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<h1>2</h1>
<p>Friday night and Macs Bar was all noise and laughing. The juke box competed with MTV and the karaoke was setting up.
A couple of kids were over at the bandit, thumbing
coins and staring at the flashing lights, going for the full epileptic. The joint would be juddering by
midnight. </p>
<p>"Who said this place was dead?" Jed straightened up from the pool table to watch two slender blonde girls doing the
dance they must have been practising in their bedrooms, metronome perfect. Behind the bar it was all bustle and
hustle, Frank and the girls weaving their own dance in the tight space; in front of it, three deep in the shallows,
getting to six near the door. </p>
<p>"Of all da gin joints in all the towns in all the woild, they has ta walk into mine." Neil did GBH to old Bogey..</p>
<p>"They see you and walk back out again, fast."</p>
<p>They were up at the held territory of the far corner, squeezed in by the press of new arrivals, close to ten at night
and it was still warm. Here in the confined space, the moving of bodies added another ten degrees. The heatwave had
stretched to three weeks and while the puddles of the summer deluge had finally drained and dried to cracked china,
it was still lush, getting to the hot and sticky stage that's still a rarity in these parts, even with the global
warming coming on apace. </p>
<p>Jed had trails of sweat rambling down his cheeks. Neil took a shot, potted and ended up right on line to make another
drop.</p>
<p> "Fat man, you shoot a great game of pool." They were a good double act.</p>
<p>Neil started to laugh just as he was about to take the pot and he sliced the white. It skittered away without
doing any damage.</p>
<p> "Cheating rat, you put me off." He turned and held the queue up in both hands. "You don't understand! I could've had
class. I coulda been a <em>contender</em>. I coulda <em>been</em> somebody, instead of a bum which is what I am."
</p>
<p>"Exactly."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but for a pint, who said it?"</p>
<p>"Marlon Apocalypse Captain Kurtz Brando. On Da Watafront."</p>
<p> "Every one a winner. You get the pint." Neil called the barman. "You want another, Jack? Put a smile on your torn
face?"</p>
<p>They'd been hunched at the bar, waiting for the pool table to free up, and Jack hadn't been his usual self. Friday
night was fun night, always had been, but Jack Lorne had a deep side to him that sometimes showed through to make up
for the mischief. You never could tell just when it would.</p>
<p>"The town's dead on its feet," Jack was saying. "This is just the nerves jumping. You watch, rigor mortis will set in
quick as a blink."</p>
<p>"You're nothing but a pessimist." Jed always got optimistic on Smirnoff Ice. "If it's just the nerves, this place is
jumping pretty good. Alive and kicking."</p>
<p>"Pessimist? <em>You're </em>facing ninety days notice. The dairy is about to fold. Donny and Neil are just waiting
for the axe."</p>
<p>It was Friday night and he knew he should have shrugged it off, followed the Friday night current and just gone for
the fun, but it was hard to get the chuckle engine started tonight. Donny had got out of casualty strapped up and
stiff and nobody believed he had fallen down a flight of stairs, but there was no way he'd finger Ferguson or his
team of pit-bulls. You just wouldn't win, because it was two of them against three, and then Ferguson would start
leaning on people. He threw a bit of tonnage in this town and you could walk down River Street and get a sore face
and cracked ribs from a stranger anytime he said so. Most of the hurt was bruising and some internal stuff that was
healing slow and sore and every time Jack thought about it he got a hot clench in the middle of his belly while his
nails dug hard into the palms of his hands and he knew it was just impotence. There was nothing he could do, and
that was the worst of it. The story of their lives.</p>
<p>He kept picturing Donny, red hair matted and blood dripping to the grass, turning round in that stupid little circle
on his hands and knees and moaning like a dying bullock. God, that had been scary. He closed his eyes and flicked
the picture away. Donny had managed to get to his feet and the pupil of one eye was shrunk down to a pinhole. He had
started gurgling up the blood he'd swallowed and half of it went over Jack's tee shirt. It had taken them twenty
minutes to get round to Jed's and a miraculous eight minutes of crazy driving in that souped up little stock-car to
get to casualty. Jed could wheel it like nobody's business. The doc said Donny was dead lucky he still had his
