Chapter 10 – Brother trouble – the Phantom Fantoosh – Kannyman comes a-love-bombing – trouble with the ex

Checking my mobile in Martina I discovered six missed calls, five of which – five, for Chrissake! – were from Ish and one from Colin. He’d sent me a text – ‘OFF TO MATES TO DROP SUM CHOONS, PROB STAYIN OVAH, MUM’S DANDY’ . The last time he’d let me know too late he was off out, leaving Mum by herself, I’d chucked my phone so hard on the floor of the office I’d broken it. I wasn’t risking it in such a confined space so contented myself with hitting the steering wheel while shouting ‘Fucking WANKER!’, freaking out the poor cleaner heading past.

Back at home Mum was struggling with a microwave meal. She didn’t seem bothered about Colin abandoning her, just tutted as I ranted on while getting her tea sorted. She probably realised it was my form of therapy, stopped the self-pity setting in. Me wishing Dad was here to help, that that fucking bastard Kannyman hadn’t nicked off with him landing me with all this responsibility. 

‘Och, leave Colin alone, I quite like having my independence. And he’s been really down lately, does him good to get out,’ she said as I settled her on the couch with a tray, taking ages to plump up a cushion because it was so satisfying hitting something. 

‘C’mon Mum, don’t give me that, he bloody well loves being a waster. Dossing about, watching ‘This Morning’ or the Hero Channel,’ but she’d stopped listening, was eating while watching ‘Reporting Scotland’, glazed, oblivious. I gave in, sat beside her, the side Dad always took, with my toast. I couldn’t face anything more, the taste of Davey’s flat lingering at the back of my throat. 

I wanted to see a journalist standing in front of a block of Hilltown flats and be able to go, ‘See! You think Colin’s having a stressful time of it! The only stress he faces is ‘Celebrity Cash in the Attic’ clashing with ‘Deal or No Deal’. How about finding a dead man?’

But nothing. Bugger all about a block of flats being evacuated and closed off to residents, nada about a mysterious platoon in biohazard suits warning off police from a potential crime scene. Instead we were treated to reports about a young guy in Angus who’d turned his Ability of transforming freshly picked soft fruit instantly into jam into a thriving business and another about the growing problem of herds of Ned centaurs roaming the public parks of Edinburgh with speculation that Kannyman was responsible. By the sport there’d been absolutely no mention of poor Davey Robertson. 

I thumped the cushion behind me in irritation and briefly caught the smell of Dad about me. Made me realise how difficult it was to keep a hold of someone when they’re gone, how you have to work to keep the fragments left behind. It looked as though someone was trying very hard to make Davey disappear and I wasn’t going to let them do that.

‘Dear, you look exhausted, want me to fix you something? Oh and Ish was after you, rang a couple times asking if you were in. Is she alright? Have you been mean to her again?’ 

‘Ish? Phoning here? And whaddya mean, mean? Jeez, remember, we’re not actually together. I’m allowed to be mean to her, not that I have and – och, right, I’ll give her a call. And no, don’t be daft, you don’t have to get me anything. S’been a hard day, that’s all.’

Part of me, a chunk of me, wanted to tell her everything that had happened. Wanted to have a cry, get a hug. But it was hardly fair to do that to someone whose major achievement that day was getting their aching, disobedient body into the living room. And anyway, I’d lost her attention by then. She was distracted by the Fantoosh. The bloody marvellous Phantom Fantoosh. 

But then, even I found it difficult to look away. He was like an ultra-celebrity, his charisma was his Power. A Scottish Elvis of the late Las Vegas variety what with his quiff and jowls and his magnetism. 

‘Where the hell were you this afternoon, eh? When one of your beloved citizens needed you?’ I muttered and Mum made some vague, ‘Wha -?’ noise in my direction, feigning interest but otherwise transfixed as the Phantom was filmed looping a lazy loop-the-loop over some desolate moorland, trailing blue light as he swooped to land in front of the TV camera, the voice-over telling us the Fantoosh, ‘-aims to provide those with Abilities an opportunity to gain some respite from their condition.’

