Ecstasy (21 page)

Ah left them to it, clocking The Victim’s arse in her black stretch leggings before ah left, both strangely pleased and disappointed no tae feel any reaction whatsoever.

Ah took the bus at the foot ay the Walk tae ma brother Vaughan’s. Ah was a bit late. When ah got there, ah had to ring for ages. Vaughan was out and Fiona, my sister-in-law, was in the back playing with my niece, Grace, who was two and a bit of nutter, like two year aulds are.

– Lloyd! ah thought it was you. Come in, come in.

Ah clocked that Vaughan had been at the decorating but ah didnae say anything. The hoose was furnished in tasteless Habitat country-style, ridiculous in a suburban semi. That was Vaughan and Fiona. Ah love them in a strange way – a tense, dutiful love – but you cannae say nowt tae cunts like that about taste. It just isnae an issue with them. It comes oot the page ay a catalogue.

Ah asked Fiona if ah could use the phone and she took the hint and took Grace out into the gairdin. Ah called Nukes. – What’s the story? ah asked him.

– That’s me finished wi the cashies and the collies. Ah’m a marked man now, Lloyd. Polis doon here the other night accusin ays ay sorts ay things, man. Well oot ay order.

– Ye git charged?

– Naw, but it shit ays up. Some ay the boys say no tae worry, but fuck that, man. Ah’m daein a bit ah dealin and that could be three fuckin years oot ma life jist for a bit ay swedgin at the fitba.

– Ah wis gaunnae ask if you could punt some stuff fir ays n aw …

– No way. Low profile for a while, that’s me.

– Awright then. Come doon fir a blow next week but, eh.

– Awright.

– Cheers, Nukes … eh, ye mind ay what happened the other night? Did we git intae some bother?

– Ye dinnae want tae ken, Lloyd.

– Nukes …

The line clicked dead.

That was me para as fuck, but no as para as Nukes. Something was bugging the cunt bigtime. Ah knew that Nukes wasnae so intae the casuals these days, but he still got it together for the odd big swedge. Ah could never understand the attraction, but he swore by the rush. If he’s kent by the polis, though, that’s bad news; when you’re holding just a few drugs for you and your mates, they call you a dealer. He was being sensible, n ah resolved that ah was going tae try tae take it easy n aw for a bit.

– Like the new colour? Fiona asks.

Grace climbed up on me and tried to push my eyeball out of its socket. Ah removed her hand before she could go for my other eye, the one that was bruised. – Aye, it’s sound. Very relaxing. Ah wis jist gaunnae say, ah lied. – Ye must have been keepin Vaughan busy, eh, no? Where is eh?

Grace climbed down and ran over to Fiona and wrapped herself around her leg.

– Three guesses, Fiona smiled in the kind of way that changed her from being a young housewife into a shag.

– The boolin? ah asked.

– Right first time, she nodded wearily. – He said to tell you to meet him doon thair for a pint. The dinner’ll no be ready till five.

– Sound … ah said. It wisnae really sound. Ah would rather have stayed with Fiona and Grace than listened to Vaughan’s shite. – … eh, but maybe I’ll jist chill here for a bit.

– Lloyd, I’ve got loads to do. I don’t want you under my feet, one bairn’s enough, she smirked.

– Thanks a lot, ah laughed, pretending at being hurt. We continued with this ritual. It was pathetic and dull, but it often gave me a strange, queasy feeling of exhilaration to talk bland shite with people and not worry about being a smart cunt simply because you were linked in some way to each other. It was a wild trip.

Too much ay this shite can fuck a cunt’s heid but, and after a while ah decided ah’d better go and see Vaughan.

It was a pretty glorious summer’s evening when ah got out in the street. Ah found myself with a strange spring in my step. Of course,
it
was Thursday. Last weekend’s drugs had been well and truly processed by now, the toxins discharged: sweated, shat and pished out; the hangover finito; the psychological self-loathing waning as the chemistry of the brain de-fucked itself and the fatigue sinking into the past as the old adrenalin pump starts slowly getting back into gear in preparation for the next round ay abuse. This feeling, when you’ve cracked the depressive hangover and the body and mind is starting to fire up again, is second only to coming up on a good E.

At the club, Vaughan’s playing bools with this old cunt. He nods at me, and the auld cunt looks up with a slightly tetchy stare and ah realise that I’ve broken his concentration by casting my shadow over his line of vision. Steeling himself, the auld codger lets the bool roll, roll, roll and I’m thinking he’s gone too far out, but naw, the wily auld cunt kens the score because the bool does a Brazilian spin, that’s what it does, a fuckin Brazilian spin, and it comes back like a fuckin boomerang and slips like a surreptitious queue-jumper in behind Vaughan’s massed lines of defence, rolling up to the jack and sneaking it away.

