Iain Banks Complicity

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human voice so I rang Andy because I owe him a call and I've hardly spoken to
him since he was here for a weekend during the summer but got his
answer-machine, there in the dark hotel only a couple of hundred kilometres
away though he still sounds faint and distant. I think I can hear his voice
echoing in the spaces of that quiet, cold place.
'So, been doing anything exciting?' I ask him.
'Nothing much. Bit of fishing. Been up on the hill. You know. You?'
'Oh, the usual. Fucking about. Covering the story. Hey - I've given up fags.'
'Again?'
'No, finally.'
'Right. You still fucking that married piece?'
''Fraid so,' I say (and am glad that he can't see the grimace I make when I
say this). This is awkward because Andy knows Yvonne and William from our
Stirling days; he used to be really friendly with
William and, though they seem to have gone their separate ways since, I don't
want Andy to know about me and Yvonne. I always worry he'll guess it's her.
'Yeah ... What was her name again?'
'I don't think I ever told you,' I tell him, laughing and sitting back in the
chair.
'Frightened I'll tell somebody?' he says, sounding amused.
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'Yeah. I live in perpetual fear our enormous circle of mutual friends will
find out.'
'Huh. But you should find yourself your own lady.'
'Yeah,' I say, imitating a stoned-out drawl. 'Gotta find ma own chick, like,
ma-an.'
'Well, you never did take my advice.'
'Keep trying. One day.'
'You ever go the other way these days?'
'Eh?'
'You know, with guys.'
'What? Good grief, no. I mean ... ' I look at the receiver in my hand. 'No,' I
say.
'Hey, I just wondered.'
'Why, do you
?' I ask, and then regret the tone because it sounds like I'm at least
disapproving if not actually homophobic.
'Na,' Andy says. 'Na, I don't ... I kind of ... you know, I lost interest in
all that stuff.' He chuckles, and I
imagine again that I can hear the noise echoing in the dark hotel. 'It's just,
you know; old habits die hard.'
'But they do die,' I tell him. 'Don't they?'
'I guess so. Usually.'
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'Shit,' I say, leaning forwards and starting
Despot running on the screen because I need to be doing something and normally
at this point I'd be reaching for the cigarettes. 'I was thinking about coming
up there sometime soon and dropping in on you. You're not going weird on me,
are you, Gould?'
'Cabin fever, man. Highland angst.' He laughs again. 'No, you come on up. Let
me know, like, first, but yeah; be great to see you. Look forward to it. Been
too long.'
'Well, soon then.' I use the mouse to check the game's geo-update. 'You done
anything with that fucking mansion?'
'Eh? Oh; the place.'
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'Yeah, the place.'
'No, nothing. Nothing's changed.'
'Get any of the leaks fixed?'
'No ... Oh.'
'What?'
'Tell a lie.'
'You have fixed the leaks.'
'No, I forgot; things have changed.'
'What?'
'Well, a couple of the ceilings fell down.'
'Ah-ha.'
'Well, it's wet up here.'
'Nobody hurt, though.'
'Hurt? How could anybody be hurt? There's only me here.'
'Of course. So there's plenty of room if I want to come and stay but I should
bring a golf umbrella or a waterproof sleeping bag or a tent or something,
right?'
'No, there are dry rooms here, too. Come on.'
'Okay. I don't know when I'll be coming up, but, well, before the end of the
year.'
'Why not come up, like, next week or something?'
'Ah,' I say, thinking. Hell, I could. It all depends what's happening with the
various stories I'm involved with, but theoretically I could. I need time off;
I need a change of scene. 'Okay; why not? Just for a couple of days, probably,
but yeah; pencil me in.'
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'Great. When you going to arrive?'
'Um, say Thursday or Friday. I'll confirm.'
'Okay.'
We talk a bit more, reliving old times, before I sign off.
I put the phone down and sit there with
Despot running but I'm not really paying attention, I'm thinking about my old
friend, the ice-child, our wunderkind, archetypal 'eighties player and then
victim. I was always jealous of him, always somehow yearning for what he had
even when I knew I didn't really want it.
And Andy always seemed to be elsewhere, and more involved. Two years before I
went to Stirling he'd started at St Andrew's on an Army-sponsored course and
by the time the Falklands War began he was a lieutenant in the Angus Rifles.
He yomped from San Carlos to Tumbledown, was wounded in a botched attack on an
Argentinian position and awarded a DSO. He sent the decoration back when the
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officer who'd been in charge of the attack was kicked upstairs instead of
being court-martialled. Andy left the
Army the following year, joined a big London advertising company, did well
there (he dreamt up IBM's
'Insist On Perfection - We Do' campaign and Guinness's 'Pint Taken?' slogan)
and then suddenly left to start The Gadget Shop in Covent Garden. Neither Andy
nor his partner - another ex-ad-agency man - had any retail experience [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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