Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

— Ah didnae see um much eftir ah wis a bairn. It wis Billy MacKay thit wis mair faither tae me, aye sur, Billy MacKay. That’s how ah git called Jonty MacKay, eftir Billy MacKay, aye sur, aye sur, Billy MacKay.

— Ah got that, mate, Billy MacKay, Terry says impatiently.

— Aye sur, Billy MacKay. Aye, Jonty stresses.

Terry changes the subject to the weather. He is used to talking about such banalities in his post-sexual life. As Cup-final fever hits the heights in Edinburgh, he’s even taken to pontificating about football. — Mind that Bawbag, it wisnae up tae much. . He stops, once again suddenly thinking about his own genitals.

The recollection of the hurricane upsets Jonty, who falls into a troubled silence, a huge blue vein bulging on his forehead. Terry realises this was around the time Jinty disappeared. Both men are relieved when Alice emerges from the ward. — Eh’s sleepin a lot. Peaceful, like. But eh woke up for a wee bit. Ye gaunny go n see um? She looks at Jonty, then glances hopefully at Terry.

— Ah will, aye, aye, Jonty says.

— That’ll be shinin bright, Terry snaps, causing Alice to cringe.

Sensing an atmosphere between Terry and Alice, Jonty blurts out his sad news. — Muh ma died last week. Last Wednesday. Aye. She did. Deid. In the bed. Funeral’s the morn. Aye sur. The morn.

— Aw, son, ah’m awfay sorry. Alice finds herself giving Jonty a hug, one eye strategically swivelling to check Terry’s reaction to this display of affection.

— Sorry tae hear that, mate, Terry says, compressing Jonty’s thin shoulder. The subsequent emotions it sets off make him recall seeing Henry up the town with a young Hank. Henry grudgingly stopping him to ask how he was doing. Once he said to young Hank, ‘This is your big brother.’ Terry, then a teenager, could see that the kid was as uncomfortable as he was. Later, when Hank was a youth himself, he started drinking in Dickens Bar on Dalry Road, and Terry would stop in and they’d have the odd pint together. They bonded to an extent, as both were now blanking Henry.

— Ah wis thaire n it wis like the doaktir boy sais it wis, peaceful. . aye sur, peaceful. But ah gret whin she went, Terry, Mrs Ulrich; aye, ah gret like a bairn. Aye sur, a bairn. Hank n aw. Hank gret tae. Aye sur, aye eh did.

— Well, ye would, son, wi Hen— wi yir faither dyin n aw, it must be terrible. Alice rests a hand on Jonty’s forearm.

— Tae be honest, n ah ken yi’ll think ah’m bad, Jonty ventures, watching Alice’s face crease, — but ah dinnae care aboot him. Ah’m only here cause muh ma still cared, even eftir aw he pit her through. Aw aye.

— Snap, Terry says, staring at the stricken Alice.

— You’re kind, Mrs Ulrich, like muh ma wis. Terry’s usually kind n aw, but no tae real faither Henry. Yir usually kind but, ay, Terry?

Once again Terry is feeling that unaccustomed sensation of being shamed. He starts to say something, but is indvertantly saved by Alice, who is moved enough by Jonty’s honesty, tightening her bony fingers on his thin arm, to cough out in concession, — Aye, sometimes he wisnae an easy man.

— No easy, Jonty repeats, staring at a fat woman who waddles past them.

— Well, ah’ve got tae go, Alice says, looking at Terry, who seems in no hurry to move, as Jonty continues his tale.

— The coffin we’ve goat is huge, n it took aw ay hur insurance and life savins. Aye sur, it took the loat! Biggest in the toon, Jonty proudly exclaims, then tries to reel in his excitement. — Ah’m worried because yin ay the crematorium folks sais thit thair oven wis too wee tae handle muh ma!

— That coffin shite’s a con, they dinnae burn it. Terry bangs the back of his head against the wall at the passing of a black-stockinged nurse, who rips an electric shock through his chemically dulled nerve endings, hitting a set of buffers somewhere behind his testicles. — They jist load the boady intae the oven, he gasps through gritted teeth, fearful of the spike in his pulse.

