— Aw aye . . . ah goes, but this isnae right but, nane ay it, nane ay it’s right. Ah feel masel gaun awfay tense, awfay tense, no like the peaceful wey yir meant tae go whin when yuv shot the stiff-boaby muck oot.
N Karen’s gaun oan . . . — She disgusted him, eh telt ays ehsel, n she’s goat the bad face oan, the same face as they aw pit oan doon The Pub Wi Nae Name when they take the pish. — That’s how eh went away the first time, n then again eftir eh came back! She looks upstairs wi what ah call a ‘bad-hert look’ at muh ma’s, like it’s her fault. But it’s no. Naw sur. Cause it’s his fault. That Henry Lawson. Aye sur. Then Karen’s voice goes aw soft again soas thit even though ah’m still wi her oan the couch, ah’m strainin ma ears tae hear. — So he’d come through tae me. When we wir daein it, eh used tae pit yin ay his socks in ma mooth. He sais it wis in case ah made a noise, but ah could hardly breathe n ah think that made um mair horny . . . Karen’s eyes shut tight then open again.
Ah dinnae like this, ah feel aw dirty now.
— Ye could sometimes hear her through the thin waws, greetin, callin his name. Ah think she kent what we wir up tae . . .
— Ah nivir kent . . .
— Ah wis thin then, no a pick oan ays. Now she’s goat her ain back, but, Karen looks up at the ceilin n flicks the V-sign at muh ma. — It’s like ah’m her prisoner. Ah cannae dae nowt! Ah barely go oot! Doon tae the shoaps once a day fir an ooir!
— Aw . . . ah goes, n ah feel Karen movin her big boady, crushin ays against the back ay the couch.
She sortay perches her heid up oan her elbay n turns tae me. — See, if Wee Jinty doesnae come back? Jist sayin, likes, ay, you could move back here, Jonty? Help ays look eftir yir ma? Yir auld room, Jonty!
— Mibbe, ah goes, — but Jinty’ll be back.
— Mibbe, she goes, n wi gits oaf the couch n goes up tae see muh ma. Karen brings the pizza fir Ma’s snack. It’s been cut intae loads ay wee pieces. Thaire’s a sweaty smell in the room, n a slight whiff ay seek, like in The Pub Wi Nae Name some mornings. It’s daytime ootside but the curtains ur still shut. Ye kin see thit thaire’s a big pile in the bed. That’s what it’s like, sur, a big pile. The only wey ye kin tell it’s muh ma is by hur two blue eyes n the fairish-grey hair. It’s like a big slug has sortay swallayed her up tae her eyes. She’s goat even fatter n aw, aye sur, she hus. — Hiya, Ma! Ah kisses the side ay her face.
Ma cannae really turn her heid, but her eyes sortay swivel roond tae ays. — What youse two been up tae?
— Nowt, Karen goes, — jist giein Jonty some pizza. Ah’ve goat some fir you, aw cut up.
— Made an awfy noise!
— Aye, ye ken Jonty! Eywis muckin aboot! Eh wis ticklin ays. She looks at ays n laughs.
— Ah thoat yis wid be past aw that by now, Ma goes, still no movin her big heid fae the pillay. — Well, she gasps, aw breathless, — we’ve still goat they plastic bags fae the store piled up under the sink, she sais. — You ken thum, Karen.
— Aye.
— They bags under the sink, git Jonty tae take thum, Karen! Jist some ay thum, no thum aw, mind!
— Eh’ll no want thum bit, Ma, Karen goes.
— Whit for no? She looks at Karen, then they eyes in her doughy heid swivel taewards me. — Take thum, Jonty son! They ey come in useful!
— Awright, Ma, ah goes, — ah ken that. Ah’ll take thum. Aye ah will. Aye sur, aye sur.
Karen pits the tray wi the plate oan it close tae Ma’s heid. Ma lifts a big meaty airm oot fae under the covers n grabs it. Karen’s helpin her up n forward, n pittin mair pillays under her. Ma starts scoopin the bits ay pizza n the oven chips up, n packin thum intae hur mooth. — Nice n crispy, she goes, n she isnae wrong, Karen ey makes thum crispy.
