Glue (44 page)

Ah make fleetin eye contact wi Billy n we’re shruggin. Gally’s never talked like this before, bummin us up, and the cunt means it n aw. Then ah look ower at Terry, sittin oan a beanbag wi Hedra. Eh’s no worked for ages. Ah kin see thit eh’s no happy aboot what Gally’s said. — Hi Gudrun, that’s N-SIGN Ewart, eh points at me and eh’s said that one hundred times at least aw night, which is still less than Terry, but eh’s shakin the lassie soas she looks at ays, n eh’s gaun,
— N-SIGN. Eh wis in that magazine,
DJ
, youse might no git it here . . . it hud a bit aboot the up n comin deejays fir the nineties . . .

Ah dinnae think Terry bothers that much but. He’ll always get by, duckin n divin. It’s the nature ay the beast.

The Gudrun lassie stands up n goes tae the bogs. She’s a wee honey n aw, n ah watch her depart, appreciating her easy, graceful movements. Gally doesnae seem tae be noticing though, cause eh looks at ays, then eh’s starin ahead intae space. — They tell ye that ah seen the bairn, wi her n him, before we came oot here?

Terry and Billy both mentioned it tae ays. It didnae sound good. Ah grind ma teeth. Right now ah’m no really wantin tae hear aboot the Gally n Gail n Polmont show, featuring special guests Alexander ‘Dozo’ Doyle and Billy ‘Business’ Birrell, yet again. No here. No the now. But the boy is upset. — How’s she daein? ah ask.

Gally’s still lookin oaf intae space. Eh disnae want tae meet ma eyes. Ehs voice goes low. — Didnae really ken me, eh no. Calls him daddy. Him, eh.

Terry’s heard this, and eh takes a toke fae a spliff before turnin and shruggin tae Gally. — That’s the wey it goes. Mine calls that cunt daddy n aw. A big, fuckin gawky twat, n he calls him daddy. It’s jist the wey it goes but, eh. He’s the cunt that pits the nosh in her mooth n that’s it.

— Disnae make it right! Gally says, it comin oot in a panicky primal shriek. And ah’m feelin for the cunt now, really feelin for Gally, cause it’s the worst thing in the world for him.

— She’ll mind ay ye, Gally, it jist needs time, ah say. Ah dinnae ken why ah opened ma mooth, ah’ve no goat a clue, it jist seemed the right thing tae say.

Gally’s really gone intae a bad frame ay mind. It’s like thir’s a cloud above ehs heid n it’s gittin blacker by the minute. — Naw, the bairn’s better oaf withoot me. Yir right, Terry. It’s just a blob ay spunk, that’s aw ah wis ivir fuckin worth, eh sais, ehs face aw twisted. — Jist aboot ma first fuckin ride. Offay Gail. Eighteen years auld. Delighted that ah’d popped ma cherry. How unlucky is that . . . ah mean . . . ah dinnae mean that . . .

Ah glance at Terry, whae raises his eyebrows. Ah’ve nivir heard Gally talk like that before. Mind you, ah thought the cunt never goat ehs hole back in the early days. Thir wis eywis talk but a lot ay it wis silly talk. The playgroond, the canteen, the pub. No always, but often.

Ah’m feelin great n aw. Ah dinnae want this, ah want Gally tae feel
like me. — Look, this conversation’s gittin a wee bit depressin. It’s a perty! Fuck sake, Gally! You’re a young, fit man!

— Ah’m a fuckin waster, a fuckin druggy, eh scoffs in self-loathing.

Ah look at his wee baby face n pinch ehs cheek between ma thumb and forefinger. — Tell ye what, ye still look in pretty good nick, Gally, for aw the abuse ye gie yirsel.

Eh’s still no huvin it but. — It’s aw inside but, mate, eh laughs in a low, hollow wey that chills me. Then eh looks a bit thoughtful and says, — Ye kin scrape a dug’s shite oot the gutter n pit it in a fancy gift box wi a glittering bow, but it’s still a piece ay dug shite in a boax, eh says harshly. — The rid bill’s in the post, eh laments.

