Glue

by Irvine Welsh

  A big difference.

  Thir still calling Setirday the night ay the long knives. Especially Terry, tryin tae cash in oan Gally supposedly stabbin the boy, n connectin it wi him gittin lifted, soas that aw the wideos in the area pit two n two thegither n make ten. Ah ken the wey his mind works: usin ehs mate’s misfortune tae blaw ehsel up.

  Cunt.

  Of course ah saw nowt that went oan wi Gally doon Clouds last weekend. Ah’d left wi Sabrina long before the bother started. Terry must have seen something, or Billy or one ay the other boys.

  Sabrina: ah want tae know what tae dae aboot her and ah want tae know what tae dae aboot Gally.

  Everything’s gittin complicated.

  Aw the auld man can dae is try tae bar ays fae gaun up tae Clouds. No that eh said so much in words, eh jist said, — Come and play some records, at the club, son, a bit ay deejaying.

  Eh wis never keen oan me deejaying wi um up the Tartan Club before. The number ay times ah asked um: the number ay times he said naw.

  The auld man n auld lady heard aboot the bother that weekend, wi the fitba and then at the disco. Ah reckon they think it’s aw Terry’s fault, wi him gettin done at the match. But we were hardly wi Terry that night. Billy thinks thit Gally just lost it, eftir that bird k.b.’d um. But it wis either Polmont or Doyle that slashed the guy. Defo. Gally widnae, eh’s no goat that in um. Eh stabbed that boy Glen in the hand at the school, n that wis daft, but it’s different fae slashin some cunt’s face.

  Now Gally’s gaunny be pit away. It’s ehs birthday oan Christmas day. Ah mind whin ah used tae ask if eh goat two sets ay presents, one fir ehs Christmas n one fir ehs birthday. Now eh’s gaunny get nowt. The wee man. Eh’s the best pal ye could ever huv n aw.

  Ma auld man. Find a nice lassie eh says. Easy.

  Like Sabrina, and every lassie ah talk tae, nae bother, but what next? What happens doon here, doon below? Ah felt like sayin that ah find a nice lassie ah like at least fuckin ten times a day. It does me nae good at aw, ah’ve still no hud it.

  Maybe ye just have tae fire in. But if ah’m no seein Sabrina this weekend, fuck knows how ah’ll dae that.

  Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me)

  She’s a really nice lassie, a brilliant lassie. If only ah fancied her a bit mair. Terry once said that ye cannae fuck a personality, eftir Gally had said that this bird at school hud a nice yin. We had met in the record shop at first, Golden Oldies at Haymarket. She wis askin the boy if eh hud a copy ay that auld Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel song, Come Up and See Me, Make Me Smile.

  — Sorry, eh said.

  Ah dunno why, but ah went up tae her n said, — That’s the best record ever made.

  She looked at me fir a bit like she wis gaunny tell me tae fuck off. Then she said, — Aye, ma brother had it, but eh’s moved oot the hoose n eh’s takin his copy wi him. Eh’ll no gies it, she said tae me, raising they eyebrows ay hers, so fine, soft n fair.

  — Go up tae the Sweet Inspiration in Tollcross, ah telt her, — they’ve definitely goat it up thaire, that’s a cert. Ah mind ay seein it the other week, ah lied. — Ah’ll git ye up thaire if ye like, ah telt her.

  — Okay, she smiled back at me and ah felt a wee PING inside. When she smiled her mooth went pure crescent-shaped and totally changed the shape ay her face.

  Sometimes she looked really lovely. The problem wis that she was quite a fat lassie, well, no fat, but big, and she had blondish, sort ay gingerish hair. We went doon the road, me aw shy in case anybody saw n thoat that we wir gaun oot thegither. Meetin Juice Terry now wid be the worse thing oan Earth. It wisnae that ah didnae like her, it wis that she wasnae really skinny wi big tits like the lassies in the wank mags and they were normally the type ay bird ah went fir.

