Glue

by Irvine Welsh

  Terry looks at ays, aw grave, like eh’s annoyed. — Bit fuckin sexist thaire, Mr Galloway. What’s that aw aboot? What’s wrong wi a bird likin a bit ay cock? We like fanny.

  Ah think that eh’s tryin tae wind ays up, but eh’s no, eh’s serious.

  — Aye, but when she wis meant tae be wi me, that’s what ah’m talkin aboot.

  Terry says nowt tae this. Eh looks ower n clocks Alec comin intae the pub. Eh shouts ower, — Alec . . .

  Alec looks fucked off. Eh’s walkin wi a stoop as eh comes ower tae us.

  — What’s up wi your face, Terry asks.

  — Went tae see her the day . . . eh says, aw morosely. — Ethel, eh wheezes softly.

  — Aw, Terry goes.

  Alec means that eh’s been tae the cemetery, or the chapel ay rest ah think they call it at the crematorium. Ethel wis ehs wife, the woman that died in the fire. Inhalation ay smoke. This wis yonks ago, when ah first kent um. Alec’s son’ll no talk tae him cause they think it wis Alec’s fault. Some say it wis Alec wi the chip-pan, bevvied, others thit it wis an electrical fault. Whatever it wis it wis bad news for him, and for her.

  — What yis wantin tae drink? Terry asks Alec, then me. Ah shrug, so does Alec. — Trust me tae pick the fun company, eh goes.

  Nightmare on Elm Row

  Ma heid was pounding and ma mooth was as dry as a nun’s twat as I planned tae get a bus back hame tae chill oot a bit before Carl’s club starts. As ah watched the streetlights separate wi ma movement taewards them, ah realised that ah wis near Larry Wylie’s new gaff n ah wis wonderin whether eh’d want some ay they E’s offay me. The entryphone system’s broken but the stairdoor’s open. As ah climb the stairs ah’m aware that the E buzz is runnin doon and that ah’m still fucked wi the bevvy fae yesterday.

  That cunt Terry can fairly piss it up. Training for the beer festival he says. Well, it’s been a long and dedicated training programme for the cunt, aboot fifteen years approximately. If Billy could pursue boxin wi the same single-mindedness, eh’d huv unified the World Title by now.

  Ah pressed the doorbell, knowin already that it’s gaunny be a mistake. Ah’m just propelled taewards disaster; thir’s fuck all ah kin dae aboot it. The worst has already happened, the rest is just details.

  Who gie’s a toss?

  Larry was even nippier than usual when he answered the door, eventually, after shouting behind it, — Who’s that?

  — Gally, ah told him.

  Larry looked urgently at me, checkin nae cunt’s comin up the stairs behind ays. The fucker looks wired, the paranoia’s tearin ootay him, so tangible ye could stick it between two slices ay breed. — Come in, quick, eh said tae ays.

  — What’s up? Ah git the question oot as eh pills ays intae the hoose n slams the door behind me, then bolts it twice, sliding home two industrial-sized fuckers.

  Eh pointed through tae the room. — A load ay bullshit here, eh gestured through, lookin ahead, lost in focus. — Fat Phil, ah stabbed the cunt, eh said bitterly.

  Ah felt like turnin oan ma heels right then, but that’s a loat ay metal tae git through and Larry’s state ay mind was obviously volatile, even by the cunt’s ain horrendous standards. Besides, ah’ve nae fear, ah’m jist curious. Ah decided that right then wisnae the time tae ask why eh stabbed Phil but. — Is eh awright?

  Larry looked at ays as if ah wis bein wide for a second, then eh burst intae a big, beautiful, beaming smile. — Fucked if ah ken, eh went, then changed in a flash intae business mode. — Ye want that base speed? eh goes wi mair than jist an air ay impatience.

  Ah’m here tae sell, no tae buy. — Eh aye, but ah’ve goat some good E’s here Larry . . . ah telt um, but the cunt wisnae listening.