kidneys and any brains left, but it didn't seem lucky to either of them. The nurse gave him a jab and rubbed alcohol
on the dirt and then the young houseman had started in with the needlepoint where they'd shaved the hair. He made a
good job of it. </p>
<p>Jack was on ice cold Guinness, taking it slow. It had been a long day and it was taking him a while to shake it
off.</p>
<p>"I'll get another job no bother," Jed was saying. "Everybody needs drivers." </p>
<p>"I sincerely hope do. That means you can start buying drink."</p>
<p>Tam pushed his way through the crowd and shoehorned into the corner. He had slicked his hair back behind his big red
ears that glowed with the heat they picked up during the day. Neil was leaking, carrying a couple of stones more
than a heatwave made comfortable.</p>
<p>"What's happening?" Tam was up for mischief.</p>
<p>"Couple of parties ongoing, or we could cut about River Street. The town's one big Mardi Gras tonight, wall-to-wall
women. Some of them not too sore on the eyeball."</p>
<p>Jed looked at Jack. "Told you, didn't I?"</p>
<p>"You just don't know when you're down and out."</p>
<p> "You okay Jake?" Tam was holding out a ten-spot for the next round and one of the girls behind the bar was volleying
verbals with him. </p>
<p>"Sure. Just tired. Got to get my second wind. "</p>
<p>"You'll be glad to get a lie-in these mornings," Tam said and as soon as he did he realised that might not have been
the diplomatic thing. </p>
<p>"Sure, sleep it off. It's time I checked out Australia House. The outback's got to be better than this."</p>
<p> "Come on you guys," Neil said, barrelling in against them. "It's Friday night and we've got the whole weekend ahead.
I mean like, hol'on, consarnit, golly-darnit. I'll be a horn-swaggeled bushwackin' side-windin' saddled horn...
rivvid, ravvid, ravvid...You going to the party?"</p>
<p>"Maybe," Jack said. "I told Robert we'd show up sometime."</p>
<p>"You Jed? You coming with the boys or going for a leg under with her indoors. Mrs Round the Block Many Times?"</p>
<p>Jed aimed hard fingers at Neil's belly, dug in and squeezed hard. Neil yelped.</p>
<p>"She's not been around. She's a previously enjoyed companion. Who will be enjoyed some more, given half a
chance."</p>
<p>"And you're not a sex machine, you're just hormonally automated."</p>
<p>Jed laughed. Everybody knew he would peel away some time late on and head up to Margery Burns' place for a night on
the springs. </p>
<p>"Come on Jed," Tam wanted to know. "Is it the grey hair or what?"</p>
<p>"None of your business. Do I ask you about the chicks you shag?"</p>
<p>"All the time!"</p>
<p>"What chicks?" Neil pumped his fist. "He only knows Pamela. Gets by with a little help from his friends."</p>
<p>"That's very true," the bar girl agreed, and that broke the mood for Jack. They all cracked up again and handed over
their empty glasses to start on the next round. </p>
<p>"Listen," Jed said. "Don't knock it until you try it. Tell you one thing, she's taught me plenty. Swear to god, even
the neighbours need a smoke afterwards."</p>
<p>They all fell about.</p>
<p>"Has she got a daughter?" Jack asked.</p>
<p>Somebody called for order and Frank the barman bulled round through the crowd and slung an arm round one of the
dancing girls and the karaoke started with his Friday night version of Meatloaf getting up to naughty by the
dashboard light. The noise cranked up until it drowned MTV. </p>
<p>Over by the door a small commotion started and none of them noticed until Donny eased his way in beside them, his
normally red face a whiter shade of grey. He let out an involuntary grunt when an inadvertent elbow brushed against
his ribs. Jack could see him grinding his teeth. </p>
<p>"Jesus, Don. What are you doing out?"</p>
<p>Donny had taken the bandage off his head and sometime between the golfing disaster and tonight he'd managed to shave
the rest of his hair down to stubble. His scalp was just as white as his face, and the stitches just to the left of
his crown looked like a patch of spiky thorns. </p>
<p>Somebody got one of the stools and shoved it under his backside. Tam shouted up another lager. </p>
<p>"Stay in on a Friday night? Goes against my religion."</p>
<p>"You should have stayed in your <em>bed </em>Don. Look at the state of you. You're having a right bad head day."</p>
<p>He shook it, regretted it. "My ma keeps asking me what happened. She's driving me up the wall. I'm scared I'll crack
and tell her Ferguson's going to pull the plug on Aunty Jean. And then she'll call the cops and the shit will hit.
