts’ll be off chattin’ to the fairies in a minute.

—I am the Des!

—Ah, for fuck sake.

—One for the road, said Jimmy.

He leaned past Les and got hold of a can, and another one. He half expected to have his arm broken, or his eyes gouged. More of Les’s training. Protecting the supplies. Act first, ask later. But nothing happened.

—Here yeh go.

—Thanks, said Outspan.

—Wha’ were we talkin’ about?

—Ridin’ women with cancer.

—That’s right, said Jimmy.—Time to move on maybe.

—Suit yourself.

—Nothing yet, said Des.—You?

He was staring at the ground.

—Nope, said Les.—Give it half an hour or so.

—Jesus, said Outspan.—This is borin’.

He got up on his knees.

—I’m not hangin’ around to listen to this shite, he said.

He crawled across to the nearer tent.

—Where’s the fuckin’ zip?

Jimmy heard it, and saw Outspan slide into the tent, and heard him too now, inside. And he was right. Waiting for Leslie and Dezlie to turn into hobbits was boring.

—Seeyis, he said.

—’Night, Jim, said Les.

Des said nothing. He was still staring at the ground.

Jimmy followed Outspan into the tent. But it was hard to tell when out became in. The tent was so thin, it was as dark, as bright, as fuckin’ cold, inside as it was out. The slight push of the nylon against the top of his head was the only real proof that he
was in the fuckin’ thing. Outspan was already buried in a sleeping bag.

Jimmy took his boots off. It was hard – he didn’t want to knee Outspan or put his head through the tent. He got one of the boots off. He was sweating, even though he was cold. All the sleeping bags were in here with him. He grabbed two of them and opened the flap of the tent. Des was sitting up now, cross-legged like Les, but staring at the ground. Jimmy threw a sleeping bag across to Les.

—Here yeh go.

And the other.

—Thanks.

—Is he alright? said Jimmy.

—Don’t worry, said Les.

—’Night. Les.

—’Night, Jim.

—See you in the mornin’.

—You will.

—Big grass, said Des.

—Oh Christ. Goodnight.

Jimmy zipped up the tent.

—The grass is huge, said Des, outside.

—Fuckin’ eejit, said Outspan.

He was tucked under the wall of the tent. Jimmy couldn’t see any of him. He unrolled his bag. He could already feel the cold in the ground under him. He was tired, though – fucked. Darfur had filled up. It was like sharing a bedroom with thousands of brothers and cousins and more fuckin’ cousins, all yapping. He’d never sleep. He would, though. He was bollixed. Les could mind Des; it’d be fine. He’d kill a deer and have it skinned and ready for their breakfast.

He left his socks on. They were a bit wet – but fuck it, they’d do. He left his jeans on too and waited till he’d got well into the bag before he started to take off his hoodie. But it was too complicated, too much bother. He left it on.

—Huuuge, said Des.—Look.

Jesus, Jimmy was freezing. He was lying down in his own fuckin’ grave.

—Huuge.

—For fuck sake, said Outspan – his voice came through several layers.—If it was even tits he was talkin’ about.

—It’s miles away now, said Des.

Jimmy got his head into the bag. He held the top shut with his fist. He was so fuckin’ cold.

—It’s big again, said Des.—Right over my head.

He was awake.

It wasn’t dark. The spotlight outside lit the walls of the tent.

Something had woken him. There was noise outside – laughter, singing – but it wasn’t that. It was the silence in the tent – it was so loud. No breath, no movement.

Oh Jesus —

Outspan’s face stared up at him. It was locked – the expression. As if he’d turned solid.

Jimmy was out of the sleeping bag.

—Liam?

Outspan wasn’t dead. The eyes were looking at Jimmy.

—D’yeh want your oxygen?

Outspan nodded – it was definitely a nod.

—Grand.

Thank fuck Jimmy hadn’t undressed. He just needed to get his boots on. God, he was stiff – his fuckin’ shoulder was falling off.

The boots were on.

—Nearly there, he said.

Outspan was staring at him. A gulp or a gasp – something – came out of him. Jimmy got the zip open.

—Back in a bit.

He was out. He could stand properly now. It was cold. Ten minutes to the car, he reckoned, and he wouldn’t be carrying anything.

An idea – a good one. He’d get Les to keep an eye on Outspan. He’d be able to thump life back into the lungs or heart.

He unzipped the other tent.

—Les?

There was no one in it. The sleeping bags hadn’t been opened. A new problem – but it could wait. He was worried though, about leaving Outspan alone.

He had to go – he had to go. He wanted to run but there wasn’t room between the tents. The guy ropes were waiting to trip him.

The car, the fuckin’ car key. He’d forgotten the fuckin’ thing. It was okay – it was fuckin’ disastrous – he hadn’t gone too far.

He got back into the tent.

