LITMIR.BIZ

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in the softness of her lap and Jock forgot about the Colonel’s interview. He was still not satisfied that he had said all that was to be said, but he was a little happier. She gave him a handkerchief and he mopped his neck with it.

      ‘I guess he’s in a wee bit of a panic. But he’s asked for it,’ he said. She nodded, and he came back to her. Then he leant forward to fill his glass.

      ‘I’ll pay you for this whisky.’

      ‘Of course you won’t.’

      ‘Aye, I will.’

      ‘I wouldn’t let you.’

      ‘You used to let me.’

      ‘That seems a long time ago.’ She turned to put a record on the gramophone on the table by the side of the sofa.

      ‘Och, we don’t want that thing.’

      ‘I’ve got some new records,’ she replied, ‘if you’re wanting to be amused.’ She placed the needle on the record and as she did this he leant forward and put a hand on her knee, just under her skirt. She did not turn round to push him away. She was trying to close the lid of the machine and she just said, ‘Definitely no.’

      ‘Och, Mary.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You didn’t used to say no. D’you remember that? Or have you conveniently’ – Jock took long words very slowly – ‘have you conveniently forgotten?’

      ‘You didn’t used to be a stranger.’

      ‘Mary, I’m back.’

      ‘And stinking,’ she said patiently. ‘You left stinking and you’ve come back stinking. You can’t turn the clock back, Jock.’

      ‘You can begin again. Come on.’

      ‘If you’re not going to sleep I think you’d better take yourself a walk round the town.’

      Jock smiled suddenly.

      ‘I could make you if I wanted to,’ he said gently. And she was immediately angry.

      ‘Jock Sinclair, you’re the most conceited man I’ve ever met. You’re not all that great shakes. And there’s lots that know that, I can assure you.’ She added the last sentence quietly, and the noise of the record drowned it.

      ‘What d’you say?’ Jock asked and he shook his fingers at the gramophone. ‘For Christ’s sake put that thing off.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You put it off, you besom.’ He leant across her and tried to open the lid of the gramophone.

      ‘No!’ she said again and she tried to push him back but he was already drunk enough to be determined and he lunged forward. Clumsily he pushed the machine and it slipped off the coffee-table on which it rested, and fell to the floor. The needle made a loud noise as it scored the record. Then there was silence. Mary said nothing. She brought her lips closely together and leant back ashe sat up again. He left one hand on her thigh and he gave an uncertain half smile.

      ‘That’s mucked it.’

      She took him by the wrist, and pushed his hand away, then stood up to try and repair the damage.

      ‘I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you,’ she said as they put the gramophone back on the table.

      ‘What d’you mean?’

      ‘This Colonel’s really touched you.’

      ‘What you say? Eh? That’s a bloody lie. I’ve never felt better.’

      ‘All right, all right,’ she said, patient again, but Jock was not so easily appeased. He was standing up and he pulled his stomach up into his chest. He braced his shoulders.

      ‘I’ve had a drink maybe. But there’s nothing the matter. I’ve never been better. Christ, but you’re a bloody woman.’ He was inarticulate with irritation. He fidgeted, and clenched his fists. Then he drank half a tumbler of whisky in a gulp and he walked about the room. It was a moment or two before he spoke again, in a pleading tone.

      ‘Och, Mary, I didn’t come round to have a row. You know bloody well what the matter with us is … Why don’t we get on with it?’

      ‘Jock, you couldn’t even manage now.’

      ‘I could.’

      She sighed, and shook her head.

      ‘Och, anyway we could just sleep and that would be something,’ he said.

      ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

      ‘And I’ll tell you what.’ As the plan formed in his mind he took another gulp of his whisky. More in self-defence than anything else, she pushed the bottle towards him and he sat down again. ‘We’ll away out tonight, just like the old days. We’ll be the bona fide travellers. That’s how it’ll be. It’ll be the Highlander and the Red Lion, the Glasgow Bar and the Station.’

      Mary was not the one to see a bottle of whisky go down someone else’s throat, but she looked none the worse for wear herself. As she put the bottle down she said, ‘It would be cheaper at your house.’

      Jock turned away. ‘I don’t drink there.’

      ‘Why ever not?’

      ‘Morag, of course. You know fine. Stop getting at me. I’m no the man to drink in front of my daughter.’ He waved his hand. ‘We’ll go round the publics … Look, you’ll let me pay for this bottle?’ He reached in his wallet.

      ‘You can put your money away.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I’m all right for money.’

      Jock hesitated. ‘You’re sure, lassie?’

      ‘Sure and I’m sure.’

      ‘And that dress suits you too.’

      But soon after that Jock put his finger in his ear and shook his head. He was tiring a little.

      ‘I’m sorry you weren’t there this morning. You should have seen his face. And the other night. You know he was near greetin’.’

      Not very long after, she saw that it would be impossible for him to leave. The excitement had worn off his cheeks and he grew drowsier and more apologetic.

      At last she told him, when he seemed determined to go, that he should stay.

      ‘You can’t go. Not in your uniform: for heaven’s sake. Away you go next door and sleep it off.’

      Jock smiled meekly. ‘You’ll come too.’

      ‘I’ll pull the quilt over you.’

      ‘You’re a good girl.’

      ‘There’s no use fumbling, Jock,’ she said patiently. ‘Please.’

      ‘Oh, Christ! Och Mary, I shouldn’t have come. That’s the truth of it. I thought you’d be pleased to see me. I shouldn’t have come.’

      ‘It’s no matter. Come on now laddie, and we’ll cover you up.’

      ‘You’re my bloody cherry-cake,’ he said.

      ‘Come away now: come on.’

      TEN

      WHEN SHE HEARD him shouting, Mary ran through to the bedroom. Jock was shouting her name out loud. There was no overhead light in the room and she had to stumble as far as the bedside light while he still shouted. He was sitting bolt upright in the bed and he seemed to be in the throes of a fever: in spite of the chill of the room, his face and neck were covered with sweat, and his shirt was wet. Even when the light was switched on he kept shouting.

      She stood back and said, ‘Was it me you were calling?’ She was groomed all ready to leave

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