Demo Page 2

  Hey, Jules – Danny’s lookin over now – leave her alane, she’s just a wean.

  No I’m no, I says.

  No, I bet you’re not, Julian says. I feel as if his eyes can see right inside me.

  She’s strictly off limits, Jules; I promised my da I’d look efter her.

  Stop talking about me like… like I’m no here, I says to Danny. And Julian gives a wee laugh. I can feel my face burnin; I must have even more of a riddy.

  Well, if Comrade Kilkenny’s decreed that his peach of a daughter’s not to be tampered with, who am I to stage a coup? Wouldn’t want to end up in a gulag now, would I? He’s smiling at me when he says this, so I smile too, a wee smile so I don’t split my coldsore again. Danny isny smilin but. He looks pissed off.

  He’s no a Stalinist, my da, so keep your fuckin insinuations to yoursel.

  Hey, man, only joking, Julian says, and he holds his hands up and jiggles his dreads. Come on, let’s go eat. Some of the other guys are meeting up in the trattoria round the corner … ah – Giovanni’s, I think it’s called.

  Danny’s like, Aye, right. Still in a bad mood. Julian’s lookin at Danny, then he winks at me and taps the side a his nose with his finger. I put my big coat on and kid on I don’t see him.

  *

  There’s loads a people in the restaurant. I know some of the faces from the bus but there’s a lot I don’t know. Danny and Julian seem to know like… everybody and Danny’s in a good mood again, huggin the lassies and clappin the guys on the back. It’s funny, he’s no the way he is at hame, Danny. There’s candles in red glass holders on the red and white checked tablecloths and all the faces are glowin.

  … This is Clare, Danny’s wee sister, Julian’s sayin to a lassie. Clare, meet my very good friend and compañera, Laetitia. Titty to those lucky enough to be admitted into a degree of intimacy with her.

  I’m thinking, Titty! What a name!

  Hi, she says, and she switches her roll-up into her left hand and holds out this wee white hand to me. She’s got short black hair and big dark brown eyes and she’s like… dead cool. No cool cool. But just… cool. Do come and join us, she says. She must come fae near Julian, cause she speaks the exact same way. She kinda like does ballet dancer hands at the empty chairs and Julian sits down beside her. I look around for Danny. He’s sittin at a crowded table across the other side talkin to the guy next to him, givin it, Kyoto Agreement, fuckin American Isolationism, arms wavin, hand choppin down on the table – the full works.

  The waiter’s goin round takin orders. I sit down next to Julian, take my arms out my coat and let it fall over the back of the seat. Julian goes, Here, let the waiter hang that up for you. And he starts to pull it out from under me.

  No you’re alright, I says, I’ll keep it in case I get cold. And I pull it round me a bit so it hides my belly. The fur round the hood tickles my back on the bare bit between my top and my jeans.

  OK, Eskimo Nell, he says and he’s got this kind of look in his eyes like he’s laughin at me. I wish Danny was sittin next to us.

  The waiter’s reached us now and he’s standin with his notebook and pencil and he says something to us in Italian. Le — Le — Titty or whatever her name is says, I’ll have the fettuccine al pesto Genovese, per favore. The waiter writes on his wee pad and says,Sì, signora.

  Julian turns to me: What about you, Clare?

  I’m like dead flustered. I’ve no even saw the menu yet. I – I… I’m just gonny say I’ll have a pizza when Julian says, We’ll have the spaghetti vongole. That alright for you, Clare? And a carafe of house red, un litro di vino rosso della casa, per favore. Sì, signore, the waiter says. I just smile up at him and say, Thanks.

  Grazie. Grazie, my dear, Julian says. It sounds like graahtsee-ay. He does a conjuror’s move with his hand. Twice. I canny be bothered to tell him I know the Italian for thank you; it’s dead like the Spanish. When in Rome, he says…

  Julian, don’t patronize the girl, Titty says. She takes a draw on her fag and blows the smoke up over the heads of the two guys at the other side of the table. Her neck’s dead white and smooth. She looks like she should be smokin thin black cigarettes out a cigarette holder instead of roll-ups, and wearin a long string a pearls with a knot in to swing in her other hand. And a shimmery silver dress with fringes. Like somebody out an old, old film. But she’s wearin a black jumper with like holes in it and there’s a green camouflage jacket and a brown scarf over the back a her chair.

