Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

— Aye …

So we start fartin aroond wi a knife but we cannae get this cunt ay a tin open! Matty stabs it and the blade skites oaf that reinforced placky, back intae his other hand that’s hudin the boax secure, spurting rid blood onto the yellaw boax n the fag-burned wooden flair. — YA BASTARD! he screams, sucking up his ain blood like a vampire. Ah take ower, but it’s totally fuckin useless. We can see it’s fill ay ten-bob bits n pound coins but we cannae even prise any oot, wi these inverted teeth blockin us.

Fuckin hell’s bastardcunts!

Raymie gets a hammer oot and batters it, but the thing just isnae yielding. — I serenade, they decorate, he says, laying down the tool. His remarks, apropos of nothing, once humorous, now grate like fuck. Ah pick up the hammer and huv a go at the fucker but this evil unyielding resin, this synthetic, carcinogenic, non-biodegradable pishy fuckin polymer will barely fuckin scratch. Even a hacksaw widnae dae it; this needs a fuckin grinder oan it. Raymie’s getting impatient. — Gentlemen, you should leave this humble abode before Johnny returns. Business ain’t booming on the supply side, chickadees, and there will be fuck all happening in the Salisbury Crag department till you get this open.

Raymie’s a strange yin, but he’s daein us a favour. Johnny’s goat funny wi dough and mair volatile wi aw the speed and downers he takes. If he thinks he’s bein fucked ower he’ll hud oot.

Matty and me look tae each other and decide tae split n see if Sick Boy’s contact, Monny, has somehow emerged. We head back doon tae the port, but then elect tae bodyswerve the Fit ay the Walk n the Kirkgate for Keezbo’s at the Fort. He lives on the D floor ay Fort House, two doors along fae whaire ah grew up. — Ah’m gaun up tae see Keith, Matty, you stey doon here.

— What fir?

Ah open up the holdall, takin oot n shakin the collection tin close tae his lug. The side ay his face seems tae seize up like he’s huvin a stroke. — Cause ah’m gaunny droap this fuckin thing doon tae ye. You let it hit the deck n split open, n then fling the dosh intae the bag. Okay?

Matty’s blinkin like some cunt’s flung pepper in his eyes. — But … cunt, it might go aw ower the place n –

FUCK WIS THAT?

Wi baith hears this yabberin sound echo fae above. It rolls around in ma heid. Raw panic crackles ower the back ay ma neck. Ah’m fucked awright, it’s this cunty methadone … Ah tug Matty’s jaykit sleeve. — Keezbo n me’ll be right doon tae help ye, wi dinnae fuckin well huv time tae discuss it!

Matty sucks back some snotter n nods, lookin roond n shiverin. Ah droap the bag at his feet. Ah’m right in the stair n boundin up tae the D flair. Oan the balcony ah sees Keezbo’s mother n faither; Moira, wi her signature frizzy broon hair n horn-rimmed glesses, n Jimmy, still a chunky wee barrel ay a gadge in white shirt n black trews, standin ootside thair flat. As ah stride taewards thum, the shouts git louder; thaire comin fae inside Keezbo’s. Jimmy n Moira look tae each other in panic n they step back intae the flat n try n shut the door oan us. — What’s up? Is that Keith shoutin?

— Yir no welcome here, nane ay yis, Moira goes, pittin her weight oan the door, but ah’ve goat a shoodir n hip in, n ah’m no budgin. The tin’s in ma hand, oan the inside, n ah’m worried she’ll snatch it so ah push intae the flat. The birds are oot ay the aviary, flappin aroond ma fuckin face! — Dinnae lit they burds oot! Moira screams, now pillin us in n shuttin the door behind us.

It’s a mental scene: a few budgies and a zebra finch flutter aroond Moira; one’s oan her shoodir n another lands oan the back ay her hand. She’s wearin an angora cardigan, but wi nowt else oan underneath, nae blouse, jist a bra, n the cardy isnae buttoned up right cause ah kin see a faded rid scar gaun doon intae her padding, n ah’m sure ah saw something move doon thaire, like her tits. She pills her cardy thegither n fastens a couple ay buttons, n wi baith look away, mortified. Jimmy’s standin sheepishly in front ay the staircase, wi his mooth turned doon. The birds cheep aroond us, urgent and demanding. — C’mon, Moira … Jimmy, ah appeal, ah jist want tae see Keith …

Then ah hears this scream: — MARK! GIT THE FAHKIN POLIS!!

