Skagboys (72 page)

‘
That’s not normal talk for a young guy,’ Tom responded. ‘You’re simply depressed. What’s making you depressed, Mark?
’

Couldnae think ay anything to say. ‘The world
.’

‘
It’s
not
the world,’ he shook his head emphatically. ‘Yes, it’s bad, but people like yourself should be trying to make it better. Besides, you’re smart enough to get by and thrive in any sort of society. What is it?
’

‘
Skag’s a good buzz,’ I telt him. Anything tae burst the bubble, tae avoid confronting The Big Lie. ‘Ah eywis liked a good buzz
.’

‘
So you’re at an age where you discover that the world is fucked up and it can’t be easily fixed. So deal with it. Grow the fuck up.’ There was a new iron in his eyes. ‘Get on with your life. So what?
’

‘
So this.’ I rolled up my sleeve and show him the scar tissue ay my healed track marks
.

The Big Lie
.

We were all playin a fuckin game: the rehab game. We had tae collude wi the staff in the myth that we wanted tae stop using heroin. Few, if any ay us, really gied a flying fuck though. What we wanted was to clean up, soas we
could get back tae using at a reduced dosage
.
But we didnae want tae stop,
fuck
that! We wanted a clean slate so we could use without things getting out ay hand. Success in this game was based on our ability tae deceive the staff, and their ability tae con themselves, by buying intae the myth that we actually wanted tae embrace this bullshit ay a drug-free life
.

TO DO WHAT?

Only Seeker wanted something else: tae find a place in Tenerife so that the crippling winter cauld wouldnae get at the metal in his body
.

Scribbled more mair aboot that Yorkshire trip wi Dad. The writing’s my refuge; my life here would be intolerable without it. For experimental purposes I tried tae frame it in the form ay a story, writing as events actually affected me
.

Journal Entry: Concerning Orgreave

Even the plank-stiffness of this old, unyielding settee can’t arrest my body’s slink into deliverance. It reminds me of the university residences in Aberdeen; lying in the dark, basking in exalted freedom from the fear that coalesced in my chest, like the thick phlegm did in his. Because whatever I hear outside, cars scrunching down the narrow, council-house streets, sometimes sweeping their headlights across this fusty old room, drunks challenging or serenading the world, or the rending shrieks of cats taking their torturous pleasures, I know I won’t hear
that
noise
.

No coughing
.

No screaming
.

Day 39

High drama, as Skreel was discovered tae have gone AWOL late last night. He comes back wasted early this morning, shuffling in wi a dopey smile on
his
face, and some blood tricklin fae his big, bust nose, responding tae aw interrogations wi an offhand shrug. It seems he managed tae score smack in
Kirkcaldy
. The way I see it, the cunt deserves a medal for initiative. He’s only around for half an hour, presumably as some sort ay negative example tae us all, before the polis arrive and he’s carted off tae jail
.

We have an emergency process group meeting tae discuss, predictably, ‘our feelings’ about the incident. Emotions are running high and Ted, who had become close tae Skreel, gets intae a shouting match with Len, Tom and Amelia, storming out the room, calling them ‘grassin cunts’. Molly shrilly parrots on about Skreel ‘letting everybody doon’. Well, the cunt certainly let
me
fuckin doon, no telling us that he was daein a runner and had a connection locally. I’d have been right ower that fuckin waw behind him. Being contrary by nature, I say absolutely fuck all, except a philosophical, ‘He’s gone. Can’t really see the point of inquests and recrimination. Let’s just get oan wi it
.’

The fat lassie – Gina, her name is – she’s fresh out of detox but still rattling like fuck, is constantly whining, ‘Ah cannae handle aw this …’ as she rocks away, sitting on her hands, meaty airms tight by her side. The wee felly wi her is called Lachlan, or Lachy, he tells us timidly. Lackey of the state, I’ll think of him, as he’s in the care of a state agency
.

Molly and
Skinny-Specky
Amelia are now big buddies, Ms Bloom having almost turned intae a clone; posture and gestures shamelessly thieved fae her posher sister. She starts gabbin oan in the recky room that evening aboot ‘destructive relationships that enable negative behaviour’ and how she would ‘never get involved with guys like Brandon or even Simon again … he jist tries tae trick ye wi words’
.