  Aw the wey up the road it was sounds, sounds, sounds, and she really kent her stuff. It was barry tae be able tae talk aboot music tae a lassie that kens what it’s aboot. Thir wis nane at ma school, well, thir must’ve been really, but ah jist hudnae met them. Ah mean, they ken what’s in the charts n aw that shite, but they jist look at ye when ye try n talk albums. Ah wis chuffed when thir wis nae Steve Harley in Tollcross either and we had tae walk doon tae the Southside and then right doon tae the top ay Leith Walk before we finally goat a copy. Ah thoat her name Sabrina wis really nice, but ah didnae like it when she said she goat called Sab. Ah liked Sabrina the best. Mair exotic n mysterious, no sae much like a car, ah telt her. At this time ah kent that ah didnae want tae just talk music wi Sabrina, ah wanted us tae make it. This wis the best fuckin chance ah hud, cause ah could talk tae her aboot something ah kent aboot, withoot her gittin fed up like wi aw the rest ay thum. N cause ah could ah wis dead relaxed wi her.

  So we went tae the Wimpy for a Coke n some chips. Ye could tell she really wanted a burger n aw, by the wey she wis lookin at this boy’s yin, but didnae want me tae think she wis greedy.

  The next time ah met her was up in Clouds, oan Setirday, the night Gally goat lifted. She wis wi some pals. We hud a couple ay bops but it wis maistly jist sittin doonstairs, talkin sounds. Ah wis nervy cause ay aw ma mates bein thaire, but ah wis chuffed whin she said she hud tae get hame, and we went away early for a walk through toon. Ah think that Renton boy n that Matty fae Leith wir the only yins that saw us thegither, jist as we left. When we goat oot, we wir jist snoggin n that, n talkin aboot sounds. Ah walked her doon tae Dalry, then just carried oan hame, doon Gorgie Road n right oot tae the scheme.

  So ah missed it, missed aw the excitement. Andy Galloway, Wee Gally, ma wee mate, taken away tae the detention centre oan remand; nae bail pending police, social work, psychiatric reports and the trial. It’s they two things gettin me doon, making me depressed, as muh Ma calls it; me able tae dae nowt aboot Gally and nowt aboot no gittin ma hole.

  Ah just kent that if ah didnae git a ride within the next few weeks, naw days, ah wis gaunny die a virgin, destined tae live at hame wi muh Ma n faither for the rest ay ma life. The stakes were that fuckin high. Ah was ready. Ah was way past ready. All ah thought about was sex.

  Sex, sex, sex.

  Ah phoned Sabrina n we made a date for Wimpy’s on the Tuesday. We sat thair n kissed until ah wis nearly ready tae shoot ma fuckin duff in ma jeans. It wis great, but it wisnae enough. Ah plucked up the courage tae ask her if she fancied comin doon tae mine tae look at the records next Setirday night, when muh Ma n Dad would be at the Tartan Club.

  Sabrina smiled quite cheeky n said, — If ye like.

  Ah’ll dae it.

  Come up and see me, make me smile . . .

  Couldnae wait till Setirday. It dragged. Ah went oot tae make a call tae her oan the Wednesday, even though it wisnae too cool. The phoneboax wis fucked. Ah hud tae go back hame n snidely dae it. Her faither answering the phone. Me askin fir her, ma voice brekin. She seemed a loat mair casual, it wis as if she didnae gie a fuck, and ah wis wonderin if she’d come. Ah hud tae whisper n ah felt like ah wis gittin a beamer if muh Ma or Dad came in. Then ah tried tae go aw gruff like ah wis talkin tae a mate.

  Ah doubted now whether she’d come, even though she said aye, when ah telt her ah’d see her oan Setirday. It wis depressin.

