Skagboys (54 page)

Jist as ah’m kinday thinkin ay it bein a mistake tae come, it’s likesay he jist sortay gits tired ay it aw. — Listen, thanks fir comin … he goes, — it’s jist that it’s shite seein people visitin. Nowt fuckin happens in here, n ye end up no fuckin wantin tae hear aboot what’s gaun oan ootside.

— Right, man … ah nods, cause ye kin see the cat’s point, ah nivir liked people comin tae see me whin ah wis in Doc Guthrie’s, ken?

— So dinnae waste yir fuckin time visitin. Yi’ll no git any conversation oot ay me, he looks round tae whaire the guards are standin, — n it’s no exactly like wi kin git oot fir a fuckin peeve. Any news, go n see muh ma, n she kin fuckin well bring it in tae us.

Ah must huv looked a wee bit pit oot, n, well, sort ay underappreciated,
man,
cause he looks at whaire the plaster oan ma airm used tae be n goes, — Dinnae fuckin well pit that greetin-faced look oan, like um fuckin tellin ye oaf; ah’m no fuckin tellin ye oaf! It’s good ay ye tae come, right. Ah’m jist sayin: dinnae fuckin well waste yir time comin in n expectin a fuckin conversation oot ay me.

— Right … sound. Eh … Hibs did awright oan Setirday.

— Ah ken how fuckin Hibs did, Spud. Thuv goat fuckin papers n telly in here, ya daft cunt, the cat shakes his heid.

Ah sortay try another approach. — Did ye see that programme the other night aboot the apes ay Gibraltar? That wis barry, man. Ah’d nivir thought aboot apes before, well, ah’d thoat ay thum, likesay, but no
really
thoat aboot thum, if ye ken whit ah mean. But this really made ye think, ken? Thaire wis this one ape –

He pure raises his hand tae silence us, like he’s a Roman emperor or something. — Nivir saw it, he sais, endin the conversation. Then he goes, — How’s the airm?

— Barry, man, brand new, like it nivir happened.

— Telt ye it wis gaunny be awright! Fuckin fuss tae make aboot a broken airm! Ya cunt, ah thoat ye wir fuckin deid the wey ye wir kirrayin oan!

— Right, eh, sorry, man, ah goes, then ah tells him that Rents and Sick Boy send thair best fae London, which is kinday a lie cause they jist take the pish when his name gits mentioned, but jist as a sortay mates thing, likesay. No thit the Beggar Boy wid likesay appreciate that but. The thing is, though, underneath it aw, ah think he really is gled tae see us. It’s jist the gadge’s wey, ken?

But seein a caged man isnae very good fir the soul, likesay, so ah’m delighted tae git oot they prison gates n back intae the real world. No thit it’s much better oot here. If thaire’s nowt tae dae in the nick, it’s sortay the same ootside, withoot the waws. But at least in the chokey the three square meals ur provided, ken? Boredom, man. It’s like a wee tap inside ye, drippin oot acid intae yir gut. Eatin away at aw yir organs. In bed at night it’s the worst. Ah try an stretch ma limbs out, but before ah sortay ken it ah’m aw cramped again, ma fists balled, talkin a load ay weird, scared stuff tae masel. Cannae be good fir a cat, man.

N ootside its aw nash, stoorie and bomb wi some cats, likesay, ken? Could never dae wi hurryin aboot masel, even though ah wis ey a dead fast runner at school. Bit bein twenty-one n huvin the key tae the door but, you’ve jist goat tae sit back n mellow oot, likesay. Too much chargin aboot: it’s killin us aw, man. The rat race n that. Stressed if yuv goat a
joab,
stressed if ye huvnae. Everybody oot fir themselves, at each other’s throat n daein each other doon. Nae solidarity nae mair, ken? The work is ower, it’s aw gaun, n thaire’s nae particular place tae go.

