GUILT TRIPPER (9 page)

 “But you have
changed. You’d have to travel a long way to find someone more positive than you
these days.” Judith spread her arms wide at either side of her. “This place is
a temple to optimism for God’s sake!”

 “So why send me back
among the heathens then?”

 Judith was delighted
to learn that Gairloch would remain her home for the foreseeable future. Also,
she felt she could carry on living under Danny’s roof without any guilt about
broken families, having argued Ingrid and little Lawrence’s case. But this
happy state was to be very short lived. Within the hour another ghost from
Danny’s past would stroll into the kitchen, through the open front door.

CHAPTER: 14

 Bob Fitzgerald had
been hunting Ingrid since being released from prison, but he was always one
step behind and had seen nothing of her since his arrest, over two years
previously. When he’d arrived in Oxfordshire, her parents had directed him to
Paris on a wild goose chase and it was another year before he’d discovered her
London address. Even then, fate conspired against him, with Ingrid returning
home just as he was knocking on her front door. Having driven past unnoticed,
she’d hidden at a friend’s for several days until he’d gone back to Glasgow.

 They say that once
you stop searching for something, invariably that’s when you’ll find it. This
is exactly what happened to Bob the afternoon before the night in question. He’d
been driving along Great Western Road towards Glasgow city centre, when
Ingrid’s Range Rover went by in the opposite direction. U-turning his battered,
nineteen eighties Datsun in the face of oncoming traffic, he’d gone after her,
forgetting to check his fuel gauge and breaking down just outside Fort William with
no money. Having guessed her destination, he’d waited until nightfall before
skulking around the little town and siphoning enough fuel to reach Gairloch. And
here he was, shaven headed and looking the worse for wear in a blue Adidas
tracksuit.

 Without even
acknowledging the woman beater, Judith went to her room and pushed a set of
draws against the door for some security. Then, she lay on her bed in the heat,
listening to Hamish’s snoring next door and raised voices downstairs. Danny had
evidently revealed the existence of Little Lawrence, as Bob was screaming.

 “You told me that
you’d merely consoled her! It was evidently more than that…she’s got your kid
for Christ’s sake!”

 “Yes, I lied and I’m
sorry. I just didn’t want the truth to be misconstrued as triumphalism, that’s
all.”

 The news had
obviously hit Bob like a sledgehammer and a long period of silence followed. When
he spoke again, his voice was much quieter, so that Judith struggled to hear.

 “You know Dan, I’ve
always wanted to see you fall because your principles make me feel hollow. I
thought I’d finally got you when you blackmailed me… thought you were, at last,
motivated by money. But you’ve suckered me. I was watching the kids lying on
the grass before I came in, all laughing and joking, and what I saw there were
all the things I’ve never been able to acquire: community…association.”

 “Surely the band
provided that?”

 “No. Even the band
was all about competition and making sure everything revolved around me.”

 “Well, you’re
welcome to stay here as long as you want. You’d enjoy it. We’ve got some real
talent emerging. For example, young Ryan Kearney’s about to sign a book deal,
just as soon as he sends the finished article off to the publishers next week. I’m
dead proud of him.”

 “No. The more I see
how happy those kids are, the more bitter I’ll become, and then I’ll be a
danger to them.”

 “But it doesn’t have
to be like that!”

 “Well it is! Ok? You’ve
won! By your principles you’ve created joy. You took that money, split it
twenty odd ways and now you’re happy as part of a community, I can see that. But
I’m a misfit and the only way I’ll ever enjoy equality is when I can see that
everybody is as miserable as me. That’s why I stole Ingrid from you, screwed
whores like Carina Curran and tantalised homeless Dickens with wealth. So you
see Danny, we’re both egalitarians in our own funny ways.” Bob started laughing
manically. “To think I’ve wasted the last two years hunting for Ingrid to spite
you, because I thought you still loved her. Well, now I know you don’t I can
call the search off and concentrate on salvaging something from my sad little
existence.”

 “Why do you hate me
so much Bob?”

 “I hate the fact
that you command attention simply by being yourself.”

 “What?”

 “When I released my
first album, I was on TV, radio, front covers of magazines, but whenever we
went anywhere together, it was you, an unemployed wastrel that everyone knew. Even
the street cleaners when we were making our way home at seven in the morning
knew you by name…I’m still amazed at how you used to stay out all night on
orange juice! But back to the point, you even managed to befriend me, an
absolute loner.”

 “You’re talking
rubbish. You enjoyed plenty of attention during The Squeaky Kirk’s heyday.”

 “That was only among
the sycophants in the art world. Outside of that, in normal pubs or everyday
situations, no-one even recognised me — not until I got with Ingrid anyway. But
they were queuing to speak with you, while I just hung about in the background
like a spare prick. They obviously didn’t want you for your money…you weren’t
fashionable or good looking or talented in any way. I mean, I’m sorry, but your
paintings were at best mediocre. No, they just loved you for being Danny White,
straight as a dye and true to your cause. You can’t manufacture that sort of
popularity. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

 “And you resented me
for that…simply because I got along with people?”

 “Yes. Despite being
brought up to believe I was special, I’d been crippled by social inadequacy my
whole life. I was full of ambitions but incapable of going among people to realize
them. You, on the other hand, wanted nothing from anyone, yet could get along
with everyone. That always seemed unjust to me. In the end, being in your
company became insufferable. You seemed to be flaunting your popularity in my
face, reminding me that, without you having introduced me to your friends, I’d
have been nothing.”

 “So, because of some
imagined slight, you stole my girlfriend?”

 “Yes. But there was
more to it than that.”

 “Well? How did this
poor, socially awkward outsider manage to seduce a girl like Ingrid then?”

