A Decent Ride (14 page)

Wuv baith come like the Spanish Inquisition, then wi sit gaspin away in the back for a bit. Then ah thinks ah’d better git the lassie’s name. Ah hate it whin ye ride some burd n ye forget tae git her name, n, mair important, gie her yours. Jist soas she kin lit her mates ken but, ay.

— Ah’m Terry, by the way.

— Ah heard ye say, at the meetin.

— Right . . . you’re . . .

Ah realises that she’s fuckin distressed n nearly greetin. The guilt and regret seems tae huv kicked in early big time. — I’m
anonymous
. . . or I fucking well should be!

— What’s up?

Now the tears ur flowin n she goes, — I’ve done it again! I’ve fallen off the fucking wagon! I have to call my sponsor . . .

The burd’s as pissed oaf as fuck: the coupon oan it! Ye eywis try n calm thum doon in this situ. — Awright, doll, ah’ll take ye hame. Where’s it ye stey?

— South Side, she goes, turnin away fae the phone, then back tae it. Ah start up, but ah’ve goat the mike oan so ah kin hear every word ay her call. — Kerry, it’s Lorraine . . .

At least ah’ve goat her name.

— . . . I had an incident, this taxi driver . . . he had a huge cock . . . ah see hur lookin at ays, but ah’m keepin ma eyes oan the road. Fuckin balm tae the ego that yin, but! — . . . it was at the meeting . . . Yes, a really big cock . . . Yes, we left the meeting at the coffee break . . . I dunno, but it was big . . . I’m very close to yours now . . . She bangs on the windae. — Turn right into Rankeillor Street!

Fuck sake, it’s practically roond the corner fae me! So ah does, n ah parks up. Thaire’s another burd, a bit aulder, waitin at the stair door. She looks at ays as ah git oot the cab, n ah see her glancin doonstairs tae the ootline ay Auld Faithful, whae’s back in semi-mode already. — Hi. I’m Kerry. So you were at the meeting too?

— A pleasure, Kerry. Ah’m Terry . . . Terry n Kerry, ah jokes, but the lassie’s coupon steys serious. So ah tells her, — Aye, I was.

Her eyes go really wide, n she turns tae that Lorraine. — So Terry’s vulnerable also . . .

This wee dark-heided Lorraine burd looks at ays, aw confused, then back tae her.

Kerry turns tae me again, her heid twistin like crazy. — You shouldn’t be alone either, Terry. Then tae Lorraine. — The pair of you, come up and have some coffee. We have to process this.

Ya cunt, did we no fuckin well process it awright! Ah wis up the pair ay thum aw fuckin night! Wish Sick Boy wis still here, ah’d huv goat the cunt roond wi ehs camera, n goat that yin doon! Perr Lorraine wisnae too chuffed in the morning, ower coffee n toast, when ah asked her fir a tenner. — It’s oan the meter, ye kin check. Thaire’s an auld sayin in the taxi trade: the camera might lie but the meter fuckin well doesnae!

— But –

— Sorry, hen, but cannae make any allowances, it’s ma livelihood, ay.

Ah collected up n left thum tae it. Checked the missed calls n the emails oan the cheeky phone. A stack ay thum, n aw fae burds. Ah’m solidly booked!

The phone goes again n ah take the call cause it’s Jason.

— Terry. How goes?

— Good, Jase. Good, pal. Lovin the cab work and it’s aw tickin ower otherwise, ken? Listen, might have something fir ye tae look at, legal documents, ken?

— My speciality is property, Terry, but I help people buy houses, not protect people who break into them.

— Hi! Ah’ve never broken intae a hoose for years!

— Glad tae hear it. Listen, I’m coming up soon. I’ve got a bit of news. I’ve just got engaged to Vanessa. Probably wait till later next year when she finishes her master’s before tying the knot.

— Congratulations, pal. She’s a fine lassie, ah tells um, n ah wis gaunny say fit lassie, but ah mind that ehs ma son n ye huv tae make an effort.

We catch up for a bit then ah goes doon the Southern Bar wi Russell Latapy, the lappy, for the free Wi-Fi. Ah gits online and starts looking at the expensive whiskies. Ah’m fuckin blown away.

The Trinity whisky, a blend of rare stocks, including some that have been maturing at the distillery for more than 150 years is produced by Bowcullen in Glencarrock, Inverness-shire, and has proven very popular with serious collectors. The first bottle was purchased via an agent by an anonymous American buyer, described only as a ‘high-profile client’, while the second was purchased by Lord Fisher of Campsie. The third is on display at the distillery museum in Glencarrock, where it shall remain, most emphatically not for sale.

This is why Ronnie’s here; he’s got one ay the three unique vintage Bowcullens and the daft cunt’s willing tae pey $200,000 for the remaining two boatils. Or mibbe even mair. Good tae ken!

