Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

It actually brings us all together. We feel like celebs and are very complimentary about the unit. As the veteran, I do most of the talking, though Audrey’s now saying her piece and Dennis Ross as the oldest, most mature and articulate member of the new breed is making a sterling contribution. (In the gairdin ay eunuchs, even the gadgie wi the two-inch cock cannae help but swagger.) We’re stressing tae the po-faced bureaucrats that it’s no easy ride. This is no piece of cake .

Tom, Amelia and Len and the other staff are obviously edgy. The unit might shut down. I refuse tae attend the ‘emergency house meeting’ as I’m hame the morn, preferring instead to watch the news. There’s a big heroin bust and the polis and politicians are lining up tae suck each other’s knobs and lick each other’s fannies, trumpeting on that they’re winning the ‘war against drugs’ .

Aye, right. Of course ye are. Clueless cunts .

Day 45

And the next contestant in the Rehab Game is: none other than my old pal Mikey Forrester! Again, he’ll be creaking and sweating in his room for the next week, keeping out of everybody’s road and feart ay his ain shadow .

I caught the anxiety and confusion in his eyes and regarded his skeletal frame. It couldnae happen tae a nicer cunt, I thought .

Then, as he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he shuffled ower tae us and went, ‘Mark … awright, mate?’ He looked roond aw shifty and worried. ‘What’s the story here? ’

I realised that I looked just like him, only a few weeks back, and was just as scared. So I took him tae ma room, where he sat shivering, skin pitted like plucked chicken, and gied the cunt ma honest view ay the situ. Apparently, the nondy fucker tried to brek intae a chemist’s at Liberton. ‘Ah hud seen that Christiane F oan video, ken? ’

The fuckin bam slavered on, and I tried tae listen, but kept anticipating Mater n Pater’s arrival in the motor tae take me away fae aw this. Sure enough, Len came in and Mikey let oot a groan, as I handed him the psychic-rehab baton, and the doss cunt was led oaf tae his room and the long days ay detox that stretched ahead .

But I was oot ay here, packing up the last ay ma shite. The final item ah put in my bag wis ma diary and journal. He’s been a good friend, but I doubt ah’ll be seeing him again. Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards .

I say goodbye tae Audrey, who still has a week to go, and tell her that her strategy ay saying fuck all and keeping her heid doon is exactly the right yin. A kiss, cuddle and exchange ay numbers, and I’m roond tae the office tae get discharged .

Postscript — Day 45 (afternoon)

It’s true what they say: never, ever eavesdrop, cause ye might hear somethin aboot yirsel ye dinnae want tae. Ah’d packed up, was waitin for muh ma n dad, and ah thought ah’d take Carl Rogers back tae Tom. The door ay his office was ajar and ah heard Amelia’s voice, n Sick Boy’s name being mentioned. Well, it wisnae exactly his name , but ah kent for a cert whae she wis talking aboot. — … very manipulative. I think he almost believes his own propaganda.

Ah closed in, doomed tae pain like a moth aroond a flame. Ah heard her suddenly change track. — … but that’s Simon. Then we’ve got Mark, leaving today.

Ah froze.

— I’m not too concerned about him in the long term, Tom’s soft, reedy voice. — If he makes it to twenty-six, twenty-seven, his sense of mortality will kick in, he’ll shed all this existential angst and he’ll be fine. If he can just keep from OD’ing or contracting HIV till then, he’ll simply grow out of heroin addiction. He’s too intelligent and resourceful; eventually he’ll get bored with pretending to be a loser.

So ah walked in on them, rappin the door as ah went. — Mark … Skinny-Specky blushed tamely. Tom’s pupils visibly dilated. Baith ay them looked as embarrassed as fuck. Was it being caught talking about us, or using the ‘A’ word, or perhaps that unprofessional and pejorative designation, ‘loser’? Whatever, ah savoured the moment, thrusting On Becoming a Person oantae Tom. — Interesting read. You should have a look at it sometime.

And ah turned on ma heels n headed tae the recky room, where ah said cursory goodbyes tae the other cunts, whom ah couldnae be daein wi; only Audrey was important and ah’d said a proper adieu tae her. Tom steyed in the office, evidently too embarrassed tae pill one ay his farewell caird stunts.

Ah take my stuff ootside tae wait for muh ma n dad. Vanilla-milkshake clouds splatter ower the light blue sky, as a big oak tree blots oot the sun.

The pebbles behind me crack under somebody’s steps, and ah see Tom movin stealthily taewards us, a hurt and confused expression oan his coupon. He evidently wants tae kiss n make up. — Mark. Look, I’m sorry …

He kin git tae fuck and take aw his smarmy platitudes and insincere hugs and stick them right up his manipulative, duplicitous rectum. — You dinnae understand the rage inside. You never will, ah tell him, thinking aboot Orgreave, then, for some reason, Begbie. — Ah hurt myself, disable myself, so ah cannae hurt anybody else that doesnae deserve it. And that’s cause ah cannae get at people like you, cause you’ve got the law on your side. Ah feel the bile rise up inside me. — If ah really could fuck your world right up, ah wouldnae be wastin ma time screwin up ma ain life!

Just then, a familiar motor crunches intae the driveway, Ma and Dad’s big excited faces negating a large portion ay what ah’d just said. The pain ah’ve caused them makes a mockery ay ma conceit and vanity: the idea that thaire’s any intrinsic nobility in ma actions. But fuck that. Ah turn ma back oan Tom n the centre, and walk taewards the motor.

— Good luck, Mark, Tom says, — I mean that.

Ah’m angry at masel, but livid at that cunt. Fuckin lying, smarmy, cowardly bureaucrat. — You are way oot ay touch wi what ye mean. If ye ever meant fuck all in the first place, ah tell him, as muh dad emerges fae the car. — If ye want tae dae something useful, keep yir eye oan that cunt Venters in thaire. Ah swipe the air dismissively. My old man scowls, but they’re delighted tae see me, and me them, as ah climb intae the back ay the car.

— Ma laddie, ma laddie, ma laddie … muh ma says, pushing intae the back seat after us, huggin me, firin a volley ay questions at us, while my dad talks tae Tom and signs some stuff. Ah’m fuckin scoobied as tae what the documentation is. Release forms?

After a bit, Dad comes back ower tae the motor and climbs intae the driver’s seat. — What wis that aboot? You and Mr Curzon?

— Nowt. Just a daft wee argument. It kin sometimes git a wee bit intense in thaire.

— Funny, that wis exactly what he said, muh dad smiles, shakin his heid, as something sinks in ma chest.

— Oh son, son, son, muh ma says, tears streamin down her face, on top ay a great big smile. It takes years off her, and ah realise ah huvnae seen it for so long, — ye look that well! Doesn’t he, Davie?

— He does that, the old boy says, pivoting round and squeezing my bulkier shoulder, contemplating me like a farmer does a prize bull at the Royal Highland Show.

— Thank God this bloody nightmare’s ower!

For a couple ay missed heartbeats ah worry that the wheezing motor isnae gaunny start, but Dad wrenches it intae life, n we gratefully pull away fae the centre. Some people have gathered oan the steps, but ah dinnae look back. Ma keeps my hand in her lap in between sparking up, still prisoner tae the cigarette. We’re heading back across the bridge tae Edinburgh, when a familiar song comes oan the radio talking so temptingly about riding that white line highway.