CHAPTER ONE
The Future
FRIDAY 15 JULY 1988
Rankeillor Street, Edinburgh
‘I suppose the important thing is to make some sort of difference,’
she said. ‘You know, actually change something.’
‘What, like “change the world”, you mean?’
‘Not the whole entire world. Just the little bit around you.’
They lay in silence for a moment, bodies curled around each other in
the single bed, then both began to laugh in low, predawn voices.
‘Can’t believe I just said that,’ she groaned. ‘Sounds a bit corny,
doesn’t it?’
‘A bit corny.’
‘I’m trying to be inspiring! I’m trying to lift your grubby soul for
the great adventure that lies ahead of you.’ She turned to face him.
‘Not that you need it. I expect you’ve got your future nicely mapped
out, ta very much. Probably got a little flow-chart somewhere or
something.’
‘Hardly.’
‘So what’re you going to do then? What’s the great plan?’
‘Well, my parents are going to pick up my stuff, dump it at theirs,
then I’ll spend a couple of days in their flat in London, see some
friends. Then France—’
‘Very nice—’
‘Then China maybe, see what that’s all about, then maybe onto India,
travel around there for a bit—’
‘Travelling,’ she sighed. ‘So predictable.’
‘What’s wrong with travelling?’
‘Avoiding reality more like.’
‘I think reality is over-rated,’ he said in the hope that this might
come across as dark and charismatic.
She sniffed. ‘S’alright, I suppose, for those who can afford it. Why
not just say “I’m going on holiday for two years”? It’s the same
thing.’
‘Because travel broadens the mind,’ he said, rising onto one elbowand kissing her.
‘Oh I think you’re probably a bit too broad-minded as it is,’ she
said, turning her face away, for the moment at least. They settled
again on the pillow. ‘Anyway, I didn’t mean what are you doing next
month, I meant the future-future, when you’re, I don’t know?.?.?.’
She paused, as if conjuring up some fantastical idea, like a fifth
dimension. ‘?.?.?. Forty or something. What do you want to be when
you’re forty?’
‘Forty?’ He too seemed to be struggling with the concept. ‘Don’t
know. Am I allowed to say “rich”?’
‘Just so, so shallow.’
‘Alright then, “famous”.’ He began to nuzzle at her neck. ‘Bit
morbid, this, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not morbid, it’s?.?.?. exciting.’
‘“Exciting!”’ He was imitating her voice now, her soft Yorkshire
accent, trying to make her sound daft. She got this a lot, posh boys
doing funny voices, as if there was something unusual and quaint
about an accent, and not for the first time she felt a reassuring
shiver of dislike for him. She shrugged herself away until her back
was pressed against the cool of the wall.
‘Yes, exciting. We’re meant to be excited, aren’t we? All those
possibilities. It’s like the Vice-Chancellor said, “the doors of
opportunity flung wide?.?.?.”’
‘“Yours are the names in tomorrow’s newspapers?.?.?.”’
‘Not very likely.’
‘So, what, are you excited then?’
‘Me? God no, I’m crapping myself.’
‘Me too. Christ?.?.?.’ He turned suddenly and reached for the
cigarettes on the floor by the side of the bed, as if to steady his
nerves. ‘Forty years old. Forty. Fucking hell.’
Smiling at his anxiety, she decided to make it worse. ‘So what’ll
you be doing when you’re forty?’
He lit his cigarette thoughtfully. ‘Well the thing is, Em—’
‘“Em”? Who’s “Em”?’
‘People call you Em. I’ve heard them.’
‘Yeah, friends call me Em.’
‘So can I call you Em?’
‘Go on then, Dex.’
‘So I’ve given this whole “growing old” thing some thought and I’ve
come to the decision that I’d like to stay exactly as I am right
now.’