Glue (30 page)

Ah tried tae speak, tae say that it had been a long time, but ah felt the gagging cough ay acrid puke in ma throat and ah nodded tae Muriel whae had a gless ay water by her side. Ah sipped, almost choking, but it wasnae uncomfortable, it was a slow, smooth, hot caress in ma throat n lungs cause the gear wis daeing its job.

Sharon’s sittin oan couch running her fingers through ma hair, then massagin ma neck like ah’m E’d up. — You’re a bad boy, Andrew Galloway. You had us aw worried there for a bit. Didn’t eh, Larry?

— Aye, Larry grunts distractedly, no looking fae the box.

Ah gave a wee cackle, just at the prospect ay Larry worryin aboot anybody but ehsel.

Ah must have lain there for over an hour zoning in and out of consciousness with Sharon’s fingers working my neck and shoodirs and Larry’s voice zooming in and out of audio-range, like a signal coming through and breaking up.

— . . . this gear is the best . . . you could make a few bob shiftin it . . . every cunt’s gittin feart wi the AIDS but if yir careful it’s nae bother . . . git the smack n the speed mixed up . . . no the base, mind, fuck that . . . Phil thoat eh wis wide . . . started namin names . . . ah hate it when cunts start name-droppin expectin ye tae faw intae line . . . talking aboot the Doyles . . . that Catriona . . . ah telt um ah ken Franco n Lexo n that, so dinnae gie
me
yir Doyles . . . then eh starts aw this shite aboot money . . . kens fuck all . . . nowt wrong wi um . . . thinks that Muriel’s gonny feel aw sorry fir um n lit the fat cunt intae her keks . . .

Sharon gets up and comes back in a change ay clathes, paradin in front ay me like a catwalk model. She’s goat oan a tight pair ay white slacks and a black-and-white striped toap. Ah manage tae gie her the thumbs up. She goes tae the kitchen as Larry drones on and on aboot ehs recent minor atrocities in a weirdly soothing and comforting wey.

— . . . her that was in Deacon’s . . . thinks she kin cock-tease aw she wants . . . no wi this boy here she cannae . . . slipped ehr a couple ay jellies tae wash doon wi her voddy n she wis oot like a light . . . huh huh huh . . . still goat the Polaroids . . . thaire straight doon the back ay that bus shelter at the shoaps if that slag steps oot ay line again . . .

And it disnae matter anymair. That’s the beauty ay it. Nowt fuckin matters.

— . . . the maist minging cunt in the world . . . ah sais tae her, dae you never wash yir fuckin fanny . . . n see your mate, Gally; that Juice Terry cunt . . . tell ays he’s no wide as fuck . . .

Muriel came in screaming and Phil lumbered through behind her.
His face was white with shock and panic and eh was staggering, ehs blood now gushing intae the sheet. — Ah’m driving him tae the hoaspital, she said.

Larry, tae ma shock, goat up. — Lit’s go. Wi stick thegither. Then eh adds, in song, — You know we made a wow to luff one an-oth-uh for ev-vah . . .

Ah sort ay protested, but Larry pilled ays tae ma feet. — Want tae hear what story they cunts tell the hoaspital . . . make sure thir’s nae grassin up gaun oan . . . eh slurred.

We all got intae the car, which wis parked in Montgomery Street, wi Sharon drivin and Phil in the front passenger seat n the rest ay us in the back. Larry was fucked, eh took another hit in the hoose and he wis floating away. — Say nowt, mind . . . he said, passing out.

— Try tae keep tae the backstreets as much as ye kin Sharon, Muriel said, clutching a Bartholomew’s
Edinburgh City Plan
, — wir no wantin stoaped wi they two aw skagged up.

As Sharon started up the car Phil began tae really show ehs panic fir the first time. — THAT CUNT WYLIE! eh screamed. — AH CANNAE BELIEVE EH DID THAT!

Ah wis that wey where ah dinnae ken whether or no ah thought or said the words, — Believe it.

— AH CANN . . . Phil spluttered oan ehs words. Eh arched round in the seat and slammed a chunky fist intae Larry’s face. Larry woke up, saying, — What’s aw this aboot, in a sort ay nasal plead.

Muriel pushed Phil back and held ehs shoodirs. — Phil, for fuck sake, sit still, yir losing blood, she pleaded.

— This is pure radge, Sharon said.

— Try tae stey still, Phil, Muriel implored. — We’ll be thaire in a bit. And mind: ye cannae grass Larry up.

— Ah’ve nivir grassed any cunt up in ma life, Phil squeaked, — but he’s . . . that cunt . . . Phil turned in the seat and tried tae have another go at Larry, who just said, — C’mon now . . . and laughed.

But Phil was coming out ay the shock ay the stabbing. Eh wis fuckin livid at Larry. Eh goat round again and battered him in the puss. Larry twisted like a rag doll, his head snapping back under the impact of the blow. Eh wis like one ay they nodding dugs in the back ay motors. — That’s right Phil . . . that’s enough . . . Muriel said, almost at the same time. Ah started tae laugh. Larry’s eye was swelling up, looking like a rotten piece ay fruit.

