The Acid House Read online

  She eywis laughed at ays behind ma back. Ah'd catch sight ay her twisted smile when she thought ah wisnae looking. This wis usually when she wis wi her sisters. The three ay them would laugh when ah played the bandit or the pool. Ah'd feel them looking at me. After a while, they stopped kidding that they wirnae daein it.

  Ah nivir coped well wi the bairn; ah mean as a really wee bairn like. It seemed to take everything over; aw that noise fae that wee size. So ah suppose ah went oot a lot eftir the bairn came. Maybe a bit ay it wis my fault; ah'm no saying otherwise. There wis things gaun oan wi her though. Like the time ah gied her that money.

  She wis skint so ah gies her twenty notes and sais: You go oot doll, enjoy yirself. Go oot wi yir mates. Ah mind that night fine well because she goes n gits made up like a tart. Make-up, tons ay it, and that dress she wore. Ah asked her where she wis gaun dressed like that. She just stood thair, smiling at me. Where, ah sais. You wanted ays tae go out, so ah'm fuckin well gaun oot, she telt ays. Where but? ah asked. Ah mean, ah wis entitled tae ken. She just ignored ays but, ignored ays and left, laughing in ma face like a fuckin hyena.

  When she came back she wis covered in love bites. Ah checked her purse when she wis oan the toilet daein a long, drunken pish. Forty quid she had in it. Ah gave her twenty quid and she came back wi forty fuckin bar in her purse. Ah wis fuckin demented. Ah goes, whit's this, eh? She just laughed at ays. Ah wanted tae check her fanny; tae see if ah could tell that she'd been shagged. She started screaming and saying that if ah touched her, her brothers would be roond. They're radge, the Doyles, every fucker in the scheme kens that. Ah'm radge, if the truth be telt, ever getting involved wi a Doyle. Yir a soft touch son, ma Ma once said. These people, they see that in ye. They ken yir a worker, they ken yir easy meat fir thum.

  Funny thing was, a Doyle can dae what they like, but ah thought that if ah goat in wi the Doyles then ah could dae what ah liked. And ah could fir a bit. Nae cunt messed wi ays, ah wis well in. Then the tapping started; the bumming ay fags, drinks, cash. Then they had ays, or that cunt Alec Doyle, he had ays looking eftir stuff fir urn. Drugs. No hash or nowt like that; wir talking aboot smack here.

  Ah could've gone doon. Done time; fuckin years ah could have done. Fuckin years for the Doyles and thir hoor ay a sister. Anywey, ah never messed wi the Doyles. Never ever. So ah didnae touch Katriona mat night and we slept in different rooms; me oan the couch, likes.

  It wis jist eftir that ah started knocking aroond wi Larry upstairs. His wife had just left um and he wis lonely. For me it wis, likesay, insurance: Larry wis a nutter, one ay the few guys living in the scheme even the Doyles gied a bit ay respect tae.

  Ah wis working oan the Employment Training. Painting. Ah wis daein the painting in the Sheltered Hooses fir the auld folks, like. Ah wis oot maist ay the time. Thing is when ah came back in ah'd either find Larry in oor place or her up at his. Half-fuckin-bevvied aw the time; the baith ay thum. Ah kent he wis shagging her. Then she started tae stey up thair some nights. Then she jist moved upstairs wi him aw the gither; leaving me doonstairs wi the bairn. That meant ah hud tae pack in the painting; fir the bairn's sake, like, ken?

  When ah took the bairn doon tae ma Ma's or tae the shops in the go-cart, ah'd sometimes see the two ay thum at the windae. They'd be laughing at ays. One day ah gits back tae the hoose and it's been broken intae; the telly and video are away. Ah kent whae had taken thum, but thir wis nothing ah could dae. No against Larry and the Doyles.

  Their noise kept me and the bairn awake. Her ain bairn. The noise ay them shagging, arguing, partying.

  Then one time thir wis a knock at the door. It wis Larry. He jist pushed past ays intae the flat, blethering away in that excited, quick wey he goes on. Alright mate, he sais. Listen, ah need a wee favour. Fuckin electric cunts have only gone and cut ays off, eh.

  He goes ower tae ma front windae and opens it and pulls in this plug that's swingin doon fae his front room above. He takes it and plugs it intae one ay ma sockets. That's me sorted oot, he smiles at ays. Eh, ah goes/He tells ays that he's got an extension cable wi a block upstairs but he jist needs access tae a power point. Ah tell him that he's ootay order, it's ma electric he's using and ah goes ower tae switch it oaf. He goes: See if you ivir touch that fuckin plug or that switch, you're fuckin deid, Johnny! Ah'm fuckin telling ye! He means it n aw.

