Glue by Irvine Welsh
— Tea up, ah goes. Then, as Maggie looks up at ays, ah sais: — Dinnae ken whit yir worried aboot Maggie, that Alec boy’s sound.
— Aye, but you dinnae ken um like ah do, she warns ays again.
Gail’s still harpin oan aboot her knickers. — This is daein ma heid in, she sais.
She’ll no be needin thum if she’s gaunny be hingin aboot wi me, that’s fuckin well guaranteed.
Sally and Sid James
Ah wake up in the bed, sweatin like fuck, n ah realise ah’m oan ma ain. Ah looks n sees the two ay thaim, lyin sleepin oan the flair. It aw comes back tae ays; in the night ah managed tae git in the middle ay thum, thinkin aboot threes up, like in the films. Ah tried tae gie thum a wee frig, the pair ay thum at the same time, but they both goat a bit funny. Neither ay thum would lit ays up thum eftir that, too shy in front ay the other yin. So ah’ll jist need tae keep daein them separately for a while, then thi’ll be intae a threes up. Guaranteed.
Aye, ah tried it oan aw night, but they widnae huv it, so eftir tryin tae kick ays oot ay bed, n thir wis nae fuckin chance ay that, they baith gave up n went oantae the flair tae kip. So ah jist hud a good fuckin wank tae masel n drifted oaf tae sleep. It wis a wee bit ay a frustratin night but a good kip suited ays cause it’s the fitba the day n the dancin the night. Spice ay life.
It wisnae easy tae git oot ay bed in the mornin but, the root ah’ve goat oan, wi they two jist lyin thaire dozin oan the flair. Ah hus another wee wank ower thum, catchin maist ay it oan the carpet, though a bit went on the airm ay Gail’s blouse. Then ah creeps doonstairs n sees Alec, still in the same armchair, watchin that Tiswas.
Her wi the barry tits is oan it. — That Sally James, a fuckin ride, eh? ah goes.
— Sally James, Alec slurs.
It could be fuckin well Sid James for aw that auld cunt kens.
The whisky boatil’s empty now, n ah think maist ay the cans are n aw. — Ye want some tea? eh asks.
— Well Alec, ah wis wonderin if that wee offer ay a drink wis still oan?
— Huv tae be the pub, eh goes, pointin tae the pile ay empties oan the coffee table.
— Sound by me, ah tell um.
So we head doon the road taewards the Wheatsheaf. It’s a bramer day n ah’m lookin forward tae the fitba. Thir’s been a loat ay talk aboot gittin a wee mob thegither fae the scheme the day, wi Doyle n aw that bunch. Maist ay the boys in oor scheme support Herts, it bein this end ay toon, but thir’s a good few Hibees sprinkled aroond. If ye could git aw the local Hibs thegither, it would be quite a wee team cause ye goat the likes ay Doyle n Gentleman n me n Birrell that’s Hibs. Thir’s eywis talk but, n that’s usually aw it is. Whatever happens though, we’ll huv a laugh. That’s one thing aboot Doyle; eh’s a crazy cunt, but yuv eywis goat a tale tae tell wi him. Like that time wi choried aw that copper wire, that wis fuckin radge. Cunt’s still no peyed us fir that but. Ah turns tae Alec as we pass by the park, the pub comin intae sight. — So yir makin sure thit Maggie disnae git up tae any nonsense while ehr Ma n Dad’s doon in Blackpool?
— Aye, ah’m no daein a very good joab ay it, um ah? Eh laughs, aw sarcastic.
— Ah’m a gentleman, Alec. Wi jist sat up n blethered aw night. Ah left thaim tae crash. Maggie’s a nice lassie, she’s no like that.
— Aye, right, eh goes, no believin a word.
