Glue (7 page)

Fuck-ahrrrrr . . .

Ah gasps n then jist huds her, giein her every droap ay it thit’s in ays. Then, lettin ma breathin settle, ah starts thinkin aboot her bein at Auggie’s n a pape n that, n ah’m hopin tae fuck she’s oan the bun. Ah gies her a slobbery kiss on they big lips, then ah arch masel up oan ma airms n look her in the eye. — We’ve goat fuckin chemistry doll. Ye dinnae turn yir back oan that. Ken whit ah’m sayin?

She nods.

That’s a great line, it came fae one ay they films ah saw at the Classic in Nicolson Street.
Percy’s Progress
, ah think it wis. The one aboot the white boy thit goat the darkie’s cock pit oan him.

Ah git oaf her n wi start gittin dressed.

Then Maggie’s back in, — Youse huv tae go, she nearly squeals at us, her eyes aw rid, twistin a lock ay her ain hair in her fingers.

Gail’s lookin for her knickers, but ah’d goat thaire first n done a sneaky yin n stuck thum in ma poakit. Souvenir. Like ah did wi that Philippa fae Huddersfield ah shagged in that guesthoose. A souvenir ay Blackpool. Why no? Each tae thir ain. Yir better ridin birds thin trams, better lickin fannies thin sticks ay rock. That’s what ah say anywey.

This Maggie’s well nippy but. — C’moan Maggie, what’s the problem? Yir Uncle’s no gaunny bother us up here, ah tell her. — Yir no jealous ay Gail ur ye?

— Fuck off, she spits oot. — Jist you git oot ay here son!

Ah shake ma heid as ah lace up me dessie boots. Ah cannae stand immaturity in a lassie whin it comes tae issues ay the cock n fanny. If ye want a shag, huv a shag. If ye dinnae, jist say naw. — Dinnae be gittin aw fuckin wide, Maggie, me n Gail here wir just huvin a wee bit ay fun, ah warns the dippit wee cow. Every cunt’s entitled tae some enjoyment. What’s the big fuckin problem? Ah should’ve sais that line fae
Emmanuelle
, ah think it wis, whaire the boy goes: don’t be so hung-up and repressed, baby.

— That’s aw it wis, Maggie, Gail says, still lookin fir her pants, — dinnae go aw funny aboot it. You’ve no even been gaun oot wi Terry.

Maggie grits her teeth at Gail, then turns tae me, — So does that mean yir gaun wi her now? she asks, aw hurt. Dinnae fight girls, dinnae
fight, thir’s enough tae go roond fir everybody! Guaranteed! Dinnae be sae repressed and hung-up, baby!

Ah turns roond tae Gail n winks at her. — Naw . . . dinnae be daft, Maggie. Like ah wis sayin, it wis jist a daft bit ay fun. Eh, Gail? Ye goat tae huv a laugh, eh. C’mere n gies a wee cuddle, ah says tae Maggie, pattin the bed. — You me n Gail here, ah whispers. — Yir Uncle Alec’s no gaunny bother us.

She stands her groond, lookin aw hard at ays. Ah mind whin me n Carl Ewart wir monitors at the school dinners, servin up the grub tae oor table. Cause eh fancied her, the Milky Bars wir oan him awright, n Carl used tae make sure she goat a good load, seconds as well. Wi probably kept the scruffy wee cow alive Carl n me, n this is the fuckin thanks ah git.

Bet ye oor Mr Ewart wid huv liked tae huv served up the wee hingoot wi the portion thit ah jist did! Guaranteed!

— Terry, you seen ma pants? Gail asks. — Ah cannae find ma fuckin pants.

— Naw, thir no ma size, ah laughs. They’ll be right under ma pillay the night! Sniffity-sniff-sniff!

— Try fuckin well keepin them oan sometime, ye might no lose thum sae easy, Maggie hisses at her.

— Aye, jist like you did, Gail snaps back. — Dinnae git fuckin wide wi me, hen, jist cause yir in yir ain hoose!