— C’moan, Gally, ah sais tae um, — ah said that ye looked awright, ah widnae go as far as a fancy gift box wi a glittering bow. Keep the fuckin heid, son! Eftir aw, ah stand up n launch intae ma impersonation ay auld Blackie fae the school; — Some say that there is no room for social education and religious knowledge in a modern comprehensive education system. I differ from this fashionable view. For how can an education system be truly comprehensive if it does not have SOCIAL education and RELIGIOUS knowledge?

At last the cunt starts laughin. Billy’s been listenin tae aw this and rises tae his feet. — C’moan, Gally, lit’s take a wee walk, Billy says, n Gally stands up. That Gudrun lassie’s comin back n Billy stands back n nods tae Gally. Eh cheers up even mair and they head off thegither, intae the gairdin.

Wolfgang’s oan the decks now, and eh’s takin things back up again. Rolf’s shakin ehs heid n laughin. The big cunt’s pit a killer track oan though, n ah’m feeling the tingling nausea ay this pill digging in and if ah dinnae git up right now ah’ll gouch right oot. People are comin oaf the beanbags n chairs, oantae thir feet, oantae the flair. Ah must git a copy ay that yin, find oot what it is. The flair’s fill ay Germans dancing, aw except Marcia, who is, as they say, not amused. The Germans are awright, that Nazi shite could happen anywhere. They tell us that Nazis are weird, but thir probably nae weirder or mair perverted thin liberals. It wis jist thit times changed n every cunt flipped ower. It could happen anytime, anywhaire. It seems tae me that the wey things are gaun, capitalism’s eywis gaunny be volatile. The rich’ll throw in thir loat wi any cunt that restores order but’ll let them keep what they’ve goat. It’ll happen again within the next thirty years.

That’s the thing that goat me. The Nazis arenae some cunt else. Every cunt, every nation’s goat it in them tae dae evil jist like every
person hus. N they usually dae it cause thir scared or cause thir pit doon by every cunt else. The world’s only gaunny git better wi love n ah’m gaunny help spread it through music. That’s ma mission, that’s why ah’m N-SIGN. Carl Ewart, they nivir liked that boy, cause he wis the daft laddie that gave the Nazi salute in front ay the tabloid photographer tae wind them up when eh wis wi ehs fitba mates. A daft laddie, didnae even ken what a Nazi wis, only that he’d always been taught tae detest them. Eh jist kent that it wound up every posh cunt in the work who looked at him and heard his schemie voice and thought that eh was white trash.

They didnae like Carl Ewart, white-trash schemie. But they liked N-SIGN. N-SIGN’s played at warehoose perties in London, raised funds for anti-racist groups, aw sorts ay deserving community organisations. They love N-SIGN. They’ll never, ever get thir heids roond the fact that the only difference between Carl Ewart and N-SIGN is that one worked liftin boxes in a warehoose for nae money while the other played records in one fir tons ay it. That they choose tae treat the two so different tells ye a loat mair aboot thaim than it does aboot Carl Ewart or N-SIGN. Fuck all that though, ah’m gaunny be smart and righteous fae now on. Tae be touched by real love requires great fortune, it’s no in your hands. The best ye can do, what
is
in yir power, is tae acquire grace.

Ah git up and shuffle for a bit oan the flair wi Rolf and Gretchen. Then ah hear Terry talkin tae Billy in the big hallway, n go n investigate. Billy’s oan the stairs, close tae this amazing-looking lassie. She’s a fuckin Amazon, dressed tae kill in this tight, black and white diagonal-striped dress, her blonde hair piled up, and with the bearing of total arrogance and self-obsession that tells you that she’ll be a brilliant ride but nothing else. In Billy’s state ay mind that’ll be mair than enough. Hedra’s there as well, I think the big lassie’s her mate. The cunts dinnae see me. — Gally’s oaf ehs fuckin heid; ah worry aboot that boy sometimes, Terry goes. — Aw that stuff aboot ma foreskin. What wis that aboot? You tell me!

