Naming the Bones Read Online Free PDF Page A

Murray lowered the tray onto the table then unloaded the cups, slopping a little of the black coffee onto its saucer.
    ‘Sorry that was so long, there’s a big queue.’
    Meikle gave the shortbread a stern look. ‘If one of those is for me, you’ve wasted your money.’
    ‘Watching your figure?’
    ‘Diabetes. Diagnosed three years ago.’
    A vision of his father flashed into Murray’s head. He wrapped the shortbread in a paper serviette and slid it into the pocket of his jacket.
    ‘That’s not much fun.’
    ‘Eat your bloody biscuit.’ Impatience made George’s voice loud. One of the yummy mummies turned a hard stare on them, but he ignored her. ‘Biscuits I can stand. It’s the booze I find hard to watch folk with, and I’ve been off that twenty years.’
    ‘Since Archie went.’
    Meikle shook his head.
    ‘You’ve got the bit between your teeth, right enough.’ He leaned forward. ‘An unhealthy obsession with your subject may be an advantage in your line, but remember Lunan only touched a small portion of my life. I’m sixty-five now, due for retirement at the end of the year. I’ve not seen Archie since we were nigh-on twenty-six. My quitting the drink had nothing to do with him. It was necessary, that’s all.’
    Murray held up his hands in surrender.
    ‘Like you say, it’s a bit of an obsession.’ He took his tape recorder from his rucksack and set it on the table. ‘Do you have any objection to me recording our chat?’
    ‘Do what you have to.’
    Murray hit Record and beyond the window of the small machine cogs began to roll, scrolling their voices onto the miniature tape.
    ‘So what was he like?’
    George’s face froze in a frown, like an Edwardian gentleman waiting on the flash of a camera.
    ‘When I knew him he was a great guy.’
    Murray rewound the tape and pressed Play. George’s voice repeated against the backdrop of café noise, When I knew him he was a great guy.
    ‘Jesus, I hope you’re not going to do that every time I say something.’
    The young mother gave George another look. This time he held her gaze until she glanced away. He muttered, ‘You’d think no one ever had a fucking bairn before.’
    Murray bit the head off one of the elephants and pressed Record again.
    ‘So what made him a great guy?’
    Meikle answered with a question of his own.
    ‘What do you know about Archie?’
    ‘The work. Basic stuff, where he was born, his death of course, and a few things in-between. I’ve been interested in him since I was sixteen, but I’m only starting serious research into his life now.’
    ‘Have you talked to Christie?’
    ‘I’ve corresponded with her. She’s promised to meet me.’
    ‘And do you think she will?’
    ‘I hope so.’
    George nodded his head.
    ‘Fair enough.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure what it is you want to know.’
    ‘Whatever you want to tell me. First impressions. You said he was a great guy, what was so great about him? Did he consider himself a poet when you knew him?’
    George raised the mug slowly to his mouth, as if it wasn’t the drink he wanted so much as the thinking time. He cradled the cup in his hands for a moment, then set it down, running a finger thoughtfully along the rim, rubbing away a thin brown stain of coffee.
    ‘When I first met Archie he didn’t know what he was. I mean I think he knew that he wanted to be a poet when he was in his pram. He was always straight about that, but he still wasn’t sure about who he was. He was a west-coaster like yourself, but he was living here in Edinburgh and he’d spent his early years on one of the islands, so his accent would scoot about north, east and west.’
    ‘Everywhere except the south.’
    Meikle laughed.
    ‘That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. You don’t find many Scotsmen aspiring to come from the south, not the ones who stay, anyway. But what I meant was his voice reflected the way he was, unsettled, always trying out new personas. ’
    ‘So would you