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<h1>4</h1>

<p>For a week I was like a caricature of a novelist, deleting half-pages of words, writing more and then deleting them.</p>

<p>I just couldn't shake together those great ideas that I'd filled my notebooks with down the years, and - so I thought - only needed to be keyed in had been burbling along just under the surface, to be keyed in and polished.</p>

<p>But the more I wrote out the basic draft, the more complex and unreadable it seemed to become. I think you could call it writer's block. To me it felt like a log-jam. And the harder I tried, the less I produced. My mind just couldn't settle.</p>

<p>
    I'd promised Jimmy Allison and old Mr Bennett that I'd meet them along in the Chandler, but I didn't make it. On the Sunday, I'd sat down and sorted out all my notes and put the coffee maker on heat. Then I'd started writing garbage yet again.</p>

<p>I wasn't sleeping properly either. At nights, I'd drag myself upstairs and throw myself into bed and toss and turn until the early hours, wondering where I was going wrong.</p>

<p>There was another reason of course, which I didn't realise at the time. I spent a lot of time at nights just trying to get to sleep. And when I finally did I had dreams that would jerk me awake with the same shivery feeling I'd had on the night when I stepped on the seventh stair.</p>

<p>
    Sometimes I'd wake up with no recollection of what I'd been dreaming about. I'd just have an overwhelming feeling of threat and dread, and although the substance of the nightmare might have vanished as I leapt up with a moan, the aftershock would leave me shaking.</p>

<p>There were other nights though, when I
    <em>did</em> remember. Not the whole story, but glimpses of the picture, sections of nightmare that were still vividly careening across my imagination. Sometimes those scenes shook me so badly I felt I needed to throw up. I'd dreamt about the dark tunnel scenario a couple of times, and it didn't get better with familiarity.
</p>

<p>But there were others.</p>

<p>In one of them I was crawling in mud that was thick with blood. Behind me I could hear a slavering, grunting growl of whatever monster was after me, and my feet kept slipping while teeth snapped and crunched behind me. As I slipped and slithered in the red-streaked mud I saw a small shoe lying there, embedded in a gory puddle.</p>

<p>There were little strips of flesh hanging from it, child's flesh and I knew that what was coming after me had done this, and my feeling of terror was so great that just before those jaws closed upon me, I woke, panting for breath. Panting for life.</p>

<p>After dreams like that I'd lie in the darkness and stare at the shadows on the walls. And then I'd wonder what the hell was wrong with me. In the mornings I felt slugged and dopey. The night terrors might have ebbed, when finally I'd got back to sleep, but there was still an underlying apprehension that maybe I was having some kind of breakdown.</p>

<p>On the following Sunday I decided to give myself a break. What the hell. I'd enough money to last me a long time, and if it took a long time, I'd still do it. I told myself I just wasn't ready for it yet.</p>

<p>Holly's bar was warm and welcomingly busy when I stepped off the street and through the polished wooden door. I had to push past a couple of regulars who sat in a group playing dominoes, and made my way up to the bar. Big John was at the far end and I caught his eye. He waved. Linda, the barmaid, was nearest me and I ordered a pint of Guinness which she poured in the usual slow manner, letting the head separate from the black stout and form a creamy lid on the surface.</p>

<p>I turned and leaned against the bar, with my elbows propped on the surface, and had a look around. Very little had changed in the past decade. Probably in the last fifty years. Maybe a lick of paint here and there, and some new upholstery on the bench seats that lined the walls, but essentially Holly's bar was the same as ever.</p>

<p>Holly had resisted the electronic gaming invasion, and there was no juke box. Up in a far corner there was a television for watching football on Saturdays and replays on Sundays, but that was it. It was a bar, plain and simple. A meeting place for a fair percentage of Arden's adult population. The faces hadn't changed here either.</p>

<p>As I looked around, I recognised most of them, and there were some youngsters who would still have been in short trousers when I took off for pastures new, but they were the sons of people I knew. If I couldn't put a first name to them I could at least identify them with a family tag. No doubt the same history had repeated itself down the years as the pub had been handed down through the Hollinger family. In fact, while its official name, in green paint above the door, said
    <em>Arden Inn</em>, and the old building dated back nigh on two hundred years, it had been known as Holly's for as long as anyone could remember.
</p>

<p>I turned around when he tapped me on the shoulder, and I thanked him for the drink which was on the house. I had just started sipping it and the big landlord had gone off to serve somebody else when a crowd of men came in and jostled past the old men at the table as they made their way to the bar. There were four of them, in their early twenties, in jeans and leather jackets. One of them bumped into me as they crowded the bar in the space between me and the other customers.</p>

<p>'Three of heavy and a lager, sunshine,' one of them called out. 'Make it quick and I'll give you a big kiss.'</p>

