was some sort of weird cosmic energy beaming out of a geriatric shrub in a back-end-of-nowhere Scottish graveyard on a wet Monday night probably hasn’t the wit to lie about it.
‘Naw, she’s great, I mean really really great. I’m in love. I love her; I’m hers. Verity; take me; put me out of my misery. O God ...’
I was drunk. It was getting on towards midnight in the Jacobite bar and at my normal rate of drinking that meant I’d had about ten pints of export. Ash and Dean Watt, and another couple of old pals, Andy Langton and Lizzie Polland, had all drunk about the same as I had, but then they’d been home for their tea and they hadn’t been swilling back the Urvill’s whisky for a significant part of the afternoon.
‘So have you told her, Prentice?’ Ash said, putting down another set of pints on the pocked copper table we were hunched around.
‘Ah, Ash,’ I said, slapping the table. ‘I admire a woman who can carry three pints at the same time.’
‘I said, have you told this lassie you love her, Prentice?’ Ash said, sitting down. She took a bottle of strong cider from one breast pocket of her navy shirt, and a glass of whisky from the other.
‘Wow!’ I said. ‘Ash! I mean, like; wow! Wicked.’ I shook my head, took up my old pint and finished it.
‘Answer the lassie,’ Dean said, nudging me.
‘No, I haven’t,’ I confessed.
‘Ya coward,’ said Lizzie.
‘I’ll tell her for you if you like,’ Droid offered (there is an entire generation of Andrews with the shared nickname of Droid, post Star Wars).
‘Na,’ I said. ‘But she is just fabulous. I mean -’
‘Why not tell her?’ Liz asked.
‘I’m shy,’ I sighed, hand on heart, eyes heaven-ward, lashes fluttering.
‘Get out a here.’
‘So tell her,’ Ash said.
‘Also,’ I sighed. ‘She’s got a boyfriend.’
‘Ah-ha,’ Ash said, looking at her pint.
I waved one hand dismissively. ‘But he’s a wanker.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ Liz said.
I frowned. ‘Actually, that’s the only flaw Verity seems to have; her lousy taste in men.’
‘So you are in with a chance then?’ Liz said brightly.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I think she’s going to chuck him.’
‘Prentice,’ Ash insisted, tapping the table. ‘ Tell her.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I wouldn’t know how to,’ I protested. ‘I’ve never told anybody I love them before. I mean, how do you? The words sound so corny, so devalued. It’s so ... it’s just such a cliche.’
Ash looked scornful. ‘What rubbish.’
‘Well, smarty-pants,’ I said, leaning over to her. ‘Have you ever told anybody you love them?’
‘Hundreds of times, darling.’ Ash said in a deep voice, pouting. Dean guffawed. Ash drank from her pint, then shook her head. ‘Well, actually, no.’
‘Ha!’ I said.
Ash leaned over to me, her long nose almost touching mine. ‘Tell the girl, you idiot.’
‘I can’t,’ I said, sitting back. ‘I just can’t. She’s too perfect.’
‘ What?’ Ash frowned.
‘Infallible. Too perfect; ideal.’
‘Sounds like misogynist romantic shite to me,’ snorted Liz, who’s always taken a hard line on such things.
‘It is,’ I admitted. ‘But she’s just incredible. D’you know where she was conceived?’
Dean and Ash exchanged looks; Andy spluttered into his beer while Lizzie rolled her eyes. ‘Aw yeah,’ Dean said, nodding and looking quite serious. ‘Doesn’t everybody?’
I was shocked, and almost cut short my next gulp of beer. ‘You don’t really, do you?’
‘Course not, Prentice,’ Ash said shaking her head. Her long fair hair spilled from over one shoulder. ‘What diff -’
‘Aw, it’s just incredible,’ I told them. ‘Her mum told me; Aunt Charlotte. Bit of a nutter, but okay. I mean totally aff her heid really, but anyway -’ I took another gulp of beer, ‘- she had this thing about psychic energy or some crap like that ... and about Scottish history -’
‘Aw; runs in the family, does it, Prentice?’ Dean asked.
‘Naw; she’s not a McHoan ... anyway; she’d married this English guy called Walker and they hadn’t consummated the marriage, right, not on their wedding night; she wanted to wait, and when they did get it together she made sure it was in this wee village called Fortingall, right? Near Loch Tay. Thing is, she’d heard something about Fortingall being where Pontius Pilate -’
‘Wait a minute,’ Dean said. ‘How long was it between them getting married and them humping?’
‘Eh?’ I scratched my head. ‘I don’t know; a day or two. Oh! I mean, they’d done it before, like. It wasn’t their first time or anything. It was just Aunt Charlotte’s idea that it’d be more special