Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

I never thought it would work out like this. I’m quivering myself, as ah escort a lifeless Maria and Elaine intae Deacon Brodie’s Tavern on the Royal Mile. The pub is like an annexe ay the court a couple ay doors along, full ay criminals and the odd barrister, and mair than a few tourists wondering how they’ve stumbled intae this weirdness.

Ah’ve set up a wee too risky for myself and Elaine, wi a Coke for Maria, who, tae our surprise, quickly throws one ay the nips back.

— What are ye daein? You shouldae even be in here, ah tell her, looking aroond, scanning the joint, as Elaine says something insipid in her East Midlands accent.

Maria sits in the high-backed seat, smouldering wi rage. — Ah’m no gaun back tae Nottingham! Ah’m steyin here!

— Maria … loove … Poor Not-ink-goom, Elaine begs.

— Ah telt ye ah’m fuckin steyin! And she seizes the empty glass, her knuckles gaun white as she tries tae crush it in her hand.

— Let her stay here for a few days, at my mother’s, I urge the bemused Auntie Elaine, and then murmur, — then I’ll talk her intae goin back down on the train. Once she’s a wee bitty calmer.

You can see a spark ignite in the sister-in-law’s lifeless, beady eyes. — If it’s no trooble …

It isnae exactly like cold-calling tae flog double glazing on a Barratt estate. Ah don’t think Maria has been a particularly endearing house guest. Any roads, it’s time tae get the fuck ootay here. As we head down the Mound to Princes Street, Maria’s a wreckage; spewing vitriol about Dickson through her tears, causing passers-by tae steal furtive glances at us. We accompany the insubstantial, anaemic Elaine back tae the bus station, and watch her gratefully climb on the National Express coach. Maria’s standing there on the concourse as the bus pulls away, arms again folded across her breasts, looking at me as if tae say, ‘What now?’

I’m no taking her tae my mother’s place. Too much disruption wi their recent move. We jump in a taxi and head back tae her now parentless parental home. Of course, ah ken the best way tae get her tae dae something is tae simply suggest the opposite. — Ye huv tae go back tae Nottingham, Maria. It’ll only be for a few months, till yir ma gets oot.

— Ah’m no gaun back! Ah need tae see muh ma! Ah’m gaun naewhaire till ah git that fuckin Dickson!

— Well, ah suggest we pick up some stuff fae your place, then head up tae my mother’s.

— Ah’m steyin in ma ain hoose! Ah kin look eftir masel!

— You’ll dae something stupid. Wi Dickson.

— Ah’m gaunny kill um! It’s him that’s done aw this tae us. Him!

The cabbie checks us out in the mirror, but ah keep my gaze riveted on him and the nosy-beaked cunt soon switches his miserable, budgerigar eyes back onto the poxy road, where they fucking well belong.

The cab trundles down to Cables Wynd House, and ah reluctantly pay the fare. Maria exits swiftly n ah have tae run tae catch up with her. For a few anxious seconds I fear she’s bolted and ah’ll be locked oot, but she’s waiting in the stair for us wi a challenging pout. We climb up tae oor landing and she opens the door. — Leave Dickson tae me, ah gently urge, as we enter the cold flat.

She crumples onto the couch wi her heid in her hands, her bottom lip hanging doon. Her body trembles lightly and there’s mair waterworks. Ah switch on the lecky fire n gingerly sit doon next tae her. — It’s only natural that ye want revenge, ah totally understand that, ah say in an even, soft voice, — but Coke was ma mate, and Janey’s ma friend, so ah’m gaunny see that Dickson peys, and ah dinnae want you involved!

She birls roond tae me, blinded by snotters, rendered as repulsive as that bird in The Exorcist , and rasps, — But ah am fuckin involved! Muh dad’s deid! Muh ma’s in the fuckin jail! And he’s doon thaire, she points ootside the big window, — walkin the streets a free man, pullin fuckin pints ay beer like nowt’s happened!

Suddenly she springs up and she’s charging oot the door. Ah’m right eftir her. But she’s absolutely demented as ah hastily pursue her doon the stairs. — Where ye gaun, Maria?!

— AH’M GAUNNY FUCKIN WELL TELL UM!

At the bottom ay the stair, she tears across the concourse, doon the side street and tae the boozer, wi me a step behind. — Fuck sake, Maria! Ah grab her thin shoodir.

But she shimmies oot ay ma grip, throws open the door and runs intae the middle ay the pub, me follayin behind. Every head turns tae stare at us. Dickson, tae my great surprise, has actually resumed his duties behind the bar. He’s idly talking tae a crony and daein the crossword. He raises his heid in response tae the deafening silence that fills the room. But no for long. — MURDERER! Maria screams, pointing at him. — YOU MURDERED MA DAD, YA BASTARD! YOU MUR … She starts choking as the fit ay frustration drains her, and ah grab her in a lock under her airms, and ah’m pulling her oot the door, as ah hear Dickson’s smug but weak reply: — It’s no what the coorts said …

Ah’ve got her ootside but the air seems to revive her. — LIT US GO, she roars, face mangled wi fury and grief. Ah’m struggling like fuck as her slender frame’s fortified by hysteria and rage, and ah really feel like slapping her like they do in the films, but then it subsides, and she’s greeting and whimpering in my airms and ah’m leading her doon the street and across the car park and back up the stairs, thinking that this was how it was meant tae pan out.

And as ah get her back indoors, and oan the couch, it’s almost like her sherriking ay Dickson wis a bad dream, because she’s in my airms and ah’m stroking her hair, telling her it’s gaunny be alright. Telling her that ah’ll stey here with her as long as she wants and we’re gaunny get this Dickson cunt thegither, her and me …

— Will we? she asks in demented hunger, hyperventilating. — Me n you?

— Count on it, princess. Count. On. It. That fucking bum put Coke in his grave and, for aw we ken, Janey in the jail, and ah focus my spiteful, vengeful face oan hers. — He. Is. Fucking. Well. Getting. It.

— We’ll fuckin well kill that murderin bastard!

— You and me. Believe it!

— Ye mean it? she begs.

Ah look right intae her desolate eyes. — I swear oan ma mother and sisters’ lives.

She nods slowly at me. I can feel her tense body unwind a notch.

— But … we have tae box clever. If we’re careless, we end up like Janey. Do you understand?

A blank, sluggish bow of her head.

— Think aboot it, I stress. — If we just steam in thaire and slaughter him, we spend the rest ay our lives in jail. We huv tae be free tae savour it, tae enjoy the fact that we’re daein oor thing while that bastard is drooling in a wheelchair or fucking well buried in some shallow ditch!

Her breathing slows down. Ah’m hudin her hands in mine.

— We have tae think aboot this. And when we strike our hearts have tae be as cauld as ice. As cauld as that cunt’s doon thaire, ah point outside, — or he wins. He’s goat the polis and courts on his side. That means we wait, play it cool, and suss out his weak spots before we strike. Because if we git sloppy or emotional, he wins again. We cannot let him win again. Ye ken what I’m sayin here?

— Ma heid … it’s a nightmare … ah dinnae ken what tae dae …

— Listen tae me. We’ll get him, I stress, and she’s nodding and settling down, her hand on her forehead.

Ah feel sufficiently mollified tae get oot ma works and start cooking up.

The spark ay the lighter causes Maria’s neck tae whip round. — What are ye daein …? Her eyes widen.