Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [43]
— Aw aye? Whae’s askin her fir it then? Fucked if ah’m gaunnae, Lenny hissed.
— We aw will. It’s aw oor poppy, Billy said.
— Right. Eftir the funeral. Oan Tuesday, Naz suggested.
— Awright, Peasbo agreed.
— Aye, Jackie shrugged.
Lenny nodded in a weary compliance. It was, he conceded, their poppy . . .
Tuesday came and went. Nobody could work up the bottle to say anything at the funeral. They all got drunk and offered more laments to Granty. The cash issue was never mentioned until late on. They met, with evil hangovers, the following afternoon, and went to Fiona’s place.
Nobody answered the door.
— Probably steyin at her Ma’s, Lenny said.
The woman from the flat across the landing, a grey-haired lady in a blue print dress, came out.
— Fiona left this mornin boys. Canary Islands. Left the bairn at her Ma’s. She seemed to enjoy breaking the news.
— Tidy, Billy muttered.
— That’s that then, Jackie said with a shrug which was a bit too smug for the liking of most of his friends. — No much we kin dae aboot it.
He was then stunned by a blow to the side of his face, delivered by Billy, which knocked him over, and sent him sprawling down the stairs. He managed to break his fall by grabbing the banister, and looked up at Billy in horror from the bend in the stair.
The rest of them were almost as shocked as Jackie by Billy’s actions.
— Easy Billy. Lenny grabbed Billy’s arm, but kept his gaze on his face. He was anxious and intrigued to find out the source of his outrage. — Yir ootay order. S’no Jackie’s fault.
— Aw is it no? Ah kept ma fuckin gob shut, but this smart cunt’s pushed us far enough. He pointed at the still prostrate figure of Jackie, whose rapidly swelling face had gained a new furtiveness.
— Whit’s the fuckin score here? Naz asked.
Billy ignored him, and looked straight at Jackie. — How long’s it been gaun oan Jackie?
— Whit’s the cunt oan aboot? Jackie said, but his watery voice lacked assurance.
— Canary Islands ma fuckin hole. Whair ur ye meetin Fiona?
— You’re fuckin tapped Billy. Ye heard whit the wifey sais, Jackie shook his head.
— Fiona’s ma Sharon’s fuckin sister. Ye think ah go aroond wi ma fuckin ears shut? How long ye been fuckin pokin her, Jackie?
— That wis a fuckin one oaf . . .
Billy’s outrage filled the stair, and he could feel it growing, swelling, in the breasts of the others. He stood over Jackie like a booming Old Testament god, scorning him in his judgement.
— One oaf ma hole! An whae’s tae fuckin say thit Granty didnae ken? Whaes’s tae say it wisnae that thit killed um? His so-called best fuckin mate, shaftin his burd!
Lenny looked at Jackie, shaking with anger. He then looked at the others, their eyes blazing. An unspoken contract was forged between them in a split-second.
Jackie’s screams reverberated around the stairwell, as they booted and dragged him from landing to landing. He vainly tried to protect himself and, through his fear and pain, hoped that there would be something left of him to move out of Leith, when the ordeal was over.
Kicking Again
Inter Shitty
Oh ya cunt yet Ma heid’s fuckin nippin this mornin, ah kin fuckin tell ye. Ah make straight fir the fuckin fridge. Yes! Two boatils ay Becks. That’ll dae me. Ah down the cunts in double quick time. Ah feel better right away. Huvtae fuckin watch the time, but.
She’s still fuckin sleepin whin ah go back ben the bedroom. Look at her; lazy, fat cunt. Jist cause she’s huvin a fuckin bairn, thinks it gies her the right tae lie aroond aw fuckin day . . . anywey, that’s another fuckin story. So ah git fuckin packin . . . that cunt hud better huv washed ma fuckin jeans . . . the 501s . . . whair’s they fuckin 501s? . . . thair they are. Jist as well fir her.
She’s wakin up now. — Frank . . . what ur ye daein? Whair ur ye gaun? she sais tae us.
— Ah’m ootay here. Fuckin sharpish,