Skagboys (69 page)

The groups come back wi their offerings, which are Blu-tacked up onto the wall
.

Tom scrutinises the lists, fanny-stroking that chin with a troubled expression. ‘Anybody from Group One like to volunteer to take us through their thoughts on these issues …?
’

Spud’s appointed spokesperson and stands up and starts waffling on about animals. ‘Seeing thum suffer makes me pure depressed, man. Ah cannae help it likes. See, the thought ay animals bein made extinct jist cause ay man’s greed
–’

A few laughs go up but Spud’s urged tae continue. Everything seems tae end in ‘hassle’. ‘So ah suppose,’ he summarises, ‘hassle in general, likesay
.’

When it comes tae our group, nobody’s prepared tae get up and present the list. We maintain radio silence. Tom asks us one by one, but is uniformly blanked. Eventually, Spud, trying tae help, points tae our group’s efforts and goes, ‘Ah agree wi computers, they kin be pure hassle; likesay when the dole send ye oan one ay they courses
.’

A long, rambling discussion on the dole and training schemes starts up, and goes on and on
.

The clock on the wall needs a battery, having stopped at four thirty. Suddenly, a visibly weary Tom calls a halt to proceedings, and we’re slithering oot ay there intae the next mundane box on oor timetable
.

Result
.

Sick Boy immediately vanishes with Molly. I should never have doubted the spawny cunt
.

‘I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.’

Back in my room, I play Iggy Pop and James Williamson’s
Kill City
on my crap tape deck with the headphones. I’m obsessed particularly with the song ‘Johanna’, reminding me of Joanne Dunsmuir
.

I almost pull off the end of my knob masturbating about her
.

I defile the toilets with a

logo, simply in order to start a graffiti debate
.

Day 25

It’s still gloomy this morning, but at least the rain’s eased off. As usual, Seeker’s the only other
person
up, and we go through our routine in silence
.

The rest of the morning I write, write, write. All the time loving the way the sharp, smooth tip of this pen pulls my hand across the page. I’ve come to believe that everything you write, no matter how shite and trivial, has some sort of meaning. Writing that journal entry yesterday has made me remember that the Christmas we got the Wolves strips was the one just before Hibs beat Hearts 7–0 at Tynecastle
.

We’d gone downstairs tae get that team picture: only one, because it was freezing cauld. After New Year it had been Billy who got sent round to Boots in the Kirkgate tae get the spool ay festive snaps developed. But I never eyeballed that Wolves team photae. I mind ay Begbie asking us tae let him see it and giein me a Chinese wristburn at school when I telt him it hudnae turned oot. He thought I was hudin oot on him
.

That cunt Billy must have destroyed it oot ay spite for my constant derby massacre teasings
.

Mystery solved. Fuckin prick
.

But the muppet forgot about the negatives, which my mother passed oantae Moira Yule. So mair than a decade later, I see the picture in Keezbo’s photae album
.

Glory to the Hibees. A Steve Cowan winner from a Jukebox Dury pass at Fir Park
.

Every place has a top dog and Seeker is the main man here, which you can tell Swanney’s no too happy aboot. It seems obvious that both have had competing access tae heroin fae the same source, and they’re very cool with each other
.

While the rest ay us hit the recky room Seturday eftirnoon tae watch the football scores come in, Sick Boy was absent, riding Molly, then returning tae big it up tae Seeker about our ruinous experience on the boats in Essex, though he fell short of mentioning Marriott or even Nicksy by name. You could tell both Seeker and Swanney were interested though. Skreel started on aboot
Glasgow
and boys he kens in Possil. Ted, although fae Bathgate, spent a bit ay time in Dundee, and he reckons there’s a scene up there. I mentioned Don up in Aberdeen, which seemed to impress Seeker. ‘Some boy, him
.’

‘
How’s he daein?
’

‘
Fuck knows.’ A visor ay cauld suddenly shut down over his pus
.

For tea, liver that smells of pish and onions seals my single-minded retreat back into vegetarianism. To be fair, there are quite a few core carnivores turning their noses up at it and looking enviously at my scarcely more edible egg flan, dry as an auld nun’s chuff
.

Despite the acuteness of my senses sometimes overwhelming me, I’m still happy to be off the methadone: it was like having a giant condom stretched all over your skin. My jitters have subsided, but I’m still feeling up and down. One minute life seems pointless, the next I’m full of optimism and thinking about the future. Keezbo’s being a wet blanket about band plans; it’s usually all he wants to talk about. I wanted to blether about music and my song ‘Cigarettes R Us’, but Keezbo went, ‘Shhh, Mr Mark,
Only Fools n Hoarses!
’ So I headed back to my room and read more
Ulysses
.

After a bit Seeker tapped at my door and sat doon in the wee chair, his big frame filling the room up. I put the book doon and he picked it up. ‘Ever read that
Hell’s Angels
?
’

‘
Hunter S. Thompson? Aye, love it
.’

‘
The cunt’s a bullshitter. Made maist ay that up. Ah ken a couple ay boys fae Oakland
.’

‘
Aye?
’

‘
Aye,’ Seeker went, then emphatically stated that he’s giein up smack; it’s dealing only for him fae here oan in. ‘Otherwise, it’s true what they say: ye just get high oan yir ain supply. The drug’s shite anyway. First time is best. Yir jist chasin that high eftir
.’