  Ah follayed Larry ben the front room, then through tae the kitchen oaf it. Fat Phil was sitting at the kitchen table. Ah nodded tae him, but his eyes were starin off intae the distance, seemingly focused on something. He kept a fold ay sheeting pressed tae ehs stomach. It was a bit bloody, but no really saturated or nowt like that.

  Larry was aw tense and animated. Ah wondered if he was speeding. — Which will bring us back to doh . . . eh sings, aw Sound ay Music-style, theatrically pleased wi ehsel, thumbs in imaginary braces. Then eh gits glesses oot ay a kitchen cupboard, follayed by a boatil ay JD, pourin two large nips fir me n him. — Whaire’s the fuckin Coca-Cola? Eh? eh sais, then eh shouts through the room next door, — WHICH CUNT’S NICKED THE FUCKIN COKE?

  Ah heard footsteps fae a bedroom and Muriel Mathie came through with some bandages n a pair ay scissors. She was wearin a guy’s checked shirt, which might have been Larry’s, and looked at me tensely as she went over to Phil.

  — Nae Coke? Larry asked, his face set in a challenging smile.

  — Nup, she goes.

  — Ye gaun doon tae the garage fir some? eh urges. — It wis youse thit fuckin well drunk it. How’m ah tae offer a guest a drink?

  Muriel spun roond brandishing the scissors at Larry. The lassie wis fairly jolting wi rage. — You fuckin git it! Ah’ve hud enough ay you Larry, ah’m tellin ye!

  Larry looked at me wi a smirk oan ehs face. Eh spread ehs airms n extended ehs palms. — Ah wis merely enquiring as to the status of the Coca-Cola, eh sais. — It’ll have tae be neat, Gally. Chin chin, eh toasts, n we take a swallay.

  Sharon Forsyth came in from the same bedroom and looked over the scene, as excited and awestruck as some wee starlet who’s landed a part in a big movie. — This is mental . . . hiya Andrew, she said, smilin at me. Sharon wis wearin a bottle-green cotton sleeveless crop-top. She hud her navel exposed and it hud been pierced. Ah’d never seen that before. It looked cool, sexy, slutty. — Brilliant Sharon. Sexy, ah telt her, pointin tae it.

  — Ye like it? Ah think it’s just barry, Mr Macari, she giggled. Her hair looked greasy and unkempt. Could dae wi a wash. Ah might offer tae wash it for her if she’s intae gaun uptae Fluid. Carl disnae like that crowd in the place but. Calls them the ‘schemie element’. Fuckin cheek ay him, even if eh means it as a joke. Ah’ve always been intae Sharon and ah went away with her when ah came out of the nick, the proper nick, a few years ago. Aw ah thoat aboot wis sex when ah wis inside, but when ah goat oot, ah hud loads ay shite in ma heid cause ay that Gail cow and ah couldnae get it up. Sharon but, she never made me feel bad aboot it. That’s what ah call class in a bird. She seemed tae accept ma prison-does-things-tae-a-man speech.

  — Wis it sair tae get done?

  — No really, but ye huv tae keep it clean. But long time no see . . . c’mere . . . We gied each other a euphoric dancefloor embrace. Great lassie, Sharon, even though ah could feel the grease fae her hair oan ma face, clogging up ma ain pores. Ah’m wonderin if Larry’s shaggin her. Probably. Eh’s definitely shaggin Muriel.

  Over her shoodir ah saw Muriel, still tending Phil, steal a quick glance at Larry who shot her back a challenging stare as if to say ‘what?’ before he started digging around in a drawer.

  As Sharon and me broke our hug Fat Phil grunted something. He was breathing heavily, and Muriel was muttering to herself.

  — Goat some fuckin good skag, Larry smiled. — Ye want a bang?

  Skag? Eh’s a fuckin comedian. — Naw, that’s no ma thing, ah tell him.

  — Isnae what ah heard, eh winked.

  — That wis a while back now, ah tell him.

