Soldier On: Chapter One: Part Two

“I can’t come in today.” Croaked Lynsey, “I’m choked with the cold, sorry.”
She wasn’t choked with the cold. In fact, she didn’t even feel the slightest bit hungover. For a normal person waking up after a night of binge-drinking, that would be a reason to be happy – but Lynsey wasn’t a normal person. Every morning she woke up, those first few moments when she didn’t know who she was were bliss. But then, every day without fail, reality would set in and the dark clouds would form. Today was no different. Jamie had gone and she wouldn’t see him for another few hours, which felt like weeks away. She was alone.
I’m worthless. I’m nothing. I don’t belong on this planet. Jamie deserves so much better than me.
But she couldn’t be worthless – Jamie would never love her if she was worthless.
My job is shit. I’m ugly. I have no future. Once a junkie, always a junkie. I am scum.
No, there was a future – a future with Jamie, and only good things could come of that.
My life is fucking shit. I want to die. Right now. I should end it all right now.
It wasn’t true. It didn’t matter how much her mind screamed it all at her, she would battle on for as long as there was a small morsel of hope and sanity and clarity of thought floating somewhere amidst the flood of dark demonic bile.
How can something as silent as a thought be so damn deafening?
Maybe she shouldn’t have phoned in sick. If she’d gone to work, she would have at least had something to think about and focus on. But selling vitamins and bath bombs in Superdrug was not Lynsey’s idea of fun. It was her idea of hell, second only to having to spend this evening having dinner with her parents, pretending to be happy and content and normal. At least Jamie would be there. She checked her phone for the eighth time this minute in the hope that he had text her and she just hadn’t heard the message tone. There was nothing.
If it was up to Lynsey, she would be cooking up right now with a belt on her arm and a song in her heart. But it wasn’t up to her, not really. She could live without the smack, but she could never survive without Jamie and she couldn’t have both. Even ten minutes without him near were hard enough. It was an easy choice to make.
Lynsey slowly dragged herself from her bed, hit play on the CD player on her bedside table, and closed the curtains plunging her bedroom into bleak darkness, her surroundings now mirroring the darkness of her soul. She sunk to the ground on the floor at the bottom of her bed and crossed her legs, as Peter Hook’s opening baseline to Digital by Joy Division vibrated through her body.
The tiny line of light that managed to squeeze through the miniscule gap between the curtains briefly caught the Stanley knife as Lynsey withdrew it from her handbag, almost as though the blade was winking at her. She winced slightly as the sharpened piece of metal separated the pale skin on her forearm allowing her fresh blood to spill out, like crimson commuters pouring from opening train doors. She took a deep breath, relaxed and whispered along to the lyrics that boomed from her speakers, as small red stains began to form on the beige carpet.
I feel it closing in, I feel it closing in.
Day in, day out, day in, day out.


The walk from Jamie’s house to Di Maio’s always felt shorter when he was going to rather than fro. It usually meant he’d just dealt with a drunken mother, and he would subconsciously surf the wave of anger-induced adrenaline all the way to the chip shop. It was now late afternoon and the dark winter nights were beginning to come in thick and fast. As he approached Di Maio’s, or “D Ma o’s” as the flickering sign above the window would have the public believe, thoughts turned to the night ahead.
Lynsey’s parents are bearable, tonight shouldn’t be too bad.
Mr and Mrs McShane didn’t seem to have any idea about their only daughter’s battles – both mentally and chemically. They lived in Hamilton, had a lovely big house, two fancy cars, and only ever saw Lynsey on nights like tonight – occasional trips to the family home for dinner with Jamie in tow. But surely Lynsey’s problems were obvious? Maybe not the exact details, but it didn’t take a degree in psychology to notice that her head was a mess. And no parent on earth could watch their child return from a few years “travelling” and not notice that they looked like they’d just been released from a WW2 prisoner of war camp. Jamie was sure that her mum and dad knew she had major problems, but perhaps things like that didn’t fit into their ideological family life and so were simply ignored in the hope they’d go away, like an overdue phone bill. It was almost as though they had taken a collective decision one day to pretend there was nothing wrong with their daughter, resulting in the genuine belief that this was actually the case. It was a despicable thought, but one that Jamie would always put aside on nights like tonight. This was about showing face, being polite, and leaving without getting dragged into any Lynsey-related arguments.
Lynsey doesn’t need her family anyway, she’s got Fran, Sandy, JP and me. Especially me.