Ma mooth’s been feelin awfay dry the day, but ah pit that doon tae that weird broon skag ah got at Johnny’s last night. Thought the cat wis extractin the urine when he brought it oot, cause it looked mair like cocoa powder thin Salisbury Crag, ken? Ah wis aboot tae start singing: ‘Cup hands, here comes Cadbury’s!’ But he sais it was aw he could git. Ah lifts ma shirtsleeve n deeks at this scratchy sore oan ma airm. Ah poke it n some yellay pus oozes oot. Ah jist rolls that sleeve doon sharpish; aw, man, ah cannae even look at that …

As ah gits oaf the bus back at Leith, the last gadgie ah expect tae see in a tracky, poundin the windswept boulevards ay the fair port, is Second Prize. — Hey, Rab, man, ah goes as the cat comes hoppin intae view oan Bonnington Road.

— Spud … he goes, n he stoaps but keeps runnin oan the spot as he sortay raps oot what he’s up tae between breaths, n ah git that he’s oaf the peeve n goat a new burd called Carol, whae’s a mate ay Alison’s, n he’s gittin fit again and talkin tae a boy at Falkirk aboot a trial, but he might phone the auld boss at Dunfy. Then he’s off, bouncin oan they Nike soles taewards Junction Strasse.

Well, it’s fabby tae see a boy oan the up. Lean n fit, no intoxicated, indulgin in hot sex wi a fräulein, wi the chance ay earnin a crust or two fae the beautiful game. When ye think aboot it, the cat’s goat the lot, man, but ah suppose that aw that means nowt if it’s aw badness n despair percolatin inside ay thon furry dome. Ah’m as jealous as, but, man, pure turnin as green as Jimmy O’Rourke in a cabbage patch.

But ah’ve goat a wee bitty business masel this affie, so ah’m turnin doon the Newhaven Road, Bowtow-bound. Whin ah gits tae the lock-up Matty’s awready thaire. Ah’ve goat tae say right fae the off that Matty’s one ay the few boys ah jist cannae git oan wi. It’s ey purely biz wi us, ken? N ah ken thit ah wis only asked tae help oot cause ay Rents n Sick Boy bein in London, Tommy no wantin involved, another cat loved up at the moment, n Franco now residin courtesy ay Her Majesty.

Used tae think aw the hostile vibe wis cause ay Matty bein fae the Fort n me bein fae the Kirkgate, which isnae oan the other side ay the world, but naw, cause Keezbo’s fae the Fort n Matty’s even worse wi him. But ah still do sortay think it’s that. They’ve goat a different mentality thaire fae every other cat in Leith; likesay me comin fae the Kirkgate or Sick Boy fae the Bannanay flats. These boys but, thair jist awfay, well,
Fort
in
thair mentality, if ye git ma drift. So ah tries tae discuss this wi Matty. Ah goes, — Youse Fort cats huv goat tae huv a defensive mentality cause yir in this scheme thit’s called the Fort, thit looks like a Fort, n yis are actually wawed in, like yir bein kept apart fae the rest ay Leith. See, likesay me or Sick Boy, we’re schemies, we’ve goat that Edina Cooncil rent book n aw, but we’re sortay expansive, cause we’re no wawed in like youse cats. We’ve goat the open sea ahead. Bound tae breed a different mentality, Matty, but. Ken?

The likesay Rents or Sick Boy or Keezbo would pure git intae discussin this point, but Matty jist goes, — Cunt, ah’m gittin the keys tae this flat in Wester Hailes. She wants it, bit ah’m no that bothered, eh, no.

N that’s it, man. That’s the level ay conversation. It makes us think thit Matty wid nivir make it in the world ay rock n roll; ah mean, even if he wis likesay better oan the guitar. Ah mean, imagine that cat in the studio wi Frank Zappa n the Mothers ay Invention, thir gittin up tae aw thair high jinks n he jist turns roon n goes, ‘Ah’ve goat the keys tae this flat in Wester Hailes.’ Ah mean, how ur they cats gaunny respond tae that, likesay? ‘Barry, gadgie, lit’s dae some acid.’ Ah mean, yuv goat tae sortay pill yir weight in the social situ, ken?