There was the Phantom in close-up, winking at the camera, my Mum responding with such a girly smile it was embarrassing. ‘Too many folk these days want to divide those with superpowers and the Abled. What I want to achieve with the Gathering is to show that Heroes and the Abled can work together. Learn from each other.’ 

‘But why such an isolated location? The logistical problems in getting hundreds of Abled people here will be immense, surely?’ a cutaway shot of the female journalist smiling as she asked this showed her heart wasn’t in doing a Paxman. This was the Fantoosh after all, greatest living Scotsman ever. 

‘But you’re forgetting, Alison, with the Fantoosh in charge, anything and everything is possible!’ and as the Phantom’s blue glow grew brighter I hoped that reporter had the shame to blush when she watched this and heard her giggle played back. ‘Seriously though,’ and the Phantom turned serious behind his eye-mask, ‘we want our guests to get away from it all to a place where they can fully explore their Abilities without fear. We feel this fantastic landscape provides the perfect space. Everyone can let rip and you have a cast-iron Fantoosh promise that the Moor will not be harmed as a result.’

And he was off again, skimming low over the moorland before speeding up, up and away, the low boom of the sound barrier being broken as the voice-over said, ‘In view of the possible controversy that may surround plans for the Gathering, there can be little doubt its success will stand as one of the Fantoosh’s greatest achievements, ranking with his completion of the Edinburgh trams project and the moving of the new Forth Crossing. Alison Riley, Reporting Scotland, Rannoch Moor.’

 ‘Wait, what was that? What’s that lunatic up to?’ I asked Mum but she was lost in a Phantom-induced daze. Even Sally Magnusson had to snap herself out of it before introducing the weather. 

‘Eh? What dear? Oh, looks as though he’s going to get busloads of poor souls with their Abilities going up North. Give them a bit of a holiday. Tips on how to sort themselves out.’

‘Sort themselves out…? Oh yeah, like it’ll be that easy,’ but Mum shushed me, desperate to find out if it would rain or not tomorrow, not that she ever left the house anyway these days. 

I left her there, drugs in easy reaching distance and headed up to the attic. I hoped another couple of those Marlboros, a few sips of vodka might help settle me down, make sure I wasn’t too ratty getting Mum ready to bed. I didn’t want the risk of cracking, starting to sob, unsettling her.

I opened the window wide as far as it would go and sat on the desk, breathed in the smell of chimneys. It was a still night, the air with some late summer warmth to it, the river black and gleaming, orange lights from the bridges rippling out. The city murmuring away to itself around me, blackbirds singing their heads off. In the tenement greens, that sense of the day easing away, letting you rest. 

A lovely night but it felt like an insult. I wanted something like the Flighting to make me feel better, something big and angry to match how I felt about Davey. Then I noticed the pink and purple glow rising over the massive Tescos down by the waterfront, a bubble arcing up and covering it.

Bloody Kannyman, another one of their love-bombs and although it was a few miles away I could still feel the effects of it. The warmth invading my body, getting turned on, the sexiness of it, and the more you resisted it the more you wanted it. As I was trying to work out who was worse, Kannyman, the arrogant God-being who nicked off with my Dad, or those evil fuckers the Knoxians, the pocket of my hoodie started vibrating and I was too distracted to check the caller.

‘Cathy! Thank God! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages, where’ve you been? Are you alright? I know you’re funny about me phoning you at home and your Mum she did sound tired – is she getting on alright? –  but anyway, when I heard what had happened I had to -’

‘Ish, ISH! Look, fuck’s sake, go’an slow down and take a deep breath a minute, ‘kay? Cos you’re doing like that singing thing and I’m going to start bleeding from this eardrum if you don’t tone it down a bit. Christ, you hardly need a bloody phone the rate you’re going!’

‘Oh, right, sorry yes, I didn’t -’

‘Wait, hold on, what d’you mean when you heard what had happened? What’ve you heard? Eh? And like, how?’