How soon they forget! Aye, I fair had a wee smirk
at
that yin, knowing full well that if Sick Boy walked in that door her keks would be roond her ankles in seconds
.

‘
Great thit yuv learned yir lesson,’ Seeker says, and flashes me a grim, collusive smile, while Keezbo picks and chews at the dry skin aroond his heavily bleeding nails
.

‘
Aye, ah huv!’ she says belligerently, then looks at us in disdain before storming off
.

Day 40

Today in the junky transfer market:
OUT
: Seeker,
IN
: old smelly Leith hippy Dennis Ross and a rodent-faced radgeworks fae Sighthill who goes by the name ay Alan Venters
.

I’ll certainly miss Seeker (again, it’s a club of one I’m in), basically cause I know it’ll be harder to motivate myself tae exercise every morning and afternoon
.

Day 41

It’s a lovely morning, and I’m up early to do the weights and the rope. To my surprise, Audrey comes through, tapping on the patio doors. I think of her as Bowie’s little girl with grey eyes, say something, say something … as she joins me in her customary silence, doing some weights and skipping. But afterwards, we sit and chat in the garden. Audrey doesnae say, but it’s clear she didnae care fir Seeker. Perhaps understandable. After a bit we go in for breakfast, as the others rise in a cacophony of groans and yawns
.

On the menu: scrambled eggs and surprisingly good vegetarian sausages, with tons ay broon HP Sauce. The downside: that Venters gadge sitting on his tod, shaking, but giving out a malevolent vibe. Audrey
and
Molly are both visibly creeped out by him. That cunt is trouble. Not my problem, though
.

Having cracked Joyce, I’ve finally moved on to Carl Rogers. More interesting than I thought: I want to finish it before I go, for Tom’s sake
.

Day 42

It pishes heavily half an hour at a time, before the rain seems tae vanish back up intae a silvery sky ay nippy, ragged-ersed clouds
.

Audrey has replaced Seeker as my fitness partner. After a session we sit and chat about music and life. She tells me she worked as a nurse with terminally ill people but got seriously depressed and started raiding the morphine in the controlled-drugs cupboard
.

So she’s become a friend, which instantly knocks her off my J. Arturoing jukebox. Ye cannae wank aboot mates, even ones with tits and fannies: it just disnae work for me
.

Molly and Ted leave us. Their time here is up. Ted comes up to me and goes, ‘Ah didnae like you at first cause ah thoat ye wir aw snidey n superior, eywis sneakin away oan yir ain n no mixin. Then ah realised that ye jist wanted a bit ay peace n tae git through it yir ain wey.’ I give him a surprisingly heartfelt hug. I’m even more shocked when Molly embraces me and kisses me on the cheek, and says, ‘I’ll miss arguing wi you, ya radge.’ I return the kiss and wish her well. Ted and Molly are the two I like least from the original crew, but I’ll miss them, as I’m singularly unimpressed by the new intake. Thank fuck I’m offski on Thursday. Can’t wait
.

I sit up alternating between reading Rogers and writing mair aboot Orgreave
.

Day 43

Keezbo graduates with honours fae our drug users/substance abusers project, but doesnae seem too excited about it all. ‘Chin up, buddy,’ I tell him, ‘the Fort Rhythm Section’ll be back in action soon. Toughest skiers
.’

‘
Toughest skiers …’ he sadly responds
.

What’s up wi that fat Jambo cunt? The fuckin coupon on him! He’s breaking my heart! Before he walks out he hugs me, and it’s like being mauled by a fat, shaved, sweating bear. ‘Ah’ll miss ye,’ he says, as if we’ll never see each other again! Then the fat cunt hands us this envelope. When he’s gone I open it up; inside is the team photae ay us aw in the Wolves strips
.

Day 44

Brian Clough spent forty-four days at Leeds United. I’d rather have been him than me. No a great deal ay time tae turn roond a club. No a great deal ay time tae turn roond a life
.

I mind of that superb John Cooper Clarke number, ‘Beasley Street’ and the lyrics: ‘Hot beneath the collar, an inspector calls …’ Well, fucked if we dinnae have three ay them today, fae the NHS, Social Work Department and Scottish Office respectively. The
Daily Express
ran a piece on Skreel’s ‘escape’ and did a feature on the ‘junky five-star hotel’, with a helpful editorial saying that the place should be shut doon. Len tells me that a sleazy paedophile-type with a press pass was hanging around outside, harassing the staff for quotes
.