Strange how I could absolutely agree with everything he was saying, while all the time thinking that there’s very little I wouldnae dae for some skag right now. Something is crawling under my skin, biochemical information sluicing around my body. The sheer physicality of it; it’s like what boxers call ‘muscle memory’
.

Seeker stared at the cover of
Ulysses
wi a scary intensity, like he wis trying to will the contents of the book
into his head
intae his heid. Then he looked up, pushed his hair back and went, ‘Ah think that
Fools and Hoarses
shite’s finished now
.’

I recollect that I did a huge, championship-winning shite after breakfast this morning. Things are really starting tae work as they should. I still feel edgy, but kind ay barry as well. Euphoric is pushing it, but definitely
anticipatory
. I feel that good I feel like gaun oot and getting totally fucked up!

Therein lies the problem!

Day 26

Our isolation and the constant rain outside make me speculate that the world has drowned and we’re the sole survivors.
The future of the human race is safe in our hands!
The grim, hesitant sounds of Bowie’s masterpiece ‘Low’ mingle with the din of the crashing downpour outside
.

We said goodbye to Spud. At breakfast we presented him with this pony letter in which we told him why we’d miss him. It was another exercise devised by the Rehab Kingpin Tom, where you had tae finish the sentence oan the caird
:

I’ll miss Danny because
…

I had put doon
:

…
he’s my best mate
.

Spud read it and looked at us all, choking up, but particularly focused on Audrey and Molly. Molly was tearing a coupon out of some magazine, while Audrey bit into the knuckle of her right thumb. He kept glancing fae one tae the other. As we exchanged hugs, he held an alarmed Audrey, then Molly, for a painfully long time, and even gave Skinny-Specky the same treatment. He looked tearful and confused as he was taken oot, turning back tae gaze at the lassies with a poignant expression. In the corner Sick Boy stood, jaw clenched tight, but I knew that look, could tell that the fucker had pulled some sort ay stunt!

A taxi had arrived and Spud’s ma, Colleen, came and took him away. I couldnae help wilting inside under her judging stare as I waved him goodbye fae the doorstep. As the taxi ground doon the gravel path, wi Spud still looking back in sad confusion, Sick Boy pulled me intae his room. He was bent over, face contorted, barely able tae speak through his laughter. ‘Did you … did ye see his face? Did you actually see him … oh my God … did ye see him … checkin oot the lassies? These big, sad, puppy-dog eyes? Huding them in that desperate embrace?’ He exploded in a loud guffaw. I slowly started tae understand
.

‘
I wrote in his card: “I’ll miss Danny because … he’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever met, and I think I’ve fallen in love with him.” I kent he’d think that it was one of the lassies! Result! Did you
actually see
the dippit fucker’s pus?
’

I couldnae help but join in the laughter. Poor Spud. ‘You bad bastard … the poor cunt’ll be gaun mental
…’

‘
Positive affirmation though, that’s what the group’s aboot,’ he roared
.

‘
Yes, but based on honesty
.’

‘
Just lubricating they social wheels a wee bitty
.’

So we went intae the recky room sniggering like daft wee bairns, Tom commenting about how he was glad tae see us in such high spirits
.

At the process review meeting, we discussed the journals, Tom urging us tae share their contents in the group. Of course, not one cunt except me has written a fucking thing, or if they had, they were keeping stumpf. So was I. I started tae entertain the perverse but plausible notion that every bastard secretly has a junky
War and Peace
sitting in their rooms
.

Another disappointment for Tom (what a fucked-up trade he’s in!), and the meeting ended after the usual shoulder-shrugging, nail-biting, crap jokes and virtuous platitudes
.

Sick Boy and me had a wee idea, so I asked Tom if we could use the electric typewriter in the office. ‘Ah’m ready tae start on the writin, but ma handwritin’s that bad, ah need tae use the typewriter
.’

‘
Of course!’ he said, nipples doubtlessly rock hard at the prospect of a juicy wee self-disclosure feast. ‘Feel free. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed!
’

Feel free.

Poor Tom, the journal and diary will never come to light, but I’d led the cunt to believe that some sort of breakthrough was imminent. The fact is that, encouraged by Sick Boy, I’d decided tae get my ain back on the Currans, my old neighbours fae the Fort, for causing that scene at Wee Davie’s funeral and generally casting aspersions on the clan Renton. I got out the sheets ay Council Housing Department notepaper procured fae Norrie Moyes. I got Sick Boy tae help me compose the letter, his trusty Collins dictionary on his lap
.

City of Edinburgh District Council Housing Department

Waterloo Place, Edinburgh

Tel: 031 225 2468

Director: J. M. Gibson

Mr and Mrs Oliver Curran

D 104 Fort House

Leith

Edinburgh EH6 4HR

25 March 1985

Dear Mr and Mrs Curran,

THE NEIGHBOURHOOD UNITED TENANCY SCHEME

As you may well be aware, the central government policy of promoting the sale of council housing has led to a decline in Edinburgh District Council’s levels of housing stock, most markedly in the higher amenity properties. This obviously has an adverse impact upon our ability to discharge our housing obligations to all our citizens in need.