  Then at Newman’s fruit shoap Topsy wis at ays tae go tae Herts oan Setirday. Naw. No way. That Maggie wid mibbe be thair. Sabrina’s better than her. Ah thoat ah’d git tae hers when her Ma n Dad wir away. Billy sais they left her oan her tod tae go doon tae Blackpool. Skinny wee scruffy Maggie, whae k.b.’d me n then went wi fuckin Terry, or so the cunt sais. It seems a load ay shite tae me. Eh cannae huv shagged everybody that’s goat a fanny.

  Jews and Gentiles

  Topsy hud been oan at ays aw week; at school, then at oor work, aboot ays no gaun tae the Hearts game at Montrose. It wis jist cause ah’d been at Hibs oan Setirday. Ah think eh thoat ah wis changin sides. Nae chance ay that. Ah still shite masel thinkin aboot that gob that went doon ma throat. Ah dinnae mind a punchin or a kickin, but that’s disgustin. What a fuckin way tae die: hepatitis fae some fuckin Glesgay scru
ff through backin up Hibs cunts ah fuckin hate anywey! It’s no very rock n roll, no like a drug overdose or helicopter crash. You’d probably get Maggie Orr, n aw they lassies fae school, aw dressed in black, standin roond ma grave, sheddin tears, wishin they’d hud the decency tae gie ays ma hole whin they hud the chance.

  Eftir slaggin me aboot it aw week, Topsy now wants ays to go ower n ower what happened oan Setirday. Wir sittin doon in the basement ay the shoap, huvin oor brek in the office. Poofy George is ootside in the cellar, makin up some bouquets and wreaths.

  Oor Mr Turvey is fascinated by the Doyles, and Dozo especially. Eh wants ays tae tell it aw again; whae wis first in, Doyle or Gentleman, whae wis the gamest n aw that shite. Fine for while, even fun for a while, but it does yir heid in eftir a bit.

  So tae change the subject ah starts gaun oan aboot the band. — Tell ye what, ah hud a great tune thit came intae ma heid last night, ah telt um.

  Topsy goes quiet and thoughtful. Then eh sucks oan these big front teeth ay his, like eh eywis does before eh’s gaunny say somethin. — Ma auld man’s no gaunny lit us practise in ma hoose again, no eftir the last time, eh tells ays.

  Fuckin well knew it! The daft cunt hud aw they birds up, Maggie n that. No thit ah wis complainin, but ehs bedroom wis like St James’s Centre. We goat aw excited n started showin oaf, turnin the amps up dead loud, n ehs auld boy turfed us oot. Some fuckin band. — Aye, ma auld girl goes radge as well, ah hud tae admit. — Anywey, it’s a waste ay time roond at mines, the auld boy eywis interferes. Ah kin nivir git the guitar offay um. We should jist practise at Malc’s aw the time. It makes mair sense. By the time eh’s goat that drum kit roond tae oor bit n set it up, it’s time tae pack it in.

  — His auld lady’s gaunny love that, Topsy goes, breakin a piece fae ehs four-finger KitKat n dippin it in ehs mug ay tea.

  — Aye, it’s a fuckin hassle, ah agree. Mind you, everything’s a hassle these days. Stuck here, at Newman’s Fruiters and Florists of Distinction when we should be practising. Snap should and could be the best band ever, but this kind of shite goat in the wey. This is the best time at work but, the brek, the time whin ye kin sit doon n discuss the important things.

  — That’s the trouble wi the scheme, Topsy considers. — Waws too thin. Every cunt kicks up fuck. If we lived in a big hoose wi a basement or a garage like that auld Jew cunt upstairs, eh thumbs up tae the shoap above us, — we’d be like the fuckin Jam by now. It wid be The Jam who’d be fuckin well supportin Snap.

  Ah worry thit Poofy George hus heard um, cause Topsy’s voice really carries, so ah looks ootside. George’s still wheezin away, daein ehs flooirs, makin that strange whistlin sound through ehs teeth. Ah turn back intae the office, lowerin ma voice. — Newman isnae a Jew, Tops. Eh’s a proddy like us.

  Topsy’s face goes aw hard and set. — You’re half Catholic, eh says accusingly. — Oan yir ma’s side.

