Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [79]
Whin the auld man shot the craw, ah managed tae cajole ma Ma intae giein us a couple ay her valium. She wis oan them fir six months after Davie died. The thing is, because she kicked them, she now regards hersel as an expert oan drug rehabilitation. This is smack, fir fuck’s sake, mother dear.
I am tae be under house arrest.
The morning wisnae pleasant, but it wis a picnic compared tae the eftirnin. The auld man came back fae his fact-finding mission. Libraries, health-board establishments and social-work offices had been visited. Research hud been undertaken, advice hud been sought, leaflets procured.
He wanted tae take us tae git tested fir HIV. Ah don’t want tae go through aw that shite again.
Ah git up fir ma tea, frail, bent and brittle as ah struggle doon the stairs. Every move makes ma blood soar tae ma throbbing heid. At one stage ah thought that it wid just burst open, like a balloon, sending blood, skull fragments and grey matter splattering oantae Ma’s cream woodchip.
The auld girl sticks us in the comfy chair by the fire in front ay the telly, and puts a tray oan ma lap. Ah’m convulsing inside anyway, but the mince looks revolting.
— Ah’ve telt ye ah dinnae eat meat Ma, ah sais.
— Ye eywis liked yir mince n tatties. That’s whair ye’ve gone wrong son, no eating the right things. Ye need meat.
Now there is apparently a causal link between heroin addiction and vegetarianism.
— It’s good steak mince. Ye’ll eat it, ma faither says. This is fuckin ridiculous.
Ah thought there and then about making for the door, even though ah’m wearing a tracksuit and slippers. As if reading ma mind, the auld man produces a set ay keys.
— The door stays locked. Ah’m fittin a lock oan yir room as well.
— This is fuckin fascism, ah sais, wi feelin.
— Dinnae gies yir crap. Ye kin cry it whit ye like; if that’s whit it takes, that’s whit you’ll get. An mind yir language in the hoose.
Ma bursts intae a passionate rant: — Me n yir faither son, s no as if we wanted this. S no likesay that at aw. It’s because we love ye son, yir aw wuv goat, you n Billy. Faither’s hand faws oan toap ay hers.
Ah cannae eat ma food. The auld man isnae prepared tae go tae the extent ay force-feeding us, so he’s forced tae accept the fact that good steak mince is going tae waste. No really tae waste, as he hus mine. Instead ah sip oan some cauld Heinz tomatay soup, which is aw ah kin take whin ah’m sick. Ah seemed tae leave ma body fir a while, watching a game show oan the box. Ah could hear ma auld man talking tae ma auld girl, bit ah couldnae take ma eyes fae the ugly-looking game-show host and turn ma heid tae face ma parents. Faither’s voice seems almost tae be comin fae the set.
— . . . said here that Scotland’s goat eight per cent o the UK population but sixteen per cent o the UK HIV cases . . . What’s the scores, Miss Ford? . . . Embra’s goat eight per cent o the Scottish population but ower sixty per cent o the Scottish HIV infection, by far the highest rate in Britain . . . Daphne and John have scored eleven points, but Lucy and Chris, have fifteen! . . . they say thit they discovered this blood-testin punters in Muirhoose fir summit else, hepatitis or that, n discovered the scale o the problem . . . oooh . . . oooh . . . well, tough luck to the very sporting losers, give ’em a hand then, give ’em a hand . . . the scumbags thit did this tae the boey, if ah git thir names, ah’ll git a squad thegither n sort them oot masel, obviously the polis arenae interested, lettin thum deal that shite oan the streets . . . won’t be going away empty handed . . . even if he is HIV it’s no an automatic death sentence. That’s aw ah’m saying Cathy, it’s no an automatic death sentence . . . Tom and Sylvia Heath of Leek in Staffordshire . . . he sais he’s no been sharin needles, but he’s been proved a liar in the past . . . it says here Sylvia darling, that