— Naw, that’s gen up likes. Ah think ehr mate might be a bit ay a raver oan the quiet, bit no wee Maggie, ah explains. It’s best no tae lit the cunt think thit yir takin the pish. Eh’s thinkin aboot this, cause thir’s a bit ay silence as we go intae the pub. Ah orders a couple ay pints and that pits a smile back oan ehs face. Ye kin tell that Alec’s a right peeve artist ay the first degree. — So how long ur ye steyin thaire fir? ah ask um.
Eh stares oaf intae the distance. — Dinnae ken. Thir wis a fire in ma hoose. The colonies at Dalry. Bad wirin. The whole place went up: ma wife’s in the hoaspital, the loat, eh explains. Then eh starts gittin narky. — The fuckin gas board are the cunts thit ur tae blame . . . ah’m gittin a lawyer, take the cunts tae coort.
— Too right, Alec, thir’s bound tae be a bit ay compensation fir thit. It’s yir fuckin entitlement mate, ah tells um.
— Aye, eh smiles aw grimly, — whin ah git that insurance claim sorted oot . . . it’ll be all systems go.
Billy Birrell
Sex as a Football Substitute
Ah hears the rattlin ay boatils in thir crates so ah goes tae the windae n pills back the curtain. It’s Terry’s juice lorry n ah kin hear um giein it the patter. Jist when ah think aboot shoutin oot the windae or gaun doon fir a blether, ah see thit eh’s talkin tae Maggie Orr n this other lassie. That’s just brutal; so ah dinnae think ah’ll bother. No that ah’ve nowt against Maggie, she’s awright, but ah hud this shoutin match wi her auld man the other week.
The tosser eywis comes back pished wi ehs wife fae the boozer, n they huv a big fight in the street. It keeps muh Ma awake. Ma auld man’ll no dae nowt, so ah goes tae the door n hus a word. The boy goat wide, sais ah wis jist a daft wee laddie. Ah telt um ah’d show um whae the daft wee laddie wis if eh came ootside. Eh wis gaunny n aw, till ehs wife stepped in n pilled um back. Whin ah saw Maggie thaire ah left it, cause she wis upset n aw n ah didnae want tae embarrass her; it’s no fair, she’s done nowt wrong.
Terry’s giein her n her mate the chat. Ah ken eh disnae like it that ah’ve been daein it wi Yvonne. It’s awright fir him tae shag anything thit moves, whin eh’s meant tae be engaged n aw, but if ehs sister does it eh gits aw stroppy. That’s Terry Lawson but: brutal.
Yvonne’s awright, a good lassie tae be Terry’s sister. Terry’s ma mate, but ye widnae like tae go oot wi a lassie thit wis like him. If yin existed. No that ah’m gaun oot wi Yvonne. Like ah’ve tried tae tell her.
Huv tae stoap messin wi her though. That’s three times now, n only once wi a flunky n aw. Brutal. What a thought: bairnin Yvonne n bein stuck wi Terry fir a brother-in-law. Brutal beyond belief.
Naw, ye dinnae want tied doon. No tae a lassie whae jist steys a couple ay streets away. Mibbe tae some bird fae Spain, or California or Brazil. Even fuckin Leith or somewhere, but no fae roond here.
Up the toap ay ma stair the first time; a knee trembler. Nae wey wid she be up the stick fae that, cause aw the spunk jist faws oot. Eywis a chance mind, cause yir right up thum whin it skooshes oot. The next time wis doon Colinton Dell, up against the waw again, doon the tunnel, n the third wis in her bedroom whin wi took the eftirnoon oaf school. Yazed a rubber johnny thair but. We hud loads ay time, a whole packet, but ah jist did it the once cause ah wis telt thit it fucks up yir legs fir the trainin.
It’s barry sittin here in the hoose oan ma ain. Ah love Friday dinnertimes, comin hame n huvin the place tae masel. Rab at the school dinners, muh Ma n faither baith at work. It gies ye time tae think.