  Sharon looked at Larry. — We’ll no git intae a club if wir aw skagged up, Larry.

  — Starin at waws is the new niteclubbin. Sais so in The Face, eh grinned.

  Muriel attempted tae take Phil’s shirt off but he brushed her away, the movement causing him more pain than her. Muriel persisted, — You’ve loast a loat ay blood here, ye’d better git tae the hoaspital. Ah’ll git an ambulance.

  — Naw, Phil wheezed, — nae hoaspitals, nae ambulance. He was sweating profusely, especially from his head. It gathered intae beads which dotted ehs face.

  Larry nodded in acquiescence.

  This was the kind ay scene where aw officiald
om, even the maist benign ay the emergency services, wis instinctively distrusted. Nae polis. Nae ambulance, even though eh might be bleeding tae death. Thir seemed a bit mair blood oan the sheetin now. Ah could see Fat Phil in a hoose that wis burning doon around um n him shoutin: Nae fire brigade!

  — But you’ve goat tae, yuv goat tae, Muriel said and then she started shrieking, like she was having a panic attack, and Sharon went to calm her.

  — Dinnae git hysterical or it might rub oaf oan Phil . . . Sharon turned tae Phil whae wis still looking ahead, sheet crushed tae his gut. — . . . Sorry, Phil, but ye ken what ah mean, it’s like if she makes it sound worse thin it is you’ll worry n yir blood pressure’ll git high n yi’ll bleed faster . . .

  Larry nodded approvingly, — That’s right! Try tae see some fuckin sense, Muriel, yi’ll jist make it fuckin worse, eh snorts. Eh had his works and ushered ays intae the other room. — These cunts nip ma fuckin heid. Thir’s some people ye cannae fuckin help, eh says, like a social worker wi a heavy caseload, who’s just come tae the end ay his tether.

  Ah’d decided that ah wanted a shot when he asked me again. It wasn’t that ah said yes, it’s just that ah couldnae say ‘naw’, or say ‘naw’ and mean it. My body seemed tae go cold, and ma thoughts aw disconnected and abstract. It wis a bit daft as ah’d been up aw night on the piss with Terry and ah wisnae in the best condition for this.

  As Larry produced the works and started cookin, ah wis gaunny say ‘ah’ll just chase mine’ but it sounded so daft and pointless.

  So there ah wis, tappin up a vein. Larry spiked ays. As soon as the gear surged through ma system it completely overwhelmed me and ah lost control and passed out.

  Ah thought that ah’d been fucked fir just a few minutes but Muriel was shaking and slapping me and she was obviously relieved when ah was coming to. Ah smelt, then saw, the sick on my chest. Larry was sitting watching a Jackie Chan video. — Surrounded by fuckin lightweights, eh chuckled withoot humour. — Telt ays you could handle the broon n aw.

  Ah tried tae speak, tae say that it had been a long time, but ah felt the gagging cough ay acrid puke in ma throat and ah nodded tae Muriel whae had a gless ay water by her side. Ah sipped, almost choking, but it wasnae uncomfortable, it was a slow, smooth, hot caress in ma throat n lungs cause the gear wis daeing its job.

  Sharon’s sittin oan couch running her fingers through ma hair, then massagin ma neck like ah’m E’d up. — You’re a bad boy, Andrew Galloway. You had us aw worried there for a bit. Didn’t eh, Larry?

  — Aye, Larry grunts distractedly, no looking fae the box.

  Ah gave a wee cackle, just at the prospect ay Larry worryin aboot anybody but ehsel.

  Ah must have lain there for over an hour zoning in and out of consciousness with Sharon’s fingers working my neck and shoodirs and Larry’s voice zooming in and out of audio-range, like a signal coming through and breaking up.