Amid the McShane conspiracy theories, Jamie’s auto-pilot had taken him into the chip shop and up to the counter at the back of the dingy takeaway where Sandy was usually found. As Jamie returned to the real world, he realised he was looking at a short, thin black boy. Granted, it had been a heavy night last night and perhaps his mind was in a little bit of a mess, but he was still sure that Sandy wasn’t a short, thin black boy.
“Erm…” Began Jamie, “Is Sandy here?”
A shake of the head was the response.
“Is he due back soon?”
This time it was a helpful shrug of the shoulders which formed the reply. This was a particularly frustrating conversation, if it could be called that, and Jamie didn’t have the patience for it at the moment.
What is it with this guy? Is he deliberately being a dick?
The brief flicker of anger in his belly manifested itself in a short kick to the counter. The mystery chip shop worker looked somewhat taken aback.
“Are you angry that he is not here?” He said, in a slow foreign accent.
Jamie noticed the worriment in the boy’s face and realised he’d probably scared him a little.
“I’m sorry,” sighed Jamie, “I’m just pretty pissed off at the moment. Life’s pretty shit right now to be honest. Shit job, shit home life, shit finances. Everything’s shit. You know how it is.”
The boy’s eyes lit up slightly.
“I am Erasto.” He smiled, “And your life is not shit.”
Jamie didn’t quite know how to take such a comment.
What does this guy know about my life?
The boy was probably new to the country given Jamie had never seen him before. It seemed like he just trying to be polite and didn’t come across as being confrontational. It wasn’t worth responding to him in an aggressive manner, but Jamie had time to kill before heading to Hamilton so a little bit of harmless chat with “Erasto” couldn’t hurt.
“Oh really?” Chuckled Jamie, “And what would you know about it?”
Twenty minutes later Jamie walked out of Di Maio’s and hailed a taxi. He sat in the back seat and replayed the last 1200 seconds in his mind. After questioning Erasto on what the little African boy knew about “it”, he had expected to get another shake of the head or a shrug of the shoulders, a few back-tracking words in broken English at a very push. He hadn’t planned on receiving his new acquaintance’s life story.
It had been quite a story, and Jamie still wasn’t sure how much of it was true. But it was a story nonetheless and one he’d perhaps like to regale to his friends later in the pub, if he could remember it all of course. He replayed the Hollywood production of the young African’s life, as he had visualised it at the time.
Erasto Abdullah Ahmed had been born sixteen years ago in a small village in Somalia, the name of which Jamie had no chance of remembering, just a few months after his father had been killed in a gun battle between Somali militants and a United Nations taskforce. The youngest of the family, his upbringing had been poverty stricken and he had been sent to work with livestock on neighbouring farms from a very young age, along with his three sisters and one brother. Despite never fighting in the Somali Civil War, he was able to recount a few occasions where he had witnessed violence and murder. One particular account of him watching from behind a barn as an African boy, who was not much older than Erasto was now, was brutally mowed down in heavy machine gun fire while running away had left visions of slow-motion dramatics and blockbuster special effects in Jamie’s mind. It was with surprise that he had noted the storyteller’s matter-of-fact tone and general lack of emotion when describing events any normal person would think to be horrific.
By the time Erasto was a teenager one sister had died due to ill-health and another had simply vanished off the face of the earth one day. In the morning, the children had been sent to work as normal but his sister had never returned home. The family had searched and searched but she had never been seen again. They had their own theories on what had happened to her, but Erasto hadn’t relayed those to Jamie. Around a year ago, his brother had given up the rural life and set off to seek adventure fighting in the War, leaving just Erasto, his mother and his sister left at home. At this point the family had taken the mammoth decision to leave the country they had spent their entire lives and seek a new beginning in Europe. Leaving in the darkness of night, they had left their village in silence and fled across the Gulf of Aden – wherever that was – with the help of Erasto’s uncle and part-time pirate (a black Captain Sparrow in Jamie’s active imagination), before somehow managing to fly from Yemen to London.
This young Somali boy, whose entire life thus far had revolved around poverty, farming and war, whose father had died in battle before his birth, and whose own eyes had viewed a civil war first hand, had then spoken with immense pride when telling Jamie how he, his mother and his sister had been granted asylum and now found themselves at the very start of their new lives in East Kilbride.
As Jamie snapped back into the reality of the taxi’s backseat, he couldn’t help but feel he was maybe in the middle of an experience he’d heard was called “putting things into perspective.”
