Glue by Irvine Welsh
Ah chips in, still a bit spangled wi this pill, — Gie the boy a brek, Tez. Ehs auld man’s never oot the jail n Gally did two years for nowt, n wi aw ken what happened eftir that. It wis nowt tae dae wi anything that went oan in the nick.
Terry looks grimly at me. Eh’s a bit pished, although eh huds a drink well. Terry never really goat intae pills. — Ah ken eh’s hud a bad time. Ah lap the cunt up. Ye dinnae huv tae bum up Gally tae me, Carl. Eh’s ma best mate . . . well, you two n aw, n that’s no the bevvy talkin. Thir’s jist some fuckin funny shit gaun oan wi that cunt sometimes. Eh’s aw fuckin competitive wi ye ower nothin, then eh starts bummin every cunt up n pittin ehsel doon.
— The thing aboot Gally but, ah goes, — is thit eh’s goat a real sense ay injustice. Wi him gaun tae the jail like that.
Billy looks coldly at me. — Mibbe ehs wee lassie’s goat a sense ay injustice n aw, eh goes.
Ah feel ma blood freeze a wee bit, even through the pill. Terry looks at me, then at Birrell, — That wis a fuckin accident, Billy, you’re oot ay order thaire.
Billy raises ehs eyes in a brief flicker.
— It wis an accident, Billy, you ken that, ah agree.
Billy nods, — Ah ken, but what ah’m sayin is that accidents’ve goat a habit ay happening when ye act like an erse.
Terry grinds ehs teeth. — It aw started wi that fuckin Heid-The-Baw cunt, that Polmont. Him and ehs mate, Doyle, they need tae be telt again.
We jist lit that yin hing for a while, considering our impotence, feeling its range and our limitations. Terry’s fill ay bullshit, n ah looks at Billy and raises ma eyes, n ah kin tell he’s thinkin the same thing. Polmont’s a wanker, but eh’s connected n thir’s no way Terry’s gaunny tell the likes ay Doyle’s mob anything. Billy hud a go, but it’s because he’s connected wi some real heavy cunts through what he does. But wi the likes ay me n Terry ye dinnae get oan the wrong side ay they cunts, unless ye want tae make it yir life’s work. And it might be a short life. Cause it never ends wi these fuckers, never ever. Fuck that, ah’ve goat other things ah want tae dae wi ma life. No matter how tidy ye think yir ain mob is, ye’ve goat tae ken yir place in the peckin order. The cemetery’s fill ay cunts that never learned that. Thir’s certain levels ye never want tae go tae. End of.
Terry’ll no lit this go. Eh looks at Billy like a challenge. — Doyle n that Polmont cunt. They’ll git thaires.
Billy shrugs like eh disnae want tae commit ehsel. Terry’s a fly cunt, eh kens how tae work oan us, eh kens whae tae push and which buttons tae hit.
Ah’m wide for the cunt’s game though. —No oaffay me thi’ll no, ah tell um. — Fuck havin a vendetta wi they cunts, Terry. Ye’ll never beat thaim, cause that’s thaire life. We’ve goat other things tae dae.
— They’re no as hard as they think, Terry goes tae me. — Like up Lothian Road yon time. Doyle wis tooled up, n Gent wis thair, but Billy still did thum baith. Polmont goat ehs erse kicked n aw, Saughton Mains’ Foghorn Leghorn goes. — That’s aw ah’m sayin, Carl.
We aw ken that it’s just talk but. Drunks’ talk, the maist borin kind whin yir E’d. — Fuck it, ah say tae him, then turn tae Billy. — You’ve goat the right idea, if ye huv tae fight, dae it in the ring, for money, ah go. Ah’m tryin tae keep Billy in a good frame ay mind, but ah’m lookin at that big scar oan ehs chin that Doyle gied um wi the flensing knife. Ye knock a nutter oan the deck wi a few punches, eftir eh’s scarred ye for life. Then ye huv tae worry aboot comebacks cause every cunt says ye did um. Whae’s won? Nae cunt, it seems tae me. It’s often the wey wi violence; every cunt suffers a scoring defeat:
BIRRELL–3, DOYLE–3.
— Aye . . . eh goes non-committally, then eh thinks aboot it n sais, — Ah hud a word wi ma wee brar aboot aw this casuals stuff, eftir him gittin done at Dundee.
Ah’ve always liked Billy’s brother Rab. He’s a sound guy. — These things happen, ah say.
Terry’s lookin aw disdainful. Billy catches this and makes a point. — It’s as well aw the Hibs boys were there that night wi hud the run-in wi Doyle. It wis Lexo n that thit sorted it aw oot, eh tells Terry.
— It wis you that decked big Gent but, Billy, Terry smiles.
