Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

Yet this was all so close tae Marischal College, Aberdeen University’s graph-paper printout of a building. Only occasionally would ah venture intae the students’ union bar, wi Bisto n some others, or Fiona. But ah avoided it as much as ah could. One time ah was dragged in for Joanne’s birthday drink. She was a bit pished, turnin tae us in the company, in a nasty, accusin wey, — What do you dae aw the time, Mark, where do ye go ?

Somebody else said something aboot ‘the mysterious Mark Renton’ and ah could check Fiona lookin at me wi encouragin intent. Aw they eyes oan me as ah laughed and said something lame aboot likin tae walk. In reality, ah now spent loads ay ma free time hangin around those dockside bars, waitin for Don.

It was Saturday morning when Fiona next came roond. She was nae mug, but although we were in a relationship, we baith had independent lives as well. Edinburgh was close enough for me tae tell her ah was gaun hame for the night on some pretext or another, usually tae keep an eye oan ma grieving family. But ah’d be on Don’s couch, in a section ay Aberdeen where few students or lecturers ventured. This time, though, ma bearing seemed tae confirm the impression ma absence fae classes throughout the week had gied her, namely that something was wrong. — Mark … where have yer been … are yer alright?

— Ah think ah’ve picked a bad dose ay the flu.

— You look terrible … I’m ganna go down and get yer some Lemsip, pet.

— Can you dae me a photocopy ay your Renaissance notes?

— Course I can. You should have told me you were suffering like this, ya dafty, she said, kissin ma sweaty brow and headin out. She returned about half an hour later, with the medicines. Then she left us, tae go tae where she worked on a Saturday. Ah waited for a bit, and anxious tae get away fae the room’s stale, chemical smell, ma smell (couldn’t she smell me? Ah could smell me!), ah follayed her oot n doon the road.

Fiona did volunteer work on Saturdays wi deprived kids; rowdy wee urchins, who loved her. Jug-eared budding psychos would go aw flushed when she greeted them; hard-eyed, gum-chewing wee lassies would suddenly sook for attention. A few weeks ago, while on ma wanderins, ah’d clocked her meetin a bunch ay them ootside the Lemon Tree. She looked happy; she was a straightpeg. She’d talked about us findin a flat together next year. Then graduation, nine-to-five jobs and another flat wi a mortgage. Then engagement. Then marriage. A bigger mortgage on a house. Children. Expenditure. Then the four Ds: disenchantment, divorce, disease and death. For aw her protestations tae the contrary, that’s who she was. That’s what she expected. But ah loved her and thus fought tae conceal the ugliness she brought out in me. Ah kent, standin in the street, watchin her patiently herd the catlike kids intae the theatre, that ah could never be like that. Could never have her: really have her, in the sense of giving masel tae her. Or perhaps ah wis just being a bam. There was mair than a degree ay acceptance for me in her world. My ma and dad’s aspirations were decent. Ah fuckin hated that word. It made my skin crawl.

But they cared.

In the bookshop, ah took up a spyin position, listenin to them in the adjoinin cafeteria. There was a speckoid, gawky and enthusiastic, with Fi and the kids. — Oh, boys and gerls, can you put your paper and pens away and come with me just now?

She would eventually be wi somebody like him. Maybe a cooler version, whae got a ride once in a while, perhaps a bit mair ay an arrogant cunt, whae might eventually fuck her around; but in essence the same. Dress them in an anorak and stick Coke-boatil specs oan thair coupon or a rugger shirt and pump them up wi muscle; it makes nae real difference, a straightpeg is still a straightpeg.

Ah head hame. When Fiona comes back, ah’m sittin up waitin. Ah huvnae taken anything else besides two Lemsips. Her hair’s wet wi the rain. She dries it wi a towel she produces fae her backpack. The kettle’s on and ah make some hot chocolate.

Knowin the thing ah’ve got aboot wet hair, Fiona glances tae the bed, then realises that my level ay sickness precludes grabbin her and throwin her oantae it. — You’re shiverin, pet. You should go and see the docktah …

— Can ah tell ye something?

As soon as her pupils expand and she says, — Of course, Mark, wharrisit? ah know that ah cannae tell her what ah want tae, but in order tae conceal that fact ah have tae disclose something equally profound and important.

— My wee brother, ah hear myself say, almost shocked at ma ain voice, like somebody else in the room has grassed us up, — I’ve never telt anybody this before …

She nods, wrappin her hair up in the towel, and pickin up the steamin mug. She looks like the jilted bird in yon Nescafé advert.

Ah clear my throat as she coils intae the lotus position in the chair. — Wee Davie, ah sort of worked out, had this kind ay thing aboot Mary Marquis, who reads the Scottish news on telly. Ye might have seen her, she’s got … I suppose you’d call them Italian looks; dark, with loads of make-up, big attention tae the eyes, and bright rid lipstick.

— Ah think ah know the one yer mean, pet. In the evening?

— Aye, that’s her. Well, ah sortay noticed that Wee Davie got agitated when she read tae camera. His breathin became deeper. N ye couldnae really miss what wis happenin in they tracksuit bottoms …

Fiona nods understandingly. There’s a red mark on her jeans at the knee ah huvnae seen before. Probably paint fae some workshop wi the kids.

— Ah used to have tae watch him around teatime on a Friday. When the Scottish news came on, ah’d see Davie stare at the screen, his cock visibly erect, n ah started tae think, he’s fucking fifteen, the poor wee bastard … ken what ah mean?

— Yes, Fiona sais, sadly but analytically. — Like he’s got a sexuality n na ootlet for it.

— Exactly, ah exhale, just so relieved that somebody fuckin well understands . — So … ah decided that ah’d wank him off.

Fiona’s eyes briefly hit the floor, then rise to meet mine. Her lips press tightly together. She’s no tellin me to carry on, but she isnae sayin stop.

Ah take a deep breath. — So ah did. It seemed tae comfort him.

— Oh Mark …

— Ah know, ah know … it’s my brother and it’s a sexual thing, so it wasnae a sensible move. Ah can see that now. At the time, though, ah wis just thinkin about alleviatin his distress, like when ah used tae beat his back tae help drain the fluid off his chest cavity. So ah did it. The poor wee bastard went crazy and blew off a load in what seemed like a split second. Then he fell intae a contented doze. Ah’d never seen him so at peace. Ah cleaned him up and he had the best kip ay his life. So ah thought: nae harm done.

— What happened? She unravels herself and lowers the mug tae the flair, her eyes never leavin mine.

— He grew tae expect it. Autistic kids are programmed tae routine. Like clockwork. Meals the same time, bed the same time. It became his sort ay Friday treat; if he hudnae had his other physical issues he’d have been constantly daein it for himself, aw day n aw night. But then, the other days when the news was on, he’d look at the screen, then at me and shout, and ah emulate that horrible cry, — MAY-HAY! MAY-HAY … Of course, ah couldnae help him out, wi everybody else bein in the hoose.

Fiona’s expression is now one ay distaste. She sits stiff and cross-legged in the chair.

— They aw thought he was shoutin ‘Marky’ and found it touchin. Only he and ah knew he was shoutin ‘Mary’, ah explain, and Fiona’s now so still, it unnerves me. — Do you think ah wis wrong?

— No … she says hesitantly, — course not, pet … it’s just … it’s just … could you not tell them about yor Davie?