So wir jist loadin n unloadin different boaxes ay delinquent durables fae the van tae the lock-up, n it’s no hoat at aw but ah’m still pure sweatin. N ah’m telling Matty aboot Swanney’s weird broon, but he’s jist sayin, ‘Aye, it’s true, thaire’s nae white aroond.’ Then ah starts talkin aboot visitin Franco, n it turns oot thit Matty’s been tae see um n aw. N it’s a wee bit ay chat at last! He’s gaun oan aboot how Franco wis oan at him aboot the likes ay Swanney n this other gadge Seeker n Davie Power but ah realise ah cannae really hear what he’s sayin cause everything’s went aw distorted and blurred. Ah feel dizzy n ah huv tae sit doon oan the concrete n ah’m thinkin, wis that gear ah did yesterday right dodgy or what …? Ah look at the pus-filled scab oan my airm whaire ah shot it up, but it wis wi ma ain works n Keezbo did some n aw …

— Cunt, what’s up wi you? Ah hear Matty’s voice, as ah look up intae the weak sunlight. — C’moan, ya mongol, wuv goat tae git this sorted oot!

Ah’m no right here. Something’s wrong. Ah’m fucked. Ah feel seek n likesay everything aroond us is aw dark n looks miles away … — Ah huv tae go tae the hoaspital, Matty, ah’m gaunny die, likesay …

— Cunt, what’s wrong wi ye?

— Ah’m away, man, n ah stagger tae ma feet n it’s like bad dream n
Matty’s
sayin how’s he meant tae unload aw they boaxes oan his tod, but ah’m right staggerin like a wino up oantae the Ferry Road. Ah puke up n faw ower, hudin oantae the railins n this wifie n her bairn are askin us if ah’m awright, n ah pill masel up n walk a bit doon the road … then …

The High Seas

THE FIRST WEEK
at Sealink wis certainly eventful enough; a riot, a bit ay gear, n some barry sex. You
cannae
fucking well say fairer than that. Oan toap ay it aw, Marriott’s planned the first walk-through for the night. There’s nae chance ay us lasting the month here.

This is the weirdest place ah’ve ever worked; even Gillsland’s, wi Les’s Monday-morning shiteing competitions, cannae compete. Staff-wise,
The Freedom of Choice
is like the
Marie Celeste
. We’re experts at avoiding work; no just the seasonals, but the established staff tae. They’ve aw been issued new contracts ay employment, which means longer hours fir far less pay, so motivation is non-existent. Therefore any passengers with enquiries cannae find us. Oan occasions when we ur visible, we strut aroond the ship wi a phoney expression ay purpose oan oor faces, eywis in flight fae real graft. Cream Shirt’s lispy voice seems tae be chasing ghosts; a name prefixed by an anxious ‘Where’s …?’ Of course, nae cunt hus a fuckin scooby.

Being assigned tae the kitchen was meant tae be punishment, but it’s turned oot a fuckin boon; much better than stewarding duties. For one thing, thaire’s less risk ay confronting fitba mobs or drunk stag parties. Ah’ve nae inclination tae deal wi that kind ay shite. And, bein honest, ah cannae gie a fuck aboot Marriott’s smugglin gig either. If ah kin walk through the customs between shifts wi a couple ay grams ay percy and hud the job doon, then ah’m daein fine. But takin ten gs ay uncut broon through customs in ma strides, jist soas some fat cunt can buy sovies, drive a BMW n sit in a villa oan the Costa del Sol? Fuck that for a game ay sodjirs. There’s millions ay mugs in Thatcher’s army linin up fir that job. Sick Boy n me talked aboot it, n he’s in agreement. The only small matter is how tae brek the news tae Marriott. But ah dinnae gie a fuck; ah’ve goat other things oan ma mind.

