Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

Michael Taylor was still and silent as he looked at Russell Birch. His stare was hard. It seemed to Alison that the two men had been arguing.

— Hi. Mind if we join you? Alexander tentatively asked, picking up the vibe.

Russell’s eyes popped, first registering the shock at seeing his brother, then looking piercingly at Alison. — Mike … eh, my brother. He briefly looked at his perplexed drinking companion, before turning back to Alexander. — Be my guest. So, he asked, pulling up a chair, — how’s the forestry business?

— I’ve moved from the Commission to the District Council, Alexander said, sitting down and sliding over another stool for Alison.

— I heard. How’s that working out? Russell asked. Alison was aware that he was checking out her legs and sat down with care, smoothing her skirt across her thighs.

— The job’s good, but this Dutch elm catastrophe is killing us. What about the pharmaceutical business?

— Booming. Everybody wants something for the pain, Russell smiled, turning to the man beside him. — This is Michael, he’s … Russell hesitated, the word ‘colleague’ seemed to play on his lips before he looked to the boiler suit, — he works beside me.

— Ditto Alison here, Alexander responded. — You heading to the old girl’s?

— Yeah. Just going. He shook his pint glass.

— Driving?

— No.

— Let’s have another and get a cab, Alexander said, pointing at Michael’s drink. — Lager?

Michael shook his head. — Not for me, thanks. I have to go. He got up, leaving about a quarter of his pint. — Russell, I’ll see you later.

Alexander watched him leave in mild bafflement, then went up to get a round of drinks.

— So what’s my brother like to work with? Russell asked Alison when her boss was out of earshot.

— Aye … it’s good, she said awkwardly, — it’s just my first day but.

On Alexander’s return, the brothers began catching up and Alison felt herself drifting out of the conversation. She watched a skinny young guy with red hair come into the bar. For a split second she thought it was Mark Renton, but it was just another product of that white-skinned ginger factory they had somewhere in Scotland.

She’d never quite known what to make of Mark. He was okay now, but he’d been a cruel little bastard back at primary. She remembered that nickname he’d casually given her: the Jewess , which had made her self-conscious about her nose. It was strange to think of him now at university, and Kelly probably heading there too. Alison looked at the successful Birch brothers, tried to contemplate what they had that she didn’t. She’d always been good at school, even if she had fucked up her Highers. That had been when her mother was first diagnosed. But she could retake them. If only she could concentrate. It seemed that gift of staying power had been taken away from her: that crippling loss of cerebral stamina. Life now seemed a constant quest for the next fleeting distraction. She wondered if that focus would ever return.

The sour miniatures of cooking wine the grotty pub sold were almost undrinkable after the quality lunchtime tipple in the wine bar, and Alison was relieved to be in the back of the taxicab with the Birch brothers. It dawned on her she was with two men she didn’t really know, yet she was heading for their mother’s birthday party. And they seemed so competitive with each other. — You stink, Russell gracelessly said to Michael.

— Spilled some petrol down my leg at work. I’ll get cleaned up properly at Mum’s.

They reached Corstorphine, and a prodigious, red sandstone villa. Its enormous gravel driveway was already full of cars, with more parked outside on the street. When they got round to the back garden, a large space with a stone perimeter wall and established bushes, trees and flower beds, people had assembled awkwardly on the patio and lawn in small groups. Alexander and Russell’s father, a weary-eyed man with grey hair and loose folds of skin hanging around his face and neck, stood barbecuing sausages, burgers, chicken parts and steaks.

As Russell circulated among the clusters of neighbours, relatives and friends, Alexander introduced Alison to his father, Bertie, who responded with perfunctory manners. Leaving him to his task, Alexander explained that his dad was fifteen years older than his mother. Alison discerned an isolated old man, work contacts frayed, a busy Rotary-Club-and-coffee-mornings wife off involved in her own activities, preoccupied children hitting the hectic self-absorption of middle age, with elderly golfing partners dead or dying. His eyes, shifty and flinty, seemed to indicate a spirit looking to escape the ponderous residue of its body.

Bored by the crowd, Alison instead enjoyed the assortment of kids running around a paddling pool, growing increasingly feral in each other’s company. Of the adults assembled, one couple stood out. A full-mouthed woman with ineptly dyed blonde hair threw her head back in raucous laughter at something said by her companion: a big, muscular, shaven-headed man in a badly fitting suit. Then her face froze in silence as she punched him squarely in the chest, before breaking up into hysterics again.

Bringing her over a glass of wine, Alexander saw where Alison’s gaze was, and introduced her to the blonde, who was his sister, Kristen. — Nice tae meet you, she grinned. — This is Skuzzy, Kristen announced, turning to Alexander. — You’ve no met Skuzzy, eh no?

— No. Alexander warily shook the man’s hand.

— Our Alexander’s in horticulture , she said, making a face.

— Well, not exactly –

— Ye can take a whore tae culture, but ye cannae make her read a book, Alison said, then added, — That was Dorothy Parker that said that.

Kristen gave her a bamboozled look for a second, then a high cackle flared from her, as she turned to Alexander, — I like her! Good tae see ye wi a lassie wi a sense of humour for a change!

— Alison works beside … he began in protest, but Kristen was already running down his absent wife, as their mother arrived, nodding curtly in pucker-mouth acknowledgement at Alison, as she pulled Alexander aside.

In Rena Birch, Alison saw a hawk-faced woman with bulging eyes, trained with some potency on her eldest son. — You bring a young girl to my birthday party when your wife is at home with your children, broken-hearted! What kind of a man are you?! I’ve had Tanya on the phone, and the children, begging for their daddy to come home, and you bring along a drunken — her eyes swivelled to Alison, — young woman to my party …

— Ah’m no, Alison protested, then immediately had to put hand to mouth in order to silence a hiccup.

— … instead of my grandchildren, Rena barked at her son. — How does it look, Alexander?!

Alexander responded with a louche shrug. — I couldn’t give a toss how it looks. He glanced at Alison, who realised she’d taken a backward step towards Kristen, his gesture conveying exasperation and mild apology. — Firstly, Alison’s a colleague. Secondly, Tanya kicked me out of the house. It was her idea that I leave, in order to, and Alison felt herself cringe as Alexander made a quotes sign in the air with his fingers, — give her space to sort things out. So I did. Now I’m supposed to be at her beck and call? Not a chance. She said a lot of hurtful things about wanting me out of her life. Well, be careful about what you wish for, cause that’s exactly where I am. And I’ll tell you something right now, for you to tell her, if you so wish: I’m in no hurry to go back into it, because I’m having the time of my fucking life!

— You have chil dren! Rena cawed.

Alison, her arms folded, glass in her hand, was starting to enjoy herself. She smiled as Kristen ranted on to her, though she strained to listen to her boss face his mother’s scorn.