Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

Eh sterts tae make this high-pitched noise, but it goes soft n croaky. — Ah feel terrible. . ah feel aw dried oot n poisoned. . git ays water. . eh’s reachin oot, lookin tae the gless ay water, the nurse’s buzzer, the clicker oan the morphine dispenser.

But thir aw jist that wee bit oot ay reach.

— Yir really takin the pish, ah tell um, whippin the gless ay water oan the nightstand oot the road n placin it away ower by the sink, ootay reach ay they withered airms n that bony grasp.

— Terry. . help ays. . git the nurse. . ah’m yir faither, son. .

— In yir fuckin dreams, ya cunt, ah tells um, bendin ower um. — Post Alec rattled her first, back in the day; that time the snaw wis oan the ground, n ah twists that bony auld heid roond n looks right intae they eyes: thir so sae fuckin snide now. — Aye, eh pushed they flaps aside n rammed that Christmas package in thaire. She gied ye yir hole eftir he’d been thaire first. Mind? Aye, eh nailed hur when eh wis deliverin the mail, as you fuckin well ken, ya cunt. You wir tryin tae git yir hole fir yonks n she kept knockin ye back. Must’ve been a disappointment for her eftir Alec’s welt!

Eh looks at ays, n eh cannae even make a spiteful remark. — Whaaa. .

— Post Alec. Ah wis ehs mate. Alec Connolly. He wis ma real faither. Eh ploughed your burd, Alice, whin she wis a young thing. Yvonne’s yours, poor wee cow, but no me, thank fuck. Ah crinkle ma nose up. — You’re gantin!

Eh’s tryin tae say something, but it comes oot in a gasp, as ehs eyes bulge n eh struggles fir breath. Ah’m fuckin offski, headin oaf the ward n right doon the corridor n oot the door. As ah goes tae the car park the bars oan the cheeky phone come up n ah gits oan tae Ronnie. Ah ken that eh’s due back the day. It’s this personal assistant cunt that picks up. — Ronald Checker’s office.

— It’s Terry. Whaire’s Ronnie?

— Mr Checker is not available right now.

— Git the cunt, fuckin pronto, ah goes. — It’s an emergency. Ah need tae git oantae the links or ah’ll go fuckin crazy.

— For your information, Mr Checker had to stay in New York on urgent business. He won’t be returning to Scotland till next Friday.

— Fuck. . Ah hing up. Then ah’m thinkin about what Sick Boy said n gits oantae Donna. — Meet ays in toon.

— Ah cannae, ah’ve goat Kasey Linn, n ah’m no gaun up thaire, it’ll be mobbed.

Of course, it’ll be fill ay they cunts. — Right, ah goes.

It’s shite no huvin the cab, but if ah go intae toon tae pick it up, ah’ll be snookered. So ah phones a couple ay taxi boys, n lucky Bladesey’s no that far, n picks ays up about fifteen miniutes later at Cameron Toll. We sticks tae the bypass, but it still takes ages tae git doon tae Broomhoose. Ah’m feel really shite now. Ah might huv nane ay that auld cunt’s DNA in me, but he’s goat a fuckin pint ay mine in him now. Ah could be fir the jail. Bladesey’s gaun on aboot the game, but ah cannae even hear a word the poor cunt’s sayin, till eh droaps ays oaf n ah square um up. Funny, when Donna comes tae the door wi nae make-up, she looks a lot younger than she is. Muh ma wis right, ah should’ve done better by her. — Jist got her settled, she goes. At least she looks better than the last time ah wis doon. There’s a better colour aboot her, and she looks mair in control ay things. The hoose is a lot tidier, n thaire’s nae shite lyin around or scumbags at the door.

Ah walks intae the bedroom, her follayin ays, n sees the bairn in the crib, asleep. A lovely wee thing. Ah wonder whae the faither is, now actually wishin it wis that cunt Renwick, so ah could pit the bite oan the mug. Naw, it’ll be a fuckin useless sperm donor, a permanent daft laddie like one ay they cunts ah saw hingin aboot here before: probably a fucker just like me. Cause ah ken ah’m in nae position tae say nowt, but ah huv tae, for that wee yin’s sake. — Dae ye think daein scud wi Sick Boy’s gaunny be a good example tae this wee yin?

