Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

‘ Yes … either I’m a challenge tae her or she fancies me. It can only be one of the two. Both situations can be worked in my favour .’

I raised my eyes doubtfully, but he wasnae joking .

‘ Listen, speaking of sexual matters …’ His voice dropped cagily. ‘I want your view on something. I heard a wee tale aboot this gadge … a boy who let himself get fucked up the arse by a bird …’

‘ What the fuck are ye oan aboot? A bird fucked a boy up the erse? Was this so-called bird really a tranny or something? ’

‘ Naw … it was a genuine lassie. They went back tae hers thegither, and she strapped oan a big dildo, and rode him up the erse wi it —’

‘ Wow …’ I felt my sphincter involuntarily snapping shut .

‘— and he enjoyed it … or so she said .’

‘ Sounds dubious tae me! ’

‘ Aye …’ he said, then seemed tae reconsider, ‘… well, the boy claimed that he wisnae interested in having a guy’s cock up there, it was only a lassie he’d let dae that tae him .’

‘ Right …’

‘ So is the boy straight or gay? ’

‘ Dae ah ken this gadgie? ’

He rubbed his lips tightly together. ‘Yes. Don’t say anything …’ he paused, as if he was rearranging the furniture in a room in his heid, ‘… but Alison telt us aboot it .’

‘ Wait … Ali was the lassie that rode this boy wi a dildo? ’

‘ Aye … she said the only way this guy would go to bed wi her was if she did that tae him. Ye can surely guess whae we’re talking aboot here! ’

The face ay ma former bandmate, pinched and sweaty, as when he strutted that stage ay the Triangle Club in Pilton, jumped right intae my consciousness. ‘Hamish? HP? ’

Sick Boy smiled darkly. ‘Heterosexual Poof by name and, it seems, by nature. Alison was adamant that he never did this with men. Personally,’ he shook his head, ‘ah hae ma doots. What do you think: hopelessly queer, or straight and just experimenting? ’

‘ He didnae ride Alison eftir she’d tanned his erse in? ’

Sick Boy hesitated for a second, ‘No …’ then he said more emphatically, ‘no, there’s no way he rode her .’

‘ If he had rode her eftir, ah’d have said experimenting. The fact that he didnae, ah’d say mair screaming poof than heterosexual .’

‘ My view entirely!’ Sick Boy said in triumph, seeming tae seize on this as an important point. ‘It’s no the fact he experimented wi her thrusting the dildo up his chorus n verse that makes him a raving queen — Hamish, likes — but that he never shagged her eftir! Ran away fae her gash like it wis a black hole in space, the fuckin nancy! And this came straight fae the horse’s mouth. Obviously, as I don’t kiss and tell, I’m trusting your discretion with this information .’

‘ That’s a given,’ I lied .

An interesting enough tale, for sure, but then he wouldnae leave for ages. He talked about girls, his family, Hibs, Leith, Begbie and girls again, ‘… one of the drawbacks in having such a huge cock is that you can sometimes hurt them …’ basically anything tae keep me awake. I fell asleep and when I awoke some hours later, the light still on, I expected him to still be sitting there on my bed, gabbing shite, but he was gone .

Journal Entry: Alan Duke

I always felt bad about the way that I treated Alan ‘Chocolateface’ Duke, back when we were wee laddies. Back then, Matty’s dad, Drew, affectionately called me ‘Ginger Nut’. The other kids in the Fort embraced it, but often in a derogatory manner. One time we were on the steps outside Leith Library and I was taking some stick, so I turned on Dukey and said: ‘Beat it, Chocolateface.’ This instantly caused howls of laughter and transferred the abuse from me to him .

I witnessed him suffer growing up. He became a scapegoat. Matty, a malnourished gypo scruffbag in hand-me-downs, Begbie, wi an alco jailbird father, Keezbo, wi his bloater issues, his budgie-loving ma wi the aviary in the hoose, and aye, me, wi the spazzy brother, could aw round on Dukey when the heat fell oan us. Later on, people like the Currans would spread more overt and hateful abuse his way .

While any cunt could have started the ‘Chocolateface’ ball rolling, I was the culprit. Always felt pretty crap about that .

Day 23

Ah’ve goat post! It’s a mixed tape from Hazel. (Bands include Psychedelic Furs, Magazine, Siouxsie, Gang of Four — Hazel always had a decent taste in music.) They issue it a day late after they’ve checked it tae ensure that nae drugs are secreted. If they kent Hazel they wouldnae bother; the only drug we ever shared was voddy. It’s nice to get post. Of course, the cunt who seems tae get loads, and all from girlsfae lassies, is Sick Boy .

Back in my room, as Bowie sings about always crashing in the same car, I read the note :

Dear Mark,

I hope the rehab is going well, and that you find the strength to stick with it. I saw your mum in Junction Street the other day. She said she was off to the church to light a candle and pray for you. I know you’ll just laugh at that, but it shows she really cares about you so much, all your family do. As do I.

I’m still at Binns and I’m planning a trip with Geraldine Clunie and Morag Henderson to Majorca. Geri works with me and you’ll mind of Morag from school.

Saw Roxy Music at the Playhouse! Honestly, Mark, what a gig! A few faces there in Mathers pub in Broughton Street afterwards, Kev Stewart, Gwen Davidson, Laura McEwan, Carl Ewart, all asking for you, and all, like me, saying that they miss seeing you around. Can we PLEASE have our old Mark back?

Take care.

Love

Hazel xxxx

As I read it I feel something shrink in the hollow of my chest. I screw the note up into a ball and chuck it in the empty bin (the cleaner’s evidently taken my discarded diary entry and soiled Kleenexes away) then instantly retrieve it, flattening it out and sticking it in my back pocket .

The old Mark? Who the fuck is that?

I compose myself and head for some meditation with Spud and Seeker. Then, after a break and coffee, where Seeker talks aboot the bikes he’s owned, Skinny-Specky tells us the process review session’s about to begin, and we troop like weary zombies intae the meeting room. It’s saccharine-positive with a creepy touchy-feely vibe to it; lots of hugs and phoney veneration. But this only displaces the aggro to the afternoon addiction-issues group .

Tom’s eyes are a wee bit too busy. His red-and-black lumberjack shirt is covered down the front with crumbs from one of the sugary shortbread biscuits that go down a storm in these sessions. ‘I’d like to introduce Audrey, who is joining us for the first time in the group. Hi, Audrey .’

‘ Enjoy de re-hab-il-i-tay-shan,’ Swanney drawls in a ersatz Jamaican accent. Now I know where Matty gets this irritating trait. He professes to hate Johnny but he wants to be him .

Molly, who Audrey sat next tae, has taken a fancy tae Tom, and, it seems, a dislike to everybody else, apart fae Sick Boy. ‘Well,’ she says grandly, ‘ah came in here tae get masel sorted oot and ah’m prepared tae keep an open mind n gie Tom the chance tae dae his job. N ah’m sure Audrey is n aw .’

All eyes on the silent, nail-biting Audrey, with the big, haunted blue eyes .

‘ Thanks … Molly,’ Tom says, as the room resonates with crashing sighs and the odd snigger. Tom’s lookin right at me, as if encouraging me to speak, but, sorry, shipmate, ah’ve set sails tae Port Silence. Seeker stretches his legs out, throws his arms behind his heid, issuing an enormous yawn, then sweeps his biker’s locks back. He looks like a lion that’s just eaten a pit bull .