— The pizza, aye, ah ken ye like the thin-crusted yins, Karen goes. — Crispier.
— Aye . . . rerr n crispy . . . Ma sais.
Ma might eat awfay slow fir a fat person, but slow n steady does the trick cause she’s awfay, awfay fat. Ye huv tae gie her credit for that, aye sur, ye do. — So tell ays what you’ve been up tae, ma wee Jonty boy, she asks. — How’s Hank? Still wi that stuck-up yin? Nivir comes tae see ehs auld mother! Penicuik no good enough fir um?
N ah’m talkin away tae hur, bit Karen’s makin faces at the side ay Ma’s heid n it’s makin ays laugh.
— What’s sae funny? Ma goes. — Is she muckin aboot? Ur you muckin aboot, Karen?
— Ah am nowt, Karen goes.
But she is n ah huv tae think aboot stickin my hard boaby in her soas ah feel aw too ashamed tae laugh. N ah want tae go now, cause ah dinnae feel right. Some people, like the fellys in The Pub Wi Nae Name, they’ll say thit a ride’s a ride, aye they will. But a ride isnae a ride, cause it’s different wi Karen thin wi wee Jinty. Jinty’s aw soft n smells good. Awfay soft skin. Best bit wis jist hudin Jinty in ma airms eftir we’d done it, tellin hur ah’d never lit nowt bad happen tae her. ‘Dae ye mean that, Jonty?’ she wid say.
‘Aye, ah do,’ ah’d go.
‘Ah ken ye dae,’ she wid whisper, n gie ays a kiss. Aye, awfay soft warm skin. It was barry-barry.
— Mind when ye first made they frozen pizzas, Karen? Ma goes.
— Aye . . . Karen sais, sortay gittin a beamer.
— Ye nivir took thum oot ay the cellophane packet before ye pit thum in the oven!
— Cellophane packet, ah goes. — Aye, cellophane.
— That wis yonks ago! Ah wis a wee lassie!
— Aye, Ma sais, n it’s like her face has goat tight n it sortay looks like Ma again. — Tried tae kid oan it wis meant tae be like that. Ah goes, what’s this? Ye nivir took thum oot the packet! Jonty ey kent tae take thum oot the packet!
— Aye, but she took thum oot they packet, ah goes, — it wis jist the cellophane she forgoat tae take oaf, eh, Karen?
— Aye she did! Ma sortay sings.
— Aw aye, ah’m that useless, me, ay. Ah cannae dae nowt right, ay, Karen sais aw angry, n she goes oot.
— Karen . . . Ma sais. — Go eftir her, son, tell hur wir jist huvin a laugh. We ey hud a laugh, ay, Jonty? Ay, we used tae huv a laugh?
— Aye, Ma. Ah kisses her.
— Mind n eat, Jonty. Make sure that yin cooks fir ye. That yin yir kippin up wey in toon!
— Aye, Ma, aye, Ma, ah goes n heads doonstairs.
But it’s a long time since wi hud a laugh here. It’s aw different now. Dinnae get me wrong: the frozen pizza wis barry, but ah’m jist gled tae leave wi they plastic bags n head back intae the city. Aye, ah am.
Karen’s standin ootside, waving ays doon the street. — Mind if she doesnae come back, Jonty, yir auld room!
But ah kids oan ah disnae hear n nivir looks back till ah gits tae the bus stoap. She’s gaun inside cause her airms wir gittin awfay pink wi the cauld. Aye sur, awfay, awfay pink. Ah sees Phill Cross, fae the skill, standin thaire. — Livin in the toon now, Jonty, or so ah hear.
— Aye sur, aye sur, Gorgie, sur, ah goes. — Ah’m a city boy now!
— Dead cosmopolitan now, Jonty mate!