Maggie’s eyes’ve gaun aw that watery wey again. Every cunt kens thit Gail wid batter fuck oot ay her in a square go. This is some wee show right enough. Ah’ve goat ma keks oan n ah’m ower tae Maggie n ah’ve goat ma airms roond her. She’s tryin tae push ays away but she’s no tryin that hard, if ye ken what ah mean. — Wi wir jist muckin aboot, ah tells ehr. — Now lit’s jist aw sit doon n relax.

— Ah cannae relax! How kin ah relax! Muh Ma n Dad’s doon in Blackpool n ma Uncle Alec’s here! Eh’s eywis drunk n eh’s awready set ehs ain hoose oan fire! Ah’ve goat tae watch him aw the time . . . it’s no fair, she greets, n she’s really blubberin away now.

Ah tries tae comfort ehr, while watchin Gail pull her breeks oan wi nae knickers. She might try tae steal a pair fae Maggie later, cause ah think that big black bush ay hers might jist show through they thin cotton troosers otherwise. Mind you, ah didnae think she’s that far tae git hame.

— Nivir mind yir Uncle Alec, Maggie. Gail shakes her heid. Aw she’s interested in is her pants. Mind you, that makes two ay us!

Maggie’s a bit feart ay her Uncle Alec. She’ll no go doon and face um, even tae make us a cup ay tea. — You dinnae ken um Gail, eh’s eywis drunk, she slobbers. Mibbe it’s an excuse, mibbe she kens that as soon as she goes oot the door ah’ll be right up yon Gail again.

— Awright, ah’ll go doon n say hiya, n make some tea, bring it up here. Wi a wee biscuit, ah goes, imitatin the wee Glesgay laddie oan that British Rail advert. Perr wee cunt thought it wis a big deal tae git a biscuit oan a train. Probably is through thaire though, thi’ll be like gold dust for they fuckin scruffs. Aye, Glesgay patter, ye cannae beat it, or so they keep tellin any cunt daft enough tae listen.

Ah head doonstairs hopin that the boy’s no one ay they psycho cunts. Thing is, it’s nice tae be nice n ah find that maist cunts are usually awright by you if you’re awright by thaim.

It’s a mawkit fuckin hoose this, it hus tae be said. Muh Ma’s no goat much money, but even whin she wis oan her ain, before she took up wi that German cunt, she hud oor place a palace compared tae this. Maggie’s room is the best in the place, it’s like it belongs in a different hoose.

It’s funny, but when ah git doon the stairs intae the front room, ah find that ah recognise the boy. Alec Connolly. A right tea-leaf eh is n aw.

This Alec boy looks at ays wi what muh Ma calls a real drinker’s face, aw flushed n wi liver spoats crawlin up the neck. Still, ah’d rather huv somebody like that aroond thin that yon German cunt that she goes wi. Steys in aw the time, nivir drinks, n grumbles at me if ah come in steamin oot ay ma heid. The sooner me n Lucy git a place ay oor ain, the better. — Aye, aye, the Alec gadge goes, aw sort ay frosty.

Ah jist winks at the auld cunt. — Awright, mate. How’s it gaun? Jist up the stair wi Maggie n her pal thaire, playin some records.

— So that’s what ye call it now, is it, eh says, but it’s a sortay laugh. This cunt’s awright: he disnae gie a fuck really. Ah’m sure this room’s goat even mair boggin since ah wis last in it. Ma soles stick tae the cracked lino, n tae the fusty square ay cairpit in the middle ay it.

Alec’s sittin in a battered ermchair tryin tae roll a fag wi shakin hands. Oan the coffee table in front ay him thir’s piles ay cans, a half-empty
half-boatil ay whisky n a big gless ashtray. Eh’s wearin a worn blue suit n tie, it’s nearly the same colour as the cunt’s eyes, which stand oot in ehs ruddy coupon. Ah jist shrug. — You’re Alec, aye? Ah’m Terry.

— Ah ken who ye are, ah’ve seen ye oan the lorries. Are you Henry Lawson’s laddie?

