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It was two in the morning and Angus hadn’t slept a wink. The orphanage was infamous for its poor living quarters. Take away the mattress and you wouldn’t feel a difference, he thought.

But it wasn’t just the beds that kept him up. He had a hangover. At two in the morning. His first one, in fact – droplets of bitter alcohol had only run down his tender throat several hours ago at early noon. Every time he shifted in the bed, he felt his insides sway back and fourth like a precarious fishing boat out on the North Sea. As the ocean of his bodily fluids twisted and turned, he limped once more to the bathroom. As he knelt, looking down into the grimy toilet seat, he thought to himself. ‘Some people get addicted to this stuff’. He puked. ‘At least I know I’ll never become an alcoholic’.

It was two in the afternoon when Angus finally got out of bed. Although the sickness had passed, he still felt as if someone had been setting off explosions in his head. He quickly changed and went down the creaky steps to the kitchen to make himself some brunch. It was surprising nobody had arisen him sooner, then he remembered it was a Sunday, the ‘day of rest’. Angus couldn’t be bothered with it. As he poured out some soggy cereal, Malcolm drifted through. Malcolm was like a ghost; he haunted the residents of the orphanage like a poltergeist, appearing when it was preferable that he didn’t.

“Hey, looks like the alcho got himself up” he sneered.

“Shut it, Malcolm. I don’t drink.” Angus grunted, chewing his cereal vigorously.

“What did you have? A wee dram? Buckie?”

“No. Just scrumpy.”

“Haha, really?” He let out a snort as he laughed. “So just some apple juice with alcohol?”

Angus let out a long sigh. His head began to pulse.

“Alcohol and bomb making are a terrible combination, you know.” Malcolm smiled, his eyes almost lifeless within their sockets.

“Don’t bring up this crap again.” Angus snapped.

“Hey, I’m not the one who blew up his adoptive parents to smitheroons.”

Angus clenched the spoon in his hand tightly. Malcolm would bring back memories that Angus had wished he’d forgotten. He was six years old when his first set of parents died from an ‘unexplained explosion’ from within their house… Something to do with the heating element in the oven being tampered with. By a six year old. It was an accident, of course, and in fact Angus remembers little of the incident.

“Sod off, man.” Angus retorted.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll be seeing you tonight.”

“Tonight? What’s happening tonight?”

“Guy Fawkes.”

With that, Malcolm drifted out of the door in which he came. Angus had completely forgotten about Guy Fawkes, after his small debacle the night before. Even as a small child, he had always been intrigued by explosives. With his first adoptive parents, he remembered tumbling outside to see the fireworks being set off. The beautiful shades of red and green, the glittering streaks of colour across a pitch black sky. During his early teens, he attempted to make his very own fireworks, ones which would be brighter, stronger and more striking than any seen before. Unfortunately, the only thing his fireworks did strike was a hole through the kitchen wall. Since then, Angus had to take his gear out in the woods. Until he started a minor forest fire, of course. The Forestry Commission were ‘nothing short of mad’ at Angus for his little experiments, leading him to simply stop his disastrous hobbies altogether. The closest he got to anything explosive in recent years was at Guy Fawkes, were he was allowed to light a single squib. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing, Angus thought. He better get ready.

Night approached quickly in the winter. Ullapool was a great town for Guy Fawkes; no big cities around to cause light pollution, no distracting noise. Nothing but the gentle rocking of the boats in the dock. Nothing but darkness. Everyone had already gathered around the bonfire by the time Angus stumbled into the crowd. Ms. Bruce, the ‘head’ of the orphanage, stood around the group of eager faces, auburn from the glow of the fire.

“Now, then.” She pursed her lips. “Now that we’re all here, would you care to start us off, Angus?”

The group of faces all turned and stared at him. Timidly he walked over to the first firework, crudely planted into the ground.

“Now remember your goggles and here’s a match.”

Ms. Bruce thrust the safety specs and an already lit match into his hands. She puckered her lips as she watched him. Angus could see the hairs on her upper lip merge together and make a subtle moustache. But then, something caught his eye… A woman. One he hadn’t seen before; it was not uncommon for the occasional out of town visitor to come and watch the fireworks, but something was different about this one. She wore a plaid, dark red suit and a face as sour as a lemon. She was a sassenach, a city liver. Within the crowd of grubby orphans and salty seamen, she stuck out like a painfully sore thumb.With a quick gulp, Angus walked over and lit the firework, then walked back. The woman watched Angus intently as he did, keeping a close eye on his every action.  A hissing came slowly out of the squib before quickly launching off into the sky. A gentle ‘bang’ was heard, then a splodge of colour emerged on the dark canvas. It was finished within seconds. Angus sighed at the unsurprisingly feeble firework, then returned to his spot in the crowd. Now aware of his mysterious watcher, he couldn’t concentrate on the fireworks. Everywhere he looked, he saw her in the corner of his eye… Watching.

And so another Bonfire Night had come and gone. As soon as the last Roman candle had burnt out, Angus hurried away. He couldn’t stand the sight of this woman any longer. But as he walked away, so did she. He quickend his pace, and so did she. ‘Oh God’, he thought. ‘She’s going to get me!’

And she did. Her hand clutched onto his shoulder like an owl catching it’s prey. He jumped and let out a small yelp.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry for frightening you unannounced.’ She said, although he could sense of sarcasm in her tone.

“What do you want?” Angus barked.

“Now now, no need to be so rash, my boy.”

“Aye? An’ why have you been spyin’ on me?”

“My contractors have certain… Interests, per say, in your… talents.”

She gave him a gentle, bitter smile. She smelt strongly of dodgy cigarettes.

“My… talents?” Angus asked inquisitively.

“You’ve got quite a hand with explosives.”

Angus’ hard double jumped. “What? How the hell…?”

“Don’t fret. My contractors are aware that you want a bit more freedom from this place.”

She slipped a small card into his hand. On it, in big letters, was ‘Reliable Excavation Demolition’. He had heard of the name before. They were one of the biggest businesses in the whole world, matched only by another, equally powerful company. He looked long at the card, before turning to face the woman. He noticed her lipstick was as red as her suit.

“A car will come to pick you up next week, after your graduation. I’ll be seeing you.” She gave out a whistle.

She turned quickly and walked around a corner. Angus ran around to catch her, but she had vanished, cloaked into the darkness of the night. So many questions, yet none of them answered. He looked back at the card, studying it. He gave out a chuckle when he realised the companies’ name was an acronym for ‘red’.

‘I think I need a drink’, he thought as he trundled back to the old orphanage.