Doug Johnstone - Tombstoning

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Doug Johnstone is a writer, musician and arts journalist based in Edinburgh. He has a PhD in nuclear physics. He is also a singer and multi-instrumentalist in a band, Northern Alliance, who are part of the Fence Collective. He is married and has a son. Tombstoning is his first novel.

Tombstoning

DOUG JOHNSTONE

PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group

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First published in Penguin Books 2006

Copyright Doug Johnstone, 2006

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-0-14-192657-5

For Andrew and Eleanor, Trish and Aidan

The past is never dead. Its not even past.

William Faulkner

It all started with an email.

David stumbled into work just before ten, his short hair pointing several ways at once, his jeans a gritty grey-blue, with a whiff of last nights booze about him. As he swiped his card by the front door two removal men emerged, shuffling their way out with a battered pool table. There goes the last of the games room, thought David. It figured.

Still Waters was a thrusting, vibrant web-design company. At least it had been, almost, when the company launched five years earlier. Now that the dotcom dream had well and truly dissolved they were laying people off, frantically exaggerating to clients in a desperate attempt to win contracts, and sheepishly flogging all the superfluous, gimmicky crap theyd initially bought to attract graduates. The Playstation was long gone, as was the table football, and now the pool table was going the same way. David was surprised it had taken so long. After all, theyd already given nearly a dozen employees the bullet. Naturally, there were half a dozen directors still on the payroll, clocking up miles on the company Mercs and spending the afternoons at lunch or on one of Edinburghs more exclusive golf courses. But further down the food chain they were reduced to a handful of designers, programmers and developers, all so disenchanted with pay-cuts, increased hours and lack of recognition that there mightve been a mutiny on the directors hands, if anyone couldve been arsed.

David shrugged past the removal men into his cubbyhole corner of the office, keeping his head down to avoid being seen. Still Waters occupied the first two floors of a crumbly old stone building hidden down a cobbled alleyway off the main drag of Stockbridge. The walls were thick, the windows small and the ceilings low. Nestled between bohemian antique sellers and the poshest charity shops in the country, Still Waters was within a few yards of umpteen restaurants, cafs, delis, bistros and boozers, the last of which David and his disgruntled colleagues made good use of whenever they could sneak out.

David was probably still a bit pissed from last night. Nothing special, just a few pints after work followed by cracking open the bottle of Lagavulin when he got back to the flat. He would probably have to knock that whisky nightcap thing on the head, even if it was excellent fifteen-year-old stuff.

He fixed himself a coffee, fired up the PC and settled in for a day of surfing, with the occasional work-related moment thrown in to keep folk off his back. Christ only knew how long the company would stay afloat. David was surprised that he hadnt been amongst those already booted out. He could do the work, it was a piece of piss to be honest, but he just so badly couldnt be bothered exerting himself for a company that was about to go tits up anyway. Todays hangover wasnt exactly helping. At the moment he was supposed to be working on a site for some ridiculous motivational guru, Frank Lavine, whose command of office buzzwords, feelgood gobbledegook and doublespeak was something to behold. David was tempted to stick some made-up, meaningless platitudes in there, see if old Frank noticed the difference.

He started wading through his emails. Twenty-four in the inbox since hed left at five last night, including all the usual spam and junk cock enlargement, Viagra, Prozac, lap-dancing clubs, buy yourself a degree, online mortgages did anyone ever fall for this shite?

Then he saw it, that name, sitting amongst all the drivel. Nicola Cruickshank. A coincidence? There must be loads of Nicola Cruickshanks in the world, it wouldnt necessarily be from her. He clicked it open and as he read down he felt a tightening in his gut that couldnt solely be put down to his hangover.

From: nicola.cruickshank@historicscotland.co.uk

Subject: hullo you

Date:8 August 2003 9:15:37 GMT

To:david.lindsay@stillwaters.co.uk

David,

Is this you? Im pretty sure it is, because I saw your profile on the Still Waters website and it sounds like you. Anyway, hullo, hows it going? Long time no see and all that crap. Oh yeah, this is Nicola, as in Cruickshank, dunno if you remember me from all those years ago at Keptie High? Cant really believe that was 15 years ago, it seems like hardly any time. Then again it also seems like a lifetime ago, so who knows? Im rambling.

Hows life? Hope youre doing well, lifes been good and that you havent gotten fat and bald. Actually, scratch that, because if you are fat and bald then that last comment was insanely insensitive. Im not helping by going on about it now, am I? I really dont know when to shut up in emails. But anyway, I hope youre well, irrespective of your current waistline and hair, or lack thereof.

And so to the point. Ive been roped in by some of the illustrious ladies of our year at school to help organize a class reunion. I dont really have much to do with it, to be honest, but one of them rang me up and asked if I wouldnt mind trying to get in touch with a few people. When they mentioned your name Ill admit that my interest was piqued. So what the hell have you been up to for the last 15 years? Are you married? Kids? Are you even still male? (These days, anything can happen, you know, Im not casting aspersions on your manhood or anything look, here I am talking drivel again.)

Anyway, the reunion is organized for next Saturday, thats the 16th of August, in believe it or not Ballys. I know, itll be bloody terrible probably but, well, Im going and it would be nice if you could make it. I believe Ballys is now officially called the Waterfront or something, but everyone still calls it Ballys.