  Larry then starts telling ays that he still regards me and him as mates, in spite ay everything. He sais tae ays that we'll go halfers oan the bills, which ah knew then wouldnae happen. Ah sais that his bills would be higher than mine because ah've no got anything left in the hoose that uses electricity. Ah wis thinking aboot ma video and telly which ah kent he had up the stair. He goes: What's that supposed tae mean then, Johnny? Ah just goes: Nowt. He says: It better fuckin no mean nowt. Ah sais nowt eftir that because Larry's crazy; a total radge.

  Then his face changed and he sortay broke intae this smile. He nodded up at the ceiling: No bad ride, eh John? Sorry tae huv tae move in thair, mate. One ay these things though, eh? Ah jist nodded. Gies a barry gam though, he sais. I felt like shite. Ma electricity. Ma woman.

  Ever fucked it up the erse? he asked. Ah jist shrugged. He crosses one ay his airms ower the other one. Ah've started giein it the message that wey, he said, jist cause ah dinnae want it up the stick. Bairn daft, that cunt. Once ye git a cunt up the stick, they think thuv goat thir hand in yir poakit fir the rest ay yir puff. Yir dough's no yir ain. Isnae ma fuckin scene, ah kin tell ye. Ah'll keep ma money. Tell ye one thing, Johnny, he laughed, ah hope you've no goat AIDS or nowt like that, cause if ye huv ye'd've gied it tae me by now. Ah never use a rubber when ah shaft her up the stairs thair. No way. Ah'd rather have a fuckin wank man.

  Naw, ah've no goat nowt like that, ah telt him, wishing for the first time in ma life that ah did.

  Just as well, ya dirty wee cunt, Larry laughed.

  Then he stretched intae the playpen and patted Chantel on the heid. Ah started tae feel sick. If he tried tae touch that bairn again, ah'd've stabbed the cunt; disnae matter whae he is. Ah jist wouldnae care. It's awright, he goes, ah'm no gaunny take yir bairn away. She wants it mind, and ah suppose that a bairn belongs wi its Ma. Thing is, John, like ah sais, ah'm no intae huving a bairn aroond the house. So yuv goat me to thank fir still huvin the bairn, think aboot it like that. He went aw upset and angry and pointed tae hisel. Think aboot it that wey before ye start making accusations aboot other people. Then he goes cheery again; this cunt can jist change like that, and sais: See that draw for the quarter-finals? The winners ay St Johnstone v. Kilmarnock. At Easter Road, likes, he smiles at ays, men twists his face aroond the room. Fuckin pit this, he sais, before turning tae go. Just as he's at the front door he stops and turns tae me. One other thing, John, if ye want a poke at it again, he points at the ceiling, jist gies a shout. A tenner tae you. Gen up, likes.

  Ah mind ay aw that, cause just after it ah took the bairn tae ma Ma's. That wis that; Ma goat ontae the Social Work; goat things sorted oot. They went and saw her; she didnae want tae ken. Ah goat a kicking fir that, fae Alec and Mikey Doyle. Ah goat another yin, a bad yin, fae Larry and Mikey Doyle when ma electric wis cut oaf. They grabbed ays in the stair and dragged ays through the back. They goat ays doon and started kicking ays. Ah wis worried cause ah hud a bit ay money ah'd won fae the bandit. Ah wis shitein it in case they'd go through ma poakits. Fifteen quid ah hud taken the bandit fir. They just booted intae ays but. Booted ays and she wis screamin: KICK THE CUNT! KILL THE CUNT! OOR FUCKIN ELECTRIC! IT WIS OOR FUCKIN ELECTRICITY! HE'S GOAT MA FUCKIN BAIRN! HIS FUCKIN AULD HOOR AY A MOTHER'S GOAT MA FUCKIN BAIRN! GO BACK TAE YIR FUCKIN MA! LICK YIR MA'S FUCKIN PISS-FLAPS YA CUNT!

  Thank fuck they left ays withoot checking ma poakits. Ah thoat; well, that's seekened they cunts' pusses anywey, as ah staggered tae ma Ma's tae git cleaned up. Ma nose wis broken and ah hud two cracked ribs. Ah hud tae go tae the A and E at the Infirmary. Ma sais that ah should nivir huv goat involved wi Katriona Doyle. That's easy t
ae say now but, ah telt her, but see if ah hudnae, jist sayin like, jist supposin ah hudnae; we would nivir huv hud Chantel, like. Yuv goat tae think aboot it that wey. Aye, right enough, ma Ma said, she's a wee princess.

