Skagboys (19 page)

Misery Loves Bedfellows

I’VE BEEN HELPING
my mother and sisters move intae their new South Side home in Rankellior Street, and, in the absence of the bold Marco Polo (and for all his substantial flaws, he’s the only cunt roond here on the same wavelength as me), hanging out at Janey’s place, hoping tae provide a bit ay support tae her and the kids. And also tae avoid the increasingly clingy Marianne. She told me that her friend April and some radge called Jim were now ‘going steady’, looking at me wi hopeful, needy eyes as she delivered this completely superfluous information.
Going steady
. A phrase guaranteed tae make ye run for the fucking hills!

So on this dull, dead, supposedly late-summer teatime, ah’ve arranged to take Janey tae see ma Uncle Benny at the Dockers’ Club. Ah find her mired in her perpetual daze, drinking heavily, a fuck-off glass of cheap red vino in front ay her. It’s almost like she feels closer tae Coke this way. Her face looks haggard under a feather cut which needs a stylist’s loving touch, and her eyes are dull and faraway, as she sits in faded grey tracky bottoms and a yellow T-shirt wi plastic lettering showing some bingo numbers around a bold slogan stating:
I had the Full House at Caister Sands
.

Janey has every reason tae be miserable. Officialdom has excelled in what it’s traditionally good at in Britain: screwing the lower orders. They closed ranks very fucking sharpish; the family wanted a murder conviction for Dickson, but that was quickly blown oot ay the water, and now he’s no even been done for manslaughter! The pathologist’s report had noted severe cranial injuries sustained in a fall as the likely cause ay death. They skated ower the wounds oan Coke’s face, focusing instead on his level ay intoxication. So Dickhead will be tried for serious assault, which carries a maximum sentence of two years (out in twelve months) if he’s found guilty.

With an offhand pull ay her cigarette, Janey drops a fucking bombshell on me, telling me that Maria has gone wi Grant tae her brother’s in Nottingham. — The kids are taking it awfay bad. Grant’s in a daze and
Maria’s
just gone bloody crazy! Keeps talking aboot killin Dickson. Ah hud tae git her away.

That wee beauty was in Simone’s fucking sights and now this daft auld hag has gone and ruined everything
…

— Ye can understand her point ay view, I say, lamenting her absence so deeply ah feel like a wound has been carved right intae ma fucking chest.

— Will ye come tae court wi me next week? Janey begs, eyes big and expectant.

Objection! Defence is emotionally blackmailing the witness
!

Objection overruled
.

— Of course I will.

Her big concern now is that she’ll lose Coke’s medical pension. Ah’ve checked it out with Benny, my dad’s older and better brother, an auld TGWU stalwart. Janey vanishes intae the bedroom and returns transformed; her features picked out by make-up as she wears a knee-length gold-and-black dress wi dark nylons, which I guess are tights but I’ll think ay as stockings. Impact-wise, it’s pretty devastating. I can’t believe I’m getting this horny vibe off an old baboon! Ah feel like we’re on a date, as we head down tae the architectural mishmash of Victoriana and seventies prefab that is the Leith Dockers’ Club, a building which encapsulates the area perfectly.

If my father exudes a repellent roguishness fae every pore, Benny is the polar opposite. He looks fifteen years younger than he is and drinks nothing stronger than Lothian’s tap water. He’s made it his life’s work representing others and he takes his role very seriously. — Sorry for your loss, hen, he says. Then, over pints ay Tennent’s lager for us and H
₂
O for him, he expounds the gist ay the situ. Apparently, the Forth Port Authority rules stipulate that any pensions paid get reassessed when the relevant party passes away, not automatically passed on to the next of kin or the dependants. This was recently changed; every cunt is jumping on the Thatcherite cost-cutting bandwagon, particularly when applied tae ripping off the proles. It means that Janey’ll still get something, but it’ll be reduced tae almost zilch.

She takes this latest defeat on the chin and gracefully thanks a sombre Benny. Ah take her back up tae the flat and we’re soon settled doon on the pish, her in the couch, where she kicks off her shoes, me in the armchair opposite. When the vino’s tanned, we start drinking neat Grouse whisky. There’s a heavy, close atmosphere in the room, as the darkness falls in around us.

Janey’s silence is a little disconcerting, but ah’m enjoying the warm glow ay the whisky and the burn it leaves in my throat and chest. — Dinnae tell them he’s gone, ah suggest tae her, basically tae put some sound intae the eerie void. — That’s my advice, they willnae ken if nae cunt tells them.

— But it’s fraud, she says, briefly alarmed, her eyes slightly widening. She reaches over and clicks on a small table lamp.