—Sorry – Liam —

Outspan stared at him.

—The car key, said Jimmy.

Outspan lifted his head slightly, just a tiny bit. His jacket was his pillow and Jimmy pulled it from under his head.

—Sorry about this.

The key was in one of the pockets, under a pile of tissues.

He pushed the jacket back under Outspan.

—I’m gone again.

He was out and moving. He felt surer now. He had a clearer idea of the route in his head. He was through the tents, around them. Fuckin’ ropes. There was dum-dum dum-dum still coming from somewhere. He was going past the tower with the spotlight now. He looked at his watch. It was just after five. There were zombies wandering – to the jacks, from the jacks. There was a big lad sleeping sideways on a half-inflated chair. Jimmy looked out for Les or Des. He couldn’t see them. He heard a baby crying from not far off. Jesus – the thought of a waking baby in a fuckin’ tent.

He was out of the tents, away. This was the path. Down to the gate and the road to the car park. He could trot now. He could go a bit faster. The gate ahead was open. Grand. He stopped running, kept walking fast. The trees met above him. It was darker, he was stepping into space he couldn’t see. He tripped – he stayed up. Water went over his boot. Not much, though – he was fine. He’d walk the sock dry.

He was at the gate and puffing a bit. It was the tension, the worry – he couldn’t manage deep breaths. Two guys, security, stepped out from behind the pillar.

—Can I see your wristband there?

Jimmy pulled back the sleeve of his hoodie.

—That’s great, thanks.

Why did they give a shite if he had a wristband? He was leaving.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

—I’ll be back in a sec, he told them.

—Fine.

—I’m gettin’ an oxygen canister from the car, said Jimmy.

He saw that news change both faces.

—For a friend, said Jimmy.—Asthma.

—Okay, said the talker.

—Thanks.

He was running again. On the road. It was much quieter out here, as if the festival noise stopped at the gate. He wasn’t sure how far he had to go before the gap in the wall for the field. He didn’t think it was far. There was another spotlight ahead, at the edge of a field. The car park.

Jimmy got his mobile out of his pocket. He kept moving. He got Les’s number. He was jogging again, sweating. Les didn’t answer. He tried Des. No answer. The pair of fuckin’ arses. Fuck knew where they were – and
how
they fuckin’ were.

He’d found the gap in the wall. The going was bad here. Thousands of boots, months of rain. The muck, the water went over his boots. He had to pull them free. He went down on a knee. His leg was soaked.

But he was through. He’d another pair of jeans back at the tent. And socks – two spare pairs.

He couldn’t find the car. He couldn’t remember the car. It wasn’t his; it was Outspan’s ex’s. He thought it might be a Saab – he couldn’t remember.

He was near it, somewhere. He looked back at the gap in the wall. The angle was familiar. They’d come this way the day before.

He got the key out – the zapper. He pressed it and listened. He couldn’t hear the locks pop open.

Shite.

He stood at the next row of cars. He pressed again and looked for a light, and listened. He went through two cars to the next row. He pressed again.

He heard it – the little whop. He locked the car he couldn’t see, then pressed again.

He saw it and heard it. He’d found the car.

There were people asleep in some of the cars he passed, a family in one of them, and a gang of heads in another.

He got the boot open. He pulled back the blanket and pulled out the cylinder. It was aluminium, he thought, and smallish; it wasn’t heavy. There was a face mask or something as well – there had to be. He found it.

He got the phone out.
On way bak – 5 min
. He sent it to Outspan.

He locked the car.

It was more than five minutes. Not much more, though – it couldn’t have been.

—I’m back. Liam?

He’d run with the cylinder on his shoulder, where the beer had been the day before. It had been much easier to carry but right against his head; he’d half expected it to explode.

Outspan hadn’t changed. He could’ve been dead or alive – but he moved a hand and helped Jimmy with the mask. The same hand went on to the cylinder and a finger pointed at the valve or whatever it was.

—I turn this?

The hand tapped the cylinder.

Jimmy turned the thing – it went easily – and he heard the hiss and watched as Outspan sank back into his jacket. He shut his eyes and lifted his thumb to Jimmy.

Jimmy put his hand to his own forehead, back into his hair. He could feel the sweat parting with his hand. He was dripping, fuckin’ melting – and cold as well.

—Alright?

Outspan grunted a single syllable. It was fuckin’ music.

—Great, said Jimmy.

The muck was drying on his jeans, although they were still wet – freezing – against his leg. He didn’t care. He pulled the boots off, but it wasn’t easy. The laces were slimy and thick. He couldn’t get a proper grip on the heel. But he got them off and threw them in a corner – he didn’t care. He got his feet, his legs into the sleeping bag. He could hear Outspan exhaling. He’d left the flap open. He leaned forward as far as he could and grabbed the zipper, missed it, got a proper hold of it – and saw Les climbing into his tent.