Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

A lot ay mental stuff wi Begbie went on eftir the game. Him, Saybo and a few others hammered these bams at Fountainbridge. That cunt’s Saughton-bound if he keeps that shite up, nowt surer. But the chaos ay Edinburgh reminded me ay how much ah’d grown tae like the ritual ay ma life in Aberdeen. It made us realise that ma free-spirit pretensions were bullshit. In reality ah saturated ma days wi routine, until it pissed us off tae the point that ah wis compelled tae subvert it wi a dramatic break. A skag binge helped. Here, though, ah had Fiona, ma studies and ma walks. And the reason the trips back home had lessened: ah’d hunted doon a source ay gear.

Ah walked loads; trekking roond the streets for ages, and in all weathers. It seemed tae be aimless but ah was invariably drawn doon past the railway station taewards the docks. Ah’d stop and watch the big boats, gaun tae Orkney, Shetland and fuck knows where else. The squawking gulls would circle overhead; sometimes, as ah passed along Regent Quay, it was like they were raucously laughing at me, like they kent what ah was up tae, even if ah didnae.

Those nautical pubs: the Crown and Anchor Bar, the Regent Bridge Tavern (a great wee howf) n the Cutter Wharf. The tackier Peep Peeps, which lies doon the side street, n where ah eywis winded up; sittin wi ma lager, but wantin something else. Waitin for it. Almost smellin it. Sittin in that one spot, kennin if ah waited long enough it would come tae us.

That was where ah saw him; this cunt sitting oan his tod by the jukebox, readin the Financial Times , a Pepsi in front ay him. Untouched. His long black-but-greyin greasy hair toppin thin, cadaverous flesh with a bluish translucent hue. A wispy, scraggy beard growin fae a mustard-heided cluster ay spots on his chin. His big yellay teeth seemed likely tae faw oot if the cunt sneezed. In other words, he stank ay junk. Ah didnae. Ah was a clean-cut student cunt wi a nice bird. Ah couldnae have, no wi ma bright eyes and clear skin and white teeth. Fiona even had me flossin. But yet, when he saw me, it was like he kent straight away. So did I. Ah sat beside him.

— Fit like? he asked.

There was nae point fannyin about. — No so good. Ah’m a wee bit sick.

— Rattlin?

Fuck knows what that meant but it sounded spot on, and in its acknowledgement, it was like ah’d permitted masel tae feel crap. Before the shiteyness was a vague feelin ay flu-like symptoms; heavy limbs, watery heidedness and shiftin aches. Now something urgent lurked behind aw this shabbiness.

— Ye need some medicine then, min?

— Aye.

Don shot us a dim, candlelit gaze, similar tae the yin ah’d noticed in they aulder skagheids doon the road. — You go outside, take a wee walk around the block, he told us in a tinny, nasal voice, — N ah’ll see ya at the dock gates in ten meenits, and he settled back tae his FT .

Ah actually waited fir seventeen minutes before Don deigned tae emerge fae the bar and scuffled taewards us lookin as shan as ah felt. Ah couldnae be physically addicted, no just eftir a weekend binge, but ma mind and body were keenin in anticipation ay a fix. Ah fought hard tae conceal ma almost overwhelmin excitement and anxiety as we went back tae his scabby flat roond the corner and did the deal.

Don’s pad could have been Swanney’s, Dennis Ross’s, Mikey Forrester’s or even ours in Montgomery Street. The same posters badly tacked oantae ugly, head-debasing patterned wallpaper, put up by cunts now deid or so auld as tae be as good as. The overflowing rubbish bins, chaotic dish piles in a sink like an earthquaked Mediterranean town, and the ubiquitous heaps ay auld clathes on the flair: the kitemarks ay chronically untogether losers everywhere.

Don cooked for us both. Ah tapped at my right airm where the best vein on ma wrist obediently popped up, and ah banged up in thaire. It wis decent shit and the rush wis excellent. It coursed through ma body, and ah wis flowerin irresistibly under its impact like a spring blossom. Then something fruity and sour was risin fae my stomach. Ah retched, and Don shoved an auld FT under ma face but ah slid it away. The moment had passed and ah wis now invincible.

Although ah wis content tae kick back and enjoy the gear (amazing how it rendered listenable even mawkit shite like Don’s Grateful Dead tape), he insisted on makin conversation, even after his ain shot. The cunt took a healthy lick, which barely seemed tae affect him. Ah wondered how much he wis usin. — So … yir an Edinburgh boy, eh? Plenty decent shit doon thaire.

— Aye … ah said. Ah felt like explainin that in Leith we regarded oorselves as separate fae Edinburgh, but melted and enjoyin the buzz, it now seemed a trivial concern.

— That’s where it aw comes fae. He held a wee placky bag fill ay white powder crumbs up tae a bare light bulb. — That’s where they make it all: beautiful downtown Gorgie. Ye ken Seeker?

Fuck knows what aw this Gorgie stuff was aboot, ah was a Leith boy, but que sera . — By rep only.

— Aye, he’s bad, man. Ya wanna keep away fae thon loon.

Ah smiled at the sweet futility ay it aw. It was inevitable that this Seeker and me would become associates at the very least. The only surprise was that it hadnae already happened. So ah sat there as Don droned oan and the room filled wi darkness. Ah wisnae interested whatsoever in anything he wis sayin; cunt could’ve been on aboot the new puppy he’d gotten his niece or the deid bodies under his floorboards, but ah wis enjoyin the soothin rhythmic comfort ay his voice.

When ah felt able tae move, ah left and got back tae ma room in the residences. Fiona had slid a note under the door.

M

Called round, no sexy luxuriant Leith laddie. Boo-hoo.

See you tomorrow at Renaissance class or come round tonight for some tea … and crumpet?

Love

F xxxx

The note trembled in my hand. Ah loved that girl, ah really did. There was a horrible spasm inside as ah realised, even there and then, that she’d soon become less important tae me than a radge ah’d just met and didnae even like that much. But that was only a fleetin whisper, drowned oot by the song-and-dance act ay the skag, which crooned: ‘You’re awright, everything’s awright.’

But ah never went roond tae hers. Ah lay doon on my bed and stared at the Artex swirl ay the ceiling. Eftir driftin intae an anaemic, bruised sleep, ah awoke tae hunger’s cramps in the meagre morning light. Ah realised that ah’d eaten nothing whatsoever yesterday. Ma clobber lay discarded oan the flair by the bed; somehow, ah’d stripped oaf in the night. There was a yellay bruise on the crook ay ma airm. Ah decided no tae go tae my Renaissance class that morning.

But ah went walkin instead. It was cauld. For about a minute the grey sky ferociously split and sunlight burst through, pouring ower the city, reflectin off the glitterin granite. The blood pounded in ma heid, makin me want tae be somewhere else. Then it was away and that heavy cloak ay grey was back oan us. That was my preference; ah like the way my mind slows doon walkin under that sky, till ah’m numbed and thoughtless, free fae the oppressive burden ay endless mundane choices.

Ah’d just substituted one tomb for another, further up the coast. But that was okay; Aberdeen suited us. Ah liked the city, and generally liked the people. They were pretty cool and easy-goin; no brash, self-mythologisin wankers like so many lowland Scots who rabbited on, believing that ye saw them as movers and shakers, but they were invariably bores. In preference tae the student social life, ah’d drink wi auld fellys who telt me tales ay trawler fishing and the docks. Fitba gadgies who blethered about games and rows past; they seldom felt the need tae big themselves up, it was all very matter-ay-fact. Ah was always the lone student in these places.