— WIDEO . . . CUNT . . . Phil shrieked, and Sharon went —
OHHH as mair blood,
real
blood, started coming through ontae ehs lap. Just as we pulled intae the A & E, Phil collapsed across Sharon. She stopped the car aboot fifty yards short ay the forecourt. Muriel couldnae pill him up, so she just goat oot n ran acroass the tarmac. Larry, dazed, fell across my lap. — Fuckin great shit this, Gally . . . hus tae be said, he muttered, ehs wasted face lookin up at me.

The ambulance boys were straight oot and they had Phil fae the motor and they were taking him away. They were struggling like fuck to get him from the ground onto the trolley, even with it folded down. Ah shouted oan Muriel and she came away, brushing aside this paramedic who was gesturing towards the desk.

She got in up front beside Sharon who did a nifty bit ay reversin and we drove off. — Where are we gaun? she asked.

— The beach, ah suggested, — Portobelly.

— Ah want tae go clubbin, Sharon goes.

— That suits me, ah said, remembering that ah wanted tae serve up at Carl Ewart’s club, git masel sorted wi some cash for Munich.

— We’ll no be gittin intae any club the night, Muriel scoffed.

— Aye, Fluid, it’s ma mate’s club, Fluid, we’ll git in, ah slur.

Larry’s heid’s still oan ma lap. Eh looked up at ays and raises a clenched fist in salute. — Clublaaaand! . . . eh gasps loudly.

Larry never made it past the bouncers on the door and Muriel took him hame. They let me n Sharon in, only cause ah’m Carl’s mate n she wis wi me. Ah wis fucked up, and ah dinnae really mind that much about the club. Billy wis talkin tae ays for a bit, n ah think Terry said something aboot the Beer Festival. Sharon took ays hame. Ah mind ay her pittin ays tae bed, then getting in wi me. In the night a goat a hard-on and ah nearly never minded. She must’ve felt it pokin against her, cause she woke up and started playin wi it, then tellin me tae fuck her.

When she started kissin ays deeply ah thoat for a while ah wis somebody else. Then it came back tae ays exactly who ah wis. Ah telt her ah couldnae, it wisnae her, it wis me. Thir wis nae condom and ah jist couldnae. She kept a tight hud ay ays, as ah telt her that she wis hingin aboot wi rubbish, n ah included maself in that, n told her she wis better thin that and that she should sort it oot.

Her sweaty face pulled away fae mines and came intae view. — It’s awright . . . disnae matter. Ah sortay guessed. Ah thoat ye kent: ah’m like that n aw, she told me with a mischievous wee smile.

There wis no fear in her eyes. None at all. It was like she was talkin aboot bein in the fuckin Masons or something. It put the shits up me. Ah goat up, went through, and sat cross-legged in the chair, lookin at ma crossbow oan the waw.

The dole’s no as bad as the DHSS some say. Others say different. Academic fuckin debate cause tae me it’s aw part ay the same shite; cunts that want tae poke thir fuckin nose intae yir affairs. Aye, the bastards have called ays in, so ah gits doon tae Castle Terrace for ma appointment. Yours truly’s thaire at the stated time, but the place is mobbed oot. It’s gaunny be a right fuckin stall the looks ay it. So ah’m waitin oan the red plastic seats wi the rest ay the poor fuckers, tryin tae git comfortable. They aw look the same; schools, polis stations, nicks, factories, DHSS and dole offices. Anywhere they process the punters. Thir’s the yellaw waws, the blue strip lightin and the notice board wi one or two frayed posters on it. The first word oan the poster or sign is usually ‘No’, either that or it’s goat one ay two messages oan it. It’s either: we’ve goat our eye oan youse cunts, or: grass up yir friends and neighbours for us. This one ah’m readin is everywhaire now:

Thir wis a wee bit ay bother the last time ah wis here at one ay they things. They sent this fuckin wide cow tae sort ays oot, but it didnae work oot the wey the cunts had planned. She came in wi aw they particulars, tellin ays aboot this joab thit ah hud tae take or else they’d cut oaf ma benefit.

The woman hud that stiff, brittle hair and she wore a print dress. Ehr nostrils wir twitchin in her beak tae see if she wis pickin up the
scheme offay me; the fags, the beer, wherever the fucker’s prejudices took her.

Ah looked over the particulars, then, in nae hurry, looked up at the woman. — Well, ah wis really lookin for full-time work, ah explained tae her.

Gie her ehr due, she at least hud the good grace tae look a bit embarrassed as she explained, — This post
is
full-time, Mr Lawson, it’s eh, thirty-seven hours a week.

— Mmmm . . . is thir nowt jist sellin aerated waters, ah ask her, — it’s jist thit ah’ve ey selt juice roond the hooses. Oaf the lorries, ken?

