Ah walks intae the bedroom, her follayin ays, n sees the bairn in the crib, asleep. A lovely wee thing. Ah wonder whae the faither is, now actually wishin it wis that cunt Renwick, so ah could pit the bite oan the mug. Naw, it’ll be a fuckin useless sperm donor, a permanent daft laddie like one ay they cunts ah saw hingin aboot here before: probably a fucker just like me. Cause ah ken ah’m in nae position tae say nowt, but ah huv tae, for that wee yin’s sake. — Dae ye think daein scud wi Sick Boy’s gaunny be a good example tae this wee yin?
— You dae scud.
— What does yir ma think ay it?
— Same as you, it seems. Ah need money but, ay.
Ah cannae help it, ah blurts it oot: — Yir gittin an awfay reputation in this toon!
— Like yours? she asks, leaning her arm against the frame ay the door. — Think ah liked hearin aboot that, when ah wis growin up?
— That’s changed now! Ah’ve changed!
— Aye, cause ay yir bad hert! Nan telt ays, n she blinks as ah take a step towards her.
Ah stoaps, n looks back at the bairn.
She flicks a few strands ay curly hair oot her face, like ah used tae. — Yir tellin me ye’d huv quit aw the shaggin aboot and packed in the scud oan yir ain?
— Mibbe . . . look . . .
— Naw, you fuckin well look, she says, her face screwin up. — The only thing that wis good aboot you wis that ye wir nivir a hypocrite. Now ah cannae even see that in ye!
— Ye said it wis money. Ah kin gie ye money, fir you n the bairn! Ah pills oot some notes. — Is this aw jist a wey ay tryin tae git ma attention? Well, yuv goat it, ah snaps, then ah feel myself fawin tae ma knees n ah’m crawlin across the flair tae her. Ah looks up at her, like ah’m a bairn n she’s muh ma. — Please, dinnae dae this.
She’s unnerved, but she goes, — Mibbe it’s a wee bit late for that! Ye never gied a toss before!
What kin ah say? That ah ignored her in her teens cause ah thoat that she wis confident n daein okay? The sad fuckin truth was that ah didnae want tae embarrass her by firin intae her pals. Aw can dae is stand up n take her in ma airms. She feels so small, like a kid. Ah glance tae the bairn and think ay when ah first saw Donna in Viv’s airms at the hospital. Where the fuck did they years go? — Please think aboot it, darlin. Please. Ah love ye.
Wir baith sobbin away. She’s rubbin ma back. — Aw, Dad . . . you’ve goat me aw confused now.
No as confused as ah am. So ah’m thaire half the night, n wir drinkin tea a ah’m pourin oot a load ay stuff, n she is tae. N when ah leaves, Stumpy Jack pickin ays up, ah faws intae ehs cab, exhausted, but kind ay unburdened. Wir drivin through the now-deserted night streets. Ah looks intae ma poakit tae see the pages ah ripped oot ay Jinty’s diary. Ah dinnae want the polis, or perr wee Jonty, tae ken ah’m mixed up in this, so when ah’m droaped oaf hame, n say goodnight tae Jack, ah gits oot the lighter, strikes up a flame under it and watches it burn. It’s fir the best.
Ah climbs ma stair knackered, hopin that ah’ll get some kip in. Then mibbe go and see the wee man for a game ay gowf the morn.
47
JINTY’S DIARY EXCERPT 2
BEST LAUGH THE day was when that Terry came down. He fancies himself, but he’s not like Victor or Kelvin, he treats the lassies really well and has a joke and a laugh. AND he never wants a free ride. I think he wants us to offer it to him! He doesn’t know about it, but that’s what’s gonna happen! LOL!
48
POWDERHALL
AN AWFAY SLEEPLESS night: aye sur, awfay sleepless. Like ah wis burnin up in that bed. Thinkin aboot Jinty in thon pillar under the tram brig, n it wis aw cause ay talkin tae the polis. Aye it wis. Ah’d hud a game ay gowf wi Terry, then eh droaped ays right hame in the taxi. That eh did. Aye sur. N eh hudnae long left ays when the polis came roond.
Thaire wis panic in the chist, aye sur, thaire wis. Ah thoat they’d take ays away. Aye, two polis boys, but nae uniforms. Karen made tea, brought oot the nice crockery n the KitKats. The big yins. She ey makes that joke: ‘Aye, ah kin ey manage tae git fower fingers in me, Jonty.’ Ah dinnae like lassies talkin like that: it’s no right. But she’s goat the big yins oot this time n one polisman’s eatin it but the other isnae. He’ll be the bad yin, like oan the telly: the yin that takes ye tae the jail, ah wis thinkin. Aye, eh asked ays aboot Jinty again. — She’s still no been in touch, ah telt thum.