  The thing wis thit some cunt in the stair hud called the polis. Ah wis dunking that it could mean criminal injuries compen-sation money fir me. Ah gied them a false description ay two guys thit looked nowt like Larry n Mikey. But then the polis talked like they thought ah wis the criminal, that ah wis the cunt in the wrong. Me, wi a face like a piece ay bad fruit, two cracked ribs and a broken nose.

  Her and Larry moved away fae upstairs eftir that and ah just thought: good riddance tae bad rubbish. Ah think the council evicted them fir arrears; rehoosed them in another scheme. The bairn wis better oaf at ma Ma's and ah goat a job, a proper job, no just oan some training scheme. It wis in a supermarket; stackin shelves and checking stock levels, that kind ay thing. No a bad wee number: bags ay overtime. The money wisnae brilliant but it kept ays oot ay the pub, ken wi the long hours, like.

  Things are gaun awright. Ah've been shaggin one or two burds lately. There's this lassie fae the supermarket, she's mair-ried, but she's no wi the guy. She's awright, a clean lassie, Eke. Then there's the wee burds fae roond the scheme, some ay them are jist at the school. A couple ay mum come up at dinnertime if ah'm oan backshift. Once ye git tae ken one, yir well in. They aw come roond; just fir somewhere tae muck aboot cause thirs nowt fir mum tae dae. Ye might git a feel or a gam. Like ah sais, one or two, especially that wee Wendy, thir game fir a poke. Nae wey dae ah want tae git involved again aw heavy like but.

  As fir her, well, this is the first ah've seen ay her fir ages.

  — How's Larry? ah ask, gaun doon tae connect wi a partially covered stripe. One guy's squinting his eye and saying mat's no oan. The Crawford's bakery boy goes: — Hi you! Admiral Fuckin Nelson thair! Let the boy play his ain game. Nae coaching fae the touchline!

  — Oh him, she goes as the cue clips the stripe and heads towards the boatum cushion. — He's gaun back inside. Ah'm back at ma Ma's.

  Ah jist looked at her.

  — He found oot that ah wis pregnant and he jist fucked off, she sais. — He's been steying wi some fucking slut, she goes. Ah felt like saying, ah fuckin well ken that, ah'm staring her in the fuckin face.

  But ah says nowt.

  Then her voice goes aw that high, funny way, like it eywis goes when she wants something. — Why don't we go oot fir a drink the night, Johnny? Up the toon likes? We wir good, Johnny, good the gither you n me. Everybody said, mind? Mind we used tae go tae the Bull and Bush up Lothian Road, Johnny?

  — Ah suppose so, ah sais. Thing wis, ah supposed ah still loved her; ah suppose ah never really stoaped. Ah liked gaun up the Bull and Bush. Ah wis always a bit lucky oan the bandit up there. It's probably a new one now though; but still.

  THE LAST RESORT

  ON THE ADRIATIC

  I never supposed for the love of me that it would all be so vivid; it makes what I plan to do feel just right. I mean, I almost expect to see Joan on the boat, to just sort of run into her on deck, in the dining-room, or the bar, or even the casino. When I get to thinking about her in that way, my heart races and I feel giddy and generally have to retire to the cabin. When I turn the key I even think that I might find her there, perhaps in bed, reading. It's ridiculous I know, the whole thing, just blessed ridiculous.

  I've been on this liner now for two weeks; two lonely weeks. The sight of people having fun can be so hurtful, so offensive, when you feel like I do. All I do is wander around the ship; as if I'm looking for something. That and the weights, of course. Surely I don't expect to see Joan here; surely not? I can't settle. I can't lie on the deck with Harold Robbins or Dick Francis or Desmond Bagley. I can't sit at the bar and get drunk. I can't engage in any of these trivial conversations which take place concerning the weather or the itinerary. I've walked out of two movies in the cinema. Dead Again, with that British chap playing the American detective. Terrible film. There was another one with that American fellow, the white-haired chap who used to be funny but isn't anymore. Perhaps that's just me: a lot of thing aren't funny anymore.

  I go to my cabin and prepare my sports bag for another excursion to the gym. The only blessed place I've any interest in going to.

  — You must be the fittest man on this ship, the instructor says to me. I just smile. I don't want to make conversation with this fellow. Funny fellow, if you know what I mean. Nothing against them myself, live and let live and all that, but I don't want to talk to anyone right now, let alone some blessed nancy boy.

  — Never out of this place, he persists, giving a quick nod to a fat, puffing red-faced man on an exercise bike, — are you Mister Banks?

