Part one of 'The Journey Home' has a whole set of new characters introduced, the first group being Scottish. They all link into Gavin Strang 'The Big Dour Scotsman' who the first part of the book is named after.
Davy Wallace is a sort of surrogate brother - someone older, and the natural son of the woman who fostered Gavin in his teens. He is the person that Gavin always goes to for advice, and that is how we meet him - giving advice over the telephone after Gavin is suddenly thrust into the limelight...
“Well now, you big hunk of meat,” shouted Davy Wallace down the line, “Lewis Macleod has got a lot of Scottish in him, but it sounds like he’s after a fair bit more. Fucking hell, man. You did see it, yeah?”
“Aye - almost choked on a can of McEwan’s when she read out my name. That Jilly McPhee set me up like a kipper. I had no idea, man,” Gavin replied, giving his carpet a break by slouching down into an armchair with the mobile.
“So what are you going to do? You’ve got to go through with it,” encouraged Davy.
“I suppose,” said Gavin without much enthusiasm.
“Suppose!” yelled Davy. “For fuck’s sake, Gavin - there should be no ‘suppose’ about it. This is Lewis Macleod we’re talking about here – national hero and a shag and a half. Christ, I’d be down there like a shot if he’d made me the offer, and Ewan would just have to lump it.”
“Aye well – it’s complicated,” said Gavin, not wishing to elaborate because he knew how Davy would react.
“I can’t see what’s so complicated, Gavin,” the older and wiser man came back with. “Strange, yes. I mean, what does he see in a big sandy-haired brute that’s all brawn and no fucking brain? Well listen, Gavin, I’m going to lend you some grey matter for the weekend - now once we’re finished, get on the phone to Titty McPhee, then get yourself on the next plane to London. All expenses paid.”
Gavin bristled at the reference which was a bit close to the mark. “I’ll think about it... He was probably only joking anyway,” he replied, hoping for some reassurance to the contrary. Sadly he didn’t get it.
“Of course he was joking,” chortled Davy. “And he’d make a good comedian - I was pishing myself laughing... I still am every time I think about it. But joke or no joke, he said it, and Lewis Macleod doesn’t strike me as the sort of lad who would take something back once he’s said it.”
Davy Wallace is a sort of surrogate brother - someone older, and the natural son of the woman who fostered Gavin in his teens. He is the person that Gavin always goes to for advice, and that is how we meet him - giving advice over the telephone after Gavin is suddenly thrust into the limelight...
“Well now, you big hunk of meat,” shouted Davy Wallace down the line, “Lewis Macleod has got a lot of Scottish in him, but it sounds like he’s after a fair bit more. Fucking hell, man. You did see it, yeah?”
“Aye - almost choked on a can of McEwan’s when she read out my name. That Jilly McPhee set me up like a kipper. I had no idea, man,” Gavin replied, giving his carpet a break by slouching down into an armchair with the mobile.
“So what are you going to do? You’ve got to go through with it,” encouraged Davy.
“I suppose,” said Gavin without much enthusiasm.
“Suppose!” yelled Davy. “For fuck’s sake, Gavin - there should be no ‘suppose’ about it. This is Lewis Macleod we’re talking about here – national hero and a shag and a half. Christ, I’d be down there like a shot if he’d made me the offer, and Ewan would just have to lump it.”
“Aye well – it’s complicated,” said Gavin, not wishing to elaborate because he knew how Davy would react.
“I can’t see what’s so complicated, Gavin,” the older and wiser man came back with. “Strange, yes. I mean, what does he see in a big sandy-haired brute that’s all brawn and no fucking brain? Well listen, Gavin, I’m going to lend you some grey matter for the weekend - now once we’re finished, get on the phone to Titty McPhee, then get yourself on the next plane to London. All expenses paid.”
Gavin bristled at the reference which was a bit close to the mark. “I’ll think about it... He was probably only joking anyway,” he replied, hoping for some reassurance to the contrary. Sadly he didn’t get it.
“Of course he was joking,” chortled Davy. “And he’d make a good comedian - I was pishing myself laughing... I still am every time I think about it. But joke or no joke, he said it, and Lewis Macleod doesn’t strike me as the sort of lad who would take something back once he’s said it.”