Ирвин Уэлш - Dead Men's Trousers

— That was an emotionally barren relationship, and it probably suited ays at the time, I tell her, glancing at the manageress looking at me like I’m a Rottweiler who has just shat on the lawn ay her country garden. — Then Alex came along, and he had certain needs, so I stuck around way too long, trying tae make it work.

— I wish you weren’t so nice about this… I mean, you give a guy a dose of the clap and he says it’s not important… but I know it was. I know that’s why you didn’t get in touch.

— No… I saw somebody else too, I admit. — From my own past. It was nothing, and as you say, terms were never defined, but I thought that I’d given it tae you .

— Oh God, what a pair we are, she gasps in something like relief. I’m wondering if she believes what I’ve said or thinks I’m just making it up tae help her feel better. — How did you… did Willow… does she know about the STD?

— Yes, she did, and no, she doesnae ken aboot the Maria von Trapp. As I said, these things happen. It was just a daft wee accident. Your sis, honey… that’s the real deal. I’m so sorry. I squeeze Victoria tighter. Then a juddering bolt surges right through ays as Marianne and Emily gatecrash intae ma thoughts and ma fingers painfully intertwine with hers.

— You’re really are a nice guy, Mark, Vicky says, tearing me away fae my ain pulsing angst. This is a fucking roller coaster. I cannae even speak. I thought getting older would make things easier. Does it fuck.

Her big haunted blue eyes. I want tae swim in them. I’m barely reacting tae the worst compliment you can gie tae somebody like me: a nice guy . Tae my Leith lugs, it’s always a euphemism for a sap, even if she doesnae mean it that way. Sometimes ye have tae step past yourself. Past aw those voices you’ve always heard in your heid. All the shite that you’ve let define ye: that ignorance, certainty and reticence. Because it’s fuckin crap, all of it. You’re nothing but a work-in-progress until that day you fall out of this world into the land ay dead men’s trousers. — I love you.

Vicky lifts her head, and looks at me, joy and pain bursting out through her tears. A snottery bubble explodes from one nostril. I pass her a napkin. — Oh, Mark, thank you for saying it first! I missed seeing you so much. Christ, I love the shit out of you, and I thought I’d blown it!

I’m fuckin useless at receiving praise and this is as high as it gets. I respond wi humour, tae reduce the unbearable tension and the strangulating rapture inside ay me. — If you’re referring to your nose, then yes, you just did. If you mean you and me, I’m afraid you’re no getting away that easily.

Vicky puts her beautiful, reddish, blubbering face onto mine and her lips send soul-scorching kisses through me. I can taste the salty discharge fae her beak, trickling over our lips, and I love it. We sit there for ages, oblivious even tae the undoubted scrutiny ay the manageress, and talk about her sister. Hannah died in a car crash in Dubai, where she was on a break fae her duties working for an overseas aid organisation in Africa. A driver in a car in the opposite lane went into cardiac arrest, lost control and smashed intae her head-on, killing her instantly. Ironically, he survived, and was resuscitated with minor injuries. Vicky looks at her watch, and ye sense that she’s been putting it off. — We should make our way to the crematorium, she says.

I pay the young lassie, leaving a decent tip. She smiles appreciatively, as the manageress tracks our departure, her face set in Thatcherite cheerlessness. Ootside, we walk through the Queen’s Gardens, along the grassy banks ay the River Avon. — It’s pretty cool here. Wish thaire wis time tae see Auld Sarum and Stonehenge.

— Honey, we are going to have to continue this romance in LA, because your accent has gotten so thick, I can barely understand you, and she laughs and my soul ignites.

— It has, hasn’t it? Been back a lot lately, seeing some old pals.

— I’m dreading seeing mine, cause they were Hannah’s friends too.

Fuck me, ah wish ah could take her pain, but that’s the narcissistic element ay love talking. It’s no yours tae take. All you can dae is be there.

It’s maybe a crass thing tae say, but wi its big chessboard walls oan the main building and the tower, Salisbury has the coolest crematorium ah’ve ever seen. As the mourners acknowledge each other, I leave Vicky tae her grim meet-and-greet duties. An attendant, noting me taking in the architecture, explains that Scandinavians designed the facility. Tae me it feels uplifting rather than morose, reminding me ay the DMT trips, like a launchpad tae the next life. Nonetheless, the funeral is shite, as the untimely death ay a young person always is. I obviously didnae ken Hannah, but the outpouring ay grief and torment is real enough tae evidence a pretty amazing and deeply loved woman. They talk about Hannah’s VSO work, culminating in NGO stuff in Ethiopia and Sudan, then working for a human rights charity based in London. The sort ay person a total wanker, that never did a thing for anybody in their lives, least of all themselves, would dismiss as a do-gooder. — I wish I’d known her. I kind of miss not knowing her, I tell Vicky.

Instead I get tae meet Victoria’s remaining family and her friends. Her mum and dad, the dimmed life-essence in their eyes set in ashen pallor, have had everything ripped out ay them, and are clearly broken. I’ve lost two brothers and my ma but I still feel it doesn’t give me a notion of the kind ay road they have tae go down in order tae get back tae any sort ay normality. Vicky helps, and they cling tae her like limpets. They can see the bond between us and don’t seem tae be unhappy about it. They probably wish I was a bit younger. Fair enough, I feel the same way.

As funerals do, it made ays think ay the people I know. How I have tae make mair time for them. It takes practically two minutes to put this resolution tae the test as I switch my phone back on after the service at the chapel of rest. I’m rereading that old email from Victoria. She wisnae ditching me, she was assuming I was ditching her because she gied me a dose. I then see three missed calls from an Edinburgh landline number. My first thought is: my dad . He’s healthy, but he’s no young any more. Things can change so quickly. When the same number goes again, I pick up as I watch Vicky and her parents shake hands wi the departing mourners.

— Mark, it’s Alison. Alison Lozinska.

— I know who you are, Ali. I recognise the voice. How are ye?

— Good. But it’s Danny.

— Spud? How is he?

— He’s gone, Mark. He died this morning.

Fuck .

No Spud .

No my snottery-nosed old comrade in misadventure… Berlin… What the fuck…

I’m feeling bits ay masel breaking off inside. No believing a word ay it. Not fucking having it. — But… he was getting better…

— It was his heart. They said it was weakened after the poisoning, following that kidney donation.

— But… oh fuck… how is your son, the name pops into my head, — how is Andy taking it?

— He feels terrible, Mark, he thinks he should have tried to help his dad more.

— He couldnae be Spud’s parent, Ali, it’s not on him.

Ali is silent for such a long while, I’m wondering if she’s hung up. As I go to speak, her voice starts again. — I’m just glad Danny did something so good wi his life, donating that kidney tae save that bairn.

This is obviously the narrative that’s been spun, so I’m fucked if I’m ruining it. – Aye, it was a great thing he did. How did he — what happened?

— He had a big heart attack a few days back. That almost did him, and the doctors telt him that a second yin was in the post. Listen, Mark, Danny left something for ye. A package.