TAM hit his brother so hard in the face that Russell swallowed the cigarette. 

Russell was standing at the front door of Terry’s having a breather, a wee cigarette to himself, when Tam exploded out of nowhere and hit him so hard that he swallowed the fucking thing. Tam’s thumbs pressed into Russell’s eye sockets.

“Let’s see your eyes! Lets see your fuckin’ eyes!”

“What ye doin’ here?” gasped Russell.

Tam picked him up by the lapels and threw him down the close. He kicked him hard, dragged him across the street and pulled open a door. 

“Gi’ in that car!”

In a flash Russell foresaw the whole plan. “Fuck you!  I’m no goin’!”
 

Illustration by Malc McGookin

“Gi’ in!”

He threw Russell into the car like a suitcase. Russell tumbled over the seats and then he felt Tam’s hand gripping his face.

“Now. Sit still, shut up, or I’ll fuckin’ lamp ye one!”

Tam slammed the door, fired the engine and careered away.

What was it that Terry had said to Tam? Can ye come over and deal wi’ Russell. He’s out of his head. I jes’ don’t want the guy in the house anymore. Someone will have to deal wi’ it and it’s no me. He’s your brother!

Tam drove with one hand on the wheel, and the other punctuating every statement with a punch to the side of Russell’s head. Sit. Punch. Fucking. Punch. Still. Punch. Pay attention to me. Punch. I ask the fucking questions. Punch. What’s been going on?

“I want out,” shouted Russell. “Now!”

Tam slammed on the brakes and caught Russell’s head in the crook of his elbow. He dragged his face to the mirror.

“Open yer eyes!  Open yer fuckin’ eyes!”

Russell’s eyes were screwed shut like a contrarian child. With finger and thumb Tam prised them apart.

“Open yer eyes and take a look!”

“Alright! Alright!” 

Russell’s eyes blinked open. He could see the tiny pupils and the puffy face.

“See the state of yerself!” Tam’s voice trembled with anger. “See the fuckin’ state of yerself!”

Russell wrenched himself free and sank into the corner. Tam swung the car around and headed straight out of town. 

One after another the cameras caught their number plate, their speed, and a glimpse of the two men. One upright with both hands clamped to the wheel, the other slumped beside him.

“Where are we goin’?” asked Russell, eventually. 

Tam considered the question between gritted teeth. “Does it matter?”

Russell gave up with a sigh. “No to me it does not.”

Tam drove flat out, in the fast lane. They didn’t take tolls on the bridge, so there was no need to stop. He just wanted to put distance, as much as possible, between Russell and whatever the fuck it was that Russell was doing. North. That was the only way. There was nothing up there. North. 

For Russell it all went past in a blur. The city was gone and now it was just hills and trees and motorway. He had no idea where they were. He stared blankly at the big landscape.

“Got any cigarettes?” he asked.

“No.”

“Got any chewing gum, juice, anything?”

“Nothin’.”

Russell stared around the empty car. The back seat was covered in small fragments of glass. On the driver’s side the small triangular window at the back was smashed in, and the air howled around it. 

“Who broke the window?” he asked, for something to say. 

He leant over the back seat and stared at the window. Hang on. If you put your arm through the back window you could flick up the lock. You could break into the car. 
     
“This car... where”s it from?”

“It’s from Russia,” said Tam. “It’s a fuckin’ Lada.”

“But whose is it?” Russell felt his thoughts begin to race. “Is it yours? This your car?”

“It’s our car,” said Tam, laughing.

“Shit, Tam! Whose is it?” 

“Dinnae worry about it.” 

“Tam! Stop the car!”

“Jes’ fucking calm doon.”

Russell could feel the iron in Tam’s voice, and he couldn’t bend it. “Shit, Tam!” He spat the words. “This is fuckin’ torture!” 

“Aye Russell, aye, you’re right!” Tam took a moment, nodding his head. He relished the part. He was going to see it through. “It is. It’s fuckin’ torture!”

It was Tam’s version of rehab. It was brutal medicine. His only plan was to drive until he ran out of anger. The road became empty. Rain spat across the windshield. The car drummed on. Around them, the mountains lifted their backs.

In the glove compartment was a cassette tape. Russell tossed it into Tam’s lap. 

“Put that up. I wanna hear somethin’.”

Tam picked up the cassette with finger and thumb. He lowered the window. “It’s you I wanna hear, Russ,” he said, “no a tape,” and with a flick of the wrist it was out the window and lost in the rush of air. 

“Oh, Tam...” moaned Russell, in despair. 

