shit.
Sam has liked me back. The website now loads up a new screen, a private messenger app. It shows my face on one side, and Sam’s on another, next to a little bubble that’s flashing to say that she’s typing me a message.
My stomach turns over.
The shakes stop.
TWENTY-SIX
ALEX
21:30
Alex stayed in the pub for another drink after Fergus left. That prick had looked all in control when he left, getting up and walking out all cool. Other people in the bar had seen that, and this was on Alex’s turf.
Well, ‘turf’ might be pushing it.
He’d been in here once since moving up.
But still, it was local. It could be his turf.
He could learn the bartender’s name. He could have people wave at him when he walked in, or at least a drunken nod. So he needed to save face. He shrugged after Fergus left, and made it look like he was in no hurry. He ordered another drink and leaned into the bar, like he was there for the long haul.
Halfway down the pint, he started to count how much he’d already put away. A few pints in the afternoon, to build up courage to meet with Fergus first time round. Three generous whiskies when he got home, and now on to his second pint since walking in. He yawned, and it followed through with a burp.
He looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
He’d got away with it.
Smooth.
He finished the drink and got up off the stool. The warm evening air made the alcohol wash around his eyeballs like a warm blanket. Yeah, he was drunk. But it was a pleasant kind of sauced, and it matched the evening perfectly.
Just after 9.30 p.m., and the sun was still out. The air was warm. There was an amber glow in the sky, like a giant pint of lager. This was like living in London. Alex smiled. If every day in Glasgow was like this, he wouldn’t mind living here.
Well, if it maybe didn’t have quite so many Glaswegians. That would help.
He turned and walked up the road. His house was at the top of a hill, and he’d never regretted that decision until now. Slogging up the steep incline with beer in his system and the sun on his back. He was sweating through his shirt by the time he reached the front door.
His wife’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Odd. She hadn’t mentioned being out this late. Alex let himself in and headed straight for his bar. He poured another whisky. A Lagavulin this time, sixteen years old. He may as well finish out the day in the manner it had gone so far.
He was taking his first sip when the front door opened. Kara walked in carrying her briefcase and a bag from the Chinese takeaway down on the main road.
‘Hey, babe,’ she said. ‘I guessed you wouldn’t have eaten, so I got us something.’
Two things:
Alex realised for the first time that he was starving.
Was she wearing a different top?
Alex wasn’t the most observant guy in the world when it came to noticing what his wife was wearing. Other people, sure. Like young women. He noticed what they were wearing, because he noticed what they were not wearing. But his wife? Not so much. And the real problem now was that he couldn’t ask her about it. Because there was every chance he was wrong.
He might be that guy, but he didn’t want to look like that guy.
He headed into the kitchen and picked up a couple of plates, forks and a bowl to put the prawn crackers in. He carried them through to the living room, and he and Kara met at the dining table.
Alex leaned in for a kiss, and their lips met for a few seconds. She wasn’t really into it, but that was fine, she’d been at work all day. He could understand.
Except—
‘Hey, did you have a shower?’
She smelled clean. Too clean. Soap and fresh perfume.
‘Yeah.’ She busied herself dishing the food onto plates. ‘It was a long day. You know how it is. Meetings. I get hot in the suit, but it looks unprofessional if I start dressing down.’
‘You showered at work?’
‘Yeah.’ She met his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, there was nobody there to watch me. I
Sam has liked me back. The website now loads up a new screen, a private messenger app. It shows my face on one side, and Sam’s on another, next to a little bubble that’s flashing to say that she’s typing me a message.
My stomach turns over.
The shakes stop.
TWENTY-SIX
ALEX
21:30
Alex stayed in the pub for another drink after Fergus left. That prick had looked all in control when he left, getting up and walking out all cool. Other people in the bar had seen that, and this was on Alex’s turf.
Well, ‘turf’ might be pushing it.
He’d been in here once since moving up.
But still, it was local. It could be his turf.
He could learn the bartender’s name. He could have people wave at him when he walked in, or at least a drunken nod. So he needed to save face. He shrugged after Fergus left, and made it look like he was in no hurry. He ordered another drink and leaned into the bar, like he was there for the long haul.
Halfway down the pint, he started to count how much he’d already put away. A few pints in the afternoon, to build up courage to meet with Fergus first time round. Three generous whiskies when he got home, and now on to his second pint since walking in. He yawned, and it followed through with a burp.
He looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
He’d got away with it.
Smooth.
He finished the drink and got up off the stool. The warm evening air made the alcohol wash around his eyeballs like a warm blanket. Yeah, he was drunk. But it was a pleasant kind of sauced, and it matched the evening perfectly.
Just after 9.30 p.m., and the sun was still out. The air was warm. There was an amber glow in the sky, like a giant pint of lager. This was like living in London. Alex smiled. If every day in Glasgow was like this, he wouldn’t mind living here.
Well, if it maybe didn’t have quite so many Glaswegians. That would help.
He turned and walked up the road. His house was at the top of a hill, and he’d never regretted that decision until now. Slogging up the steep incline with beer in his system and the sun on his back. He was sweating through his shirt by the time he reached the front door.
His wife’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Odd. She hadn’t mentioned being out this late. Alex let himself in and headed straight for his bar. He poured another whisky. A Lagavulin this time, sixteen years old. He may as well finish out the day in the manner it had gone so far.
He was taking his first sip when the front door opened. Kara walked in carrying her briefcase and a bag from the Chinese takeaway down on the main road.
‘Hey, babe,’ she said. ‘I guessed you wouldn’t have eaten, so I got us something.’
Two things:
Alex realised for the first time that he was starving.
Was she wearing a different top?
Alex wasn’t the most observant guy in the world when it came to noticing what his wife was wearing. Other people, sure. Like young women. He noticed what they were wearing, because he noticed what they were not wearing. But his wife? Not so much. And the real problem now was that he couldn’t ask her about it. Because there was every chance he was wrong.
He might be that guy, but he didn’t want to look like that guy.
He headed into the kitchen and picked up a couple of plates, forks and a bowl to put the prawn crackers in. He carried them through to the living room, and he and Kara met at the dining table.
Alex leaned in for a kiss, and their lips met for a few seconds. She wasn’t really into it, but that was fine, she’d been at work all day. He could understand.
Except—
‘Hey, did you have a shower?’
She smelled clean. Too clean. Soap and fresh perfume.
‘Yeah.’ She busied herself dishing the food onto plates. ‘It was a long day. You know how it is. Meetings. I get hot in the suit, but it looks unprofessional if I start dressing down.’
‘You showered at work?’
‘Yeah.’ She met his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, there was nobody there to watch me. I
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