Clang, bang, bang goes the ship, frothing through the North Sea, flocks ay squawkin gulls trailing behind feedin oan its excrement. Bang, bang, bang go me and Charlene, her grabbing a hud ay us and pulling us downstairs, riding us hard oan the bunk, her hair flying, or me sucking
and
licking her enchanting tufted fanny till she either squeaks wi delight or ah asphyxiate. Her small doll’s mooth around my cock, crazy eyes burning as it bangs oan the back ay her throat. Wir competitive orally; baith want tae bring the other oaf the quickest. Ah usually win, through making myself think ay Ralphy Gillsland’s vaginal coupon at the crucial moment, in order tae stave off the muck-spurt. My sex-drive still isnae what it should be, but at least smokin the broon disnae seem tae decimate it completely, no like bangin up the white. Youthful libido versus chronic heroin addiction is perhaps the ultimate battle between irresistible force and immovable object. But there’s only gaunny be one winner, so ah’ve goat tae keep the skag in check. In some weys there’s a pay-off though; instead ay gittin too excited and jist wantin tae git ma cock up thaire, it makes us mair relaxed n intae foreplay. Never realised ye could dae so much wi yir fingers, and as fir this fuckin tongue, ah’m like that boy oot ay Kiss or the fat gadgie fae Bad Manners whae looks like Keezbo …

On deck it’s perma-party time as drunk customers sway blindly intae the intense junky-n-uptight-faggot staff. Sick Boy’s antagonism towards me and Charlene for us getting it oan quickly dissipated when he realised that the nice girls really do love a sailor, n that having yir ain berth oan a boat fill ay drunk hen-night parties is a terrific asset. He’s the only male whae has his ain cabin, due tae some scam he worked oot. He’d said tae Cream Shirt, — I have unusual sleeping habits, Martin, which might prove embarrassing if someone was put in with me. I’d be very much obligated if you could spare me and any other party that awkwardness, by allocating me a private cabin if possible.

The short-arsed buftie had looked sympathetically at him and said, — Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do.

But up till now skagwise, we’d only taken a bit ay percy through the customs. Ah wis shitein masel, even when ah saw the boy Frankie, who we’d drank wi up the Globe pub. He was sound. But there was once ah was ready tae go through n he wisnae there, it was jist some other gadge. Ah bottled it n walked back, away fae the ship, before ah saw Frankie comin towards us. — Just went for a shit, he smiled cheerfully, takin ower fae the other boy, and lettin us through oan the nod.

A bigger problem for me initially was Chef. Well, no him really, he turned oot tae be an okay gadge when ye got tae ken him. It was the work and specifically the fuckin heat. Naebody who husnae worked in an industrial kitchen can have any concept ay just how constant and draining it is. Ah goat oan wi the graft but, largely thanks tae bein wi Charlene. She described us as ‘friends who fuck’. She went oot her way
tae
let me ken that she hud a felly who’d got pit away n that ah wis basically jist a subsitute ride.

So ah huv tae keep ma infatuation in check, n it isnae easy. Tae me she’s ma English female equivalent; a Kentish dockyard princess fae Chatham. N thaire’s the boy in the chokey tae consider. Charlene doesnae want tae talk aboot him, which suits me, but she sais he’s in fir thieving rather thin violence, which comes as some relief. But whatever anybody’s in fir, thir no gaunny take too kindly tae some cunt cowpin thair lemon curd. Ye cannae say it’s overly romantic but, shaggin oan a narray bed, but at least she’s as restless as me, and eftir we’ve done the biz, we go up oan the deck, no many clathes oan, jist enough tae be decent if any cunt sees us, n watch the rough, sickly dawn rise ower the port. Frozen flurries ay rain lash low breeze-block harbour and shipping buildings and whistle roond the vessel’s structures above and behind us. Big puddles swell oan the uneven stanes ay the dock. Solitary figures struggle against the wind, tying heavy ropes oantae bollards or simply walking between buildings wi clipboards. Charlene’s big hair’s whipped by the gales, and we stand in T-shirts n tracky bottoms, playin a game whaire we git so unbearably cauld, one ay us’ll shout SURRENDER and we’ll beat an urgent retreat, crab-walkin doon the loads ay narray stairs tae the mingin bowels ay the ship n that festering nest, before snuggling up and riding again.