No amount of soap bar would halt the comedown, Billy thought to himself as he accepted another smouldering joint from Danny, winding the top of the window down to let some smoke billow out. He sucked that bad boy with ferocity, desperate to escape the impending doom that would soon be squeezing his head in its vice like grip.
As Billy looked out the window through the fence that separated them from the landing strip at the airport, straining his eyes through his Ray-Bans with the sun beating down, he reflected. Eccies, escorts, contracts, all on a fucking Monday night. Felt like his life was starting to race at a speed he was struggling to keep up with.
Slow down. Just slow down. Yer movin too fast.
That’s what Lyndsay had said to him a couple of months earlier in her house. Problem was, he didn’t know how. And as he observed each of his friends gazing into space in their own zombie-like states he suddenly felt alone. Felt like the tight brotherhood that had existed just a few hours earlier, that chemical unity, was a sham. He needed some sleep. “Danny. Take me hame.”
Danny dropped Billy off at the shops, so he could grab four Tennent’s before heading back to his flat.
As he walked in he could feel the last effects of the drugs rapidly draining away, leaving an empty, hollow feeling in the pit of his shrunken stomach. He flung a fiver down on the counter, unable to look the shopkeeper in the eyes as he picked up his messages, and barely able to muster more than a grunt in acknowledgement.
He could feel the sweat dripping from his neck as he pulled his T-shirt up over his head and wedged it down the back of his jeans. He was just barely coping with the short walk home, hoping he wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew and have to engage in conversation or small talk of any kind.
Reality was kicking in and it was biting hard. The fact that he had blanked Lyndsay for days and slept with an escort behind her back had left a nagging feeling of guilt that was gnawing away at him. He was going to end it, it was decided. He was better off sticking with someone who expected to be trodden on as she had never known any different.
And then of course there was Brian Clark’s proposition. Murder. Taking out a significant underworld figure, and all the dark ifs and buts that came with it.
The paranoia was ripping right through him; all the negatives in his life dark looming clouds following his every move.
As he walked through his gate and took the weary steps up to the service door he envisaged that beautiful little blue tablet and all its friends. His ticket to a day of rest from the world. To wake up refreshed, revitalised, free from this mental hell. His body was completely fucked, yet his brain was still very much awake and he desperately needed that sweet unconsciousness. He opened his top drawer and began sifting through a stramash of flyers, skins, fag ends, and empty lighters for his vallies. After going through the drawer a couple of times, he began emptying the contents out, determined to find them. He started to panic, dreading the thought of having to deal with his comedown for the rest of the day. In a flash it came back to him. He had swallowed the lot after getting back the previous weekend.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!”
He stood up and kicked the drawer as hard as he could, stubbing his toes on the hard wood. “Aaaaaagh!”
He limped through to the living room and fell down on the couch, head in hands, wondering how he was going to cope. He pulled the hash bucket across to his feet, and began crumbling big bits of soap bar onto the charred foil. He pulled the plastic bottle up out of the water, the thick green smoke gushing in, and then sucked it down in one go, feeling it hit the back of his throat harshly. After coughing the smoke out he sat back, his head feeling more and more hazy as the deep stone took effect.
As he turned he noticed the red light beeping on his landline with three voicemail messages waiting. He pushed the button.
Beep. “Hi Billy it’s me. I came round for you earlier but you never answered the door. Not sure if you're there and avoiding me or fast asleep. Either way please call me back. We need to talk. It’s serious. Bye.”
Beep. “Hi it’s me again, don’t wanna nag you, I know you don’t like it, but we really really need to talk Billy. Can you please call me? I’m off work at the moment so just call me any time at my house. If you’re avoiding me cause you think I’ll be angry then don’t because this is more important. Not gonnae go into it over the phone, just please call me.”
Beep. “Look, I’ve been round for you twice and you know I don’t like coming into Muirhouse on my own in the dark. I’ve gathered by now that you’re not in, don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but we need to speak urgently. It’s serious. Involves the two of us, just pick up the phone and call. I’m not going to keep leaving messages. If you don’t call me back by tomorrow then don’t bother calling at all as I’ll assume you don’t care enough to bother your arse.”
Billy picked up the receiver and stared at it for several minutes, wondering what was so urgent. The calm, controlled tone in her voice was unsettling. He needed to know what she was talking about.
“Hello.” There was a pause for a few seconds as he drifted into a trance.
“Is that you?”
“Aye. Look Ah’m sorry, Ah...”
“Save it, Billy. I don’t want your excuses. Are you in the house?”
“Aye.”
“Are you staying put or are you just gonna fuck off again?”
“Ah’m stayin put eh. Look, what’s wae aw the seriousness man, what’s the crack?”
“I’d rather wait till we’re together.”
“Dinnae leave me hangin Lyndsay, yer freakin me oot man. Has someone died?”
“No. I'll phone a taxi, and we can talk when I get there.”
“But Lyndsay Ah...”
“Bye Billy.”
37
Billy slowly came to, to the sight of a grim faced Lyndsay. She had a long red round-necked sweater on and a long black skirt that covered her completely.
“Billy, you look terrible.”