— Her father, the cop withoot the KitKat went, lookin right at me in ma eye like the bad teachers did at the skill, like real faither Henry used tae, — Did she ever talk about him?
— Maurice, aye, ah went, thinkin aboot the canary-yellaw fleece. In the wheelchair at muh ma’s funeral. — He’s her father. Maurice. Glesses. Likes a pint in Campbell’s. Aye sur.
— Would you say they were close? the kinder KitKat cop went.
— Well, aye, but eh nivir came roond tae the hoose tae see us. But we’d sometimes see um in Campbell’s. Aye sur, Campbell’s. It’s really called the Tynecastle Airms, ah telt thum, — but everybody kens it as Campbell’s, ay. Aye they do. No the younger yins like, they’ll no ken it as Campbell’s that much, but they might pick it up fae the aulder yins. Like it’s been handed doon. Aye.
The KitKat boy glanced at the other cop, then back at me and gied ays a wee smile. Karen hud fair done well wi the tea n KitKats, the big fower-fingered yins, n the pan-loafy guid bone china. Aye she did. — Unfortunately, we have to inform you that Mr Maurice Magdalen passed away last night.
Ah couldnae believe it, n ah ken what passed away means but ah wisnae thinkin right, so ah said tae the boy, — Is eh awright?
— He’s dead, Mr MacKay, the KitKat cop went, — he died of smoke inhalation in a fire at his house.
The other polisman looked at his mate, n droaped his voice like it wis meant tae be awfay secret. — It’s too early to be exact about the cause of the fire, but indications are that Mr Magdalen was smoking a cigarette in bed and fell asleep.
— Aye, eh liked a cigarette, Maurice, aye sur, that eh did!
— Of course, being partially paralysed, Mr Magdalen would have found it hard to get out of bed and control the blaze.
Ah wis thinkin aye aye aye aye n then the KitKat copper boy went, — Maurice Magdalen, Jinty’s father, was wheelchair-bound after a sustained assault by a gang of men, who believed him to have been involved in a firebomb attack on The Pub With No Name public house, shortly after his daughter disappeared. Do you think that there could be any connection between this assault and her disappearance, given that you made a statement that she was last seen in The Pub With No Name?
Ah didnae ken what tae say tae that. So ah jist sat thaire wi ma mooth open.
— Mr MacKay?
— Dae ye think Jinty’ll come back?
— There are no further developments in the case, the KitKat boy said, lookin at his mate once mair n closing his notebook aw shut.
— Aye sur, ah went back, — nae developments.
— She’s still listed as a missing person.
— Missin person, aye.
The KitKat boy stood up. Then his pal did the same. — We’ll let you know if we hear any news. I can appreciate how distressing this must be for you, Mr MacKay.
— It makes me greet sometimes, that she could just go like that, ah telt the polis fellys. Then ah asked them when the trams wid be runnin. The KitKat boy just looked at ays n said eh didnae ken. Then, as they went oot, the other cop says, — One more thing, Mr MacKay . . . Mr Magdalen was a member of EROSS, a political extremist group. Did you ever hear him threaten violence against Mr Jake McColgan, manager of The Pub With No Name?
— Naw sur, naw ah did not, naw, naw naw, ah goes, but thir away oot the door.
Ah sat thaire starin at the Wally dug oan the mantelpiece, n Karen took thum ootside, bit ah wis pure at the door listenin tae them talk in the hall. — Ma brar’s a wee bit . . . slow, officer, Karen goes. Aye sur, she said that. She did now. That she did. Aye sur. — Eh widnae hurt a fly tho
ugh.
That makes ays angry, cause ah wid hurt a fly. Ah’d kill that fly thit came oot Jinty’s mooth, the one thit pit the slithery wee grubs in her that wid eat her oot! Eat her oot in the eyes, the ears, the nose, the mooth, the erse n the fanny; like she got me tae dae, but in a different wey. Aye sur, in a different wey. Strong hands, Jonty, strong hands, she’d say. But ah ah’m right in the heid. Ah am! It wis Maurice that wisnae right in the heid, no at the end, eftir the accident. No even before, cause God punished Maurice for daein things that are meant tae be done wi lassies, no laddies! N mibbe Maurice isnae in heaven wi Jinty’s ma, eh might be in the other place where bad laddies go, n thir aw rammin it up ehs erse now, wheelchair or nae wheelchair! Cause Maurice wid be able tae walk again in heaven, but in the other place eh’d be made tae stey in the wheelchair, until it wis time tae git ehs bum rammed! Then they’d git rid ay the wheelchair!
Aye, that wis whit happened when the polis came roond. Karen did maist ay the talkin. Aye sur. So the polis huv gone away, n ah tells Karen ah’m gaun intae toon, nae mair tae be said on the subject, cause ah’m no jist gaunny be a prisoner in the Cuik aw ma days, jist gowf outins wi Terry tae look forward tae. Naw sur, ah am not. Naw sur, naw sur, naw sur. Aye.