  — . . . this gear is the best . . . you could make a few bob shiftin it . . . every cunt’s gittin feart wi the AIDS but if yir careful it’s nae bother . . . git the smack n the speed mixed up . . . no the base, mind, fuck that . . . Phil thoat eh wis wide . . . started namin names . . . ah hate it when cunts start name-droppin expectin ye tae faw intae line . . . talking aboot the Doyles . . . that Catriona . . . ah telt um ah ken Franco n Lexo n that, so dinnae gie me yir Doyles . . . then eh starts aw this shite aboot money . . . kens fuck all . . . nowt wrong wi um . . . thinks that Muriel’s gonny feel aw sorry fir um n lit the fat cunt intae her keks . . .

  Sharon gets up and comes back in a change ay clathes, paradin in front ay me like a catwalk model. She’s goat oan a tight pair ay white slacks and a black-and-white striped toap. Ah manage tae gie her the thumbs up. She goes tae the kitchen as Larry drones on and on aboot ehs recent minor atrocities in a weirdly soothing and comforting wey.

  — . . . her that was in Deacon’s . . . thinks she kin cock-tease aw she wants . . . no wi this boy here she cannae . . . slipped ehr a couple ay jellies tae wash doon wi her voddy n she wis oot like a light . . . huh huh huh . . . still goat the Polaroids . . . thaire straight doon the back ay that bus shelter at the shoaps if that slag steps oot ay line again . . .

  And it disnae matter anymair. That’s the beauty ay it. Nowt fuckin matters.

  — . . . the maist minging cunt in the world . . . ah sais tae her, dae you never wash yir fuckin fanny . . . n see your mate, Gally; that Juice Terry cunt . . . tell ays he’s no wide as fuck . . .

  Muriel came in screaming and Phil lumbered through behind her. His face was white with shock and panic and eh was staggering, ehs blood now gushing intae the sheet. — Ah’m driving him tae the hoaspital, she said.

  Larry, tae ma shock, goat up. — Lit’s go. Wi stick thegither. Then eh adds, in song, — You know we made a wow to luff one an-oth-uh for ev-vah . . .

  Ah sort ay protested, but Larry pilled ays tae ma feet. — Want tae hear what story they cunts tell the hoaspital . . . make sure thir’s nae grassin up gaun oan . . . eh slurred.

  We all got intae the car, which wis parked in Montgomery Street, wi Sharon drivin and Phil in the front passenger seat n the rest ay us in the back. Larry was fucked, eh took another hit in the hoose and he wis floating away. — Say nowt, mind . . . he said, passing out.

  — Try tae keep tae the backstreets as much as ye kin Sharon, Muriel said, clutching a Bartholomew’s Edinburgh City Plan, — wir no wantin stoaped wi they two aw skagged up.

  As Sharon started up the car Phil began tae really show ehs panic fir the first time. — THAT CUNT WYLIE! eh screamed. — AH CANNAE BELIEVE EH DID THAT!

  Ah wis that wey where ah dinnae ken whether or no ah thought or said the words, — Believe it.

  — AH CANN . . . Phil spluttered oan ehs words. Eh arched round in the seat and slammed a chunky fist intae Larry’s face. Larry woke up, saying, — What’s aw this aboot, in a sort ay nasal plead.

  Muriel pushed Phil back and held ehs shoodirs. — Phil, for fuck sake, sit still, yir losing blood, she pleaded.

  — This is pure radge, Sharon said.

  — Try tae stey still, Phil, Muriel implored. — We’ll be thaire in a bit. And mind: ye cannae grass Larry up.

  — Ah’ve nivir grassed any cunt up in ma life, Phil squeaked, — but he’s . . . that cunt . . . Phil turned in the seat and tried tae have another go at Larry, who just said, — C’mon now . . . and laughed.

  But Phil was coming out ay the shock ay the stabbing. Eh wis fuckin livid at Larry. Eh goat round again and battered him in the puss. Larry twisted like a rag doll, his head snapping back under the impact of the blow. Eh wis like one ay they nodding dugs in the back ay motors. — That’s right Phil . . . that’s enough . . . Muriel said, almost at the same time. Ah started tae laugh. Larry’s eye was swelling up, looking like a rotten piece ay fruit.

