the distance, a man shouted, 'Why don't you go and boke on your own house, you fucker!'
When Davie had got up as much as he was going to get up, I helped him to his feet, and guided him out of the lane and back along the main street. I glanced warily back towards the house where we'd broken the window, but there was no sign of activity. Davie staggered sideways. I kept on his right, trying to stop him from falling off the path onto the road. There weren't many cars about in Groomsport at this time of night, but it only took one.
I'd known Davie was pissed, but thought he'd still be pretty much in control of himself. Now I remembered that he had always been like this: the life and soul one minute, completely comatose the next. I'd presumed he'd grown out of it, rather than into it.
'She's a fuckin' bitch,' Davie slurred.
'She was just worried about her house.'
'Not her, not fuckin' her.'
We staggered on a bit.
'Who then?' I said.' And where are we going?'
'My house. My house. Really. My house. Just up here.'
We turned a corner. Davie had forgotten what we were talking about. I'd confused him with two questions in one.' Who's a bitch?' I asked again.
'She is. My fuckin' girlfriend. My fuckin' fiancée.'
'Your fiancée?'
'Fiancée? Yeah, that's a laugh.'
'Davie, what are you talking about?'
I should have left it. I should have just let him slabber on, got him home, had a good night's sleep, woken up with a hangover, collected my car and gotten the hell out of there. I was past all this. I wasn't exactly grown-up myself, but I was more grown-up than Davie. I should have just shut my mouth there and then. Possibly none of the shit that happened later would have happened.
But I was — I am — a glutton for punishment.
'Davie — what friggin' fiancée?'
He stopped then and grabbed my shoulders, and for a moment I feared he was going to be sick over me. But he merely used me as leverage to push himself into a more erect position. He sucked in a lungful of the fresh sea air. The eyes seemed to rotate in his head for a moment, as if deciding whether to okay a complete collapse or grant a moment of clarity.
Clarity came through.
Davie squeezed my shoulders. For a few moments his eyes were as focused as mine. That is, partially.
'Joe Strummer is dead, Dan.'
'I know.'
'It's a tragedy.'
'I know, Davie.'
'Joe Strummer is dead and I was supposed to get married next week. But the cow's run off.'
Davie and a girl and marriage. It was the first mention of it all night.' Seriously?' I asked.
'Would I joke about something like that?'
'Yes, frankly.'
'Well, I'm not fuckin' jokin'. I'm not fuckin' jokin', Dan. She ran off.'
He shook his head, then slowly folded to the ground. He was sick again, then lay still on the pavement, his face inches from a puddle of boke. I tried to pick him up, but he was a dead weight.
'Davie,' I said, 'you gotta get up. You gotta get home.'
'Uuuuuugh . . .'
I sat down on the kerb. It was the sort of night a sailor would call fresh, and the rest of us fucking freezing. I pulled up my jacket collar and looked at Davie. My mate. I couldn't imagine him being married. Neither, apparently, could his fiancée.
I took out my mobile and phoned Trish.
'Is the car all right?' were her first words.
'Yes, the car's fine, and thanks for your concern.'
'It's the voice of experience, Dan. Where are you? What's wrong?'
'Nothing's wrong. I'm sitting on a kerb freezing my bollocks off.'
'Where's . . . Davie?'
'He's lying on the footpath, sleeping.'
'Right. I see. So why are you calling exactly?'
'For moral support, mainly. Am I within my rights to just leave him here? I can get a taxi home.'
'Don't even think about it,' Trish said firmly.' You're responsible for him.'
'But he's irresponsible.'
'Kettle, pot and black are three words that spring immediately to mind. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to sleep. Get your act together, Dan, do the right thing. You know you can't be a dad if you
When Davie had got up as much as he was going to get up, I helped him to his feet, and guided him out of the lane and back along the main street. I glanced warily back towards the house where we'd broken the window, but there was no sign of activity. Davie staggered sideways. I kept on his right, trying to stop him from falling off the path onto the road. There weren't many cars about in Groomsport at this time of night, but it only took one.
I'd known Davie was pissed, but thought he'd still be pretty much in control of himself. Now I remembered that he had always been like this: the life and soul one minute, completely comatose the next. I'd presumed he'd grown out of it, rather than into it.
'She's a fuckin' bitch,' Davie slurred.
'She was just worried about her house.'
'Not her, not fuckin' her.'
We staggered on a bit.
'Who then?' I said.' And where are we going?'
'My house. My house. Really. My house. Just up here.'
We turned a corner. Davie had forgotten what we were talking about. I'd confused him with two questions in one.' Who's a bitch?' I asked again.
'She is. My fuckin' girlfriend. My fuckin' fiancée.'
'Your fiancée?'
'Fiancée? Yeah, that's a laugh.'
'Davie, what are you talking about?'
I should have left it. I should have just let him slabber on, got him home, had a good night's sleep, woken up with a hangover, collected my car and gotten the hell out of there. I was past all this. I wasn't exactly grown-up myself, but I was more grown-up than Davie. I should have just shut my mouth there and then. Possibly none of the shit that happened later would have happened.
But I was — I am — a glutton for punishment.
'Davie — what friggin' fiancée?'
He stopped then and grabbed my shoulders, and for a moment I feared he was going to be sick over me. But he merely used me as leverage to push himself into a more erect position. He sucked in a lungful of the fresh sea air. The eyes seemed to rotate in his head for a moment, as if deciding whether to okay a complete collapse or grant a moment of clarity.
Clarity came through.
Davie squeezed my shoulders. For a few moments his eyes were as focused as mine. That is, partially.
'Joe Strummer is dead, Dan.'
'I know.'
'It's a tragedy.'
'I know, Davie.'
'Joe Strummer is dead and I was supposed to get married next week. But the cow's run off.'
Davie and a girl and marriage. It was the first mention of it all night.' Seriously?' I asked.
'Would I joke about something like that?'
'Yes, frankly.'
'Well, I'm not fuckin' jokin'. I'm not fuckin' jokin', Dan. She ran off.'
He shook his head, then slowly folded to the ground. He was sick again, then lay still on the pavement, his face inches from a puddle of boke. I tried to pick him up, but he was a dead weight.
'Davie,' I said, 'you gotta get up. You gotta get home.'
'Uuuuuugh . . .'
I sat down on the kerb. It was the sort of night a sailor would call fresh, and the rest of us fucking freezing. I pulled up my jacket collar and looked at Davie. My mate. I couldn't imagine him being married. Neither, apparently, could his fiancée.
I took out my mobile and phoned Trish.
'Is the car all right?' were her first words.
'Yes, the car's fine, and thanks for your concern.'
'It's the voice of experience, Dan. Where are you? What's wrong?'
'Nothing's wrong. I'm sitting on a kerb freezing my bollocks off.'
'Where's . . . Davie?'
'He's lying on the footpath, sleeping.'
'Right. I see. So why are you calling exactly?'
'For moral support, mainly. Am I within my rights to just leave him here? I can get a taxi home.'
'Don't even think about it,' Trish said firmly.' You're responsible for him.'
'But he's irresponsible.'
'Kettle, pot and black are three words that spring immediately to mind. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to sleep. Get your act together, Dan, do the right thing. You know you can't be a dad if you
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