HIS ONE TRUE LOVE 
          
​ (​This story is pure fiction​; all characters are fictional) 
​                                             
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​WEEK 1.   Archie stood at the upstairs corner window of the Hopetown Arms, from which he could, by a slight swivelling of his eyes, see both across the water of Brossard Bay and along the High Street of Hopetown village.  The summer sun was setting over the bay with a gold and scarlet radiance that visitors marvelled at but locals took more or less for granted.  And Archie, being local, was more interested in the view of the High Street.  He was waiting for the arrival, several minutes overdue, of the Carrshill bus.  Specifically, he was expecting that Valerie would be on it – Valerie, his on-off girlfriend, his intended – well, half-intended, his muse – or should that be amusement?  As usual, when he thought of Valerie and their relationship he felt that familiar mixture of affection, dissatisfaction and guilt.  She was a lovely lass – no doubt about that – but...   He was only 34, he thought, too young yet to settle down.  He glanced into the mirror on the wall beside the window.  Too good-looking too.  He smiled at himself and ran a couple of fingers through his long dark, almost effeminate, curls.  There’s a few years of wild oats in me yet.  He winked at himself.
He turned and glanced round the room – the room where the Hopetown Folk Club would shortly be meeting, as it did every Tuesday night.  In the centre, four large tables had been grouped in a larger square.  In one corner was a pile of plastic boxes bulging with bits of clothing, shoes and hats – this was also the storeroom for the Hopetown Charity and Budget Shop.  In another corner was a higgledy-piggledy heap of Christmas decorations and lights, which should have been cleared up and stored but which had simply been abandoned.  The room smelled strongly of stale beer and had that empty feel of a place where there had recently been a party – a party now dead.   You could almost hear ghostly dance-music and laughter through a smoky grey time-mist.
Pride of place, on one of the tables, was Archie’s Cantorio Heirloom Classic.  Lying in a black gig-bag, it was Archie’s  greatest joy - a guitar so perfect that he had paid more for it than he had for his car.  He loved his Cantorio more than any other of his possessions – even more than Valerie, he often thought.  In fact, the Cantorio was one of the main causes of the guilt he felt over his stuttering relationship with Valerie.   He and Valerie were planning to get married; had been planning for several years now; had been saving for a deposit on a house and had managed to amass nearly ten grand.  But, unknown to Valerie, Archie had spent seven grand of it on the Cantorio.   (If she ever found out he would claim it was an investment – guitars like the Cantorio only increase in value with age.)  He walked over to the table and ran his fingers lovingly over the shiny smoothness of the sounding board and along the abalone shell inlays at its edges.  It deserved to be lying in its own handmade presentation case, cossetted in folds of maroon satin, but that would have aroused Valerie’s suspicions, so when she was around it had to suffer the indignity of a cheap canvas gig-bag.
The door of the room swung open and Peta and Donald Baptie pushed their way in.  They were festooned with instruments and bags of gear and books of music.  Peta, tall, blonde, striking, was a bouzouki player who could also raise a nice tune from a penny whistle.  Donald was a singer, mainly of blues, who accompanied himself and others on harmonica and kazoo.  He was also carrying a small drum kit, meant for a child, with which he would maintain the beat behind his, and others’ songs.
  “Hi Archie.  Oh, are we the first?  Well, apart from yourself that is.”
“Hi, Don, Hi Pete.  Glad to see you’ve made it this week.  Your absence was noted last Tuesday.”
“Yeah.  Sorry about that.  We were just coming out when Scruff, Pete’s cat, got hit by a car.  We had to rush it to the vet.  It’s ok though.”  Peta grimaced.  “Aye, ok, if a broken jaw’s ok!  Held together by wire.  Vet cost us a ruddy fortune – hundred and seventy quid.  But Scruff’s worth it.  Isn’t she, Don?”  Don swivelled his eyes upwards and grunted.
Just behind them came Stetson John, the group’s Country and Western man, carrying his two guitars; one a normal acoustic, the other a resonator on which he played slide guitar.  Like the others he was carrying his repertoire of tunes and songs in a thick folder.