<p>Linda rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she continued pouring for someone else, and the man who had called the order, the one who had bumped my drinking arm, drummed his fingers impatiently on the bar top. Eventually she came across and started working the beer tap. She set the drinks on the bar and the customer handed over a fiver which he whipped back just as her fingers were about to close on the money.</p>

<p>'How about the kiss, sunshine?' he asked, turning to his friends, with a cheesy grin. The man was small and wiry, his brown hair swept back from his forehead, and when he grinned he displayed a set of strong, slightly mis-shapen teeth.</p>

<p>' That'll be the day, Billy,' the girl said. 'You've no chance.'</p>

<p>One of his friends, a tall, skinny guy with a long, horsey face, laughed. 'You tell him, Linda. Saving yourself for me, right?'</p>

<p>The girl shot him a look as if to say she'd sooner kiss a snake, and quickly reached out and grabbed the money from the first man's hand.</p>

<p>' Better luck next time,' said horse-face, and the thin, wiry one told him to piss off.</p>

<p>They made their way to a free table in the corner, talking loudly as they went, and pulled up the chairs to sit in a huddle. On my left side, someone said hello and I turned round and went through the same half-second of disorientation that I would experience time and again over the next few weeks before the name sprung from memory.</p>

<p>'Hi Tucker,' I said. Tommy O'Neil was now the town's postman, as I discovered. He and I chewed the fat for a while, and I savoured my beer. We swapped stories about what I'd been doing and what had been happening in Arden over the piece, which wasn't much more than small-town small talk, but it was pleasant anyway. While we were talking, the pub door opened a couple of times as people came and went, but I didn't bother looking round to see who the new arrivals were until I heard one of the four sitting at the table let out a yell.</p>

<p>' Badger, you big daft bastard!'</p>

<p>Right away, I knew who was at the receiving end of that. I turned round and saw him and my stomach gave that quick lurch of sadness or pity or conscience whenever I'm faced with one of life's unfortunates. You know what I mean if you've ever been in a handicapped children's hospital, or seen mutilated beggars in the streets of Bangladesh, or the swollen bellies of stick-insect children in Ethiopia.</p>

<p>Badger Blackwood was one of them. And the feeling that made my insides drag was coupled with the knowledge that he hadn't always been the way he was. Badger ....
    <em>Colin</em> Blackwood had been my best friend once. He was that 'poor boy who's never been the same since' that Jimmy Allison had been talking about. He'd been with me and the girl that night they pulled us out of the rockfall at Ardmhor, but while Barbara and I recovered - I was unconscious for a week - Colin did not.
</p>

<p>
    He'd been hurt. Brain damaged. They'd kept him in the hospital for months while the terrible injuries in his head healed over, and the scars, two great wounds that had ripped his scalp from the crown to his forehead, had left their mark. The two lines of hair had grown in white against the glossy black, and ever since he was let out of hospital he'd carried the mark. The children had started calling him Badger, and the name had stuck. God knows, he didn't have the capacity to care one way or another about his new name, for the damage inside his head had left him slow and dull, and he'd stayed that way ever since.</p>

<p>I found out that he was a regular in Holly's bar, where he'd be allowed a couple of shandies with hardly any beer, and he'd sit for hours watching the old men play dominoes, smiling at them all with that vacant look on his face. It was the saddest thing you ever saw, but I suppose whatever the rocks had knocked out of Colin's head had killed off any memory of what he had been like before.</p>

<p>' Jesus Christ, you big ape,' said the wiry guy who'd bumped into me at the bar. 'You spilled my fuckin' beer.'</p>

<p>Badger just stood there, next to the complainer, his dark eyes bewildered and apologetic.</p>

<p>' I-I'm sorry Billy,' he said slowly. 'I d-didn't mean it.'</p>

<p>Billy had jumped up from the table and started wiping spilled beer from his jeans.</p>

<p>'Why don't you watch where you're going?' He shoved at Badger, slamming his shoulder with the heel of his hand. Badger lurched back, and as he did so the shandy he was carrying slipped right out of his hand and fell against the small man, covering his jeans properly this time.</p>

<p>'Jesus! Look what you've done now,' yelled Billy, as his three companions pushed themselves rapidly away from the table to avoid the deluge. The glass tumbled to the floor.</p>

<p>' I-I-I. . . ,' the bewildered Badger started to stammer. I could hear panic rise in his voice.</p>

<p>' You fucking cabbage,' Billy yelled again, and grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket, dragging his face up close, shaking him back and forth.</p>

<p>' You're going to pay for that! Look at the state of these jeans.' .</p>

<p>'Leave him alone,' I said, walking forward and gripping the man's arm at the wrist. 'It wasn't his fault.'</p>