— What
is
fraud, but? I ask, enjoying her animation within the cocoon of golden-brown light, as ah warm tae ma theme. — Let’s get away from state control, and talk fuckin
morality
here. Look at what cunts like Dickson get away wi.
That’s
fucking fraud. Murdered a man and he’s still doonstairs pullin fuckin pints like nowt’s happened!

— Right enough. Fuck them, she spits in defiance, raising the glass tae her lips and taking a sip. — What’s the worst they kin dae tae me now, anywey? She falls back intae a lament. — Ah’m no sayin Colin was a saint, Simon, ah’m no sayin that at aw. Ah mean, he could’ve been a better husband, a better faither … and she crosses her legs, smoothing doon the dress as it clings tae the static ay her nylons.

— He was a damn sight better than ma auld man.

This manifestly obvious news seems tae take her by surprise. — But he always seemed nice, your dad.

— Aw aye, ah scoff, he’d be nice tae
you
. A good-looking woman, he’ll always be very, very nice tae, ah explain, watching her flush in spite ay herself. — It’s his ain family he’s no very nice tae.

— What dae ye mean?

Remembering that misery loves bedfellows, ah fix her a glum expression. — When ah wis a bairn he used tae take me out n leave me in the car wi Coke and crisps, while he saw tae his fancy women. Our secret wee messages, he used tae called them. As soon as ah sussed oot what he was up tae, he stopped taking me, in fact he lost interest in me aw thegither.

— Surely he wisnae … ah mean, he widnae huv done that tae a wee laddie …

— Aye, right. You dinnae ken the half ay it! I’ll tell ye a wee story that sums up everything about him and our relationship. My faither’s such a cunt that he once took back a watch ah bought him for Father’s Day. The money was chorrie, aye, but that’s beside the point. It was the fucking thought. But naw, the bastard went back tae Samuel’s in St James’s Centre wi the receipt ah had tae keep for guarantee purposes in case it fucked up.

— I never thought he’d dae anything like that …

— Aw aye, the shitebag went up there and even refused goods, insisted that he wanted the cash back, ah spell it oot, enjoying her puzzled but hostile reaction. She lifts the whisky tumbler tae her mouth, and scratches at an itch on her knee, lifting her dress on one side to show a thigh that has remained pleasingly muscular. I get that familiar twinge heralding the start ay a hard-on as ah take another sip ay Scotch. — N that ain’t the half of it. Boasted tae me, and I lean forward, drilling my thumb intae my chest, — and ah was fifteen at the time, fifteen, for fuck’s sake, ah shout wi a full-on, traumatised gape intae her eyes, — … that later on he went doon tae Danube Street for a decent hooker, then tae the Shore for a curry and a few lagers. Telt us he still had enough for a gam oaffay a scabby streetwalker later. ‘Eywis get peckish eftir a ride n horny eftir a scran,’ he fuckin laughed at me, patting his flabby gut. That was the cunt
trying to fucking bond
, ah shake ma heid in recall. — Ah think about that saint ay a woman he married and what any ay us did tae deserve him!

— But you’re no like him, Janey says hopefully, as she crosses her legs again, and more and more I see her daughter in her, making me think:
How the fuck did Coke pull that?
— you take mair eftir yir ma. She’s such a lovely woman. And your sisters are n aw.

— And I thank God for that every day ay ma life, I tell her, and glance at the oak-framed clock on the sideboard. — Right, ah should really be heading off.

This seems tae strike panic in Janey, as she hugs herself and looks around the cold, empty tomb of a flat. Her eyes enlarge and her mouth tightens in appeal. — Dinnae go, she half whispers.

— Ah have tae, I find masel pleading back in the same voice.

— Ah cannae be oan ma ain, Simon. No now.

I raise my brows, push myself out of the chair, and move over tae her. Looking deeply intae her wrecked eyes, ah take her hand and she rises and ah’m leading her intae the bedroom. Ah stop at the bottom ay the bed and whisper, — Are you sure you’re awright with this?

— Aye, she says softly, kissing me on the lips, the scent ay spirits and baccy on her breath. Then she turns away from me, but only tae plead in a croaky voice, — Unzip us.

I watch the fastener pull apart under my tug, slicing the gold-and-black dress in two. She lets it fall, steps out of it, then sits on the bed, arching her body to pull off her tights and underpants, giving me a glimpse of a forest of bush, before slipping under the covers.

Ah pull off my gear and get under with her. Slide smoothly into her
awaiting
embrace. Her body’s warm and a lot firmer than ah would have thought for a woman who must be
at least
thirty-five. She’s shivering and her teeth are banging together, but I’m hard as fuck and ah ken ah’m gaunny be up her all night and that Coke and regrets will be kept at bay till the morning.