“Let’s make oor ain entertainment,” said Tam, brightening up. “Come on. Sing me a song.”

“I don’t want to sing,” said Russell. “What ye talking about, singin’?”

“Sing one of your songs eh, Russell? What about your music?”

Russell knew the game. Tam had always been a wind-up. 

“Look, Tam. Leave it.”

But Tam wouldn’t leave it. “How’s it been going, eh? Wi’ Terry?”

“Will you shut the fuck up, right?”

But it was too late. Terry was the trigger, and Tam saw it. Tam saw the raw nerve. It was Terry that had called him. Something had happened with Terry. Something about drugs, and depression and all that middle-class bollocks. Terry. 

“Okay,” he said. “Listen. D’ye want one o’ these?” 

Like a magician, he produced a packet of Marlboro from his pocket, pulled one out and lit it. Russell sat staring, like a kid at the circus. 

“Now the deal is, you sing a song and you can have the cigarette. And...” He paused for effect. “It’s the last one!” 

The packet was full, and before Russell could raise a hand it followed the cassette out the window.

“Fuck!” 

Tam was laughing. “Ye want this cigarette?” Tam held the cigarette at arm’s length, out of the window. “I’m gonna give ye it. But on one condition. You sing me a song!” 

Russell felt his head being squeezed. 

“Look, Tam. I’m no singing anything.”

“C’mon, what’s so hard about that?” Tam’s voice had a sing-song mockery. “Just a wee song!”

“Stop takin’ the piss!” 

“Anything you like,” said Tam, daintily. “Just a wee nursery rhyme...” 

The cigarette was burning down fast between his fingertips.

“I can’t sing, Tam!” Russell was rocking backwards and forwards. “It’s fuckin’ breakin’ ma head!” He battered both hands onto the dashboard. “Stop!”

“Alright, alright!” 

Tam could sense the violence looming up like a concrete wall. But he couldn’t foresee that Russell would open the door and throw himself out.

“Fuck the cigarette!” said Russell, and did it.

Tam grabbed his collar, and the car lurched wildly across the road. He spun the wheel, hung onto Russell and pushed both feet to the floor. The car screamed and jumped as it hit the kerb, and they ploughed up the bank and came to a stop. He let Russell go and his brother tumbled out of the open door into the grass.
   
Tam was shocked. He felt the momentum surging through his arms, draining down to his hands and buzzing at his fingertips. He looked up to see Russell stumble away, over the embankment, away from the motorway. Russell wrenched off his jacket, dropped it, and disappeared from view.

Once again the feeling of emergency flared up inside Tam. He pushed the door open and staggered to the top of the embankment. Russell had taken off his shirt and was tugging off his boots. Tam stared in amazement as Russell pulled off his jeans and pants, and then, stark naked, took a flying leap into the freezing water of a highland river. Before he knew what he was doing Tam was off in pursuit, like a sprinter.

“Come in!” gasped Russell. He was fighting for breath, hands flailing for the bank. Tam leant out an arm, but as soon as Russell was in touching distance he put both hands on his head and pushed it under.

“So you want tae fuckin’ top yerself?” he shouted as Russell bobbed up, “Go on then! Go on!” 

He pushed him under again, then let go and hauled his naked brother out of the water. 

“Jesus!” he cried as he fell back. An immense relief flooded over him and briefly he felt helpless, and happy. “That’s classic, man!”

“It’s freezin’,” said Russell, collapsing beside him.

They lay side by side on the rough spiky grass. Then Tam sat up and gazed at the naked body beside him. Russell lay face down, immobile. Tam laughed, and slapped his bare bum. 
  
“Up ye get!” 

Tam lifted him by the waist and saw that Russell couldn’t walk with bare feet on the stones. “Hey,” he said. “Jump up.” 

Tam bent over and Russell wrapped his arms around his neck, then Tam took the weight and stood, and they went like that, piggyback up the hill. Russell hanging on, limp and wet like an animal skin. Tam doubled up, fighting tears and laughter, and grabbing for the cast-off clothes of his naked brother. 

There was no turning back, not now. 

They got in the car and drove on, just to see what happened. They met some crofters, stayed the night, and when Russell looked okay, they agreed to split and Tam left his brother up there, in the north. 

It was a long way back, and he’d have to dump the car before he hit the town. Mebbe he could sell it to the Russians in Ullapool. You could sell it for parts, so they said, no questions asked. 

Aye. That was a plan. And take the bus.

Angus Reid is arts editor of The Morning Star