PENICUIK’S A TWO-BUS
journey, sur, aye it is. Ye git one tae the Bridges, then the other yin’s what the paper called ‘a long spin out to the periphery of the city and the mining town nestling in its jaws at the foot of the Pentland Hills’. Ah eywis minded that, cause it makes the Cuik famous for bein in the paper, like it’s New York or somewhere. Aye, it does that, sur. Ah like tae sit upstairs in front lookin oot the windaes, cause it fair helps wi ma motion sickness. Aye it does, but ah’m still a wee bit queasy as ah git oaf a couple ay stoaps before the centre ay toon, headin tae muh ma’s hoose in the scheme.

Ah ken ah should huv gone tae muh ma’s ages ago, cause she nivir gits oot. Aye, she nivir gits oot at aw. Too fat tae leave the hoose since ah wis at school, n even too fat tae git oot ay bed for years now. Oor Karen looks eftir her. Now Karen’s goat awfay fat n aw. Aye sur, awfay fat.

Wir doonstairs in the kitchen n Karen makes ays a pizza. Frozen pizza. Barry. — Barry, ah goes.

— Aye, ye ey liked yir pizza, Karen goes, n she’s eatin a bit n aw. — So how’s Jinty?

Ah dinnae ken what tae say. It’s like she kens something isnae right, that wey she’s lookin ay ays. Ah dinnae like it whin folk look at ye like they ken things ur no right. Cause even if they ken something’s no right, they dinnae ken what it is that’s no right. Ye huv tae mind that. Aw sur, ye dae.

— What’s up, Jonty?

But ah jist look at her n sais, — Jinty’s left ays.

Karen’s eyes go aw wide. — Another felly?

— Ah dinnae ken. She wis oot wi some laddies doon The Pub Wi Nae Name whin Bawbag wis oan, aye . . . aye . . . aye . . .

— Ah’m sorry tae hear that, Jonty, Karen goes. — Ah ey thoat youse wir good thegither.

Ah’m no huvin that cause they jist met at Hank’s once n they nivir goat oan, naw they didnae. It wis like her n Morag ganged up oan Jinty, n ah dinnae like that, naw sur, ah did not, cause ah’ve hud folk gang up oan me tons ay times, n it isnae nice, naw it’s no. Jist cause Jinty sais tae hur: ‘Funny aboot you n Jonty bein brar n sister, wi Jonty bein that thin n you bein awfay fat.’ Karen dinnae like that! Naw sur, she did not. Now she’s lookin at ays n ah’m gaun, — She’ll be back. She’s done it before, aye she hus. Aye.

— Well, mibbe, Karen sais in a sortay snidey wey. But ah’m no gaunny argue, naw ah am not, cause it’s barry tae be back in muh ma’s auld hoose. Aye sur, the auld hoose. The yin wi aw the China dugs oan the mantelpiece, n no jist Wally dugs, but pugs n Labradors n Alsatians n Jack Russell terriers n aw. Ah ey wanted a dug cause ah wisnae allowed yin eftir Clint died, but Jinty ey sais, ‘Dinnae be daft, what dae wi want a dug fir?’

But wi hud aw they China dugs here that muh ma liked. Ah eywis think back tae how the hoose wis whin ah lived here. — Ye mind ay Robbo and Crabbo, ah asks Karen, — the two canaries, aye sur: Robbo n Crabbo?

Karen looks intae the corner tae whaire that cage used tae hing. — Aye, ah mind wi hud tae git rid ay thum, whin real faither Henry came back, cause they went fir his chist, Karen goes.

Aye, that wis sad whin eh came back, cause eh made us git rid ay Robbo n Crabbo. Billy MacKay, he lit ays keep burds, cause eftir Robbo n Crabbo ah hud Stephane. But Stephane wis mair ay a budgie. N blue. But ah’m laughin n ah’m thinkin ay Robbo n Crabbo gaun fir the auld man’s chist, like they wir pit bulls, rippin the tits oaf um wi razor-sherp beaks, aye sur, ah’m laughin, but Karen isnae laughin, cause she’s aw sort ay upset, n then she’s greetin.

— What is it?

— Eh’s dyin, ay. In the hoaspital. The Royal. Real faither Henry.

— Aw, ah goes, thinkin, jist yin bus though, the hoaspital. That’s if it’s the Infirmary. One bus fae here. Two fae Gorgie but. Billy MacKay wisnae a real faither but eh wis better cause eh nivir battered ays but. — Aye, the hoaspital. The Royal.

— N ah feel like ah should go n see him, Karen sais, then she goes, — Ah dinnae ken what fir, eh nivir treated us right. Ah suppose cause she cannae git oot tae see um, n she points up the stair tae whaire Ma is. — Bit eh nivir treated us right, Jonty. Ay-no? Even Hank wis nivir treated right by oor blood faither. Eh trained us aw bad, ay, Jonty?

— Aye, aye, he nivir wis good. It wisnae right, ah goes. — Naw sur.

