Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [83]
Ower the next few days, the pain abated slightly. Ah even started tae dae some cooking. Every cunt under the sun thinks thit thir Ma’s the best cook in the world. Ah thought so tae, until ah went tae live oan ma ain. Ah realised then thit ma Ma’s a shite cook. So ah’ve started tae make the tea. The auld man sneers at ‘rabbit food’ but ah think he secretly enjoys ma chillis, curries and casseroles. The auld girl seems vaguely resentful at ma encroachment intae whit she sees us her territory, the kitchen, and bleats aboot the need fir meat in a diet; but ah think she enjoys the scran n aw.
However, the pain is being replaced by an ugly, stark, black depression. Ah’ve never known such a sense ay complete and utter hopelessness, punctuated only by bouts ay raw anxiety. It immobilises me to the extent that ah’m sittin in the chair hating a tv programme, yet ah feel something terrible will happen if ah try tae switch ower. Ah sit burstin fir a pish, but too feart tae go up tae the bog in case thir’s something lurking on the stairs. Sick Boy hud warned us aboot this, and ah’d experienced it in the past masel; but nae amount ay pre-warning or previous experience can fully prepare ye fir it. It makes the worse alcohol hangover seem like an idyllic wet dream.
My heart is breaking woo-hoo. The flick of a switch. Thank god for the remote control handset. You can move into different worlds at the press of a button. When I see her holding The replacement of worn-out sports equipment the guy sais something about a glaring lack of comprehensive detailed input and output measures which can be aggregated to enable the benefits to be evaluated and validated, at an area level, in terms of their effectiveness and efficiency, and this is something which the taxpayer, who after all will have to foot the bill will
— Coffee Mark? Ye wantin a coffee? Ma asks.
Ah can’t respond. Yes please. No thanks. Ah do n ah dinnae. Say nothing. Let Ma decide whether or not I should have a coffee. Devolve or delegate that level of power, or decision making, to her. Power devolved is power retained.
— Ah goat a nice wee dress fir Angela’s wee yin, Ma sais, holding up what could indeed only be described as a nice wee dress. Ma doesn’t seem to realise that ah don’t know who Angela is, let alone the child who will be the intended recipient of this nice wee dress. Ah just nod and smile. Ma’s life and mines shot off on different tangents years ago. The point of contact is strong but obscure. Ah could say: Ah bought a nice wee bit ay skag oafay Seeker’s mate, the buck-tooth cunt whaes name escapes me. That’s it: Ma buys dresses fir people ah don’t know, ah buy skag fae people she disnae know.
Faither’s growing a moustache. With his close-cropped hair he will look like a liberated homosexual, a clone. Freddie Mercury. He disnae understand the culture. Ah explain it tae him and he’s dismissive.
The next day, however, the moustache is gone. Faither now ‘cannae be bothered’ growing it. Claire Grogan’s singing ‘Don’t Talk To Me About Love’ on Radio Forth and Ma’s making lentil soup in the kitchen. I’ve been singing Joy Division’s ‘She’s Lost Control’ in my head all day. Ian Curtis. Matty. I think of them intertwined in some way; but the only thing they have in common is a death wish.
That’s aw that’s worth mentioning aboot that day.
By the weekend, it isnae quite sae bad. Si hud goat us some blaw, but it wis standard Edinburgh hash, which is generally shite. Ah make some space-cake oot ay it, and that improves it. Ah even git a bit trippy in ma room in the eftirnoon. Ah