‘What?…oh…yeah, you mean about…about Davey?’

‘Yes, yes I mean about bloody Davey. I haven’t told a soul, there was nothing about it on the news, folk at work saying there was nothing on the internet so how the fuck do you know anything about it?’ and I started to panic, wondering if since she’d gone all superhero, registered with the government and everything, sworn to observe certain rules and regulations, she’d become one of Them. Like Mr Cruickshank but in a fancier costume. 

‘Cathy, don’t be so defensive, alright? I’m concerned about you, don’t be so paranoid, I -’

‘Paranoid! What, are you…are you kidding me? After the day I had, after what happened in Hilltown, practically getting shot for asking what was going on and then my ex-girlfriend phones up knowing all about it and you think I’m over-reacting? Christ, Ish…’

‘I was at a thing, OK, a superhero thing, a meeting about what the Fantoosh is up to, this Gathering -’ 

‘Oh aye, so what’s that all about then? How involved are you?’

‘Would you let me explain? God, at least have the decency to stay focused while you’re interrogating.’

‘…’

‘Thank you. So yes, we were in this Community Centre -’

‘- Community Centre? Jeez, hardly the Batcave, is it?’

‘Just shut it you. Any idea how difficult it is getting a space at short notice for about thirty-odd folk…anyway, there’s a whole bunch of Heroes having coffee and biscuits and then the Doomsayer starts having one of her turns, spills her coffee and I’m trying to mop it up with a tea-towel while she’s spouting off about a man being spread all over the place and then she mentions Hilltown and Golden Eagle -’ 

‘That twat? Y’know he fancies you, right?’

‘CATHY!’

‘Aiya! Volume! Remember volume!’

‘Sometimes you deserve to be deafened. Anyway, so yeah, Golden Eagle realises it isn’t a forecast it’s something that’s happened a couple of hours ago and then I start getting freaked out because she mentions you. She actually says, “You, it’s you, Cathy, Cathy Burns” and then something about the police and then she sort of faints and I’m trying to stay calm, although I do sort of try and shake her and she’s sort of lolling and when she comes round she isn’t really able to give me any more info and that’s why I’ve been phoning. But…so…you’re fine then? You’re OK?’

‘Yes. Yes Ish, I’m fine, shattered but -’ I closed my eyes, turned my head towards Kannyman’s glow, allowed some of it to seep into me while listening to Ish’s breathing, a nice, gentle shushing, like putting your ear to a shell, lulling you to sleep, and it reminded me of when we were in bed together – 

I opened my eyes, saw the purple fading, felt a chill in the air. ‘I’m fine. Sort of. I mean, with Davey he was a good guy and there’s stuff…there’s stuff not right about it. Not right about it at all.’

‘What d’you mean, not right? Look, Cath, you don’t want to get yourself involved in anything, anything dangerous.’

‘What? Why, are only superheroes allowed to take risks now? You gonna get your union involved?’

‘Look, I didn’t mean that, I just…I worry. Still. Isn’t that allowed?’

I sighed, felt the tears come again, wanted to send that phone slipping down the roof tiles.‘Oh, for God’s sake… we’re both too tired for this right now. How about we meet up, OK? Tomorrow, tomorrow we’ll go for a drink. In Boos, the usual. That suit?’

‘…yeah, yeah alright…’

‘…what? Ish?’

‘I could…I could come round if you wanted.’ The catch of hope in her voice.

‘No, no it’s fine. I’ll see you at 7. It’ll be good to meet up. Not seen you for ages.’

‘Been busy. Both of us. Cathy, listen, promise me you’ll -’

‘Thanks for phoning, Ish, I’ll see you.’ I killed the line, watched the glow over Tescos fade back to ordinary night with no more Kannyman love-force there to make it brighter. 

After getting Mum to sleep my night was filled with dreams of reaching out for people as they slipped away, flesh running through my fingers with nothing there to take hold of.