Welcome Home, Craig

“Caledonia you’re calling me and now I’m coming home” – Caledonia by Dougie Maclean

I had just boarded the last stage of my long trek home from New York to Glasgow at London Heathrow. Another hour or so and I would be on home turf again for the first time in a decade. Was I looking forward to it? In some ways, yes. Glasgow has always been my first love. It is where I grew up, got my education, where I met the love of my life before screwing it up beyond repair. There’s a line in the song Caledonia by Dougie Maclean “I have moved, and I’ve kept on moving, proved the points I needed proving.” That, at least in part, explains why I moved, despite loving Glasgow so much.

My relationship with Glasgow is a complicated one. It was not an easy decision to come back after so long. So many bad things happened when I was last in the city. That was why I needed to escape. After things ended with Laura and everything that happened with my brother…I couldn’t stay. Besides, I had some savings, and it was the first time I had really tried living anywhere else.

New York and Glasgow share a lot in common. In fact, the design and layout of New York was based on Glasgow. They are cultural meccas, dirty, busy, and incredibly exciting places to be…unless you are on the wrong side of the poverty line.

I twiddled with the over-priced scotch as I sat looking out the window at the runway before we took off and the lights of London at night were disappearing beneath us. Though I realised it was not going to be easy going home, I didn’t think I would be physically shaking. My nerves were not great most of the time. But this was different…my intermittent jitters that come and go were more persistent and consistent right now.

I probably looked like I was playing air drums to Angel of Death by Slayer or something like that. Either that or I looked like some kind of mental patient or as scared of the increasing ascent into the heavens we were making as the woman beside me. Her name was Harry, short for Harriet, apparently. I didn’t ask…she volunteered that information.

Why do people do that? Why can’t they leave me alone? “Oh, that’s nice. I’m Craig” I replied and then instantly regretted it. I should have known engaging would lead to more inane chatter. It’s not that I don’t like people, you understand…just, random people on planes.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, I reasoned. My maw would be a pain, but isn’t that her job? She’ll complain about my long, straggly hair. The thing is, though, when you are a digital nomad, you don’t really need to worry about your hair. I did several Zoom meetings last week in just my pants and even one in a dressing gown with nothing but my birthday suit underneath my faux—professional and respectable.

Brushing my hand through the messy strands of my hair…I was trying to drown out the sound of Harry’s chattering teeth and murmurings about how she can’t possibly die today. Why the hell not? When did Wednesdays become a bad day to die? As long as we don’t crash into Sunderland or somewhere and swerve off into the North Sea, I’ll be fine with that. That’s one way to avoid returning home.

“Business or pleasure?” God, you speak to one petrified lassie and suddenly everyone in the vicinity thinks I actually give a crap. “Sorry?” I replied, looking across the aisle at young lad sitting with shades on and a stupid grin on his face. Graduate probably…sales or insurance…something dickish, I’m guessing. “Are you going to Glasgow for business or pleasure?” he pressed forward with the thickest and poshest English accent I’ve heard in a long time. He sounded like an Eton lad for sure. “Uhm, Mah granda was high on some bad skunk and hung himself with an extension cord” I replied in the thickest, roughest-sounding Weegie accent I have mustered in ten years. That shut him up. I wish it wasn’t true. God, do I wish it was untrue. Still…Granda never approved of me going tae New York, so he’s probably loving the fact that his death brought me home. The arse.

*

The room was dark and all I could see was Laura standing over me in that red dress she wore the day we split. She was whispering, but I couldn’t hear her or lipread. Then I woke up and looking to my right, Harry was snoring with saliva drippling out her mouth. This is why I hate people and hate bloody economy flights. On the plus side, we were about to land…if that could be seen as a plus side, because I still think the North Sea as my watery grave would be the best end.

Another thing I wasn’t looking forward to about my trip home was the gentrification of Glasgow. As a child of the 80s, I know many of the changes were much needed, but it’s the fact that the changes led to driving out so many people who had stayed in the city all their life but couldn’t afford the rising living costs. That and I hate the idiots, like shades to my right, who were filling the city.

I sound like my granda…which isn’t a bad thing really. As the plane lands and slows down, I check myself in the mirror and then take a photo on my phone to see how much of a wreck I look. Sunken cheeks, cavernous eyes, with messy, I’m sure sweaty and sticky hair that needs…well treatment of any kind…and a scowl that would make a baby cry. Perfect for my Tinder profile, if I had one.

*

At least I don’t need to face my maw until tomorrow when jet lag will hopefully have worn off and if it hasn’t, I’ll be superbly hungover. I had agreed to meet Grae…my oldest buddy that hadn’t died or moved. Funny that I said died first.

We were going to the Scotia Bar, arguably the oldest surviving pub in Glasgow and a regular haunt back in the day. Filing off the plane, it’s raining outside as I head to the terminal and then onto the Glasgow Airport Express shuttle bus. From Central Station, it’s a short walk and despite all the travelling I’ve done, I need some time to think, without Harry jittering and mumbling or that shades-wearing arse staring at me like I was a Trainspotting extra.