  — Fuck you, ya biased cunt. Muh Ma’s nivir been tae chapel in her puff, n ma auld boy’s side ur aw Orange cunts, no that ah gie a fuck aboot that. N Newman’s a proddy n aw, ah point tae the roof, — Eh’s a fuckin Kirk elder, for fuck’s sake.

  Topsy taps the side ay ehs nose. — That’s what they want ye tae think. They take ower the churches tae make it less obvious. If the likes ay Jewmen just went tae the synagogue, they wid stand oot a mile. Aw this sneakin intae the proddy church is jist tae make it less obvious. Eh wants ye tae think eh’s one ay us but eh isnae.

  Just then Newman comes doonstairs, n we hardly hear him till the last couple ay steps. Eh kin be a fuckin sneaky cunt. Steppin sideweys intae the narrow office like a crab, eh taps ehs watchface. — Come on! Come on! Ehs face is like a bird’s, aw sharp beak and keen, darting, sparry eyes. — There’s deliveries need to go out! eh sais tae me.

  Aye, n there’s the biggest injustice for ye; it’s Topsy that ey slags off Newman, but the cunt never bothers him, it’s always me eh’s oantae. Ah’m usually the daft cunt that hus tae go oot oan the delivery bike in aw weathers, droppin oaf groceries tae lazy rich cunts whae never tip ye and treat ye like a fuckin skivvy. If ah didnae need the money for that Marshall amp, the cunt could stick ehs joab up ehs erse. Ye cannae play a Fender Strat through a shitey amplifier.

  Ah’m the fuckin worker here. Topsy jist packs shelves upstairs in the shoap, or loads the wreaths intae the back ay the van for Newman tae take roond the cemeteries and crematoriums. If we’re baith in, it’s eywis me that has tae dae the deliveries. And sometimes fir the Gorgie Road shoap n aw.

  Still, gittin gaun stoaps ays gittin intae arguments aboot politics wi Topsy. Eh’s goat some funny ideas, but it’s maistly just tae wind people up, shock thum n that. People dinnae really understand that aboot um sometimes. N ah’ve goat a loat tae be thankful tae him fir, it wis Topsy thit goat ays this joab.

  — Right Brian, Newman sais in that nasal squeak ay his, — up you come and see what needs filled. You’ll want a box of pineapple chunks, I can tell you that already, and some garden peas.

  — Righto, Topsy says cheerfully, following Newman back up the stairs tae pack some shelves. Eh gies the cunt the Vs behind ehs back. Tough life for some; that fucker’ll be in a nice, warm shoap chattin up Deborah or Vicky, whaever’s oan wi auld Mrs Baxter. Meanwhile, ah huv tae risk ma life gaun through heavy traffic oan an overloaded bike roond Merchiston n Colinton.

  The grocery boxes are spread over the cellar flair where the whistlin poof, clad in ehs green overalls, is makin up his floral displays. He’s good at it as well; his hands twist and tease these wires and a real work ay art is created in minutes. Ah widnae ken where tae start. Ah take a look at the order slips stuck tae each boax, n starts plannin oot ma route. It’s no too bad the day. Yir best startin at the furthest away yins at Colinton, n workin yir wey in. It’s mair encouragin. The worse time is oan Setirday mornin, whin it’s me oan one week n Topsy the next. Thir’s been a few times that one or other ay us hus missed the Herts bus, especially if it’s a faraway game n they huv tae leave early.

  Topsy warned ays aboot Poofy George whin ah started. — Eh’s an auld poof awright. Ah mean, eh disnae grab yir erse or nowt like that, bit ye ken eh’s a poof by the wey eh talks n minces aboot.

  Sure enough, auld George lisps, sprayin ma face wi gob like eh sprays ehs displays wi ehs water gun. Pointin tae one order eh tells ays, — Take that yin oot tae Mrs Ross first, son. She wis oan the phone demandin it. An awfay palaver.