“Hi John.  Good to see you.  What the hell’s that you’re wearing?” They all followed Archie’s pointing finger to John’s chest which was covered by a bright green luminous t-shirt bearing the message ‘FCUK CNUT’.   “Not what you think, Archie”, said John, grinning and pulling his t-shirt out to let it be seen better.  “It’s an ad for French Connection’s new brand - Carbon Neutral Utility Togs.  Honest!”  He chuckled to himself.
Archie walked back across to the window.  Still no sign of Valerie’s bus.  He was half hoping she wouldn’t show up this week.  Valerie always had to leave before 11 o’clock to catch the last bus back to Carrshill.   She would expect Archie to leave with her to go back to her flat in Carrshill to spend the night with her.  But he was pretty knackered and thought he’d rather stay on playing till the end at midnight and just walk back to his own flat just round the corner in Hopetown.  Valerie always refused his invitation to stay overnight with him, claiming that she had to get up early in the morning to go to her work in Carrshill hospital
 Four more of the group arrived, jostling to get through the door with their gig-bags.  Noel Porteous, fiddler extraordinaire, with his long seventies style hair pulled back in a ponytail; Dougie Jameson, a young guitarist and singer with a more contemporary repertoire featuring songs by Coldplay, Adele and also some established R&B of Hendrix and Clapton (unplugged, of course);  Dixie Mulholland, emo/goth exponent of the recorder who also played the mandolin, and her similarly black-clothed boyfriend Dave Lightley whose forte was singing doom-laden songs to Dixie’s mournful accompaniment. 
The group members began to arrange themselves around the table, unzipping their bags and taking out their instruments and equipment.  Sounds of tuning up began to fill the air.  As the de facto leader, Archie put up his hand, “Valerie’s bus is late and she’s not here yet but we might as well start.  I’ll get the drinks in.  What’s everyone having?  He disappeared down to the bar with the order. 
The rays of the late sun were streaming through the window causing some of the group to cover their eyes.  Don Baptie got up and went to pull the curtain.  As he was reaching up he looked round and said, “Ah, here’s Valerie now.  But not off the bus.  She’s getting out of a red sports car.  Nifty looking thing – and the car’s not bad either!  I think it’s an Audi.”   Then, still tugging at the curtain, he added, “And she’s bringing someone with her - the driver.  Young guy with a black beard.  Anyone know who this is?  They’re having some difficulty getting her guitar and stuff out the back seat.” 
Just then, Archie came back carrying a big round tray with various bottles and glasses.  He was followed by one of the barmaids also carrying drinks.  The trays were laid on the table and the drinks were passed around.  Don chuckled, “You’ve got a rival tonight, Archie.  Val’s just coming in the front door.  You must have just missed her.  She’s got a new fella with her.  Younger than you and a lot better looking.” 
They could hear steps coming up to the door.  It swung open and Valerie stepped into the room followed by the young man.   “Hi everyone” she trilled, smiling and  waving her hand in general greeting.  She put the cases for her guitar and recorder on the table then turned to the young man, took his hand and pulled him forward.  “This is Adam.  Adam lives in one of the flats in my block.  When I told him about the group he said he’d like to come along.  He plays guitar and sings – he’s not brought his guitar along today though.”   She smiled at Adam.  “Hi”, he said nodding to everyone.  “I’m really just a beginner, but Val said I should fit in ok.”  They all smiled and made encouraging noises.  “Good to have you here, Adam”, said Stetson John, “The more, the merrier.”
WEEK 2.  The following Tuesday the group gathered again in the upstairs room.  Pleasantries were exchanged, drinks were ordered, instruments were tuned and the session got underway.
Archie, as usual, adopted the role of emcee.  He turned to Noel Porteous. “You going to give us a tune, Noel?  Come on, start us off. “ 
“Sure, Archie.  How about a Scott Skinner medley?  I’ll start with Hector the Hero.  In G.”