  — Excellent facilities, I reply curtly, surveying the free weights and picking up two hand dumb-bells.

  Thankfully the instructor chappie has noticed an overweight lady in a scarlet leotard attempting to do sit-ups. — No no no Mrs Coxton! Not like that! You're putting too much of a strain on your back. Sit further up and bend those knees. Forty-five degrees. Lovely. And one . . . and two . . .

  I take a couple of weights from the dumb-bell and surreptitiously stick them into my sports bag. I go through the motions, but I don't need exercise. I'm fit enough. Joan always said that I had a good body; wiry, she used to say. That's what a lifetime in the building trade, combined with sober habits does for you. I have to concede that there is a bit of a paunch, as I've let myself go since Joan. Seemed no point. I drink more now man I've ever done, since the retirement. Well, I was never one for the golf.

  Back in my cabin I lie down and drift off into that realm between thought and sleep, thinking of Joan. She was such a wonderful and decent woman, all you could hope for in a wife and mother.

  Why Joan? Why, my darling, why? These could have been the best years of our life. Paul's at university, Sally's living in the nurses' home. They finally left the nest, Joan. We would have had it all to ourselves. The way they coped though, Joan, they were a credit to you, both of them. A credit to us. Me? Well I died trith you, Joanie. I'm just a blessed ghost.

  I'm not asleep. I'm awake and talking to myself and crying. Ten years after Joan.

  At dinner I'm alone at the table with Marianne Howells. The Kennedys, Nick and Patsy, a very nice outgoing young couple, have not shown up for the meal. It's a deliberate ploy. Patsy Kennedy has a conspiratorial eye. Marianne and I are alone for the first time on the cruise. Marianne: unmarried, here to get away from her own bereavement, the recent death of her widowed mother.

  — So I'm to have you all to myself, Jim, she said, in a manner far too jocular and self-deprecating to be flirtatious. There is no doubt, though, that Marianne is a fine-looking woman. Someone ought to have married a woman like that. A waste. No, that's a dreadful way to think. Old chauvinistic Jim Banks at it again. Perhaps that's the way Marianne wanted it, perhaps she got the best from life that way. Perhaps if Joanie and I hadn't... No. The seafood, the seafood.

  — Yes, I smile, — this seafood salad is excellent. Still, if you can't get good seafood at sea, where can you get it, eh?

  Marianne grins and we small-talk for a bit. Then she says, — It's a tragedy about Yugoslavia.

  I'm wondering whether she means because we can't land there because of the troubles, or because of the misery the troubles have inflicted on people. I decide to plump for the compassionate interpretation. Marianne seems a caring sort. — Yes, terrible suffering. Dubrovnik was one of the highlights of the trip when I was here with Joan.

  — Oh yes, your wife ... what happened to her, if you don't mind me asking?

  — Eh, an accident. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it, I said, shoving a forkful of that lettuce into my mouth. I'm sure it's a garnish rather than there to be eaten, something to do with where it's positioned on the plate. I was never one for etiquette. Joanie, you'd have kept me right.

  — I'm really sorry, Jim, she sa
ys.

  I smile. The accident. On this boat, on this cruise. An accident? No.

  She'd been down for a while. Depressed. The change in life, or who can say what? I don't know why. That's the most horrible thing about it, I don't know why. I thought that the cruise would do her the world of good. It even seemed to, for a while. Just as we got towards the end of the Adriatic, on the way back into the Med, she took the pills and just slipped off the side of the boat into the night. Into the sea. I woke up alone; I've been alone ever since. It was my fault, Joan, the whole blessed thing. If I'd tried to understand how you felt. If I hadn't booked this bloody cruise. That's stupid old bloody idiot Jim Banks. Take the easy way out. I should have sat you down and talked, talked, and talked again. We could have sorted it all out, Joan.

  I feel a hand on mine. Marianne's. There's tears in my eyes, like I'm some damned funny fella.

  — I've upset you, Jim. I'm really so sorry.

  — No, not at all, I smile.

  — I really understand, you know I do. Mother ... she was so difficult, she says. Now she's starting the waterworks. What a blessed pair we are. — I did all I could. I had my chances to make a different life for myself. I didn't really know what I wanted. A woman always has to choose, Jim, choose between marriage and children and a career. Always at some point. I don't know. Mother was always there, always needing. She won by default. The career girl became the old maid, you see.

  She seemed so hurt and upset. My hand stiffened on hers. The way she looks at the floor and her head suddenly rises as her eyes meet mine: it reminds me of Joan.

  — Don't sell yourself short, I tell her. — You're an exception ally brave lady and a very beautiful one.