— No Mr Lawson, she says coldly, — we’ve been through this a thousand times before. You can’t sell juice, as you call it, from the back of lorries any more. Soft drinks retail differently nowadays.

— But how? ah ask, makin sure ah keep ma mooth a wee bit open eftir ah’ve asked the question.

— Cause it’s easier for the consumer, she says aw snooty.

Patronisin cow. Thick as fuck n aw. Didnae huv a fuckin scooby doo that ah wis jist stallin fir time. — Well it disnae make it easier fir the likes ay me. N thir’s people ah ken whae still ask ays tae this day, how is it thit thir’s nae juice bein selt roond the schemes . . . auld wifies thit cannae git oot n that.

So wir gaun oan like that, but she’s no huvin it at aw. She tells me thit ah’ve goat tae take the joab in front ay ays n that’s that.

Ah just couldnae afford it; it was as simple as that. It wis the time factor mair thin the money, even if the dosh wis a bad joke. Seventy-five pence an hour for fillin burgers? But the time wis worse; keepin ye in a burger shoap when ye could be oot makin real money. Ah’ve nae time for thon. Thirty-seven hours a week daein that shite? Fuck that.

But ah hud tae take it. And, bein fair tae masel, ah did stick it fir two days. Me, workin away wi this wee gadgie, covered in plukes which wirnae gaunny git better very quick wi aw the grease aroond; servin burgers tae nippy drunks n daft students n housewives wi bairns, lookin like a muppet in this uniform.

But no for long.

Then there ah was oan Sunday evening, sittin in the pub ower the road fae the shoap. Aye, ah hud plenty witnesses tae say ah’d been thair aw night, and tae testify tae ma shock when auld George McCandles came in aw excited and telt us aw that the new burger shoap they’d opened up oan the Walk was oan fire. Sure enough, we
heard the sirens wailin oan cue and we spilled out ontae the pavement, pints in hand, tae watch the fireworks.

Beats the fuckin telly any time.

The big surprise wis thit the polis didnae haul ays in right away. They wir oan the scene pretty quick n they clocked ays standin ootside the pub. — That’s ma work n aw, ah telt one copper, feignin outrage. — What am ah gaunny dae? Ralphie Stewart heard this and goes, — Aye Terry, it wid make ye take up a life ay crime, so it wid.

So ah went in the next day, n the place wis gutted. The manager wis doon thaire wi a guy fae head office n some insurance boy. Eh telt us that the place wis closed n that wi should go back up tae the dole n sign back oan. So when ah goat up thaire, the auld cow made a loat ay they insinuations that time. The perr auld dragon, she ended up gittin it tight for oversteppin the mark. That’s the best approach; draw them in by playin the daft laddie, sittin thair n noddin away like the fuckin village idiot, then they git jist that wee bit too wide n cocky. That’s when ye lit the cunts huv it wi baith fuckin barrels. It’s that barry look ay shock oan thir coupons whin they see thit thuv been done, thit thir no jist messin wi any fuckin muppet who they kin short-change n who’ll jist take thir bullshit, thir dealin wi some real fuckin wideo wi an eye fir the main chance.

So ah wis noddin away like a daft cunt n she’s gaun, — It’s funny, Mr Lawson, unable tae hide that she is fuckin beelin, — this is twice this has happened to places you’ve just started to work in.

Bingo!

Ah clicked intae second gear. Ah just sat up, and focused right oan her. Gie’d her that Birrell-before-the-bell look. — What are you on aboot, ah asked.

— I was just saying . . . She started tae get aw flustered, that change in gaze, posture n tone ay voice.

Ah looked at her, leaning across her desk. — Well, ah’m just saying that I’d like you to get your supervisor out here and repeat what you’ve said to me just now. I’m sure the police will also be interested in these allegations. Prior to that, of course, I’ll get in touch with my solicitor. Okay?

She started exploding wi sweat, fart and slaver, her hert fuckin well gaun like the clappers and her big fat face flushin like a newly installed top-ay-the-range Armitage Shanks. — I . . . I . . .

— Get him, ah smiled coldly, drummin in cheerful insistence on the desk, then added, — or her. If you please.

So the supervisor wis sheepishly called; of course by this time the big fuckin cow has gone intae shock that what started oot as the routine harassment ay some dodgy cunt fae a scheme has flipped over intae the nightmare scenario. The disciplinary fuckin stain oan the otherwise exemplary record. Aye, n they type ay stains kin be stubborn fuckers n aw missus, yir Ariel n yir Daz urnae gaunny dae the biz here. The thing is, even if it’s just a verbal, the next promo board will say, ‘Yes, the fat cunt is maybe evil and warped enough to be a good DHSS supervisor, but she lacks the necessary customer care smarm. Consign the silly fucker tae routine mundane filing duties until the early retirement or redundancy opportunity presents itself.’