Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

— Why are Guillaume and his mum so poor?

What kin ye say tae that? Ah jist ask the Ginger Bastard what he thinks, and he sits trying tae work it oot oan the wey back tae Blackford Hills. — Is it because his mummy isn’t so educated?

— It’s probably got something tae dae wi that. But then you’ve goat tae ask: how is it she’s no as educated as your ma?

The wee gadge steps oot the car wi a furrowed brow. Ah watches um head up the driveway ay the big hoose, the gravel crunchin under ehs nice black shoes.

Then, headin back intae toon through Oxgangs, ah strikes gold. A lassie’s standin by the bus stoap outside Goodie’s pub. She looks like she’s hud a few n she flags me doon. As ah stoaps, she waves ays away. — Ye wantin in or no?

— Ah’m gaun tae Stockbridge but ah’ve nae money till ah meet ma mate thaire but, ay.

— Awright, ah smiles, — hop in. We kin work something oot if yir game, likes.

She focuses oan ays. — Maybe we can.

Game as fuck, n nae playin the innocent when ah stoaps the motor doon this wee lane in Marchmont ah use: one ay ma top spots.

— Are ye no gaunny switch off the meter? she asks as ah open the back door.

— Aw, right, auld habits die hard, ah goes, scramblin tae the front. — Gled ye reminded ays, cause this might take some time!

AYE SUR, AH’M a lucky man! Lucky isnae the word, naw sur, naw it isnae. Wee Jonty MacKay, luckiest man in the world! Ah am that, sur, aye, ah ah’m that! Ah’ve goat this cosy wee flat in Gorgie, muh wee Jinty, ma Internet oan ma computer, a DVD wi fullums, n that Fullum Station Fower oan the telly. As well as aw that, ah git a bit ay work now n then at the paintin. Aye, sur, the paintin.

If ah could change anything at aw it wid be tae git even mair work at the paintin, cause sometimes ah feel awfay bad aboot ma wee Jinty, workin aw they different cleanin joabs in they office blocks in toon, aye, ah dae. But ah ey make sure thit thaire’s a Findus frozen pizza n McCain oven chips, the type she likes, ready for her whin she comes in. Even whin it’s a nightshift n she’s no in till the wee ooirs, aye, ah make sure her pizza’s thaire, sur.

Findus.

Sometimes it wid be double barry if ah could learn tae drive a motor, like ma brar Hank, whae drives yon forklift truck. N Jinty sometimes sais tae ays: yir no that daft, Jonty, ah mean, yir ey oan that Internet, ye kin work a computer, so ye could easy learn tae drive a car. Raymond Gittings wid be able tae git ye mair work at yon paintin!

N ah suppose she’s right, but tae me that’s no what it’s aboot. Ah eywis say that if God wanted us tae go like that eh wid huv gied us wheels instead ay feet. Aye, eh wid. N ah’m jist a simple country lad fae Penicuik. Drivin around in a big, fancy car widnae be fir the likes ay me. Aye sur, Penicuik. Hank ey sais, dinnae keep goan oan aboot Penicuik bein the country, Jonty, cause it’s no the country n it’s no been the country fir a long time.

Aye, but it’s still country tae me, see? Aye sur, aye it is. Ye kin see the Pentland Hills fae muh ma’s hoose, so that makes it country tae me. Aye sur, aye it does. Two buses. Aye.

One ay the best things, but, is this Internet. Ah like this barry website that trains ye what ye dae if thaire’s a war. How tae make bombs n that. American likes, aye, it is that, ye kin tell by the wey it reads aw funny, aye sur, aye sur. Distress flare.

N ah hears the door gaun n Jinty’s comin in n she’s cauld. So ah shuts oaf the computer cause ah dinnae want her tae think ah’ve been oan it aw day. Her wee face is aw pinched n rid. — Sit doon by the bar fire thaire, Jinty, ah goes, — ah made ye some ay that Batchelors soup, no real soup, but the poodird sort ye pour the water ower.

— Thanks, pal, Jinty sais, — it’ll pit a rerr heat in me.

— It will, a rerr heat. Aye. That’s whit ah thoat. Aye sur, an awfay guid heat. N thaire’s pizza n chips eftir! Findus!

