Smokeheads (7 page)

‘What the fuck are we supposed to be seeing?’ said Roddy getting out of the car.

A straggle of tired buildings was strung in a crescent facing the muddy clearing where they’d parked. Paint peeled from window frames and doors and the whitewash was filthy grey from the battering of the elements.

‘Potential,’ said Adam. ‘Follow me.’

He walked towards the nearest of the buildings, digging keys out of his pocket. He undid a padlock and opened the old wooden door.

‘Come on,’ he said, ducking inside.

The rest of them looked at each other then followed.

Inside, Adam stood next to a table strewn with bits of paper. Behind him were three large copper stills linked by a gantry and metal stairs, the familiar witch’s-hat shapes linked by tarnished pipes. The floor was covered in birdshit and bits of masonry, and as they entered a pigeon made a flustered flap into the rafters. Thin light through a high window picked out dust dancing in the air.

‘Well,’ said Adam. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’ve brought us to a shithole at the end of the world,’ said Roddy.

‘It’s a disused distillery,’ said Ethan. ‘So what?’

Luke’s eyes lit up. ‘An illegal still, man.’

Adam smiled. ‘There will be nothing illegal about it. This is Stremnishmore distillery. I plan to buy it, renovate it and turn it into a working proposition again. I’m going to make whisky. I’ve got it all worked out, look.’

He waved excitedly at the plans, bills and forms on the table.

‘The owners have agreed to sell me the place and I’ve got quotes for the renovation work, licence agreements sorted, the lot. I’ve even got suppliers and distributors lined up, plus a handful of possible employees from the island.’

‘You’re serious,’ said Ethan.

‘Deadly,’ said Adam. ‘This is the big chance to do something with my life. You all know how passionate I am about whisky. This is my chance to actually do something about it instead of rotting in that stupid shop forever.’

‘Cool,’ said Luke, nodding.

Roddy was shaking his head and grinning. ‘You’re going to own and run your own distillery?’

Adam looked at him and took a breath.

‘I was kind of hoping we would own it together.’

‘What?’

‘Wouldn’t it be amazing?’ said Adam. ‘Imagine our bottles sitting next to Laphroaig and Ardbeg in the Islay section of whisky shops.’

Roddy narrowed his eyes. ‘How much?’

‘What?’

‘I presume you’re asking me to invest in this pipedream, so cut the bullshit and tell me how much.’

‘The thing is …’

‘Just give me a figure.’ There was a steeliness in Roddy’s voice Adam hadn’t heard before. He didn’t like it.

‘With start-up costs and wages for the first few years factored in, given that we can’t sell the product until …’

‘A number, please.’

‘One point two million would cover it.’

Roddy threw his head back for show and laughed.

‘It wouldn’t be as much as that to begin with,’ said Adam hurriedly. ‘We could start online sales of the new spirit after a year, and we could even bring in some money from a visitor centre and cafe, maybe run whisky-making courses in the quiet season, other distilleries …’

‘You mean it, don’t you?’ said Roddy. ‘You actually want me to give you over a million fucking quid …’

‘Not
give
it to me, invest it in this place. Roddy, it’s a great opportunity. You know yourself that the whisky industry has been bulletproof during the credit crunch, in fact the market for Islay malts is going through the roof in the Far East and India …’

‘Go to a fucking bank.’

‘What?’

‘I said go to a bank. Loaning people money is what they do.’

‘Come on, Roddy …’

‘Go to the bank.’

‘I already went to the bank.’

‘And?’

‘What do you think? I don’t have a track record in the industry, I’m not a successful businessman, I didn’t have any collateral to borrow against. They weren’t going to give me a million quid.’

‘So why should I?’

Adam felt his heart thudding against his ribcage.

‘Because you know me,’ he pleaded. ‘We’ve been friends for twenty fucking years. I’ve never asked you for anything in all that time, but I’m asking you now. It’s not a favour, it’s a sound investment.’

‘What makes you think I have that kind of money lying around?’

‘Come on, you’re always talking about how much you make.’ Adam heard his voice rise in pitch but couldn’t control it. ‘This is probably peanuts to you, you make this much in yearly bonuses.’

‘That might be true, but I didn’t get to be the best in the business by throwing money at pie-in-the-sky projects.’

‘It’s not pie in the sky,’ said Adam, panicking. ‘If you’ll just take a look at the business plan, the figures all stack up. You can have whatever percentage of the company you like, I’m just interested in making quality whisky.’

‘This isn’t
Dragon’s
fucking
Den
,’ laughed Roddy. ‘We’re talking about a million quid and change of my money getting pished into a big black hole at the end of a dirt track on a God-forsaken rock in the Atlantic. It’s not going to happen.’