  — WIDEO . . . CUNT . . . Phil shrieked, and Sharon went — OHHH as mair blood, real blood, started coming through ontae ehs lap. Just as we pulled intae the A & E, Phil collapsed across Sharon. She stopped the car aboot fifty yards short ay the forecourt. Muriel couldnae pill him up, so she just goat oot n ran acroass the tarmac. Larry, dazed, fell across my lap. — Fuckin great shit this, Gally . . . hus tae be said, he muttered, ehs wasted face lookin up at me.

  The ambulance boys were straight oot and they had Phil fae the motor and they were taking him away. They were struggling like fuck to get him from the ground onto the trolley, even with it folded down. Ah shouted oan Muriel and she came away, brushing aside this paramedic who was gesturing towards the desk.

  She got in up front beside Sharon who did a nifty bit ay reversin and we drove off. — Where are we gaun? she asked.

  — The beach, ah suggested, — Portobelly.

  — Ah want tae go clubbin, Sharon goes.

  — That suits me, ah said, remembering that ah wanted tae serve up at Carl Ewart’s club, git masel sorted wi some cash for Munich.

  — We’ll no be gittin intae any club the night, Muriel sc
offed.

  — Aye, Fluid, it’s ma mate’s club, Fluid, we’ll git in, ah slur.

  Larry’s heid’s still oan ma lap. Eh looked up at ays and raises a clenched fist in salute. — Clublaaaand! . . . eh gasps loudly.

  Limitations

  Larry never made it past the bouncers on the door and Muriel took him hame. They let me n Sharon in, only cause ah’m Carl’s mate n she wis wi me. Ah wis fucked up, and ah dinnae really mind that much about the club. Billy wis talkin tae ays for a bit, n ah think Terry said something aboot the Beer Festival. Sharon took ays hame. Ah mind ay her pittin ays tae bed, then getting in wi me. In the night a goat a hard-on and ah nearly never minded. She must’ve felt it pokin against her, cause she woke up and started playin wi it, then tellin me tae fuck her.

  When she started kissin ays deeply ah thoat for a while ah wis somebody else. Then it came back tae ays exactly who ah wis. Ah telt her ah couldnae, it wisnae her, it wis me. Thir wis nae condom and ah jist couldnae. She kept a tight hud ay ays, as ah telt her that she wis hingin aboot wi rubbish, n ah included maself in that, n told her she wis better thin that and that she should sort it oot.

  Her sweaty face pulled away fae mines and came intae view. — It’s awright . . . disnae matter. Ah sortay guessed. Ah thoat ye kent: ah’m like that n aw, she told me with a mischievous wee smile.

  There wis no fear in her eyes. None at all. It was like she was talkin aboot bein in the fuckin Masons or something. It put the shits up me. Ah goat up, went through, and sat cross-legged in the chair, lookin at ma crossbow oan the waw.

  Terry Lawson

  Part-timers

  The dole’s no as bad as the DHSS some say. Others say different. Academic fuckin debate cause tae me it’s aw part ay the same shite; cunts that want tae poke thir fuckin nose intae yir affairs. Aye, the bastards have called ays in, so ah gits doon tae Castle Terrace for ma appointment. Yours truly’s thaire at the stated time, but the place is mobbed oot. It’s gaunny be a right fuckin stall the looks ay it. So ah’m waitin oan the red plastic seats wi the rest ay the poor fuckers, tryin tae git comfortable. They aw look the same; schools, polis stations, nicks, factories, DHSS and dole offices. Anywhere they process the punters. Thir’s the yellaw waws, the blue strip lightin and the notice board wi one or two frayed posters on it. The first word oan the poster or sign is usually ‘No’, either that or it’s goat one ay two messages oan it. It’s either: we’ve goat our eye oan youse cunts, or: grass up yir friends and neighbours for us. This one ah’m readin is everywhaire now: