The browned, calloused hands were those of a craftsman at work. Deftly balancing the paper between thumb and forefinger, sprinkling tobacco down its spine, the right moved effortlessly. As the tobacco sat patiently, ignoring the breeze with a cool contempt the right reached with dirty, but neat nails up to the mouth to retrieve a roach clenched in the lips for safekeeping. A roll of second nature completed this drill and a lighter magicked from nowhere gave spark to the Amber Leaf within, leaving a warm orange cherry glowing at the tip of the cigarette. Snapping the lighter shut with a flick of the wrist, Barrie tucked his pouch of tobacco in his back pocket, eyes locked on the palm of his other hand where the lighter now sat as the blue smoke from his first drag filtered through grey teeth. “It was my old man’s,” he said without looking up. He was twirling it through his fingers now, clicking open the lid. Ewan wondered why they were here, why they were having this conversation. It was cold and he wanted to go home. The wind had picked up now and was merciless across the lake by which they were sat. It was getting dark and Ewan could hear the music from the pub behind him. Someone had put ‘I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day’ on. It was his favourite Christmas song. Barrie was sat on a bench, smoking and still transfixed by the lighter. It was a beautiful instrument. The polished brass with its paisley pattern, worn by long years of use looked like a piece of history. Ewan had often watched as his father lit up with it, encouraging the ten-year-olds typical interest in fire. “Why are we here, Dad?” Ewan asked. “Are we Christmas shopping?” Barrie turned to his son who was sitting on his right. ‘God, he looks like me,’ he thought. “No, son,” he said in his thick Scottish accent, ruffling Ewan’s dark hair. “We’re not going Christmas shopping.” He took a final drag and flicked the end of the cigarette away. “Dad,” Ewan chided him. “A bird will eat that.” “Look, son.” Barrie said, ignoring his comment. It was difficult. He didn’t know what to say. No one told you what to say. “Look,” he tried again, pushing long brown hair out of his eyes, and looking down intensely at Ewan. “You know things haven’t been great between your mother and me for a while now, eh.” “Yeah, I know.” Ewan said looking down. He hated thinking about his parents fighting. “Are you coming home? What are we going to do at Christmas? Have you got Mom anything?” Barrie scrutinised his son for a moment, who looked him right back in the eye, hope etched over his face. “No lad.” Barrie finally said. “See, your mother and me,” he paused, eyes back at the floor. “Your mother and me are no good together. No good for each other, and no good for you.” “What do you mean?” Ewan said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. “Yes you are, just come home Dad, please.” “I’ve got a job, mate. Up in Glasgow.” Ewan looked at him blankly. “Glasgow? That’s ages away. Its Christmas, Dad.” “I know, son. But its for the best. You be a good lad for your Mam though mind.” “It’s Christmas..” Ewan said again in a small voice. “Aye. Look, I’ve never been much cop with Christmas. Your Mam always sorted all that out. Hold on to this though, eh?” he held out the lighter towards Ewan. “Don’t let me hear you’ve been smoking mind! And don’t get telling your Mam, alright.” Ewan held out his hand and his father placed the old lighter gently in his palm. “You always said this was the only thing you had of Grandads.” “Aye, well, it was. Doesn’t matter though. My gift to you.” Barrie said, ruffling Ewan’s hair again. “And maybe when I come back down south, me and you could go off camping eh. I’ll get the wood and you can light the fire, eh? What about that for a plan?” Ewan tried to smile. Barrie looked down at him sadly. “Go on then. You best be getting off home to your Mam. We’ll speak soon, alright?” Five minutes later Ewan turned round and caught a last glimpse of his father disappearing into the gloom, backpack slung over his shoulder, swigging deeply from a hipflask. Standing next to the lake, the wind numbing his face, he looked down at his hand, the lighter still clenched tightly in his small fist. A rage boiled up in his chest, gushing from his mouth in a piercing, anguished cry. Unconsciously his arm arched backwards and launched the old lighter into the heart of the lake. Ewan didn’t hear it hit the water above his own voice but saw several of the bad tempered geese scatter into the night sky, obviously disturbed. Breathing heavily, he realised he was crying. Cuffing at the tears on his cheeks with a savage anger he turned to walk home, regretting throwing the lighter away.