The bird leaves Moira’s hand as Jimmy looks tae the kitchen n roars, — SHUT IT!

— Jimmy, what’s the fuckin Hampden …

Fuck sake, ah’m strugglin tae take aw this in, but ah can see that they’ve constructed a wire fence, like a giant cage, tae divide the stairs fae the rest ay the hoose. There’s newspaper aw ower the stair cairpit wi bird shit layerin it. It’s like they’ve made the entire doonstairs ay the hoose — the living room, bedrooms n lavvy — intae a giant aviary, wi thaim just huvin the upstairs hall n kitchen! Moira looks poisonously at me, wi Keezbo shoutin for help, as she opens the cage tae the stairs, guiding the flocking birds through. They follay her like rats wi the pied piper, then she deftly moves oot the wey n shuts them inside, turnin tae me.

— Go, she sais, openin the front door.

Keezbo’s still shoutin, but it’s like it’s comin fae ootside the hoose. It hus tae be the auld balcony aviary at the back ay the kitchen! — MARK! HELP US! THUV LOAKED US OOT HERE!

— What the fuck? Ur you oot oan the balcony, Keezbo?

Then his sister Pauline appears, standing on the stairs, inside the cage, as yellay n green n blue n white budgerigars flock, chirpin aw aroond her. — They locked him oot oan the balcony. She turns tae them. — Ye cannae keep him oot thaire, Ma, n she starts sobbing.

Moira’s still hudin the front door open, shoutin, — GIT OOT! and that nosy Margaret Curran cunt pokes her neb in, the hatchet-faced cow a picture ay misery. — Wi cannae stand it, Moira, we’re gaunny huv tae phone the polis if the noise doesnae stoap. It’s been aw day now! N they birds … ah nivir minded the aviary oan the balcony but no in the hoose! It’s insanitary! How much longer?

— As long as it takes, it’s ma laddie’s life!

They start oan at each other, but ah cut in and ask Moira, — What huv youse fuckin done tae Keith?

— They’ve locked him oot oan the balcony, Pauline blubbers, her anguished face pushed against the mesh ay the cage, surrounded by fluttering birds.

Ah push past Jimmy and Moira intae the kitchen. The wire n dimpled glass that divides the room fae both the aviary and the walk-out section ay the balcony has been removed and boarded ower. Keezbo’s ootside, batterin oan it and screamin, — HELP US, MARK … FUCKIN HELP US!

— He’s no comin in here till that poison’s oot ay his system, Moira says.

Ah whip roond, right intae her face. — Are you fuckin mental?! He’s in withdrawal, ah say, thinking aboot Nicksy. — He’ll jump oaf or try n climb doon! Let us see um!

Ah turns back n ah’m fighting tae get the big bolts oan the door open. Jimmy isnae stoaping us but Moira’s white scraggy fingers wrap roond ma wrist. — No … no … wir pittin um through that wild turkey –

— Yir killin him, he needs proper fuckin rehab! HE’S SEEK ENOUGH TAE JUMP! ah scream intae her face, and she suddenly relents, loosenin her grip.

That mawkit-pussed hoor Curran’s goat intae the hoose. Ah hear her moanin away at us fae the hall. — You left here! You’re no welcome back! Away tae yir ain bit doon the river, tae the hoose we should’ve goat!

— We’re no thaire any mair … moved oot, ah tell her n watch her stupid bovine coupon hing slack in uncomprehending shock, as ah work one bolt open. Ah kin hear Keezbo groan oan the other side. — They gave us a better place doon by the Shore, ah lie tae Curran, as ah work on another bolt. — Aw the windaes face oantae the river … n thaire’s a private balcony that fair catches the sun … lovely spot …