Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

Ah even took Parker’s advice and reread Tender Is the Night , fantasising about Mark Philip Renton and Fiona Jillian Conyers as a modern Dick and Nicole Diver, a bohemian couple travelling through Europe enjoying interesting adventures and making urbane observations oan the world at large. It was a big step up for me. My sex life had generally been a series ay bitter, sly and exceptionally swift copulations in stairs, family bedrooms or under grubby duvets in noisy squats. This wis pure decadence and it meant that poor Bisto and Joanne had to share the adjoining room wi its twin beds.

Then Berlin, and more of the same. Ah fuckin loved Berlin. There was this barry bit oan Line 6 gaun tae Friedrichstrasse, where the U-Bahn train went under the Waw, whizzin through a couple ay spooky abandoned stations on the Commie side that had been shut since partition, before re-emerging intae the western sector. Fiona and me sneaked away fae the others (we did that a lot) and got ower tae East Berlin proper, ah wis desperate tae see it. It wis much better than West: nae billboards disfiguring the beautiful auld buildings. A ginormous three-course lunch, fir thirty pence. A blow job in the park; clandestine spice added by the nearby presence ay armed guards. Almost missing the curfew, as we’d gone in through Friedrichstrasse and tried tae return via Checkpoint Charlie, clueless that we hud tae go back the same wey we’d gained entry.

Later, we sat in a cafe, drinking black coffee, as the sounds of the city — electric trains, car horns and people — buzzed around us, creating a strange but beautiful mood of relaxed excitement. Fiona’s eyes twinkled and wonderment leaked from her. — When we wur in Noel’s class, remember how white that room was?

— Aye, it always caught the light, and that blind was knackered.

— I mind one time when it was dazzling, it was in your eyes and you had your hand up to yer face n you were arguing wi Noel about the formation of capital in mercantile Europe.

— Eh … aye …

— I really wanted ter shag yer so badly …

Ah felt both elated and in despair at this revelation. — That wis six months ago … we could’ve been daein this for six fuckin months …

But we headed east with gusto, kite-aloft oan cheap wine and the buzz of our group. My heart was in a perpetual, turbulent riot, and Fiona’s was the same. We constructed this ineffable, giddy universe of celebration around us, pulling everyone and everything in our paths into it; singing the Istanbul and Constantinople song in cheesy American accents on the trains that rolled us through Europe.

Why did Constantinople get di woiks?

Ain’t nobody’s business but dem Toiks ’.

By night, on our return to the hotel, blitzed by the sheer intensity of our togetherness, we’d gratefully fall into each other’s arms, coming explosively alive for another day’s sublime finale. Her sumptuous massages ay ma lower back, loving fingertips palpating that maltreated vertebrae, kneading out the pain inflicted by the state. We made up nicknames for each other; she called me her Luxuriant Leith Laddie, as ah loved tae steep in a bath. As we crawled into Turkey, Bisto and Joanne eventually cracked and goat oaf wi each other. There wis a gallows aspect tae it aw; they didnae really vibe n wir pushed intae it by the circumstances.

Istanbul was barry, full ay menacing squads ay uptight bams whae patrolled around lookin like they’d never seen a lassie before; it was just like Leith. Ah kept Fiona within airm’s reach. Wi ordered some mad stuff in a restaurant. The Aberdonian came out in Bisto when they put a plate ay koc yumurtasi , or ram’s baws, in front ay us; the cunt didnae ken whether tae eat thum or stroke thum.

The wildest time was crossing the city ower the Bosphorus by boat tae Besiktas pier. A fierce, punishing early-afternoon sun had sneaked centre stage, oppressing and saturating through a heavy haze ay cloud. Ma Fred Perry stuck tae me like a second skin. We decided tae droap this acid oan the way back, which ah’d scored fae a boy in a nightclub the previous evening, basically tae avoid buying the skag he’d offered me, which had tempted the fuck out ay us. The trip hit us like a ton ay bricks oan the deck ay the boat. It got tae me that we were crossing continents , leaving Asia and heading for Europe. As soon as that awareness kicked in, the boat’s narrow dimensions expanded beyond the range ay ma sight, which encompassed only Joanne. Ah couldnae see Bisto or Fiona, but she was attached tae me, ah could feel her, we were like a beast wi two heids. Her breath and blood pumping through us as if we were sharing veins, lungs and a heart. My life, past, present and future, seemed spread oot in a spatial panorama ower the extended deck; the bedroom in the Fort segueing intae the yin in the Housing Association gaff by the river, which suggested the Bosphorus, and ah turned back intae the East Terracing at Easter Road, then our Montgomery Street front room, which opened up into new vistas and nameless streets, which ah wis excited tae ken that some day ah’d walk doon …

— Will walk or have already walked in a previous life, ah whispered tae Fiona who was laughing loudly then saying repeatedly, — Fleegle, Bingo, Drooper and Snork.

Ah minded telling her that my ma called me, Dad, Billy and Wee Davie that, eftir the Banana Splits oan telly. Makin up a mess of fun , we thought in unison, as we regarded, now fae a single eye, Joanne having a shitey trip, and pleading constantly, — Ah’m tired ay this, when’s it gaunny stoap? When’s it gaunny stoap?

Ma one, sudden overwhelming insight that hit me like a baseball bat: Parker was right , as several books, flapping like birds, floated in front ay ma vision, mocking trompe l’oeils announcing his victory. — Ah get it aw now, ah conceded tae masel, my airm roond Fiona, as Bisto comforted Joanne wi ‘fit likes’ while the sea took oan the colour and texture ay a giant Hibs strip blowing in the wind, — ah understand how it’s aw fucked.

Fiona laughed again, an oddly mechanical sound like some device jamming, as ah pushed her hair tae the side and whispered, — Tender is the night, intae her ear, then locked ma numb lips oantae hers. The acid only complemented my love; lawless, winged, unconfined, crumbling the narrow barriers of my mind.

— When’s it gaunny stoap? Joanne kept moaning. — Ah dinnae like this any mair. Ah wahnt it tae stoap . When’s it gaunny stoap ?

A gadge wi fantastic ink-black hair wi vivid blond tips, spiked up like an exotic Barrier Reef sea anemone, approached us. He wore mirror-lens shades that ah saw the Fiona-and-Mark Monster reflected back in. It had two zany heads wi protruding tongues, coming fae one body. The gadgie pointed tae the pier that had suddenly materialised at the side ay the now empty deck. — Are you not going to get off the boat, my friends?

Wi the trepidation ay pirates condemned tae walk the plank, we staggered, rubber-legged, doon the gangway tae dry land. — Fuckin … fuckin … amazin trip, min … Bisto gasped at me.

— No bad, ah conceded.

— A mezzur furn … Fiona purred.

— When’s it gaunny stow-oh-ohp …? Joanne bleated.

The answer was, like aw good things: too fucking soon. It was time tae return; our joyful sorrow ricocheting through the railway compartments across Europe as we headed back tae London town, fill ay song. ‘Istanbul and Constantinople’, ‘The Northern Lights of Old Aberdeen’, ‘I Belong to Glasgow’. (Delivered with surprising uninhibited gusto and not a little soul fae Joanne, who explained there was nae song for Paisley.) Ah wished there was yin for Leith, even Edinburgh would’ve done. But best of all, Fiona’s cheerful version ay ‘Blaydon Races’.