N wee Jinty smiles aw kind n sais, — Yir a wee darling, ye ken that?

Ah sortay blushes aw rid n then ah pats ma wee boaby man but through ma jeans n goes, — Ah ken what else’ll pit a rerr heat in ye, Jinty, aye sur, ah do that.

But Jinty jist looks aw sad n goes, — No the night, pal, ah’m awfay tired. Ah’m gaun right tae ma kip eftir ma tea, ay. Mibbe the morn but, ay, she goes, then looks at the computer then back at ays wi one eye screwed shut. — Huv you been oan that Internet again?

— Aye, thaire’s a barry website that tells ye what tae dae if thaire’s a war.

— As long as yir no lookin at nookie websites!

— Naw, ah am not, naw, naw. .

— Jist jokin, Jonty! Dinnae worry aboot nookie, yi’ll git it the morn!

— Aye, sur, the morn, ah goes. N ah ken thit she’s no that keen since she’s been daein they late, late shifts in that oafice. Awfay tired, n nae wonder, oan that backshift. Aye sur, aye sur, aye sur: constant backshift. N it disnae worry me; ah jist snuggle up tae wee Jinty in bed n listen tae the stormy weather oan the weather channel n they shippin reports. N if ma wee boaby felly gits hard ah jist gie it a sly wee tug till the funny stuff aw spurts oot, n then ah faw right intae a deep sleep. N if Jinty sees the sheets ur messy in the mornin n goes, ‘What’s aw this?’ ah’ll jist go, ‘Ah must huv been dreamin aboot ye, hen.’ N she’ll jist laugh n go, ‘Ah dinnae think ah’m giein you enough, Jonty MacKay, ya randy wee devil!’ N then she’ll grab a hud ah ays n it’ll aw be double barry!

Aye, it’s great bein wi wee Jinty. Jinty n Jonty, Jonty n Jinty. Sometimes we argue aboot which yin comes first. She’ll go: Jinty n Jonty. Then ah’ll go: Jonty n Jinty. N we’ll hae a big laugh aboot it. Aye we will! Aye sur, aye sur, aye sur. A big laugh. Aye sur, that we will. Aye.

AH HAD A shift at Liberty Leisure tae pit in. Jonty wouldnae be happy, he’s such a wee prude, but tae me it’s a wee bit extra jist for lyin on yir back or suckin oan something. N some ay the clients: thair patter’s no bad. This one auld boy keeps gaun oan at me tae come wi um, tae Barbados or the South ay France. Ah jist goes, — Aye, right, cool yir jets, auld yin, n cough oot the prices. Hud tae laugh oot loud at that yin!

Ah work ootay this place doon by Leith Walk, cause ah’m no likely tae be spotted doon here in Hoboland, n perr wee Jonty thinks ah’m cleanin offices! Cleanin oot pipes mair like! He asks me if thaire’s foreign lassies fae the likes ay Eastern Europe n Africa whaire ah work n ah goes, — Too right, Jonty, ah’m aboot the only Scottish lassie thaire! N eh ay laughs at that, bless his wee hert.

So this Terry felly wi the wild curly hair is overseein the place while Vic’s off tae Spain. Ye kin tell that bastard Kelvin’s no pleased. But if this Terry keeps him in order then ah’m happy. This Terry but, ah’ve heard eh’s a sleaze bucket, cause eh does they scud films thit go oanline. Eh comes in when Andrea’s pittin Leigh-Anne’s hair intae pleats. That Kelvin but, eh’s lookin at me n goes, — It’s weird the wey you lassies kin spend fuckin donks daein that shite tae each other. Like apes fuckin groomin each other.

He eywis gies ays the creeps, Kelvin does. Eh’s goat two basic looks. The first yin’s a pinched sneer; it’s like eh’s sortay frozen in the act ay stabbin somebody. The second yin’s a dumb scowly face, like eh’s tryin tae work oot if it’s a guid idea tae grass some cunt up. That dark, near-skinheid cut oan that low forehead: ah swear that laddie defies nature cause it’s as if that hair’s advancing acroass it, instead ay recedin. One day it’ll fuckin meet they dark, knotted brows, n hopefully cover up they treacherous dancin eyes.