<p>'Who the hell are you?' he hissed, rounding on me.</p>

<p>' It doesn't matter,' I said very calmly. Inside I was seething. 'Just leave him alone and pick on somebody else.'</p>

<p>One of his friends sniggered. I saw what was coming a mile away. Billy pushed Badger away from him - the lumbering figure cartwheeled his arms as he fought to retain his balance - and Billy's head lunged towards mine in the classic Glasgow kiss, his forehead angling down to catch the bridge of my nose.</p>

<p>I've been in a few hot-spots in my time and I've had to handle a some tricky situations. And some of the servicemen I patrolled with taught me a couple of tricks.</p>

<p>As I said, I saw it coming and had already started to move back, bringing the heel of my hand upwards fast and hard, right into the front of his face, and my left hand came whipping round, the knuckles twisting tight, to take him solidly just under the ribs.</p>

<p>Billy yelled and it was his turn to look like a windmill as he staggered back, crashing into a chair which overturned, and into the arms of one of his pals.</p>

<p>'Oh by fugging dose,' he moaned. 'Jesus fugging Christ!'</p>

<p>The whole bar had gone quiet. From the corner of my eye, I could see John Hollinger come through the bar-flap.</p>

<p>' Right. You, you and you, <em>out</em>. You're barred. All of you.' No nonsense now.</p>

<p>'And you, Billy. Get yourself out of here and don't come back until you learn to behave.'</p>

<p>Billy still had his hands clapped to the front of his face, but there was no mistaking the venom in his eyes as he lurched towards the door.</p>

<p>' I'll get you for this, you cunt,' he grunted.</p>

<p>Badger just stood there, looking as bewildered as ever.</p>

<p>'Right. What's going on here?' Holly said. Badger started to mumble a reply, but it was beyond him.</p>

<p>' That one was giving him a bad time. He knocked the drink out of his hand, and then blamed Colin for it,' I said. 'He was going to hit him, so I stopped him.'</p>

<p>'I saw that bit. I was down in the cellar for the rest of it. That was a quick one-two there, from what I saw. Billy's a mean little shit if there ever was one.'</p>

<p>'I gathered that.'</p>

<p>'But I don't like violence here. If anybody's going to do the hitting, it's me. It's my licence,' he said.</p>

<p>'Sorry, Holly. I thought I was doing the right thing,' I said, as we both walked to the corner of the bar, Colin in tow.</p>

<p>'You were, Nicky, you were. That was just for the benefit of the rest of them. Anyway, I saw the good bit. I didn't realise you were a fighting man. I wish I had an action replay of that. Have you been training'?'</p>

<p>' A couple of nights a week. With some army pals.</p>

<p>'Looked pretty good to me. But watch out for that Billy. He and the rest of them are worth the watching. I had to throw them out last year for smoking whacky baccy. They're nothing but trouble.'</p>

<p>Holly didn't throw me out. I bought another pint for me and a shandy for Colin who was looking at me as if I was a hero.</p>

<p>When his drink came, Badger thanked me shyly. 'Are you all right now, Colin?' I asked.</p>

<p>'Yes mister,' he said, after drinking a big mouthful. He hadn't a clue who I was. I could have wept, looking at his bland, child-like face, for I remembered when we had played about the trees as youngsters, Colin bright and fast and full of fun. Destined to go places, always full of enthusiasm.</p>

<p>And destined to lose all that under the rockfall at Ardmhor. Destined for nothing.</p>

<p>'You don't remember me, do you?'</p>

<p>He looked at me, examining my face with those dull, dark eyes, then shook his head.</p>

<p>'It doesn't matter,' I told him. 'I'm Nicky Ryan. I used to live here. I was in the same class as you at school.'</p>

<p>He smiled brightly, and nodded. I could see him puzzling over that, but he still smiled. It didn't mean a thing to him. The pub had gone back to its usual busy hubbub, as always happens within minutes of any brawling, and Colin and I sat together. He told me he worked up at the stables where the better-off kids from all over came for pony trekking in the summer.</p>

<p>Colin could have been anything he wanted to be. But Badger mucked out stables. Behind my feelings of sadness at that waste, I'm sure there was the certain knowledge that this could have been me. I hadn't a clue how he and Barbara and myself had ended up getting clobbered with rocks on the Sleeping Rock, but Babs and I had come out alive. Only part of Badger had.</p>

<p>Would somebody have stood up for me?</p>

<p>The nickname was maybe cruel, but apposite. The two white-grey lines on Colin's hair really did give him the appearance of a badger, and he answered to the name quite readily. He didn't see anything wrong with it.</p>

<p>I walked him home. It only took a few minutes to get to his house which was a two-up, two-down on the north side of Main Street.</p>

<p>There wasn't much conversation. Colin was big and shy and talking to him was like having a conversation with a child.</p>