Karen’s ver-near greetin. She’s gaun oan aboot me spoilin everything n how she hud it aw planned. Ah tells her no tae worry cause ah’ll be back n we’ll hae some dirty bad stuff nookie again. Ah’ve no been in the mood cause ay seein the maggoty boaby man on Terry’s real faither Alec in the graveyard n imaginin they slithery wee worms bein up Karen’s fanny n gaun intae ma boaby man. Like they’d be in perr Jinty’s. Come tae think aboot it they could huv crawled up ma boaby man whin it wis in Jinty’s fanny. Naw. Cause ah’d huv seen thum come back oot quick enough when ah peed! They widnae like that! Naw sur, they wid not! Ah wish now some maggots hud crawled up ma boaby man, cause it wid serve thum right! Aye sur, it wid. If the pee didnae kill thum they would huv drooned in the lavvy, n even if they wir able tae hud thir wee maggoty breath fir yonks they wid huv drooned at sea! N it wid huv served thum right, cause jist like that Bawbag, naebody asked thum tae come here!
So ah phones Terry n tells um that ah needs tae talk n thit thaire’s bad things gaun oan in ma heid.
— Awright, ma wee pal, meet ays at thon Starbucks at Haymarket Station at one o’clock.
— Aye sur, Starbucks! Right, ah says, thinkin thit wir fair gaun up in the world! Aye sur, Starbucks! Ah’ve nivir walked intae one ay thaim, wi aw they well-dressed folks! Awfay pan-loafy! Aye sur!
So ah hus tae git two buses, but ah’m no bothered cause ah gits tae sit up front oan the long yin oot fae Penicuik. N whin ah gits tae Haymarket ah’m a wee bit mair feart cause it’s awfay near Gorgie. But ah sees Terry so ah starts wavin ma airms in the air n eh sees ays back. Ah goes ower n thaire’s a boy wi funny hair sittin in the cab. But thir sortay in the rank: sortay waitin ootside ay Starbucks. — A wee trip up tae the gowf coorse, Jonty, oot at Haddington.
— Aw . . . ah goes, cause ah realises thit wir no gittin tae go intae Starbucks n it’s no jist me n Terry so it’ll be harder tae talk aboot the graveyard n us seein ehs real faither’s maggoty willy n eyebaws aw eaten oot by the bugs.
— This is ma mate Ronnie, eh sais, lookin tae this boy wi funny hair. — Ah’ve jist picked um up fae the airport, now wir gaun oot tae Haddington.
— Jonty, Ronnie, aye sur, ah goes.
The boy sais nowt n hardly looks at ays. Aye sur. No like the nasty bad-hert wey that some ay the boys like Barksie, fae The Pub Wi Nae Name used tae dae, mair like ah’m sort ay invisible tae this boy. Aye sur. Like the Invisible Man oan the telly! Ye couldnae see um but ye kent eh wis thaire cause ay ehs hat n coat. The boy’s clathes wirnae invisible; but it’s like ma clathes ur n aw tae this boy. Aye sur.
So ah’m sittin beside the boy in the back wi Terry drivin, n ah thinks ‘now’s ma chance tae talk tae the Ronnie boy’, but eh’s jist talkin intae ehs phone most ay the wey oot thaire. Eh’s goat a voice like they huv in the fullums; that’s no a Scottish voice, yon, that’s what ah’d say tae the boy if eh pit the phone doon! Ah’d say: yir in Scotland now! Yuv goat tae speak wi a guid Scotch tongue in yir heid! But that wid be wrong cause the boy cannae help the wey eh talks, like the lassie wi the bairn doonstairs whae cannae help bein broon n talkin like aliens fae space do in Fullum Station Four’s fullums. Her that gied ays that dress tae wear. Ah hope they lit hur broon husband oot the jail soon. But no if eh’s been throwin bombs. Naw, thi’ll no lit um oot if eh’s been daein that. N thi’ll pit me away if they find oot thit ah wis. But wi Maurice bein deid through the fags, it’s like the polis’ll blame him fir ma bombs, just like everybody at The Pub Wi Nae Name did when they battered him sair. Aw aye sur, battered him sair. Eh didnae look happy at muh ma’s funeral though, n eh mentioned the canary-yellay fleece.
We stoaps along this beach but it’s aw rocky. Like whin ye’d go tae the beach as a bairn thinkin it would be sand n ye’d be in yir bare feet but it wid be aw rocky. Thaire’s a few cottages in the distance. It makes ays sad cause it wid be barry if me n Jinty wir livin in one ay thum, n thaire wid be a nice auld wummun like Mrs Cuthbertson next door, n ye could bring stuff back fae the shoaps fir her cause it wid be an awfay long walk wi her auld legs. N thaire wid be nae cocaine, no by the sea. Naw thir wid not.
