Ecstasy (20 page)

– Oh right. I said to Liz but.

– Oh yeah. I see.

– Fine then.

– Fine.

Fine. I meet Liz in MacDonald’s, then we’re back in the East Port Bar and we’ve downed some gins and then it’s a taxi out to Kelty and to the club. – What ye daein gaun oot tae Kelty, girls? Only hoors n miners come fae Kelty, the taxi driver tells us.

– Hi! Enough ay that, neebs! Ah come fae Kelty! Liz says.

– What pit is it ye worked at, hen? the driver asks, before dropping us off in the club car-park.

We got in and found seats in the corner. There was a huge mirrored ball in the centre of the dance-floor. Liz cast her eye over to a table near the bar.

– That’s ma ex, she said, – Davie. Good-lookin felly, eh? She nodded over at a guy concentrating on his bingo card. He was soon making his way towards us.

I nodded at Liz’s remark with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, but I wasn’t really in full agreement. You could tell that Davie’s looks had once been there, but that impression was more to do with his flirty confidence than any physical tasties the ravages of time and drink had left over. He gazed over at me and smiled almost moronically. There was something though.

– It was the blue eyes ah fell fir, Liz said, as Davie came through the crowd and sat beside us.

– How ye doin, hen? And who’s this lovely young lady?

– This is Heather fae the work.

– Hello, I said.

– Glad to make your acquaintance, Heather. And can I get you lovely ladies a drink?

– Two G&Ts would go down well, Liz said.

– As good as done, Davie smiled, heading for the bar.

Davie not so much played to the strength of his big blue eyes, as put all his eggs into the one seductive bucket. Soon his playing around with his gaze made him look more than vaguely cretinous.

– The trouble wis, Liz confirmed my suspicions as he went up to the toilet, – thir wisnae that much gaun oan behind those eyes.

4 Lloyd

Ah woke up on Woodsy’s couch feeling shitey. Ah was sick, with a dentist-drill headache and my lip was burst and swollen and ah had like a nasty smudged bit of purple black mascara under my right eye. This reminded me why ah took Class As instead of alcohol. Ah mind ay Nukes and me paggering. Fuck knows whether it was wi each other or some other fucker. Given the slightness of my wounds it was probably some other fucker cause Nukes is a hard cunt and would have done me a lot more damage.

– You fucked it up goodstyle last night, eh? Woodsy said, bringing me a cup of tea.

– Aye, ah said, still too out off it to feel too apologetic, – Nukes n me hit the satellite tellies and went for it. Ended up in some brawl.

– Youse cunts are fuckin crazy. Alcohol’s Satan’s instrument, man. As fir jellies … well, it’s no often that ah agree wi that poofy wee Tory cunt on the telly … but fuckin hell, man, ah expect such behaviour fae Nukes, him being a cashie n that, but ah thought you’d have a wee bit mair savvy, Lloyd.

– Aw Woodsy, man, ah pleaded. That cunt Woodsy was still on this religion kick. He’d kept at it, mind you, it was last summer when it began. The cunt had claimed to have seen God after two Supermarios and two snowballs at the outdoor Rezurrection. We dumped him in the Garage Room tae chill, he seemed tae be overheating badly. Ah stuck a Volvic in his hand and left him to the pink elephants. Wrong really, but ah was so fucking up and the light show was so phenomenal in the main tent that ah wanted tae get back to the action. Two maternalish Party Chicks kept an indulgent eye on him.

The careplan fucked up when Woodsy’s queasy attack necessitated him leaving the Party Chicks and heading for the chemical bogs to converse with the big aluminium telephone. It was in one of those putrid traps that he met the Big Chief.

The worst thing was that God apparently told him that Ecstasy was His gift to those in the know, who then had the duty to spread the word. He apparently instructed Woodsy to set up a Rave Gospel club.

Now ah didnae ken whether or no Woodsy’s head had fried, or he was on some self-important control kick; perhaps a Koresh-style scam to access as many Party Chicks as required. Are you receiving me, girls? Are you really ready to receive me, and all that head-fucking schissee, shit, merde, shite. Whatever, he was picking the wrong drug for a control freak. The only person you can control on E is yourself. Koresh wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if he had his posse E’d in Waco. Cut the fuckin religious shit, Davey ma man, we came to dance …

– Listen, Lloyd, you still goat they Technics decks at yours?

– Aye, bit thir Shaun’s like. Jist till eh comes back fae Thailand, eh.

