Wearing Purple

Chapter 37

I had been dreading dinner with Susie and Mike, and I’m quite sure they had been too.

However it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. Sure, I felt a bit like a spare part, and I was painfully aware of the extra chair all through the evening, but Susie managed the really difficult bit perfectly.

As Mike handed round the drinks — I had come by train and was going home by taxi — she sat down opposite me, and said, ‘Oz, tonight we can talk about Jan if that’s what you want. But if it’s too painful for you, we can talk about other things.’

I looked at her, feeling enormously grateful. I knew that somewhere in me there was a need to talk about my wife, our life and her death, with friends from outside my family circle. But I hadn’t known Susie for long, and Mike for not much longer; kind and solicitous as they were, they simply weren’t close enough. As I thought about it, I realised that there was only one person in the world who was.

So I told her. ‘I need to come out into the world again, Susie. Let’s talk about life.’

And that was what we did. We talked about Dylan’s career shift and his prospects in Strathclyde, a much bigger force than Lothian and Borders, with more ladders and career opportunities. We talked about Susie’s plans for the St Vincent Street development and her new apartment.

Over dinner, I told them about my exciting alternative career as a ring announcer. I mentioned Jerry’s mishap in Barcelona, but stuck to the official story that it had been caused by an equipment failure. ‘They want to watch that,’ said Dylan. I looked at him, inwardly concerned that his copper’s nose might be twitching. I needn’t have worried; it would have taken a good-sized pinch of pepper to make Mike’s hooter twitch. ‘That’s two accidents recently,’ he went on. ‘They’ll have the Health and Safety people after them if they’re not careful.’

Of course, since we were in Glasgow, we talked about football as well. It was true that in Edinburgh, Dylan had been essentially a rugby man, but that is politically incorrect in Glasgow, where the round ball rules almost unchallenged and where, no matter how hard the clubs try to change the pattern, allegiances are determined still by religion and ancestral prejudices.

‘Your father must be invited to every big game in Glasgow, Susie,’ I said. ‘But does he hold a season ticket anywhere?’

She grinned. ‘You’re right about the invitations. He could be at Ibrox or Parkhead every Saturday during the season if he wanted. He’s much too cute to hold a season ticket, though. The other side’s supporters would notice, and they’re voters after all. The group did make a donation to the Save the Jags campaign, and we bought some Partick Thistle shares as well. But that was politically okay, you understand.’ She smiled again.

‘He doesn’t go to a match every Saturday, of course, or anything like it, although he does make sure that he visits Rangers and Celtic alternately. He makes a point of being at all the European matches, but that’s because the visiting sides usually bring their Mayor in the party, so he feels he has to.’

She looked at me. ‘The truth is that my father hates football, for the image it’s given this city over the years. Privately, he gets terribly angry that for all that Glasgow has invested in the Burrell, in the Royal Concert Hall, in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, and in all the other museums and show-places that we can boast of, Edinburgh is still internationally famous for its Festival while we’re best known for our football teams.

‘Give him a few drinks in private then sit back and listen. You’ll get a tirade about how we can bring the world’s most famous orchestra to Glasgow, yet the only cultural coverage we ever get is when some character pretends to play the flute at a football match.’ Susie chuckled. ‘Mind you Oz, all that’s a family secret.’

‘And safe with me. I can’t tell you how much our family appreciated your dad coming to Jan’s funeral.’ I smiled at her, and to keep the conversation light-hearted, added, ‘Especially since there are no Glasgow votes in Anstruther.’

‘If there were,’ said his daughter, ‘he’d know who they were and where they lived!’

‘How’s his old pal Mr Donn settling back in?’ I asked.

Susie made a face. ‘Smugly,’ she replied. ‘He’s even installed a new book-keeper; his nephew, would you believe. The boy’s efficient, I have to say, but that won’t save him though.’

‘You have plans for revenge, I take it.’

She nodded. ‘Oh yes. When my father steps down as Lord Provost, if he ever does, he’s promised himself that he will go on a long cruise. . with the other Lady Provost.’

‘Eh?’

‘His mistress, but we don’t talk about her at all. Shouldn’t have mentioned her: must be the drink. Christ, I don’t even know her name, he keeps her that tight. I only know for sure because he told me always to phone before calling at the house. Me! His daughter!’ She bristled with a mixture of Amarone and indignation.

‘Anyway,’ she muttered, with a grim smile, ‘as soon as that bloody boat leaves the dockside, Uncle Joseph and young Stephen are out on their arses. See if I’m not my father’s daughter!’

In case his girlfriend’s indignation slipped out of control, Dylan, sensibly for once, switched the subject back to the GWA. ‘So you are going back to that, Oz?’ he said.

‘Amsterdam tomorrow,’ I confirmed. ‘Then sunny Manchester, then the big event in Edinburgh. That’ll be a live transmission, so there’ll be no scope for any more accidents.’

‘Will the big chap be fit by then?’

‘If the big chap’s fit for Christmas, he’ll be lucky.’

We chatted on about not very much, until my taxi arrived, by which time I was quietly sloshed, as I had been every night that week. It was raining, par for the course for the beginning of April, so I paid the guy inside the taxi and sprinted for the entrance to my building.

A funny thing happened as I opened my front door and switched on my hall light.The three tracked ceiling spotlights came on, then one went out, not in the quiet, now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t way, but with a loud bang. I swore quietly and walked through the living area to the kitchen, with thoughts of another beer. There too, I switched on the light, three floods set on a circle. The same thing happened again; all three came on, then one went out; with a bang.

I changed my mind about that beer. Instead I sat in the dark and looked out at the city, asking myself what were the odds against two light bulbs — in separate fittings, in an apartment whose electrics have just been checked out as thoroughly as humanly possible by the guys from Scottish Power — exploding, one after the other.

I reached my own conclusion. I didn’t feel spooky as I sat there, not a bit. I didn’t feel alone, either. ‘Hello, darlin’,’ I said, smiling into the shadowy room. ‘Looking out for me, are you? Don’t go too far though.Those bulbs are expensive.’

It had worried me, that during all the nights since Jan’s death, I had never dreamed of her. That night I did. It was a grey dream; she came to me through a mist. She didn’t smile and she wasn’t happy, and yet. .

I can’t remember what she said; maybe she didn’t say anything. But she told me nonetheless that while she missed me as much as I missed her, and while there was nothing good in what had happened, it would be all right. I would have to be patient, and to live my life out, but once I had done that, however long it took. . it would be all right.