Billy’s face is still like it’s set in stone. — Eh wis gittin right back up though, Terry. N eh wid’ve kept gittin up till eh goat these big hands oan ays. Doyle n aw. Ah wis gled ay Lexo n that gittin in between us.
— Thair aw fuckin radges n aw but, Terry goes.
Ah jist starts laughin ma heid oaf at Lawson’s cheek. — It wisnae that whin you goat done at that Hibs–Rangers game at Easter Road. Mind ay that? Top Hibs thug Terence Lawson of the Emerald Mafia!
It wis a good opportunity tae brek the ice, and we aw start laughin.
— That wis yonks ago. Ah wis jist a daft wee laddie, Terry says.
— Big changes since they days, right enough, ah smiles sarcastically.
— Cheeky cunt, Terry laughs. That cunt’s goat something up ehs sleeve, ah ken it. Somebody’s due for a slaggin Lawson-style, cause the bastard’s still smartin fae bein turned over by Gally aboot the foreskin.
Billy looks at Terry, — Soas oor Rab. Eh’s still young.
— Eh’s twenty, Billy, eh should ken better by now, Terry says.
Billy looks incredulous. — You wir seventeen, Terry, thir’s no much between seventeen n twenty.
— No in years, but in experience thir is.
This is gaunny get as pedantic as fuck. Ah look at Billy. — Rab isnae a hardman, Billy, eh’s jist daein it tae try n impress you. Ah lap Rab up, but eh’s no a fightin guy.
Billy shrugs again, but eh kens it’s true. Rab’s eywis looked up tae Billy. Billy’s no that bothered though, cause eh’s caught the eye ay yon big Amazon bird again, she’s sittin wi her other mate further up the stair, talkin n smokin blaw. It’s funny, bit if ah wis pished, ah’d be lookin up her dress, but E’d, ye never really think aboot being like that. Ah look at where Terry’s eyes are, and sure enough, thir dartin right up thair. Eh’s still goat an airm roond Hedra n aw, n that beer boatil pressed tae ehs lips.
Ah get up and stretch. — Ah’m no gaunny be stickin aboot in Scotland that much longer. Scotland, Britain, it’s aw a load ay shite, ah rant. — Ah mean Setirday telly, re-runs ay that Only Fools n Hoarses fae way back tae 1981. Fuck that, ah tell them.
That gits thum gaun. Billy’s gaun oan aboot Scotland bein the best place in the world, while Terry starts tae say something aboot Tales ay the Unexpected bein the only good thing oan the box nowadays.
No that ah gie a toss. Ah’m fucked, but ah’m thinkin aboot mair pills for later. — Bet ye that wee cunt Gally’s necked aw the pills, ah speculate, knowin the answer.
Terry’s goat ehs hand oan Hedra’s thigh and eh’s stroking it slowly in a relaxed manner. It’s weird tae see um that wey, as you never think of Terry as being capable of sensuous, exploratory love-making. Then again, the cunt probably thinks just the same about me, that I’m just a sweaty humper. It’s strange watchin that motion, it seems to suggest other possibilities for Terry. Or maybe no, as the cunt starts pontificating, — Galloway must have fucked ehsel goodstyle by now. That wee radge’s answer tae a night oot is tae keep it gaun as long as eh kin by throwin mair pills n speed at it. Even though wir oan hoaliday n it’ll aw be thair fir um in the mornin, eh cannae jist chill n hit the sack. Eh’s goat a wee doll oan ehs airm gantin tae climb intae it wi um, n eh’s still goat tae stey up!
We’re aw spraffin away, and Rolf’s came over wi a couple ay his mates. Gally n Gudrun come back n we go oan through tae the sofa n beanbags, leavin Birrell oan the stairs wi the big lassie in the striped dress n her mate. It’s windin doon a bit, so ye kin hear yirself think. Ah mention Sue, the Festival site Cadbury’s Caramel Rabbit lassie, which is a mistake, cause Terry’s eyes light up. — She might have sounded like a fuckin rabbit, but she certainly didnae git the chance tae shag like one, eh laughs loudly.
Gally’s started smirkin. Ah can fee
— See, Terry explains, — we saw it aw mate. Wi hud ringside seats. Until it aw goat too much.
Galloway goes, — Tell ye what, ye wir lucky she wis sittin oan that generator, that wis the only wey she’d be thinkin the Earth moved!
Terry’s grinnin like a paedophile that’s landed a joab as a department-store Santa Claus. — Aye, we deeks the Milky Bar Kid’s sweaty, pimply white erse gaun up n doon like the clappers n the lassie lookin as bored as fuck, eh explains fir the benefit ay Hedra, Rolf, Gretchen, Gudrun n the other German punters. — She wisnae chuffed whin she looked ower his shoodir n saw us aw watchin! Then the lassie’s mate came by. She wis impressed. It really goat her turned on . . . Terry’s that shakin wi laughter eh kin hardly git it oot. Wir aw brickin oorsels though. — She threw up!
