Irvine Welsh - If You Liked School, You'll Love Work

— Oi! I protest. — I don’t think I like this spent seed bit.

— Your child is also a girl.

— That don’t mean nothing.

She gives me a knowing look, which, given our history, chuffs me no end. — But it means that you are a man; that is for sure. My father is the same. He once said to me that all the stuff of man-ness has gone into him, there was nothing left over for his offspring. But I know that a grandson would warm his heart and some day I will give him one.

I’m thinking: I’d like to give you one. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the booze, but a nailing is absolute priority.

— Costas and I will live in England, close to London, she says, finally lighting up a ciggy and sticking the pack and lighter back into her bag. — He will improve his English and find acting work, while I study. Then we will have sons, many Greek sons, she smiles and raises her glass, forcing me to toast.

I’m thinking that we ain’t got much time if she wants a bottling fitted in, but then she explains that she’s waiting on Costas, making me feel a right cunt. I set up more drinks.

Baker ain’t sticking no bun in an oven here.

Costas finally shows up. He’s a skinny bloke with blond hair, looks more like a farking Swede than a Greek, and he’s got a nervous way about him. First impressions ain’t always right but he don’t look the sort of geezer what’s gonna settle down and breed a load of Finsbury Park kebab cutters.

Seph intros us and he looks shiftily at me, then her. Something’s up here.

— Alright, Cost? How goes the movie business?

Seph decides she’s gonna go to the shop to get some stuff. — I will leave you boys for a while to get to know each other, she smiles, happy as a fly in shit.

Sure enough, Costas ain’t slow in opening up to me. — The woman is crazy. She thinks that we’re getting married. Huh! Her father caught me dealing cocaine to tourists on their island. He threatened to have me locked up if I didn’t go along with her crazy scheme. Said he had police contacts all over Greece and would make my life miserable. London would be nice for my career, but…

— A lovely gel, don’t get me wrong, but she’s a few bob short of the big note, if you get my drift.

Costas pulls a grim smile, and throws down the bulk of a rum and Coke. His face is tense and sweaty. He lets the tumbler hit the table in a heavy bang, which attracts the waitress, and he signals another two up. — In Greece we say that some sheep may be missing from the flock.

I nod in total sincerity. Costas ain’t a happy camper. He’s been made a proper Herbert. Herbertitis A, I would say. I’m warming to the geezer, though. — Her father asked me about my family. If I had brothers. For sure, I tell him, six of them, and no sisters. His face expands into the grin of a reptile. Later on he… he shakes his head and shudders in the heat and the waitress brings more drinks.

— Wot?

— He tries to touch me, he spits, outraged. — Like I was a bitch.

— Wot happened?

Old Cost fairly bursts into a rant. — I push him away. He says, ‘That is good. You are a man.’ They are crazy: the whole family. I have to get away from them all. My shooting time here has wrapped up today, but I have not told her that. Tomorrow I will go to London and stay with my uncle. Away from the crazy bitch and her fascist homosexual father. Did you know that he even gave me the ring to give to her? Picked it himself. Diamond and sapphire. For his daughter’s eyes, he said. It is he himself who should be fucking her. When you hear them talk it is like that is what they both want!

I’ve listened more attentively than any man should to a broadside delivered at that velocity. — It don’t look good at all. I drum my fingers on the table. — I’d scarper, mate, and pretty sharpish. What’s it the Yanks say: get the fark outta Dodge!

Cost leans closer to me, reeking of old fags, booze and garlic. — I plan to do this. The only thing that worries me is what she will do! She is crazy, I tell you!

I think about this one. — Leave that to me, mate. It needs an Englishman’s touch; stiff upper lip, keeping calm when all those around you are losing the plot. Think John Mills, Kenneth More and all that mob, I wink, giving it a little chorus of Dam Busters .

So when Seph returns, Costas tells her that he got a call to go back on set. She pouts a little, but he silences her with a kiss. I like it. I see a pro at work. As he goes, he slips me a little note that I’ll give to her later. And hopefully, it won’t be all that I give her. I slide it into my chinos pocket.

I’m pretty farked as Seph and I head for Worthy’s place. She’s been brighter n all, cause the drinks are fairly kicking in. — Actors are so dedicated. It is their craft, she slurs.

— Yeah. It’s a tough job, I tell her, holding the door of the Cumbria open, gentleman-style, to let her in. — They’d be very hard to replace if they ever went on strike. The global economy would be well farked. What would we evah do without the likes of Tom Cruise?

She punches me jokingly on the arm as we step inside the boozer and I immediately clock Pete Worth, looking all buff and tanned, like a big farking blouse. He sees me at the same time and is coming out from behind the bar. — Alroight, sahn! Looking a bit paunchy, he goes, prodding my gut.

— Ain’t got time to be in the gym twenty-four/seven like some. You steroided up or wot? I ask, grabbing his bulging bicep. — The old bollocks must be the size of dried peas by now!

— At least I’ll be able to see em without the use of a mirror, you cahnt, he laughs and before I know what I’m doing, I’m sucking it in a little. It’s all this hanging out with Cynth. The follow-up to passive smoking: passive calorie absorption.

Worthy don’t notice though, as his eyes are elsewhere. — And who is this little beauty? Alright, darlin?

Seph looks him up and down. — My name is Persephone.

— Seph’s old man’s a big noise in the Greek Old Bill, ain’t that so, darling?

— On the island I grew up on, my father is chief of police, she says.

— That’s the whole island n all, ain’t that so, gel? I tip Worthy a wink and he sets up some beers and a round of shots. He’s joking with Seph about her old man’s gaff and I take my opportunity to discreetly slip Cost’s note into her white shoulder bag. It’s like lighting a slow fuse, and fireworks are sure to follow. I’ll need a few drinks for this little show.

So Worthy, a very avuncular mine host, sets us up another round. Then some more. It goes all muddy for a bit, then Worthy puts some Greek plate-smashing music on and Seph and I are giving it loads. A fat cunt in a London accent says something and for some reason I get the hump. Some time later I hear a glass smashing on the stone floor of the bar and somebody pushes me and there’s raised voices. It’s like I’m wearing about six balaclavas though, cause the next thing I know is that I’m falling down a flight of stairs and then there’s nothing.

I wake up lying on a bed, with all my clothes still on. Somebody’s next to me, I can hear loud snores. It’s Seph, still in her dress. It’s ridden up a bit and I can see her white cotton knickers are still on. Smoothed, bronzed thighs, all the way up to paradise. But if my memory serves, them pants should be way too scanty to contain that big, black bush, but there ain’t no sign of it. She’s only gone and went Brazilian on me!

Obviously, no nailing went on last night. I turn away, I’m just torturing myself; besides my farking head feels like it’s gonna explode into small fragments. I recognise this gaff: it’s Worthy’s pad. Small front room and bedroom, kitchen, balcony. There’s no sign of him, he’s probably gone off on the nail somewhere.