A Stranger Leaves Chapters 3 and 4 by Adam Parry

3

 

At the back of 3 o’clock he had a date with his Community Psychiatric Nurse.  Her name was Simone. She had got married round about the time he started having appointments with her. Damnit he’d thought wryly, another one bites the dust. She didn’t let him wait too long, at least not as long as The Eagles, but even so he twitched and fidgeted and felt the desperate need to urinate. Then Kerry appeared and took him through to the latest Doctor’s office she had borrowed for the day. It was painted bright red with a large framed poster of Barcelona, which caught his eye immediately. Kerry enthused about the designer fish tank with a few little, tiddly fast swimming fish. He thought it was quite an amazing room; it was homely as if the doctor slept on the examination table.

Ash took his coat off and asked for a tissue to blow his nose.

‘How’re you doing?’ She asked.

‘On a scale from one to ten. Ten!’ He said excitedly.

He told her a little about Helen and that he had actually gone to see his Father. Of course he had been slightly drunk, he told her, but to his relief Kerry didn’t hit him with a stick and throw him out the office.

‘And I finally went to the Books and Beans poetry night on Thursday.’

‘Well done.’

‘I read one of my poems, fumbled a bit, but I enjoyed myself,’ he laughed. ‘On Belmont Street saw a couple of wimmin; I thought they were mother and daughter, I didn’t stay too long after the poetry group, it was about Rilke a Czech guy before the first world war. Anyway, I found myself on the street going into the Wild Boar. I sort of like it in there and went in for a pint. Then I went down to the Moorings, but didn’t stay long and ascended to The Castlegate and saw a pal – Rob the Artist and I dragged him back down to The Moorings. In O’Neil’s they wouldn’t serve me anything but iced water so I left, without Rob, and met this homeless guy, Garth, all hair and beard. I thrust a fiver at him. “Have it,” I said.  We couldn’t get served in one pub, because he had been pilfering drinks from tables, so with him in tow we went to the morgue also known as The Prince of Wales. I ended up in Drummonds getting thrown out for dancing without a license.’

Simone probably thinks I’m still drunk, he considered to himself.

However, he’d avoided telling the whole truth about Helen.

‘What does she do?’ She asked.

‘She’s a psychology student.’ Lie. She had been a psychology student. Nor did he mention that between them they had consumed about twenty bottles of wine. If he told Simone she was about the worst alkie he’d met she might get out a slingshot and take out one of his eyes. Or spank him severely. Mmm, he thought Homer Simpson-like on seeing a doughnut.

Ash had missed his last appointment with his newest Psychiatrist so he sorted out a new appointment with the doc.

How he hated coming to this fucking Health Centre. Feels like I’ve been sitting in that waiting room for the last twelve years.  The only thing the waiting room magazines were useful for was having a swift wank in the toilet while waiting for The Eagles to get his finger out and shrink him. Anyway, he’d fired The Eagles a couple of years back and got on with life without a net, until he was given a new doc, a Helen Straven. He thought she was a very kind woman and despite himself he cried about something or other during their last date. He tried to remember what it was that had set him off.  When I get home. I will write a long list, he told himself disdainfully.

Almost an hour had gone by just chatting at Simone.  He had her categorised in his mind as a kind platonic pal. If you could call someone who is paid to listen to him once a month, a pal then he supposed she was.

Of course, he reconsidered this as he glanced at the swell of her bosom. Were they getting bigger? God, maybe she’s pregnant.  He didn’t know too much about her apart from the fact she was married, used to read Stephen King a lot and had seen a UFO. In his head he had used the UFO encounter as an excuse for missing his last appointment with her. I wish I’d seen a UFO; he had pouted at the time. Life is so unfair.

Simone asked:

‘Does she smoke?’

‘Not pot, a fag or two, she might have had a few puffs but she didn’t inhale.’

Kerry laughed.

‘She even asked me to go into another room when I’d skinned up.’

‘I like her already.’

‘Not as much as me.’

She wrote a card for a new appointment in May.

‘See you then.’

‘Take care, Ash.’

He wanted to hug her –friendly-like – but then she would know he was still drunk so pushed himself out the door.

 

 

 4

Alison was late.  He thought his sister Veronica’s worst aspect of her personality was always being late, but Alison in his estimation had stolen the Olympic Gold for lateness.  When he’d been in college doing acting he was bawled out extensively by the director, Lynne Bains, until lateness was beaten out of him and he was always early usually by an hour, which was a bit annoying as the pubs weren’t open til eleven. Now Alison was two hours late, and he was on Union Bridge overlooking the Gardens waiting like a clipper on a street corner. She, however, texted him six or seven times saying she was further down the route on her way, but he didn’t get the texts until she finally arrived. At one point after about an hour he almost gave up. Ash went to the Wild Boar once a relatively dingy bar which had suited his tastes. These days it had been extensively refurbished. Down in the basement where he used to sit most Wednesdays’ when he got his giro was now plastered with TV screens in every booth where smartly dressed folk ate from the refurbished menu. He had a pint there, but didn’t enjoy it much then with no idea what else to do he went back to Union Bridge where a statue of an old King stood watch, clean stone in the sun, the dwindling crowds of shoppers, folk over the road smoking outside a bar and the buses passing within the ballet of their assigned routes.

