Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

N she comes through wearin ma fuckin ‘Sunshine on Leith’ T-shirt, settin oaf mair warnin bells. As ah eywis say, the time ye git nervous aboot lassies is no whin yir tryin tae git thair fuckin knickers oaf thum that night, but whin yir tryin tae git your fuckin T-shirt oaffay thum the next mornin! Guaranteed!

She’s a fit burd awright. The collar-length black hair n the make-up, goth as fuck but sexy, n jist a wee bit hefty n that mid-thirties wey whin they start tae go oaf, which ah fuckin love! That’s when a lassie really gits fuckin shag-happy! So it’s a big change fae the torn coupon the other night, as she flops oan the couch wi a crocodile smile.

Ah looks at her. — So how dae ye feel now?

— Well shagged.

— Still suicidal?

— No, she goes, aw thoughtful. — Just angry.

— Well, feel angry at the cunts that gied ye a hard time. Dinnae take it oot oan yirsel. If ye dae that they’ve won.

She shakes her heid. — I know that, Terry, but I can’t help being me . I’ve received all kinds of counselling, all sorts of advice, I’ve been on different medication –

Ah pats ma groin. — This is the medication you need, hen. Guaranteed.

— God, she laughs, — you really are insatiable!

— Aye, ah goes, — too right. But that’s no important, ah winks. — The question ye should be askin yirself is: ‘Am ah?’

AH WIS NIVIR much guid at the skill, sur. Naw sur, naw sur, ah wis not. N ah eywis felt bad aboot that. Ah pit that doon tae real faither Henry spendin a loat ay time workin away n Ma gittin too fat tae leave the hoose. Oor Hank went tae the skill, n Karen n aw. That real faither Henry, he says tae us, — Yir a wee bit slow, Jonty, so the skill’s no gaunny make any difference, no like wi Hank n Karen.

Ah nivir said nowt but it hurt ays. It hurt ays deep in the chist, like if ye could open up yir chist n thaire wis spiders in thaire. Spiders that crawl aboot oan wee legs n make ye feel aw funny inside. Aye, eh pit spiders in ma chist, that eh did, sur. It didnae dae thum that much good, mind, oor Hank n Karen. Mind you, Hank drives a forklift truck now, so that’s no too bad but Karen jist looks eftir Ma. A waste ay that social care course she did. It made ur aw qualified, sur; aw qualified tae look eftir tons ay people in thair hooses, no jist her ain ma in her ain hoose. An awfay waste, aye sur. Jist yir ain ma whin yir qualified tae look eftir tons ay mas; aye sur, that it is. Aye.

But ah jist used tae sit in the graveyard, readin the stanes, unless it wis too cauld, then ah’d go tae Boaby Shand’s hoose, fir a cup ay tea n a wee heat. We’d watch the racin oan telly n bet wi each other. Then ah stoaped gaun cause Boaby eywis won. ‘Ye dinnae git the odds, Jonty son,’ he’d tell ays. Well, ah goat thit the odds wir stacked up against me winnin, ah goat that awright, sur, did ah no?! So ah stoaped hingin aboot wi Boaby. Eh wis awright, a Herts boy, but eh got called a Fenian bastard cause thaire wis a Bobby Shand in the RIA. Then ah went n left Penicuik fir Gorgie.

Ah like Gorgie, but.

Ah like the McDonald’s. Aye sur. The Chicken McNuggets ur the bit ah like best, sur, aye they ur. Ah like the wey whin ye bite intae thum thir aw chewy, n no that greasy wey like a Kentucky Fried Chicken kin sometimes be. Ah like a Kentucky Fried Chicken whin ah’m in the mood but, usually eftir a few peeves, aw aye sur, that ah dae. Jinty ey prefers a chippy. Ah keep tellin hur that she should be mair adventurous. Ye should be mair adventurous, Jinty, ah’d joke tae hur. Aye sur, mair adventurous. But ah like a McNuggets fir a chynge, aw sur, fur a wee chynge. But see this new Eftir Eight McFlurry, ah like that Eftir Eight McFlurry n aw! Jist as a treat oan a Tuesday, but, cause yuv goat tae keep yir money. Funny thing is, ah dinnae really like a Big Mac that much. Ye kin git awfay bagged up eftir a Big Mac.

