My Friend is the Devil

Chapter 15

A full night of rest has recharged me and it seems like it's recharged my father too. We aren't exactly speaking yet, but we keep making eye contact at the kitchen table over buttered scones. It's like he's still warming up to the idea that I'm his daughter.

Liz has the day planned with a long list of errands and she doesn't expect me to take any part of it.

"Haven't you got lectures?" Liz asks.

"It's fine if I skip," I lie. "They don't take attendance." School could not be further from my mind.

Liz makes a disapproving "hmm", but she can't stop me from joining.

After breakfast, we take the 23 Bus and my father runs up the stairs to the upper deck for a seat right in front of the window. I'm faster than Liz, able to get the seat beside him before her. She sits behind us in a huff.

This is my first time being close to him since he looked me in the eye yesterday. I keep my hands in my lap so as not to accidentally touch him.

He has something to say about everything the bus passes. The change of stores, the places he used to go that are no longer there, the models of cars. As the bus turns up towards the University, my father gasps and points at the buildings to the left.

"Flats!" he says. "That's what they did with Goldbergs?" He turns around to Liz in shock. Then he looks in the opposite direction and his eyes go wide again. He points to the glass buildings behind the old Infirmary.

"The fuck are those?" he exclaims.

"Lower your voice!" Liz barks, slapping him on the shoulder, though we're the only people up here.

My father shakes his head in disbelief.

We get off on Hanover Street in New Town and walk to the nearest phone shop. My father moseys around all the phones on display, picking each up and tapping it, then moving on to the next one.

Liz buys him a simple phone with buttons. He plays with the tiny neon green device in his palm on our way into a department store on Princes Street.

"Men's clothes in the back," Liz says. "I'll go find a nice wallet and meet you two over there." She goes down the stairs into the jewelry section.

My father groans and starts for the back of the store. He slinks through the clothing racks, running his hands across the clothes so the metal hangers clang together. He stops and pinches the sleeve of a bright orange polo shirt decorated with palm trees.

"These clothes are fit for a bloody poofter," he says to himself.

There are stairs at the back of the section leading out onto Rose Street. My father makes for the exit. I feel like I'm chasing after a child as he jogs up the stairs and leaves the store.

"Wait!" I shout.

He slows down to let me catch up. Rose Street is a pedestrian street, more like a passageway parallel to Princes Street, with a bunch of small shops. A passerby sucks on a vape pen and blows out watermelon scented smoke. My father sniffs the air and points to it.

"I want one of those," he says.

"Yeah," I say, because I can't think of any better response.

His eyes catch the music store. "Ooh!" he says, beelining for it. When we're inside, his eyes fixate on the display of vinyl records.

"Have yous gone backwards?" he asks.

He doesn't wait for me to reply and starts fingering through the CD racks. Anything he mutters about the albums he flicks through is seemingly to himself; I just happen to be there to hear it.