  So ah start loadin up the auld black-framed delivery bike, and fae up the stairs ah kin already hear Topsy n Deborah, that barry-lookin student burd, laughin loudly at somethin.

  Drinking to Forget

  I’m running late and this boot Mrs Ross has this wee poodle wi a tartan collar that ey nips at ma heels. This time eh’s really goat a hud ay me, ehs teeth uv broke ma skin n ma troosers might be ripped. Ah’ve hud this up tae ma fuckin eyeballs, so ah droaps the heavy boax oan toap ay it. Thir’s a yelp and the bastard whimpers and whines, struggling tae free itself fae under the weight ay the box. Hope ah broke the cunt’s back.

  That fat auld sow comes tae the door. — What’s happened! she screeches, — what have you done to him!

  She pulls the box off, and this fuckin thing scrambles back inside.

  — Sorry, but it was an accident, I smile. — He bit my leg and I dropped the box in fright.

  — You . . . you . . . stupid . . .

  Ah always find that the best thing tae dae in that position is tae stay cool n jist repeat yirself. The auld boy telt ays that’s how the union taught them tae negotiate. — He bit my leg, and I got a shock and dropped the box by mistake.

  She looks at me in sheer hate, then turns and lumbers in after the dug, — Pipuhrr . . . Pipuhrr . . . ma wee laddie . . .

  Ah wisnae exactly wreckin ma chances ay a tip, cause that tight auld cunt, though fill ay shite, still wouldnae part wi a fart. On the Slateford Road ah goat ma lungs pumped wi crap fae the fucked exhaust of a corpie bus: thanks Lothian Region Transport. Ah did get
a ten-bob bit fae Mrs Bryan later oan which cheered ays up, but it was past closing time when ah goat back tae the shoap at Shandon.

  They were standin ootside, waitin tae lock up. Newman was looking at his watch, a face like some cunt had let one go under his nose. — Come on, come on, eh cheeps away. Topsy n Deborah are sniggerin n that Mrs Baxter’s lookin aw humpty, checkin her watch in imitation ay her boss. The cunts are actin like it’s ma fault thir held back late, me thit does aw the fuckin real work n aw. Ah’m thinkin that it would be great tae see some cunt burst that fuckin Newman’s mooth, or better still, see um tryin tae go that bike oan ehs ain, n watch a corpie bus crush him, and it, intae the tarmac oan the Slateford Road.

  Topsy n me watch that Deborah go away doon the road. Imagine gaun oot wi a bird like that! We watch her go ower the bridge at Shandon. — Ride that any day ay the week, Topsy goes. — She’s goat a felly but.

  — Ah’ll fuckin bet she hus, ah nod, admirin the wey her ankles oan these high shoes tapered up tae they calves. Her skirt went tae below the knee, but it wis that tight, ye could tell her thighs and erse were barry. We hud a great system fir gittin a deek at her n Vicky: tit when standin oan the ladder stackin the toap shelf; legs when lookin up fae the lower shelves. One Setirday mornin when Vicky wis oan, she wis wearin this short skirt wi they wee white panties. Ye could see her pubes, curlin oot oan either side. Ah thoat ah wis gaunny pass out. Ah hud a wank aboot it that night and shot that much spunk ah thoat ah’d huv tae go oan a saline drip up the hoaspital jist tae replace the fluids. Her pubes: just the thoat ay thum. Enough. — Ye headin fir hame? ah ask Tops.

  — Naw, ah’ll see ye the morn. Ah’m gaun tae ma Nana’s fir ma tea the night.

  Topsy’s Ma n Dad hud jist split up, so eh wis spendin mair time at his Nan’s at Wester Hailes. So ah leaves um, n nips ower the Slateford Road, n doon the steps. Ah stoaps oaf at Star’s Fish Bar fir some chips cause ah’m starvin, then ah head oantae Gorgie Road. Ah’m walkin past the slaughterhoose n makin ma wey tae the scheme when ah see thum comin taewards me.