It’s amazing how seedy scumbags (the press) can write shite, and demented retards (the public) suddenly go up in arms and then opportunistic slime (the politicians) jump right on the bandwagon. Such is
British
life. So now there is to be a ‘comprehensive review of the facility’
.

It actually brings us all together. We feel like celebs and are very complimentary about the unit. As the veteran, I do most of the talking, though Audrey’s now saying her piece and Dennis Ross as the oldest, most mature and articulate member of the new breed is making a sterling contribution. (In the gairdin ay eunuchs, even the gadgie wi the two-inch cock cannae help but swagger.) We’re stressing tae the po-faced bureaucrats that it’s no easy ride. This is no piece of cake
.

Tom, Amelia and Len and the other staff are obviously edgy. The unit might shut down. I refuse tae attend the ‘emergency house meeting’ as I’m hame the morn, preferring instead to watch the news. There’s a big heroin bust and the polis and politicians are lining up tae suck each other’s knobs and lick each other’s fannies, trumpeting on that they’re winning the ‘war against drugs’
.

Aye, right. Of course ye are. Clueless cunts
.

Day 45

And the next contestant in the Rehab Game is: none other than my old pal Mikey Forrester! Again, he’ll be creaking and sweating in his room for the next week, keeping out of everybody’s road and feart ay his ain shadow
.

I caught the anxiety and confusion in his eyes and regarded his skeletal frame.
It couldnae happen tae a nicer cunt
, I thought
.

Then, as he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he shuffled ower tae us and went, ‘Mark … awright, mate?’ He looked roond aw shifty and worried. ‘What’s the story here?
’

I realised that I looked just like him, only a few weeks back, and was just as scared. So I took him tae ma room, where he sat shivering, skin pitted
like
plucked chicken, and gied the cunt ma honest view ay the situ. Apparently, the nondy fucker tried to brek intae a chemist’s at Liberton. ‘Ah hud seen that
Christiane F
oan video, ken?
’

The fuckin bam slavered on, and I tried tae listen, but kept anticipating Mater n Pater’s arrival in the motor tae take me away fae aw this. Sure enough, Len came in and Mikey let oot a groan, as I handed him the psychic-rehab baton, and the doss cunt was led oaf tae his room and the long days ay detox that stretched ahead
.

But I was oot ay here, packing up the last ay ma shite. The final item ah put in my bag wis ma diary and journal. He’s been a good friend, but I doubt ah’ll be seeing him again. Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards
.

I say goodbye tae Audrey, who still has a week to go, and tell her that her strategy ay saying fuck all and keeping her heid doon is exactly the right yin. A kiss, cuddle and exchange ay numbers, and I’m roond tae the office tae get discharged
.

Postscript – Day 45 (afternoon)

It’s true what they say: never, ever eavesdrop, cause ye might hear somethin aboot yirsel ye dinnae want tae. Ah’d packed up, was waitin for muh ma n dad, and ah thought ah’d take Carl Rogers back tae Tom. The door ay his office was ajar and ah heard Amelia’s voice, n Sick Boy’s name being mentioned. Well, it wisnae exactly his
name
, but ah kent for a cert whae she wis talking aboot. — … very manipulative. I think he almost believes his own propaganda.

Ah closed in, doomed tae pain like a moth aroond a flame. Ah heard her suddenly change track. — … but that’s Simon. Then we’ve got Mark, leaving today.

Ah froze.

— I’m not too concerned about him in the long term, Tom’s soft, reedy voice. — If he makes it to twenty-six, twenty-seven, his sense of mortality will kick in, he’ll shed all this existential angst and he’ll be fine. If he can just keep from OD’ing or contracting HIV till then, he’ll simply
grow
out of heroin addiction. He’s too intelligent and resourceful; eventually he’ll get bored with pretending to be a loser.

So ah walked in on them, rappin the door as ah went. — Mark … Skinny-Specky blushed tamely. Tom’s pupils visibly dilated. Baith ay them looked as embarrassed as fuck. Was it being caught talking about us, or using the ‘A’ word, or perhaps that unprofessional and pejorative designation, ‘loser’? Whatever, ah savoured the moment, thrusting
On Becoming a Person
oantae Tom. — Interesting read. You should have a look at it sometime.