The plaintive fiddle tune started up and soon filled the room.  Noel’s face took on the familiar contorted look that signalled both blissful musical appreciation and intense agonised concentration as he struggled to do justice to the simple but beautiful tune.  Various guitars started up to put in a supporting rhythm and Valerie’s recorder fluted an octave higher on a complex descant.  After a couple of rounds the tune changed to the livelier Miller o’ Hirn and after that it was back to a slow air, Madame Bonaparte, with a change in key to D.  At the end there was a round of appreciative applause.
“That was really nice, Noel.  What was that first tune again?”
“Hector the Hero.  Hector was some kind of soldier, but he was a homo at a time when it was, shall we say, unwise, to admit it.  His military career never recovered from his outing.  But he was a good soldier and Skinner wrote the tune in admiration.”
Dave Lightley asked, “Are there no words to it?”
“None that I can find.  Maybe we should make some up.  It would make a good song – lovely melody.”
“Who’s next?”  Archie looked around.  Several players were obviously just waiting to be asked.  That was one of the problems of this kind of gig, Archie knew – the newer and less confident performers were more hesitant and could be shoved back in the queue by the pushier ones.  He looked round. 
“How about a contrast.  Let’s have something more up-to-the-minute from you Dixie.  Have you got any new songs for us?”
Dixie picked up her guitar.  “Ok.  Me and Dave’ll do a duet.  We’ve been practicing it for a few weeks now.  It’s still not right but we’ll give it a go.  Ready man?”  Dave nodded, “Let’s go hon.   It’s called ‘What’s it all about’”.   They set off into a typical misery-filled composition.  Dixie sang the verses, each of which asked the same dismal question about the meaning of existence, while Dave, an octave lower, provided the equally dismal answer – there is no meaning.   As they sang they held each other’s stare in shared despair.  The applause at the end was muted.
“Well, thank fuck that’s over” said Stetson John, laughing.  “Let’s cheer ourselves up – come on now, everyone knows this one.  He began thumping out the opening bars of Chopin’s Funeral March on his resonator - dah, dah, dahdah, dah, dahdah, dahdah, dahdah.  
Dougie leaned over towards Adam, smiling. “What kind of music are you into, Adam?” 
“Oh, mainly folk – any kind of folk really - American, Irish, Scottish.  Even English – there’s some nice English songs – especially Northumberland, y’know – Barbara Allen, Crookit Bawbee – that kind of thing.   Or is Crookit Bawbee Scottish?
“Aye, well, Glen Shee’s in Scotland.”, and to illustrate, Dougie sang “...an’ I’ll gang awa wi’ ye tae bonnie Glen Shee.”
“So it is then.  But there’s Keel Row and Derwentwater, and….
“Do you want to give us one now, then?” said Archie, raising his hand to quieten the others.
“Ok, I’ll have a go. How about an old Irish favourite.  Rare Ould Times.”
“Good stuff – Dubliners.  Ronnie Drew.  You’ll need a deep voice for this one.”
“I’m more of a tenor than bass, I’m afraid.  But it’s a good song however high or low it’s sung.”  He looked around.  “I’ve not got a guitar with me so I’ll need accompanying.  In G.  Valerie and I have practiced this one a few times.  Will you oblige Valerie?”
Valerie glanced across at Archie, who had a quizzical ‘Oh, really!’ look on his face.  “Sure, Adam, let’s go.”  She tapped 1-2-3-4 and began picking out the intro on her guitar. 
Adam’s voice was certainly a lot higher than Ronnie Drew’s but it had a surprising strength and confidence –
​                                “ I courted Peggy Dignan, as pretty as you please,
                                   A rogue, a child of Mary, from the rebel liberties.”
 
.  The others picked up the melody and joined in with Valerie’s accompaniment.  The bittersweet words of rueful reminiscence filled the silenced room - Donald Baptie’s harmonica gave the song the haunting nostalgic edge it needed.  Soon the entire group was engaged –
 
                                   “Ring a ring a rosie, as the light declines,
                                     I remember Dublin city in the rare ould times.”
 
At the end, Adam looked apprehensive, then smiled when he heard the applause.  He nodded and mouthed his thanks to Valerie.
“ That was lovely Adam.”  Valerie smiled and reached over to touch Adam’s hand.  “Not bad at all for a first time.”  “Aye, well sung lad”, said Archie, noting the touch.