Maybe my life isn’t actually that bad after all, all things considered.
After all, anyone who viewed East Kilbride as some sort of paradise had surely had it tough.


I’m just as good as Gordon Ramsay and I don’t even feel the need to swear all the time.
Perhaps he was exaggerating his ability ever so slightly, but there was no disputing the fact that Fran was a more than capable cook and he definitely didn’t swear as much as Ramsay did. Tonight’s speciality would be Chicken Fettucini Alfredo with garlic ciabattas and some rather expensive red wine – his kitchen-based handy work was going to perfection so far and the meal in prospect was looking fantastic, even romantic. Unfortunately, a third place at the dinner table had already been set for Claire’s younger sister Vanessa, and no amount of romantic Italian food and Marks & Spencer’s wine would open that triangle-shaped door. Fantasies were called fantasies for a reason.
“Nessa’s taxi has just pulled up.” Claire had popped her head into the kitchen and her sharp exclamation had suddenly burst the fantasy Fran had just started to slip into. “Will dinner be long?”
“Five minutes or so.” Fran estimated. “Go let her in and I’ll pour some wine.”
He strolled into the living room, swiped the bottle on the sideboard and began to pour with all the zeal of an overly enthusiastic waiter. The voices of the Divers sisters grew louder and louder as they made their way down the hall, before Vanessa swept into the room in a vibrant vision of red, followed by Claire.
Wow.
There was only one girl for Fran and that was Claire, the future Mrs Burnside. But there was something about Vanessa that made her hard to ignore when she walked into a room. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the world, she wasn’t even the most beautiful girl in the living room, but she had a mesmerising aura that simply radiated from her. Maybe it was her youthful 19-year old exuberance that shone like a beacon, or the unrelenting confidence she seemed to possess, or just her stunning deep red hair standing out from the backdrop of the general dullness of East Kilbride, like an astonishing auburn waterfall cascading over a greyscale cliff. Whatever it was, it was clear that Mr and Mrs Divers had great genes.
“Good evening Franny!” There was a melodic quality to Vanessa’s voice. “How’s my favourite future-brother-in-law?”
“Great thanks.” Grinned Fran, handing her a freshly poured glass of red wine. “I’ll let you two get comfortable, the food should be ready soon.”
He smiled at the sisters and made his way back into the kitchen. Lowering the heat on the hob, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
He was in his great flat making a fantastic dinner for his beautiful fiancée and her wonderful sister. An enjoyable, civilised evening was underway. He didn’t need drink or drugs to enjoy a Saturday night like his friends did. He had grown up. And he was happy. But he couldn’t help but feel he had deserted his friends, like the runts of the litter left out in the cold to fend for themselves.
Am I bad person for making a success of my life?
Such a question could wait. Dinner was about to be served.


It had been an interesting day thus far for James Dunlop. He’d left his girlfriend to deal with her own mental war zone, created a war zone within his own home, and then heard all about a real life Somali war zone from his new immigrant friend. There had been enough war zones for today though and, for potentially the first time ever, he was now quite looking forward to having dinner with Lynsey’s folks. It would be a quiet evening, maybe even borderline normal.
“Seven quid please mate.” The driver pulled on the hand brake as the taxi crawled to a stop outside the large McShane household. Jamie searched in his jeans pocket for change and produced a crumpled £10 note – a dishevelled financial sole-survivor from the night before. Collecting his change, he hopped out of the taxi and strolled towards Lynsey who managed to appear at the front door within the blink of an eye. The couple embraced, Lynsey breathing heavily with relief that her soul mate had arrived sooner than expected.
“Sorry I’m a bit early,” mumbled Jamie, “but I didn’t have anywhere to go really. Do you mind?”
Lynsey looked at Jamie, giving him a look that said “don’t be stupid”, before leading him into the living room to greet her parents.


Sandy sauntered into the chip shop, acknowledging Erasto with a nod of the head and dragging his feet to the back of the kitchen, whilst looking around for a spare apron.
“Your friend was here earlier.” Exclaimed the boy from Africa, with great excitement. Unfortunately, Erasto couldn’t remember, or hadn’t bothered to ask, the name of this mysterious friend. Sandy rolled his eyes.
It was probably Jamie killing time before his dinner.
