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

— Defin-ite-ly, Monty smiles.

A little later, as we head out to the cars, I whisper to Lara, — He’s certainly no Prince William.

Lara’s features are set in neutrality. She’s freezing me out. My heart skips a beat as she gets into Monty’s car. I can’t disguise my apprehension, and Monty notes it. — Klepto’ll go wi you, make sure ye dinnae git lost, he says darkly.

The van sets off and after standing in the rain for a second or two, I reluctantly climb into the car, opening the passenger-seat door to let Klepto in, and we head off in pursuit. The rain is falling heavily now, thick dollops on the greasy windscreen, and I switch on the wipers.

Klepto sits back in the passenger chair. The seat belt runs in parallel with the diagonal line on his jumper. I can feel his eyes on me, sizing me up. — So what’s your story, then, Jenni? Ye goat a felly on the go?

I start to feel very cold, and I turn up the heater. — Yes, I’m seeing somebody.

My instinctive response tells me that I want to put some boundaries up between this guy and me. I obviously didn’t say it with much conviction, as he smiles and tells me, — Ah dinnae believe ye, then he adds, — Cause that’s no what yir buddy says.

That fucking bitch: trying to set me up with this loser. — I don’t really care what you believe, I tell him.

His voice rises slightly and I can see the menace in his eyes. — Hi, dinnae git snooty, hen, he snaps, and it now seems too hot here in the car. Thankfully, his tone goes back to playful. — Okay, if you’ve got a felly, what’s ehs name well?

— Jason, I say suddenly.

— Jason, Klepto says softly. — So where’s this Jason the night then?

— He had to go and see some friends, I tell him.

I’m hoping that this will stop his cross-examination. It’s a forlorn anticipation though. — Funny how yir mate disnae ken anything aboot this Jason felly, he grins. I can barely see the van ahead.

I decide to keep focused on the road and ask, without looking round at him, — Does your friend know everything you do?

— Monty? He laughs. — Aye. Pretty much.

This seems to spark off a thoughtful period and thankfully he’s silent for a bit. I turn the heating down and look out to the sodden brown hills that shiver in the rain. Just when I’m starting to relax, his eerie voice fills the car again.

— Bet you’ve got a few boyfriends though. Tidy lassie like you, they’ll be queuin up.

I try to ignore him, but I can’t help feeling sickeningly flattered. There are so many boys whom I’d like to hear say that to me, but him…

— Tell ye what though, Jenni, kin ah ask ye a question?

How can you respond to something like that? I can’t even shrug it off. I look straight ahead at the road through the wipers.

— Is that a yes or a no?

— Ask if you must, I huff in defeated tones. Then annoyed with myself for conceding ground, I snap, — I’m trying to concentrate on the road!

It doesn’t phase him as he advances his predictable but scary proposition. — Do you think if somebody is gaun oot wi somebody, they should be allowed tae snog other people. Jist snog, likes.

Even through my anxiety and distaste, I can’t help thinking how I’d actually enjoy this sort of flirting, if the guy asking the question wasn’t a gormless, chipmunk-toothed psycho rapist. — Depends, I spit out.

— On what? he says, his mouth hanging open.

I’m recast in the patronising moron’s role again. — On what both parties have agreed, on the type of relationship they have.

— Aye, he nods stupidly.

And there’s something about that stupidity, that level of predatory cretinism in my car, that makes me react in a way I shouldn’t. — Aye, I echo, — and whatever my circumstances, I can’t believe that there would ever be a time when I’d want to snog you. So I’d appreciate it if you talked about something else, or better still, just shut the fuck up.

I don’t look in his direction, but I hear his breathing change. It becomes laboured, as if forcing against the air conditioning of the car. Then his voice, strangled, throaty, rasping like a buzz saw rings in my car. — You think thit yir fuckin shite disnae stink, eh, ya posh wee hoor?

My confidence starts to evaporate. I shouldn’t have said that. I was winning. — Look, I’m trying to drive.

— Good, you jist keep drivin, he says and he leans across and puts his hand down the front of my jumper!

I fucking don’t believe it! — Fuck off! What the fuck are you doing! I slam on the brakes and thankfully there’s nobody behind us. I push his hand away. — Get out! Get out the fucking car!

— Make ays, he challenges, his eyes like that of a half-starved bear in a nature documentary.

I get my mobile phone from my bag. He snatches it out of my hand! — Give me that back!

— Uh-uh. Gie’s a wee flash ay the tit n ye git it back, he grins, putting it behind his back. I’m not going to wrestle this pervert for my phone. That’s what he wants!

Instead, I try to reason with him. — Look, Lara’s going to call me if we’re late.

— Naw, ah reckon thit her n big Monty’ll be gittin busy somewhaire, he grins. — C’moan, a wee flash ay the tit n ah’m happy. Ah’m a man ay muh word. Otherwise, he raises his voice, — it’ll just have tae be a smack across the fuckin chops.

For fuck’s sake, how can this be happening? I look at the door.

— Dinnae start wi that, he snaps. — Dinnae be silly, now. Aw ah want’s a wee flash ay yir tits. Ah’ll keep muh hands tae masel. Scout’s honour.

— If it means that fucking much to you, I curse in impotent rage. That fucking bitch Lara slumming it with psychopaths and dragging me into her shit! I open my blouse and pull up my bra. — There. You’ve seen my tits. Happy now?

— Ecstatic, he laughs, as I rearrange my clothes. — As ah sais, ah’m a man ay muh word. Just got muh rep as a ladies’ man tae think ay. Now, when ah’m sittin in the pub n if the talk gits smutty, ah’ll be able tae describe your paps. And that wee mole on the right tit.

— God, you’re so pathetic.

His smile vanishes again. — Shut the fuck up and drive.

I do exactly that, through my anger and humiliation. I hate myself for getting stuck with a psycho bully in my car, but most of all I fucking hate Lara. At least the moron shuts his filthy mouth, except to bark the occasional direction.

We cross into Clackmannanshire, pulling off at this farm near Alloa. It’s a slip road with an unmarked entrance that you’d pass without thought if you didn’t know it was there. Soon the asphalt vanishes and turns into a gravelly mud. The farmhouse looks run-down and has a big barn, with lots of cars parked outside it, many of them big 4x4s. I can’t wait to get out and I do it too quickly, my boots sinking into thick mud. I want to say something to Lara, but she’s got that nutter Monty with her. — Got a little bit lost, she smiles.

— See youse did n aw, Monty sniggers at Klepto. He has his hulky pitbull terrier with him, which is thankfully muzzled. It comes over to me and sniffs at my leg.

— A wee bit, but it’s the detour thit makes it worthwhile, that fucking inadequate sex offender, Klepto sneers. — Ah did see a couple ay nice wee hills on the wey oot, he bends down and slaps the dog’s muscled sides.

I swallow hard and move away from them, looking over to the barn. There’s a guy on the door, and Monty nods at him and we go inside. It’s packed. Old doors, turned on their sides, are bolted together to form a ring, which seems about twelve foot square. The ring is covered in old carpet, presumably to stop the dogs from slipping when they attack each other. I have to admit that the whole grotesque pantomime is oddly fascinating.