Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

— Her father, the cop withoot the KitKat went, lookin right at me in ma eye like the bad teachers did at the skill, like real faither Henry used tae, — Did she ever talk about him?

— Maurice, aye, ah went, thinkin aboot the canary-yellaw fleece. In the wheelchair at muh ma’s funeral. — He’s her father. Maurice. Glesses. Likes a pint in Campbell’s. Aye sur.

— Would you say they were close? the kinder KitKat cop went.

— Well, aye, but eh nivir came roond tae the hoose tae see us. But we’d sometimes see um in Campbell’s. Aye sur, Campbell’s. It’s really called the Tynecastle Airms, ah telt thum, — but everybody kens it as Campbell’s, ay. Aye they do. No the younger yins like, they’ll no ken it as Campbell’s that much, but they might pick it up fae the aulder yins. Like it’s been handed doon. Aye.

The KitKat boy glanced at the other cop, then back at me and gied ays a wee smile. Karen hud fair done well wi the tea n KitKats, the big fower-fingered yins, n the pan-loafy guid bone china. Aye she did. — Unfortunately, we have to inform you that Mr Maurice Magdalen passed away last night.

Ah couldnae believe it, n ah ken what passed away means but ah wisnae thinkin right, so ah said tae the boy, — Is eh awright?

— He’s dead, Mr MacKay, the KitKat cop went, — he died of smoke inhalation in a fire at his house.

The other polisman looked at his mate, n droaped his voice like it wis meant tae be awfay secret. — It’s too early to be exact about the cause of the fire, but indications are that Mr Magdalen was smoking a cigarette in bed and fell asleep.

— Aye, eh liked a cigarette, Maurice, aye sur, that eh did!

— Of course, being partially paralysed, Mr Magdalen would have found it hard to get out of bed and control the blaze.

Ah wis thinkin aye aye aye aye n then the KitKat copper boy went, — Maurice Magdalen, Jinty’s father, was wheelchair-bound after a sustained assault by a gang of men, who believed him to have been involved in a firebomb attack on The Pub With No Name public house, shortly after his daughter disappeared. Do you think that there could be any connection between this assault and her disappearance, given that you made a statement that she was last seen in The Pub With No Name?

Ah didnae ken what tae say tae that. So ah jist sat thaire wi ma mooth open.

— Mr MacKay?

— Dae ye think Jinty’ll come back?

— There are no further developments in the case, the KitKat boy said, lookin at his mate once mair n closing his notebook aw shut.

— Aye sur, ah went back, — nae developments.

— She’s still listed as a missing person.

— Missin person, aye.

The KitKat boy stood up. Then his pal did the same. — We’ll let you know if we hear any news. I can appreciate how distressing this must be for you, Mr MacKay.

— It makes me greet sometimes, that she could just go like that, ah telt the polis fellys. Then ah asked them when the trams wid be runnin. The KitKat boy just looked at ays n said eh didnae ken. Then, as they went oot, the other cop says, — One more thing, Mr MacKay. . Mr Magdalen was a member of EROSS, a political extremist group. Did you ever hear him threaten violence against Mr Jake McColgan, manager of The Pub With No Name?

— Naw sur, naw ah did not, naw, naw naw, ah goes, but thir away oot the door.

Ah sat thaire starin at the Wally dug oan the mantelpiece, n Karen took thum ootside, bit ah wis pure at the door listenin tae them talk in the hall. — Ma brar’s a wee bit. . slow, officer, Karen goes. Aye sur, she said that. She did now. That she did. Aye sur. — Eh widnae hurt a fly though.

That makes ays angry, cause ah wid hurt a fly. Ah’d kill that fly thit came oot Jinty’s mooth, the one thit pit the slithery wee grubs in her that wid eat her oot! Eat her oot in the eyes, the ears, the nose, the mooth, the erse n the fanny; like she got me tae dae, but in a different wey. Aye sur, in a different wey. Strong hands, Jonty, strong hands, she’d say. But ah ah’m right in the heid. Ah am! It wis Maurice that wisnae right in the heid, no at the end, eftir the accident. No even before, cause God punished Maurice for daein things that are meant tae be done wi lassies, no laddies! N mibbe Maurice isnae in heaven wi Jinty’s ma, eh might be in the other place where bad laddies go, n thir aw rammin it up ehs erse now, wheelchair or nae wheelchair! Cause Maurice wid be able tae walk again in heaven, but in the other place eh’d be made tae stey in the wheelchair, until it wis time tae git ehs bum rammed! Then they’d git rid ay the wheelchair!