Anyway, I need help, you guys. I haven't had a stiffy for days. It's got me worried."</p>
<p>"What do you expect? You've just had your ribs caved in, got concussed, and nearly lost a kidney. You have to give
yourself time to heal."</p>
<p>"But I wake up hard every morning," Donny said. "What if that's me for life? I mean, I'm only twenty four."</p>
<p>"And that's six years past your prime. It's all downhill from here on."</p>
<p>"It's not funny. You know where I can get viagra?"</p>
<p>"Stick to lager. It'll do you better."</p>
<p>Over in the other corner, a tableful of girls from the Starlight stage group were out on the town, up on their feet
murdering Gloria Gaynor, all of them promising that they would survive, though half of them didn't look as if they'd
see the night out still awake or still standing. One of them was blowing kisses at Jack and he blew one back just
for the hell of it. </p>
<p>"Does Kate know you're out?" Jack's sister Linda was amongst the crowd.</p>
<p>"Kiss my ass, little mother."</p>
<p>Linda had her arm around Neil's sister Joanne and another girl called Donna Bryce who worked with them in the
hairdressers. All of them were ready for the karaoke to do the number they'd been practising for the past five
weeks. The kiss blower pushed her way across.</p>
<p> "Jack Lorne. Haven't seen you in years. Here, give us a real kiss."</p>
<p>There was no preamble. She just lunged at him and there was nothing he could do. All the other girls started hooting
and he held up two fingers to them all. </p>
<p>"Put him down," Linda ordered. "I know where he's been."</p>
<p> "Look at that girl go," Neil broke in. "She's eating him alive."</p>
<p>"That should cheer up his miserable face," Tam said agreeably. </p>
<p>Jack finally managed to break away. He wiped a hand over his mouth to clear the lipstick. </p>
<p>"Are you going to Clare Jamieson's party?" the girl asked. </p>
<p>"Sure," he said. </p>
<p>"See you there," she said with drink, hope and promise chasing each other in her eyes, gave him a squeeze and went
back to the group. </p>
<p>"So we're going to Robert's, for definite," Jack said. "She'll cook my rabbits."</p>
<p>Neil got to the mike and gathered up Linda and Donna Bryce and Joanne, who sang the doo-wah backing vocals in the
Starlight show. Neil had a terrific baritone voice that he loved to show off and as soon as the music kicked in,
they were belting out one of the stage numbers, all in close harmony, making the walls shudder.</p>
<p>Tam called Frank over and the boys chipped in the kitty money for their party drink. Frank filled two big plastic
bags and they were just about to leave for Robert's place when there was another commotion at the far door as a new
group of people pushed their way in. In a crowded bar, you can always tell when the atmosphere changes. It's
something in the tone of the noise that just alters and gets the nerves on full alert. Even the air seems to turn
brittle. Jack felt it and looked up. </p>
<p>Over at the microphone, Neil broke off the song and the girls backing stumbled to a fade.</p>
<p>"They're he-eeeere." He announced in a high girlish voice.</p>
<p>Jack turned, aware of the change.</p>
<p>"The boys are back in town," Neil sang right out against the music, looking at Jack but pointing down the far end.
