Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

Alison was about to say that she had no objection to that, but quelled her talkative instinct. You’re at work , she kept reminding herself. But it didn’t feel like that, sitting in this upholstered car, the windows down, the sun blasting in. Alexander was a bit of a wanker, but he looked good in that suit, and she felt like flirting with him. She stretched her legs out, her gaze going down her shin bone to the red-painted toenails, jutting out her strappy flat summer shoes. The impression that Alexander’s eyes had made the same journey beset her, but as she turned quickly, they were firmly on the road.

— This is a very, very sad sight, he frowned, as they drove up West Granton Road. They pulled up outside the big, blue gasworks tower, and as they stepped out of the car, Alison saw the squad of men chopping away at a tree with cutting equipment, like a moving version of the slide Alexander had shown earlier.

— This one was exhibiting signs of infestation, he said, squinting in the sun, pointing out another stricken tree, which men were busy digging out. Then his arm swept over to a mini-forest on the other side of the gasworks tower. — These guys are still healthy. Well, for the time being. This really is the front line.

I want you up me , Alison thought to herself, first just as an intoxicated subversive and vaguely malicious impulse. Then the growing kernel of lust, which seemed to flare up after she’d allowed herself that trangressive notion, both surprised and excited her, as they stepped off the tarmac onto the grass.

Along this stretch of foreshore, reclaimed from the river, two chopped trees were being hauled away to join some others in a pile. Although it was hot, the ground was growing mushier and Alison felt a cold, wet squelching in her feet. They moved close to a man two-handedly chucking splashes of petrol from a large rectangular can over the ruined trees. He was about to set them alight when Alexander shouted, — Wait!

The man looked up at him with a hostile frown. A second, authoritative-looking guy, with close-cropped black hair and thickset features, whom Alison assumed was the supervisor, stole menacingly over and growled, — Jocky, git these fuckin things burnt, glaring at Alexander in challenge, his jaw thrust out.

Alexander shot out what he hoped would be a disarming hand. — You must be Jimmy Knox. We’ve spoken on the phone. Alexander Birch, Dutch Elm Disease Control Unit.

— Aw … right, Jimmy Knox responded without a hint of deference, only taking the proffered hand with some reluctance. — Well, we’ve goat tae get these bastards burnt before the fuckin beetles in them git airborne. Then wir aw fucked, and he looked at Alison, who had raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, adding, — pardon ma French, doll.

— Of course, Jimmy, I just wanted to show Ms Lozinska … Alison here … Alexander ushered Alison close, and she stepped gingerly, unable to avoid sinking into another patch of wet turf. — Alison, Jimmy Knox. He and his guys are doing great work here at the coalface, and I don’t want to hold them back, he shook his head emphatically, — but I must show you the top of this tree. Please bear with us one second, he urged the bemused-looking foreman. — Look at this bark, and he bent over and grabbed a yellow handful of tree. — Rotten. Come closer, he implored Alison. — Look. All rotten, he declared again, his eyes misting.

Alison didn’t really want to get closer, but felt duty-bound to comply. As her right foot sank into some mud, she stumbled and almost fell, correcting herself, but kicking over the petrol can. Jimmy let out a semi-audible curse and Alexander jumped forward as it splashed against his back trouser leg. — It’s okay, he cooed as one of the men picked up the can, and planted it firmly into the soggy ground. At Alexander’s prompting, Alison’s hand reluctantly sank into the spongy bark, experiencing the same sensation as her feet in the sodden grass.

They stepped back to let the man ignite the trees. There didn’t seem to be much moisture in them, as the branches went up quickly, and the bark caught, sending a twisting curl of black smoke into the air. Alison watched the burn and crackle of the fire and was mesmerised by it. She was aware of Alexander, standing close to her, as the waves of heat flickered across her face. She could have stayed there forever, even though her feet were cold and submerging further into the soggy ground.

She heard Alexander stage-clear his throat, breaking the fire’s spell, and and they said their goodbyes to the crew. As they turned to leave, Alison could hear derisive laughter from Jimmy Knox and some of the men. She looked to Alexander, but if he had registered it, he evidently wasn’t bothered. She found it strange to be cross on his behalf, and also annoyed at him.

— These guys are all pretty pissed off, Alexander remarked, as they approached the car. — They were all taken on from the long-term unemployed register through the Manpower Services Commission’s Community Enterprise Programme. Now the government are changing the rules and making all the jobs part-time, on the reasoning that you can take twice as many people off the employment roll for the same costs. He looked at the groups of workmen. — Still doesn’t change the fact that there isn’t enough work to go round. Now these guys will have to either accept part-time wages or go back on the dole.

Alison nodded, thinking about a report in the evening paper, which noted that the Lothian Health Board had been forced to increase the waiting time between screenings for cancer patients in remission, due to central government funding cutbacks. It had arrested her, an article she would have previously passed over as mundane nonsense, put there to fill a local rag.

— I wonder where it’s all going to end up. Her boss shook his head as they climbed back into the Volvo. Alexander prodded his keys into the ignition, but rather than start up the car, seemed to think of something. He hastily turned to her, making strong eye contact. — Listen, what are you up to now? I mean, later?

— Nothing … how? She heard herself blowing out the women’s poetry group. For what? Why? She didn’t want to go home, to deal with the dark messages that would litter her answerphone. It was important to stay out.

— There’s a barbecue on at my mother’s place in Corstorphine. It’s her sixtieth birthday. It’ll be dull beyond words, but we don’t need to stay, just pop our heads in. I fancy dumping the car and getting a couple of beers. I don’t mind admitting I was a little jealous of you and Stuart with that vino, he smiled, eyes sparkling.

— Sure, why not, she replied in fake breeziness, actually wanting to listen to Alexander talk about trees a little longer. And all the time she was aware that the day, whatever it had been, had now become something else.

They headed into town and out past Tollcross where Alison thought about Johnny. How his eyes had glazed over and his mouth shrunk to a tight slit when she’d rebuffed his advances. Like he’d absented himself from his own body and she’d had to shout him back inside. On Dalry Road, Alexander suddenly braked, and pulled up. — That’s my brother, he said, and she looked over and saw a shorter version of him, also suited, swagger jauntily into what looked like a run-down pub. — He’s certainly slumming it, Alexander read her mind. — Let’s go in and say hello. I can leave the car here and we can all cab it out to Corstorphine together.

The Dalry Road pub was a standard working men’s dive bar, similar to many that straddled Leith Walk. Alison felt she’d been undressed a dozen times during the short walk from door to bar. Alexander, shifting uncomfortably in his suit, glanced into an alcove at the back of the pub, where his brother, Russell, sat with a man dressed in overalls.