the chemistry, stops working in your brain, that’s it; no more. You’re history.’
‘That’s defeatist! That’s small-minded!’
He shook his head. ‘No. What you’re proposing is,’ he said, slurring his words a little. He pointed one finger at me. ‘You’re too frightened to admit how big everything else is, what the scales of the universe are, compared to ours; distance and time. You can’t accept that individually, we’re microscopic; here for an eye-blink. Might be heading for better things, but no guarantees. Trouble is, people can’t believe they’re not the centre of things, so they come up with all these pathetic stories about God and life after death and life before birth, but that’s cowardice. Sheer cowardice. And because it’s the product of cowardice, it promotes it; “The Lord is my shepherd”. Thanks a fucking lot. So we’ve to live like sheep. Cowardice and cruelty. But everything’s okay, because we’re doing the Lord’s work. Fuck the silicosis, get down that mine and work, nigger; Aw shucks; sure we skinned her alive and threw her in the salt pans, but we were only doing it to save her soul. Lordy lordy, gimme that old time religion and original sin. Another baby for perdition ... Shit; original sin? What sick fuckwit thought that one up?’
Dad drained his glass and put it down on the glass-topped table between us. ‘Feel sorry for yourself because your friend’s dead if you want, Prentice,’ he said, suddenly calm and sober. ‘But don’t try to dignify it with what’s supposed to be metaphysical angst; it’s also known as superstitious shit, and you weren’t brought up to speak that language.’
‘Well, thanks for the fucking censorship, dad!’ I yelled. I jumped up and slammed my own glass down. The table top cracked; a single big flaw crossed, deep and green and not quite straight, like a dull ribbon of silk somehow suddenly embedded in the thick glass, from one edge of the table to the other, almost underneath our tumblers.
Dad stared at it then snorted, chuckling. ‘Hey, yeah! A symbol.’ He shook his head, glum, muttering as he sat back: ‘Hate the fuckers.’
I hesitated, looking at the cracked glass, instinct - or training - telling me to apologise, but then did what I’d intended to do, and set about storming out of the room.
‘Just fuck off, dad,’ I said before I slammed the door.
He looked up, pursed his lips and nodded, as though I’d asked him to remember and put the lights out before he went to bed. ‘Yup; okay.’ He waved one hand. ‘Night.’
I lay in bed seething, thinking of all the smart things I should have said, until I fell into a troubled sleep. I woke early and left before anybody else was up, driving my hangover back to Glasgow and shouting at caravans that got in my way, and that was the last meaningful, full and frank exchange of views with my dad that I ever had.
‘I wish he hadn’t died right now,’ I said. I didn’t look at Lewis. I was still looking at Jimmy Turrock, asleep against the wheel of his council digger. ‘I wish I could - I wish we could have started talking again.’ One of the two flies exploring the cotton landscape of Jimmy’s shirt suddenly buzzed up to his forehead. His snoring hesitated, then went on. ‘It was so stupid.’ I shook my head. ‘I was so stupid.’
‘Yeah,’ Lewis said after a bit. ‘Well, that’s just the way it is, Prentice. You weren’t to know.’ I heard Lewis sigh. ‘There was something I wish I’d told him, too. Could have said, over the phone, end of last week.’
I looked at Lewis. ‘Oh yeah?’
Lewis looked awkward. He crossed his arms and sucked at his bottom lip. He glanced at me. ‘Were you really that ... you know; keen on Verity? I mean; are you?’
I kicked my heels against the sides of the grave, checked out a couple of tree roots we’d have to tackle before we could dig much deeper. I shrugged. ‘Ah, it was just infatuation, I suppose. I mean, you know, I’ll always like her, but... all that stuff at New Year ... that was ... well, partly the drink, but ... mostly just sibling rivalry; sibling jealousy,’ I said. We both grinned. He still looked awkward. This time, instead of sucking his bottom lip, he bit his top one.
I knew, just like that.
‘You are getting married,’ I said, gulping.
Lewis looked at me with wide eyes. - ‘She’s pregnant?’ I spluttered,