<p>Every now and again, he'd look over his shoulder to make sure Billy and his pals weren't following us, and occasionally he'd sneak a glance at me which read pure hero worship. I could have done without that.</p>

<p>His mother was peering through a crack in the curtains and came bustling out as soon as we reached the gate.</p>

<p>'Colin? Colin! Is that you?'</p>

<p>' Uh-huh,' he said.</p>

<p>She came down the flagstones to the square of light that came through the front door.</p>

<p>' Who's that?' she started to say as she walked the dozen or so steps. 'Who are you with?'</p>

<p>A small, grey-haired woman with a drawn face, and a pair of reading glasses dangling from a thong round her neck, she came up and peered at me. Her dark eyes were a match for her son's, except that hers were quick and alert.</p>

<p>' Oh. It's you.' She looked me up and down, then looked at her son. I'd seen that look before, the one she directed at me. Ever since the doctors had told her that Colin wasn't going to recover, I'd seen that look on her face. Maybe she didn't consciously think it, but even at ten years of age I knew what it meant: 'Why
    <em>my</em> boy? Why not <em>you</em> ?' </p>

<p>I didn't know why then. Hell, I hadn't a clue even about what had happened. It was as if a handful of days of my life had been plucked out and never happened. Except that they
    <em>had</em> happened, and Colin was the living, enduring evidence.</p>

<p>'Hello, Mrs Blackwood. I just walked Colin home.' I was careful not to use the other name in her presence.</p>

<p>' That's right mom.' Badger nodded, smiling. 'Mr Nicky. He did it. He hit Billy Ruine.'</p>

<p>Ruine. That name rang a bell. One of Jack Ruine's boys from down the south side of Milligs. I knew the family well. His big brother Mick had been the terror of our generation, a whip-thin youth with a tight smile and ready fists. A fighting man among the fighting men on the far side of town. The whole family were wild.</p>

<p>' What's that?' Badger's mother snapped. 'What happened?'</p>

<p>Badger started to stammer an explanation that was beyond him.</p>

<p>I broke in and said: 'It was nothing much, Mrs Blackwood. A couple of guys were causing a bit of trouble down at Holly's, and Colin got caught in the passing. I just got him out of the road.'</p>

<p>' I don't like you going down there, Colin. You've got no business going and getting in fights.'</p>

<p>' No mum,' he said, kicking his boot toe into the edge of the low wall, hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket. He did look like a big foolish child. Mrs Blackwood looked at me, and there wasn't a lot of warmth in her gaze. I had been a memory that maybe for her sake should never have come back to Arden.</p>

<p>'Right, Colin. In you go and get your tea.'</p>

<p>'Yes mum,' he said and shambled up the path, turning to look back at me with a big, shy smile, before going inside.</p>

<p>'Well, Nicky Ryan. I suppose I should thank you for getting Colin out of trouble.'</p>

<p>'No, it's no trouble. Anybody would.'</p>

<p>'I can't stop him going there. He's just a big baby, God help him. And look at you, looking after him.' I knew what she meant, and it made me feel indescribably sad. What she meant was that I shouldn't have to look after him.</p>

<p>'But thanks for bringing him home,' was what she did say. 'He doesn't know how to take care of himself.'</p>

<p>' Any time, Mrs Blackwood. The Ruine boy and his pals are just loud-mouths. If I'm in Holly's again, I'll make sure they leave him alone.'</p>

<p>She nodded, and quickly said goodnight, and bustled up the path. The door closed quickly.</p>

<p>I didn't go straight home, but wandered round the old harbour to the side where the lifeboat shed stood, to the left of the small crowd of boats tied up at the white-plank moorings. It was a cool, calm night, and this time the masts of the dinghies were hardly moving. I stayed watching the boats for a while, then walked back the way I'd come and down the street towards the house. It was warm when I got in. I'd left the gas fire on, and the room's heat quickly got rid of the evening chill. I thought about trying to write, but didn't bother. Instead, I turned on the television and watched an old movie until quite late, and then just went to bed.</p>

<p>At two in the morning, I was wide awake again. One of those dreams had slammed me awake, and as I sat up in the dark, I could feel the force of it drain away. I couldn't quite remember what it was about, but an image of something big and terrible that was after me, stayed with me.</p>

<p>My heart was still pounding, but gradually it slowed as I became more awake. I didn't understand this. I'd come back to Arden and I'd been scared rigid on my first night, and even worse on the morning after down at Ardmhor. Now I was having a spate of nightmares about God knows what. Was there something wrong with me? Was I beginning to flip?</p>

<p>The thought of being a candidate for the funny farm was almost as scary as the feeling I had when I woke up. I put that straight out of my mind.</p>

<p>I didn't want to think I was losing it.</p>

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