 “It was when your
mother fell ill and you’d stopped hanging around on the scene. I’d carried on
visiting the usual haunts, though why, I don’t know. I was having a miserable
time, standing in the corner of bars on my own, waiting for people to lavish
attention on me simply because I sang in a band. But it never came. Of course,
I knew most of the people in these places through you, but didn’t have the
charisma to engage any of them in conversation beyond the basic pleasantries. Anyway,
the night after BBC Scotland screened a documentary about the Squeaky Kirk,
Ingrid wandered in alone. She was living with you at the time and reckoned
she’d just stormed out half-way through an argument. I found this difficult to
believe, though, because she’d really dolled herself up. I bought her a drink
and she started moaning out about how terrible things had become since your
mother’s stroke. Sticking by your side, she’d felt as if under house
arrest…said she hadn’t been out anywhere in months — not easy for a beautiful,
nineteen-year-old girl. She claimed that you were venting all your stress
through her…flying into rages if she dared to contradict your political point
of view, usually during conversations around the TV at news time. Of course,
you’d expect a mate to make excuses for you and emphasise your good points, but
I didn’t. Selfish to the last, I used the opportunity to spew out all my own
misgivings about you, confirming Ingrid’s doubts in the process. I was enjoying
the slag-fest so much, I invited her back to mine at closing time, to do some
more. From the gasps of approval on seeing my apartment, I knew straight away
that good living was her Achilles heel. From there on, bagging her was a
breeze. To be honest, beautiful though she was, I had no sexual inclination
towards Ingrid and spiting you wasn’t actually my primary objective. All I
really wanted her for was reflected glory. Simply by being in her company that
evening I’d attracted more attention than I’d ever done with the band - from
both sexes.”

 “She’s a head turner
alright.”

 “After a glass of
champagne and a couple of lines of coke, she started whining that she needed a
break from you…that she was cracking up being cooped up in that apartment all
the time. She said she needed a couple of weeks in the sun and began crying. I
remember thinking that I should wrap my arms around her, but I just couldn’t
pluck up the courage. In the end she slept in one of the spare rooms and, when
she woke, there were two air tickets to Italy on the pillow by her head. She
flew into a virtual panic and couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough, thanking
me for the offer, but saying she had to get back to you. That evening, I was
lying in bed thinking what a fool I’d been, when someone started banging at the
front door. Convinced you’d come to beat my brains out I asked who was there
before opening it. I couldn’t believe it when I heard Ingrid’s voice. When I
opened the door, she was on the landing with two suitcases, one at either side
of her on the floor. Apparently, you’d had another one of your teatime rants
during the news, which had inevitably degenerated into a vicious, personal
attack on her.”

 “Oh, it wasn’t that
bad! In fact, she started it. She said that unemployed people shouldn’t get
dole money and that soup kitchens should provide their food. I remember her
shrieking: ‘They’d soon get up off their lazy butts then!’ As if she didn’t
know that would get me going.”

 “Whatever the case,
she used it to legitimise leaving you and, the following day we flew off to
Italy. I remember looking at Glasgow from the plane. Knowing that you were down
there, falling apart, while I was up in the sky with the love of your life…it
felt great.”

 “You’re a sad man
Bob.”

 “Keeping Ingrid
entertained in Italy required just two things: designer clothes shops and a
credit card. I myself was beginning to tire of her company. It was really hard
work, pretending to be interested in all her self-obsessed babble. But the reflected
glory of her beauty — even in Milan — was addictive. Passing catwalk models
would flash glances at me. They’d stare right into my eyes, searching for
whatever it was that made me so valuable to such a good-looking woman. After a
fortnight of this my self-esteem was soaring, so much that I felt attractive to
women for the first time. But Ingrid and the catwalk models of Milan didn’t do
it for me. It was the hookers of Naples that got my blood boiling…preferably
the bigger ones. They went out of their way to make me feel good. With them, I
got to do the talking, instead of having to listen to all that hard done to,
feminine bullshit. We stayed in Italy for another fortnight and were both
sublimely happy. During the day Ingrid got to wander round clothes shops with
me feigning interest at her every word, then, in the early hours, when she was
fast asleep, I stalked the red-light areas, indulging myself stupid. By the
time we got back to Glasgow I’d been transformed. On leaving, I’d been a lonely
virgin. Now, I had a paragon of beauty on my arm and a catalogue of up to
twenty sexual liaisons under my belt. I was oozing confidence and growing
stronger every day, while you faded into oblivion. That said, the Italian trip
had left me up to my eyes in debt, having spent nearly ten grand on my credit
cards.”

 “What are you on
about, debt? Ten grand to you is like a hundred quid to most people!”

“Oh Danny Boy, you’re
so naïve…that’s why everyone likes you I suppose. Still, they had me fooled as
well. I was the last to know what was going on.”

 “You’ve lost me
Bob.”

 “It’s all a sham
Danny. The Squeaky Kirk — it’s a fraud. Back when we started out, Billy’s old man
ran up a big gambling debt. Rex McLeod’s boys were sent to retrieve or bereave,
but when the Big Man found out that his son had a band he offered him an escape
route. He was willing to wave the full ten grand, pay for Squeaky Kirk
recording sessions and even create a record label for us. The only condition, that
he could launder his ill-gotten gains through spurious sales of records and
merchandise. After our first album I was wandering around Glasgow like I owned
the place, oblivious that we’d only shifted two hundred units of the sixty
thousand sales going through the books. We were playing in front of twenty
people some nights on the continent, yet still managing to shift two thousand
CDs, T-shirts and programmes. The irony is that after my arrest we actually
started selling albums for real, though only about five thousand nationwide.”