My blood was frozen in a more literal sense by the time I stopped at Clyde’s doorstep.
I had forgotten the full force of a Glaswegian November – not as bad as the later months of winter, but still freezing cold. The glory of being on the same latitude as a place like Moscow. It felt like my fingers were going to fall off each time I moved them. Each knock on Clyde’s door felt like it would be the trigger for ten icicles to drop from my hands and shatter on the floor.
Clyde eventually answered, and a wave of blissfully hot air washed over me. I felt my extremities thaw almost immediately.
“Hey Clyde,” I said, trying to control my chattering teeth.
“Eric,” he said, sounding surprised. “Alri’ there, ma’e?”
“Not really. Can I come in? It’s cold.”
He stepped back and I nearly fell in, relishing the fruit of whatever inventor came up with indoor heating.
I stood in the foyer for a few moments, letting my limbs thaw as the air circulated around me. Clyde shut the door and stood behind me. I could see his confused expression in the reflection of the mirror at the end of the hall.
“Are ye jus’ gon’ stan’ there ‘n’ worshi’ me c’ling o’ are ye gon’ say summat?” he said. I glared at him over my shoulder.
“You know, if I hadn’t known you as long as I have, I’d smack you for being so damn lazy,” I said. Clyde made a face.
“Ha ha. Come on, ‘here’s mor tae me flat th’n thi’.”
He forced his way around me and took an ungraceful flop onto his secondhand settee. I sat down on what his lanky frame didn’t occupy, gingerly avoiding stains of questionable origin.
“Wha’s on yer min’?” Clyde asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting it with a lighter he produced from somewhere between the cushions.
“Spot me one of those and I’ll tell you,” I shot back. He grinned and handed me another fag and his lighter. In between drags, I told him the epic tale of my long battle with my poltergeist, to my conclusion that Penny was behind it, to the realisation that I was wrong and Mum catching me by surprise.
“…And then I just got up and left,” I finished, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the corner of my mouth.
“Bol’cks tae her, ma’e,” Clyde said, only reinforcing the damage I’d already done to myself. “Yer old e’nuf tae control yer own li’e. She needs tae min’ her own bi’ness.”
“Will you talk like a normal human being for once in your life?” I snapped at him before I knew what I was saying. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“What’s with ye?” he said, blissfully articulate, but I still felt slightly guilty for yelling over nothing.
“Sorry. Just a bit tense. I mean, who wouldn’t be?”
“Aye, I agree with ye,” he said. Mentally, I thanked him.
“So what do you think I should do?”
Clyde thought for a moment, smoke from his fag winding round his head. He’d always been at good at pulling off that fag thing – the burning cylinder hung loosely from his lips, the smoke trail seeming to go where he willed it. He didn’t bother to move, sprawled out on his settee and staring blankly at the television screen – which didn’t work properly. It never really had; Clyde just liked watching it struggle to do its job in its last throes of life.
“Ye really should get out of there,” Clyde said suddenly, jerking me back to reality.
“Sorry?”
“Ye heard me,” he said, sitting up and putting out his cigarette on the coffee table – which was originally light brown in colour but turned mostly black with cigarette burns and dirt. “If yer parents are going to try and hold ye down like that, then there’s better things for ye. Hell, me own mum tried the same thing, and I got out as fast as I could. And man, life is great. Look at me! I’m living a dream here.”
He smiled broadly and threw his arms out, inviting me to survey the dingy, badly lit one bedroom that hardly had enough furnishings to sustain a rat. I couldn’t help but think, some dream.
I kept it to myself, though, opting instead for a different internal battle of morals before reopening my mouth.
“To be honest, I was thinking about going to Edinburgh,” I said hesitantly.
Clyde paused, his arms drooping and his smile fading.
“Were ye now?” he asked. I nodded.
“I haven’t made any… serious plans just yet. I’ve only thought about it, toyed with the idea, you know.”
I could see the cogs turning behind his hazel eyes. I tensed, wondering what kind of reaction he would have to such an unexpected bombshell.
“Good for ye,” he said at long last. I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Get out of there while ye can, smart now. Good thinking, mate. Better than I could’ve done.”
He playfully punched me in the arm, and I grinned, relieved.
“Have ye told anyone else yet? Chester, or Sarah?”
“Not yet,” I said truthfully. “Like I said, I haven’t made any actual plans yet. I might not even go.”
“Aw, but ye have to go! Especially after what happened with yer mum and trying to control ye and all that.”
“I know… it’s just that…” I trailed off.
“What? It’s just that yer in denial? Face it, mate, yer a smart chap. I trust ye to do what ye think’s best. Yer welcome to stay here long as ye please. And trust me, what’s best for ye is to get a place of yer own – in Edinburgh, if that’s what ye think is right.”
He patted my shoulder awkwardly – brotherly affection wasn’t really his forte – and stood up, walking to the kitchen.
I sat there where he’d left me on the settee, my mind turning in on itself.
The cigarette I had completely forgotten about ran out of tobacco to burn and instead charred my finger. I swore and dropped it, stomping on it with my boot and examining the tiny burn mark already forming.
I still have that scar, even now.
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Can you tell that was a total ploy to get it so that I didn't have to keep doing Clyde's dialogue that way? God, he annoys me. HE IS GOING TO DIEEEEEEEEEEEE. *wrath*