— You dae scud.

— What does yir ma think ay it?

— Same as you, it seems. Ah need money but, ay.

Ah cannae help it, ah blurts it oot: — Yir gittin an awfay reputation in this toon!

— Like yours? she asks, leaning her arm against the frame ay the door. — Think ah liked hearin aboot that, when ah wis growin up?

— That’s changed now! Ah’ve changed!

— Aye, cause ay yir bad hert! Nan telt ays, n she blinks as ah take a step towards her.

Ah stoaps, n looks back at the bairn.

She flicks a few strands ay curly hair oot her face, like ah used tae. — Yir tellin me ye’d huv quit aw the shaggin aboot and packed in the scud oan yir ain?

— Mibbe. . look. .

— Naw, you fuckin well look, she says, her face screwin up. — The only thing that wis good aboot you wis that ye wir nivir a hypocrite. Now ah cannae even see that in ye!

— Ye said it wis money. Ah kin gie ye money, fir you n the bairn! Ah pills oot some notes. — Is this aw jist a wey ay tryin tae git ma attention? Well, yuv goat it, ah snaps, then ah feel myself fawin tae ma knees n ah’m crawlin across the flair tae her. Ah looks up at her, like ah’m a bairn n she’s muh ma. — Please, dinnae dae this.

She’s unnerved, but she goes, — Mibbe it’s a wee bit late for that! Ye never gied a toss before!

What kin ah say? That ah ignored her in her teens cause ah thoat that she wis confident n daein okay? The sad fuckin truth was that ah didnae want tae embarrass her by firin intae her pals. Aw can dae is stand up n take her in ma airms. She feels so small, like a kid. Ah glance tae the bairn and think ay when ah first saw Donna in Viv’s airms at the hospital. Where the fuck did they years go? — Please think aboot it, darlin. Please. Ah love ye.

Wir baith sobbin away. She’s rubbin ma back. — Aw, Dad. . you’ve goat me aw confused now.

No as confused as ah am. So ah’m thaire half the night, n wir drinkin tea a ah’m pourin oot a load ay stuff, n she is tae. N when ah leaves, Stumpy Jack pickin ays up, ah faws intae ehs cab, exhausted, but kind ay unburdened. Wir drivin through the now-deserted night streets. Ah looks intae ma poakit tae see the pages ah ripped oot ay Jinty’s diary. Ah dinnae want the polis, or perr wee Jonty, tae ken ah’m mixed up in this, so when ah’m droaped oaf hame, n say goodnight tae Jack, ah gits oot the lighter, strikes up a flame under it and watches it burn. It’s fir the best.

Ah climbs ma stair knackered, hopin that ah’ll get some kip in. Then mibbe go and see the wee man for a game ay gowf the morn.

BEST LAUGH THE day was when that Terry came down. He fancies himself, but he’s not like Victor or Kelvin, he treats the lassies really well and has a joke and a laugh. AND he never wants a free ride. I think he wants us to offer it to him! He doesn’t know about it, but that’s what’s gonna happen! LOL!

AN AWFAY SLEEPLESS night: aye sur, awfay sleepless. Like ah wis burnin up in that bed. Thinkin aboot Jinty in thon pillar under the tram brig, n it wis aw cause ay talkin tae the polis. Aye it wis. Ah’d hud a game ay gowf wi Terry, then eh droaped ays right hame in the taxi. That eh did. Aye sur. N eh hudnae long left ays when the polis came roond.

Thaire wis panic in the chist, aye sur, thaire wis. Ah thoat they’d take ays away. Aye, two polis boys, but nae uniforms. Karen made tea, brought oot the nice crockery n the KitKats. The big yins. She ey makes that joke: ‘Aye, ah kin ey manage tae git fower fingers in me, Jonty.’ Ah dinnae like lassies talkin like that: it’s no right. But she’s goat the big yins oot this time n one polisman’s eatin it but the other isnae. He’ll be the bad yin, like oan the telly: the yin that takes ye tae the jail, ah wis thinkin. Aye, eh asked ays aboot Jinty again. — She’s still no been in touch, ah telt thum.