Aye, that wis whit happened when the polis came roond. Karen did maist ay the talkin. Aye sur. So the polis huv gone away, n ah tells Karen ah’m gaun intae toon, nae mair tae be said on the subject, cause ah’m no jist gaunny be a prisoner in the Cuik aw ma days, jist gowf outins wi Terry tae look forward tae. Naw sur, ah am not. Naw sur, naw sur, naw sur. Aye.

Karen’s ver-near greetin. She’s gaun oan aboot me spoilin everything n how she hud it aw planned. Ah tells her no tae worry cause ah’ll be back n we’ll hae some dirty bad stuff nookie again. Ah’ve no been in the mood cause ay seein the maggoty boaby man on Terry’s real faither Alec in the graveyard n imaginin they slithery wee worms bein up Karen’s fanny n gaun intae ma boaby man. Like they’d be in perr Jinty’s. Come tae think aboot it they could huv crawled up ma boaby man whin it wis in Jinty’s fanny. Naw. Cause ah’d huv seen thum come back oot quick enough when ah peed! They widnae like that! Naw sur, they wid not! Ah wish now some maggots hud crawled up ma boaby man, cause it wid serve thum right! Aye sur, it wid. If the pee didnae kill thum they would huv drooned in the lavvy, n even if they wir able tae hud thir wee maggoty breath fir yonks they wid huv drooned at sea! N it wid huv served thum right, cause jist like that Bawbag, naebody asked thum tae come here!

So ah phones Terry n tells um that ah needs tae talk n thit thaire’s bad things gaun oan in ma heid.

— Awright, ma wee pal, meet ays at thon Starbucks at Haymarket Station at one o’clock.

— Aye sur, Starbucks! Right, ah says, thinkin thit wir fair gaun up in the world! Aye sur, Starbucks! Ah’ve nivir walked intae one ay thaim, wi aw they well-dressed folks! Awfay pan-loafy! Aye sur!

So ah hus tae git two buses, but ah’m no bothered cause ah gits tae sit up front oan the long yin oot fae Penicuik. N whin ah gits tae Haymarket ah’m a wee bit mair feart cause it’s awfay near Gorgie. But ah sees Terry so ah starts wavin ma airms in the air n eh sees ays back. Ah goes ower n thaire’s a boy wi funny hair sittin in the cab. But thir sortay in the rank: sortay waitin ootside ay Starbucks. — A wee trip up tae the gowf coorse, Jonty, oot at Haddington.

— Aw. . ah goes, cause ah realises thit wir no gittin tae go intae Starbucks n it’s no jist me n Terry so it’ll be harder tae talk aboot the graveyard n us seein ehs real faither’s maggoty willy n eyebaws aw eaten oot by the bugs.

— This is ma mate Ronnie, eh sais, lookin tae this boy wi funny hair. — Ah’ve jist picked um up fae the airport, now wir gaun oot tae Haddington.

— Jonty, Ronnie, aye sur, ah goes.

The boy sais nowt n hardly looks at ays. Aye sur. No like the nasty bad-hert wey that some ay the boys like Barksie, fae The Pub Wi Nae Name used tae dae, mair like ah’m sort ay invisible tae this boy. Aye sur. Like the Invisible Man oan the telly! Ye couldnae see um but ye kent eh wis thaire cause ay ehs hat n coat. The boy’s clathes wirnae invisible; but it’s like ma clathes ur n aw tae this boy. Aye sur.

So ah’m sittin beside the boy in the back wi Terry drivin, n ah thinks ‘now’s ma chance tae talk tae the Ronnie boy’, but eh’s jist talkin intae ehs phone most ay the wey oot thaire. Eh’s goat a voice like they huv in the fullums; that’s no a Scottish voice, yon, that’s what ah’d say tae the boy if eh pit the phone doon! Ah’d say: yir in Scotland now! Yuv goat tae speak wi a guid Scotch tongue in yir heid! But that wid be wrong cause the boy cannae help the wey eh talks, like the lassie wi the bairn doonstairs whae cannae help bein broon n talkin like aliens fae space do in Fullum Station Four’s fullums. Her that gied ays that dress tae wear. Ah hope they lit hur broon husband oot the jail soon. But no if eh’s been throwin bombs. Naw, thi’ll no lit um oot if eh’s been daein that. N thi’ll pit me away if they find oot thit ah wis. But wi Maurice bein deid through the fags, it’s like the polis’ll blame him fir ma bombs, just like everybody at The Pub Wi Nae Name did when they battered him sair. Aw aye sur, battered him sair. Eh didnae look happy at muh ma’s funeral though, n eh mentioned the canary-yellay fleece.