— Aw aye, cosmopolitan, sur, ah ah’m that, ah goes, n ah sees the big maroon bus comin n it disnae look like naebody is sittin in the upstairs front windae. Barry! N Phill goes up the back, which is good cause ah dinnae want tae talk tae anybody, cause ah need tae think through aw this bad stuff. It’s terrible, aye it is, whin bad stuff happens. It’s aw cause me n Jinty hudnae done it in a while. That makes fellys ride anything. Makes thum stray. That’s what Jinty used tae say: ah’ll huv tae gie you it the night, Jonty MacKay, or yi’ll be chasing other lassies aw around Edinbury!
But ah nivir did that. Jist at the wee skill, in the playgroond. But that disnae count. Aye.
Ah’m oan the bus n yin ay the phones in ma poakit goes oaf. It’s usually Jinty’s, wi one ay her mates; ah jist huv her yin oan vibrate now, n ah ignore it. But this time it’s ma phone, so ah picks it up n it’s Hank. Eh tells ays that Malky, ma cousin, hus goat him n me intae the hospitality suite at Tyne
castle fir the midweek game. Ah’m aw excited aboot that! Me! In the hoaspitality!
By the time ah git back tae the flat, even though ah feel awfay tired, ah cannae sleep. Jinty isnae gaunny wake, so ah watches they auld fullums oan Fullum Station Fower late at night, like we eywis dae. Bit it’s borin oan yir ain, ah’m too feart tae go intae that room n sleep wi Jinty thaire. Aye sur, that ah am. So ah gits the spare duvet through n pits it ower masel, n ah’m sortay watchin the telly in the chair.
Then before ah ken it, it’s aw light, n ma mooth’s aw dry n thaire’s lassies oan the telly showin ye how tae bake cakes, aye they ur that. The cakes look good, aye sur they dae, but they wid nivir lit lassies thit couldnae bake oan the telly. Naw sur, they widnae dae that. Thaire wid be nae point. They’d need tae gie thum a wee test first tae make sure they could bake. No wantin a lassie that cannae bake. No oan the telly. Aye.
Ah gits up n pushes the duvet back. Thaire’s a gungy taste in ma mooth, n ah’m shiverin, n the cupboard n the fridge ur bare n the windaes ur that iced up thit they wilnae open, tae let oot some ay the smell fae the hoose. Ah’m gittin hungry but, like it’s worms eatin at ma guts. Nae point botherin Jinty, cause wir no speakin, so ah heads oot tae McDonald’s tae git ma breakfast. Aye sur, that might stoap us shiverin.
People say aw McDonald’s ur the same but ah reckon thit the yin in Gorgie is the best oot aw the McDonald’s. Aye. The yins in the toon urnae as good: people too stuck-up, they dinnae talk tae ye, no like in Gorgie. So ah walks doon tae the street tae git ma Chicken McNuggets. Barry. N it fair stoaped the shiverin! That it did! Aye, thaire wis still room eftir fir an Eftir Eight McFlurry but they didnae huv any, jist the ordinary McFlurries. — How is it thit thaire’s nae Eftir Eight McFlurries? ah goes tae the lassie, her wi the spoats.
— It wis jist a promo thing, the lassie goes, — a limited time only.
— Ah fair liked that. The Eftir Eight Mint McFlurry.
— Naw bit it wis jist a promotion. It’s aw stoaped now.
— Aye . . . aye . . . aye, the Eftir Eight Mint McFlurry.
— Stoaped now.
— Eftir Eight Mint McFlurry. Aye, ah fair enjoyed that awright, ah tells hur, — did ah no, but!
— It’s stoaped now but. Limited time only. They jist wanted tae pit thum oan for a limited time tae see if thaire wis demand. Limited time.
— Will they pit thum back oan again?
— Ah suppose. If thaire wis demand fae folk.
— How dae ye demand?
— Dunno . . . Grace! She shouts another lassie ower. A lassie wi nice big white teeth. Aye sur, awfay white teeth. — Jetulmin here wants tae ken whin the Eftir Eight Mint McFlurry’s gonny be back. Telt um it wis limited time but if folk demanded it they might bring it back.
