I thought I’d meet him. I’d no idea how many trains went from Glasgow to Manchester every day, but Joe was always going to be on mine. He crashed down, breath strong with beer. Nothing I could do. Couldn’t tell him to fuck off. I offered him a fag, lit his, lit mine. ‘Good holiday?’ he said.
‘Aye. You?’
‘Shite. No-one’s around, no-one tae have fun with. City full of women, weans and old yins. Same in Teuchterland?’
‘Aye. One pal was home, leg blown off.’
I looked at him. Still no idea what to do. Willie said you stand by your pals no matter what. A mate’s a mate. End of.
‘Any idea how long we’re in Manchester?’ he said.
‘No. It’s an Air Crew Despatch Centre, so I guess we’re there until they despatch us.’
‘Overseas, eh? Sun, flying and dusky maidens. Where dae you think we’ll go?’
‘No idea.’
‘I know that, you’re no fucking Bomber Harris, but you must have thoughts.’
Too many. ‘America would be nice.’
‘Jazz.’
‘Hey,’ said Joe, ‘if we’re in Manchester more than a couple of days, we should see about getting the band back together.’
And have you behind me, where I can’t see you? ‘Doubt Terry will be up for it.’
‘Like a bloody woman, that one. Mood swings, silent treatment. Hopefully a fortnight in the valleys will have sorted him out. Couple of turns with an experienced sheep and he’ll be right as rain. Any idea what was wrong with him, anyway?’
‘What?’ Was he being serious?
‘He was acting like every day was his time of the month. Nearly had tae give him a slap a couple of times.’
What was wrong with him? ‘He was angry with you, Joe.’
‘With me? Why?’
‘Over the whole Clive business.’
‘That wasnae the problem. That was the, what’s it called? The symptom.’
I had no idea what he was going on about. ‘Joe, that thing with Clive, that affected us all. We were all caught up in it. And then with how it ended up—’
‘That was a fucking accident, Jack,’ he said leaning over and stabbing me with his finger.
‘Aye, fine, but you have to realise not everyone has the same attitude to violence as you do.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘There are babies everywhere, frightened by a little blood, scared of a little pain. I’m looking at one now. But that’s no Terry. He’s no a fucking milksop like you, Jack. He couldn’t give a damn about Clive. If he’s cheesed off at me and no just taking it out on me, then it’s for something other than giving Clive what he deserved.’