Gally laughs, — It made me throw up n aw. Delayed reaction!
Terry’s obviously been on a raid tae the fridge, cause he’s goat some boatils ay beer stashed under a beanbag. Eh opens one wi ehs teeth, n takin note ay Birrell’s absence goes, — N there wis our good friend Business Birrell through thaire, batterin every cunt, eh switches intae schoolteacher mode, — not exactly a pretty sight, Mr Ewart, but somewhat less ugly thin watchin you gittin yir hole!
When you’re picked for a slaggin like this, you’ve jist goat tae take it, nowt else fir it. Ah roll wi the psychological punches until they git fed up. Then, eftir a respectable time soas it isnae construed as takin the cream puff, ah head off intae the grounds fir a stroll. Terry follows me, says eh needs tae pish. Ye kin tell eh’s really gone tae spy oan Billy but.
As we go, we see Billy gaun past us, headin up the stairs taewards the bedroom wi this big, tall supermodel lassie. Ah hear Terry’s voice fae behind me, — It looks like Secret Squirrel’s oan ehs Morocco Mole!
Billy shakes ehs heid and smiles at me as ah walk oot tae the patio. It never takes Terry long tae find a new slaggin target.
Ah get ootside, intae the garden. The light’s still coming up, but mottled, wideo clouds are coasting taewards us fae ower the mountains, carrying the darkness wi them, just in time for the comedown. Ye eywis huv tae pey fir yir fun at some point, and, generally speakin, the mair ye perty, the mair ye pey. The lights fae the hoose are oan, and thir’s still a lot ay people sittin aroond, wrapped up, but enjoyin the air. That English boy Guy comes up tae ays.
— That was a brilliant set earlier, eh goes.
— Cheers, ah go, a bit embarrassed. — Cobbled thegither a wee bit, fae a load ay odds and ends.
— Yeah, but it worked though. You pulled it off. Listen, eh says, — I’m running a club night down in south-east London. It’s called Implode.
— Ah’ve heard ay it.
— Yes, and I’ve heard of Fluid.
— Aye?
— Oh yeah, most definitely. It gets a lot of respect, eh tells me.
You just have to stand there shakin yir heid, and you can’t even begin tae say how this feels tae a schemie from Edinburgh that somebody, running a name club in London, has heard of him, let alone respects him. — Cheers.
— Listen, how do you fancy coming down to London and playing? Of course, there’ll be a decent fee and we’ll pay all expenses, Guy explains. — And we’ll look after you and show you a good time.
Do ah fancy that?
I could think of a lot worse. We exchange telephone numbers, matey hugs and business handshakes. This boy’s awright. Ah wisnae too sure at first, because ah’ve goat a bit ay a chip oan ma shoodir wi posh cunts. But eh’s awright. It’s the pill, it gits rid ay aw that shite. Ye jist check in the baggage n start again.
Then ah see something else ah definitely fancy, the bird that wis snoggin wi ays earlier, wi Gudrun n Gally. Elsa her name is, and she’s talkin tae a couple ay her mates. Ah move over tae her and she acknowledges me wi a hug, draping her airms aroond ma shoodirs. — Hello bay-bee . . . she smiles broadly. She’s still pilled oaf her tits; she tells me she’s taken a second one and it’s just beginning tae settle in. Ma hands go roond her waist, as fascinated by the texture ay the material ay her toap as the contours ay her body.
This environment makes life, human relations, so simple and easy. How shite and grubby and how long all this would have taken in the pub, or at a party full of drink. We head off for a stroll together, ma airm roond her waist, my hand rubbing her jeans at the hip. The bottom ay the gairden dips, and we look ower the trees, down tae the lake wi the mountains in the backgroond. — Great view, eh? This is a beautiful part of the world. The best ever. Ah love it here, me.
She gazes at me and lights her fag, smiling in a lazy, distracted way. — I am from Berlin. Very different, she says. We sit and look at each other, saying nothing, but I’m thinkin aboot the night and knowin that this is where ah want tae be for ever: the music, the crack, the travel, the drugs and a pair ay eyes and lips like this in ma coupon. Ah like it here, n ah’m no really jokin aboot Britain n aw, it is a load ay fuckin shite. Any cunt whae disnae huv a silver spoon in thir mooth or isnae prepared tae be an arse-licking wanker cannae live within the law back thair. No way. Ah’m off tae London. N Rolf and ehs mates want us tae play at this club night at the Airport in November. Ah’m even thinkin ay jist fuckin it aw n steyin right through; learn a bit ay the lingo, just enjoy the change.