Uh-aw. Eh kens the auld cunt. — Aye. Ye ken um?

— Ah ken
ay
um, bit eh’s goat a few years oan me. Drinks in Leith, eh. How’s eh daein?

Whae gies a fuck aboot that cunt. — Awright, ah mean . . . ah dinnae ken. Seems tae be fine. We dinnae really git oan, ah tell this Alec gadge, but ah think eh tippled that as soon as the auld bastard’s name was mentioned.

This Alec grunts somethin, it’s like eh’s clearin ehs throat. — Aye, eh sais eftir a bit, — families. That’s whaire aw the problems come fae. Bit what kin ye dae, eh? You tell me, eh goes, spreadin ehs hands oot, the rolled fag stuck in one mitt.

Thir’s nowt ye kin say tae that. So ah jist nods n goes, — Ah’m jist makin yir niece n her friend a wee cup ay tea. Ye want yin?

— Fuck the tea, eh lights the fag and points at the stack ay cans oan the table. — Huv a beer. Goan. Help yirsell.

— Ah will later oan, Alec, a wee beer n a blether likes, but ah dinnae want tae be rude tae ma company up the stairs, ah explains tae him.

Alec shrugs n looks away as if tae say, aw the mair for me. Thir’s somethin aboot this auld fucker, ah like the cunt, n ah will huv a bit ay a chinwag wi him later. Aye, keep um sweet soas ah kin keep oan gittin up Maggie n Gail roond here. N they aw say up the Busy that eh does a loat ay duckin n divin aroond. Useful cunts tae ken, they sort ay fellays: contacts n that.

Ah gits through intae the kitchen, nearly fawin n breakin ma neck oan a bit ay loose lino. Ah starts tae bile the kettle. It’s no a plug-in yin, so ye huv tae dae it oan the gas. Eftir a bit ah head back upstairs wi a pot ay tea, where these dirty wee cows are waitin for ays. Maggie’s sittin wi a cassette case, writin the tracks ontae the caird fae this album she’s been tapin. She’s makin a meal ay it; it’s an excuse no tae talk tae Gail.

— Tea up, ah goes. Then, as Maggie looks up at ays, ah sais: — Dinnae ken whit yir worried aboot Maggie, that Alec boy’s sound.

— Aye, but you dinnae ken um like ah do, she warns ays again.

Gail’s still harpin oan aboot her knickers. — This is daein ma heid in, she sais.

She’ll no be needin thum if she’s gaunny be hingin aboot wi me, that’s fuckin well guaranteed.

Ah wake up in the bed, sweatin like fuck, n ah realise ah’m oan ma ain. Ah looks n sees the two ay thaim, lyin sleepin oan the flair. It aw comes back tae ays; in the night ah managed tae git in the middle ay thum, thinkin aboot threes up, like in the films. Ah tried tae gie thum a wee frig, the pair ay thum at the same time, but they both goat a bit funny. Neither ay thum would lit ays up thum eftir that, too shy in front ay the other yin. So ah’ll jist need tae keep daein them separately for a while, then thi’ll be intae a threes up. Guaranteed.

Aye, ah tried it oan aw night, but they widnae huv it, so eftir tryin tae kick ays oot ay bed, n thir wis nae fuckin chance ay that, they baith gave up n went oantae the flair tae kip. So ah jist hud a good fuckin wank tae masel n drifted oaf tae sleep. It wis a wee bit ay a frustratin night but a good kip suited ays cause it’s the fitba the day n the dancin the night. Spice ay life.

It wisnae easy tae git oot ay bed in the mornin but, the root ah’ve goat oan, wi they two jist lyin thaire dozin oan the flair. Ah hus another wee wank ower thum, catchin maist ay it oan the carpet, though a bit went on the airm ay Gail’s blouse. Then ah creeps doonstairs n sees Alec, still in the same armchair, watchin that
Tiswas
.

Her wi the barry tits is oan it. — That Sally James, a fuckin ride, eh? ah goes.

