Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

— Fuck! I slap my head again as the raucous clucks above recede, Marsha and her sister bolting up the stairs.

— Gittin ditched is shite … we’ve aw been ditched now … Renton gormlessly observes, — Go eftir her!

— Not a fucking chance. It’s all ruined now: my life is effectively over, I tell him, pushing past him and mounting the stairs. Then I hear a snakelike — Fuck! And then he’s tearing past me, bounding demonically up the steps. When ah get intae the flat, Renton is manically clearing up the skag and attendant paraphernalia from the coffee table. — HELP AYS YA FUCKIN DINGUL! There’s nothing to do but comply and we’re just in time as the door bangs. They’ve taken Nicksy back down; he’s in the company of the cop, and this woman who wears a disapproving scowl. Renton puts the kettle on and makes some tea. The woman nervously holds a chipped and stained West Ham mug as her and the cop settle Nicksy down on the couch. I’m destroyed, and badly need tae lay doon and consider my ever-shrinking options. Ah go tae the windae tae see Lucinda striding with purpose across the green towards Kingsland Road and the overland station, which will take her west and to real life.

My life is over. Wrecked .

— Fuck sakes, you awright? Rents stands behind me.

— I’ll live, I tell him.

— Ah meant Nicksy. He points tae the wreckage on the settee.

— Yeah … Nicksy groans, looking up like a half-drowned sewer rat. The cop puts his hand on the pathetic vegetable’s shoulder. — Brian has to come with us for a chat, then he can go home later. He looks tae the hostile lassie, who ah assume is a fucking social worker. Far be it fae me tae simplistically vilify an entire occupation, but all social workers are fucking cunts. — Nothing sinister, he says, catching Rents’s belligerent expression, — he just needs somebody ta talk to.

Cinders …

I sort of loved her .

— He can talk tae us, Rents says defensively, — we’re his mates.

I’m thinking, speak for yourself, Rent Boy . Collecting lame ducks (or at least ones without vaginas) is not my style.

Oh, Cinders, come back … I even paid for that fucking ring!

The cop looks at us with a tired smile and a shake ay his heid. Nicksy shrugs in sheepish apology, as if in acknowledgement that he’s been a right twat, which he most certainly has. I’ve changed my mind again. If you’re gaunny dae something like that, at least have the backbone tae go through wi it instead ay crapping out and looking like a dickless clown. Look at poor Spud, fighting for his life on a fucking ventilator, when this spineless Ingloid poof doesnae even have the baws tae throw his away. Look at me, jilted by my almost-fiancée, but still in the game. Still fighting.

Renton follows the wretch down in the lift. I tag along: just cause ah cannae think ay anything else tae dae. Perhaps Cinders will have turned back .

At the bottom ay Beatrice Webb House, Nicksy gets in a car wi the social worker woman, who drives him off, doubtless for a hearty mind-hump somewhere. The copper who talked him in turns tae another polisman, then looks up at the council grey ay the tower against the pale blue sky, and notes, — It’s a long way down.

What brilliant fucking powers ay observation! We’re privileged tae have a Met high-flyer on the case! Nonetheless, ah find masel looking up, thinking ay ways ah can get revenge on that wee black nympho hoor. If fuckin Nicksy had’ve been giein her a proper length, she wouldnae have needed tae have played away wi me, and ah’d be planning a society wedding now!

Renton seems fascinated by the rescue copper, a tall, thin, shaven-headed mutation wi olive skin. He has these kind ay laughing eyes, which dinnae match up wi his cruel slash ay a mooth. — How did you get him to come in?

The cop looks at him in mild contempt, then seems tae soften a wee bitty. — Just listened a bit. Talked and listened.

— What’s up wi him?

— You’re his mates, the pig shrugs, — maybe he’ll tell you himself, in his own time.

Renton seems a trifle chagrined by this. He shuffles uncomfortably, then focuses on the polisman. — But what did ye say tae get him tae come back inside?

The cop smiles earnestly. — I just told him that no matter how bad it all seemed right now, it’s just part and parcel of being young. That it gets easier. That he has to remember this and not throw it all away. That life is a gift.

My life with Lucinda. Wrecked. My big chance. Blown. All thanks to Nicksy!

Renton appears tae consider this for a bit. He’s daein the junky pose wi his airms wrapped around himself even though it isnae cauld. Skaggy fucker will draw mair polis heat than Nicksy, rattling away like that in public, and in front ay a copper. — Does it? Get easier, I mean, he asks urgently.

The cop shakes his heid. — Does it fuck; it gets bleedin worse. All that happens is that the expectations you have of life fall. You just get used to all the shit.

Renton looks as perturbed as ah feel, and we gaze at each other and realise that the cop isnae fucking joking. Ah think about poor Spud. Renton looks starkly at Bacon boy. — What if ye don’t get used to it, what if ye can’t get used to it?

The copper looks back up tae the flats, shrugs his shoulders and curls his bottom lip doon. — Well, that window’s still gonna be there.

TAM SORTAY AMBLES intae the ward, sees us n comes right ower. He’s goat a worried look oan his coupon, but ah want tae shout, ah kin breathe, man, ah kin pure breathe! How barry is that?! Aye, ah want tae tell um they sais thit ah’m gaunny be awright, but ah cannae say nowt, likesay, cannae answer him back wi this tube in my throat. Aw ah kin dae is breathe. N Tam’s goat the picture, squeezin ma hand. So he starts gabbin, tellin us he’s been away fir a week, up north, likesay hillwalkin wi that Lizzie, n he came as soon as he could. Ah’m sortay thinkin, ah’d certainly be comin quick wi her n aw, even though ah ken that’s no what he means n it’s good ay him tae git here. Now he’s lookin at us aw sad n gaun, — Aw, Danny, ya daft cunt. What are we gaunny dae wi ye?

Ah’m pointin tae the tube, but then the duty nurse, Angie, comes in. Tommy asks her the Hampden Roar.

Ah kin hear Angie giein him the details, like she’s hud tae dae wi everybody thit’s come in tae see us. — He staggered into the A&E with double vision, slurred speech, drooping eyelids, and eye-muscle weakness.

Tommy’s noddin, then lookin at us as if tae say aye? And what’s new, exactly?

— The diagnosis has turned out to be wound botulism, Angie tells um.

— What’s that?

Angie shakes her heid. Brand new, Angie, even if she is a Jambo fae Sighthill! Or mibbe a Jambette if that’s what ye call lassie Jambos. But naw, that might be sexist. — Something very nasty, she tells Tommy. — But thankfully the doctors made a quick diagnosis, so we were able to offer appropriate treatment, including putting Danny on this ventilator and giving him botulinum antitoxin. We’re expecting him to make a full recovery.

— Was it ska … heroin that did this? Tommy’s askin the same question that my ma did the other week when ah wis wakin up. They aw jist talk aroond us n it pure gits oan ma nerves; jist cause ah’ve goat this tube doon ma throat disnae mean that ah cannae hear, likesay. Ken?

Angie doesnae answer him direct, but, she jist pits oan a cross but kind face, like the best teachers at the school used tae dae, n says, — He’s been a right daftie, haven’t ye, Danny?

Thaire’s no a loat ah could say tae that, even if ah didnae huv a tube in my throat, likesay.