— Eh’s jist takin the pish. Huvin a wee laugh, eh, Billy says, annoyed that Terry’s distracted him fae that big bird eh wis obviously chatting up. Lawson’s probably tryin tae muscle in, even though eh’s wi Hedra.

— Aye, bit thir’s weys n means ay huvin a laugh. Ah dinnae ken what happened tae him in the nick. Cunt wis probably gittin shagged
by some big fuckin soapdodger screw. That’s how eh’s obsessed wi other guys’ cocks.

— Your friend is for going both ways? Hedra smiles.

— Bullshit, Billy says, at Terry though, looking at me to back him up.

Terry’s goat a point eh feels eh hus tae make though. — Eh nivir talks aboot it. Something went oan wi him in thair. Ye see how eh’s been since we’ve been here? Up and doon like a fuckin yo-yo.

Ah chips in, still a bit spangled wi this pill, — Gie the boy a brek, Tez. Ehs auld man’s never oot the jail n Gally did two years for nowt, n wi aw ken what happened eftir that. It wis nowt tae dae wi anything that went oan in the nick.

Terry looks grimly at me. Eh’s a bit pished, although eh huds a drink well. Terry never really goat intae pills. — Ah ken eh’s hud a bad time. Ah lap the cunt up. Ye dinnae huv tae bum up Gally tae me, Carl. Eh’s ma best mate . . . well, you two n aw, n that’s no the bevvy talkin. Thir’s jist some fuckin funny shit gaun oan wi that cunt sometimes. Eh’s aw fuckin competitive wi ye ower nothin, then eh starts bummin every cunt up n pittin ehsel doon.

— The thing aboot Gally but, ah goes, — is thit eh’s goat a real sense ay injustice. Wi him gaun tae the jail like that.

Billy looks coldly at me. — Mibbe ehs wee lassie’s goat a sense ay injustice n aw, eh goes.

Ah feel ma blood freeze a wee bit, even through the pill. Terry looks at me, then at Birrell, — That wis a fuckin accident, Billy, you’re oot ay order thaire.

Billy raises ehs eyes in a brief flicker.

— It
wis
an accident, Billy, you ken that, ah agree.

Billy nods, — Ah ken, but what ah’m sayin is that accidents’ve goat a habit ay happening when ye act like an erse.

Terry grinds ehs teeth. — It aw started wi that fuckin Heid-The-Baw cunt, that Polmont. Him and ehs mate, Doyle, they need tae be telt again.

We jist lit that yin hing for a while, considering our impotence, feeling its range and our limitations. Terry’s fill ay bullshit, n ah looks at Billy and raises ma eyes, n ah kin tell he’s thinkin the same thing. Polmont’s a wanker, but eh’s connected n thir’s no way Terry’s gaunny tell the likes ay Doyle’s mob anything. Billy hud a go, but it’s because he’s connected wi some real heavy cunts through what he does. But wi the likes ay me n Terry ye dinnae get oan the wrong side ay they cunts,
unless ye want tae make it yir life’s work. And it might be a short life. Cause it never ends wi these fuckers, never ever. Fuck that, ah’ve goat other things ah want tae dae wi ma life. No matter how tidy ye think yir ain mob is, ye’ve goat tae ken yir place in the peckin order. The cemetery’s fill ay cunts that never learned that. Thir’s certain levels ye never want tae go tae. End of.

Terry’ll no lit this go. Eh looks at Billy like a challenge. — Doyle n that Polmont cunt. They’ll git thaires.

Billy shrugs like eh disnae want tae commit ehsel. Terry’s a fly cunt, eh kens how tae work oan us, eh kens whae tae push and which buttons tae hit.

