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

So that night, n it’s been an exhaustin yin, n it’s good tae git tae kip eftir sayin goodbye tae ma Fife buddies. Thought the Neebour n the Duke wir pretty graceful aboot it aw, mair so thin Reg Comorton, whae skulked away doon the street. The auld man didnae seem too bothered, but ye could tell thit aw eh wis thinking aboot wis gittin Frances back hame n roadtestin yon new placky hip ay hers. A win-win situ fir sure; if it doesnae stand the punishment, then it’s surely grounds fir a big compo claim against the NHS. But eh’s left us the hoose, n wi git in, too shagged oot fir any ridin, passin oot in the bed.

It’s a murky dirty morning n wir oan the back ay the bike, ridin oot ay toon, hurtling doon a road, jist passin the spot where Kravy went oaf the bike. N ah feel free, cause the speed doesnae worry me, ah’m drivin us oot ay here n ay kin feel Jenni hudin oantae ma waist but as soon as ah appreciate the sensation wir no longer linked or even oan the bike cause wir fawin through blackness, hurtlin through space…

I ELBOW JASON in the side. He wakes up with a start. — We’re in the motor, he gasps in a happy relief. How he can sleep through Marilyn Manson blasting out ‘This is the New Shit’ on the car stereo is beyond me.

I rub his head, tousling his hair. — You don’t say. Where else did you think we were?

— I had a terrible dream… it wis awfay…

— I heard you mumbling in your sleep. C’mon, Jay, how do you expect me to stay awake and drive when you keep dropping off? I moan, looking quickly back to a drooling Ambrose. — Just as well I’ve got you here, isn’t it, boy?

Poor dear doesn’t know he’s going to be banged up in quarantine for four months. Jason catches him sniffing at a ‘Northern Soul — Keep the Faith’ holdall on the back seat. He leans over and pulls it onto his lap. — Fuck off, Ambrose, ya cunt, he shakes his head, — yir no gittin that, ya hoor ye. He unzips it and looks again at Kravy’s yellow-white skull.

— Keep that zipped up, I urge him, — it’s a bad habit to get into, looking at it all the time.

He quickly complies, nodding and fixing me with those big, stary eyes. — Aye. Right enough, he stretches out and yawns. — Tell ye what but, ah’m gled thit Neebour Watson wanted tae buy yon bike.

— Yes, it was good to be able to offer your dad and Mrs Kravitz the money.

— Aye, n it wis even nicer ay thaime only tae take half!

— Maybe we should treat ourselves to a sleeping berth on that ferry, I squeeze his leg. — I think that we’re due a wee bit of decadence.

I watch his eyes extend, almost to the point that you feel they’re going to fall out of his head, like the robot in Futurama . — Aye, right enough, ya hoor ye. Adventures oan the high sea, goat tae be hud. Take turns tae play cabin boy n captain! Aye, oan yon Pompey tae Cherbourg ferry! He turns round to the dog. — Auld Ambrose here kin git intae the gender-bendin or species-bendin spirit ay things by playin the ship’s cat, eh, auld felly, he says, rubbing a panting, excited Ambrose’s scarred, slavering chops.

That crazy boy just cracks me up.

YA HOOR, KRAVY wisnae half right aboot Spain. Ah fuckin well love it. Eh wis also right aboot the bird fae Setubal’s prediliction fir threesomes n aw; first thing ah did wis insist tae Jenni thit wi looked her up. Unfortunately, she nivir shared the enthusiasm; so that yin wis snookered. Cannae moan but, life isnae sae bad.

Wi goat a joab in they stables. Jenni loves it and ah think ah might finally be gittin used tae hoarses. Nae bikes fir me, but, that’s a definite non-starter. Spanish doaktirs’ll amputate yir leg if yuv goat an itch oan it. Ah’ve kept Kravy’s skull. Fir a while ah wis stuck as what tae dae wi it. Ah tried tae bury it in wur wee patio gairden but Ambrose kept diggin it up. It now sits in the bathroom. See um every morning; whin ah dae a crap, take a shower, or brush the choppers. It’s only a piece ay auld bone, but ah sometimes think thit it smiles a bit mare broadly thin before. That’s probably jist me, but.

Ah still think ay masel as the King ay Fife, but ah’m a king in exile, voluntary exile, n ah’m in nae hurry tae git back. Ye kin caw it the Kingdom ay Fife if ye like; ah prefer tae cry it the Fiefdom ay King, ya hoor, sor!

When you write about places such as Cowdenbeath, and you come from a physically wee (but spiritually vast) country like Scotland, you have the responsibility to emphasise that this is not meant to depict the ‘real’ place, but rather the ‘Cowdenbeath’ of my imagination at the particular time of writing. Any resemblance to ‘real’ persons is coincidental and purely unintentional. Obviously, the same goes for Arizona, Fuertaventura, Nevada, Montana, Montrose, Mars or wherever these stories are set.

Big thanks to Beth for her unfailing help, advice and love. Thanks to Robin, Katherine, Sue and Laura at Random House for their continued indulgence of me. Mark Cousins and Don De Grazia were kind enough to read some of these stories and give valued feedback. My screenwriting partner Dean Cavanagh was very generous in providing me with the space to complete these stories, at a period when demands on our time were particularly high. I’m fortunate in that if I listed my friends, family and colleagues who have provided me with all sorts of support, it would add considerably to the length of this book. I hope you know who you are and that I wish good things on you.

Irvine Welsh is the author of eight novels and four books of shorter fiction. His most recent novel Skagboys is the prequel to the bestselling Trainspotting . He currently lives in Chicago. www.irvinewelsh.net

Trainspotting

The Acid House

Marabou Stork Nightmares

Ecstasy

Filth

Glue

Porno

The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs

Crime

Reheated Cabbage

Skagboys

You’ll Have Had Your Hole

Babylon Heights (with Dean Cavanagh)

The Acid House

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Epub ISBN 9781407018102

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Published by Vintage 2008

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Copyright © Irvine Welsh 2007

Irvine Welsh has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Jonathan Cape

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ISBN 9780099483595