Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [85]
— HOUSE! That’s-you-Mark. He’s-goat-hoose. OWER-HERE! Wis-nae-eve-in-gaunn-ae-shout-oot. Cu-moan-son. Git-a-fu-kin-grip-ay-yir-sel.
Ah smile benignly at Jocky, all the time wishing a prompt and violent death oan the nosey cunt.
The lager is like the contents ay a bunged-up latrine, shot through wi C02. Eftir one gulp, a violent, wretching, spasm seizes us. Faither slaps ma back. Ah cannae touch ma pint eftir this, but Jocky n the auld man are flinging them back steadily. Margaret comes in, and before very long, she and the auld girl are makin good progress oan the vodka n tonics n the Carlsberg Specials. The band strikes up, which ah at first welcome as a respite fae talkin.
Ma Ma n faither git up tae dance tae ‘Sultans Of Swing’.
— Ah like that Dire Straits, Margaret observes. — They appeal tae young ones, but aw ages like them.
Ah’m almost tempted tae vigorously refute this cretinous statement. However, ah content masel wi talking fitba wi Jocky.
— Rox-burgh wants shoot-in. That’s-the-worst-Scot-lind-squad-ah’ve-ivir-seen, Jocky states, jaw jutting forward.
— S no really his fault. Ye kin only pish wi the cock yiv goat. Whae else is thir?
— Aye, right-e-nuff . . . but-ah’d-like-tae-see-John-Raw-birt-sin-git-un-ext-ten-did-run. Des-erves-it. Scot-lind’s-maist-kin-sist-tint-strik-ir.
We continue our ritualistic argument, me trying tae find even a semblance ay passion which would breathe life intae it, and failing miserably.
Ah note that Jocky n Margaret hud been briefed tae ensure thit ah didnae try tae slip away. They aw took shifts tae mind us, the four ay them nivir up dancin at the same time. Jocky n ma Ma tae ‘The Wanderer’, Margaret n ma faither tae ‘Jolene’, Ma n faither again tae ‘Rollin Down The River’, Margaret n Jocky tae ‘Save The Last Dance For Me’.
As the fat singer launches intae ‘Song Sung Blue’, the auld lady pulls us oantae the danceflair like ah wis a rag doll. Sweat spills oot ay us under the lights as Ma struts her stuff n ah self-consciously twitch. The humiliation intensifies as ah realise that the cunts ur daein a Neil Diamond medley. Ah huv tae go through ‘Forever In Blue Jeans’, ‘Love On The Rocks’ and ‘Beautiful Noise’. By the time ‘Sweet Caroline’ comes oan, ah’m ready tae collapse. The auld lady forces us tae ape the rest ay the radges in the place by waving ma hands in the air as they sing:
— HAAANDS . . . TOUCHING HAANDS . . . REACHING OUUUT . . . TOUCHING YOOOU . . . TOUCH-ING MEEE . . .
Ah glance back at the table, n Jocky is in his element, a Leith Al Jolson.
Eftir this ordeal, thirs another tae follow. The auld man slips us a tenner and tells us tae git a round in. Social-skills development and confidence-building training are obviously on the agenda tonight. Ah take the tray up tae the bar n join the queue. Ah look over tae the door, feeling the crisp note in my hand. A few grains worth. Ah could be at Seeker’s or Johnny Swan’s, the Mother Superior’s, in half an hour; shootin ma wey oot ay this nightmare. Then ah clock the auld man standing by the doorway, looking us ower like he wis a bouncer n ah wis a potential troublemaker. Only his role was tae stoap us fae leavin, rather than tae fling us oot.
This is a perverse gig.
Ah turn back intae the queue n ah see this lassie Tricia McKinlay whae ah’d been at school wi. Ah’d rather no talk tae anybody, but ah cannae ignore her now, as her smile is expanding in recognition.
— Awright Tricia?
— Aw, hiya Mark. Long time no see. How ye daein?
— No sae bad. Yirsel?
— Ye see it aw. This is Gerry. Gerry, this is Mark, he wis in ma class at school. Seems a long time ago now, eh?
She introduces me to a surly, sweaty gorilla who grunts in ma direction. Ah nod.
— Aye. Certainly does.
— Still see Simon? Aw the manto ask eftir Sick Boy. It makes us ill.
— Aye. He wis up at the hoose the day. He’s away tae Paris soon. Then Corsica.
Tricia smiles and the gorilla looks on in disapproval. The guy has a face that just disapproves ay the world in general and looks ready