Ah cheer the auld gadge for that shot. Vaughan has his last one but ah decide no tae watch it but to go in and get some drinks. Ah discover I’ve a wrap of speed in my pocket, left over from fuck knows when. Ah take it to the bog, and chop it out into some lines on the cistern. If I’m gaunny have to talk bools ah might as well fuckin go for it in a big way … Ah come out, charged up to fuck. Ah remember this gear, dabbing away at it the other week. It’s much better to snort though, this stuff.

– Didnae stay for the climax, Vaughan says, looking deflated. – Could have done wi yir support fir that last shot thair.

– Sorry, Vaughan, ah wis burstin fir a tropical fish, eh. Did ye git it?

– Naw, eh wis miles oot! The auld cunt roars. The auld cunt is dressed in white slacks, a blue open-necked shirt and has a sunhat on.

Ah slap the auld cunt on the back, – Nice one there, mate! Brilliant shot by the way, that wee spinner that nicked it at the end. Ah’m Lloyd, Vaughan’s brother.

– Aye Lloyd, ah’m Eric, he extends his hand and gies ays a crushing masonic grip, – ye play the bools yersel?

– Naw, Eric, naw ah dinnae, mate; it’s no really ma scene, ken. Ah mean ah’m no knockin the game n that, a great game … ah mean ah wis chillin oot the other day watchin that Richard Corsie gadge oan the box … he used tae be wi the Post, did eh no? That boy kens how tae fling a bool …

Fuck me, this Lou Reed is hitting the mark quickstyle.

– Eh, what yis wantin? Vaughan shouts, a wee bit embarrassed at ma ranting.

– Naw naw naw, ah’ll git them. Three lager, is it no?

– Poof’s pish, Eric scoffs, – make mine Special.

– A special drink for a special victory, eh, Eric, ah smile. The auld cunt gie ays one back. – Yuv goat Vaughan’s puss seekint here right enough!

– Aye, right, Vaughan goes, – are you gaunnae git them in, or what?

Ah hit the bar and the guy behind says that you have to have a tray to get served, and ah joke that I’ve got enough to carry as it is and he says something short like house rules, but a wee cunt in the queue hands me one anyway. I’ve forgotten about all the daft fuckin rules they have in places like this, the Brylcreemed cunts wi their blazers wi the club badges on them and how at closing time there’s mair falling masonry than when the Luftwaffe bombed Coventry cathedral … and now I’m back at my seat.

– Cheers, boys! ah say, raising my pint, – Tell ye what, Eric, ah knew that you had the bools after seeing ye in action there. This gadge has bools, ah telt maself. That Brazilian spin, man! Whoa, ya cunt that ye fuckin well are!

– Aye, said Eric, smugly, – it wis a wee thing ah thought ah’d try. Ah said tae masel, Vaughan’s marshalled his defences well, but, ah thought, try a wee sneaky one roond the backdoor, and it just might come off.

– Aye, it wis a good shot, Vaughan conceded.

– It wis fuckin ace, ah told him. – You’ve heard of total fitba, the Dutch invented it, right? Well this man here, ah nodded towards
Eric
, – is total bools. You could’ve went for the blast there, Eric, tried that Premier League style huffing and puffing but naw, a bit ay class, a bit ay art.

The pint was drained. Vaughan hit the bar.

This was always a thing with Vaughan when he met me. He had a sense of duty, of the responsibilities ay a married man and a parent, so that whenever he did have an allocated time he would try tae squeeze as many units of alcohol into it as he possibly could. And he could drink. Thank fuck it was draught Becks ah was on. Ah wouldnae touch any Scottish shite, especially McEwan’s lager, the vile toxic pish that it is, for anything. The pints kept flowing and this speed was still digging in, and ah was almost hyperventilating. The thing is, it was like auld Eric got dragged in by the vibe, by the exuberance, and it was like the auld bastard had snorted a few lines n aw.

After a quick draining of the next pint he came back wi some mair beers, wi nips as chasers.

– Fuckin hell! ah said, – Expect the unexpected wi this man, eh?

– Aye, too right, Vaughan smiled. Vaughan was looking at us both with a big, indulgent those-are-mad-cunts-but-I-love-them smile. It made me feel close to him.

– Ye should go up n see Ma n Dad, Vaughan told me.

– Aye, ah guiltily conceded, – ah’ve been meanin tae drop by this tape ah made up for them. Motown, eh.

– Good. They’ll appreciate that.

– Aye, Marvin, Smokey, Aretha n aw that, ah said, then promptly changed the subject, turnin tae Eric, – Listen, Eric, that stunt you pulled wi the bools, ah began.

