Free Smokeheads by Doug Johnstone

‘He’ll spunk his pants if he sees golden fucking eagles.’
    The car horn blared, making them all jump, then they braked sharply.

    ‘Fucking stupid sheep,’ shouted Roddy as a large ram sauntered off the track and onto the verge, wiggling its woolly arse in defiance.
    The track got rougher, potholes and rocks scattered all over, no more passing places. To their left was a steep cliff down to the sea, on the right they passed the ruins of an old church, moss-covered gravestones jerking out at odd angles.
    ‘This really is the arse-end of nowheresville,’ said Roddy, looking out the window.
    ‘This is it,’ said Adam as they came over a blind summit and saw a spread of low grey buildings at the end of the road.

15
     
     
    ‘What the fuck are we supposed to be seeing?’ said Roddy getting out of the car.
    A straggle of tired buildings was strung in a crescent facing the muddy clearing where they’d parked. Paint peeled from window frames and doors and the whitewash was filthy grey from the battering of the elements.
    ‘Potential,’ said Adam. ‘Follow me.’
    He walked towards the nearest of the buildings, digging keys out of his pocket. He undid a padlock and opened the old wooden door.
    ‘Come on,’ he said, ducking inside.
    The rest of them looked at each other then followed.
    Inside, Adam stood next to a table strewn with bits of paper. Behind him were three large copper stills linked by a gantry and metal stairs, the familiar witch’s-hat shapes linked by tarnished pipes. The floor was covered in birdshit and bits of masonry, and as they entered a pigeon made a flustered flap into the rafters. Thin light through a high window picked out dust dancing in the air.
    ‘Well,’ said Adam. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I think you’ve brought us to a shithole at the end of the world,’ said Roddy.
    ‘It’s a disused distillery,’ said Ethan. ‘So what?’
    Luke’s eyes lit up. ‘An illegal still, man.’

    Adam smiled. ‘There will be nothing illegal about it. This is Stremnishmore distillery. I plan to buy it, renovate it and turn it into a working proposition again. I’m going to make whisky. I’ve got it all worked out, look.’
    He waved excitedly at the plans, bills and forms on the table.
    ‘The owners have agreed to sell me the place and I’ve got quotes for the renovation work, licence agreements sorted, the lot. I’ve even got suppliers and distributors lined up, plus a handful of possible employees from the island.’
    ‘You’re serious,’ said Ethan.
    ‘Deadly,’ said Adam. ‘This is the big chance to do something with my life. You all know how passionate I am about whisky. This is my chance to actually do something about it instead of rotting in that stupid shop forever.’
    ‘Cool,’ said Luke, nodding.
    Roddy was shaking his head and grinning. ‘You’re going to own and run your own distillery?’
    Adam looked at him and took a breath.
    ‘I was kind of hoping we would own it together.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Wouldn’t it be amazing?’ said Adam. ‘Imagine our bottles sitting next to Laphroaig and Ardbeg in the Islay section of whisky shops.’
    Roddy narrowed his eyes. ‘How much?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I presume you’re asking me to invest in this pipedream, so cut the bullshit and tell me how much.’
    ‘The thing is …’
    ‘Just give me a figure.’ There was a steeliness in Roddy’s voice Adam hadn’t heard before. He didn’t like it.
    ‘With start-up costs and wages for the first few years factored in, given that we can’t sell the product until …’
    ‘A number, please.’
    ‘One point two million would cover it.’
    Roddy threw his head back for show and laughed.
    ‘It wouldn’t be as much as that to begin with,’ said Adam hurriedly. ‘We could start online sales of the new spirit after a year, and we could even bring in some money from a visitor centre and cafe, maybe run whisky-making courses in the quiet season, other distilleries …’
    ‘You