Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

— You’re just being paranoid.

— Naw, cause ah ken who’s gaunny be the one in five hundred tae git huckled in the rammy n dae the serious jail time or trip n faw n git trampled intae a vegetable. That boy needs put right!

Alison wondered how her father was going to do that, sitting in his threadbare slippers and dressing gown. Why didn’t he just shower and dress like he used to, instead of slouching around like this every morning?

The front door opened and Mhairi came in. Alison took her sister into the kitchen, anxious to make alliance, to discuss what was to be done about the men in their family. For cover, she turned on the kitchen table radio.

As Duran Duran performed ‘The Reflex’, and Alison talked of the discord between their father and brother, she could see that she was losing Mhairi’s attention. Then her sister put her hand to her mouth, and Alison turned, to watch Calum scuttling down the drainpipe outside the kitchen window, dreeping the last of the distance into the backgreen.

— Calum, she shouted, moving to the back door, to see his figure recede, ducking behind the washing that hung on the lines.

— What’s happened? Derrick shouted, emerging into the doorway.

— Cal’s went n sneaked oot n bolted, eh, Mhairi said, a smile on her face.

— What …? Ah bloody telt him! Derrick ran to the door, then, realising he was in his dressing gown, halted abruptly.

— I’ll find him, Alison said, her tone more condemnatory than she wanted, and grabbed her bag and headed outside. She looked around the undifferentiated backgreens. There was nothing but washing, hanging on lines.

Calum must have climbed the garden wall, onto the overgrown path by the side of the block of dwellings. It was a bit early for him to have headed up to Easter Road, so she was betting he’d be around the Foot of the Walk.

She saw him up ahead in the street talking to Lizzie and Tommy Lawrence. When she got closer, he made no attempt to move.

— Hi, Ali, Lizzie said, and Tommy echoed.

— Hiya.

— Youse gaun tae the game? Calum asked the couple, ignoring his sister. Lizzie looked at him, then Alison, as if Calum was mentally retarded.

— Naw. It’ll be mad up thaire the day. Fill ay bams, Tommy said dismissively. — Keep away fae that place the day, pal.

— That’s what Dad said. Alison looked at Calum.

— Ah’m no gaun back in, he told her.

— Dae what ye like. Ah’m no yir jailer, Alison said, hoping this altered tack would compel him to move towards reason. She looked at Tommy and Lizzie, and nodded to the cafe across the street. — Want tae get a coffee?

— Sound, Tommy said. Alison didn’t know if Calum would follow, but he did. They went into the Up the Junction cafe. It was busy, but one table was free and they squared around it.

Alison was asking Lizzie about her course, while Lizzie enquired about her work. All the time, she was trying to listen into Tommy and Calum’s conversation, to ascertain what her brother’s plans were. Was he really involved with that hooligan mob?

— Aberdeen are some team right enough, Tommy said. — Leighton, McKimmie, Miller, McLeish, Simpson, Cooper, Strachan, Archibald, McGhee, Weir, it’s unbelievable what they’ve achieved under Alex Ferguson.

— Aye, Calum agreed, looking sheepishly at Lizzie, and it was clear to Alison that he had a debilitating crush on her, — it’s crap that they’re so much better than Hibs.

— But ye cannae hate them in the same way ye do Rangers and Celtic, Tommy argued, — cause they’ve done it by fair means, no by pandering tae thickos wi aw that sectarian shite.

— Aye, Calum agreed, and his voice went high for an embarrassing moment, before he coughed violently at the frog in his throat, — they’ve sorted oot the Old Firm and conquered Europe, and there’s Hibs and Herts yo-yoing between the divisions!

— Is that aw youse kin talk aboot, Alison shook her head at Lizzie, — fitba?

— There’s other reasons tae go tae the game, no jist the fitba, Calum said.

Alison went to say something, bit her tongue.

— At least things are picking up oan the terraces, he grinned, and he seemed young again, a cheeky wee boy.

Tommy nodded in agreement. — Relegation’s good for a mob’s soul. Man U, Chelsea, West Ham, Spurs, aw they firms got forged through adversity; defending yourself fae local yokels huvin a dash. It did Herts good; Keezbo’s telt us aboot the crazy trips tae places like Dumfries. Ye hud police helicopters circling above Palmerston Park, the lot.

— Aye, the drop wis good in helpin tae build up the Hibs casual mob.

Alison knew Tommy was indulging her brother. He was too sensible to be associated with them, or even his old YLT mates. You could tell he was scenting a new future with Lizzie. She was up talking to the lassie behind the counter, who Alison recognised as having gone to Leith Academy. Tommy got up, and headed for the toilet. Alison took her chance. She looked at Calum imploringly. — Come hame. We’ll git a video. You, me n Mhairi. Huv a laugh n a blether.

— There’s nowt tae laugh aboot, n aw the bletherin in the world’s no gaunny change that, Calum said, sitting back in the chair.

As he flexed his thin, but wiry body, Alison realised that he’d grown physically more powerful than her. My wee brother could batter me now , she permitted. When had that happened? — Dad disnae want ye –

— He’ll dae nowt, n you’ll dae nowt either, Calum challenged, in a tight sneer, rising and shaking his head, a sour smile on his lips.

Tommy returned from the toilet, spoke a few words with the departing boy. Alison watched Calum nip outside and hurry up the street, as if Tommy Lawrence had just passed her brother a baton.

Lizzie rejoined them at the table. — Is he okay?

— He’s been a bit mental, pittin it mildly, since my ma went, Alison conceded.

— He’ll be awright, Tommy said hopefully, — Calum’s sound.

— Aye, Alison exhaled. — So what youse up tae?

— Going tae see Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom , Lizzie said.

— She chose it. Tommy was quick to make the point. Alison reckoned that was because more than one person had mentioned he looked a bit like Harrison Ford. She envied the couple, sitting in a warm picture house together, their love incubating in the silent hothouse dark. The odd smile and kiss, the squeeze of the hand, then intertwining as Harrison cracked the whip on-screen. She thought of calling Alexander, and then wished that Simon was here. She wanted to ask Tommy if he’d heard from him, but something stopped her. Her relationship with Simon was non-exclusive and more than a little clandestine. It suddenly seemed cheap goods compared to what Tommy and Lizzie had. His hand was resting on hers. The way they looked at each other …

Disinclined to play gooseberry any longer, Alison left them and walked down to the river, settling onto a bench. The sun was starting to fall over the disused warehouses in front of her, as the odd person and dog ambled by on the walkway. Her poetry book was in her bag and she took it out and looked through its contents.

The book now seemed pointless. Real life wasn’t reducible to the written word, and even spoken words, our interactions with others, just seemed like distracting drama. She lowered the book, and let her gaze fall across the still, black river. This was real life, when we were alone in thought, lost in memory.

She had barely noticed him coming towards her. When she did, he at first cut a tentative figure, growing more gallus as he slumped onto the bench a little bit apart from her. — Good book, aye?

Alison was too distracted to immediately get up and walk away. Instead she looked up. He was young; much younger than her even, just a laddie. He had a cheeky face, with busy eyes observing her from under the ubiquitous fringe. — So-so.