Molly piped up. ‘You could at least take a look at the details of the proposal, Roddy. It seems like Adam’s gone to a lot of work putting this together.’

Roddy turned and stared. ‘He’s got you in his corner, has he? Well listen, darling, I don’t need to take a look at the details, because I’m not going to throw money away on a ridiculous scheme like this.’

‘It could work,’ said Molly. ‘Bruichladdich have proved that. And there’s a new farmhouse distillery at Kilchoman that’s doing great business already after only three years.’

‘That’s right,’ said Adam, feeling sweat on his hands. ‘I’ve arranged for us to have a chat with the owner and manager of Kilchoman this afternoon, take a look round the place. It’s amazing what they’ve done in such a short time.’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Roddy. ‘I’m not investing in this fucking crazy idea.’

‘But why not?’ Adam begged.

Roddy stared hard. ‘Because, Adam, you’re one of life’s losers, you always have been and you always will be. You’re almost forty and still working in a shop, for fuck’s sake. You’ve spent your whole life being petrified of taking a chance on anything. That doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person, but it sure as shit doesn’t make you the kind of person who runs a successful business either. You never take risks, it’s that simple, so you’ll always be one of the also-rans. You’re a beta male through and through.’

‘But don’t you see, I’m trying to change that with this project,’ Adam said. ‘I’m trying to turn things round, take risks and grab life by the bollocks.’

Roddy smiled. ‘Did you fuck Molly last night?’

‘What?’

‘I said did you fuck her?’

‘Mind your own business,’ said Molly.

Adam looked confused. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

Roddy shook his head. ‘Man, you couldn’t get laid if you fell into a barrel of fannies. You can’t even pull with a woman who actually likes you, that’s how much of a risk-taker you are. I bet you’ve still got those two Viagras I gave you.’

Adam looked at Molly. ‘I didn’t want them, he put them in my pocket and …’ He turned back to Roddy. ‘Anyway, that’s got nothing to do with anything. This is business we’re talking about.’

‘It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry,’ said Roddy. ‘Loser in love, loser in life.’

Adam was exasperated. ‘Look, at least consider it,’ he said, picking up the paperwork and thrusting it at Roddy. ‘Take a look at the numbers and the plans, and if you don’t like it, then fair enough.’

‘I don’t need to, I’m not investing.’ Roddy walked towards the door, kicking up dirt.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Adam, grabbing his coat. ‘If you were a friend, you’d at least consider it.’

Roddy turned sharply, grabbed Adam and shoved him against a wall, pinning him. ‘If you were a friend, you wouldn’t ask me to pish away a million quid of my own money on a no-hope fucking joke of a scheme.’

He released Adam in a cloud of masonry dust and turned. ‘Right, I’m getting in the car and driving away from this shitheap. If you lot want a lift back to civilisation, I suggest you’re in the car in two minutes.’

He swept out of the stillroom, leaving Adam scrambling around picking up the plans that had scattered on the filthy floor.

‘Fucking hell,’ he said.

The others helped him collect up the paperwork.

‘I guess that didn’t go according to plan,’ said Ethan quietly as he and Luke headed towards the door.

Molly put an arm round Adam and led him out of the stillroom.

‘Don’t give up just yet,’ she said.

Bad feeling hung in the car. Roddy pushed buttons on the stereo.

‘Fucking cheap shite,’ he growled. ‘Piece of crap bollocks.’

He got out a hipflask, took a swig and passed it to Luke, sitting impassively next to him. Ethan was wedged between Molly and a forlorn Adam in the back. The Oa sped past outside, a rough blur of greens and browns. Behind them, heavy clouds were roiling over the ocean.

‘I know what you’re all thinking,’ Roddy shouted. ‘I’m the bad guy here. Well, fuck that. We’re talking about over a million fucking quid. If it’s such a great idea, why doesn’t one of you invest in his little plan, eh? See how you like it?’

He drove one-handed, reaching into a pocket for his coke case. He flipped it out, tapped a line onto his steering hand and snorted. The car swerved round a bend too fast then he regained control.

‘Easy, man,’ said Luke, passing the hipflask into the back. Ethan and Molly passed. Adam took it and stared at Roddy.

‘You think I can’t see you glaring at me?’ said Roddy into the rear-view mirror. ‘The silent treatment is schoolboy stuff, give it a fucking rest.’

‘Why don’t you give it a rest,’ said Adam quietly.

‘What?’

‘You haven’t shut up since we got to Islay. You’re a big coked-up bullshit machine, running on the sound of your own voice.’