  I look round the room. Some folk at the side nearest the counter are finished eatin already. They look a lot older – my da’s age mibby, some even older. They’re all talkin fast and wavin their hands about. One woman’s dead loud. She says, Mais il n’est pas VRAI! And I’m like, I know what that means! Cause I did French for two years at school. It’s not true, she’s sayin. Then a wee old guy gets up and taps the side a his wine glass and starts to speak. I canny make out much of what he’s sayin, but the folk at his table are all listenin and clappin every now and again. He looks a dead nice wee old man. Then he starts to sing:

  Debout les damnés de la terre,

  Debout les forcçats de la faim.

  La raison tonne en son crateére,

  C’est l’éruption de la fin…

  And I’m nearly joinin in cause my da learnt me that song when I was ten: … Du passé faisons table rase, Foules esclaves, debout, debout. Le monde va changer de base…

  Julian turns to Whatserface and says, Fucking French fucking communists! And I’m like dead shocked! My da’s a communist. Then he stands up and shouts out, What did your lot do to us in the Spanish Civil War, eh? Shot us, didn’t you, eh? Didn’t you? Fucking wankers!

  Julian, sit down and shut the fuck up, Whatsername says, dead low, and she pulls at his sleeve. He sits down. His face is white. Terribly sorry, old girl, he says, don’t know what got into me.

  My da’s a communist, I says. He wouldny hurt naybody.

  The folk at the French table haveny noticed anythin and the wee guy’s still singin in a quavery voice. I look over at Danny, but he’s stuffin forkfuls of pasta in his mouth and talkin to the guy beside him.

  Sorry, Clare, Julian says, I wasn’t talking about your father, of course. It’s just the old enmities. Trots and Tankies. He turns right round and looks at me and smiles.

  I look right back. I don’t smile. I keep lookin right in his eyes.

  Well, I thought we were all supposed to be marchin thegether themorrow for like World Peace, I says. And anyhow, they’re having mair fun at that table, if you ask me. I keep starin at him. He looks surprised.

  The waiter comes up then with a tray of plates and a funny-shaped bottle fulla red wine. Fettuccine pesto, signora? he says to Titsy. Grazie, she says. And he sets hers down in front of her. She’s got nay tits anyhow, as far as I can see. Due spaghetti vongole?

  Here and here, Julian says, and he points to me and hissel. Grazie. I’m lookin at my plate. There’s spaghetti and a sorta pinkish sauce over it, some onions and… like these wee kinda grey seashells. The waiter flicks his cloth over his arm and goes back to the kitchen.

  So she has opinions, the young Clare, Julian says. I like a woman who knows her own mind.

  Leave her alone, Boobsy says. Clare, pay him no heed. Eat up. And she like leans across Julian, pours some wine into my glass and flashes me a really nice smile. That’s a nasty coldsore you’ve got there; I’ve just the thing for it in my bag. I’ll find it for you when you’ve finished eating. Buon appetito.

  I look at my plate again and my stomach turns over. I’m starvin but, so I’ll have to eat some of it. I poke about in the spaghetti and try and wind it round my fork without touchin any of the shell things. I put a wee bit in my mouth. It’s no as bad as I thought. A bit fishy but no too bad. I eat some more. I’m managin to keep away fae the shells pretty good considerin, and then suddenly there’s this like… thing in my mouth. It’s rubbery and kinda squashy and it’s pure bowfin. I think I’m gonny be sick. I
hold my napkin up to my face and put the thing out with my tongue. Julian’s watchin me and he’s got that wee smile on his face again.

  Vongole not to your taste? he says. You don’t know what you’re missing. I sling him a deafie. I reach for a piece of bread out the basket in the middle of the table and spread it with butter. It tastes that good I want to cry.

  Me, I love every kind of shellfish, he says. So does Laetitia, don’t you?

  Laetitia, Laetitia, that was it! I’m no gonny forget it this time.

  Tell Clare what you compared oysters to.

  Shut up, Julian, Laetitia says. She’s only ate half her pasta and she’s rollin a fag again. I’m looking at her plate. I think she must have saw me lookin, cause she says, Would you like some of mine? I can’t finish it. And I’m like, Yes please.

