Flower of Scotland Read Online Free PDF Page B

his stick thin body swamped by the clothing, his ribs standing proud from his chest in the two inches of flesh showing at his neck. His cheeks and eyes sunk far back into his skull, and his hair hung lankly over a liver-spotted scalp. In his right hand he held a lit cigarette, and in his left he clung tightly to a pole and the attached intravenous drip. He waved at me feebly, then went back to trying to work up enough energy to suck on the cigarette.
    I kept a close eye on him… he looked like he might keel over into the pond at any moment.
    I got my cigarettes out of my pocket, but my hands shook, so much so that when I took out my lighter it jiggled free and fell with a plop into the pond.
    The old man waved me over.
    "I’ve got a light if you need one."
    I went and sat beside him.
    Sick as he was, his hands were steadier than mine. He lit my cigarette for me and handed it over.
    "Let me guess," he said, wheezing. "Accident?"
    "How did you know?"
    "I’ve been in this place long enough," he said. He tried to laugh, but got a coughing fit instead. "Besides, you’ve got a cut on your forehead, your clothes are dishevelled, and you walk like you’ve got minor whiplash injuries."
    I sucked at the cigarette, filling up, trying not to think about the crash of metal on metal, the sparkle of windshield glass in headlights or the blood on the road.
    "What are you… a doctor?"
    This time he did manage a laugh.
    "No. But I know hospitals. Have you got time for a story?"
    I nodded. I had more time than I knew how to deal with.
    We blew smoke at each other as the old man started to talk.
    The night my life changed… the 30th of January all those years ago… started like many others. I left another dull chemistry lecture and had a few pints of beer. I　was several sheets into the wind and that was always a recipe for disaster, especially when I hadn’t told my girlfriend Liz that I was going to be late.
    I got involved in a darts match, and I was having fun, even although I　was so bad at the game that I　was the one who ended up buying most of the drinks. At some point in the evening the barman called me over and offered me the phone handset.
    "It’s your girlfriend," he said. "She says she needs you right now."
    The drink spoke for me.
    "Tell her she needs her head examined. I’ll be back when I’m good and ready."
    And so help me, I enjoyed myself. While she sat in an empty flat and decided on the future course of our lives, I　enjoyed myself. I　drank a lot of beer, I　sang bawdy songs about the Mayor of Bayswater’s daughter, and the hairs on her dickie-die-doh, and only have a vague memory of getting back to the flat.
    I’ll never forget the next hour, though.
    I　wandered into the kitchen, bumping into tables and knocking over chairs. That took a minute.
    I　put on the kettle, and stood beside it while it boiled. That took three minutes.
    I took the coffee into the front room and watched the end of the late night news while smoking a cigarette. Ten minutes.
    The beer told my bladder it needed to get out. I　put down my coffee and got out of the chair… slowly. I　wasn’t very steady. One minute.
    She lay in the bath, and she had used my razor on her wrists her ankles and her throat. She hadn’t wanted to make any mistakes. This wasn’t a cry for help… she’d tried that earlier, and I　hadn’t answered. For the past fifteen minutes she’d been dying.
    The old man started to wheeze, and when I looked over, I saw tears glisten in his eyes. He wiped them away, and lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old.
    They took her to a hospital. Not this one, but not too far different. She was so close to death I could smell it on her, and I ran… ran out of that antiseptic hell and out into the night where I too could seek some strength in a cigarette.
    He stopped again and looked at me.
    "Is it bad?" he asked.
    I knew immediately what he asked. I nodded.
    "Coma. She might never wake up."
    Once more there