Maggie n her mate go away n Terry’s lorry drives off. Thir’s some wee first-year lassies gaun past now. Thir aw skinny, except one thit looks mair like a third year; tits n erse n aw that. Lookin at thum, ah starts tae feel a bit sorry fir the lassie. She’s really jist like her mates, ye kin see it in her eyes: a bairn like the rest ay thum. Cause she’s goat aw the paddin but, they’ll aw be gaun up tae her, dirty cunts like Terry n that, gaun phoah, gie’s a ride, touchin her up n aw that. Ah think that’s brutal. If ah hud a sister n any wanker tried that wi her, ah’d go n batter thir heid in.
Mibbe Terry thinks it’s like that wi me n Yvonne, cause she’s jist second year.
Drastic! Here she’s comin doon the road n aw. Her hair’s tied back in a pony tail, n she’s goat this skirt oan thit’s a good few inches above the knee.
She’s no croasin ower, which means she’s comin fir me. She must ken ah’m at hame, or mibbe she’s jist nipped roond oan the off chance. Brutal.
Ah could ride her now. In ma ain bed, a ride in ma ain bed.
Ye kin hear her footsteps comin up the stairs. Ah’m thinkin aboot her legs, how whin wir oan the sta
The doorbell goes.
Ah’ve goat the match the morn’s mornin. Dinnae want ma legs fucked. They say a Dundee United scout might be thair.
It goes again.
Then the letterbox’s opened n ah kin hear her crouchin doon, lookin intae the lobby fir signs ay life.
It wid be good tae huv a ride up here, take the eftirnoon oaf. Ah dinnae want her tae think we’re gaun oot thegither but.
Aye, ah’ve goat fitba the morn.
Ah ignore it, n watch her gaun oot the stair n doon the road.
The Referee’s a Bastard
Ah’m movin oantae a crossfield baw fae Kenny and ah try n trap it, withoot killin the baw right. It runs oan a bit n thir’s a Fet boy gaun for it. We clatter intae each other n ah gits right up n he’s still oan the deck. The referee’s blown n gied a foul against me.
What a radge.
— Ye wir showin studs son, n no in ma game ye dinnae, eh squeaks at ays. — Goat that?
Ah walk away. It wis a fifty-fifty baw. That’s brutal.
— Goat that! eh repeats.
Ah’m nearly gaunny say that it wis a fifty-fifty baw but naw, ah’m no gaunny even talk tae a toss like that. These wankers think thit thir great, but thir jist auld nae-mates types that like tae order young boys around. Ye ken the sort. Ye jist ignore them, never speak tae them. They hate that. Like that wank Blackie at the school. That tossbag wis oot ay order yesterday, what eh did tae me, Carl n Gally. If eh’d’ve been caught by McDonald or Forbes it wid huv been him in trouble, no us. If they behaved wi anybody thir ain age like that they ken that they’d git a burst mooth, so they git involved wi the likes ay us tae make them feel aw big n smart.
Ye ken the type.
Anywey, the whistle goes again, n it’s over, we’ve cuffed them and we’re six points clear now, cause Salvy dinnae play until midweek. Back in the pavilion, ah’m dressin quick, cause it’s Hibs–Rangers the day n thir’s bound tae be a good atmosphere. Wir gaun battlin, that’s if naebody shites oot.
Whin ah gits oot ah sees ma brar Rab n ehs mates, still hingin aboot after the game. That big Alex is some size ay a boy fir tae be still at Primary. Setterington. Ah think eh’s Martin Gentleman’s cousin or something, so bein a big bastard must run in the family. They’re at that age where they’re startin tae think that thir wide but thir jist wee laddies. Ah’m gled that ah’ll huv left the secondary school jist before Rab starts next year. Yir wee brother at the school. That’s deid embarrassing, in front ay yir mates n lassies n that. Tae Falkirk wi aw ay that.
— Awright, ah say tae him. The wee wank’s goat that auld jaykit ay mines oan. Mind you, ah think ah says eh could huv it. It’s still too big fir him but, it’s hingin.
