R.I.P Robbie Silva by Tony Black Page B

backwards.
    ' Y'wha–? ' Thought my luck was in for sure. Then she produced a chain with a car key on it and grinned all over me. I felt like a right tube.
    'What about your mates?' I said.
    'Who?'
    I nodded to the pair she'd just left standing at the bar. They looked away when they saw there was some attention on them.
    She laughed. 'That's my half -brother and my old man ...'
    'Keep you on a tight leash, do they?'
    She arked up a bit at that, turned tail and headed for the door. As she went she clocked me over her shoulder, nodded follow. I downed the last of my Tennent's (I know, I know – but I'll be fucked if I'm drinking that Hun piss McEwan's) and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
    When I think about it now, I must have looked a wee bit too keen on the prospect ahead of me because Gail started to laugh as she went, her shoulders bobbing up and down so much that she lost her footing and staggered into a table ... funny creatures, women.
    The BMW started first time.
    Nice set of wheels. Always loved the seBeemers, but I was thinking this was a hell of a lot of car for a girl of her age and station ... though I really hadn't a scoobie about her station at this stage. She looked all right, I mean dressed all right and all that, she could have been working in some office, one of the Standard Lifers or what have you, but this was the middle of the day. She was no dole mole that was for sure so she must have been collecting a wedge somewhere, somehow. There's a few of that sort in Edinburgh – strangers to a day's work – though mainly they're English students doing a masters in daytime telly and hand-shandies at mammy and daddy's expense. Chuggers, town's full of them.
    ' Nice motor, ' I said.
    ' It's a fucking h eap!' She flicked her hair back, those dark-blonde curls making waves over her shoulders . She didn't seem overly interested in anything I had to say; seemed like she was already decided on me without having sussed me out much at all. Or maybe she had; thing I found out about Gail later was, she liked her split decisions. I watched her turn the key in the ignition and then she went, 'I'm hungry, let's eat.'
    She t ook us to Maccy Dees on London Road . I felt like a lottery winner driving down the road in a flash Beemer with a fit bit . The fun factory seemed a long way away. The road that had led there was even further away, forgotten, wiped out. I wanted to be spotted by some of the old crew – Jamie Dees or Whitey or Fanny Bass – anyone that knew me, just to have them turn head and give them a wee bit of something to yak about in the pub later on. I'd have got a blast out of that back then; showing off. Boys are all about showing off.
    'Wha t you want?' said Gail .
    I was a bit low on the green folding stuff, had been lifted with a wad of Jimmy Denners and forty Regal but came out with two-bob and a fag-coupon. Fucking screws. All thieving bastards, I tell you. If they're not introducing you to the slippery steps, they're rifling your pockets for snout and coin. Said, 'I'm all right , thanks.'
    'Not even a Coke?' she promptly produced a stack that would have settled a small nation's debts, said, 'Sure? ... It's on me.'
    I smiled, 'Maybe a Coke, then .'
    She ordered herself a Big Mac, sprung for the 'Go Large' option when asked. As she leaned over she exposed her lower back above her hot-pants ... how did she stay in shape and eat like that ? Something wasn't right there ... was she for real? Was any of this?
    On the way out the gates of Saughton I was as flat as a tack: expecting a long stretch of sofa surfing, maybe hawking my arse for a labouring job on some new rabbit-hutch housing site in Midlothian or somewhere if I was lucky, but here I was in a flashy motor with this Gail bit and ... well, it was beyond the beyonds.
    We drove to Holyrood Park, pulled up next to the swan pond . Tourists were taking pictures, scores of them headed for Arthur's Seat in a long shaky ant-line . I shook my head. Some