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

So I leave them and jump in the motor in search of Em.

I’m off driving down to the Kraut side of the island, watching the vegetation get lusher and the villages get more picturesque. I hit a few bars, asking questions, showing Em’s picture, which Cynth thoughtfully brought out, an update on my mobile phone edition, but there ain’t nobody biting.

Then as I’m driving back into Corralejo, outside a block of shitty tourist apartments, I see em: them two geezers. Them that was in the Bull the other night.

I pull into the car park outside the gaffs and watch them. The big cunt goes into the apartments, but the little weaselly un turns on his heels and heads back out. He gets into a motor. I follow him and he parks behind the supermarket. It’s empty. He gets out the motor. I do n all. My nerves are jagged with the hangover, all the booze of the other night leaving my system. Sweat’s pouring off me. My limbs feel heavy. I gotta do something, but I ain’t particularly great shakes at the physical side of things as it happens. I loved running with football mobs, but I was never a top lad, never a front-line troop. I’d be game enough when it came to thirty-second windmilling bouts with other mugs, but this cold-bloodied stuff was never my style. But I gotta do something. But I feel like shit. Like proper shit. Like a dirty, discarded, old brown shit sweating in some toilet that won’t flush away.

The geezers might be—

No. I gotta do something—

He sees me approaching.

— Alright, John? I shout at him, pumping myself up, ramping is what I believe they call it, as the faces of every top lad I’ve ever known come into my head, egging me on.

— Mister Landlord, he says with a nasty smile, like he’s some farking Bond villain expecting me. Well, I’m straight over and my nut’s in his face, and he goes down like Cynth on a dirty weekend. The cunt obviously wasn’t expecting that . I’m right down on top of him battering his head off the tarmac, screaming in his face, — I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING GANGSTER BOLLOCKS, I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF AND CRUSH YOUR FARKING SKULL IN A VICE IF YOU’VE TOUCHED ONE HAIR ON MY LITTLE GEL’S HEAD, YOU CAHHNNT!

I can’t hear anything except a ringing in my ears as I crack his weaselly head twice, three, four times, but then I realise that the phone’s ringing The Dam Busters in my jacket. The geezer’s lying under me, moaning and groaning, again like Cynth after a good nailing. And like her, he ain’t going nowhere fast. I tear the wobbly out of my pocket and answer it. It’s only Cynth. — Michael, Emily’s here. Everything’s fine. Jürgen brought her back. We’re all having tea on the veranda. Yeah, they got a little tipsy last night and decided that it might be best not to try and drive so they sat up drinking coffee.

— Sweet. I’ll be back shortly, I say, clicking off the phone. My heart sinks in my chest as I look down at the geezer.

— Please don’t… he begs, and now his voice sounds all posh, — I’m not who you think… he moans.

— I… I… I try to speak and can’t, so I get off him and stand up. — Look, mate, I apologise… I think I might have got the wrong end of the stick. I offer the geezer my hand, but he waves me away and starts to sit up of his own accord, taking deep breaths, rubbing his nut. — I thought you’d kidnapped my daughter to put the frighteners on me cause you thought I heard something I shouldn’t have, which I didn’t, I try to explain. — I mean… a geezer like you…

— I’m an actor , he moans in that posh voice.

Suddenly all I can think of now is old Costas and his stupid farking movie. — Fuck me, I gasp, and I’m helping him up. — Your mate n all?

He rubs his bonce again and keeps taking deep breaths, then bends over like he’s gonna puke. After a bit he lifts up his head. — We’re shooting a film… we were method acting… learning our lines.

— Fuck sake… I’m sorry, mate. I should have thought. I even know the farking film you’re on about, I tell him, helping him back to his motor and sitting him down in the front passenger seat. — I know it might not be much consolation to ya, but you geezers are pretty good at your job, I tell him. — Had me proper wound up, you did! I laugh, but he still ain’t for seeing the funny side.

Later on, when I get back to the pub, I learn that the local Old Bill found out that the businessman geezer got shot by his wife. Seems he was knocking off the au pair, and she caught em on the job and took exception. That made me think: thank fuck for gun control in England! Trees caught me in similar circumstances once and came at me with a kitchen knife. Had to scarper pronto. In another country, say like America, old Mickey here would’ve been brown bread. Just for a farking shag, and not, as I recall, a particularly great one at that.

No doubt the likes of Trees would say it was poetic justice.

So I had the actor blokes, Will and Tom, back at the pub for a night out on me, to show there was no hard feelings. They turned out to be decent geezers: a bit la-di-da, but alright. Even got me some work on the film, Old Iron , playing the hit man’s associate! A speaking part, no less, although my character was called Silent Billy. I had to say, ‘Don’t like the sound of this. Not one bit,’ just before a bunch of us got cut down by a hail of bullets. A thespian debut. I thought: let them get their green eyes on that one back home.

Cynth was fairly enjoying playing mother hen to Em and Seph. Everything seemed sorted for a while, except that every time I looked round, and I ain’t naturally what one might call the paranoid sort, they would all suddenly go quiet. What was it the old cunt said: ‘When the eagles are silent, the parrots begin to jabber.’ — C’mon, you lot, I demanded, — out with it. What’s going on, then?

It was written all over their faces. But when they came out with it, it wasn’t half a proper boot in the bollocks. — Emily’s mother needs her, Cynth says. — She wants to go back.

I look at the kid. I thought that she was going to give me grief cause I had to give that Jürgen geezer a talking-to, even though I don’t think nothing went on. For a Kraut he was a nice young fellah, the sincere type. Thing is, I was sort of getting used to having her around. — Em?

She shrugs and says, — I don’t really want to, Dad. But Mum’s really upset cause that Richie guy she was seeing has packed her in. I’m going to go back and Jürgen’s coming to visit next month. Cynth’s gonna take me over.

I’m instantly uplifted as I look at Cynth and try to stop a smile moulding my face into Mr Sly. — Good of ya to take her, gel. I’d go myself, but there’s this place… I say, looking around the Herefordshire Bull, but all the time thinking about the nailing Seph’s gonna be getting from now on in!

— Yeah, I thought I’d go over and see my parents, Cynth goes, — and also help Persephone find Costas.

— What…?

Seph gives me a poisonous smile, which ages her about thirty years. — He thinks he can do this to me and not pay. I want to look him in the eye and tell him that he is a cowardly, lying dog!

— Sometimes it’s healthier to let it go, gel, I almost plead, looking at Em and seeing the Hardwick in her and hating it. My own flesh and blood: looking like she got a career in white heather sales. In fact, the three of them seem straight from central casting for Macbeth .

Specially, it must be said, Seph, who’s looking proper narked. — No, I will let it go once I have looked into the eye of the coward and liar!

Cynth nods slowly in agreement. She’s got a bleedin nerve acting like Snow White. A certain golfer not a million miles from here wouldn’t be best pleased if he knew what she was up to when he was on the links!