BAWBAG: LOAD AY fuckin pish. That wis nivir a hurricane! A total fuckin non-event, that cunt: fuckin well playin at it. Thaire’s a bit ay a mess oan the streets, wi upturned rubbish n that, kicked-ower signs n traffic cones, n one or two broken windaes, but nowt different tae what pished-up cunts dae every fuckin weekend!

Ah’ve droaped oaf a couple ay messages in toon, so ah pop doon tae Liberty Leisure n check oot how The Poof’s business empire’s daein. That Saskia’s still hingin aboot; Polish burd, awfay sexy, eywis wears tight, glittery tops, n a short skirt, like she’s gaun clubbin, but mibbe a bit too fragile n lost-lookin tae be in this game. — Nae Jinty? ah asks her.

— Nup, she nivir came in, Saskia goes, soundin sortay Scottish but wi an East European accent. — Mibbe Bawbag got her!

Ah’m sortay laughin at her patter but this other burd, that Andrea, lookin right at me, says, — Maybe he did.

Ah like Saskia n Jinty’s style, but ah loat ay the lassies here dinnae seem tae be that happy, n ah think ah ken the reason: that wee cunt Kelvin is definitely creepin thum oot. He comes oantae the scene n the laughter stoaps. Ah dinnae like that, yuv goat tae be cheerful at work. Especially if yir work’s fuckin shaggin!

— Business is a bit slow, ay, he says.

— Aye, this Andrea goes, which cracks me up, cause she says it in an English accent and she’s a sortay Chinky burd.

— Git in thaire then, eh goes, noddin tae one ay the rooms, — ah’ve goat a length fir ye.

The cunt looks at me wi a big grin. Ah feel like punchin the skinny wee cunt’s muppet heid in. Even though that Andrea is a bit ay a cow, ye kin tell the lassie’s really scared as she heads oaf, followed by that sleaze bucket. Ah dinnae like aw that shite. Suggest a ride tae a burd, aye, but commandin a lassie tae ride when she cannae refuse, well, that’s no fuckin right. As they vanish, Saskia shoots me this fearful look, like she wants me tae dae something. What can ah dae? It’s fuck all tae dae wi me, ah jist came doon tae help oot The Poof, n it’s his fuckin brother-in-law. Ah says tae her on the quiet, — Let ays ken if Jinty shows up.

— But you can call here.

— Ah dinnae want tae talk tae laughin boy, ay, n ah nods through tae where Kelvin’s probably heapin the misery on Andrea. Ah keep ma voice doon, cause the lassies seem tae hate Kelvin, but in this kind ay set-up thaire’s eywis a grass.

She looks at me for a second, n scribbles doon her digits oan a slip ay paper.

Ah gits back in the motor, no feelin sae happy. Ah punches in Saskia’s number and texts her: Any news about Jinty, give me a wee shout. Terry X

Aye, thaire’s some no bad rides thaire n The Poof says fill yir fuckin boots, it’s oan the house. But fuck that; even if it’s oan a free pass, ye want tae be wi a burd that’s intae it, like that Jinty, no yin that’s jist punchin the fuckin cloak. Besides, a welt like this, they should be fuckin well peyin me fir ma services! Guaranteed! That Jinty kent the score, n ah’m wonderin when she’ll be back in.

A text flies back, fae Saskia: Yes and please the same if you hear. S.

Nice lassie. But ah’m no for prostitution at aw. It’s no right that lassies like that Saskia are pit in the position whaire they huv tae sell thair bodies for cash. Much better money makin a few porno flicks wi the likes ay me n Sick Boy. Ah dinnae want tae mention that though, in case it gets back tae The Poof, n eh accuses ays ay poachin his employees, or worse, tries tae git involved in aw oor shit. I’m way too tangled up wi that cunt awready.

Pillin up Easter Road n ah sees that new manager boy, him that came ower fae Dublin, comin oot a shop wi an Evening News , so ah toots n gies um a wee wave. Goat tae be an improvement oan that last useless cunt. Ah picks up a fare oan London Road. It’s another moosey-faced cunt, whae’s soon askin ays, — How’s it wir gaun this way?