Shaun was gaunny be away for a year, but if he had any sense he’d stey away for good, and Shaun was a sharp cunt. He’d teamed up with this guy from Lancashire called The Crow, and they had made a small fortune screwing rich cunt’s hooses. They had wisely decided tae call it quits before they did that one job too many and hit the trail to Thailand via Goa. Nice for them and nice for me as ah inherited the decks and Shaun’s record collection which boasted some ice-cool soul rarities.

– Ye must be gitting quite good oan them, eh?

– Awright, aye, ah lied. Ah’d only been looking after the decks for a couple of months. Ah had nae sense ay timing, nae motor skills and no a great deal ay vinyl. Ah had wanted tae practise oan them mair, but ah had been doing some joinery work on the side with my mate Drewsy and ah was daein quite a bit ay dealing for The Poisonous Cunt.

– Look, Lloyd, ah’ve goat this gig organised at the Reck-Tangle
Club
in Pilton. Ah want you oan the bill. You first, then me. What dae ye think?

– When’s this?

– Next month. The fourteenth. It’s a while likes.

– Sound. Count ays in.

Ah was shite on the decks but ah reasoned that a deadline would force ays tae get my act thegither. Ah wisnae so chuffed when Woodsy telt me he wanted samplings of hymns and gospel music mixed intae techno, house, garage and ambient stuff, but ah was still up for it.

Anyway, ah decided tae spend a lot of time at home with the decks. A lot ay my mates, especially Nukes, Ally and Amber, were pretty supportive. They came round for a blow, and often brought dance records they’d borrowed. Ah started going tae a few clubs straight to watch the DJs and see what they did. My favourite was Craig Smith, the Edinburgh DJ at Solefusion, who always seemed to be having loads of fun with what he was doing. Too many seemed po-faced cunts with no spirit, and it showed in the Richard Millhouse. Ye cannae gie other cunts enjoyment if you cannae enjoy it yourself.

One afternoon ah was settling down to a bit of Richard Nixon when the door went. Ah had the music on low, but ah still thought it was the yuppie cunts across the landing who complained about anything and everything.

Ah opened the door and before me stood auld Mrs McKenzie from doonstairs. – Soup, she spat out, her face screwed up.

Ah remembered. Ah had forgotten to go to the supermarket to get ingredients for a pot of soup. Ah always make a big pot on a Thursday before the weekend ay abuse starts so ah know I’ve got something nutritious in if I’m too fucked or skint tae dae anything else. Ah take auld Mrs McKenzie some doon in a tupperware bowl. She’s a nice auld cunt, but what started off as a one-off gesture of goodwill has now evolved into custom and practice and it’s starting tae fracture ma tits tae pieces.

– Sorry, Mrs Mack, no had a chance tae make it yit eh no.

– Aye … ah jist thought … soup … the laddie upstairs usually brings doon a bowl ay soup oan a Thursday … ah wis jist tellin Hector. Soup … ah wis jist sayin tae Hector the other day. Soup. The laddie up the stairs. Soup.

– Aye, ah’ll be makin it in a bit.

– Soup soup soup … ah thought we’d be gittin some soup.

– It’s aw in hand, Mrs Mack, ah kin assure ye ay that.

– Soup …

– THE SOUP ISN’T READY YET MISSUS MCKENZIE. WHEN I’VE MADE IT, WHICH WILL BE LATER ON TODAY, I SHALL BRING SOME DOWN TO YOU. OKAY?

– Soup. Later on.

– THAT’S IT, MISSUS MCKENZIE. SOUP. LATER ON.

Ah must have been making a racket cause the Straight-Peg woman across the way comes tae her door to investigate the noise. – Are you okay, Mrs McKenzie? Did the noise from that music disturb you too? she asks the auld dear, the fuckin self-centred manipulative soulless cunt.

– The soup’s comin, Mrs Mack said, cheerful and appeased as she moved painstakingly slowly along the landing and down the stairs.

Ah went back inside, wrapped it on the Richard and headed oot tae the shops tae get the ingredients for the soup. As ah left there was a message on the answer-machine. It was a long rambling statement fae Nukes that actually said nothing except that he had his hoose raided by the polis.

5 Heather

As if.

As if the physical proximity can make up for the emotional distance.

He’s holding me tightly, but there’s no love or tenderness in it, just desperation. Perhaps it’s to do with the realisation that I’m slipping away from him, slipping away from this world he wants me to inhabit: his world, which is not our shared world.