The kid from Ghana or Nigeria or wherever he came from had only been working in Di Maio’s for a few days, evident by his keenness and hard-working attitude. It was as though he actually liked working in a chip shop. Tonight’s shift spent dealing with drunken and aggressive arseholes would soon eradicate any remaining enthusiasm. The area surrounding the chippy was a war zone on Saturday nights.
There’s no way Africa’s worse than this shit-hole.


Jamie lurched a spoonful of hot carrot and coriander soup into his mouth, while nodding along in agreement to whatever it was Mr McShane was saying. He wasn’t remotely interested in exchange rates, especially as he’d never been out of Scotland. How the pound was doing against the Euro really had no relevance on Jamie’s life at this particular moment in time and, try as he might, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. As he continued to hold his look of interest, he felt a slight vibration in his pocket.
A text. I need to read it.
Jamie wasn’t the most patient human being on the planet. If he had a text, then he simply had to view it as soon as possible. It could be a message from anyone saying anything – the possibilities were endless. That was just too big a deal for Jamie to ever wait around for. Thankfully, Mr McShane’s break from the conversation in order to satisfy his sudden need to demolish a buttered roll gave Jamie the window of opportunity he craved.
“There’s a few lines of coke behind the cuddly seal for you in the toilet.”
He looked across the dinner table at the sender of the text message. Lynsey’s black fringe covered most of her eyes, but Jamie could just make out a subtle, hidden wink.
“Can you excuse me please?” Enquired Jamie, already actively excusing himself by getting to his feet. “I’m just going to nip to the toilet.”
He pushed his chair back in against the table and made his way out of the dining room and started heading down the hall towards the toilet. He passed the accusing eyes of family portrait after family portrait, each one individually illuminated with it’s own special spot light. Although obviously all taken months, maybe even years apart, each photograph was pretty much the same. A plush and artistic background in front of which posed three smiling happy faces positioned on well-dressed bodies. Image after image was pretty much exactly the same as Jamie continued walking, the only tell tale sign between them being the obvious growth of the daughter of the family. Jamie kept his eyes fixed on her in each portrait and moving swiftly down the hall almost gave the impression of an animated flick book of Lynsey growing up. He smiled to himself as she turned from fat baby to cheeky toddler to beaming girl to stunning teenager, her beautiful smile in every one captivating him for a split-second each time. He was soon at the end of the hall standing directly outside the toilet door. It was the end of the portrait timeline and as he focussed his eyes on the latest image his smile vanished. As had hers.


JP lay back on his bed and took a long, slow draw from his freshly rolled joint. His entire body relaxed at once and as he breathed out he could not only feel the smoke escaping from his body, but also all the fear, hate and anger he’d had pent up since encountering Jamie’s cousin in the morning.
For a few seconds his mind was a complete blank, and then he closed his eyes and saw her, as he often did. She was the one he wanted, she was the one he yearned for, she was simply the one. And yet it could never happen, a thought that broke JP’s heart over and over. John-Paul had been called many things in his life, most of which he’d deliberately forgotten – including what William had actually said to him earlier in the day - but one thing he’d once been called always stuck out in his mind.
A loyal friend.
He couldn’t quite remember when or where he’d received the compliment. He wasn’t even sure which one of his friends had said it or why. But it always made him feel happy every time the words flashed across his mind. He had screwed up a lot of his life so far, especially in the employment arena, and people had told him along the way that he wasn’t up to much, but being a loyal friend was something to be proud of and, more importantly, it was completely true. But it was for that very reason that he could never be with the girl he’d fallen in love with so many years before.
She’s Jamie’s.


It had been a fairly good meal. Jamie wasn’t too keen on lamb chops but they were edible and he’d made a fairly good crack at finishing everything on his plate. He was far more content with his fast beating heart and charlie induced high anyway. Unfortunately a few slight hints of paranoia had begun to creep in, poking at Jamie’s psyche like little Class A gremlins wielding tiny spears of self doubt.
Oh fuck, it’s went completely silent. I better say something.
Jamie hated starting conversations involving Lynsey’s parents. They seemed fairly nice people of course, but there was never anything he could think of to bring up seriously in discussion that would impress them. So far in his life as Lynsey’s boyfriend, he had managed to get by just participating here and there in whatever money-based topics the McShanes happened to be chattering about on the night. But this was different. The longer they went without talking about something the more likely it became that they’d notice Jamie was buzzing his pale Scottish tits off. In reality, that was unlikely as Jamie never looked any different than normal when he had taken some gear. However, in his world he looked as guilty as Richard Reid trying to tie his shoelaces with a box of matches. He searched his mind for something profound to say, or at least something that would catch the attention of Mr & Mrs McShane.
