Donal Ryan - The Spinning Heart

My mother and father got the house out here on account of me being a dependent adult child. My head is all over the place since I was small on account of I was fiddled with by a fat nonce down the road from our old house inside in town. He used to put on videos of all the films my auld fella never took me to see and I’d come in and watch them like a fool and he’d stick his hand down my pants while I stood there, eating my ten-pence bars, glued to the fucking Ninja Turtles or The Lion King or some shite. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic shock, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, manic depression, scoliosis, psoriasis, addictive personality and a few more things. I learnt them ones off by heart for telling them shitbags inside in the welfare office where to stick their fuckin job interviews. Here, Jason, go out there to Dell for an interview. I will in my bollocks, I have … and then I’d list off all my things wrong with me and eventually the shitbag would get sick of my bullshit and say okay, okay, for fuck’s sake, just sign on so to fuck. All you have to do is start interfering with them cunts’ tea breaks and they’ll do anything to get you to fuck off.

I got the post-traumatic shock years ago after this mad auld culchie shot a lad right in front of me. The lad that got shot nearly died and all — they had to cut his leg off. My head was in bits after that for ages. He would of shot me too I’d say only he was using a shotgun and when his two shots was gone he thrown the gun in over a wall and fucked off. I think he thought we gave some friend of his a hiding or something. I nearly shat in my pants when he shot your man Eugene. I thought fuck this; I’m a dead man. I was paralysed with the fear, man, I don’t mind telling you. I might have pissed a small bit in my pants, even. I don’t think anyone noticed though, I had a white tracksuit legs on me. The mad auld bollocks went off then and done away with himself and the whole lot. That just shows he knew he was in the wrong. I never went near nobody. I might have kicked some farmer lad in the face a few times but he was a smart cunt who always gave your man Eugene a load of shit in school and all. I didn’t want nothing to do with these culchie boys’ feuds but it seemed only decent to help that Eugene prick seeing as he was so upset over your man. And he was a sound skin, that Eugene; he was my only pal out in this hole. I bursted my tackie off of your man’s head and the whole lot.

I didn’t stop at the spider on my cheek. I was in a bad way over that wan that had a child for me and then slammed the door of her brand-new apartment in my face. I didn’t want the spider reminding me of her the whole time so I got it turned into a sort of a fat Celtic cross, but it ended up taking up nearly a whole half of my face and then I looked unbalanced only having shit on the one side so your man done a snake up the other side, sort of looking over at the cross with its tongue sticking out. It looked rapid at the start but now I think my face must’ve gotten fat because the snake is all wavy in the wrong way and flat and crappy-looking. It was fair sore getting it done, though. Your man has a wan working in the shop with him, I’d say she’s Polish or something, and she’d put a horn on a dead man. Your man knows well no prick is going to chicken out of getting his tattoo while she’s waving her tits into his face or walking past slowly, smiling, with her long legs and her beautiful arse.

Them apartments they give to slappers do be fair nice. They do kit them out and all for them, and not shite — proper stuff from Reids and all. The wan that had the child for me got a leather couch, two leather armchairs, a chandelier, a microwave, a fridge-freezer, the whole lot. I seen it all in through the door that time. I should of bursted in through the door and slapped the head off her and had a proper go at playing around with the young fella, but she told me fuck off, the welfare pricks were all over them like flies on shite that time, and I said ah come on, the cops are all over me and she roared WHAT! THE COPS? JESUS! FUCK OOOOOFFFFF! And the door of that rapid apartment nearly split in two she slammed it so hard in my face. Shite, I thought, I shouldn’t of told her about the cops and stuff until after I’d the hole rode off her. Women do be less uptight after a ride. Especially off me — I’m fair good at it.

Like, they’re all going mad off their heads around here, all the boggers, acting like the world is ending just because your man Bobby Mahon smashed his auld fella’s head in. Their faces are all red and worried-looking. Your man that’s dead was on the way out anyway. I often seen him out at his door, coughing his lungs up when I’d be passing down with the dogs. He was a freaky-looking bollocks. He’d never salute, only pull on his fag if he wasn’t coughing and stare at me and I’d stare back and I’d have something smart all ready to shout over at him and then some feeling would come over me and tell me not to bother my hole and he’d hawk and spit and so I wouldn’t. You have to trust your instincts when you’re a dopey fuck like me. A sort of a cold wave came off that auld fella. He looked dark, even last week, when the evenings were shiny bright. No wonder your man Bobby killed the fucker. I’d say he did his head in.

Your man Bobby is fair sound all the same. He tried to give me a job one time all right, but I’m not holding that against him. I think he thought he was doing me a favour. My auld fella brung me out to your man Bobby’s house and all, the night before I was meant to start work on some mad lunatic building site or something. I’d look fuckin pretty on a building site, wouldn’t I? State of me. But them FÁS cunts were making me seeing as I done a construction skills course and a Safe Pass yoke and the whole lot. I only done them to keep them happy at the hatch, I thought that was understood. I told your man Bobby, Jaysus sorry mate, I suffers awful from my back, and my head is all over the place, and he only laughed and said fair enough and thanked me and all for letting him know. Then he looked over at my auld fella’s shiteheap of a Corolla and said Christ lads, that front wheel is buckled to bits and I said I know bud, it’s like getting a spin in the Flintstones’ car, ha ha ha, and fuck me if he didn’t tell me hang on there a minute and went over to his big shed and rooted around and pulled out a fourteen-inch, four-stud wheel with a fair decent tyre on it and all and jacked my auld lad’s car up and put it on and my auld lad was a fucking embarrassment saying ah, you’re a decent skin, you’re a decent skin, I’ll pay you for it and all when I’m flush, and your man Bobby knew for a fact that was bullshit but he didn’t give a shit. Yerra, it was only lying around here, he said, I don’t even know where it came out of.

That’s the way he was. The auld fella’s car went sweet as a nut with that new wheel. Your man Bobby done that turn for fellas that was as good as strangers to him and looked for nothing back and nearly made it sound like it was us doing him a favour. I felt like some cunt after it. I wasn’t even sure why.

YOU KNOW, I don’t think Réaltín realizes the trouble she causes half the time. Every single person in work knows about her going off with George at the anniversary party, but still it’s me that has to get the evil eye off all the old bitches all day every day. It’s grand for Réaltín, off on her so-called special career break. That was a new one for Georgie Pervy, the chickenshit bastard. Jesus, how are all men the exact same? George leches all over everyone, well, all the young ones anyway, and no one gives it a second thought, but Réaltín has to take it to the next level and actually shag him. But Réaltín doesn’t care; she just does anything she wants. I’m not saying I don’t love her, I really do, she’s gorgeous , and she’s brilliant craic and everything, but — I’d never say this to anyone — she’s going to have to cop herself on. She’s going to have to decide what she’s doing with her life and stop being such a disaster.