— Naw, Terry, naw, that’s jist in Amerikay n Europe n that, Jonty insists. — Ower here they burn the loat, goat tae by law, the Citizens Advice boy tell ays. Aye sur, by law.

— It’s true — Jonty’s right, Alice sharply informs Terry.

— Aw, right, fair dos, Terry shrugs, conceding the point and turning to Jonty. — Listen, mate, ah’ll pick yis up n take yis tae the funeral the morn.

— Ta, Terry! Jonty’s eyes light up. — That’s barry, cause wi nivir hud the money tae hire a car. Ken, for the family; me, Hank n Karen. Aye sur, wi wir gaunny git the bus. Two buses. Aye sur, two buses.

— Nae need. Terry lets out an exhalation of breath. — Ah’ll pick ye up.

— Ta, Terry, that’s awfay good ay ye! He turns to Alice. — Ay, Terry’s good, Mrs Ulrich. That’s how ah eywis call him Kind Terry. Aye sur, Kind Terry!

Alice looks doubtfully at her son and forces a smile at Jonty. — Ah suppose he’s got his moments.

Terry struggles in another shroud of guilt as he recalls shagging Jinty. Jonty is obviously devoted to her. Yet, there was more to it, and he curses his reflective, post-sexual imagination and the restless insights it bestows on him. There is something about Jonty that reminds him of his old mate Andy Galloway.

Jonty is slow and a bit simple compared to wee Gally, a smart, nippy, quick-minded, fast-talking wee guy. Though in some ways more vulnerable because of his unworldliness, as he seemed to draw bullies like a magnet, Jonty, at the same time, is more resilient than Terry’s thin-skinned boyhood friend. — Right then, lit’s git you hame, Terry says to Alice, as much to force himself out of his own ruminations than anything, then turns to Jonty. — What time’s the funeral?

— Noon. Aye sur, noon. Noon. Aye. Aye.

— What say ah pick ye up early, at eight, n we git a wee round in doon your local links? Relax ye?

— The links, sur, aye, the links! Jonty enthuses. — That’ll be barry.

So Jonty goes up to see Henry. He sneaks a look through the window, loath to be victim of the old man’s spiteful tongue. But to Jonty’s relief, Henry is lying spangled, deeply unconscious in the bed. He is therefore able to regale the other three terminally ill patients on the ward with a soliloquy about Penicuik, before a nurse comes by and suggests that it might be time for him to end his visit. Jonty reluctantly heads off to get the bus back home and another tongue-lashing from Karen who warns him about going outside when they are so close. So close to what? he wonders.

Terry, after dropping Alice off at Sighthill, heads home to the South Side for a late-afternoon nap. He finds it easier to sleep during the day than at night, with his dreams less torturous. He rises at around 8 p.m. and has a fish supper, then ventures out in the cab and does a few jobs, dropping off the odd message of ching for Connor, before wrapping up at around 4 a.m.

After a couple of hours of ugly, fractured sleep, he drives out to Penicuik to pick up Jonty for a frustrating round of golf at the local course. He’s found Jonty to be, like himself, a decent novice but one who is too easily distracted. His putting goes all over the place when he sees a black Labrador by a red car across the street on the edge of the course, and it never recovers till both are out of sight.

They drive back into the former pit town, picking up Karen and two elderly relatives for the funeral. — Ah telt her she’d be deid if she kept eatin food, the woman says to the man, who sits stiffly, looking ahead, his mouth hanging open.

— Hank n that ur gaunny lead us, we huvtae follay thaim, aye sur, Jonty explains, pointing across the road to a great haulage truck, on the back of which is placed a giant coffin. Terry looks into the cabin and sees that Hank is with a woman and a burly guy who looks like the truck’s driver. Hank waves across at Terry, who returns the gesture, then decides to cross the street and say hello. On his approach, Hank feels moved to jump down from the cabin, and they shake hands. — Good to see ye again, sorry it hus tae be under these circumstances, Terry says robotically.