— That’s right, the new lassie, a supervisor lassie, goes. The other lassie goes n sees tae an awfay fat boy whae wants a double cheeseburger n Coke. Nae chips fir the boy, but. Ah thoat eh’d want chips, ken wi him bein awfay fat. But ye cannae say nowt tae the boy. The likes ay Jinty, she wid say: ‘You no huvin chips? Ah thoat the likes ay you wid be wantin chips!’ Aye she wid. But that’s how ye git in trouble, openin yir mooth n sayin bad things tae folk. Ah looks at the supervisor lassie. — Is thaire a wee bit ay paper ah huv tae sign?
— What?
— Soas they kin tell ah liked it? Ah mean, how ur they gaunny ken?
— They jist do.
— But like, how kin they?
— Ah’m sorry, sir, but ah’ve no goat time tae talk aboot it, she goes. — Next please!
Ah suppose they wir awfay busy. But ah’m daein the paintin the day, which ah nearly forgot aboot! So ah’d better jildy! Ah eats up quick n heads fir the door. Ah passes the boy wi the double cheeseburger n Coke. Eh’s no touched ehs cheeseburger. — Yuv no touched yir cheeseburger, ah goes tae the boy.
— Naw, ah like tae drink the Coke first.
— Ah thoat ye’d wash it doon wi the Coke!
— Naw, ah like tae drink the Coke first.
— Aw.
Ah’m thinkin aboot this, gaun oot the restaurant. Ah looks back in n the boy’s just liftin the double cheeseburger tae ehs mooth. Eh stoaps n ehs mooth is open as eh looks ay ays. Ah turns away cause it isnae nice tae stare at fat people.
Ah gits tae the flat, which is jist next door tae the last yin. Raymond Gittings is waitin thaire n goes, — Right, Jonty boy, yir daein the skirtings in here, pal.
Eh shows ays the room, n thaire’s a young lassie, sortay student lassie, sittin doon at a desk daein writin. — This is Scarlett, Jonty, she rents the flat. Yir gaunny huv tae paint roond her.
— Hiya, Scarlett, aye, ah’ll dae that, ah will, sur.
The lassie looks up n smiles. Nice white teeth n black hair but wi sortay freckles that might belong on a mair ginger-heided lassie. Seems a kind lassie, aye sur, a kind lassie.
Raymond goes away n ah’m startin oan the paintin. Lyin doon oan ma front n paintin they skirtins. So ah’m paintin away n tellin the lassie aw aboot what happened at McDonald’s n she goes, — It’s all to do with aggregate demand. They manufacture a certain amount and if the product sells well within that period, they’ll put it on the market.
That gits ays thinkin, aye sur, sure it does. — Aggregate demand. Like aggregate scores at the fitba, like. In Europe but, ay. Like it’s nae good gittin a draw at Spurs if yuv loast five-nil at hame first! Naw it isnae!
The lassie looks doon fae her books wi a wee smile. — Yes. I suppose that’s exactly what it is like.
— Ah ken what ye mean, ah goes, lookin up fae the flair, — but tae me it might be aboot Eftir Eight n McDonald’s arguin aboot the profits.
— What? The lassie looks doon fae her books again. — I’m not sure I understand –
— Aboot whae gits the maist money, McDonald’s or Eftir Eight. See, if it wis up tae me ah’d gie maist ay the money tae Eftir Eight, cause that’s fairest, seein as how McDonald’s must huv mair money. Aye, ah wid that.
— Right . . .
— Ah mean, ye need tae eat proper meals, but an Eftir Eight, ye couldnae live oan that. That’s like a sortay treat. A burger but, aye sur, a burger ye could live oan. Or a McNuggets. McDonald’s huv goat the McFlurry, the ordinary McFlurry likes. But perr Eftir Eight’s no goat nowt like the Big Mac or the Chicken McNugget!
— Yes . . . you’re right, the lassie sais, gittin up n gatherin her papers n books intae a bag. — Just popping out for a spell.