  Oysters, Titty, what did you say they’re like when they slip down your lovely throat? Julian says.

  Shut up!

  A tongue in one’s cunt. That’s what she said. A tongue in one’s cunt. What d’you think of that, young Clare?

  You are an arsehole, Julian, Laetitia says.

  I don’t believe Laetitia had really says that. I mean like… use the c-word like that.

  Why are you behaving like such an arsehole? She says it like aahs -hole.

  Steady on, old girl, Julian says. Clare will begin to suspect you really like me.

  Laetitia gets up. Clare, would you like to come to the loo with me and I’ll dig out that coldsore lotion?

  She leaves her fag burning in the ashtray, picks up this bag with sequins and ribbon and bits of lace all different colours and with like badges pinned on it and she starts to squeeze out past Julian. He grabs her arm as she passes and looks up at her. His eyes are kinda shiny and he’s lickin his top lip, then bitin his bottom wan. Laetitia stops and turns to him and her eyes are black in the dim light. She takes his hand off her arm.

  You’re pissed, she says. And right enough, he’s drank most of the bottle a wine hissel.

  I get up, grab my bag and follow Laetitia. At the corner afore the lavvies I turn round. Julian’s sittin with his head down and his dreads all spillin forward onto his plate.

  Hey, Clare, Danny shouts across. Alright? He’s dead happylookin and he holds up his glass of wine to me.

  I’m fine, I says, and wave at him.

  When I get in the toilet, Laetitia’s already in one a the cubicles.

  That you, Clare? she shouts.

  Aye, I says. I go in the other one. I wait till Laetitia flushes afore I start to pee.

  By the time I come out she’s leanin ower the basin lookin into the mirror, puttin lipstick on, a sorta dark browny pink colour. She rubs her lips thegether. Then she clocks me watchin her in the mirror and smiles.

  Lipstick revolutionary, that’s me I’m afraid, Clare. Here, look. She rummages in her bag, takes out a wee tube of ointment and holds it out to me. Great for coldsores this stuff; I swear by it.

  Thanks, I says. I take the tube, set it next the basin and wash my hands. I don’t see any towel so I just shake them a bit in the sink. Then I unscrew the top of the tube. A wee white worm starts to ooze out the nozzle. I rub it on my finger and look in the mirror. My coldsore’s even worse in the fluorescent light – dead scabby. I smear the cream quick onto my lip, screw the top on again and hold out the tube. Thanks, I says.

  No, no, she says. You keep it.

  Thanks a lot, I says.

  She smiles, No need to keep thanking me. She’s dead pretty. Like really beautiful.

  What d’you think of Julian? she says, out the blue.

  I’m like, I don’t know. He’s a bit… kinda weird… is he no? Laetitia’s leanin back on the basin with her mad bag in front and her arms crossed over it. And she’s lookin… sorta into the distance, except she’s really starin at the toilet door. That stuff he says about you and like… oysters… I mean, that was pure… mental.

  She turns to me then and smiles. Yeah, she says, pure mental. Only she says pyaw. Come on, honey child, better get back out there in case they start the revolution without us. And she pushes open the door into the restaurant.

  It’s dark and like dead noisy and hot and folk are singin. We walk over to our table. Everybody’s standin up singin. I know this one too. ‘Bandiera Rossa’. I looks over at Danny; he’s givin it laldy, punchin the air. The waiters are standin with their arms folded, watchin. Julian’s no at our table but. He’s over with the wee French guy, arm in arm and they’re like conductin the whole thing with their other arms. Baith of them thegether. Julian’s dreads are hittin the baldy head a the French guy so the wee guy stops conductin and grabs a bunch of them and holds them on top a his head like a mad wig. I looks at Laetitia and she looks at me and we both start laughin. And then we sing too.

  … Avanti o populo, alla riscossa,

  Bandiera rossa trionferaà.

  ‘Bandiera rossa la trionferà,

  Bandiera rossa la trionferà,

  Bandiera rossa la trionferà,

  Evviva il socialismo la bella libertà…

  Julian and Danny are still singin on the way back to the B&B. Different songs I don’t know. They’re walkin in the middle a the street but it’s dead quiet; there’s no traffic. I’m walkin behind with Laetitia. She’s got her arm through mine and I’ve got my hands in my pockets tryin to keep warm.