The boy Ronnie’s goat us met up wi they other boys, whae ur pointin at things and showin um aw they drawins n plans. Terry n me’s sittin against the cab, n he’s huvin a fag. Eh’s goat a nice cigarette case, jist like yin Maurice used tae huv. Aye, Terry’s started smokin again, n eh’s pit oan the weight n aw. Ah feel like tellin um no tae cause ay Maurice. — What’s yir mate daein, Terry? Buildin something?
— Aye, some fuckin gowf course n flats. Ah dinnae ken what the muppet’s oan aboot half the time.
— That’s a shame cause it’s a barry view, aw the wey doon tae the sea.
— Who gies a fuck but, ay? Terry finishes the fag n flicks the end away. — Aw fucked now but, ay, mate.
Ah dinnae like tae see Terry talkin like this, cause it should be a happy Terry, cause Terry’s normally happy Terry wi a cheesy wee grin oan ehs face. — Is it cause yir sad aboot yir real faither Alec in the graveyard wi aw the creepy bugs? Ah git sad aboot muh ma explodin, n wee Jinty . . . bein away, ah sais, thinkin ay Jinty, wearin a white dress, steppin oantae a tram.
— Naw . . . it’s like ah’ve goat a bad hert, Jonty.
— Naw yuv no, Terry! Yuv goat a guid hert! It’s the boys fae that Pub Wi Nae Name, thir the yins wi the bad herts! No you!
Terry forces a cheery wee smile. — Naw, mate, yir no gittin me. It’s medical like, fae the doaktirs. It means ah cannae dae certain things. Like make love tae a lassie.
Ah’m gaunny say thit ah cannae dae that now either, but that wid be wrong cause ay Karen. — Is it cause ay the maggots comin oot ay yir real faither Alec’s boaby? Cause that sortay haunts me n aw, Terry, aye it does, sur.
— Nowt tae dae wi that, Terry goes. — The only time ah’d worry aboot maggots comin oot ay some cunt’s cock wid be if it wis mine they wir comin oot ay. It’s this ticker. Eh pats his chist. — Shaggin pits a strain oan it. Eh looks at the fag end eh’s flicked away. — Ah shouldnae be smokin n pittin oan weight . . . ah might as well jist go fir a decent ride, the wey ah’m fuckin masel up, n eh screws ehs face up n punches the side ay the cab hard.
— Aw, ah goes.
— Ye ken what, n eh shakes ehs heid n looks oot tae the sea, — ah thought that ah jist wanted ma hole aw the time cause ah wis this rampant shagger that hud tae blaw ehs muck, or thit it wis jist pure ego, like tae bang as many different burds as possible, ay, n eh turns tae me wi a wee grin oan ehs face. — But ah realise that that wis aw shite. It’s because ah think lassies are fuckin gorgeous, n ah want tae make thum happy. Tae please thum. Ah’m a pleaser, but ah’ve failed at pleasin people in every other wey, so that’s ma thing. Ah love seein a burd huvin a great time, gittin
wild n aw lit up, n huvin a barry climax, n then gaun ‘ah needed that’ or ‘that wis fucking amazing’. That sort ay feedback makes ays feel ten feet tall.
Ah’m lookin at um n ah dinnae really understand what eh’s sayin but ah sortay dae n aw cause ah think aboot whin ah made Jinty happy.
— Here’s the point, Terry goes, — lassies urnae pit here fir ma gratification, it’s totally the other wey around, ay.
Ah dinnae really ken what eh means but Terry kens ah dinnae ken withoot me huvin tae say ah dinnae ken. Aye sur, eh does.
— Ah’m pit oan this Earth tae please thaim, eh goes. — That’s ma only role, n now it’s gone. Now ah’m nothing! See, if it wisnae fir the gowf –
— Yir no nothing but, Terry, wuv goat the gowf . . . yir a great pal tae me, cause yir the only yin that disnae take the pish, aye sur, ye are that.
Then Terry looks at me aw strange. It makes ays feel aw bad inside. — How dae you ken that though, mate? How dae you ken what ah’ve done in the past?
Ah stert tae say something back aboot him huvin a good hert, even though it’s an ill hert, whin Terry goes, — Listen, mate, ah’m gaunny dae something for you. You need a wee brek, tae git away for a bit.
— Aye, but ah’ve goat tae wait fir the trams . . . fir Jinty . . .
— The trams’ll be ages yet, n Jinty . . . well . . . ye huv tae move on, mate.
N ah’m thinkin aboot this n how ah dinnae like Karen comin through in the night tae ays. — Aye, ah could dae wi a brek.