Me n Elsa snog for a bit then take a walk. Soon we’ll be gittin intae that big bed in that wee lassies’ room once I’ve made sure that Terry gets the fuck back tae Hedra’s. Or better still, leave him tae that n ah’ll go wi Elsa when she’s ready tae leave. Ah’m no lettin her ootay ma sight, that’s fir sure. Sometimes ye hit the time ay yir life whin yir lookin fir a wee bit mair thin jist a shag.
When we get back in, ower tae the hoose, there’s a big commotion. Gally’s climbed up onto the roof and he’s balancing on the tiles, about forty foot up.
— GIT DOON FAE THAIRE GALLOWAY YA WEE RADGE! Billy’s ragin.
Gally’s eyes look weird; it’s shitting us all up, it’s like the cunt’s just gone. Ah run inside and leg it up the stairs tae the toap. Thir’s a pair ay legs danglin oot the skylight. For a second ah think it’s Gally comin doon, but Rolf tells ays that it’s Terry n eh’s goat stuck, tryin tae get up after him. Gudrun’s lookin aw tense and worried. — He just kissed me and ran up there, she says, aw fraught. — Is something wrong?
— Eh’s just oaf ehs tits. Eh’s always been a climber, ah tell her, but ah’m worried here.
The whole scene is fuckin surreal. Aw ah kin see ay Terry is ehs gut and ehs legs but ah kin hear um shoutin at Gally. — Come oan doon, Andy, c’moan tae fuck, mate, eh pleads.
Ah runs back doon, n ootside again. Now the toap part ay Terry’s visible, wi ehs airms waving away like a fuckin windmill. Gally’s close by him, in a squatting position, legs oan either side ay the sloping roof.
— Please . . . please . . . the police will come, the neighbours will call them . . . Wolfgang begs. Throughout this, Marcia’s shouting at him in German, and ye dinnae need an interpreter tae work oot what she’s sayin.
— He just said he was going to the toilet, then he went up there, Gudrun, who’s follayed me doon, says to Elsa. — His head has gone sick.
— You will be breaking the tiles on the roof, Wolfgang pleads.
Ah’m shoutin at the toap ay ma voice, — C’moan Galloway, ya attention-seeking wee prick! Huv a fuckin heart! These people huv been lookin eftir us. We’re oan holiday! They didnae need aw this shite!
Gally says something, ah cannae hear what it is. Then he moves over tae where a coaxing Terry is. Suddenly Lawson grabs him and pulls him roughly into the house; it looks weird, this big, predatory, legless beast pulling this wee cunt intae this hole, and they vanish. It’s pure theatre and everybody in the garden cheers. Ah head back upstairs.
When ah git thaire Gally’s laughing away, but it’s a strange laugh. Eh’s goat a cut oan ehs nut and one oan ehs airm, where eh fell wi Terry pillin um throu
Gudrun still seems tae be intae Gally though, mair fool her. Eh’s lyin oan her lap and she’s stroking his heid. — What’s the use but, eh doll? eh asks her cheerfully. — What’s the use?
Thir’s nowt ah kin say tae the stupid cunt and ah keep oot the road. The wee bastard seems tae thrive oan creating daft dramas. No surprisingly, the night peters out after that. Nobody can really blame Wolfgang and Marcia when they call a halt. Ah’m relieved to get away fae Gally, and when Elsa asks if ah want to go back to Rolf and Gretchen’s with her, ah don’t take any convincing at all.
It’s only a short walk to Rolf’s place. We’re just in the door when Rolf raises his hand and goes, — I’m going to bed, and Gretchen follows him, leaving Elsa and me in the front room.
— You want to go to bed? ah ask, nodding through to where Rolf told me a spare room was.
— First you must put something on, she says.
Ah cannae be bothered wi mair sounds the now. — Eh . . . ah’d rather go through. Besides, ah left aw ma records roond at Wolfgang’s.
— No, putting something on your penis for the sex. The rubber, she explains, as ah laugh, feeling like a daft cunt.
There’s a sinking feeling. — Ah’ve left mines back at Wolfgang’s, ah tell her. She explains that Rolf has some. Ah bang on the door, — Rolf, sorry tae bother you, mate, but I eh, need condoms . . .
— In . . . here . . . Rolf gasps.
Ah go tentatively in, and the two of them are screwing on top of the bed, no even under the duvet, and ah turn away.
— On the locker . . . eh pants.
They dinnae seem bothered, so ah move over and take two, then another one in case. Ah look roond and glimpse Gretchen who’s giving me a wicked dozy smile as Rolf’s humping her, and her only concession is to put a hand over one small breast. Ah look away and retreat quickly.