It’s not our shared world cause I’m his, his property and he won’t relinquish it easily. I’m a source of comfort, a teddy bear for a grownup wee boy. Only they’d never see him as that and if they did see through the mind-shaking immaturity of this supposedly successful man, they’d only find it endearing, like I once did. Only I don’t now, because it’s sad and pathetic.

He’s a fucking retard.

What does he get out of acting like that?

He thrives while I’m dying inside.

He should be dying too, but he’s not.

He’s not because he has me to do it for him.

What do I want? Love is not enough. It has to do with being in love. I love my mother, my father. I don’t want another mummy and
daddy
. I used to. I used to by default because I didn’t know what I really wanted.

I don’t want to be protected. Hugh protects.

I used to need that too.

But Hugh, I’ve been growing up inside, growing up more than you want me to. You used to tell me that I had to grow up. You’d fear me if you saw who I really was. I think you already do. That’s why you’re holding on, holding on for dear life.

Dying inside.

Growing up inside.

How do you reconcile them?

6 Lloyd

When ah got back from the supermarket with the soup ingredients, ah was just in the door when the bell behind me sounded tersely. It was The Poisonous Cunt and she was in tow with The Victim whose coupon was fixed in a nervous, tense stare which even my most open smile couldn’t break down.

The Victim was a chronic fuck-up. People like her always seemed to hang out with The Poisonous Cunt. In turn, she kept their self-esteem low and made sure that they stayed in psychic immiseration. She was a curator of dead souls. It concerned me that ah seemed tae be spending more time with The Poisonous Cunt; we just turned each other onto suppliers of drugs, and good deals. Ah had once shagged The Victim, when ah was coked up ah bullshitted her intae bed one night … intae bed, my arse, it was actually onto the flair, the flair behind the couch where Ally was shagging this lassie he’d met at Pure. Anyway, The Victim gave ays hassle for weeks after, with phone calls, at clubs, etc. She had a tendency to put up with anything, and was into any form of attention. That was why she eywis ended up in abusive relationships.

– Diddly dit dit dee, two ladies, ah sang at them with a cheerfulness ah didnae feel as ah ushered them in, only to be met with frost. The Poisonous Cunt rolled her bottom lip downwards like an inverted red carpet. She had that fatigued, irritated air of a young woman who had seen more than she should but had not yet seen what she wanted, and had just about decided to wrap it rather than look further.

– Wait here, she snapped at The Victim who began to softly bubble. Ah went over tae do a bit of token stagey comforting, but The Poisonous Cunt wrenched my arm and pulled me into the
kitchen
, shutting the door behind us and lowering her voice so much that ah could only see her lips move.

– Eh? ah asked her.

– She’s fucked up.

– What’s new? ah shrugged, but ah don’t think The Poisonous Cunt heard ays.

– She’s deluding herself, ah told that to her, she said, sucking on a fag and contorting her face in a mask of hateful contempt. – You’re fuckin well livin in a fool’s paradise, hen, ah said tae her, Lloyd. But she widnae listen. Now she’s getting it aw back. And who’s the first one she comes runnin tae?

– Right … right … ah nodded as empathetically as ah could, loading my food from the shopping bag into the cupboard and fridge.

– She misses fuckin periods aw the time and goes through this ‘I’m up the stick’ shite. Ah felt like saying to her: you cannae get up the stick when he’s shagging you up the arse, but ah didnae. Ah felt like saying tae her: the reason you always miss periods is because you’re fucked up in the heid, hen; your life’s a mess and if you’re that fucked in the heid it’s bound tae tell on yir body.

– Ah see, ah see … her and Bobby again …

The Victim’s current principal exploiter was a crazy biker guy called Bobby who ah’d known for years. Bobby had a split personality. One side of him was pure evil, the other completely cuntish.

– But ah bit ma tongue. Thing is, Lloyd, he came roond and started playin mind games wi her. Solo wis just fuckin laughin, so we had tae get oot. We just want tae sit here and chill for a bit until that bastard Bobby goes.

– Look, that’s sound by me, but ye’ll huv tae dae it alaine, eh. Ah’m meetin this boy whaes supposed tae have some ay they pink champagnes, the speedballs, ken?

– Git me five … naw, six … she rasped, rummaging through her bag for her purse.

– That’s if ehs goat thum likes, ah said, taking her money. Ah wasnae gaunnae try and score, ah was just going to my brothers for a scran. It wasnae just because it didnae sound cool enough tae tell The
Poisonous
Cunt that; it was because she was a nasty, nosey bastard and ah didnae want her kennin too much aboot ays.