This is chapter 10 from my book “Burn”

A night walk. A cigarette. A conversation with someone on the late shift.

Jean’s home. She’s exhausted. She fell asleep on the couch. I lifted her through to the bed.

I got in next to her but I can’t sleep.

I lay in the darkness. The streetlight cuts through the curtain
on her face. I lay there and just watch her for a while.

Listen to her breath.

Midnight. 1am. 2:30am.

Ah fuck, I’m giving up. Jean is out for the count. I slip on my jeans and old coat and I’m out into the night. The rain is falling softly, the streetlights bright, reflected off the wet surface of the road. All you can hear is the silence. What a difference from the blood and guts of the football this afternoon. We could be anywhere, Soho, Tokyo, but there’s no place I’d rather be than here. Home.

Okay, maybe back in my bed. It’s fucking freezing.

But I’m here. Under the railway bridge. Past a few folk who are a little the worse for wear.

I walk past Kirkentoun Chippy. It’s a fish and chip shop, cafe and music venue. They’ll pass a hat around. Maybe give you a poke of chips. I’ve played there a couple of times. Nice people.

Round the corner. There’s a definite smell of smoke. Someone is sitting under the awning at the back of the supermarket. Night shift.

“That you, Tam? You’re up late.”

“Hi Emma, how are you?”

“Shite.”

“Ha, me too.”

“You want one?”

“Aye, sure.”

She passes me a cigarette and her lighter, and I light it up. The flame flickers for a second before the tip glows orange.

“Tough shift?” I ask.

“Christ, it’s just a long one, you know? I just keep thinking of the wee man. This’ll go towards his Christmas, and maybe a bottle of wine for his mum.” She laughs tiredly.

“Hey, that’s right. How old’s the wee man now?”

“He’s four. Staying at my mum’s tonight.”

“Oh, he’ll be getting spoilt rotten, eh?”

“Oh aye. Grandparents give their own kids all the shite and then spoil the grandkids. I’m seeing a side of her I never even knew existed.”

“I’ve heard that. Fucking life’s weird, ain’t it? It’s like they were ball-busters all their life. This wee guy comes along and it’s trips here, treats there.”

“Aye, it’s not even that, it’s it’s just like a softer side. I was shocked. I was looking at my mum like, who the fuck are you?”

A taxi cuts up the street, engine roaring. It fades out and leaves us with the sound of the steady rain. We sit there together in the silence.

“You doing alright?”

“Aye, I’m no bad thanks.”

“I heard what happened. People are fucking idiots. Good to see you about, even if it is in the middle of the night.”

“Thanks.”

She checks her watch.

“Oh fuck, I better get back to it,” she says.

We hug and say our goodbyes.

I take one last drag on the cigarette and then ping it out onto the road. And I’m walking. Back down the main road. The sky is beginning to clear, I can see a few stars through the streetlights.

I start humming a song.

“Time is going to run, it’s going to change us all, yeah, it’s going to change us all.”

That reminds me, I want to play some guitar tomorrow. No more acoustic. I’m going to plug that fucker in. I’ve still got the little Park amp in the bedroom. It sits under the table by the TV. It’s an amp I got when I was learning to play. Still got it. Never was too good at throwing some things away.

I’m going to plug it in and turn it up.
I’m going to burn the house down.
Let the music wash over me.
Baptise me.
Release me.

It’s still dark when I get back. I slip off my shoes and my jeans and duck back into the bed. Jean puts an arm around me. “You alright, midnight rambler?”

“I’m cool. Love you.”

I kiss her lips and before you know it, I’m asleep. The next thing I know, Jean is leaning over me. I smell her perfume first and then I open my tired eyes with a real effort; they feel like they are saying,

“What the fuck time do you call this, pal? We’ve only been closed for a few hours. Back to sleep, you prick.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s 7am. I’ve got to get to work. Love you.”

I watch her as she leaves, and I lay back down. I’m sleeping before my head hits the pillow

This chapter comes from my book Burn.
If you’d like to keep reading, the full book is available here:

(Copyright Paul Andrew Sneddon)