34. Present Day – January
34
PRESENT DAY – JANUARY
SCOTT
I watch the headlights of the vintage yellow Beetle fade into the night before shutting and locking the door behind me.
Fuck.
I thump the chairs and stools up onto the tables as I finish clearing up.
Fuck.
I had no idea tonight would be so hard.
I’m not even sure what the worst part was. Seeing Josie in that ridiculous apron and dress combo and not being able to do anything about it.
Feeling her so close to me as I undid the knot, feeling her body, her heat, through her layers, and not being able to do anything about it.
Seeing other schmucks fawn over her, and not being able to do anything about it.
Seeing her furious, walking away from me, and not being able to do anything about it.
Or seeing her completely out of it. I could have done something about that. Should have cut her off sooner, but I’d lost track of who’d served her what, and let’s face it, I struggle to say no to that woman.
My arms feel heavy. My legs as if I’m wading through treacle. I wish I could hold her, check she’s okay, look after her. Say sorry. I’ll have to settle for the memory of clutching her to me as I carried her to her car. Wrapping my jacket over her, instead of my arms, to keep her warm. It’ll have to be enough.
I head up to my apartment and flick up the screen of my laptop.
It’s become a nightly routine, watching one or two of the videos of Marcus and I when we were younger. I’m rationing myself. I know once I’ve seen them all, there won’t be any new memories to add. That’ll be it.
Jacklads, we’d called it, and made the videos into a series, as if MTV or someone was going to buy the rights to them.
We were loose. Absolute twerps. And part of me feels increasingly appalled by our schemes. But a small part of me, one I’d forgotten about, watches with something like pride, revelling in how carefree and full of life we were. Marcus was wild . Untameable. Perhaps, deep down, he knew he only had a little bit of time to live a whole life.
Tonight’s offering is a series of clips where we try to interview each other while sucking on helium. Stupid questions like, would you rather have four arms or four legs? We’d both agreed on four arms. As I watch it, I remember recording it, the memory previously lost to time.
‘If you could be any animal, what would you be?’ I squeal out like a cartoon character.
Marcus’s high-pitched, ‘An eagle, man. Those motherfuckers are badass,’ makes me laugh.
‘That’s why I like my motorbike,’ he continues, getting squeakier as I laugh at him, ‘It’s close to flying.’
‘Dude,’ I rasp back, ‘why don’t you learn to fly, if you want to feel like you’re flying?’
You can’t hear anything else as we descend into piercing laughter, rolling around on the floor — teenage idiots who know they’re being filmed. I smile at my young, ridiculous self.
My phone pings, the message interrupting my reminiscence, and I pause the video.
Nate
Got you a late Christmas present.
Scott
You gave me socks.
Nate
Nah. I told you that was a holding gift until I worked out what to get you.
Nate
[image]
A photo comes through. A snap of something written down. I try to zoom in on the screen, and read the loopy handwriting on what looks like a voucher.
Fuck. My heart stutters. He can’t be serious.