Jack followed the direction. He stopped still. A man stared right at him down the length of the bar. Frank the
barman caught the look and did a double take. </p>
<p>"Dear oh dear oh dear," Jack said. </p>
<p>"What's up?" Tam turned and saw the man lift a hand. Beside him another man, squat and shaven headed was looking
around, obviously searching the faces. He had a big plum-coloured bruise right across his cheek and his lips were
scabbed and raw. </p>
<p>The first man jabbed a finger straight at Jack. Donny looked up and saw Seggs Cullen first. </p>
<p>"Aw, holy fuck!"</p>
<p>"Is that them?" Tam wanted to know. "Jeez Jake, that's Wiggy Foley. He's just got out of Barlinnie jail. He did six
for armed robbery. Full stretch for bad behaviour."</p>
<p>He turned to Jack. "You never hit that psycho with a club, did you?"</p>
<p>Jack nodded, feeling less heroic than he had when his anger was hot and high. They were stuck here right at the end
of the bar, on the opposite side from the door. </p>
<p>"You should have made sure that nutter stayed down."</p>
<p>Down there, somebody shouted in protest. At the corner of the bar, Donna Bryce's boyfriend, a fellow they knew called
Ed Kane leant in towards them.</p>
<p>"Do you guys need a hand?" Ed was dark and wiry. He and Tam sometimes kicked about together. It was a good offer
under the circs.</p>
<p>"Thanks Ed." Jack said. "Best not get involved. It's a grudge thing."</p>
<p>"Any time," Ed said. "You give me a shout." Even in the tension of the moment, Jack thought that was a fine thing to
say.</p>
<p>"Nick out the back, Jack," Neil was pushing towards them, microphone still in his hand, still keeping a tune. "Make a
new plan, Tam."</p>
<p> "Outamaway... !" It was just an angry growl. Wiggy Foley had recognised Jack all right, just as his eyes had
promised back there on the sunlit field. They could see people push back as the two hard men shouldered their way
through and the atmosphere suddenly crystallised. </p>
<p>"Hey what the fu... ?"</p>
<p>"He spilled my drink... "</p>
<p>"Watch it you... "</p>
<p>Tam grabbed Jack by the collar. "That was really clever, <em>Die Hard</em>. Him of all people."</p>
<p>He pulled Jack back away from the corner. "Grab these bags, quick."</p>
<p>For once Jack let himself be led. He hoisted the bags, even though logic and survival instinct told him to dump them,
but it was Friday night, and some instincts are even more deeply rooted. Tam raised a foot against the bar of the
door that nobody ever used and kicked it in a downward stamp, proving once and for all that the Tae Kwan Do lessons
had not been all a waste of time. The door punched outwards and cool night air sucked in. </p>
<p>"Get going." </p>
<p>"What about Donny?"</p>
<p>Donny was moving slowly, as if he was encased in plaster and hurting all over, which was probably true. Neil helped
him out and down the little alley behind the bar. Tam turned and pushed the door closed again. Foley and Cullen were
halfway to the corner, shoving people out of the way. They could hear the shouts from halfway down the alley. Tam
kicked again and the door clammed. He swivelled to the left while Jack went to the right, hoisted two aluminium kegs
and jammed them in against the door. If there was a fire inside, everybody would burn to carbon, but that didn't
seem likely the way the beer was flowing. Jack grabbed a wooden pallet and pushed it hard against the casks,
managing to force a corner against the brick wall to hold it in place. As soon as it locked, something hard hit the
door on the inside and somebody was bawling incoherently and it was perm any one from two. Cullen or Foley. </p>
<p>"Right let's <em>getty-fuh</em>," Tam said. Jack picked up the remaining bag, trusting that Jed had the other and
they scooted down the alley towards the river, knowing they only had a minute before the two pit-bulls got
themselves back through the crowd and out the front door. He was thinking of Donny, who might make two miles an hour
if he worked hard at it and picked up speed. </p>
<p>They turned the corner and caught up with them. </p>
<p>"You come with me," Tam said, taking Donny by the arm. Across the street Tam's Yamaha Dragstar was canted over on its
strut, shiny in the summer night light. </p>
<p>"Can you get a leg over it?"</p>
<p>"I'm like Jed. I'll get a leg over anything."</p>
<p>Tam helped him on and the other three disappeared round the corner to where Jed had parked the old Skoda shell with
the big V6 Saab engine under the hood. They jumped in and the engine growled like a beast. </p>
<p> Jed grinned. "Fasten your seatbelts kids, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
<em> </em>"Pop-eyed Betty Davis," Neil guessed correctly.</p>
