Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

— You dae what they say, n shape up when ye git ootside, Tommy says, his piercin broon eyes lookin right intae us, n he squeezes ma hand again.

Ah try tae say ‘sound’ but ah kin feel ma throat muscles contrictin aroond this sortay unyieldin pipe n ah convulse a bit, so ah jist squash his hand back n nod. So Tommy starts bletherin away aboot what he’s been up tae, ken in the Highlands n that? Ah dinnae want tae pish on the pageant ay a man in love wi a barry-lookin bird, but it’s pure ‘me n Lizzie this’ n ‘me n Lizzie that’. Ah suppose it’s his life, but the thing is, other cats’ rooftop trysts are right borin, especially if you’re no gittin any Ian McLagan in yirsel, likesay. Eventually he gies ma hand a real bonecrusher ay a squeeze n says, — See ye behind the goals.

Then he’s away, but that Paki doaktir boy, Mr Nehru, comes in, the yin that saved us by aw accounts, n he’s goat this lassie wi um. She’s in a sortay suit n glesses, but she disnae look like a social worker. She’s goat barry shiny black hair, sortay collar-length.

— Danny … Danny boy … we’re going to have you off this thing tomorrow! That is good, yes! Mr Nehru goes.

Ah gie the cat the thumbs up, cause this gadge is totally cool n pure saved ma life, man. Ah dig the sing-song voice he hus, n the wey his heid moves side tae side when he talks. Aye, man, when a gadgie is that enthused, it sortay gits us aw carried away masel, likesay. Ken? That’s what ah need, man, a motivator by ma side each n every day. Tae coach us n encourage us, likesay. Somebody tae tell us ah’m awright, n ah done good. Somebody like Mr Nehru.

Mr Nehru turns tae this lassie, she’s goat they really cool rid-framed glesses wi a slight tint, and she’s really thin, likesay daddy-long-legs thin, and he says tae her, — Danny had contracted wound botulism. It’s a potentially fatal illness that occurs when spores of the bacterium Clostridium botulinum contaminate a wound then germinate, and produce botulinum nerve toxin. He’s a very lucky chap, aren’t you, Danny boy?! He sings tae me n ah wink back. He tells the thin, specky bird that they’re seeing a higher incidence ay wound botulism, n it’s aw aboot injectin heroin intae skin or muscle.

— Why should this be? the bird asks, in a posh voice.

— The reasons for the increase remain unclear, but may involve contamination of specific batches of heroin as well as changes in injection practices.

— Very disturbing … Can I talk to him?

— Sure! He can hear you fine. I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted.

The lassie gies Mr Nehru a strained smile, but when she sits doon next tae us, her eyes light up n it’s like she’s really excited. Ah’m pure thinking, ‘what’s gaun oan here?’, but ah cannae say nowt!

— Danny … I understand you’ve had a terrible time, with your illness and your heroin-dependency issues. But I’m here to help you, to help you put it all behind you.

Ah cannae say nowt, but the sun’s up behind the lassie n throwin a big glow ower her, framin her in this luxurious blindin light, n mibbe it’s like they prayers huv been answered, man, cause she’s likesay goat this Virgin Mary-style purity, ken?

— I want to help you, to work with you in this new, innovative unit that we’ve set up. There will be other people like you, in this state-of-the-art facility, and we’ll be working with a guy called Tom Curzon, who is one of the best in the business. He’s probably the UK-wide expert on client-centred drug rehabilitation. Will you work with us, and let us help you to get better?

Ah’m noddin and sayin aye aye aye in ma heid, n ah gie her the thumbs up.

— That’s really, really terrific news, she smiles. — As soon as you feel stronger, I’m going to arrange to get you transferred out of here, and into the rehab project, she says, and the lassie seems really enthusiastic aboot it. — I’m Amelia McKerchar, and I’m here to help you, Danny, n she shakes ma sweaty hand.

N ah feel like ah’ve been pure saved, man, saved by an angel ay mercy! The only wey is up for me now!

THAT CUNT MUST be a baw hair away fae flatlining, the wey he’s been battering the shit intae hissel. Ah stagger ower fae whaire ah’d crashed oot, oan the cauld, manky, broken lino tiles ay the kitchen, n pit ma heid tae his chest: a thin, watery heartbeat. — Matty, wake up .

Ah was soon wishin ah hudnae bothered cause the cunt revives n it’s aw torment and despair. First him and then Alison, whae ah didnae even notice wis lyin oan the couch. They just whine oan aboot how sick they feel, and how it’s aw fucked up and how they want offay this. Then that wee Maria emerges tremblin fae the bedroom whaire her n Sick Boy crashed, greetin aboot her ma and dad. Sick Boy’s behind her, also shiverin like a new kitten, one eye blinkin in a spasm, sayin, — Shut the fuck up! What a crowd ay deadbeats! Am ah the only cunt here that kens how tae perty?

Ah head oot tae the toilet n dae a pish, too scared tae look in the bathroom mirror. When ah finish, that wee Jenny lassie, Maria’s mate, comes oot ay the bedroom. Wi her big, watery eyes, she looks terrified, and aboot ten years auld, as she tentatively approaches me. — They says that they wir gaunny git some mair ay that stuff, she whimpers, rubbin a red mark in the crook ay her airm. An injury ay commerce? Culture? An industrial accident. — Maria spiked us, jist thaire, she goes. — Ah dinnae want any mair though, ah want tae go hame now. She looks at me, like ah’m some sort ay jailer, n she’s beggin tae be set free. — What d’ye think ah should dae?

— Go hame, ah say, shakin ma heid urgently, then lookin back tae the door ay the front room, — dinnae even go back in thaire tae say cheerio. Yi’ll jist git involved, n ah throw the door open, showin her the stair. — Ah’ll tell them thit ye felt sick n hud tae go hame. Just go, ah urge her, n ah kin hear the high, hysterical voices comin fae the front room and ah want this lassie tae git the fuck oot right now. — Go hame! Hurry …

N she heads oot, noddin at us in fearful gratitude. Ah shuts the door behind her n goes back doon the cauld, fusty hall n ben the front room .

Sick Boy, whae’s slumped doon on a beanbag against the waw, is makin himself heard above the clamour. — I’m oot oan the hunt. His big eyes scan us aw. — Whae’s up fir it?

They aw jist sit there, shiverin and wailin. It’s like some anguish-laden Palestinian mass funeral tae commemorate the latest rock-throwing martyrs. Maria says somethin aboot wishin she wis deid, and Ali’s oaf the couch, comfortin her. — Ye cannae say that, Maria, yir jist a young lassie …

— But it’s like ah’m deid awready … this is like hell, she blubbers, her face scrunched up and utterly wretched .

— Mair fuckin melodrama, Sick Boy says, lookin at me, pullin hissel tae his feet, wi the help ay the radiator. — Whae’s comin oot?

— Ah’m up for it … ah tell um, n wir right oot intae the hall .

He gapes at us wi big sad eyes, and pits his hand gently oan ma shoodir. — Thanks, Mark, he whispers. — Git the fuck away fae these manky birds. Gone are the days when ye could keep them quiet by filling them wi spunk, it’s aw just skag, skag, skag now .

— Aye … ah goes. — Goat tae keep gaun, but, eh?

He nods tightly, n we’re shufflin taewards the front door. — We should never huv came back up tae this place, he moans, shakin his heid, — ah could’ve got us sorted wi Andreas … the giro-drop wi Tony … we were in clover down thaire, man, in fucking clover …