No one seemed ready to give the next performance.  In the lull, Archie said, “Craig-en-Canty’s coming up.  It’s a couple of weeks from now.  Anyone going this time?”  He looked around.
“What’s that?” asked Adam.  “Craig-en-Canty?”
Before Archie could answer, Noel chipped in, “Craig-en-Canty’s a posh, well quite posh, hotel up near Ullapool.  They have folk-blues weekends about four times a year.  Open mike the whole time.  And if you play or sing they give you cheap rates.  It’s only about fifty quid a head for full board.  You can’t beat it.”
“We went to the last one,” said Peta. “Me and Don.  It was a great weekend.  There must have been…oh…what would you say, Don, forty there?”
“Forty or maybe fifty.  There was a group from England – Northumberland – and even a couple of Germans that arrived on a huge motorbike.”
Archie nodded.  “So is anyone going up this time?  I’d like to myself – with Val – but we can’t go as I’m due for a bit of dentistry.  I’m having a bridge and I can’t put it off – it took me long enough to arrange it.”
Clearly no one else was planning to go to Craig-en-Canty.
“Maybe Adam could take Val”, said Stetson John, with a mischievous grin.  “For the music of course!”
Archie started to say, “I don’t think…” but Adam cut in, “No, no, I couldn’t get away.  I’m working weekends at the moment.  Still, it would have been nice.”   He smiled across at Val.  Archie felt himself strangely disturbed as he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks as she smiled back at Adam.
“Ok, then, no one’s going to Craig-en-Canty.  So who’s next here?  Dixie?  You and Dave going to fill our hearts with lightness again?”
WEEK 3.   It was raining heavily when the group next mustered.  A lot of time was spent drying off and preventing water getting on to instruments from sodden clothes and bags.   Soon, however, all were seated and ready to perform.  Valerie had stayed the previous night and the following day at Archie’s flat and had arrived with him.  Adam had arrived on his own and was sitting opposite them.
Valerie got up from her chair and walked round the table to where Adam was sitting.  She sat down beside him and began whispering to him in a close manner that suggested, to Archie anyway, a degree of familiarity.   He deliberately avoided looking across at the pair in what he hoped would be taken as an  ‘I’m not bothered’ sign.
“I think you’ve got a rival there”.  Noel nudged Archie and nodded towards where Adam and Valerie were deep in conversation.
“I don’t think so”, said Archie, loud enough for Valerie and Adam to hear.  “She’s too long in the tooth.  He couldn’t handle her like I can – takes years of practice!” 
“What’s that Archie?  What are you saying?” Valerie asked in a mock accusatory tone.  “I’m just seeing if Adam’s got his new song ready yet.  He’s a composer you know.  Writes his own stuff.  He said he might be doing one tonight.”  She ruffled Adam’s hair in a light-hearted way and said “That right Adam babe?  Tell them what you’ve been up to.”  She got up and walked back round to her seat next to Archie.
“I wouldn’t call myself a composer exactly,”  Adam smiled self-deprecatingly.  “Sometimes I can put some words together and make them rhyme enough to get a song.  I’m not so good on the music, though.  Mainly I just take somebody else’s tune and modify it a little to make it fit the words.”  He raised his hands palms upwards as if to say, that’s all.”
“And have you, then?  Have you got a song for us.   You can put in something now, Adam, if you want to”, said Archie.
“Well ok, I’ll give it a go.  But I’ll need to borrow a guitar.  Could In use yours Archie?” 
Archie was startled.  “Em…I’d rather not.  I’d …I’d like to accompany you myself – you know, just to get used to your way of singing…if that’s ok.   Why not use Val’s?”  He looked across at Val.  “That would be ok, Val, wouldn’t it?” 
Val looked quizzically at him.  “Well…I was going to accompany him.  But…well…sure, you can take mine Adam.”  She passed him her guitar.