‘Fuck you, dipshit.’

‘I think we all need to calm down,’ said Ethan. ‘Why don’t we just pretend this little outing never happened, OK?’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Adam, taking a big swig from the flask.

‘Guess what you’re drinking,’ said Roddy, laughing.

‘Go to hell,’ Adam snarled.

‘Go on, you know you want to.’

Furious as he was, Adam still couldn’t resist the challenge. He took a sniff then a sip. Hard to taste straight from the flask, pewter and polish contaminating the palate, but he got a massive raw boot of peat, at least 40 ppm, followed by green apples and mint, then syrup and raisins. It was impressive. Young and a bit showy, but huge body. He’d never tasted it before, but the gimmicky flavours suggested the one distillery where they were always dicking around with new expressions.

‘Bruichladdich,’ he said.

‘Go on.’

‘Peaty, but not enough to be the Octomore,’ he said. ‘A Port Charlotte?’

‘Which one?’

‘PC6?’

Roddy tilted his head. ‘I don’t know how you do it, it’s a fucking gift.’

‘Don’t patronise me, you fathead prick.’

‘I was paying you a fucking compliment.’

Adam chucked the flask into Roddy’s lap. ‘If you think I’m such a bloody expert, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and back me up?’

‘There’s a big difference between telling Caol Ila from Lagavulin and running your own business, trust me.’

‘I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re nothing but a self-centred jerk-off, looking out for number one.’

‘Of course I am, you’re the same, everyone is,’ said Roddy, glancing back. ‘The difference is, at least I’m fucking honest about it.’

‘I’m nothing like you,’ said Adam.

‘Yeah, you’re a fucking hypocrite,’ said Roddy. ‘You’re only upset because you didn’t get your own way back at the distillery. You’ve always been like that, a spoilt little arsehole with delusions of moral superiority.’

Adam was surprised to see his own fist moving fast towards the front of the car, clumsily catching Roddy on the side of the head somewhere behind his left ear.

‘Shit,’ said Roddy jerking forward and making the car lurch. ‘What the fuck?’

He looked round and swung his left arm wildly behind him, missing Adam but catching Ethan on the nose.

‘Ow,’ said Ethan, holding his hands to his face.

‘Jesus …’ said Molly.

‘Watch out, man,’ shouted Luke, bracing himself against the glove compartment.

They all turned and saw a large ram too close in front of them on the road, a sharp bend just ahead. The car swung violently as Roddy grabbed the wheel and lunged for the pedals, trying to regain control, but it was too late. They felt a huge jolt as they smashed into the ram, the car pitching sickeningly out of balance, spinning and skidding then tipping up onto its side, all in a blur, each of them trying to brace themselves for the impact, then suddenly they were upside down and tumbling, crunches, rips and screams filling the air as the car crumpled down the cliff side, Adam briefly noticing the thick, grey wall of cloud rolling in from the sea before he felt a sharp crack to his head, a white flash of incredible, burning pain, then everything went red then violet then black.

Soft, wet snowflakes landed on his face. How could it be snowing in the car?

He opened his eyes and felt a jabbing pain at the back of his head. He rubbed it with his hand, which came away sticky with a trickle of blood.

The sky above him was thick, grey and heavy with snow. Fat flakes fluttered casually down towards him, and he blinked as one landed on his eyelash.

He pushed himself up on his elbows. He was lying in spongy brown heather, and could smell the peat buried a few feet below. His body ached, a jarring stiffness greeting every muscle twitch. He gingerly moved each limb then rolled his neck, his actions only met with grumbles, nothing sharper.

He looked round. Behind him was a sheer rocky cliff, occasional mossy tufts poking out from pockets of scree. It was at least 150 feet high. In the other direction, the sea was shushing against the shore 100 feet below him, down an incline peppered with boulders and craggy outcrops.

He sat up further and saw he was on a shelf in the cliff, thirty feet of flat gorse and heather. He stood up. No sign of the others. He walked to the edge of the shelf and saw the Audi down below, mangled and upside down at a sharp angle, almost at the water’s edge. The front end was crumpled into nothing, the left-hand side of the frame missing to reveal the skeletal chassis underneath. He couldn’t see from here if anyone was still inside.

He looked at his watch. The face was smashed and the display blank. He pressed the button for the heart-rate monitor. Nothing. Serenity now.

He pulled out his mobile and pressed 999. No bars on the signal, but worth trying. He heard a beep and looked at the screen – ‘No network coverage’.

He checked the back of his head again. No new blood. He carefully edged his way down the slope towards the car. It was easier going than it looked from above, plenty of footholds and grips on the slanting rock face.

