Joel
‘I thought you were off to your mother’s?’ asks Scotty.
I scoot the office chair over to Scotty’s desk, having dropped by for another visit after The Peacock.
‘I am after this. I’ve left my car parked opposite the church so ask patrol to keep an eye on it, will you?’
He smirks.
‘Settled in has she?’ he asks, looking up from the computer screen.
‘Hmm, I think so… she seems nice, easy to talk to. The newspaper lad turned up… he actually said ‘you’ve grown!’ as if.’
Scotty’s fingers cease tapping the keyboard, his expression becomes serious and he stares.
‘What?’
‘Don’t do it!’
‘Do what?’
‘What you’re thinking… she’s not one of us, in fact if anything she’s trouble… I can feel it.’
‘Not as much as I felt it,’ I say, touching my swollen face.
‘Seriously, Joel.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about… all I said was she seems nice.’
‘Precisely… phrases such as that get us lads into a whole heap of trouble.’
I shrug.
‘What happened the last time you uttered such sentiment?’
I turn away.
‘You hitched up with Veronica, that’s what – so steer clear.’
I turn in the chair, pretending to examine the stapler from his desk drawer; Scotty’s gaze remains fixed on my face.
Veronica. We’d been so good in the beginning. Yes, I was flattered – who wouldn’t be? An attractive older woman showing interest in the likes of me. I thought all my birthdays had come at once: a mature relationship, decent conversations, travelling and boy, the sex was amazing.
‘Don’t pretend the conversation is over… it’s not and neither is the mess from… her.’
‘Don’t remind me, today of all days… it’s supposed to be fresh beginnings and new starts and I look like this.’ I point to my face again.
Scotty turns away and resumes his typing.
‘Just be careful.’ He gives me a concerned look from beneath his brow.
I replace the stapler on his desk and select the hole punch.
He’s got a point; it wasn’t as if I was in a position to consider getting to know anyone new, not when the previous woman was dragging her Kurt Keiger killer heels about resolving the last situation. I couldn’t see what Veronica’s problem was. She wanted out. We’d amicably agreed the finances and she had opted to be bought out of the property… why quibble and delay proceedings by not answering solicitor’s letters?
‘You know Uncle Scotty’s right so don’t you go muddying the waters elsewhere… yeah?’ adds Scotty. ‘She’ll only mess with your head.’
‘Yeah,’ I murmur, knowing he’s looking out for me.
‘Bloody hell, I called it right for once, woo hoo!’ shouts Scotty, whizzing about on his office chair. ‘Put the date on the wall, Scotty Hamilton was right!’
‘Just this once,’ I mutter.
‘Cheek… you’re sat there looking like that and I’m the one being dissed? Man, you need a long hard look in the mirror… now make yourself useful and put the kettle on.’
This is why I love Scotty – in a bromance kind of way. He’s fresh, funny and full of crap.
‘Oh sorry.’ I playfully elbow his temple as I stand up en-route for the station kitchen.
Scotty’s got a point. I have two black eyes, a busted nose, an ex that wants out but is hanging on for dear life… the last thing I need is another complication.
I enter the tiny kitchen and dance around Big Tony’s bulging girth, an on-duty officer acting as tea-boy.
‘I take it the other chap won?’ he sniggers, admiring my injuries while spooning coffee into eight tea stained mugs. ‘Oh no, I remember now, the boys did say… it was a lone female! You’re losing your touch, laddo!’
‘Really? Hasn’t anyone anything more interesting to talk about?’
‘Touchy?’ grins Big Tony, pouring boiling water into his mugs. ‘If it’s any consolation we’re only jealous – you received the only decent kiss on Christmas Eve, even if it was a Glaswegian one!’
I let him have his jibe, stir his coffees and then disappear to repeat our conversation in the top office.
*
I stroll back to the small office armed with two mugs slopping as I move.
‘Big Tony’s just said I’m losing my touch.’
‘Did you give him the ‘your wife isn’t complaining’ line?’ laughs Scotty, from behind his computer screen.
I shake my head at the schoolboy phrase, placing his coffee beside his keyboard, and resume my seat.
Scotty’s face drops, his bottom lip protrudes forward.
‘Seriously, I’m losing my touch, aren’t I?’ I mutter.
‘With humour and snipes maybe but given the last year… you’ve been under the weather.’
‘Perhaps. Maybe this Christmas will be a chance to tidy the loose ends and start afresh.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘What?’ Had I said something wrong? Why the sudden doleful expression? Shit! ‘Sorry man, here’s me moping while you and your dad come to terms with a Christmas without… sorry.’
Scotty shakes his head.
‘Mum hated Christmas anyway… so it’s not as though it was party popper time in our house… but yeah, it gets dragged out into New Year too. The prospect of a year starting without her is pretty shite.’
Big Tony pokes his head through the office doorway.
‘Hey Scotty-boy, what’s it feels like to be the toughie of the partnership?’ he asks, pointing at me.
‘Ha, ha… and by the way Tony, you reckon Joel’s losing his touch… that isn’t what I heard your wife gasping the other night! Bar-ba-boom!’ Scotty punches his fists into the air.
So childish, so dangerous yet so necessary when yanking Big Tony’s chain.
‘You cheeky little…’
I sup my coffee as Big Tony grabs Scotty in a head lock, and drops a few kidney punches in for good measure, with love from his missus.