— Of course, Jimmy, I just wanted to show Ms Lozinska … Alison here … Alexander ushered Alison close, and she stepped gingerly, unable to avoid sinking into another patch of wet turf. — Alison, Jimmy Knox. He and his guys are doing great work here at the coalface, and I don’t want to hold them back, he shook his head emphatically, — but I must show you the top of this tree. Please bear with us one second, he urged the bemused-looking foreman. — Look at this bark, and he bent over and grabbed a yellow handful of tree. — Rotten. Come closer, he implored Alison. — Look. All rotten, he declared again, his eyes misting.
Alison didn’t really want to get closer, but felt duty-bound to comply. As her right foot sank into some mud, she stumbled and almost fell, correcting herself, but kicking over the petrol can. Jimmy let out a semi-audible curse and Alexander jumped forward as it splashed against his back trouser leg. — It’s okay, he cooed as one of the men picked up the can, and planted it firmly into the soggy ground. At Alexander’s prompting, Alison’s hand reluctantly sank into the spongy bark, experiencing the same sensation as her feet in the sodden grass.
They stepped back to let the man ignite the trees. There didn’t seem to be much moisture in them, as the branches went up quickly, and the bark caught, sending a twisting curl of black smoke into the air. Alison watched the burn and crackle of the fire and was mesmerised by it. She was aware of Alexander, standing close to her, as the waves of heat flickered across her face. She could have stayed there forever, even though her feet were cold and submerging further into the soggy ground.
She heard Alexander stage-clear his throat, breaking the fire’s spell, and and they said their goodbyes to the crew. As they turned to leave, Alison could hear derisive laughter from Jimmy Knox and some of the men. She looked to Alexander, but if he had registered it, he evidently wasn’t bothered. She found it strange to be cross on his behalf, and also annoyed at him.
— These guys are all pretty pissed off, Alexander remarked, as they approached the car. — They were all taken on from the long-term unemployed register through the Manpower Services Commission’s Community Enterprise Programme. Now the government are changing the rules and making all the jobs part-time, on the reasoning that you can take twice as many people off the employment roll for the same costs. He looked at the groups of workmen. — Still doesn’t change the fact that there isn’t enough work to go round. Now these guys will have to either accept part-time wages or go back on the dole.
Alison nodded, thinking about a report in the evening paper, which noted that the Lothian Health Board had been forced to increase the waiting time between screenings for cancer patients in remission, due to central government funding cutbacks. It had arrested her, an article she would have previously passed over as mundane nonsense, put there to fill a local rag.
— I wonder where it’s all going to end up. Her boss shook his head as they climbed back into the Volvo. Alexander prodded his keys into the ignition, but rather than start up the car, seemed to think of something. He hastily turned to her, making strong eye contact. — Listen, what are you up to now? I mean, later?
— Nothing … how? She heard herself blowing out the women’s poetry group. For what? Why? She didn’t want to go home, to deal with the dark messages that would litter her answerphone. It was important to stay out.
— There’s a barbecue on at my mother’s place in Corstorphine. It’s her sixtieth birthday. It’ll be dull beyond words, but we don’t need to stay, just pop our heads in. I fancy dumping the car and getting a couple of beers. I don’t mind admitting I was a little jealous of you and Stuart with that vino, he smiled, eyes sparkling.
— Sure, why not, she replied in fake breeziness, actually wanting to listen to Alexander talk about trees a little longer. And all the time she was aware that the day, whatever it had been, had now become something else.
They headed into town and out past Tollcross where Alison thought about Johnny. How his eyes had glazed over and his mouth shrunk to a tight slit when she’d rebuffed his advances. Like he’d absented himself from his own body and she’d had to shout him back inside. On Dalry Road, Alexander suddenly braked, and pulled up. — That’s my brother, he said, and she looked over and saw a shorter version of him, also suited, swagger jauntily into what looked like a run-down pub. — He’s certainly slumming it, Alexander read her mind. — Let’s go in and say hello. I can leave the car here and we can all cab it out to Corstorphine together.
The Dalry Road pub was a standard working men’s dive bar, similar to many that straddled Leith Walk. Alison felt she’d been undressed a dozen times during the short walk from door to bar. Alexander, shifting uncomfortably in his suit, glanced into an alcove at the back of the pub, where his brother, Russell, sat with a man dressed in overalls.
Michael Taylor was still and silent as he looked at Russell Birch. His stare was hard. It seemed to Alison that the two men had been arguing.
— Hi. Mind if we join you? Alexander tentatively asked, picking up the vibe.
Russell’s eyes popped, first registering the shock at seeing his brother, then looking piercingly at Alison. — Mike … eh, my brother. He briefly looked at his perplexed drinking companion, before turning back to Alexander. — Be my guest. So, he asked, pulling up a chair, — how’s the forestry business?
— I’ve moved from the Commission to the District Council, Alexander said, sitting down and sliding over another stool for Alison.
— I heard. How’s that working out? Russell asked. Alison was aware that he was checking out her legs and sat down with care, smoothing her skirt across her thighs.
— The job’s good, but this Dutch elm catastrophe is killing us. What about the pharmaceutical business?
— Booming. Everybody wants something for the pain, Russell smiled, turning to the man beside him. — This is Michael, he’s … Russell hesitated, the word ‘colleague’ seemed to play on his lips before he looked to the boiler suit, — he works beside me.
— Ditto Alison here, Alexander responded. — You heading to the old girl’s?
— Yeah. Just going. He shook his pint glass.
— Driving?
— No.
— Let’s have another and get a cab, Alexander said, pointing at Michael’s drink. — Lager?
Michael shook his head. — Not for me, thanks. I have to go. He got up, leaving about a quarter of his pint. — Russell, I’ll see you later.
Alexander watched him leave in mild bafflement, then went up to get a round of drinks.
— So what’s my brother like to work with? Russell asked Alison when her boss was out of earshot.
— Aye … it’s good, she said awkwardly, — it’s just my first day but.
On Alexander’s return, the brothers began catching up and Alison felt herself drifting out of the conversation. She watched a skinny young guy with red hair come into the bar. For a split second she thought it was Mark Renton, but it was just another product of that white-skinned ginger factory they had somewhere in Scotland.
She’d never quite known what to make of Mark. He was okay now, but he’d been a cruel little bastard back at primary. She remembered that nickname he’d casually given her: the Jewess, which had made her self-conscious about her nose. It was strange to think of him now at university, and Kelly probably heading there too. Alison looked at the successful Birch brothers, tried to contemplate what they had that she didn’t. She’d always been good at school, even if she had fucked up her Highers. That had been when her mother was first diagnosed. But she could retake them. If only she could concentrate. It seemed that gift of staying power had been taken away from her: that crippling loss of cerebral stamina. Life now seemed a constant quest for the next fleeting distraction. She wondered if that focus would ever return.