Adam laid out a sheet of words on the table in front of him.  “It’s called ‘A Pint o’ Buckie’, in D”.  He picked up Val’s guitar, ran his thumb a couple of times over the strings, then started the intro.  It didn’t take the others long to recognise that the tune was a variant on the well-known Burns ballad  ‘The Bonnie Lass o’ Ballochmyle’.  They began, tentatively, to back it.  Adam began to sing –
​
            “I was waitin’ for the bus one night
            Ma heid was like a bag o’ mince
            The maths exam had gone like shite
            My brain cells must’ve had a rinse.
            My plans for college were effin’ gone for good
            I’ll just have to take a job as a scaffy.
            Sweeping streets for evermore
            Hangin’ roond the job centre door
            Wi’ a pint o’ Buckie in ma hand
            Yes, a pint o’ Buckie in ma hand”.
 
The second verse continued in the same melancholy vein, describing the miserable lot of contemporary Scottish youth and with the same two repeated lines at the end.  These were taken up enthusiastically as the chorus – “Wi’ a pint o’ Buckie in ma hand, yes, a pint o’ Buckie in ma hand.”
There were five verses in all.  When Adam finished there was a burst of applause. He grinned in an embarrassed way.  “Sorry about that.  Best I could do at short notice.  You’ll have seen I pinched most of a well-known tune.  But the words are all mine – I’m ashamed to say.”
“Not at all! That was brilliant, really brilliant”, said Stetson John.
“I wish I could compose like that!” said Peta Baptie, beaming.  “Got Donovan written all over it.”
WEEK 4.  Tuesday came round again.  The session went well, but too fast for Archie.  Where does time go?   Is it really a week since the last session. And now this session’s nearly over.   I’m getting old too fuckin’ fast.  He took a long swallow from his pint glass, his fifth of the night, then, wiping froth from his mouth with his cuff, he said, “Right then.  I could do with cheering up.  Who’s going to give us a happy song.  Dave?  Dixie…no…not you Dixie, eh.  Don?”
Before any of them could reply, Adam suddenly cut in, “I’d like to give it a go.”  Everyone looked encouragingly at Adam.  “Go for it, lad!” “Aye, that one you did last week was…er…original.” “Will it be your own tune this time?” They all waited expectantly.
 Adam said, “I’d like to do a new number.  I’ve written it myself - both the words and the tune. Well, to be honest, the tunes very like one you’ll know already – I’ve just changed it a wee bit, but I think it’s quite nice.  I hope you like it.”  He reached over and took Valerie’s guitar and began to strum a few chords that led into a simple very beautiful song.  The tune turned out to be one of those that, when you hear it, you are sure you know it but can’t quite put a name to it.  He began singing.

                        My darling, my only lover, it’s time for me to go
                        We’ve had the best time of our lives; now we must end the show
                        We could carry on regardless, we could stupidly pretend
                        That the hateful cries of jealousy, and the rancour will someday end.
 
This was followed by what was clearly a chorus –
​
                        So wait for me my darling
                        My love for you I’ll prove
                        One day we’ll be together
                        Valerie, my only love.
 
Archie sat bolt upright. Valerie, my only love?  He felt his face going red and to cover it he pulled out a handkerchief and pretended to wipe his nose.     Cheeky bastard, he thought, but he said nothing and continued to accompany the song.  He glanced across at Val who was gazing rapturously at Adam.  Something’s going on here right enough, he thought.
At the end of the song there was a ripple of applause.  Everyone was looking across at Archie, trying to gauge his response.  This was a direct challenge.  Would he lock horns or back off?”
“That was brilliant, Adam”, said Archie.  “You wrote that yourself, eh?  Wish I had your talent.”  He turned to Val.  “I bet you enjoyed that, Val.  You’ve got your own Rabbie Burns to write you wee songs now.”
“That sounded a trifle sour, Archie.  Not jealous I hope.”  Stetson John was grinning wickedly’ obviously relishing the situation.  When he got no response from Archie, he continued.  “Well, I think I’ll do a number myself.  A Sleepy John Estes number ‘My Creole Belle’.
“Creole bell-end more like”, said Archie with a scowl.  “That’s you – fuckin’ bell-end.”
“Now now, Archibald.  Keep it clean.” said Peta in mock disapproval.
