RIVER CLYDE by Simone Buchholz

Author:Simone Buchholz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orenda Books
Published: 2022-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

SHOT IN THE BELLY

Time’s completely slipped away from me in this joint with its complicated name. Really no idea where all that went, but it’s nearly seven. I just sat there, talked a bit to Stepanovic, then ate a plate of hot-as-hell mussels and drank four glasses of rosé, that was it, and now it’s the evening and I’m disoriented, walking through the streets and trying to superimpose the two Glasgows on each other, the one from yesterday, the unwieldy, big-hearted East End, and the one from today, the postmodern streets where chains of fairy lights continue to grow undaunted out of the asphalt and up the tenements, they’re everywhere, between the shop windows, between the flower tubs on the pavements. I’m on Great Western Road, which runs dead straight, towards the sunset. There’s nothing wrong with sunset as an idea, but something is amiss all the same. I could do with a beer while I think about it.

And then someone says my name.

‘Hey, Riley.’

I stop.

CJ.

‘Hey, CJ.’

Tattoos as before, clothes completely different, he’s wearing a black suit and a white shirt, with a thin, black tie and a distinct after-hours face.

‘Why are you dressed like that?’ I ask.

‘I was helping out in a hotel bar.’

‘Oh right,’ I say, but I’m not really concentrating.

‘Have you had a few already?’ he asks.

‘Well, kind of,’ I say.

‘OK,’ he says, ‘are you coming?’

‘Where?’ I ask.

‘The Doublet,’ he says, ‘you’ll like it.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a proper pub. And the beer’s cheap.’

‘Even cheaper than at your place?’

‘For God’s sake,’ he says. ‘But considering the posh bit we’re in right now … What are you doing here anyway?’

‘I went to see a solicitor, and then I ate something,’ I say.

‘Well done, you ate something, good girl. Come on, let’s go to the Doublet.’

He takes me by the shoulders and turns me round.

‘This way.’

We walk back along the street I just came down. Great Western Road.

‘Where does that go?’ I ask, pointing behind me, towards the sunset.

‘The Highlands,’ he says. ‘I haven’t got a motor or I’d drive you.’

‘I didn’t come for the sights,’ I say.

‘True,’ he says, ‘you came for the beer.’

He gets a look from me, but like, fuck you, CJ.

We’ve got the evening sun at our backs, I feel like a pack of wolves is following us, but I act like it’s nothing.

The Doublet is a small, dingy pub with sticky tables. There’s no music and above the bar is a sign which says that singing is strictly forbidden. CJ introduces me to all kinds of people whose names I instantly forget. I’ve already had four glasses of what’s-its-name wine, haven’t I. CJ gets us two beers and we sit at a table in the corner, the wolves settle down on a bench by the door.

‘I like it here,’ I say.

He looks at me.

‘You’ve got a solicitor?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘haven’t you?’

‘I’ve never needed one so far, I always sort that kind of stuff out myself.’

The wolves look over at us.

‘I could manage perfectly well without the guy,’ I say.

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