Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [90]
Ah gestured at the door. The room seemed tae shrink tae the size ay Billy’s coffin, and be populated only by masel n Chick. But thir wir others. People wir looking roond at us now.
The cunt pushed us gently in the chest.
— Wuv hud wahn funeral in the family the day, wir no wahntin another.
Ma Uncle Kenny came ower and pulled us away.
— Ignore these orange bastards. C’moan Mark, look at yir Ma. It wid fuckin kill hur if ye got involved here, it Billy’s funeral. Remember whair ye are, fir fuck sakes.
Kenny wis aw right, well a bit ay a fuckin erse if the truth be telt, but fir aw thir faults, ah’d rather huv an ayesur thin a soapdodger. Ah come fae some stock, right enough. Ayesur papish bastards oan ma Ma’s side, soapdodging orange cunts oan ma faither’s.
Ah gulped at the whisky, enjoying the burning sour taste ay it in ma throat n chest, wincing as it hit ma queasy stomach. Ah went through tae the toilet.
Sharon, Billy’s burd, wis comin oot. Ah barred her wey. Sharon n me huv mibbe spoken about half-a-dozen sentences tae each other. She wis drunk n dazed, her face flushed and bloated wi alcohol n pregnancy.
— Hud oan the now Sharon. You n me need tae huv a wee blether, likes. It’s pretty confidential in here. Ah usher her intae the toilet n loak the door behind us.
Ah start tae feel her up, while rabbitin a load ay shite aboot how we huv tae stick thegither at a time like this. Ah’m feelin her lump, n gaun oan aboot how much responsibility ah felt taewards ma unborn niece or nephew. We start kissin, and ah move ma hand doon, feelin the visible panty lines through the cotton material ay her maternity dress. Ah wis soon fingerin her fanny, and she hud goat ma prick oot ay ma troosers. Ah wis still bullshittin, tellin her that ah’d always admired her as a person and a woman, which she disnae really need tae hear because she’s gaun doon oan us, bit it’s somehow comfortin tae say. She takes ma semi intae her mooth n ah firm up quickly. There’s no doubt aboot it, she gies a good blow-job. Ah think aboot her daein this wi ma brar, n wondered what hud happened tae his prick in the explosion.
If only Billy could see us now, ah’m thinkin, but in a surprisingly reverential way. Ah wondered if he could, n hoped so. It wis the first good thoughts aboot him ah’d hud. Ah withdraw jist before comin, and guide Sharon intae the doggy position. Ah hike up hur dress and pulled her panties down. Her heavy belly sags towards the flair. Ah try tae put it intae her arsehole first but it’s too tight and it hurts ma knob end tae force it.
— No that wey, no that wey, she’s saying, so ah stopped ma rummage for some cream, and scoop ma fingers intae hur fanny. She has a powerful ivy smell. Then again, ma cock also smells pretty foul and flecks of knob cheese are visible oan the helmet. Ah’ve never really been too much intae personal hygiene; probably the soapdodger in us, or the junky.
Ah concur wi Sharon’s wishes n fuck her in the fanny. It’s a wee bit like throwin the proverbial sausage up a close, but ah find ma stroke n she tightens up. Ah think aboot how close she is tae poppin and how far up ah am, an ah can see masel stickin it in the foetus’s mooth. Some concept, a shag and a blow-job simultaneously. It torments us. They say that a shag is good for an unborn child, they get the circulation of blood, or some shite. The least ah kin dae is take an interest in the bairn’s welfare.
A knock oan the door, follayed by Effie’s nasal voice.
— Whit yis daein in thair?
— S awright, Sharon’s bein sick. Too much bevvy in her condition, ah groaned.
— Ur you seein tae her son?
— Aye . . . ah’m seein tae her . . . ah panted as Sharon’s groans grew louder.
— Awright well.
Ah blurt oot ma muck n pull oot. Ah gently push hur prostrate, helping her turn ower, and scoop hur huge milky tits oot ay her dress. Ah smuggle intae them like a bairn. She starts strokin ma heid. Ah feel wonderful, so at peace.
— That wis fuckin barry, ah gasp contentedly.