 "Aye, you should always keep it clean.  Your bell-end, that is”, said John chuckling at his own wit.  He struck a couple of chords and began singing
 
                                                “My Creole Belle, I love her well…..”
 
As John was coming to the end, the door opened and the barmaid Amy came into the room.  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to finish a bit earlier than usual.  Right now, even.  Jimmy’s just phoned in to say his car’s conked out and he can’t get back to lock up.  So he’s asked me to lock up for him and I need to get away.  So could you…?”
“We’ll do that, Amy.  Right folks, that’s it till next Tuesday.”  Everyone started to put their instruments away. 
When everyone had gone and only Archie, Val and Adam were left behind, Val turned to Archie, “Archie, Adam and me – we’re thinking of going to Craig-en-Canty next weekend.  Would you mind if I went – I know you can’t make it.”
Archie smiled and said, trying to sound unconcerned, “Mind?  Why should I mind girl?  I’m not your keeper.  And even if I did mind would it make any difference?”
Adam said quickly, “It would make a difference to me, Archie.  If you didn’t want us to go, I wouldn’t want to.  I don’t want to cause any trouble.  I’ve just never been to a session like Craig-en-Canty and it sounds fun.  I’ll look after Val – see she doesn’t get too drunk – that kind of thing.”
“It’s ok Adam.  You and Val do whatever you want.  I’ve known Val for long enough to know she can look after herself.  I’ve got no worries.”  He turned to Val.  “Are you coming back with me tonight?”
“Not tonight, Archie, love.  I’ll get a lift back with Adam tonight – I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
They made for the door.  As Adam began opening the door, Val said, “Archie, do you think I could take your guitar to Craig-en-Canty?  It’s just that one of the tuning pegs on Adam’s guitar needs re-placing and he’s waiting for the part.  So I said I’d let him use mine.  I could use yours.  You’ll not be using it before we get back, will you?”
Archie tried to look unconcerned.  “I don’t really like to…you know.  I mean…I might be…I might need it…I don’t...” 
“Oh come on Archie, love. It’s no big deal is it?  It’s just a guitar.  It’s not an effin’ Stradivarius!  I’ll look after it.  You’ll have it back for next Tuesday’s session.  Promise.
“Well, ok then, but don’t let it out of your sight.  And don’t let any of them use it, not even for one song – the guys that go to Craig-en-Canty can be a rough lot, especially when they’ve got a drink in them!”
WEEK 5.  Tuesday came round again.   As Archie entered the room, a new pile of chairs caught his eye.  He noted that, mysteriously, none of the chairs had back legs.  It took a few seconds for him to realise that the chairs in the pile were fixed to each other and that the pile was a creation of the Hopetown Arts Forum which held classes and workshops in the pub. 
 “Hi Archie, how’s it goin’?  Just on your own?” Donald Baptie held out a hand to Archie.
Archie shook the proffered hand and blew a kiss across the table to Peta.  “Aye, well right now I am.  But I expect Valerie will be here shortly.  With Adam.  They’ve been away to Craig-en-Canty all week, but they should be back by now.  Hope so anyway – she’s got my guitar.”
Various others arrived in dribs and drabs.
“Well, I guess that’s a quorum.  Let me get the first round”, said Stetson John, “Usual poison?”  He disappeared out to the bar.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Val came into the room.  “Hi everyone”.  She looked round the table.  “Is Adam not here yet?  He said he’d meet me here – I had to get the bus – he said he’d be a bit late.  Never mind, he’ll be here soon.”
Archie walked round and stood beside her.  “Nice to see you, babes, did you have a good time?  Were there many folk there?”   Before Val could reply he went on, “And my guitar, where’s my guitar?”
Val laughed, “Yes, we had a great time.  We met a few old friends – Fred and Susan from Inverness were there, and Billy Harding with his daughter Lisa – remember we met them last Christmas and…”  Archie butted in again – “My guitar, Val, have you go it.”
“What’s the matter, Archie.  Of course I’ve got it.  Nothing’s happened to it.  Nobody else got their hands on it – just me.  Not even Adam.  He asked to use it for a couple of songs but I wouldn’t let him, seeing as you were so worried.    It’s fine.  Got a lovely sound to it, right enough.”