<p> "If you gentlemen could tear yourselves away from Hollywood quiz night, I really think we should be in transit."</p>
<p>Round the corner the bike snorted, purred smoothly and Tam and Donny came cruising past them, just as Foley and
Cullen came barrelling round the corner in pursuit.</p>
<p>"Watch this thing shift," Jed said. He slipped on his sunglasses, hit the throttle and Jack was thrown right back
into the seat. They were across the old bridge and gone in five bare seconds</p>
<p>Robert Wardell might have been an air steward and as camp as a girl guides jamboree, but he was a mate and he never
threw a bad party. </p>
<p>The place was heaving when they got there and Robert </p>
<p> never Bob, or Rab, always Robert </p>
<p> had as usual, stored away his collection of china from his long haul stopovers, and lifted the zebra skin that he'd
smuggled from Kenya. He loved a party and hated a mess.</p>
<p>"Jack, Thomas! Come away in boys. I though you were never turning up."</p>
<p>Robert was effusive in his welcome. He bought duty free exotic drink on long hauls and his parties just never ran
out. Nevertheless, it was always bad form here to turn up empty handed. </p>
<p>"Just dump it anywhere," he insisted, taking the two of them by the arm, knowing he was the only non-female who would
get away with it. He was a mate. In primary school he'd always held the jackets when the rest of them were tumbling
in the mud and they'd always taken care of trouble for him when it showed up. </p>
<p>"Listen. I've brought a couple of friends I want you to meet."</p>
<p>"If they're like the usual, forget it," Jack said, completely inoffensively. </p>
<p>"No, not at all. You think I'd waste them on the likes of you phobic barbarians?"</p>
<p>He raised a hand and beckoned across the room. Tam and Jack looked at each other, taking in Robert's silk hipsters
that were just a shade too tight and a lot too purple. He was a dead ringer for Rock Hudson in the old Doris Day
movies and women always wanted to reform him, with remarkably little success. Or none at all.</p>
<p>"Ilse and Ingrid, come and meet Jack and Thomas."</p>
<p>He leaned in to Jack. "You don't see too many of these walking down River Street."</p>
<p>Jack turned. </p>
<p>She was one of the most stunning women he had ever seen, and the one next to her was nothing less than a blonde
vision. </p>
<p>"Be still my beating heart," Tam said. </p>
<p>"Be still your hormones," Robert said.</p>
<p>"Hello," Ilse said, holding out a perfect hand. Jack shook it and forgot to let go. She smiled as if this was nothing
less than expected. </p>
<p>"We're from Sweden," she said, totally unnecessarily. You never got skin and hair and teeth and everything else in
packages like this anywhere else in the world with the exception of Estonia and that was just a hop-skip away.
Robert had got the boys a free flight there a couple of years back for a stag night and they all wondered why he
still swung the funny way. </p>
<p>"And what brings you here?"</p>
<p>"Robert did. We work with the airline in Stockholm. Our uncle is the captain of a ship here, so we come to see
him."</p>
<p>"That's awfully nice. Would you like a drink?"</p>
<p>"Of course. That's the other reason we are here."</p>
<p>Ilse took him by the arm and led him towards the kitchen. Ingrid took the other arm and Tam was left standing with
Robert, making goldfish faces.</p>
<p>"Don't worry," Robert said. "I've some free flights coming up. There's a million just like them where they come from.
And the boys are world class."</p>
<p> Donny was on the leather settee, propped up in a couple of cushions, spinning some yarn about fighting for a girl's
honour that got more preposterous by the minute, but he had a sympathetic audience and the sympathy vote was better
than nothing. With his head shaved and stitched and his face swollen out like a fed hamster, it was all he was going
to get. They kept the drink coming and minded his bruises and he seemed okay. Jack ended up on a double-seater with
Ingrid on one side and Ilse on the other and a big bottle of Bailey's Irish cream between them. He was drinking
double handed, alternating Guinness with sips from their liqueur glasses.. </p>
<p>"Poof's drink," Neil said, flicking through the discs, then he remembered where he was. "No offence Robert."</p>
<p>"None taken, Big Stuff. I got a crate of the stuff in Gibraltar for next to nothing."</p>
<p>"It's a total rip off," Jack said. "That's nearly fifteen notes a bottle and most of it's milk."</p>
<p>"But beautiful," Ilse said. Her hair was short and spiky and so fair it was like fibre-optic. The Irish cream left a
pale rim round her mouth. "We do not taste this in Sweden, you know. Much too much <em>kroner</em>. Too much money."