— You gaun tae the fitba this afternoon? eh asks ays.
— Dunno, ah goes, fingerin the jaykit lapel oan um. Still no bad quality. Ah’m sure ah wis pished whin ah sais eh could huv it. — You standin here tae frighten the craws away?
Ehs mates laugh at this. These wee radges are brutal.
— Funny, eh goes, then eh points tae ma jaykit poakit n says, — How huv ye goat yir skerf in yir pocket then?
— Aye . . . wi wirnae sure if wi wir gaun or no. Ah took it jist in case. Listen, ah need tae go straight up the toon tae meet Terry n Carl n Wee Gally. Ye gonnae take this bag back hame fir ays?
Rab’s squintin in the sun. — Carl’s a Herts supporter. What’s eh gaun tae Hibs for?
Mr Questions that wee radge. It’s ey ‘how is it this’ and ‘how is it that’ aw the time wi him. — Day oot, eh. Herts are at Montrose or somewhere in that wee daft League n eh cannae afford it, so eh’s gaun wi us.
— We’re gaun n aw, eh Rab, that Alex Setterington laddie goes. Then the wee radge turns tae me n asks: — Ur youse gaun fightin wi boys fae Glesgay?
Ah stare back hard at this freckle-faced wee hardo. Cheeky wee wideo jist stands thaire smilin back at ays. Ah look at Rab, then back tae the Setterington boy. Ower ehs shoodir ah sees Mackie gaun doon the road wi Keith Syme n Doogie Wilson, thir crawlin up ehs erse. Jist cause eh goat two the day, n jist cause eh’s oan the Hibs books. Ah’ll nivir crawl up that cunt’s erse but. — Whae says we wir gaun fightin at the fitba?
— Dinnae ken, somebody telt ays, Setterington goes, still smiling. Aye, eh’s a wide wee bastard, that yin.
— Dinnae believe everything ye hear.
— Where yis meetin? Rab goes.
— Nivir you mind, ah goes, thrustin the bag at him, — you jist take this hame. Ye gaun wi Dad tae the game?
Rab shuffles oan the spot n says nowt for a bit, then, — Mibbe, no sure.
He’s no gaun wi ma faither or naebody else’s faither, that’s a cert. Also for sure is that muh Ma n faither dinnae even ken eh’s gaun. They widnae lit him go oan ehs ain tae Rangers, Herts or Celtic or any big cup game. Ah mind whin they wir like that wi me: it wis brutal. Ah dinnae want tae embarrass him in front ay ehs wee mates, n ah’m no gaunny shop um, but ah want a word later oan wi the wee radge.
Eh’s lookin aw pissed oaf at ays cause eh’s goat tae take the bag hame. Eh turns n heads away.
When ah gits doon tae the bus stop, thir’s two ay the Fet boys thaire, n thir lookin at ays.
— Aye, aye, ah goes.
— Awright, one ay them says.
The other yin nods back. Jist as well thir no gittin wide.
Jist as well fir thaim.
Copper Wire
The Fet boys git oan thir bus eftir a bit. Fet’s a funny team, they should be good, but thir brutal. A wifie at the stoap tells me ah’ve just missed the twenty-five. Plenty time but. Ah gits tae thinkin aboot the day, aboot Doyle n that crowd. Terry better mention tae that Doyle aboot oor share ay the money fae the wire. That wis ower a fortnight ago now. We aw took the risks, big risks n aw, nickin that wire. That wank’s hudin oot oan us n eh’s gittin telt. Him and Gentleman. Ah dinnae care whae they are.
That was an amazin night at the wireworks but, totally unreal.
Funny, but it wis Carl that started everybody oan aboot robbin the wireworks, n he’s the one that wis left oot ay it. Eh’d be seek if eh found oot. It’s ehs ain fault but; ye never say things in front ay Terry, no if ye want thum tae stey secret. Ah’ve learned that much oot ay life. Sure enough, Terry mentioned it tae Doyle, then eh goat me involved. — Me n you Billy, eh sais. — Carl n Gally are our mates, but tae the likes ay Dozo Doyle n Gent, thir jist wee laddies. They willnae want them hingin aboot.
