Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

They weren’t bad wounds, but they drew blood and Eck went into shock. As did I. Among those who witnessed this was Fort joyrider Gary McVie (RIP) whae took the blade offay us. ‘Gie’s that, Mark,’ he said, pocketing it. He shouted at everybody tae sit doon and shut the fuck up, and they did, bar a couple ay sooky cunts whae clucked away as the teacher, Mr Bruce, came back. I worried that Bruce would see the blood, then the polis would come, and I’d be taken off to the chokey. But the bell went and Eck walked out, slightly doubled over. He never grassed, and after rabidly threatening to kill me outside, he left and went somewhere tae get his wounds treated .

I saw him a couple ay days later in Geography. I was chivless and terrified, a knot of fear in my guts. I envisioned a physical fight and I was confident that Eck would kick my cunt in. But he didn’t: he sat beside me and started tae sook up, offering me sweeties — sherbet lemons, as I recall — saying ‘we’ve always been mates …’ which was, of course, nonsense .

I sat in silence, enjoying and drawing power from the desperate eager-to-please fear in his eyes, and the taste of the sweetie, wedged against the roof ay my mooth, as it slowly dissolved in a burst ay sherbet .

Day 36

Sick Boy leaves, packing up his belongings, including the infamous tattered Collins dictionary. A tool for enlightenment in most hands, but deadlier than a loaded revolver in his. His sister Carlotta picks him up in her Datsun. She looks so sexy … I’ll have forty wanks aboot her the night! Too fuckin right! He was a bit perturbed at my heavy flirting. At one stage my palms are running up and down her bare arms, and I’m catching the scent of her black glossy hair. Trying tae get as much sense data as possible for later. She was giggling, and Sick Boy broke off a clinch with a heartbroken Molly tae gie us a half-playful, half-vicious kick on the shin .

‘ Look after my man here,’ I tell Carlotta, locking him in a matey embrace, enjoying his uncomfortable, helpless wriggling in my now stronger arms .

I only became pals with the cunt in the first place, soas I could go roond for him and ogle his sisters, and his ma, before she got fat. You only got in the hoose if his hostile prick ay a faither was oot. If he came tae the door, he’d go, ‘So you’re the laddie fae the Fort then, eh?’ aw snobby, like the Bannanay flats were fuckin Barnton or something! He’d make ye wait oot ootside till Sick Boy wis ready, where ye’d invariably git hassled by local radges whae kent ye wir fae the other side ay Junction Street .

‘ Behave,’ Sick Boy says, eyes pilled in narray focus, ‘and I’ll see ye in a few weeks .’

‘ I’ll be oot next week,’ I remind him .

‘ I’m gaun tae Italy for a spell: but for real this time. Dae me good to get out ay this savage Pictish swamp,’ he says, looking round disdainfully over the trees tae the smoky-grey sky, before turning tae an anxious Molly .

‘ Phone me as soon as ye git back!’ She wraps her thin arms around him .

I can see his face over her shoulder. He winks at me and widens his eyes before whispering in her ear, ‘You just try stopping us, babes. You just try stopping us.’ Then he breks oaf abruptly and heads tae the car .

We watch them leave. Molly runs inside. Tom puts a light hand oan ma shoulder. ‘You’ve lost Danny, Johnny and now Simon. But cheer up, you’ll be finished next .’

Back in the recky room Molly looks devastated, but Keezbo’s consoling her, which keeps the fat Jambo cunt oot ma road .

I go back tae my room and read .

I get disturbed by Skinny-Specky, who tells me that I have a session with Molly. I’m wondering what the fuck she’s on about, and she tipples and says, ‘Sorry, the other Molly .’

The other Molly is a straight-backed, horsey Englishwoman called Molly Greaves, who is a visiting clinical psychologist. She couldn’t be more different from our own beloved Moll if she tried. I first met her at the clinic, where I answered her probing, insistent questions in a dazed compliance. Now I’m far more testy and resistant to her violating edge, and it doesn’t go well .

At night I sit on the back porch with the guitar, strumming under the inky-black sky, but a string breaks and there’s no replacement, so the party’s over .

Day 38

Tom’s getting under my prickly skin. I’m due tae be discharged next week, but as well as scheduling me for another fruitless session with the clinical psychologist, in our one-to-ones he’s changed his softly-softly tactics. Today, he looked me in the eye and said in frosty detachment, ‘Don’t lie to yourself, Mark .’

‘ What?’ I was wrong-footed, and I thought, once again, about The Big Lie. If he wis gaunny pill us up oan it .

‘ Work with me .’

‘ What d’ye mean? ’

‘ You’re an intelligent guy. But you’re not that intelligent. For as well read and educated as you are, you can’t solve the mystery of why you’re doing this to yourself .’

‘ Ye think so?’ I challenged him, while aw the time ah kent that the cunt was spot on .

‘ You don’t know why you’re a junky and that bugs the shit out of you. It offends your intellectual vanity and your sense of yourself .’

It was like being punched in the guts. Because it was true. I was perplexed, but more than that, a bit shaken, as much by his U-turn towards this more confrontational approach, as by what he said .

CUNT .

I could hardly hear my own words over the blood bubbling in my brain and I started to rant. It went something like this: ‘Ah cannae value this type of world. It’s no good for me, this shithole we created and cannae make better. That’s what offends me. Ah’m choosin no tae engage, tae drop out, if you want tae use that shitey hippy term! ’

And that’s making it sound more articulate than it was .

‘ That’s not normal talk for a young guy,’ Tom responded. ‘You’re simply depressed. What’s making you depressed, Mark? ’

Couldnae think ay anything to say. ‘The world .’

‘ It’s not the world,’ he shook his head emphatically. ‘Yes, it’s bad, but people like yourself should be trying to make it better. Besides, you’re smart enough to get by and thrive in any sort of society. What is it? ’

‘ Skag’s a good buzz,’ I telt him. Anything tae burst the bubble, tae avoid confronting The Big Lie. ‘Ah eywis liked a good buzz .’

‘ So you’re at an age where you discover that the world is fucked up and it can’t be easily fixed. So deal with it. Grow the fuck up.’ There was a new iron in his eyes. ‘Get on with your life. So what? ’

‘ So this.’ I rolled up my sleeve and show him the scar tissue ay my healed track marks .

The Big Lie .

We were all playin a fuckin game: the rehab game. We had tae collude wi the staff in the myth that we wanted tae stop using heroin. Few, if any ay us, really gied a flying fuck though. What we wanted was to clean up, soas we could get back tae using at a reduced dosage. But we didnae want tae stop, fuck that! We wanted a clean slate so we could use without things getting out ay hand. Success in this game was based on our ability tae deceive the staff, and their ability tae con themselves, by buying intae the myth that we actually wanted tae embrace this bullshit ay a drug-free life .

TO DO WHAT?

Only Seeker wanted something else: tae find a place in Tenerife so that the crippling winter cauld wouldnae get at the metal in his body .