</p>
<p>"I'll send you some," Jack said. "Just leave your address and phone number."</p>
<p>"But the customs men, the Duane, you call it? You know what I mean? They catch it and ask for even more money. My
father, he make his own drink, with sugar and water and blueberry." She screwed her mouth into distaste. "Not nice
like this."</p>
<p>"So why can't you buy it?"</p>
<p>"Too much money. Your whisky, it costs... " She closed her eyes and did a mental conversion. "Fifty of your pounds
for a litre. All is taxed you know. They say everybody would just be drunk all the winter."</p>
<p>A short-dark haired girl came up and gave the two Swedes the measuring eye. </p>
<p>"Is Kate not coming tonight Jack?" she asked him, but directed the question at them. </p>
<p>"Sure. She'll be here."</p>
<p>"Well you better not let her catch you then."</p>
<p>He shrugged, all innocence. "International relations Jeanette. You got to be diplomatic."</p>
<p>Ilse leaned over him. "Kate? Is this a friend of yours?"</p>
<p>He was about to answer when the old Stealers Wheel number came belting out of the surround-a-sound and Neil was up at
the microphone. His big voice suited his frame. </p>
<p><em>"Don't know why I came here tonight, I got the feeling something ain't right."</em></p>
<p>He was pointing at Jake as he sang. Tam picked it up and shoved himself in towards the mike. </p>
<p><em>"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right."</em></p>
<p>They stuck their fingers straight at Jack.</p>
<p><em>"Here I am stuck in the middle with you"</em></p>
<p>He woke early, too early, with a minor hangover, glad it was Saturday, and that somebody else was filling in on the
round. He heard the float trundle past, and the rattle and clank of the crates, wondering just how long he'd be
hearing that noise in the mornings. Outside the thrushes were competing with the blackbirds, belting it out at the
top of their voices. He always pictured them, like the boys on a Friday night, trying to get the double message
across. </p>
<p><em>Hey you arseholes, stay off my patch... hey you girls, come and get it. </em></p>
<p>A lone robin pitched in, off key, high and shrill. It had hung about the garden since winter, feeding on whatever he
threw out. It took on all comers, no matter the size or species. </p>
<p>He lay still, letting himself come to, piecing together the remnants of the night after they had run out the back of
Mac's bar. </p>
<p>That had been a hairy moment, and just as well Tam had his Yamaha out in the street and not stuck up in his garage,
otherwise they'd have been caught down the alley trying to get Donny free and clear. </p>
<p>Close. Too close. And all for what? He'd felt a buzz of sudden adrenaline when the two of them had come in and stared
him right in the eye, but not the way he had when he had a six iron in his hand and Donny was down in the dirt.
Foley was a crazy horse, just out of the jail, and god knows what he'd been carrying. If they'd got stuck in that
corner with no way out, there could have been yellow tape round the front door by midnight. Tam had been thinking on
his feet. He was a good man to have at your back. Now he'd have to stay clear of those psychos for a bit, and not
for the first time he wished Donny had kept his big mouth well shut. Even as he said it he knew that was the wrong
way to think.</p>
<p>Why the hell should they sit still for it?</p>
<p><em>Jesus.</em> That's what they spent their lives doing; sitting still and taking what they handed out. In school,
it was Lorne, Watson, Coogan, Bowie, Cleary. Present and correct. Not Jack or Don or Tom or whatever. It was like
you were there on their sufferance. The big American firms came in and acted like lady bountiful and thought they
owned the place and then they found some Korean kids could do the work for half the wage and the yanks were gone in
a puff of smoke, <em>sorry Jock, but business is business</em>. Got to supply the demand. Keep the shareholders
satisfied.</p>
<p>He stared at the ceiling, knowing it would be two hours before the house slowly came awake and wondering how he could
do it on four hours sleep at night. Saturday morning, hung over or not, he still woke at the same time and lay there
just thinking, chewing over the week, planning the next, solving the problems of the world and resolving nothing at
all. </p>
<p>You get through a lot of thoughts from five until seven. More if you wake at four, and sometimes Jack wished he could
do what Donny did at the weekends, sleep until eleven, back down the pub, up to the match, back into the pub, kill a
whole Saturday and be as carefree as a kid. </p>
