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Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [78]

By Root 824 0
ah ask.

— Naw! Ah telt um, nane ay that rubbish. Ye wir worse comin oaf that thin ye wir wi heroin. Cramps, sickness, diarrhoea . . . ye wir in a hell ay a state. Nae mair drugs.

— Mibbe ah could go back tae the clinic, Ma, ah hopefully suggest.

— Naw! Nae clinics. Nae methadone. That made ye worse, son, ye said so yirsel. Ye lied tae us, son. Tae yir ain mother n faither! Ye took that methadone n still went oot scorin. Fae now oan son it’s a clean brek. Yir stayin here whair ah kin keep an eye oan ye. Ah’ve loast one laddie already, ah’m no losin another yin! Tears welled up in her eyes.

Poor Ma, still blaming hersel fir that fucked-up gene that caused ma brother Davie tae be born a cabbage. Her guilt, eftir struggling wi him fir years, at pittin him in the hoespital. Her devastation at his death last year. Ma kens whit everybody thinks ay her, the neighbours n that. They see her as flighty and brazen, because ay her blonde hair-dye, clathes too young fir her, and her liberal consumption ay Carlsberg Specials. They think thit her n ma faither used Davie’s profound handicap tae git oot ay the Fort n git this nice Housing Association flat by the river, then cynically dumped the poor cunt in the residential care.

Fuck the facts, these trivial things, they petty jealousies become part ay the mythology in a place like Leith, a place fill ay nosey cunts who willnae mind their ain business. A place ay dispossessed white trash in a trash country fill ay dispossessed white trash. Some say that the Irish are the trash ay Europe. That’s shite. It’s the Scots. The Irish hud the bottle tae win thir country back, or at least maist ay it. Ah remember gettin wound up when Nicksy’s brar, down in London, described the Scots as ‘porridge wogs’. Now ah realise that the only thing offensive about that statement was its racism against black people. Otherwise it’s spot-on. Anybody will tell you; the Scots make good soldiers. Like ma brar, Billy.

They suspect the auld man here as well. His Glasgow accent, the fact thit since being made redundant fi Parson’s he’s punted gear in the markets at Ingliston n East Fortune instead ay sittin in Strathie’s Bar moanin his fuckin box oaf aboot everything.

They mean well, and they mean well tae me, but there’s nae way under the sun that they can appreciate what ah feel, what ah need.

Protect me from those who wish tae help us.

— Ma… ah appreciate whit yir tryin tae dae, but ah need jist one score, tae ease masel oaf it. Jist the one, likes, ah plead.

— Forget it son. Ma auld man hus come intae the room withoot us hearin um. The auld girl nivir even gits a chance tae speak. — Your tea’s oot. You’d better shape up pal, ah’m tellin ye.

He looks stony-faced, his chin jutting forward, his airms by his sides, as if in readiness tae huv a square go wi us.

— Aye . . .. right, ah mumble miserably, fae under the duvet. Ma pits a protective hand oan ma shoodir. We’ve both regressed.

— Mucked up everythin, he accuses, then reads oot the charges: — Apprenticeship. University. That nice wee lassie ye wir seein. Aw the chances ye hud Mark, n ye blew them.

He disnae need tae say aboot how he nivir hud they chances growin up in Govan n leavin school at fifteen n takin an apprenticeship. That’s implicit. When ye think aboot it though, it isnae that much different fae growin up in Leith n leaving school at sixteen n takin an apprenticeship. Especially as he nivir grew up in an era ay mass unemployment. Still, ah’m in nae shape tae argue, n even if ah wis, it’s pointless wi Weedjies. Ah’ve never met one Weedjie whae didnae think that they are the only genuinely suffering proletarians in Scotland, Western Europe, the World. Weedjie experience ay hardship is the only relevant experience ay it. Ah try another suggestion.

— Eh, mibbe ah’ll go back doon tae London. Git a joab likes. Ah’m almost delirious. Ah imagine that Matty’s in the room. — Matty . . . Ah think ah said it. The fuckin pain’s starting tae.

— Yir in cloud cuckoo land son. Yir gaun naewhair. If ye shite, ah wahnt tae know aboot it.

There wisnae much

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