“Well, ok.  Where is it?”
“Cool it, Archie. Adam’s bringing it.  He said he’d put it in his car to save me carrying it on the bus.  He’ll be here soon.”
By this time Dixie Mulholland was well into a number.  Her song was interrupted by the loud ringing of Valerie’s mobile.  Dixie tried to carry on, but gave up as Valerie fumbled in her bag to retrieve and answer the phone. “I can wait”, Dixie said darkly, raising her eyes to the ceiling.
 “It’s a message from Adam.  Oh, sorry Dixie.  Gosh, I hope he’s all right.”   She began to read the message.
Dixie started up again.  She had just got to the end of the second line of the song when she was interrupted again, this time by an anguished cry from Valerie – “Oh my God! Oh no!”
Dixie stopped singing.  “For fuck’s sake.  What is it now?”  But her nascent anger quickly turned to concern as she saw that Valerie had started to sob quietly. 
“What’s the matter, Val?” asked Archie, “Is he ok?”
“He’s not coming back!  He said he’d meet me here tonight, but he’s not coming.  Tonight or any night.”  Her head dropped into her hands.  She was close to tears.  She read the message again.  “But I don’t understand… What’s a Cantorio?  What’s he on about.”
Archie grabbed the phone from her hand. “Let me see that.”  He began to read the message.  “Oh, Jesus Christ, listen to this.”  He read out the message  - Hi Valerie.  Hope u got to the gig 2nite ok.  Sorry I wont be there.  Or any other time.  This is goodbye my luv. Tell Archie I’ll look after his baby.  It’s in good hands now.  Hope you understand.  How else could I get a Cantorio.  This SIM and my beard will be gone from now. Bye all.  Adam.
Archie’s face was a livid red.  He stood up and started walking round the room and shouting at the top of his voice. “The fuckin’ connivin’ cheatin’ lyin’ thievin’ BASTARD!” He banged the table so hard with his fists that Dougie’s pint glass shifted and fell off the table spilling beer onto his lap.  He jumped up with a curse.  “Steady on Archie.”
Archie turned to Valerie and snarled, “What’s a Cantorio eh, what’s a Cantorio!”  She cowered away at his rage.  “It’s only my fuckin’ guitar, that’s what.”
Valerie couldn’t take her eyes off Archie. “Your guitar? It was him that suggested we could take it to Craig-en-Canty, Archie.  I didn’t think you’d mind.  What’s so special about that, anyway?  We took good care of it.  What’s the big deal….?”  Her voice tailed off as Archie rounded on her.
“Aye, you looked after it ok.  Well, he will now I’ll bet - now that it’s his!!  The bastard.  That Cantorio is only worth seven grand, Val, seven fuckin’ grand – seven grand we were going to put down for a house.  Well that’s the ball burst now.  No Cantorio, no deposit.  And no us!”  He tossed the phone back to her and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.   A few seconds later he rushed back in.  “Just a minute.  Ring the bastard.”
Valerie rang Adam’s number.  She waited then heard, “The number you have called is currently unavailable”.
“What’s his address?  What’s his name – his surname?”
“Oh, Archie, I don’t know.  He never told me his name apart from Adam and he never gave me his address.  I always met him at the bus stop next to my flat.  He told me he lived in the same block as me but I used to wonder…”
Archie looked at her, shook his head, sat down heavily and laid his head on the table with his hands over his ears.  He stayed like this for several minutes.  Then, to Val’s amazement, he stood up smiling wanly.  He reached out to her.  “Ok, babe.  My fault.  I should’ve told you.”  He tried to put his arm around her.
But she pushed him away angrily.  “Don’t touch me Archie.  It’s going to take a long long time to get over this.  I don’t care that he’s stolen your poxy guitar.  I don’t really care that he’s gone.  I do care  about the money and if the police can’t trace him you bet I’m going to have the three grand that’s left - but what really gets me, really sticks in my fuckin’ craw, is that the bastard wasn’t after me at all, he was after the fuckin’ Cantorio.”