The city is as beautiful as I remember it. All tall buildings looming over me and all those Gargoyles that gaze down from the tops. I pass a couple of hen parties that give me the dirtiest of looks and just laugh and scream and a couple of groups of neds (delinquent youths, think chavs). Fortunately, my whole demeanour is one of “don’t even bother”.

While Glasgow is known for its friendliness, it takes on a different persona after dark. That's when the miscreants and eegits come out to play. By play, I mean all manner of sinful behaviour. It's not everyone, but like any major city, Glasgow has its fair share of rotten apples. As I approach the Scotia bar, it doesn’t look like much, but the interior is warm, welcoming and looks like it’s stuck in a time loop. All uneven wooden beams and traditional brass fittings.

I approach the bar and ask the guy for a single malt and a pint of Guinness, because I need to prepare for the barrage of questions Grae is going to throw at me. Then I see her…. the last person I was expecting to see. “Oi, Craig, you arsehole” she calls out, standing in the doorway of the pub, in a red dress, it can’t possibly be the same one. I close my eyes because I must be having a feverish jet lag-induced hallucination. “Laura…”

*

I just stand there, watching her as she slowly saunters over towards the bar next to me. No one else is quite as captivated by her as I am…the room could be empty for all I care. I had always claimed I was over her, but seeing her there, brought everything back and hit me square on the face. Nope, that was my head on the bar, as I passed out briefly. The guy behind the bar asked if I was all right “Just the long flight and the sight of an old flame” I said, sitting down at the stool as Laura shuffled onto the one next to me.

“Aye, lassies will dae that tae yee, lad” he laughed sliding my Guinness towards me. Before I can take as much as a sip, Laura grabs it and says “Ah, Craig, you remembered!” and gulps about half of it down in one go. “I didn’t get it for you…besides, what the hell are you doing here?” I said, pulling the Guinness back and taking a mouthful, enjoying the crisp, sour taste and thick consistency as it coated my tongue and then my throat.

“That’s a funny way to speak to an old friend…after all this time…what has it been…ten years?” she snorted, sipping from my single malt. “Almost to the day, yeah. You’re looking good, but you shouldn’t be here…I’m supposed to be meeting Grae” I said with an increasing note of surprise and concern in my voice.

“You still friends with that numpty? When are yee gonna git new pals, Craig? You disappoint me, sometimes.” She replied. I had forgotten how much she and Grae clashed over…well, everything. She always felt we split for that very reason, when it was really more complicated than that. We…were not right for each other. Well, I wasn’t right for her…and she didn’t want to believe it.

I tried to zone everything out for a minute or so, while I enjoyed the last of that first pint. Gasping as I signalled for another from the barman, I turned to look at Laura and she was just staring. “Whit?” I asked, as she just stared, quirking her lips into a cute little smile like she always did. That was the way she won arguments…the way she won me. Conquered with her smile and that fiery passion of hers.

All of the good times came flashing back as she said “I heard frae yer maw, yee were in toon and wanted tae see yee, Craig” she said with a real sense of warmth in her voice. It was hard to fight against the longing I had and her being nice to me, even after all this time, was making it harder still.

“Laura…” I tried to reason with her, before she stopped me by placing a dainty little finger, the middle one that was still adorned with the emerald I had bought her for our first-year anniversary as a couple. “Don’t say a word, Craig. Please…let me remember things the way they were. Please?” she countered, with a sadness in her voice.

“Fine…” I said, not in any mood to get into an argument. Not least of all a ghost from my past.

“Do you remember the first song we danced to, Craig?” she asked as she played with her short curls, pushing them behind her ears. “Whit?”

“The first song we danced to, Craig? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten” she frowned. I did remember but didn’t want to.

“Real Gone Kid by Deacon Blue” I laughed.

“Aye…those were good times. I was glad to see they have still survived and are making music again”.

“Laura…”

“I know, Craig. I know. But if you can see me…then something’s really wrong…up here.” She sighed tapping her finger against my forehead.

“Another pint and single malt, please” I said, finishing my second and then slamming the whisky down my throat.

“What are we going to do with you, Craigie?” continued Laura with that disappointed tone to her voice, the one I couldn’t stand.

“I’ll be fine” I tried to argue.

“You are anything but fine, pal. You’re back hame in Glesga, yer Grandpa’s deid, and you dumped me ten years ago.”

She was right.

Welcome back to Glasgow, Craig, I thought as I continued to sink drink after drink.

*

Thanks for reading.

Author's Note: The first entry into the Next Great [American] Novel Challenge, which you can find out more information about below. I think this is self-explanatory really.

For more Scottish/Glaswegian-flavoured writings, take a look at the following:

You can also take a look at the rest of my work here.