Karen’s face is aw rid, under that blonde hair. Blonde hair, aye, like Ma’s used tae be. — Eh’s still oor faither but, eh, she goes, but she’s still greetin, even mair. — That hus tae count fir something! N she looks like she’s beggin ays tae say something.

Ah dinnae like tae see a lassie greet. Jinty, gie hur ur due, she’s no much ay a greeter. But Karen’s made different. Eywis greets. Real faither Henry used tae say thit she gret at the droap ay a hat. — What’s wrong?

— Ma life’s wrong, that’s whit’s wrong! Karen bawls. — Ah’m stuck wi hur. She points up tae the ceiling, meanin muh ma upstairs. — N ah’m gaun the same wey, she sais n spreads her big, meaty airms. — Look at ays! Ah’m a pig!

— No yir no!

— Aye uh am! Naebody wid ivir fancy me!

— Aye they wid, ah tell her. N ah kin see that she disnae believe ays so ah pits ma airm acroass her shoodir n goes, — See, if ah wisnae yir brother, ah’d fancy ye! N ah dinnae ken how ah sais that, probably jist cause Karen’s kind. Aye sur, she’s ey been kind tae me, n she gied us that pizza; she did that. Whin yir awfay lonely wi Jinty no speakin, it’s nice haein folk bein kind tae ye. Aw aye.

Karen looks ays right n the eye, n goes, — Dinnae lit that stoap ye . . . you bein muh brar, likes.

Her face is awfay serious n ah dinnae like this. — But ah’m wi . . . ah mean . . .

— It’s no like anybody’s gaunny ken, Jonty. If ye dae something n it’s your secret, naebody else kens aboot, it disnae really count as bad. How kin it, whin it’s no hurtin anybody else?

— Disnae count . . .

— It disnae count if naebody kens. Whae’s gaunny ken? Whae’s gaunny be hurt? Ma cannae git doon the stairs. Naebody’s gaunny ken. That’s the beauty ay it, Jonty! Naebody’s gaunny ken!

— Naebody . . . naebody, sur . . .

— Ah need a felly. Brian stoaped callin roond whin ah goat big. Gittin big doesnae stoap ye wantin it but, Jonty . . .

— Disnae stoap ye . . .

So wi goes tae the couch n Karen sais, — We’ll need tae be awfay quiet, but.

— Aye, ah goes. Ma dirty wee boaby-pipe’s aw hard n she takes ma zip doon n grabs a hud ay it. Ah dinnae like that, cause it’s no aw the soft wey thit Jinty does it.

Then she goes, her face aw pinched, — Geez it well, stuff it in ma fuckin fanny!

N ah’m no happy now, naw sur, bit it’s like the dirty boaby-pipe’s got its ain life n she’s gittin her skirt up n her pants doon, her big thighs wobblin like fightin bairns. Ah dinnae want her tae start makin a fuss, no wi muh ma upstairs, so ah’m thinking ah’ll git this ower wi, aye, n ah’m gittin ma troosers doon n tryin tae find the lassie sex hole in aw her fat. It isnae easy, no like wi Jinty, ma wee Jinty, but ah’m archin back n pushin it in n she goes, — Dinnae kiss ays cause that’s right mucky, but squeeze ays, Jonty, squeeze ays hard . . . fuck me, Jonty!

— Aye . . . n ah’m lookin at the pile ay washin oan the chair beside the couch, n ah’m pumpin n squeezin . . .

— That’s it, Jonty . . . yuv goat strong airms n a big cock fir a laddie that wee n thin . . . harder . . .

Ah’m worried aboot yon creakin noises yon couch is makin. Then ah hears Ma gaun, — Whae’s doon thaire!

— JIST JON-TAY . . . Karen shouts up.

— Bring um up! Bring um tae see ays!

— AYE . . . ONE MINNIT!

— WHIT YOUSE TWO DAEIN DOON THAIRE!?

Karen starts gaun that red wey thit a loat ay lassies go whin thir ready tae git tae the finishin line, as Jinty ey called it. ‘Keep gaun, Jonty, till ah croass that effin finishin line,’ she used tae say. Jinty could sometimes speak bad. Ah dinnae hud wi that talk, n it’s worse oan lassies, aye it is, n it causes trouble. But ah’d go, ‘Aye, Jinty, aye ah will, aye, aye, aye . . .’ But it’s Karen now n she makes a long, shrill n squeaky sound. She does that. Aw aye. Aw aye.

N then it’s aw peaceful. Even Ma’s stoaped shoutin. Karen whispers in ma ear, — Dad used tae dae this tae ays. Real faither Henry, no yon Billy MacKay, he nivir touched ays. But whin eh came back that time; that Henry, mind? Ah wis aboot twelve. Eh did it in ma bedroom, Jonty, whin he goat up in the night. He said that eh couldnae sleep wi hur any mair. Said ah wis a woman now that ah wis at the big school. Made ays feel like yin, even if ah wisnae really.

— 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.