Glue (15 page)

— Naw, Carl goes.

— Naw, no him, she sais, aw knowing n bitter.

It wis funny right enough, thit Terry went tae the boxin wi Billy, n eh wis the only one thit goat done. This really seems tae huv done ehs Ma’s heid in. Yvonne comes back oot behind her. She’s goat a bit ay her hair in her mooth n she’s suckin at it n pickin it. — Billy didnae git done, did eh, Carl? she asks.

— Naw, eh’s jist away hame, we jist left um.

Mrs Ulrich turns roond tae Yvonne, — Ah telt ye Yvonne, inside!

— Kin stand here if ah like, Yvonne goes.

— Askin eftir Billy bloody Birrell whin yir ain brother’s in the bloody jail bichrist! Terry’s Ma goes. Then Mr Ulrich comes oot. — Come inside Alice, this will solve nothing, eh goes. — It is no good. There can be nowt that will be achieved. Yvonne. Come indoors. Come!

Yvonne goes in, then Terry’s Ma shivers and goes inside, slammin the door. Carl n me look at each other, stretchin oor mooths as wide open as they’ll go.

Whin ah git in, muh Ma’s goat the tea oan. Fish n chips, which is barry. Ah gits the heels ay breed n butters thum n hus maist ay muh tea stuck between them, smothered in broon sauce. Muh Ma eywis gies ays a row fir takin the heel fae the boatum ay the breed packet, but ye huv tae if ye want tae make a right piece. The ordinary slice gits too soggy wi the melted butter n it jist faws tae bits. Sheena’s hud hers, she’s sittin oan the couch watchin telly wi her pal Tessa.

— Thir wisnae any bother at that match? muh Ma asks, as she pours some tea fae the pot.

Ah wis aboot tae say what ah usually say, which is ‘Ah didnae see any.’ Ye eywis say that, whether thir’s a full-scale riot or jist fuck all. Then ah mind that Terry’s mibbe gaunny be oan the telly n in the papers! So ah tell her thit ah goat loast fae Terry but he ended up gaun tae the wrong end by mistake n gittin lifted.

— Ye want tae keep away fae him, he’s a troublemaker, she said, — jist the same as his faither. Thir worth nowt, nane ay thum. Alan wis
oan the phone, she said. — He wis wi wee Lisa n aw they fitba hooligans wir aw runnin aroond the toon . . .

Aw fuck . . .

She smells something oan ma breath. — Huv you been drinkin?

— It’s only cider . . .

Fuck . . . that cunt Alan . . .

She looks at me and shakes her heid, then starts tae tidy up the plates. — Aye, she goes, Alan wis sayin that it’s aw animals at the fitba now, and eh widnae go. Eh willnae let Raymond go.

Thank fuck, eh didnae see ays! Ah thoat she wis jist sayin that tae try n draw ays oot.

Fuck Alan and Raymond n torn-faced wee Lisa, the snobby bastards.

That cunt Thatcher’s oan the telly, her that the English voted in. Cannae fuckin stand her, that fuckin voice. Who the fuck could vote for a cunt like that? Ye couldnae vote fir anybody wi that fuckin voice. Still, Mr Ewart says that the miners n that’ll git rid ay her soon. So ah’m sittin in for a bit, gittin comfortable, watchin the telly.
Starsky n Hutch
comes oan n ah’m jist gittin intae that mood where ah’m no really bothered aboot gaun oot or no, whin the door went n it wis Billy n Carl. They come in, bit thir wantin ays oot fir Clouds. Ah wis jist gittin intae
Starsky n Hutch
n aw n ah nivir even hud time tae change. Sheena n Tessa started gaun aw bashful cause they both like Billy n ah wis anxious tae git us aw oot the hoose before they embarrassed ays. Runnin up the stairs ah goat changed quick as fuck, gittin ma earring in. Thir wis a spot comin up oan ma chin n ah nivir hud time tae check it right. Ye dinnae want spots at any time, but specially no at Clouds. As we go oot the door, that cunt Carl flicks ma earring n goes — Hello, sailor!

