Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [119]
Taking up the cue, Spud said: — Perr Matty. Fuckin bad news, likesay, ken.
— That’s it for me. Ah’m steyin clean, Alison said, shuddering, despite having her arms wrapped around herself.
— Wir aw gaunnae be wiped oot if we dinnae git it thegither. That’s as sure as fuck, Renton acknowledged. — You taken the test yit Spud? he asked.
— Hey . . . come oan man, this isnae the time tae be talkin aboot that . . . Matty’s funeral, likesay.
— When is the time? Renton asked.
— Ye really should, Danny, ye really should, Alison implored.
— Mibbe yir better no tae ken. Ah mean, likesay, whit sortay life did Matty huv whin he kent he wis HIV?
— That wis Matty. Whit sortay life did he huv before he kent he wis HIV? Alison said. Spud and Renton nodded acquiescence at this point.
Inside the small chapel attached to the crematorium, the minister gave a short spiel about Matty. He had a lot of burnings to fit in that morning and couldn’t afford to fuck about. A few quick comments, a couple of hymns, one or two prayers and a click of a switch to send the corpse down into the incinerator. Just a few more of these, and that was his shift finished.
— To those of us gathered here today, Matthew Connell filled a number of different roles in our lives. Matthew was a son, a brother, a father and a friend. Matthew’s last days in his young life were bleak, suffering ones. Yet, we must remember the real Matthew, the loving young man who had a great lust for life. A keen musician, Matthew loved to entertain friends with his guitar-playing . . .
Renton could not make eye contact with Spud, standing next to him in the pew, as nervous laughter gripped him. Matty was the shitest guitarest he’d known, and could only play the Doors’ ‘Roadhouse Blues’ and a few Clash and Status Quo numbers with any sort of proficiency. He tried hard to do the riff from ‘Clash City Rockers’, but could never quite master it. Nonetheless, Matty loved that Fender Strat. It was the last thing he sold, holding onto it after the amplifier had been flogged off in order to fill his veins with shite. Perr Matty, Renton thought. How well did any of us really know him? How well can anybody really know anybody else?
Stevie was wishing he was four hundred miles away, in his Holloway flat with Stella. It was the first time they’d been apart since they moved in together. He was ill at ease. Try as he might, he could not sustain the image of Matty in his head. Matty kept turning into Stella.
Spud thought that it must be really crap to live in Australia. The heat, the insects, and all these dull suburban places that you see on Neighbours and Home and Away. It seemed like there were no real pubs in Australia, and that the place was like a warm version of Baberton Mains, Buckstone or East Craigs. It just seemed so boring, so shite. He wondered what it was like in the older parts of Melbourne and Sydney and whether they had tenements there, like in Edinburgh, or Glasgow or even New York, and if so, why they never showed them on the telly. He also wondered why he thought of Australia in connection with Matty. Probably because whenever they called round, he was lying junked on his mattress, watching an Aussie soap opera.
Alison remembered the time when she had sex with Matty. That was ages ago now, before she was using. She would have been eighteen. She tried to remember Matty’s cock, the dimensions of it, but couldn’t visualise it. Matty’s body came to mind though. It was lean and firm, though not particularly muscular. He had skinny good looks and busy, penetrating eyes, which gave away the restlessness of his character. What she remembered most however was what Matty said to her as they got into bed that time. He told her: — I’m gaunnae fuck you like you’ve never been fucked in your life. He was right. She’d never been fucked that badly, either before or since. Matty came in seconds, depositing his load into her and rolling off her, gasping breathlessly.
She made no attempt to hide her displeasure. — That was fuckin rubbish, she told him, getting out of the bed, all anxious