Funeral Pyre

THE KNOCKED-OFF PUB
mirror shows up the kitchen behind us tae its mankiest effect. Ah’d love tae gless the taunting pus ay the inscribed McEwan’s Lager Cavalier. Nae wonder he’s aw grins n toasts; getting people tae
pey dosh
tae drink that tepid, poisonous pish. Another erse-up wi that scabby black tie: ah yank it oaf for aboot the tenth time. — Shite!

Sick Boy’s at ma shoodir, providing succour. He gets the tie right first go. — There we are, he coos, makin me feel aw baba biscuit-erse. — You should git some breakfast.

Eat something in this midden? No ta. — I’ll git somethin at my ma’s. There’s nowt here.

— I made some lasagne. He points tae the oven.

— It’s shite, ah tried some ay it last night. Ah did tae, eftir a quick drink wi a couple ay gadges fae Gillsland’s turned intae a bit ay a sesh.

Sick Boy places his hands on his hips. — That was my mother’s recipe, ya cheeky cunt, he pseudo-bellows, lightening things fir ma benefit.

— Ah’ve hud yir ma’s lasagne, — and that shite in thaire, ah nod tae the oven, — is nowt like it. Ye obviously never follayed her recipe; for one thing lasagne isnae meant tae huv lumps ay tuna in it.

— I was making use ay the resources available. You get doon the Co-op once in a while,
then
you can critique the culinary skills of others.

Cheeky bastard him. Two words stick treacly in the noggin: rent and money. But fucked if ah kin be ersed arguin wi the cunt right now. — Right, ah’m offski. Ah reach fir ma jaykit, hingin oan a nail at the back ay the door.

— Okay, ah’ll see ye at the cremmy at two o’clock, he goes, then suddenly steps forward and hugs me. — You okay?

— Course ah ah’m, ya radge, ah tell him.

He breks his grip, but lets his hands rest on ma shoodirs. — It’ll kick in, ye know, the grief, he declares, dropping one hand. — But play the stoical Scot aw ye want. My advice though: the Italian way ay mourning is the best. Open up. Feel the burn inside. Let it oot. He flattens his other hand and gies us a couple ay affectionate gentl
ish
slaps across the chops.

— Aye, right, ah say, then ah’m out the door.

Ah check the time and start heading doon the Walk. The sun’s oot tae play as far as Pilrig, where some big manky clouds appear, tae muscle him fae the frame. Ah get tae Junction Street, narrowly escaping a summer soaking as it starts chuckin.

Ma and Dad are like zombies. Literally. Glazed eyes and bumpin intae things. Ah cannae believe thir still in shock aboot the demise ay somebody whaes death wis signposted since the day he wis born, n by every medical expert in the UK. Did they not understand the term ‘short life expectancy’? Did they believe that by beating the fluid offay Wee Davie’s lungs they could preserve him forever?

Now they’ve nane ay the tension ay listening for his breathing, nane ay the doof-doof-doof and the hack-hack-hack ay the postural drainage sessions, following which Wee Davie wid collapse intae exhausted sleep as his creaking lungs filled up wi air. Meanwhile, the rest ay us waited in nervous dread for it aw tae start up again. That’s aw gone. Why are they no kind ay relieved?

It’s gone
forever
.

Ah leave them holding white-knuckled oantae the worktops in the cramped, dull kitchen they seem perpetually stuck in. In the front room’s light, the air is thick with cigarette smoke. Billy and his bird are ripping through them; nae Wee Davie, so nae need tae sit at the bedroom windae blowin the fumes ootside. Now we can
all
have our lungs decimated. My eyes sting and leak; it takes a few seconds fir them tae clear enough tae see Billy shoot me his ‘you fuckin weirdo’ look, making us conscious ay every step ah take. Ah feel like we’ve regressed about a decade.

You have the advantage of me, Tobacco Boy
.

Sharon’s a ride, in a trashy, chain-store boutique sort ay wey. She’s got the tits, erse, blonde wedge cut and slender waist that pushes male buttons, everything apart fae the pins, which are a tad shortish n stumpy. An evaluating shrewdness in her eyes engenders speculation that she might be worth spraffin wi ootside ay Billy’s stultifying proximity. She’s havering oan aboot a lassie called Elspeth, n ah’m inclined tae hear mair cause it’s probably Begbie’s cute sister (thankfully she looks nothing like him), but the smoke and Billy’s mean vibes have a throttling impact, squeezing oot valuable oxygen. A quote fae the Schopenhauer gadgie asserts itself, namely: almost all of our sorrows spring oot ay oor relations wi other people.