<p>Close horizons, that's what it was. Donny was taking what they handed down. In less than two months he'd be on the
scrap and with three hundred more chasing every opening. Chances were he'd still be signing on for benefits a year
from now. Neil was the same, on ninety days notice. Tam was okay, and as long as they were still building houses on
every vacant space, he'd still be okay, but when the jobs went, the money went and everything slowed down. Supply
and demand again. It slowed down and Tam could well be looking for homers and weekend casual stuff, fitted kitchens
and bathrooms on the grip and the lump, no questions, no tax, no national insurance. No future.</p>
<p>He shook his head, trying to get his mind on to another tack, but at this time in the morning, minds have a mind of
their own and he couldn't jump the track to a mellower tune. He wondered if he was turning into a depressive.</p>
<p>Andy Kerr had taken him into the office and laid it on the line. He was going round the banks like the last man on a
Saturday night, when all the girls have put their coats on and the DJ is packing up the lights. The two new
stainless steel tank-trucks would have been a good investment, except for the fact that the supermarket that sucked
up most of the dairy products around here had put the squeeze on, and hard. It was a take-it-or leave it deal. Andy
had to take their price or go out of business. And if he took their price he couldn't make a profit. A lose-lose
situation all round.</p>
<p>Jack had gone over the books with Andy. There was no way he could keep his head above water. The dairy was on its
knees and its days were numbered.</p>
<p>Up at four in the morning wasn't much of a job, but it brought in a wage and it would help put Mike through Uni and
gave him a chance to haul himself up and get his chin over the bar. Up at four and that gave you time in the
afternoon to hit the books and watch the tapes and in two years time he might get the chance to put on the swanky
hat and bat-cape and see his mother in a good suit and a tear in her eye when he graduated. </p>
<p>Business. You got nowhere unless you understood business and until you did that you were dancing to somebody else's
tune. Andy Kerr, he was a grafter, but he only understood the milk trade, that was all, and look where it was
getting him: right into bankrupt court and receivership unless a miracle happened. </p>
<p>Jack turned over and thumped his pillow into a better shape, thinking about the night before..</p>
<p>Ingrid had pressed svelte curves up against him he knew every guy in the place had wanted to trade seats with him.
Ilse had waylaid him in the kitchen with a more than affectionate lingering kiss, while both his hands were occupied
with two full pints. </p>
<p><em>Clowns to the left ... Jokers to the right. </em></p>
<p>And a fool in the middle, that was for sure. He closed his eyes and remembered the suction of the kiss and he knew if
he'd stayed he'd have tried to get the two of them upstairs for a smorgasbord sandwich. And that would have blown
everything. Kate would not have been amused. </p>
<p>Just as well Lars Hanssen had turned up. Uncle Lars. <em>Jeez. </em>When he'd come in from the front room the place
had darkened. He was built like a bulldozer and looked like Thor Sledgehammer or whoever the crazy Viking was that
used to cut people's hearts out in AD 2000 or some other adventure magazine. He had wheat-fair hair like his nieces,
but long and shaggy and a big thick moustache, and man, could he shift drink. <em> </em>He had brought a couple of
bottles of Absolut blue label and seemed determined they would never see the light of day. He was half Finnish and
half Swede and claimed he was half Laplander as well and nobody except Jack knew the distinction. </p>
<p>"<em>Holigen-goligen</em>!" A big clap on the back and another shot was down his throat. He said it meant the same as
<em>Skol</em> in the Lapp language and at the end of the night everybody was saying it.</p>
<p>"I go back in three weeks when I have a good screw," he told Jack, and the rest of the guys laughed at that until
Jack explained the screw was the propeller. "It got twisted on the rocks at Harris."</p>
<p>It came out <em>tvisted on de rooks at Horace,</em> but everybody knew what he meant and Jed, he got mischievous and
started looking out old tracks and belting them out, like <em>Tvisting der Noot Avay</em>, and <em>Tvist and
Shoot</em> and big Uncle Lars never caught on to the fact he was having the piss ripped out of him. </p>
<p>"<em>Anyvay</em>," he said. "I have another three weeks and then back to Oslo first and then Stockholm. I have twenty
