Stonemouth

‘I most certainly have not. Few people I know have a higher level of in-touchability than I do. Possibly none.’

‘You keep changing phone numbers.’

‘I keep changing phones. Accidents happen to the little fuckers.’

‘You can take your number with you.’

‘So people keep telling me. I can never be bothered with the paperwork.’

‘Well—’

‘And “All over”? Excuse me? Could you be a little more vague?’

Ferg was my great rival at school for prizes, especially the English prize. He was pretty good at Art but I was better, and he was a lot more adept at Maths and Physics than me. I usually prevailed in French and Chemistry. The rest of the subjects were sort of shared between us, with the occasional other kid allowed to best us on an ad hoc basis (I did a year of Latin by mistake). Quite an intense rivalry. I think the only subject we weren’t that bothered about was PE, and even there we were far from being the class weeds; middle rankers in the team-choosing ritual. Anyway, my best friend, for want of a better term, until I left in such a hurry and we lost touch.

‘I’m based in London,’ I tell him. ‘Not that I’m there often. I spend a lot of time at thirty-five thousand—’

‘You’re in London? Why wasn’t I informed? I’m in London sometimes! Which bit? Is it one of the cool areas? Do you have a spare room?’

‘Stepney.’

Ferg looks briefly thoughtful. I use the interval to wave at a lady barperson. ‘Is that a cool area?’ he asks.

‘Would it matter, if I had a spare room?’

‘Possibly not. We should swap numbers.’

‘Call me; I’ve kept the same number.’

‘So, where do you go when you’re not in London?’

‘Everywhere. Cities, mostly. I’ve been to at least three cities in China with populations greater than the whole of Scotland, which I guarantee you’ve never—’

‘So you’re in oil.’

‘Ferg!’ I glare at his thin, fascinated-looking face. ‘I went to art school. You came through to visit me and practically swooned when I took you round the Mackintosh building. What the fuck would I be doing—’

‘Oh yes. I forgot. Still, stranger things happen.’ I shake my head. ‘Only to you, Ferg.’

There’s silence for a moment. I catch the lady barperson’s eyes again and smile. Jeez, she looks young. You can’t serve behind a bar if you’re too young to be served in front of it, can you? This is just starting to happen to me, a sign of my advancing years. She nods, holds up one finger. In a polite way, like, One moment, sir.

Ferg says, ‘So what is it you do again?’

‘I light buildings.’

‘You’re a pyromaniac?’

‘Ha! Be still, my aching sides. No, I—’

‘I’m not the first to make that—’

‘Not quite.’

‘You should probably stop phrasing it like that then.’

‘I work for a consultancy; we design lighting for buildings. Usually buildings of some architectural distinction.’

‘So basically you do floodlighting. You’re a floodlighter.’

‘Yes, I’m a floodlighter,’ I sigh, as the girl comes over. I smile, say Hi, take my phone out and read off the drinks order.

‘Yes,’ Ferg says, sighing, ‘you would have an iPhone, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, I would. And a BlackBerry for—’

‘So, Stewart, you stick big lights round buildings and make sure they’re pointing sort of generally towards it. That’s your job. That’s what you do. This is your career.’

‘Well, obviously it’s not quite as complicated as you make it sound. What about you?’

Ferg jerks back as far as he can in the crush, bringing another scowl from the farmerish-looking guy behind him. ‘You’re offering to floodlight me?’

I find myself sighing, too. This has always happened when I’m around Ferg, like his mannerisms are contagious. Or he’s just always being annoying.

‘Do you have a job, Ferg?’

‘Of course! I’m a wildly talented games designer. You’ve probably played some of the games I’ve designed.’

‘Oh, I think we can all say that, Ferg,’ I tell him, archly, glancing back at the crowd of our friends in the raised area. He almost laughs, throwing his head back as though he’s about to, but then not. ‘How the fuck did you end up in games design?’ I ask him. ‘You told me games reached their peak with Asteroids.’

‘I may have exaggerated.’

‘And I thought games were designed by huge teams these days anyway.’

‘They are, once you get past the individual genius, bolt-from-the-blue inspiration phase. I’ll leave you to guess—’

‘I see. And this means you’re based where?’

‘Dundee. Don’t laugh; it’s quite cool these days. Well, cold. Naturally I fantasise about the heady delights of the central belt — the dreaming spires of Edinburgh, the urban chic of downtown Glasgow — but at least it’s not here, the land that time forgot.’