  Julian starts up a new song, ‘50 Ways to Leave Your Lover’. Danny joins in.

  Oh Christ, here we go, Laetitia says. I look at her but she says nothing.

  Julian’s dancin about the road, wavin his arms.

  … slip out the back, Jack

  Make a new plan, Stan

  What’s the next bit?

  … Don’t give a fuck, Chuck…

  Naw, that’s no in it, ya bam!

  Get yourself free…

  There’s a squeaky metal noise and then a bang. A guy up above has just threw open a shutter and he’s shoutin something at us. Julian stops in the middle of the street and holds his arms up to the guy. Buona sera, signor. Che bella città! The guy looks like he’s in his vest; he shouts again then goes away back into the room. Julian’s shoutin, Signor, signor… and Danny’s tryin to pull him away. Suddenly the guy’s came back and he like… flings this water out the window. I see it kinda in slow motion, shining against the streetlights like melted gold. It just misses me and Laetitia. It splashes onto the cobbles and spatters onto our shoes and the bottoms of our jeans.

  Fucking bastard! Julian shouts. But we all start walking again. Faster this time. And Julian and Danny have stopped singin.

  The big heavy outside door of the B&B is still open, but there’s only one wee light on in the reception bit, so we talk quieter. I didny know Laetitia was stayin here as well.

  Where’s your room? she asks.

  Third floor, Danny says.

  I’m on the second.

  Come on up to ours, Danny says. There’s nay weed, but at least we can finish the wine.

  What wine? Laetitia and me says at the exact same time.

  This wine! And he pulls a full carafe out fae under his jacket like he’s doin a magic trick. It’s got a couple a red napkins stuffed in the neck so’s it willny spill.

  You clever old thing, Laetitia says.

  A man of many talents, Julian says.

  Swiped it off the French table, Danny says. It would just a went to waste otherwise. So what d’you say… your place or mine?

  Well, you’ve got the double room… lead the way.

  Yes, lead on Macduff.

  It’s ‘lay on’, Julian, Danny says.

  Well, rap my knuckles! Never could get to grips with the Scottish play. Not one of the Bard’s best, if you ask me.

  The stair’s getting darker and narrower. Laetitia’s in front. She presses a sorta round button on the wall and a light comes on.

  You’ve got an answer for everything, ya know-all cunt.

  Boys, boys! Laetitia says. Let peace break out, for goodness’
sake. Make love, not war.

  Is that an offer? Danny says. He’s got the key in the door now but he’s stopped and he’s turned to Laetitia. It’s funny but, when I’m lookin at him lookin at Laetitia, it’s like he’s no my brother. He’s quite handsome. My pals at school say that: Your brother’s gorgeous. And I laugh, cause… well, he’s my brother. Now he’s lookin at Laetitia as if there’s naybody else there. He’s got my ma’s green eyes with like dead long dark lashes. My ma used to say, It’s no fair, they lashes are wasted on a boy. But she was always smilin when she said it.

  The stairlight clicks off. Come on, let us in for Christsake! I’m dying for a smoke, Laetitia says. You can just see her face kinda whitish in the dark.

  Danny opens the door. Welcome to the humble Kilkenny abode, he says, and we all pile in. The room looks dead neat and white except for my bed. The duvet’s crumpled and my book and my big red T-shirt for sleepin in are lyin on it.

  OK, let’s see what we’ve got for drinkin outay, Danny says, and he goes into the bathroom. Two here. He comes out with the toothbrush glasses from the metal circles above the sink. What else?

  There’s this, I says, and I pick up my empty Diet Coke can.

  Great, and one ay us can drink out the bottle. What d’you say, Clare, shall we give the best crystal to our guests? He sounds just like Julian. I look round at Julian but he’s went dead quiet. He’s sitting on Danny’s bed wae a face like fizz. His dreads are spread out over his shoulders and he’s no even took off his jacket yet.

  Danny pours some wine into one of the toothbrush glasses and hands it to Laetitia. She’s sittin on my bed on top a her jacket with her bag on her knee, rollin a fag. She takes the wine off Danny and sets it on the wee table beside the bed.

  Roll one for me, will you? Julian says.