“Thanks a lot. Fuckin love you too, eh. Look, if you’re gonnae start lecturing me then...”
“I’m not.”
“Well, what then? What’s goin on? If yer gonnae finish with me, then fuck sake just dae it eh.”
“Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Look ye knew the package when ye started seein me. Ah’m no a saint awright? Far from it, ye knew this fae a few weeks in. So what is it Lyndsay? What is this big fuckin mystery secret ye’ve gottae tell me?”
“I’m pregnant.”
The words stunned Billy like he’d taken a hard hook to the temple. Suddenly his aching insides and ravaged brain seemed insignificant.
“Please say something, Billy.”
“How far gone?”
“Six weeks.”
“Six weeks an ye’ve only telt ees now?”
“I’ve been trying, but I haven’t been able to find the right moment. Only known for two weeks.”
Billy leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. “What a fuckin bombshell, man.”
“Well, what are you feeling? Are you happy? Sad? Angry? I need to know.”
He stood and walked into the kitchen, grabbed the vodka from the top of the cupboard and poured a large nip into a shot glass before downing it straight.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“How do you feel?”
“Gies a chance tae take it in fer fuck’s sake. What are ye daein wae it?”
“I’m keeping it, Billy. I’ve thought long and hard about it believe me, but I can’t kill something that’s living inside of me. It’s up to you whether you stand by me.”
“Don’t I get a say then nah? It’s mine tae.”
“I was hoping you’d want me to keep it. Don’t you?”
“It’s just that, it’s a big responsibility ken? Ah’m only twenty-one. You’re only 20! We could get rid ay this one, and huv another one in a couple ay years when were mair settled nah?”
&
nbsp; “Ye talk about it like it’s a possession. It’s a little life form Billy. I can’t get rid of it. I just can’t.”
“So that’s you decided it then? Made up yer mind, just like that?”
“Wasn’t easy, believe me.”
Billy shook his head in disbelief. “That’s all Ah fuckin need. On top ay aw the other fucked-up shite that’s goin on in ma life. I’ve gottae worry aboot fuckin Dougie Donaldson sendin some cunt through ma door. Dale fuckin Alscott, whenever he gets ootae prison. Hibs boys. Getting lifted, jailed, fuckin killed. Whatever the fuck’s goin on in ma Mum and Dad’s hoose. An now oan top ay aw that shite, Ah’m gonnae have a screamin bairn pissin an shittin aw ower the place.”
“Ah’m sorry but I’ve made up my mind. If you want out I’ll understand.”
“It’s ma ain fuckin flesh an blood. What am Ah meant tae fuckin dae?”
“I was hoping this wouldn’t happen.”
“What did ye expect?”
“It takes two to tango! We both knew the risks when you have sex without a condom!”
He stormed through to the kitchen and slammed his glass down before pouring another vodka twice as big as the last one. Guilt over that escort was now stabbing him in the gut, whilst the thought of a baby tore at his fried brain.
“Stop it! You know what you’re like on vodka!”
He turned and smashed the glass against the wall as hard as he could. “Ah’ll do what Ah fuckin want! You’re the one that’s ruined ma life! Ah knew Ah should never have got involved wae a bird! Now Ah’m fuckin ruined!”
“I’ve ruined your life?”
“Ye might as well put a fuckin gun tae ma heid! Bang! Why couldn’t ye huv just found some other joker tae tie down? Why me! Could’ve picked any cunt, someone wae an education, a normal fuckin joab. What am I some kindae project? Take a bad cunt and try and turn um good?!”
Lyndsay stood up. “I chose you because I wanted you! And for some fucked up reason I still do!”
Billy turned his back and fixed his hands to the work surface. Pressing his palms into them with all his weight behind it.
“Do you think I planned this? Don’t you think there’s sacrifices I have to make? No Uni for me Billy! Not anymore.” She edged closer and placed a hand on his back.
“Don’t touch me right now.”
“So that’s it. Can’t even bear to have me touch you? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? Do you even care?”
He grabbed the bottle and took another long swig before slamming it down. “You’re getting an abortion. It’s in both our best interests.”
“Don’t you dare bark orders at me about what to do with my baby!”
He turned round and pointed at her. “You’re getting a fuckin abortion!”
“No!”
“Aye ye fuckin are!”
“Or what? Or you’ll slap me around like your Dad does your Mum?”
Billy’s arm came up in an instant. The back of his hand went stiff. He stopped himself just in time. “You ever fuckin use that against me again and I swear I will fuckin hit you. Now, get out ma flat. Get through that room, gather yer stuff, an get out!”
She left the room sniffing and sobbing. Billy sat on the couch, staring at the vodka bottle. He’d already drunk half of it and he was contemplating necking the other half in one go. The only thing stopping him was the thought of what he might do if he did. As he sat there with his head in his hands, he heard Lyndsay crying in the other room.
He pondered over what he would do if she left and didn’t come back. How he would function. Moments of danger from his life began flashing through his mind. Jack wielding that stick as he cowered on the floor. Dale Alscott’s sword whizzing past his face. The dealer in the Calton coming at him with the Stanley. How many more chances would he get?
