The Wasp Factory Page 0,38

shadow came from the right of me. I looked round to see Jamie.

‘Haw - ha - ha -’ he gasped, putting one hand on another pump to steady himself as he bent over a little and looked at his feet, the other hand on a knee, his chest heaving. ‘Here - ha - here - ha - here you - ha - are. Fffwwaaw . . .’ He sat down on the plinth supporting the pumps and stared at the dark glass of the office for a while. I sat, too, slumped against the pump, letting the last drops fall free. I stumbled back and sat down heavily on the plinth, then staggered upright and pulled my cords back up.

‘What did you do that for?’ Jamie said, still panting.

I waved at him, struggling to do my belt up. I was starting to feel sick again, getting magnified wafts of pub smoke off my clothes.

‘Saw—’ I started to say ‘Sorry’, then the word turned into a heave. That anti-social part of my brain suddenly thought about the greasy eggs and bacon again and my stomach geysered. I doubled up, retching and heaving, feeling my guts contract like a balling fist inside me; involuntary, alive, like a woman must feel with a kicking child. My throat was rasped with the force of the jet. Jamie caught me as I almost fell over. I stood there like a half-opened penknife, splattering the forecourt noisily. Jamie shoved one hand down the back of my cords to keep me from falling on my face, and put the other hand on to my forehead, murmuring something. I went on being sick, my stomach starting to hurt badly now; my eyes were full of tears, my nose was running and my whole head felt like a ripe tomato, ready to burst. I fought for breath between heaves, snatching down flecks of vomit and coughing and spewing at the same time. I listened to myself make a horrible noise like Eric going crazy over the phone, and hoped that nobody was passing and could see me in such an undignified and weak position. I stopped, felt better, then started again and felt ten times worse. I moved to one side with Jamie helping me and went down on my hands and knees on a comparatively clean part of the concrete where the oil stains looked old. I coughed and spluttered and gagged a few times, then fell back into Jamie’s arms, bringing my legs up to my chin to ease the ache in my stomach muscles.

‘Better now?’ Jamie said. I nodded. I tipped forward so that I rested on both buttocks and heels, my head between my knees. Jamie patted me. ‘Just a minute, Frankie lad.’ I felt him go off for a few seconds. He came back with some coarse paper towels from the forecourt dispenser and wiped my mouth with one bit and the rest of my face with another bit. He even took them and put them in the litter-bin.

Though I still felt drunk, my stomach ached and my throat felt like a couple of hedgehogs had had a fight in it, I did feel a lot better. ‘Thanks,’ I managed, and started trying to stand. Jamie helped me to my feet.

‘By God, what a state to get yourself in, Frank.’

‘Aye,’ I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve and looking round to see that we were still alone. I clapped Jamie on the shoulder a couple of times and we made for the street.

We walked up the deserted street with me breathing deeply and Jamie holding me by one elbow. The girl had gone, obviously enough, but I wasn’t sorry.

‘Why’d you run off like that?’

I shook my head. ‘Needed to go.’

‘What?’ Jamie laughed. ‘Why didn’t you just say?’

‘Couldn’t.’

‘Just ‘cause there was a girl there?’

‘No,’ I said, and coughed. ‘Couldn’t speak. Too drunk.’

‘What?’ laughed Jamie.

I nodded. ‘Yeah,’ I said. He laughed again and shook his head. We kept on walking.

Jamie’s mother was still up and she made us some tea. She’s a big woman who’s always in a green housecoat when I see her in the evenings after the pub when, as often happens, her son and I end up at her house. She’s not too unpleasant, even if she does pretend to like me more than I know she really does.

‘Och, laddie, you’re not looking your best. Here, sit down and I’ll get some tea on the go. Ach, you wee lamb.’ I was