Oan the bus ah realise thit ah’ve still goat the knife oan ays. Ah didnae mean tae bring it. Fuck it, thi’ll no be any bother the night. Ah wis really gled thit ah didnae pill it at the fitba. The thing wis ah goat so intae jist punchin n kickin, ah didnae even think aboot it.

So wi wir aw up tae Clouds that night, or what used tae be called Clouds. They call it The Cavendish now but every cunt still kens it as Clouds. It’s funny, but muh faither n muh Uncle Donald used tae git oan ma tits when they called places, pubs n that, by thir auld names. Now here’s me daein the same. Whatever ye call it though, it’s barry, cause in the queue we git treated like heroes. Thir wis a crowd ay they stroppy Clerie cunts bit they wir sayin nowt. Me n Carl had drank
another boatil ay cider between us n we wir a bit ootae the game by the time we goat thair. Ye huv tae hud it thegither when yir gaun in, cause the bouncers’ll no lit ye in if yir steamboats, n ah’m worried aboot them sussin the knife, but we sail past them through the door. Thir’s a big mob in thair, Dozo n his crowd, n wir gaun ower the stories again. Then Terry n Marty Gentleman come in, n thir’s a big cheer fae Dozo n Polmont n some ay the other boys. Everybody’s askin thum aboot what happened wi the polis, time eftir time. Treated like fuckin heroes. Barry.

Terry’s no bothered aboot things though, ah’ll gie him ehs due. It’s like eh’s hud ehs fitba time, n this is ehs lassies time now. — Nae Lucy the night? Carl asks um.

— Naw, she took the fuckin strop cause ay ays gittin huckled. Didnae want her up here the night anywey. Setirday night’s ma ain night, ah like it best jist seein her in the week n oan Sundays, eh explains. That cunt leads some fuckin life. Terry kin git intae Annabel’s and Pipers n aw, the lucky bastard. Eh even goes tae the Bandwagon sometimes. Aw he’s oot fir is the fanny as usual. First ah sees um dancin wi that Viv McKenzie bird, then thir neckin in the corner. Then eh’s wi one ay the birds fae the Wimpy n eh’s bagged oaf wi her, bit it’s no the big yin wi the white teeth, it’s the wee yin wi the leather jaykit. Viv’s no bothered, she’s goat oaf wi Tommy fae the BBs’s mate, this Leith guy Simon Williamson.

Me n Billy n Carl go doonstairs cause that boy Nicky that sells the blues is doon thair n we git yin each offay um. They start tae take effect when ah’m oan the Galaxian wi Billy, which awright, isnae as good as Space Invaders or even Asteroids, but it’s aw thuv goat. Soon though, wir gittin a real buzz oaf they blues, so eftir a bit it’s fuck the Galaxian, n whaire’s the fanny? The fanny’s back up the stair of course, n so ur we. Ah’m intae a dance now.

We’re standin oan the edge ay the danceflair, watchin the lassies dancin under the mirrorball roond piles ay handbags. The dry ice comes oot n strobes start gaun. Billy wis sayin thit eh once saw that scruff-boy fae Leith, that Spud Murphy, git huckled fir chorin handbags whin eh thoat nae cunt could see wi the smoke machine oan. It’s no the bags oan the flair ah’m bothered aboot though, cause thir’s some total rides here, nae mistake aboot that. Aw they barry erses wrapped in they clingfilm-tight pencil skirts. It fair sets yir pulse racin whin yir oan the speed. One ay they lassies thit wis wi the Clerie boys is lookin acroass at ays, bit ah dinnae fancy the kind ay bother thit comes
wi that. Some ay the Clerie boys’ve clocked us n aw. The cunts dinnae like the attention we’re gittin. Jist cause they nivir thought tae pill oaf a stunt like that at the game. Jealous fuckers. These wankers widnae huv the brains tae think ay it or the wideness tae dae it. Half they cunts are Jam Tarts anywey. Ah sees that Renton boy fae the fitba go past. Ah nod. — Good result the day, eh, the cunt goes.