And then his mouth took over.
“I was talking to a young Somali boy earlier.” Blurted Jamie. It was a good start and all he had, it was time to go with it. “He told me all about his life. It was fascinating.”
Mr McShane didn’t look too impressed by what Jamie had now brought to the table in the form of dinner conversation, but his wife had perked up her ears slightly.
It’s okay, it’s a good story, they’ll like it.
Jamie recounted Erasto’s story as best he could. He was sure he’d gotten a few things in the wrong order, and he was pretty convinced it wasn’t actually the “Gulf of Adam” as he’d said, but it was still an amazing story and felt his paranoia slip away as he shared it with his girlfriend and her immediate family.
“So that’s him now working with Sandy in the chip shop.” Rounded up Jamie. “And he’s been granted asylum so he’s here for good.”
He bounced back into his chair and looked at his audience, feeling satisfied after a fairly sterling story telling effort. The first response was not what he had expected.
“Black bastard.” Groaned Mr McShane, looking completely disgusted by what he had just heard. “They should stay in their own country. It’s not our fault they’re all savages fighting each other.”
Jamie weighed up the options now available to him. He could ignore his girlfriend’s dad’s comments, or even agree with them in a bid to get into his good books  - something he had struggled to achieve up until now. At the very least, it would surely impress Mr McShane enough that he wouldn’t have to feel under the spotlight every time a night like this came around.
It’s an option.
No it wasn’t. He could try and tell himself it was, but it wasn’t. That wasn’t Jamie. He wasn’t about to sit here and listen to some old bastard firing off racist remarks, regardless of who it was. What was required was a decisive counter-attack, a reply that would show McShane for the narrow-minded cretin he really was. What was required was a retort that ridiculed him in front of the two most important women in his life, a comeback line that would leave Jamie defeating him in a battle of what’s socially acceptable. But what was required was never really an issue when you were prone to just saying exactly what you thought.
“Fuck you!” Mrs McShane looked horrified as the words launched from Jamie’s mouth like a nuclear missile strike. “You racist cunt!”
I’ve never seen that colour of red before.
Mr McShane’s face lit up like bright red balloon, and looked just as likely to burst at any moment. It was hard to make out any coherent words during the onslaught of swearing and saliva that quickly flew towards Jamie. What he did know was that it didn’t take long for him to find himself on the streets of Hamilton.
Right. That probably wasn’t the best idea.
It had all went quite well up until moments ago. He’d turned up and did what was required when you were in love with a girl whose parents you disliked, and who you were pretty sure disliked you. He hadn’t looked too shabby, he’d eaten as much of the home-cooked meal as he could, and he’d tried his best to look as interested as humanly possible in Lynsey’s dad’s boring ramblings. And then with just five simple words, it had all went tits up. As Jamie wandered down the street in the direction he was randomly facing, he suddenly realised that despite knowing Lynsey better than anyone on the planet, he had absolutely no idea how she would have reacted to his outburst. As the world around him was swamped in the orange glow from the flickering streetlights, he took his phone out of his pocket and began to text her.
"I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll make it up to you I pro..."
He was struck with a sudden fear as he heard rapid footsteps bounding down towards him from the McShane house. Had Lynsey’s dad been so offended that he wasn’t just throwing him out of the home, but was now chasing him out of the street, maybe even out the entire town?!
What if he’s got a knife or something?
Jamie spun round, a text-in-progress in one hand, a clenched fist in the other. His eyes adjusted to the bright orange light above him just in time to see Lynsey hurtling into his arms. He hugged her tightly, not quite sure what was actually going on but delighted he wasn’t being bludgeoned to death by a money-obsessed racist.
“That was amazing!” Shrieked Lynsey, “I can’t believe you said that!”
Jamie’s jaw dropped as he noticed a dog walker across the road taking an interest in the commotion.
“That was unbelievable!” Continued Lynsey, pulling back from the embrace. “I love you so much”.
Jamie switched his attention back to his girlfriend who was seemingly ecstatic by the way he had just spoken to her father.
Why is she so happy? Why isn’t she furious?
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of tonight, but suddenly that didn’t actually matter. He breathed in deeply and felt a sudden rush of euphoria throughout his body as he gazed at Lynsey. Not into her dark eyes like he usually did, but at the beautiful smile he had convinced himself no longer existed.