Ye could tell that it wis really Terry whae thoat like that n aw but. Ah thought, aye, awright, but ah still felt bad aboot Carl bein left oot. He wis doon thaire wi that boy eh works for, that auld grocer radge. They’d been at the Granton Cash n Carry pickin up stuff fir the shoap. Maist of all, in a loadin bay, ootside the factory, jist aboot visible fae the Shore Road, Carl noticed that they hud these big bales ay copper wire, jist stacked up doon thair.
Well, Terry hud goat talkin tae Dozo Doyle aboot this, jist cause ay Dozo’s auld boy bein a big gangster or crook or whatever the fuck eh’s meant tae be. The Duke, they call the cunt. Dinnae ken what eh’s meant tae be the Duke ay, Broomhoose or something like that. They like giein thir minds a treat, some folk. Anyhow, United Wire hud peyed oaf a loat ay boys so thir wis only a skeleton staff thair. It came aboot that one ay the night watchmen there was auld Jim Pender, and he drank in the Busy. Course, Terry starts tappin the boy up, gittin in wi the auld gadge n that. Eh tells Doyle eh reckons Pender’s as bent as a forty-eight-pence piece and eh wid go along wi us rippin oaf the copper. Of course, it wis drastic, cause the perr auld boy didnae really huv any option eftir Terry introduced um tae Dozo, Martin Gentleman and Dozo’s big cousin, Bri. The perr auld gadge wis shitein it; aw they wee thugs or, in Gentleman’s case, big thugs hingin roond um. Brutal really, bit what kin ye dae?
That wis whaire the Doyles took ower everything really; n me n Terry wir jist along fir th
So Dozo Doyle, the big master criminal in the scheme, the wideo Terry wants tae be like: he wis the yin that worked oot this plan.
Thir was only one wey in, n one wey oot ay the estate where the wireworks wis. Thir wis nae wey tae drive through tae Silverknowes n Cramond, the road was blocked off at the estate by the Granton Gas Works. This meant that any chorie hud tae go in and oot through the foreshore road. Doyle kent that the polis wir eywis cruisin the foreshore road doon by the Granton industrial estate, lookin fir knock-off.
Doyle reckoned that we should leave a van in the loadin bay durin the day. The van would jist sit thair aw day n Pender, in the office, would make sure that naebody touched it. We’d wait till the week when Pender changed fae day-shift tae back-shift, and worked right through the double-shift. That wey eh’d be thair aw the time, keepin an eye oan things.
Thir wis one big problem. Pender telt us that there were guard dugs that Securicor left in the grounds every night. Of course, they couldnae git intae his office, which looked oot ontae the loadin bay, but we’d be right in thair wi thum if we did it Doyle’s wey. If the dugs raised the alarm, Pender was meant tae call the polis. That wis the least ay oor worries but: they things were trained tae go fir ye.
Doyle wisnae bothered. Whin anybody brought it up, eh’d jist run ehs hand slowly through ehs black hair, littin it faw forward in layers. — We’ll take care ay they cunts. Maist guard dugs are shiters. Thir bark’s worse thin thir bite. That’s whaire that sayin comes fae.
Terry wis unconvinced. — Ah dinnae ken aboot dugs . . .
— Leave the fuckin dugs tae us, Doyle smiled, lookin ower at big Marty Gentleman. The big radge looked back in a wey that made ye feel sorry fir the Alsatians. Ah’m feart ay naebody, but ah’d rather pagger wi two Doyles than Gentleman. The size ay him; eh’s a monster, a freak. Fifteen, that? No way. Thir’s a golden rule in the scheme: ye go up against Doyle, n ye go up against Gentleman. And doesn’t that wanker Dozo Doyle ken it n aw.