Recently Alison’s latest austerity programme was buying legal highs in the Market, especially Black Mamba – a grass-like suspect – she told Ash she would bring a spliff of it down with her and they’d sit the Gardens while it was still there, before the builders arrived for the glassing of the good, green place that had been there for over a century.

When she at last arrived, smiling, waving from the other side of the street it was almost twilight. Suddenly as if he had not been irritated by the wait, he had to endure their gloaming tryst seemed a special moment, just the two of them left in the Gardens bubbling over with chat in blue dark.

‘Some gay guy tried to hit on me while I was waiting.’

‘God, this isn’t even Hadden Street.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the new Golden Square. Dogging point for Aberdeen Central.’

‘OH.’

‘A lassie asked me directions to the railway station. She was slender and sweet, in white rushing and flowing clothes as if she were going to a wedding, but she did have bad acne, in another era I would’ve called her pizza face. If I’d known you were going to be so effing late I would have personally escorted her.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s too late to be sorry, you’ve already done it,’ he laughed. ‘So did Rowan get evicted?’

‘Not yet. He had a court case and he’s got an extension until April. Of course, he put Eva back in hospital.’

‘When did he get like that? He never hit you, did he?’

‘No. I would’ve hit him back.’

‘How’s your Mum?’

‘Still in the old house. She’s OK.’

They’d smoked two Black Mambas. Ash was feeling hungry and he presumed Alison did too.  So, they started along to Belmont Street. Just over the bridge Alison stopped to pull a bottle of Tequila from the pocket of a homeless guy/ junkie/ person and took a long swig. Ash wondered.

What the fuck is she doing?

Yet the guy laughed and said she could have all the Tequila if she wanted it. They obviously kent each other. Ash relaxed against the black railings of the edge of the Bridge. He glanced down as a train off to Inverness started to gain speed on the way to Rosemount Viaduct. He looked back at Alison and the boy chatting to each other Ash felt like he was in Hermann Hesse’s Magic Theatre wondering if this was real or a performance for his benefit. Alison said goodbye to the boy and moved off. The boy looked at him as if he knew Ash but he was pretty sure they had never met. They smiled at each other as if they shared something.

God, I’m on paranoia Heights he thought and went after Alison.

‘Who was that?’

‘Gog’s. He was going out with Eva before Rowan.’

‘Him,’ he shivered with fear. They’re coming to get me. ‘He’s that guy. I hope he realizes there was no penetration involved in our short romance. Are they all going to come out of the cracks and get me?’

She laughed.

Just then they went into Slain’s.  Since the millennium it didn’t seem to have changed a bit. He bought two cocktails – Sloth and Greed. He took her to his usual table, which he hadn’t sat at since the fateful Y2K.

‘We were sitting here once, my pal Stuart and I getting on with a couple of queans.  One of them was on her way to the toilet when she fell down those steps and hit her head and her nose started bleeding so her pal took her to the loo and they were in there for ages. So, I reckoned we might as well just go and I tried to get Stu to leave. He kept on waiting for them to come out but, “give up,” I told him. “There’s no point hanging about.” I almost had to drag him out of here. It was so embarrassing’.

‘Let’s sit over there,’ they went to an oak tabled booth. ‘When I take out the boys we always sit here.’

Ash agreed that her choice was better.  They drank their two deadly sins and looked over the menu.  She had pasta and chicken he had ham and eggs and real chips, he hadn’t chips for years. Ash didn’t realize how hungry he was until he actually started eating – then the food was gone, and he was still hungry, as if it hadn’t existed. He promised himself that he would try to eat more regularly even though it was just a hassle, another bestial human need that took too much thought and effort.

Once he’d finished, he dashed out to the relatively expansive smoking area, the powers that be had even supplied tables for the poor, persecuted smoking community.  He leant against the granite wall of Slain’s. Some lassie came up to him.

‘Hello we’re doing a documentary on people’s opinions about the re-development of Union Terrace Gardens.’ She looked like a student, another with a movie camera hung back behind her. ‘We’re looking for people to interview.’

‘Yeah? I’d love to.’ He had not voted at the referendum on the contentious proposal to redevelop the Gardens. Only about 8000 people were for it out of population of half a million.  He wondered how many votes the people who wanted to keep it the way it was got. 23? He had half-expected there to be some street violence. Those brave 23 old men, anarchists and radicals (alcoholics and drug addicts) battling it out with hordes of neo-yuppies.