Ah’m wide for the cunt’s game though. —No oaffay me thi’ll no, ah tell um. — Fuck havin a vendetta wi they cunts, Terry. Ye’ll never beat thaim, cause that’s thaire life. We’ve goat other things tae dae.

— They’re no as hard as they think, Terry goes tae me. — Like up Lothian Road yon time. Doyle wis tooled up, n Gent wis thair, but Billy still did thum baith. Polmont goat ehs erse kicked n aw, Saughton Mains’ Foghorn Leghorn goes. — That’s aw ah’m sayin, Carl.

We aw ken that it’s just talk but. Drunks’ talk, the maist borin kind whin yir E’d. — Fuck it, ah say tae him, then turn tae Billy. — You’ve goat the right idea, if ye huv tae fight, dae it in the ring, for money, ah go. Ah’m tryin tae keep Billy in a good frame ay mind, but ah’m lookin at that big scar oan ehs chin that Doyle gied um wi the flensing knife. Ye knock a nutter oan the deck wi a few punches, eftir eh’s scarred ye for life. Then ye huv tae worry aboot comebacks cause every cunt says ye did um. Whae’s won? Nae cunt, it seems tae me. It’s often the wey wi violence; every cunt suffers a scoring defeat:

BIRRELL–3, DOYLE–3.

— Aye . . . eh goes non-committally, then eh thinks aboot it n sais, — Ah hud a word wi ma wee brar aboot aw this casuals stuff, eftir him gittin done at Dundee.

Ah’ve always liked Billy’s brother Rab. He’s a sound guy. — These things happen, ah say.

Terry’s lookin aw disdainful. Billy catches this and makes a point. — It’s as well aw the Hibs boys were there that night wi hud the run-in wi Doyle. It wis Lexo n that thit sorted it aw oot, eh tells Terry.

— It wis you that decked big Gent but, Billy, Terry smiles.

Billy’s face is still like it’s set in stone. — Eh wis gittin right back up
though, Terry. N eh wid’ve kept gittin up till eh goat these big hands oan ays. Doyle n aw. Ah wis gled ay Lexo n that gittin in between us.

— Thair aw fuckin radges n aw but, Terry goes.

Ah jist starts laughin ma heid oaf at Lawson’s cheek. — It wisnae that whin you goat done at that Hibs–Rangers game at Easter Road. Mind ay that? Top Hibs thug Terence Lawson of the Emerald Mafia!

It wis a good opportunity tae brek the ice, and we aw start laughin.

— That wis yonks ago. Ah wis jist a daft wee laddie, Terry says.

— Big changes since they days, right enough, ah smiles sarcastically.

— Cheeky cunt, Terry laughs. That cunt’s goat something up ehs sleeve, ah ken it. Somebody’s due for a slaggin Lawson-style, cause the bastard’s still smartin fae bein turned over by Gally aboot the foreskin.

Billy looks at Terry, — Soas oor Rab. Eh’s still young.

— Eh’s twenty, Billy, eh should ken better by now, Terry says.

Billy looks incredulous. — You wir seventeen, Terry, thir’s no much between seventeen n twenty.

— No in years, but in experience thir is.

This is gaunny get as pedantic as fuck. Ah look at Billy. — Rab isnae a hardman, Billy, eh’s jist daein it tae try n impress you. Ah lap Rab up, but eh’s no a fightin guy.

Billy shrugs again, but eh kens it’s true. Rab’s eywis looked up tae Billy. Billy’s no that bothered though, cause eh’s caught the eye ay yon big Amazon bird again, she’s sittin wi her other mate further up the stair, talkin n smokin blaw. It’s funny, bit if ah wis pished, ah’d be lookin up her dress, but E’d, ye never really think aboot being like that. Ah look at where Terry’s eyes are, and sure enough, thir dartin right up thair. Eh’s still goat an airm roond Hedra n aw, n that beer boatil pressed tae ehs lips.