— Aye, ah goes. Ah ken how she feels cause studyin must be awfay hard. Like whin ah wis at the skill. Ah found it awfay hard tae concentrate, n that’s whin ah wis thaire! They used tae say: stoap lookin oot the windae, John MacKay, and start lookin at yir books, but aw posh likes. Aye sur, they did that! That Scarlett lassie must be the same. It’s a barry name, Scarlett. If she hud a felly that loved her, the felly wid be able tae say ‘Ah’ve goat Scarlett fever!’ Ah wish she wis here soas ah could tell her the joke: your felly must huv Scarlett fever! Aye.
Ah kin concentrate oan they skirtins though. Ah loat ay boys dinnae like daein the skirtin but ah dinnae mind. Ah like lyin doon oan a nice warm flair, n jist gaun roond n roond the whole room, aye sur, ah’d go roond the whole hoose if they lit ays, that’s what Raymond Gittings once sais tae ays. Eh goes, ‘You’d go roond and roond that whole hoose if we let ye, Jonty.’ Ah goes back tae him, ‘Aye, Raymond, ah wid that, boss, aye sur, aye sur, aye sur.’
Fair day’s work fir a fair day’s pey, aye sur, so ah feel ah deserve a pint eftir that. So when ah gits back tae Gorgie ah’m gaunny go intae Campbell’s, but ah dinnae, nup, ah do not. Ah goes tae the bad place, that Pub Wi Nae Name, n ah goes in wi ma heid up aw high, cause ah dinnae want thum thinkin ah’ve goat anything tae hide. No fae thaim! N thaire’s Jake tae see, aboot the paintin. Aye.
But eh’s no behind the bar, so ah goes intae the lavvy n gits ma boaby oot for a pish, but it’s awfay itchy. It’s no a nice thing tae say aboot yir ain sister, but wi our Karen bein
ower fat, ah dinnae think she cleans ursel doon thaire as good as the likes ay wee Jinty, naw she doesnae. So ah’m fillin up the sink wi warm water n pittin ma boaby intae it. Jist gittin it aw clean under the Jerry helmet likes, whin Lethal Stuart n Tony comes in n catches ays. — What ye up tae, Jonty . . .? Tony goes, ehs eyes bulgin.
— Jist washin ma boaby cause it’s a bit itchy likes. Aye sur, awfay itchy, aye, aye, aye . . .
They laughs n goes intae thon cubicle for mair ay the bad stuff. Thaire’s nae paper tooils so ah pits ma boaby under that hand dryer. It’s mental! It’s gittin dry in nae time! It feels nice n soothing blawin hoat air against ma boaby n it fair gits it awfay hard!
Then the Barksie brars, that Evan n Craig, comes in. Evan Barksie goes, — What the fuck are you daein, ya dirty wee cunt?!
Ma cock goes aw soft again n Lethal Stuart n Tony comes oot. — That’s a beauty ye goat thaire, Jonty!
— Ridin the fuckin machine! Evan Barksie points at ays.
N ah’m zipped up n ah’m leavin, n thir follayin ays oot the door, laughin n sayin things. But ah’m no runnin away, no fae thaim, so ah goes up n gits a pint. Ah takes it tae a seat, n thir aw ower beside ays.
— Awright, Jonty! Evan Barksie goes tae ehs, that wey whaire eh kids oan eh’s yir pal but ye ken eh’s no yir pal, no really but, ay. Naw sur. — Whaire’s wee Jinty these days? No seen her in here since that mad night wi aw goat the lock-in!
Ah feel ma face gaun rid. Ah takes a gulp oan the cauld Tennent’s Lager. Aye sur, sometimes it’s barry tae git the cauld Tennent’s Lager. It’s goat that nice cigarette sortay taste, n that’s guid cause ay the smokin ban: still being able tae taste a fag wi yir beer.
— Ah reckon eh’s choked hur tae death! Tony goes.
Thir talkin pish thir talkin pish n ah cannae speak, n ma ears ring n ah want tae run ootay the door, but ah’m stuck in the middle ay thum n ah cannae move.
— That big fuckin welt ay yours, Jonty, Lethal Stuart sais, — doon her wee throat? Death by gam!
They aw laugh, except Barksie, whae’s lookin at ays aw bad. Aw sur, ah dinnae like this.
— Ah dinnae hud wi that talk, ah tell thum, — naw sur, naw sur.