Maybe today, thought Ryan. He was stood in the living room of his flat, waiting for the cup of tea in his hand to cool. Blowing on it was no good anymore. It had become his custom to stand in the window, looking out at the world waiting for his first cup of tea to cool down. The first cup of tea in the morning, after his walk, before going to work, that was the best brew. Indispensable. Eating was the hardest part. Morsels of food chewed on the right side only, ushered down the gullet with a reluctant tongue. The arduous task accentuated by constant drooling. Actually, maybe the drooling was the hardest part; the looks it had got had driven Ryan into near hermitry in the beginning. He woke up early every morning still. Not that he needed to as such, he could do what he liked as his own boss, but Noel still wanted walking and it was better first thing. Quieter. That was hard at first too, getting out of bed was always OK, but brushing his teeth in the mirror was tough. A bloodshot eye staring back at him, repulsed at his own reflection. Lifting his cheek up with his hand to reach his wisdom teeth. He stopped bothering for a week or so. Couldn’t face it. His face, that is. But, Noel, loyally unmindful of any change would scramble on to the bed to nudge and nuzzle until he gave in and dragged himself up. He owed that dog a lot, he’d think. So, one small step. Basic hygiene. Maybe today, Ryan thought again. It had been twenty-three months since Doctor Capollo had forecast the palsy would disappear “within four to six weeks, Mr. Sinclair,”. But here it was still, nearly two years later. It had been a tough pill to swallow. Along with the pills, which were tough to swallow. Ryan didn’t consider himself a vein man, but he did take a certain pride in his appearance. In an effort to mask his skewed features he’d grown his hair long last year, which incidentally suited him. He’d also taken to wearing sunglasses everywhere to hide his perpetually reddened unblinking eye. Although, if he was honest, the hair and shades had got him almost as many double takes on the street as he’d had before. People mistook his guise as arrogance. “Hey up, here comes Guns’n’Roses,” he’d heard a kid say outside Tesco the other day. Ryan kept walking as the kid chortled with his mates. Oh well, he thought. Disdain was better than sympathy. Fuck him, the little shit. His tea, cool enough to drink now, tasted good. Black and no sugar. Still stood in the window, he saw her walk past on her way to work. Christ she was beautiful. Long dark hair, a bit wild looking. She was walking quickly today, nearly jogging for the bus. She must be running late. I could offer her a lift, Ryan thought, not moving. Taking another sip, he continued to watch as she passed the lamppost outside his front door. Her green eyes darted down to the phone in her hand and she picked up the pace. “Fuck!” Ryan said, a dribble of tea escaping his mouth to run down his white t-shit. He dabbed at it, annoyed, and when he looked up again she’d gone. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. It had taken a few days to convince his parents he wasn’t back on it again after the palsy first appeared. Shouting through the corner of his mouth he’d insisted he hadn’t dropped a pill for over three years. Eventually they’d relented and had been great from then on in fairness. Ryan had quit his Sales Rep job pretty soon after the palsy hit, finding it too difficult to meet new people for a living. Its hard to sell anything when you feel like your face is falling off your head. Instead, he’d bought himself a van and started up a low-key landscape gardening job. Barrie, Ryan’s dad was retired, but still active and he came along to help sometimes. The two of them had actually never been closer. He was almost glad of the palsy in that respect. He enjoyed his work, even if the earnings were modest. In a strange way, Ryan sometimes reflected, life wasn’t that bad. It would be nice to meet a girl though. Ryan put his tea down and lifted his damp shirt awkwardly over his head. He scratched a snoozing Noels ears on the way to get a fresh one. * He hated doing this. Fruitless, thankless task. The exercises were monotonous. He massaged his left cheek, scrutinising his reflection in the mirror. Just five minutes a day could make all the difference Doctor Cappolo said. “Five minutes a day to get your smile back can’t be bad, can it eh Ryan?” she’d said in a winning voice. Except that was eighteen months ago, and he still felt like it was ‘My Left Foot’ staring back at him every morning. He looked at his phone. Four and a half minutes. That was enough for today. “Noel,” he called from the bathroom. Noel trotted in with his lead in his mouth, ready to go. “Come on then, mate.” said Noel kneeling to attach it to his collar. The old Collie licked at his cheek, mopping up an errant stray tear from Ryan’s eye drops. * The sun was well up by the time they started making their way back from over the fields. Noel, bounding ahead had been reluctant to come home today, the late winter sun giving the first hints of spring had been fresh and appealing. But, covered in dew and leaves he’d eventually caught up to Ryan, heading back towards the road and, unable to sulk for long, was making the most of the open space before a long sleepy day watching Ryan mow lawns and prune hedges. It was a beautiful morning, Ryan thought. He disliked the winter, finding his sunglasses ‘inorganic’ in the cold, dark mornings, he’d feel acutely self conscious. He was planning the day in his head, Mrs. Cooper’s first, lawn and edging; then Mrs. Romano’s, lawn, edging, weeding… Noel snapped him out of the mental to-do lists. Or lack of Noel. He normally stayed close to Ryan’s heel on the way home. No need for a lead, he knew the way and knew the road. But looking down, Noel wasn’t there. Panicking slightly, Ryan began to jog. The streets were narrow on the way back from the fields, a few twists and turns on the estate leading back to the flat. “Noel!” Ryan called rounding a corner. He stopped dead. There was Noel, fifty yards or so ahead of him lying on the pavement. Having his belly tickled. Little shit, Ryan thought, relief washing over him. Though, as he began to walk again, panic soon returned when he saw who Noel was playing with. It was the window-girl. The girl with the wild hair and the green eyes. She was laughing, crouched down fussing the old dog. Ryan, same as every time he saw her, was struck by just how beautiful she was. And by his own face. He untied the loose knot on his head as he approached them, subconsciously mussing his hair around his face. “Noel,” he said as he reached them, looking down at him, lolling stupidly on the flaw. “Daft dog.” A sliver of saliva escaped the left corner of his mouth as he said this, and he cuffed at it angrily, face reddening. The girl looked up, but didn’t see it he thought. Or at least hoped. “Cute dog,” she said grinning. “Noel? Oasis fan?” she asked, standing up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah,” Ryan said lamely, eyes dropping from hers. “A dog person and an Oasis fan,” she said. “A man after my own heart.” Ryan looked at her. Nodded nervously. Why aren’t I talking, he thought desperately. “Anyway,” she said, “I better go, I’ll miss my bus. See ya. Bye bye Noel.” she said, bending down to give Noel a last fuss. He is whined softly. Laughing, she straightened up and began to walk. You fucking idiot, Ryan! Ryan thought angrily. Noel, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, barked once. Unusual for him. “He likes you,” Ryan called lamely to the girls back. She turned demurely and headed back towards him. “I get this bus so I can get a coffee before work.” she said. “Bring me some tomorrow, and maybe I could walk him with you.” It wasn’t a question. “Ok.” said Ryan, not daring to believe his luck. “Black and two sugars,” she said turning around again. “And it’s Vicky, by the way.” she called, not turning around. “Ryan,” Ryan called back. “See you tomorrow then Ryan. Black and two sugars!” she shouted. Ryan watched her until she turned the corner, still not believing his luck. When she’d gone he looked down at the old dog. “Good boy,” he said. Smiling.