Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [62]
Such people really scared the fuck out off Renton. They looked to him as if they hadn’t done anything illegal in their lives. No wonder Dianne was like the way she was, picking up strange guys in bars. This couple looked so obscenely wholesome to him. The father had slightly thinning hair, there were faint crow’s feet at the mother’s eyes, but he realised that any onlooker would put them in the same age bracket as him, only describing them as healthier.
— Ah’ll jist huv tae force the door. It’s only oan a Yale. Silly really. Ah’ve been meaning tae get a mortice for ages. Good thing ah didnae now. There’s an entry-phone in the stair, but the people next door will let me in.
— Ah could help you out there. I’m a joiner. Where do you live? the father asked. Renton was a little fazed, but happy that they had bought his bullshit.
— It’s no problem. Ah was a chippy masel before ah went tae the Uni. Thanks for the offer though. This again, was true. It felt strange telling the truth, he’d got so comfortable with deception. It made him feel real, and consequently vulnerable.
— Ah wis an apprentice at Gillsland’s in Gorgie, he added, prompted by the father’s raised eyebrows.
— Ah ken Ralphy Gillsland. Miserable sod, the father snorted, his voice more natural now. They had established a point of contact.
— One ay the reasons ah’m no longer in the trade.
Renton went cold as he felt Dianne’s leg rubbing against his under the table. He swallowed hard on his tea.
— Well, ah must be making a move. Thanks again.
— Hold on, ah’ll just get ready and chum you intae town. Dianne was up and out of the room before he could protest.
Renton made half-hearted attempts to help tidy up, before the father ushered him onto the couch and the mother busied herself in the kitchen. His heart sank, expecting the ah’m-wide-fir-your-game-cunt line when they were alone. Not a bit of it though. They talked aboot Ralphy Gillsland and his brother Colin, who, Renton found himself pleased tae hear, had committed suicide, and other guys they both knew from jobs.
They talked football, and the father turned out to be be a Hearts fan. Renton followed Hibs, who hadn’t enjoyed their best season against their local rivals; they hadn’t enjoyed their best season against anybody, and the father wasted no time in reminding him of it.
— The Hibbies didnae do too well against us, did they?
Renton smiled, glad for the first time, for reasons other than sexual ones, to have shagged this man’s daughter. It was amazing, he decided, how things like sex and Hibs, which were nothing to him when he was on smack, suddenly became all-important. He speculated that his drug problems might be related to Hibs poor performances over the eighties.
Dianne was ready. With less makeup on than last night, she looked about sixteen, two years older than she was. As they hit the streets, Renton felt relieved to be leaving the house, but a little embarrassed in case anyone he knew saw them. He had a few acquaintances in the area, mainly users and dealers. They would, he thought, think that he’d gone in for pimping if they came across him now.
They took the train from South Gyle into Haymarket. Dianne held Renton’s hand on the journey, and talked incessantly. She was relieved to be liberated from the inhibiting influence of her parents. She wanted to check Renton out in more detail. He could be a source of blow.
Renton thought about last night and wondered chillingly what Dianne had done, and with whom, to gain such sexual experience, such confidence. He felt fifty-five instead of twenty-five, and he was sure that people were looking at them.
Renton looked scruffy, sweaty and bleary in last night’s clothes. Dianne was wearing black leggings, the type so thin that they almost looked like tights, with a white mini-skirt over them. Either of the garments, Renton considered, would have sufficed on its own. One guy was looking at her in Haymarket Station as she waited for Renton to buy a Scotsman and a Daily Record. He noticed this and, strangely