‘Molly? Guys?’

He waited, listening. No reply, just the wash of the sea, his own heavy breathing and the thud of his heart in his ears. He bustled down the slope, breaking into a jog as the gradient eased off, a shuddering pain through his body with every step.

The car sat on a tiny rocky beach. He reached the passenger side first but there was no one there. He leant in and saw Molly and Roddy across the other side, hanging upside down in their seat belts.

‘Molly, Roddy!’ he shouted. No answer. ‘Shit.’

He ran round to their side of the car and pulled on Molly’s door, but it was buckled in the frame and wouldn’t budge. He was standing in a rocky puddle of seawater, rainbowed with leaked petrol. He tried Roddy’s door but it was the same. He shouted again, no answer.

He ran back round the car, looking for Ethan or Luke on the way. No sign. He climbed in the passenger side at the back and slid over to Molly. Her hair was tangled over her face. He reached out, swept it back and stroked her cheek.

‘Molly? You OK? Please be OK.’

She blinked and moaned. ‘Shit.’

‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘Just hang on.’

She opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘What …’

‘Shhh, don’t worry about it. We had a crash. I’m going to get you out. Can you move your arms?’

She tentatively stretched them out in front of her. It was weird seeing her movements upside down.

‘OK, you’ll need to brace yourself against the roof of the car. You’re upside down. I’m going to release your seatbelt, so be ready. I’ll try to hold on to you. OK?’

Molly nodded. He put an arm around her waist and reached for the red button of the seatbelt release. He pushed it and the buckle whizzed out of his hand, snapping downwards. He felt the sudden weight of her in his arms as she tumbled into him, knocking him onto the ceiling of the car and landing on him in a heap. Together they struggled out the other side of the car, scrambling onto the slick pebbles and breathing heavily.

‘Thanks,’ said Molly.

‘You OK?’

She nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Just wait here.’

He looked around for Luke or Ethan again. Nothing. He ducked into the car.

‘Roddy?’

No answer. He turned Roddy’s head towards him. Out cold. He touched his neck for a pulse, felt throbbing under his fingertips. He braced himself, wrapped an arm round Roddy’s body and popped the seatbelt. He was pushed down by the weight, pain jabbing through his legs as he fell and Roddy’s body pinned him to the ceiling. After a moment he felt Roddy shifting and saw Molly pulling at his arm. He pushed from the waist and slowly the body shifted off him and out the car. On the way past he felt something slick against his head. When Roddy’s legs were clear he touched his face. Blood. He scooted clumsily out of the car.

Molly stood over Roddy, his face pale and his right shoulder a mess of blood. Adam went closer and saw a three-inch strip of jagged metal poking out from the fleshy part above his armpit.

‘Jesus.’

‘I know,’ said Molly.

‘What do we do?’

‘Pull it out?’

‘You think?’

‘I have no idea.’

Adam knelt down and examined it. He tried to lift Roddy’s jacket to see underneath but the spike pinned his clothes to his shoulder. He held the rod and gave it a gentle pull, but it was stuck firm. He tried again and blood oozed around the wound but the thing didn’t budge. He gave another pull.

‘What the fuck,’ said Roddy, flinching and opening his eyes. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, what’re you doing to me?’

‘Sorry, I was …’

Roddy let out a yell. ‘Shit, that hurts.’ He looked down at his shoulder. ‘Oh, fuck.’

‘Yeah.’

Roddy gazed at the spike sticking out of his shoulder, then touched the blood around the wound. He looked at Adam.

‘What happened?’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘We had a crash.’ Adam looked up. ‘Came down that cliff.’

Roddy and Molly followed his gaze.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Molly.

‘What about this?’ said Roddy, pointing at his shoulder.

Adam looked inside the car. The front windscreen frame was buckled and torn, bits missing. ‘I think it’s a bit of the car frame.’

Roddy winced. ‘Fucking bullshit Audis. I knew I should’ve brought the Beemer.’ He sat up carefully. ‘Fucking help me up, then.’

Adam leaned in on his left side and lifted him. ‘Don’t you think we should get that out of you?’

‘Fuck that,’ said Roddy. ‘If the pain I just felt when you pulled it is anything to go by, it can stay in there for-fucking-ever.’ He tried to stretch a little and doubled over with pain, holding his arm. ‘Fuck me.’

Molly and Adam looked at Roddy then at each other. Roddy righted himself, breathing heavily. He walked over to the car and looked inside. He gave the chassis a kick then cringed with pain. He turned and looked around.

‘What happened to the other two?’ he said.

‘Good question,’ said Molly.