things to take and some pipes and I stay a week and be back on Skye in another week. Never stop, back and here,
there and back, all the times, until you get dizzy."</p>
<p>He lifted up his glass. "But it is nice to visit with my sister's babies, no? They worry all the time about old Uncle
Lars."</p>
<p>Ingrid lifted a balloon glass half filled with ice and Irish cream. Lars took it and gulped half of it and then he
pulled a face. </p>
<p>"What is this? Are you sick?"</p>
<p>Jack laughed. </p>
<p>"Like medicine it is!"</p>
<p>Jed laughed louder. "He talks like Yoda. Drunk he is!"</p>
<p>"Daft you are!"</p>
<p>"Uncle Yoda, another drink you want?" Everybody fell about. </p>
<p>"Always another drink," he bellowed, treating Jed to a one-armed bear hug that could have cracked ribs. "And what is
this <em>Yoda</em>?"</p>
<p>It all got a bit foggy after that and Jack remembered Jed sneaking off to finish the night and start the morning with
Margery Burns; helping Donny into a taxi and wondering what would have happened if he'd stayed. Ingrid being sick in
the back garden and Ilse leaving her to it and slinging her arms around Jack's neck again, all pliant and boneless
after a night on the Baileys. Uncle Yoda discovering a taste for the stuff after claiming it was a drink for
girly-boys, followed by an embarrassed silence that was finally broken by Robert's quick camp: "Suits me sir!"</p>
<p><em>.... I feel I'm going to fall off my chair.... and I'm wondering how I'll get down the stair..... </em></p>
<p>Gerry Rafferty's nasal voice kept coming back to him, as if there was a tape loop stuck in his head, but that's the
way it had got later on and Uncle Lars had got to the singing stage and in between times he was doing a deal with
Robert to take some of the Irish Cream home for his <em>vife</em>. </p>
<p>.... <em>You started off with nothing and you're proud that you're a self-made man... </em></p>
<p>Chance would be fine. Self-made milkman. He closed his eyes listening to the robin song merge with the lyrics in his
head. </p>
<p>Self made? He'd taken too long going about that and now he could be stuck half way through a degree and nothing to
show and no money either. He knew he should have bit on the bullet when he was just out of school, but his old man
had only been gone three years and his mother had still been wading through a swamp of grief, struggling to get to
the other side and able to cope only with that and there had been nothing for it but Jack to take charge. <em>Self
made</em>. He could be running his own business by now, or half way up some corporate ladder. Everybody had
expected him to make it. <em>Jeez</em>, he had expected that himself, and here he was, a soon-to-be-out-of-work
milkman with a special aptitude for hosing out the trail tankers. </p>
<p>Self made? Or self deluded. Over there on his desk he had a rack of books and a second-hand computer that was
dinosaur slow and he could rhyme off all the theory, Galbraith, Keynes, carried interest, value addition, double
entry, equity, bonds, the lot. </p>
<p>And still he was stuck here well below the middle line and the chances of breaking through were further and further
away. </p>
<p><em>Yet.... </em></p>
<p>There was something. It had snagged him on the golf course when Donny had been down in the gully, washing the crap
off his legs and there had been an oddly sweet scent in the air mixing headily with the coconut oil of the gorse
bloom, and those dead little trout belly up in the stream. </p>
<p><em>The angel's share. </em></p>
<p>Donny still had the mud stuck to the end of his dick and Tam had been laughing and pointing, but Jack's mind had done
the usual and shot off on a different tack. </p>
<p>"We're screwed. First they screw you and then they really fuck you."</p>
<p>Tam turning round, the only one with a safe job and a decent set of wheels, unless you counted Jed's V6 that needed a
different scrapyard bodyshell every time he and Neil hammered it round the stock circuit. Tam said: "God helps them
that helps themselves."</p>
<p>His grammar had left some to be desired, but that was true. They were all at the mercy, taking what was handed down,
and Jack knew he'd never get on that corporate ladder because unless you were at the very top, you were still taking
what they handed down. </p>
<p><em>God helps those.... </em>He closed his eyes, chasing the thought, and a picture of the stunning Ingrid came
suddenly into his mind. </p>
<p>"You come to Sweden," she had said in a flawless accent, and if it had been a year ago he'd have been on the next
plane. </p>
<p>But there was something else she had said that really snagged him. </p>
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