– Aye, Eric cut in, – fair took the wind oot ay Vaughan here’s sails, that’s if ye dinnae mind ays sayin like, Vaughan! Eric laughed. – Expect the unexpected!

– Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do, ah start the Twilight Zone theme tune, then ah think of something, – Listen, Eric, your second name isnae Cantona, by any chance, is it?

– Eh naw, Stewart, he said.

– It’s just that there wis a Cantonaesque quality aboot that final shot thair, ah began giggling, a real dose ay the Flight Lieutenants,
and
Eric did too, – it fair blew fuckin Vaughan Ryan’s Express right out the water …

– Aye … awright then, ya cunts, Vaughan sulked.

– Ooh ah, Cantona, ah started, and Eric joined in. A few groups of drinkers and auld couples looked over at us.

Encouraged, auld Eric and ah were up doing the can-can: na, na na, na na na na na na na, na, na na, na na na na na na …

– Hey, come oan now, that’s enough. Thir’s folk here tryin tae enjoy a drink, a mumpy cunt with a blazer and badge moans.

– Aye, well nae herm done! auld Eric shouts back, then says in lower voice tae us, but still enough for every cunt tae hear, – What’s his fuckin problem?

– C’moan Eric … Vaughan goes, – Lloyd’s no a member here.

– Aye, well, the laddie’s been signed in. Signed in as a guest. It’s aw bona fide. Wir no daein herm. Like ah sais, nae herm done, Eric shook his heid.

– Procedures have been observed, eh, Eric, ah smirk.

– The situation’s completely bona fide, Eric confirms stoically.

– Ah think a certain Monsieur Vaughan Buist may be smarting over a recent sporting setback, n’est-ce pas, Monsieur Cantona? He ees, ow you say, ay leetal peesed off.

– Je suis une booler, Eric cackles.

– It’s no that, Lloyd, Vaughan mumps, – Aw ah’m tryin tae say is thit you’re no a member here. Yir a guest. Yir the responsibility ay the people that bring ye. That’s aw ah’m tryin tae say.

– Aye … bit nae herm done … mumbles Eric.

– It’s jist like that club you go tae, Lloyd. That place up at The Venue. What’s that club called?

– The Pure.

– Aye, right. It’s like if you’re at The Pure n ah wis tae come up n you were tae sign ays in …

– As ma guest, ah snorted, laughing uncontrollably at the thought. Ah heard auld Eric start as well. It got soas we were gaunnae peg oot.

– As your guest … Vaughan had started now. Ah thought: this is me fucked. Flight Lieutenant Biggies, hovering over the grim metropolis of Cunt City … Auld Eric started wheezing, as Vaughan
carried
on, – as the guest of one’s brother Lloyd at the exclusive club in town he frequents …

We were interrupted by a choking sound as auld Eric boaked thin beer-sick over the table. The humpty cunt with the blazer and badge was right over to him and grabbed up his pint. – That’s it! Oot, c’moan! Oot!

Vaughan grabbed the pint back. – That’s no fuckin well it at aw, Tommy.

– Aye it bloody well is! That’s it, the humpty cunt snapped.

– Dinnae fuckin well come ower tae this table n say that’s it, Vaughan said, – cause that’s no it at aw.

Ah slapped Eric on the back and helped the auld cunt to his feet and through to the lavvy. – It’s a sair ficht, right enough, ah caught him gasp between mouthfuls of sick as he spewed up into the bog pan.

– Aye, Eric, yir awright, man. Nae danger, ah said encouragingly. Ah felt like ah was at Rez, talking Woodsy down when he had his freak-out, but here ah was with a daft auld cunt in a bowling club.

We got Eric hame. It was an auld hoose where the door led straight oantae the main road. We propped him against it and rang the bell and moved away. A woman answered and pulled him in and slammed the door shut. Ah heard the sound of blows and Eric’s screams from behind the door, – Dinnae, Betty … ah’m sorry, Betty … dinnae hit ays again …

Then we went back tae Vaughan’s. The meal was a bit dried oot, and Fiona wisnae pleased at our state. Ah didnae want tae eat anything, but ah scranned with fake enthusiasm.

Ah felt heavy and embarrassed and ah left early, opting tae walk doon tae the port. As ah was coming doon Leith Walk, ah saw The Poisonous Cunt on the other side. Ah crossed over.

– Where ye gaun? ah asked.

– Just gaun back tae yours. Ah phoned Solo and he wanted ays tae pick up some stuff for him. You’re pished!

– A bit, aye.

– Did ye git the speedballs?

Ah looked at her for a bit. – Naw … ah didnae see the boy, eh. Ah ran intae some cunt, eh no. Ah had a sudden twinge of fear. – Whaire’s The Victim?

– Still at yours.

– Fuck!

– What is it?