Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

The sickening downer as the train crept closer tae hame; Fiona in my airms, heavy bombs ay tears rolling down her cheeks at Newcastle Station. Kissing her oily wee foreheid. Feeling in utter despair when she got off the train, wanting tae take her back hame wi us. But no tae a gaff wi Sick Boy in it, and never tae the parental hoose. Instead saying, as the red-faced cunt blew his whistle, — It’s only two weeks tae uni! Ah’ll come doon tae Newcastle next weekend!

We mouthed ‘I love you’ at each other like two goldfish through glass as the train separated us wi a slam ay its doors, then implacably removed me fae her, splittin us intae our separate daft wee countries.

— Aw, love’s young dream. Joanne’s bottom lip curled oot in couthy passive-aggressive bitterness as we headed north, a depleted trio. Then Joanne and me alighting at Edinburgh, leaving Bisto on his tod tae Sheepland. About tae issue her a cool goodbye salute at Waverley, but her lookin distressed and saying tae us, — Ah don’t wahnt everybody saying that Paul and me are gaun oot!

Ah departed wi a non-committal smile, and my holdall full ay minging clathes. Actually no … it didnae quite happen that wey, but that’s another story.

Is it? Be fucking honest .

Be fucking …

Enough .

Instead ay walking tae Montgomery Street, ah picked up an NME at the newsagent’s. It always made us think, wi some guilt, ay Hazel. Then ah jumped on a 22 bus tae get doon tae the old girl’s and dump off some washing. We didnae have a machine in Monty Street, and unlike Mrs Curran, ah hud nae desire tae take it up the Bendix.

When ah got hame, ah was so submerged in my own thoughts, it took us a while tae register that my mother was in tears. She sat doon oan the couch and let her heid faw intae her hands. Her thin shoodirs started shakin wi sobs. Ah knew. Instantly. But ah hud tae ask. — What’s wrong, Ma? What is it?

Ah looked tae Billy, sitting at the table. He gied us an enervated glance and said, — Wee Davie died in hoaspital. The night before last.

Ah felt a violent, jarring shock, at the finality ay it. The mantra it’s over playing in ma heid. A mess of fun. Lots of it for everyone . Snorky’s gone, from my ma’s Banana Splits, the silent yin. Fleegle the Hun, Billy Bingo and me, dear, dear Drooper, the cool but slightly socially inept lion, are aw still here. Ah felt a paralysis ay emotion as time stretched out. A pervading numbness was setting in, like a dentist’s anaesthetic, spreading through ma body. Then my faither emerging fae the kitchen: me, my ma and Billy aw suddenly looking up like a teacher had disturbed us daein something bad. Baith parents turning tae me, then tae Billy, then me again. Me just noddin back in slow acknowledgement, wi nothing tae say tae them. Never, ever having anything tae say tae them.

I’VE BEEN HELPING my mother and sisters move intae their new South Side home in Rankellior Street, and, in the absence of the bold Marco Polo (and for all his substantial flaws, he’s the only cunt roond here on the same wavelength as me), hanging out at Janey’s place, hoping tae provide a bit ay support tae her and the kids. And also tae avoid the increasingly clingy Marianne. She told me that her friend April and some radge called Jim were now ‘going steady’, looking at me wi hopeful, needy eyes as she delivered this completely superfluous information. Going steady . A phrase guaranteed tae make ye run for the fucking hills!

So on this dull, dead, supposedly late-summer teatime, ah’ve arranged to take Janey tae see ma Uncle Benny at the Dockers’ Club. Ah find her mired in her perpetual daze, drinking heavily, a fuck-off glass of cheap red vino in front ay her. It’s almost like she feels closer tae Coke this way. Her face looks haggard under a feather cut which needs a stylist’s loving touch, and her eyes are dull and faraway, as she sits in faded grey tracky bottoms and a yellow T-shirt wi plastic lettering showing some bingo numbers around a bold slogan stating: I had the Full House at Caister Sands .

Janey has every reason tae be miserable. Officialdom has excelled in what it’s traditionally good at in Britain: screwing the lower orders. They closed ranks very fucking sharpish; the family wanted a murder conviction for Dickson, but that was quickly blown oot ay the water, and now he’s no even been done for manslaughter! The pathologist’s report had noted severe cranial injuries sustained in a fall as the likely cause ay death. They skated ower the wounds oan Coke’s face, focusing instead on his level ay intoxication. So Dickhead will be tried for serious assault, which carries a maximum sentence of two years (out in twelve months) if he’s found guilty.

With an offhand pull ay her cigarette, Janey drops a fucking bombshell on me, telling me that Maria has gone wi Grant tae her brother’s in Nottingham. — The kids are taking it awfay bad. Grant’s in a daze and Maria’s just gone bloody crazy! Keeps talking aboot killin Dickson. Ah hud tae git her away.

That wee beauty was in Simone’s fucking sights and now this daft auld hag has gone and ruined everything …

— Ye can understand her point ay view, I say, lamenting her absence so deeply ah feel like a wound has been carved right intae ma fucking chest.

— Will ye come tae court wi me next week? Janey begs, eyes big and expectant.

Objection! Defence is emotionally blackmailing the witness !

Objection overruled .

— Of course I will.

Her big concern now is that she’ll lose Coke’s medical pension. Ah’ve checked it out with Benny, my dad’s older and better brother, an auld TGWU stalwart. Janey vanishes intae the bedroom and returns transformed; her features picked out by make-up as she wears a knee-length gold-and-black dress wi dark nylons, which I guess are tights but I’ll think ay as stockings. Impact-wise, it’s pretty devastating. I can’t believe I’m getting this horny vibe off an old baboon! Ah feel like we’re on a date, as we head down tae the architectural mishmash of Victoriana and seventies prefab that is the Leith Dockers’ Club, a building which encapsulates the area perfectly.

If my father exudes a repellent roguishness fae every pore, Benny is the polar opposite. He looks fifteen years younger than he is and drinks nothing stronger than Lothian’s tap water. He’s made it his life’s work representing others and he takes his role very seriously. — Sorry for your loss, hen, he says. Then, over pints ay Tennent’s lager for us and H 2O for him, he expounds the gist ay the situ. Apparently, the Forth Port Authority rules stipulate that any pensions paid get reassessed when the relevant party passes away, not automatically passed on to the next of kin or the dependants. This was recently changed; every cunt is jumping on the Thatcherite cost-cutting bandwagon, particularly when applied tae ripping off the proles. It means that Janey’ll still get something, but it’ll be reduced tae almost zilch.

She takes this latest defeat on the chin and gracefully thanks a sombre Benny. Ah take her back up tae the flat and we’re soon settled doon on the pish, her in the couch, where she kicks off her shoes, me in the armchair opposite. When the vino’s tanned, we start drinking neat Grouse whisky. There’s a heavy, close atmosphere in the room, as the darkness falls in around us.

Janey’s silence is a little disconcerting, but ah’m enjoying the warm glow ay the whisky and the burn it leaves in my throat and chest. — Dinnae tell them he’s gone, ah suggest tae her, basically tae put some sound intae the eerie void. — That’s my advice, they willnae ken if nae cunt tells them.