Smokeheads (4 page)

The Ardview was busy, a bustle of post-work Friday drinkers creating a growl of noise and laughter. Everyone seemed to know everyone. Each time the door opened, new arrivals were greeted with friendly antagonism and abuse, like
Cheers
with hard-earned, liver-damaged cynicism instead of one-liners.

Adam stood listening to Roddy chat up the barmaid from earlier, who’d finished her shift. She was slumped on a bar-stool glugging double JD and smiling sarcastically. No sign of Molly. Adam turned at the sound of the door as two thick-armed blokes in mechanics’ overalls came in.

They’d left Ethan and Luke at the B&B, Ethan on his mobile to Debs, Luke doing something on a laptop, both promising to head over soon.

Adam looked at Ash. She was cute in a gawky kind of way, but looked exhausted, dark bags under her eyes. The exposed skin on her back, neck and arms was tattooed with flowing interlaced Celtic designs. Adam stared at them, trying to make sense of the swirling patterns.

Ash downed her drink and Roddy offered to get another. How could anyone on Islay drink Jack fucking Daniel’s when they had the best whisky in the world on their doorstep? JD wasn’t even a proper bourbon, made in the wrong American state using the wrong techniques and tasting like a mouthful of iron filings. You might as well drink Whyte and fucking Mackay.

Roddy waved a fifty-pound note at the big bear of a barman, who ignored him. Ash turned to Adam.

‘You two known each other long?’ She sounded wasted already.

‘Too long,’ said Adam. ‘Twenty years.’

‘Jesus.’ She laughed, throwing her head back. She had a sharp laugh but her eyes were cloudy. ‘And you’ve put up with him all that time?’

Adam laughed. ‘To be fair, most of that time we’ve been pretty drunk.’

Ash smiled. ‘I’ll drink to that.’ She raised her glass then frowned when she realised it was empty.

Roddy appeared with drinks.

‘My hero,’ Ash cooed, taking the JD and gulping.

‘Been talking about me?’ said Roddy.

‘I was asking your friend how you got to be such a cocky bastard,’ said Ash.

‘Years of practice,’ Roddy said, then tapped his pocket. ‘And some assistance from good old Uncle Charlie.’

Ash raised an eyebrow.

‘Interested in meeting him?’

Was he really offering coke to a barmaid he’d known for five minutes?

Ash smiled. ‘I think we’ll get along famously. Follow me.’

She walked to the toilets with a well-practised slinky move of her hips. Roddy glanced at Adam and pointed at his pocket.

‘Three’s a crowd,’ said Adam.

Roddy set off behind Ash, bounding like a puppy.

Adam hated being left alone in the pub, but he wanted to keep his head straight for Molly, didn’t want any of that coke bullshit clouding his thinking. Where the hell were Ethan and Luke? He checked his watch, just gone half seven. He pressed the button – 90 bpm. Actually, that wasn’t bad.

He leant on the bar and examined the gantry. They really did have an impressive collection of malts, dozens of familiar and rare bottles neatly lined up. Something caught his eye towards the far end, a squat, stunted bottle with ‘X4+1’ in large lettering on a plain black label. He’d never seen it before; it didn’t seem to have a distillery logo.

‘Deliverance.’

Adam turned. It was the old guy with the blood-burst nose who’d been in with his wife at lunchtime. He nodded towards the bottle Adam had been looking at.

‘What?’

‘Bruichladdich Deliverance, from the Feis Ile.’

Adam hadn’t been at the most recent whisky festival, that’s why he didn’t recognise it. Must be a special bottling.

‘What’s the X4+1 all about?’

‘Quadruple distilled, one year old.’

‘What? That’s insane.’

He’d never heard anything like it. What the fuck were Bruichladdich doing selling one-year-old spirit? They couldn’t even call it whisky till it had lived in a barrel for three years. And quadruple distilled? He knew they were doing some experimental shit up there, but that was ridiculous.

The old man nodded slowly.

‘I’m going to have to try some of that,’ said Adam.

The man sucked his teeth. ‘It’s not cheap. Eight bar a nip.’

