Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

Ma gran returns, catching me at the pictures. Perhaps she sees something in us, in profile; a hint ay the past, because she sidles up tae me, puts her airm roond ma waist and whispers, ‘Gie the bastirts hell, son.’ Gran smells fragrant but old, like she has a soap naebody uses any mair. As my dad comes through and we prepare tae leave, she adds, ‘But watch yirsel and look eftir ma laddie,’ meaning him. It’s weird that she still thinks ay him that wey, wi him being ancient, no far offay fifty!

‘ C’mon, pal, the cab’s here,’ he says, maybe a bit abashed at her fussing, as he looks through the curtains ootside tae the street, before turning and kissing my gran on her foreheid. Then she grabs my hand. ‘You’re the best ay them, son, the best ay them aw,’ she whispers in urgent confidence. She’s said this every time ah’ve seen her since ah wis a bairn. Used tae make us feel great, till ah found oot she said it tae aw her grandchildren, and her neighbour’s kids! Ah’m sure she means it at the time, but .

The best ay them aw .

She releases the grip and hands Dad the duffel bag. ‘Dinnae you be losin the Thermos flask in that bag, David Renton,’ she ticks .

‘ Aye, Maw, ah telt ye ah’d keep an eye oan it,’ he says sheepishly, like he’s become a surly teenager again. He starts tae go, but she stops him. ‘You’re forgettin something,’ she says, and goes tae the sideboard and produces three small glesses, which she proceeds tae fill up wi whisky. Ma dad rolls his eyes. ‘Maw …’

She isnae hearin him. She raises a gless, forcing us tae follow, although ah hate whisky n it’s the last thing ah want this early in the morning. ‘Here’s tae us, wha’s like us — damn few n thir aw deid!’ Gran croaks .

Dad knocks his back in a oner. Gran’s has already gone, by some kind ay osmosis, as ah didnae even see her pit the gless tae her lips. It takes me two retching gulps to get it doon. ‘C’mon, son, yir a Renton,’ she chides .

Then Dad nods tae me and we’re off. ‘She’s an awfay wumin,’ he says with affection, as we climb intae the big black taxi, ma stomach burning. Ah wave back at her small figure, standing in the doorway in the murky street, willing the daft auld bat tae git back inside, intae the warm .

Glasgow. That was how we learned tae spell it at primary school: Granny Likes A Small Glass Of Whisky .

It’s still pitch dark and Weedgieville is spooky at four o’clock on a Monday morning, as the cab creaks and rumbles intae toon. It’s minging in here; some dirty fucker’s puked fae last night and ye can still smell it. ‘Jesus Christ.’ The old boy waves his hand in front ay his neb. Ma dad’s a big, broad-shoodird sort ay gadge, whereas ah take mair eftir my mother in build: sticklike and rangy. His hair can genuinely be called blond (even though it’s now greying), as opposed tae mine which, however ah try n dress it up, is basically ginger. He’s wearin a broon cord jaykit, which ah have tae say is quite smart, though ruined by the Glasgow Rangers FC lapel badge, pinned next tae his Amalgamated Union of Engineering Workers yin, and he fairly reeks ay Blue Stratos .

The bus is waitin fir us in the empty square behind Argyle Street. Some pickets are being harassed by a change-scrounging jakey whae keeps staggerin oaf intae the night then returning, always reprising the same routine. Ah climb oan the bus tae get the fuck away fae the pest. This cunt disgusts me; he’s nae pride, nae politics. His deranged eyes roll and those rubber lips purse in that purple face. He’s been beaten tae a pulp by the system, and aw the parasite can dae is try tae scrounge offay people whae’ve goat the bottle tae fight back. ‘Wanker,’ ah hear masel snap .

‘ Dinnae be sae quick tae judge, son.’ Dad’s accent is mair Glaswegian; stepping off the Edinburgh train at Queen Street does that. ‘Ye dunno that boey’s story .’

Ah say nowt, but ah dinnae want tae ken that minger’s tale. Oan the bus, ah sit beside Dad and a couple ay his auld mates fae the Govan yards. It’s good, cause ah feel closer tae him than ah’ve done in a while. It seems ages since we’ve done something thegither, just the two ay us. He’s pretty quiet n thoughtful though, probably worried cause ay ma wee brother, oor Davie, being taken back intae the hoaspital .

There’s plenty bevvy oan the bus but naebody’s allowed tae touch it till we head back, then we’ll celebrate stoapin they fuckin scab lorries! Stacks ay nosh but; Granny Renton has made loads and loads ay sannies on white, spongy Sunblest bread: cheese and tomatay and ham and tomatay, like it’s a funeral we’re gaun tae!

Mind you, oan the bus it’s mair like a fitba match than either boneyerd procession or picket; it has a big Cup Final vibe tae it, wi aw they banners hingin in the windaes. Half ay the people on oor coach are striking miners, fae pits in Ayrshire, Lanarkshire, the Lothians and Fife; the other half trade unionists like the auld man, and assorted fellow travellers, like me. Ah was delighted when Dad telt us he’d got us a seat; the politicos at the uni would be as jealous as fuck that ah wis oan one ay the official National Union ay Mineworkers’ buses!

The bus isnae that far out ay Glesgey before the night fades away intae a beautiful summer sky ay early-morning greeny-blue. Even though it’s early, a few cars are on the road, some ay them blaring their horns at us in support ay the strike .

At least ah’m getting some conversation out ay Andy, whae’s ma dad’s best mate. He’s a wiry, salt-ay-the-earth Weedgie boy, an ex-welder and lifelong CP member. His bony face has this almost translucent, nicotine-yellay skin stretched ower it. ‘So, that’ll be you back at the uni in September, eh, Mark? ’

‘ Aye, but a few ay us are gaun oaf oan the InterRail acroas Europe next month, eh. Been back graftin at ma auld job as a chippy, tryin tae get some shekels thegither .’

‘ Aye, it’s a great life when yir young. Make the maist ay it, that’s ma advice. Ye got a girlfriend at that university? ’

Before ah can answer, Dad’s ears prick up. ‘Better no have, or that wee Hazel’ll be daein her nut. Lovely wee lassie,’ he says tae Andy, then turns tae me n goes, ‘Whit is it she does again, Mark? ’

‘ Windae displays. At Binns at the West End, the department store, likes,’ ah tells Andy .

A big contented crocodile smile spreads across my dad’s pus. If the cunt knew what Hazel and me’s relationship wis like, he widnae be sae keen tae bang oan aboot her aw the time. A terribleBut that’s another story. The auld boy’s just chuffed tae see us wi a bird, worrying fir years ah was a possible buftie boy due tae ma musical tastes. Ah hud an aggressively glam-rock puberty, and was a teenage punk. Then there wis the time that oor Billy caught me wank

Another story .

We’re makin good time, n it’s still aw cool when we git ower the border tae England, but as we get near Yorkshire and oantae the smaller roads, things git a wee bit weird. Thaire’s polis everywhere. But instead ay stoapin the bus every few yards for nae reason at aw, as we expect, they just wave us oan. They even gie us helpful directions as how tae git tae the village. ‘What the fuck’s aw this aboot?’ one boy shouts. ‘Whaire’s aw the usual roadblocks n harassment? ’

‘ Community policing,’ another gadge laughs .

Ma dad looks oot at a row ay smiling coppers, one ay whom waves at us wi an ear-tae-ear grin. ‘Ah dinnae like this. This isnae right .’

‘ As long as they dinnae stop us gettin they scabs sent back,’ ah goes .