‘Well.’ Ash said. ‘I’m with a friend I’m sure she’s got a lot of things to say about it. I’ll go and get her.’

He threw down his cigarette even though he knew he could be liable for a fine and that it wasn’t very eco-friendly, but this was important he had thought hastily and forgave himself. As he walked to the booth he wondered if his views were valid if he hadn’t voted.  He told Alison about the cameras, expecting her to rush out and express herself, but she didn’t budge. He felt sorry for the student who was probably waiting for them both to hold forth.

The bar Slain’s was named after Slain’s Castle up the coast from Aberdeen where Bram Stoker supposedly thought up Dracula.  He probably stayed for the afternoon and thought this place is fucking freezing. Ash’s sister, Veronica and one of her mates had taken his daughter there one Summer Holiday. He told Alison about it. ‘There’s a bit heading to the Castle, were there’s a sheer drop at one side when she walked along past it my heart was in my mouth.

‘I know the bit you mean; the boys just rush over it as if it’s not there.’

‘Oh God I hate heights.’

‘Let’s get out of here we’ll sit outside for a J I’ve a bit of that Black Mamba left.’  She skinned up with a sense of deftness and surety, yet looked somewhat edgy as they emerged from the pub to the smoking zone. The students were interviewing and filming someone, Ash heard her hiss out a sigh of relief.  She noticed small packs of the students prowling along Belmont Street. Alison and he sat in a corner.

‘Let’s go to The Moorings after this,’ Ash said feeling cold and a bit disappointed he hadn’t been interviewed. What the hell was wrong with her?

‘OK.’ Did she sound unsure? That was why he had met her so they could see the haunted pub. What was bugging her?

They walked the rest of the joint down Union Street, and then turned down past the market toward the pub.  A couple of smokers lingered at the doorway, he was about to go in but Alison skirted past them and he had no choice but to sit beside her on some railings and stare at the massive supply boats docked in the harbour and the stars above.

‘I wonder if that’s Mars,’ he pointed up. ‘Oh, come on let’s go inside. I’m cold.’

‘No, I don’t want anyone to think I’m a prostitute.’

‘Don’t be silly.  I look more like a prostitute than you.’ He turned to try and get her to follow him.  Her text alert sounded. She had to delete some messages to get the new one and once she’d retrieved it, she wanted to take photos with her camera. Coldly Ash supposed it was a good idea. Then Alison pulled out some Charley Sheen, a brand name for legal cocaine. They snorted a couple of lines from his blue covered journal.

‘Can we go in now?’

‘I suppose so.’

Thank Christ.  Ash wondered if Helen would be here.  Suddenly he didn’t want to go into The Moorings in case she wasn’t there and he’d be disappointed. Even so both of them reluctantly went in.

It was Karaoke Night.  The place was half-dead, except for a few old men in the corners and some Goths with purple hair.  The DJ was singing a Johnny Cash song which at first seemed a bit out of place in here until he realised how good the DJ was at singing.  He could probably listen to the guy singing all night.  Once he’d sung, some thrash punk issued from the speakers and the place almost seemed normal.

Ash said. ‘If I go up and do one, will you come and do a song too?’

She didn’t answer, he read between the lines.

Oh great, what fun, we’ll just sit here and not speak, as speaking was pointless in the noise. Where was the fucking fun in this?  He went back to the bar while she nursed her ½ pint.

When he had lost his wallet the last place, he recalled being in was here, one night when he had been looking for Helen. He asked the bartender if it had been handed in.  Fat chance, he thought, and he was right.  I want to go home; I want a pill, his head wailed above the onslaught of guitars being slowly murdered. He got a pint and split it with Alison.

‘I’ll walk you to your bus-stop. Then I’m going home after this.’  He drank the lager quickly, spilling some down his unshaven chin. ‘Get a bus instead the usual taxi. Treat myself.’

Suddenly Alison started to start getting into the Mooring’s décor. On one wall a frieze of constellation of stars with Neil Armstrong on a moonlike surface. On the dance floor itself a white paint around a figure removed, sprawled like in the proverbial murder scene, beyond the black painted wall by the toilet and the final wall about the dance floor was covered in a mirror. Ash did not know why, but he loved this place.  If it was still a coaching Inn, he would move in.

He waited at the bus stop with Alison, and then reluctantly got the 19 home.  Alison, he decided, was on too much medication or she was so chilled out she slept each night in a chest freezer.

In the house he accidently stepped on one of his cat’s tails.  She sped off squealing. For no apparent reason he screamed at the cat as if it had been her fault, then clumsily knocked over a coffee.  After that he couldn’t stop himself from shouting, pointlessly swearing, he fell to his arse on the carpet and thought about his Dad and wept until the anger dissipated.