— Nivir mind the fuckin result, whaire did youse git tae, you n yir mate? ah goes.

Carl laughs, n Billy looks aw intense at the boy.

Ah’ll gie the cunt ehs due, if eh’s ruffled eh’s no showin it. — The polis saw ma fuckin skerf comin oot ay the bottom ay ma jumper n they sent ays back. Jist as well they did, cause ah didnae see it masel n the Huns would’ve. Spud jist chummed ays, eh explains.

Billy laughs, lookin like eh disnae really believe the Renton boy, but eh’s giein him the benefit ay the doubt. It sounds like bullshit tae me, n ah kin tell by the wey that Carl looks at the cunt that he thinks so n aw. Still, ah’m no bothered. It’s up tae that Frank Begbie tae say something tae Renton, it wis him that broat the cunt. — See yis, eh goes, headin away.

— Aye, ah sais back.

As Renton goes past, Carl gies the wanker sign tae ehs back.

Ah’m huvin a blether wi Billy n Carl whin ah see her comin in. It
is
her. She’s so fuckin gorgeous ah cannae look. Caroline Urquhart. She walks past us in a group ay lassies. Ah nivir kent she came here, ah thought she went tae aulder places like Annabel’s n that. Ah turn away n try tae be cool. Ah’m a bit fucked, bit in a good wey, gittin energy offay the blues. Carl’s away wi it, talkin shite as usual. — Listen . . . Billy, Gally, listen the now. Eh ye cannae git VD offay a lassie’s tit? By feelin it likesay.

Ah starts laughin, n Billy does n aw. — You’re a heidbanger, Ewart.

— Naw ah wis jist like . . .

— You’ve nivir hud a ride, huv ye? Billy accuses.

Carl’s gaun a bit white, but eh steys quite cool. — Course ah huv, it’s jist thit ah read somewhaire aboot a boy thit goat VD fae feelin a lassie’s tit, eh sais. It’s funny, but some cunts git a beamer whin thir embarrassed, other cunts, like Carl, go white.

— Get tae Falkirk. Eh nivir rode her? Billy scoffs.

— Naw, it wis jist offay feelin her tit.

— That’s garbage. Piss off ya radge! Hear um, Gally, Billy says tae
ays, shakin ehs heid. Carl likes tae act the big fanny merchant but ah doubt eh’s ever hud a ride in ehs puff. Eh’s knocked aboot wi quite a few lassies n eh wis gaun oot wi that Alison Lewis fir a bit, but ah doubt eh goat anything offay her. Na, he’s no hud a ride. Neither huv ah, mind you, n it’s aboot fuckin time ah did. Ah’ve hud the tit, gied the finger, been wanked off n hud ma cock gammed, so ah’m dyin tae git it proper. The lassie ah used tae go wi, Karen Moore, she didnae want tae go aw the wey but. So fuck that, ah packed her in; ye kin only git cock-teased fir so long. She wis a nice lassie but, n muh Ma liked her, in fact she went aw narky whin ah telt her ah’d packed her in. Ah felt like sayin tae her, you fuckin well go oot wi her then. You’ve probably goat mair chance ay gittin yir hole oaf her thin ah huv!

Anywey, ah’m up for it the night. That Odyssey’s oan, that
Use it Up n Wear it Oot
, n ah deek Caroline Urquhart up oan the flair dancin wi her mate. She’s wearin a barry rid dress, wi black tights. Her mate’s awright, good bit ay tit on it. Fuckin hell, it’s that Amy Connor! She looks different in that green toap n the make-up, her hair aw up. Aulder. Billy’s seen thum n aw. — Rides, eh goes. Then eh looks at ays n says, — Fancy movin in thaire?

