Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [49]
The heat, man, is . . . hot. That’s the only way ye can really describe it, ken? Ah head for the shore, n sit oan a bench near the dole office. That double ten-spot feels good in ma poakit, likesay opens a few mair doors, ken? So ah sit lookin at the river. Thirs a big swan in the river, ken? Ah think aboot Johnny Swan, n gear. This swan though, is fuckin beautiful, likes. Ah wish ah’d got some bread, likesay, tae feed the punter wi.
Gav works fir the dole. Mibbe ah’ll catch the cat oan his lunch brek, stand the dude a pint or two, likesay. Ah’ve been bought a few by him lately. Ah see Ricky Monaghan comin oot the dole. An okay gadge, ken.
— Ricky . . .
— Awright Spud. What ye up tae?
— Eh, no much gaun doon ma end catboy. Ye see the whole kit n kaboodle, likesay.
— Bad as that?
— Worse catboy, worse.
— Still oaf the collies?
— Four weeks n two days since ma last bit ay Salisbury Crag, ken? Countin every second man, countin every second. It’s tick-tock, tick-tock, likesay, ken.
— Feelin better fir it?
S likesay only then thit ah realise that ah am; bored as fuck ken, but physically, likesay . . . aye. The first fortnight was an extended death trip man . . . but now, likes, ah could handle some hot sex wi a Jewish princess or a Catholic girl, complete wi white soacks, goatay be complete wi the white soacks. Ken?
— . . . Aye . . . ah do feel sortay better, likesay.
— Gaun tae Easter Road oan Setirday?
— Eh, naw . . . It’s been likesay, donks, since ah went tae the fitba, ken. Mibbe ah could go though. Wi Rents . . . but Rents is in London the now . . . or Sick Boy n that. Go wi Gav, n buy um a couple ay pints . . . see the Cabs again. —… well, mibbe. See how it goes likesay, ken. Ye gaun?
— Naw. Ah sais last season thit ah wisnae gaun back until they goat rid ay Miller. We need a new manager.
— Yeah . . . Miller . . . we need a new cat in the manager’s basket . . . Ah didnae even ken whae the manager wis, likesay, couldnae even tell ye the names ay the cats in the team, likes. Mibbe Kano . . . but ah think Kano might’ve moved oan. Durie! Gordon Durie!
— Durie still in the team?
Monny jist looks at us and kinday shakes his heid.
— Naw, Durie wis transferred ages ago, Spud. Eighty-six. Went tae Chelsea.
— Yeah, right man. Durie. Ah remember that cat scorin a cracker against Celtic. Or wis it Rangers? Same thing really though man, when ye think aboot it likesay . . . kinday different sides ay the same coin, ken?
He shrugs. Ah doubt ah’ve convinced the cat.
Ricky chums us, or it’s likesay ah chums him . . . ah mean, eh, whae really kens whae’s chummin whae in this cracked scene these days man? But whaever’s chummin whae, it’s destination Fit ay the Walk again. Life can be borin without skag. Rents is in London; Sick Boy’s sniffin aroond up the toon aw the time, the famous old port just does not seem to be cool enough for that cat these days; Rab, the Second Prize likes, has just vanished and Tommy seems to have gone tae groond since he split fae that Lizzy chick. That likesay leaves me n Franco . . . some life man, ah kin tell ye.
Ricky, Monny, Richard Monaghan, fellow Fenian freedom fighter, to be sure, to be sure, likesay fucks off, tae meet this lemon up the toon. This leaves yours truly on his Jack Jones, likesay. Ah decide tae visit Na Na in the sheltered housing gaffs at the bottom ay Easter Road, likes. Na Na hates it thair, even though she’s likes, goat a barry pad. Wish ah could git one like that, ken. Dead smart, but only for aulder cats, likesay. Ye just pull a cord and an alarm goes, and this warden like, comes n sorts it aw oot fir ye, ken. That would be right up ma street man, wi Frank Zappa’s daughter, that crazy chick, the Valley girl, Moon Unit Zappa as warden, likesay. A dead peachy