He began thinking about the baby. The responsibility, the noise, the feeding, the nappies. The games of football. The walks to the park. The sitting on the swings, buying the clothes, watching TV together. The first steps, the first words.
Could it be a good thing? Was this what he needed to get his life in order, and establish some stability?
His attention was drawn back to the sound of Lyndsay’s heavy sobbing, it sobered him. Suddenly the thought of throwing her out seemed insane. She looked up at him through tear-stained eyes as he appeared at the doorway, a half packed bag in front of her, he realised he couldn’t do it. He felt the fury waning.
“Stop packing Lyndse.”
“Why?” She sniffed whilst wiping the tears from her cheek as he sat on the bed.
“Cause Ah don’t want ye to go.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.”
“Maybe aye. But Ah donno what I’d dae waeoot ye.”
“Ah’m sorry fer bringin yer Mum an Dad up.”
“It’s awright. Ah’m sorry fer bein a cunt.”
“What about the baby?”
“Might turn out to be a good thing eh?”
“Really?”
“Aye. Ma life’s been pretty fuckin mental the last few years. Come an lie wae ees, Ah’ll roll a joint.”
“Ah’ll come and lie with you, but I can’t smoke the joint.” She pointed at her stomach.
“Aw fuck aye, forgot. Come an lie wae me anyway.”
“Ok.”
A strange sense of peace descended as they lay for hours in each other’s arms, talking about the baby. About the kind of stuff they would buy for it, about the places they would go, about the type of life they could have just the three of them. They pondered the possibility of moving far away from the ghetto, away from all the chaos.
The comedown lost its power over Billy’s thoughts as the possibility of being a dad began to excite him.
But, amidst it all, he knew, a bairn didn’t come cheap. He excused himself, headed through to the living room and picked up the receiver. It was time to stop dwelling on the dangers involved. He’d been surrounded by danger his whole life. It was normal. This baby was a game changer, and the cash injection on offer was too good to ignore.
After several seconds of dialing tone there was a voice at the other end.
“Yeah.”
“Call it 50 and im in.”
“40?”
38
George batted the cubicle door open with his left paw while he wiped his nose with the right as he emerged sulkily from the Rutland Casino toilet. It was his fifth line of coke in rapid succession, shite gear. It was just making him feel moody and agitated and he knew where that was likely to lead.
The gambling had started off as a nice easy way of laundering his ecstasy money, but it was no longer just about concealment. It was about a habit that was growing with every passing day.
He felt the sweat dripping from his forehead and the tension building around his temples as he walked back out to the table. Eleanor, whom he had been dating for a month or so, stood at the table waiting for him with a full pint at the ready, looking fed up. Eleanor was a petite thing with bobbed black hair. The black fishnets that clung to her tight, milky white thighs along with the other black garments she often wore gave her a cheeky little hint of Goth. Even her lipstick was black from time to time. It was this twist, along with her tidy little frame and come-to-bed face that had grabbed George’s attention in the Vaults weeks earlier. The discovery that she was up for anything in the bedroom later that night had sealed the deal. They were an item within days.
He pulled off his bomber jacket and tossed it on the metal stool as he took the pint from her hand, feeling the strain.
“Ah’m bored, George.”
He blanked her as he checked how many chips were in his pocket.
“George?” She said his name again, clearly frustrated at the lack of attention.
“What?”
“Ah said Ah’m bored.”
“Aye.” He casually dropped a pile of chips down on the table as he re-took his seat, a new hand dropping in front of him.
“Haven’t ye gambled e
nough?”
“Ah’m doon big time. Need tae at least break even, then we can leave eh.”
“Aw fuck this.”
“Language please,” the stone-faced dealer replied through gritted teeth.
“Sorry,” she said as she took a harsh draw on the last of her fag before squashing it beneath her high heel.
“Here.” George grabbed her hand and placed the wrap in it, desperate to get rid of her for a few minutes so he could concentrate on the job at hand. “Away an liven yersel up, eh.”
“Cheeky cunt.” She stormed off, swinging her hips in an exaggerated fashion as George focused on his game. After managing to win back two hundred at the blackjack table he decided to head across to his old bread and butter, the roulette wheel, driving Eleanor across to the bar area.
After making a good start, his luck began to falter again. He noticed a tipsy looking Eleanor standing at the bar, knocking back a Jack Daniels whilst chatting to the foreign bartender. He shrugged off the nagging jealousy and fixed his concentration back on the roulette. His stock continued to fall, however, as he carelessly threw away several bundles of chips, feeling the pressure, anxious to make some cash back.
Just as he began to feel his groove again, he found himself distracted by the sight of Eleanor leaning over the bar, fixated on the suave-looking foreigner, clearly oblivious to him now. It was seeping underneath George’s skin, the fucking nerve. She had his attention now, that was for sure. He observed the barman’s athletic build, and tanned skin, and then looked down at the heavy-looking beer belly spilling over the top of his own belt. Those distant insecurities, still raw in the psyche, pulled at his nerves. He’d finally tied down a bird that made others envious. He’d be damned if he was going to lose her to some suave, sharp-tongued greaseball behind a bar.
Pure Angst Page 17