‘Fuck it.’ Adam waved the barman over. ‘Give me a nip of that Deliverance stuff.’

He looked apologetically at the old man. ‘I would get you one, but …’

The old man raised his hand, waved a large dram at him. ‘I’m fine with this.’

The barman clunked the shot on the table and Adam paid. He nosed it – toffee and candyfloss, very woody. It was powerful stuff. He took a sip and got an explosion of fruit, apricot and peach, liquorice folding into a fizzy sensation like lemonade. The finish was like cheap sweets full of E numbers, somehow spicy too.

‘Wow, that’s one weird dram.’

‘Aye,’ said the old man.

Adam examined the glass. ‘You think quadruple distilling will catch on?’

The old man sighed. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

Adam looked at him. ‘What do you think of what they’re doing up there?’

The old man shrugged. ‘Fair play to ’em, they’re bringing the whole thing into the new millennium, aren’t they?’

‘I thought you’d be against them pissing about with the island’s tradition.’

The old man laughed. ‘Tradition? Half these places were mothballed for years, and before that almost every Islay whisky got used for cheap blends anyway.’

‘Yeah, but you’ve been making whisky here for centuries.’

‘Aye, often undrinkable shite.’ The man broke off with a racking cough, like his lungs were mutinying.

‘So you’re in favour of new operations starting up, then?’

The old man nodded. ‘If they use local expertise and stay as part of the community, where’s the harm? The big guys pump all their money off the island at the moment. What we need are local businesses adding to the economy here on the island. Every new distillery brings the tourists in, no bad thing for the Ileach.’

Adam took another sip of Deliverance. It was a complete shock to his palate.

The old man coughed again, snorting and gagging a little.

‘Time for a fag,’ he mumbled. He picked up a rolly tin and headed towards the door.

Adam turned back to the bar and examined his glass for a moment, letting the white noise of the pub wash over him.

‘All alone?’

He turned to see Molly in a long green parka. She pulled the hood down and ran a hand through her hair, which fell in long curves to her shoulders.

‘Hi,’ said Adam, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Yeah, Roddy’s just gone to the loo, the other two are still at the B&B.’

Molly smiled. ‘And you wanted to get a head start, eh?’

‘Something like that.’ Adam looked round. ‘Where’s your sister?’

Molly followed his gaze. ‘Meeting her here. She’ll be lurking in the shadows. She’s never far from a drink.’

Adam fought the urge to look at his heart rate. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Pint of Nerabus, thanks.’

‘What?’

Molly pointed to an Islay Ales tap at the bar. ‘Nerabus. A winter warmer.’

He’d seen the ale taps earlier but hadn’t got one, scared Roddy would take the piss out of him for being an old fogey. He downed what was left of his Deliverance, sending a shudder slithering through his neck and shoulders, and ordered two Nerabus. When he turned back Molly had her coat off. She was wearing a long-sleeved top with a Dangermouse T-shirt over it.

‘I used to love Dangermouse,’ said Adam, staring at her breasts.

‘Got it online,’ she said. ‘Cool, eh?’

‘Very.’ He lifted his gaze eventually. ‘Well, cheers.’

They clinked glasses and drank. The beer tasted of caramel and chocolate. It was comforting after the madness of Deliverance in his mouth. Adam lifted his glass and looked at the deep ruby colour.

‘Very nice,’ he said, nodding.

‘Told you.’

Adam heard a commotion and turned. Roddy and Ash had stumbled into a nearby table and were apologising and laughing. They pitched up to Adam and Molly, wiping their noses, leaning on each other, eyes like pinpricks. Adam cringed.

‘I see you’ve already met my little sister,’ said Molly.

‘Hey, Moll,’ said Ash, sniffing loudly. ‘You know these guys?’

Adam and Roddy stared at the two women, Roddy recovering first.

‘Looks like we can skip the introductions,’ he said, getting his ridiculous alligator-skin wallet out and riffling the notes stacked inside. ‘Why don’t you all grab a table and I’ll get a round in. It’s time to get this party started.’

‘So you guys are smokeheads?’ said Ash, her gaze drifting round the table.

Ethan and Luke had turned up and the six of them were hurtling headlong towards hammered thanks to Roddy’s magic porridge pot of a wallet. Drunken noise made a swirling blizzard around them.

‘Smokeheads?’ said Roddy.

Molly leaned in to the middle of the table. ‘It’s what we call fans of Islay malts. Outsiders, not the Ileach.’

‘The what?’ said Ethan.

‘Ileach,’ said Molly. ‘People of Islay. It’s Gaelic.’

‘Adam’s the malt expert,’ said Ethan.

‘You work in a whisky shop, right?’ said Molly, turning to Adam.

Adam sipped his dram, a decent Bunnahabhain but nothing special. ‘A tourist trap really, but we have some good stock.’

Roddy had his arm on the back of Ash’s seat as he shouted over the table. ‘Fuck’s sake, you two are made for each other, a distillery guide and a whisky-shop worker. Imagine the little dram-soaked nippers you’d have, suckled on cask strength.’

Adam shifted in his seat. ‘Sorry about him,’ he said quietly to Molly. ‘He’s king of the arseholes.’

‘Is it him or the coke?’ said Molly.

Adam raised his eyebrows, but then realised it was obvious what fuelled Roddy’s bullshit. ‘Hard to tell them apart, it’s been so long since I’ve seen him without it.’

Molly looked at Roddy whispering in Ash’s ear, Ash giggling away. ‘I know what you mean, I haven’t seen Ash sober in ages.’

Adam looked at Molly, who seemed suddenly downcast.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s stick some tunes on the jukebox.’

By the time he caught up with her at the ancient, glowing wall-mounted machine she was already punching in numbers off by heart. He flicked through the album covers to find what she’d put on.

‘Abba?’ he said. ‘Seriously?’

Molly smiled in mock offence. ‘What’s wrong with Abba?’

Adam looked at her. ‘Just not my kind of thing, that’s all.’

‘Don’t tell me, landfill indie?’

‘What?’

‘You know, mortgage rock – Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Editors, all that dreary pish.’

Adam shook his head. ‘That’s more Roddy’s bag.’

The truth was Adam didn’t mind that stuff either, but really he’d pretty much given up on music after Britpop and had regressed to his dodgy metal past, digging out old Thin Lizzy, AC/DC and Motörhead albums and sticking them on his cheap iPod imitation.

They walked back to the table. Ash and Roddy had disappeared.

‘What did you put on?’ Luke drawled. He’d clearly had a few joints back at the B&B.

‘Abba,’ said Adam, smiling at Molly.

Ethan made a face. ‘Not the
Mamma Mia
soundtrack? Debs loves that garbage.’

‘Christ no,’ said Molly. ‘The real deal.’

‘Very cool,’ said Luke, nodding.

‘See?’ said Molly, nudging Adam. ‘A man after my own heart.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Adam. ‘I need the loo.’

The tiny bogs were rammed so he decided on an al fresco slash, heading out the delivery door to a courtyard stinking of piss and stale beer, lit by a sliver of moon.

As he was about to unzip he spotted two figures in the shadows across the courtyard. He pressed himself into a dark corner.

‘Fuck, it’s freezing out here,’ said the taller of the two. Roddy.

Adam watched as Roddy got something out of his pocket, then heard a loud coke sniff.

‘Hey, ladies first,’ said the other figure, punching his shoulder. Ash.

He offered up something. She held her hair back, leaned in and snorted. They sniffed and laughed then she kissed him hard, grabbing his crotch.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Bad moon rising.’

She knelt and whipped his jeans down in a quick movement. Adam saw her head moving forwards and backwards.

‘Fuck,’ said Roddy, holding her head in both hands.

Adam watched for a moment then turned back to the pub.

He waited his turn in the urinals, stopping to examine his saggy face in the grubby mirror afterwards. He washed his hands then pulled them still dripping down his face, trying to freshen himself up. He gazed at himself again, then sighed heavily and left.

By the time he got back to the table, Ash and Roddy were sitting there as if nothing had happened, except for a smirk on Roddy’s face and a flushed colour in Ash’s cheeks.

She took a big swig of JD and turned to Roddy. ‘So it’s basically your fault the world economy is fucked and we’re all skint.’

‘We’re not
all
skint,’ said Roddy, patting his wallet.

Ethan groaned. ‘Don’t get him started.’

‘We’re being made scapegoats by the fucking media,’ Roddy shouted. ‘Fund manager is a job like any other.’

‘Except you make millions at the expense of ordinary punters,’ said Adam.

‘There is that.’

‘And get huge bonuses when you succeed, but no punishment when you cock up.’

Roddy beamed. ‘I didn’t make the rules. And anyway, I don’t fuck up, I’m still making pots of money. The best in the business like me are always going to make money. Ask Luke, I got a shit-hot return on his little nest egg.’

Adam turned to Luke. ‘Roddy invested for you?’

Luke shrugged.

‘Just as a little favour, you understand,’ said Roddy. ‘I wouldn’t normally take on something that small.’

Adam turned to Roddy. ‘But people like you have fucked this country’s reputation for being good with money.’

‘Me?’ said Roddy. He pointed at Ethan. ‘Take it up with RBS Mortgage Boy over there.’

Ethan shook his head, having none of it. ‘You’re joking. I design databases, how the hell is it my fault?’

‘Your employers managed to work up twenty-four billion in debt, that’s not a kick in the arse off the Scottish government’s entire budget. White Stone are doing very nicely, thanks, so it’s not our fault, is it? It’s not about avoiding risk and all that safe, steady shite, it’s about knowing which are the right risks to take and taking them.’

Ethan breathed out. ‘It’s guys like you taking risks and screwing it up that mean we all have to pay in the end.’

‘Life’s about risks,’ said Roddy. ‘If you grew up and realised that, maybe you’d be a lot better off than you are now.’

‘If you’re so rich, Hedge Fund Henry,’ Ash slurred, ‘why aren’t you at the bar getting the fucking drinks in?’

‘On my way,’ said Roddy with a smug smile.

Ash slid over to Luke.

‘So what’s your story, quiet boy?’ she said.

He examined her with narrow eyes. ‘Musician.’

‘What do you play?’

‘Bit of everything.’

‘Drums?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I have a thing for drummers. Strong hands and lots of energy.’

She stroked his arm. He looked at Roddy at the bar, then at her hand.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Flirting, what does it look like?’

‘You’ve spent all night flirting with Roddy.’

‘So what?’

‘Not interested.’

Ash laughed. ‘OK, take it easy, Ringo, just being friendly.’

Across the table, Ethan got up to help Roddy with the drinks.

Adam took a deep breath and turned to Molly. Serenity now.

‘I couldn’t help noticing you’re not wearing a wedding ring.’

Molly laughed.

‘You couldn’t help noticing?’ she said, a tease in her voice.

‘Actually, Roddy noticed at the distillery.’

‘I didn’t think I was his type.’

Adam felt sheepish. ‘He was looking for me.’

‘Was he, now?’

‘It’s just that you were wearing one last time we met, and you mentioned your husband. Remember, at the Feis Ile?’

Her smile faded. ‘A lot’s happened since then.’

Her look made him want to rewind. ‘I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. You obviously don’t want to talk about it.’

He put his hand on hers on the table. She shook her head with a resigned look. ‘It’s not that, it’s just …’

‘Hey,’ shouted Roddy, dumping the drinks and sitting down next to Ash. ‘It’s PC Plod. Evening all.’

Adam followed Roddy’s gaze and saw the police officer who’d stopped them earlier standing behind him, looming over their table. He was in a dress shirt and leather jacket, still wearing the gold chain. He looked drunk and itching for trouble.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Molly, sliding her hand out from under Adam’s.

‘This should be good,’ said Ash.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ he said to Molly.

‘Fuck off.’

He grabbed her arm and gripped firmly. ‘I said introduce me.’

‘Hey,’ said Adam, seeing the look on Molly’s face.

She turned to him and sighed deeply.

‘Adam, this is my ex-husband, Joe.’