Ah feel a bit funny. A bit nervous. Ah rubs at whaire ah felt that pluke comin up. It even seems tae huv gone intae a heid! A pluke under the strobe lights wi Caroline Urquhart! If ah make a cunt ay masel, n git k.b.’d, ah’ll huv tae face her every day at school. — No wantin oaf wi a bird fae the school, ah gasp, a bit too quick. Billy lits it go but Terry widnae huv. Mind you, he’s away in wi ehs new mates now, ehs hard, wide mates. — Ah mean, that’s shite, ah add.

— Popeye, Birrell says.

— Naw, bit listen Billy, thir’s stacks ay fanny here, ah point ower tae two other birds dancin oan thir ain. One’s goat straight blonde hair. She’s a ride. The other’s goat long dark hair, n her erse looks good in that pencil skirt. — See they rides but.

— Tidy, Billy agrees, n wi move in, dancin away in front ay thum. Ah nods tae the blonde bird n she does tae me n aw. Ah’d like tae smile at her but ma mates might think ah’m a poof. Wi did they fuckin Huns the day, so ye cannae go actin aw poofy wi birds n showin every cunt up. The likes ay Terry kin git away wi it cause he’s goat that kind ay personality. That
Atomic
by Blondie comes oan so ah take that as ma excuse tae chat up the bird. — That’s you, eh, Blondie, the blonde hair n that, ah goes, feelin ehr hair fir a bit. She jist smiles bit in a wey thit
makes ays feel like a wanker. That cunt Terry, if he said the same thing, they’d be aw that whooo . . . whooo type ay wey.

— Ah wis it the fitba the day. At Easter Road. Took the fuckin Huns, eh, ah shout in her ear. She smells dead nice.

— Dinnae like fitba, she goes.

— Yir no a fuckin Jam Tart, ur ye?

— Dinnae like fitba. Muh Dad supports Motherwell.

— Motherwell’s fuckin shite, ah goes. Mibbe ah shouldnae huv been sae fuckin nippy thair, but they
are
nothin n she hus tae be telt.

Wir gaun oaf the flair, n she goes back taewards whaire her mates ur sittin. — See ye well, ah goes.

— Aye, right, she sais, gaun away n sittin doon wi her mates.

Billy comes ower. — Bag oaf?

— Ah’m fuckin well in thaire, ah goes. — She’s fuckin well gantin oan it. He’s no bagged oaf wi the other one though. Hudin ays back. Then that
Start!
by The Jam comes oan, the one thit knocked Bowie’s
Ashes to Ashes
oaf number one. Ah like it though, n wir singing it, bit it’s like wir singin aboot the Huns . . . ‘if I never ever see you . . . it will be a start!’ Doo doo doo doo . . . Fuckin bramer.

See they blues . . .

. . . before ah ken it the last slow number’s oan, the deejay’s tellin aw the guys tae git up n move oan in thair, no that any cunt needs encouragement. Ah fires up intae that wee blonde lassie again. It’s an auld song but, that Olivia Newton-John daein that
Hopelessly Devoted tae You
fae
Grease
. We snog fir a bit, but ah git a hardo n ah kin feel her bucklin away. Ah’m like Cropley the dug here.

Whin the music stoaps wi pill apart n she smiles. She squeezes ma hand n looks at me, but ah sort ay freeze, no kenin what tae say. — Eh, see ye in a minute, she goes, headin back oaf the flair where ah sees Billy talkin tae that Renton n this Matty boy fae Leith. Ah cannae see Carl. The blonde lassie’s ower wi her mates.

Thuv goat the lights up n the music oaf n thir chuckin us oot. We’re tryin tae check oan every cunt. Carl seems tae huv bagged oaf wi some fat ginger bird, Billy says eh saw um sneakin away wi her. Must huv been a right fuckin muck-bucket fir him tae be sae snide aboot it. Ah’m tryin tae be cool, but ah’m lookin for her, no Caroline Urquhart, but that wee blonde piece.

Ah see hur eftir, as wir gaun oot, intae the foyer. The wee blondie. Her mate comes up tae ays n nods ower at her n goes, — She fancies you.