— Sally James, Alec slurs.

It could be fuckin well Sid James for aw that auld cunt kens.

The whisky boatil’s empty now, n ah think maist ay the cans are n aw. — Ye want some tea? eh asks.

— Well Alec, ah wis wonderin if that wee offer ay a drink wis still oan?

— Huv tae be the pub, eh goes, pointin tae the pile ay empties oan the coffee table.

— Sound by me, ah tell um.

So we head doon the road taewards the Wheatsheaf. It’s a bramer day n ah’m lookin forward tae the fitba. Thir’s been a loat ay talk aboot gittin a wee mob thegither fae the scheme the day, wi Doyle n aw that bunch. Maist ay the boys in oor scheme support Herts, it bein this end ay toon, but thir’s a good few Hibees sprinkled aroond. If ye could git aw the local Hibs thegither, it would be quite a wee team cause ye goat the likes ay Doyle n Gentleman n me n Birrell that’s Hibs. Thir’s eywis talk but, n that’s usually aw it is. Whatever happens though, we’ll huv a laugh. That’s one thing aboot Doyle; eh’s a crazy cunt, but yuv eywis goat a tale tae tell wi him. Like that time wi choried aw that copper wire, that wis fuckin radge. Cunt’s still no peyed us fir that but. Ah turns tae Alec as we pass by the park, the pub comin intae sight. — So yir makin sure thit Maggie disnae git up tae any nonsense while ehr Ma n Dad’s doon in Blackpool?

— Aye, ah’m no daein a very good joab ay it, um ah? Eh laughs, aw sarcastic.

— Ah’m a gentleman, Alec. Wi jist sat up n blethered aw night. Ah left thaim tae crash. Maggie’s a nice lassie, she’s no like that.

— Aye, right, eh goes, no believin a word.

— Naw, that’s gen up likes. Ah think ehr mate might be a bit ay a raver oan the quiet, bit no wee Maggie, ah explains. It’s best no tae lit the cunt think thit yir takin the pish. Eh’s thinkin aboot this, cause thir’s a bit ay silence as we go intae the pub. Ah orders a couple ay pints and that pits a smile back oan ehs face. Ye kin tell that Alec’s a right peeve artist ay the first degree. — So how long ur ye steyin thaire fir? ah ask um.

Eh stares oaf intae the distance. — Dinnae ken. Thir wis a fire in ma hoose. The colonies at Dalry. Bad wirin. The whole place went up: ma wife’s in the hoaspital, the loat, eh explains. Then eh starts gittin narky. — The fuckin gas board are the cunts thit ur tae blame . . . ah’m gittin a lawyer, take the cunts tae coort.

— Too right, Alec, thir’s bound tae be a bit ay compensation fir thit. It’s yir fuckin entitlement mate, ah tells um.

— Aye, eh smiles aw grimly, — whin ah git that insurance claim sorted oot . . . it’ll be all systems go.

Ah hears the rattlin ay boatils in thir crates so ah goes tae the windae n pills back the curtain. It’s Terry’s juice lorry n ah kin hear um giein it the patter. Jist when ah think aboot shoutin oot the windae or gaun doon fir a blether, ah see thit eh’s talkin tae Maggie Orr n this other lassie. That’s just brutal; so ah dinnae think ah’ll bother. No that ah’ve nowt against Maggie, she’s awright, but ah hud this shoutin match wi her auld man the other week.

The tosser eywis comes back pished wi ehs wife fae the boozer, n they huv a big fight in the street. It keeps muh Ma awake. Ma auld man’ll no dae nowt, so ah goes tae the door n hus a word. The boy goat wide, sais ah wis jist a daft wee laddie. Ah telt um ah’d show um whae the daft wee laddie wis if eh came ootside. Eh wis gaunny n aw, till ehs wife stepped in n pilled um back. Whin ah saw Maggie thaire ah left it, cause she wis upset n aw n ah didnae want tae embarrass her; it’s no fair, she’s done nowt wrong.