Trainspotting Read online

  Whin ah telt this tae Rents, he sais thit Carol wis right. Eh sais she’s entitled tae come n go as she wants. That’s shite though. Aw ah wanted tae dae wis talk. Franco agreed wi us. It’s different whin yir in a relationship, we telt Rents.

  Ah felt sick n nervous oan the bus. Tommy might’ve felt the same, cause we nivir spoke any mair. The morn though, we’ll be in some boozer wi Rents, Beggar, Spud, Sick Boy n aw thame, boasting like fuck.

  Speedy Recruitment

  1 — Preparation

  Spud and Renton were sitting in a pub in the Royal Mile. The pub aimed at an American theme-bar effect, but not too accurately; it was a madhouse of assorted bric-à-brac.

  — Fuckin weird man though, likesay, you n me gittin sent fir the same joab, ken? Spud said, slurping at his Guinness.

  — Fuckin disaster fir me mate. Ah’m no wantin the fuckin joab. It’d be a fuckin nightmare. Renton shook his head.

  — Yeah, ah’m likesay happy steyin oan the rock n roll the now man, ken?

  — Trouble is though Spud, if ye dinnae try, if ye blow the interview oan purpose; the cunts tell the dole n these bastards stoap yir giro. Happened tae us in London. Ah’m oan ma last warnin doon thair.

  — Yeah . . . me n aw man. What ye gaunnae dae, likesay?

  — Well, what ye huv tae dae is tae act enthusiastic, but still fuck up the interview. As long as ye come across as keen, they cannae say fuck all. If we jist be oorselves, n be honest, thill nivir gie either ay us the fuckin joab. Problem is, if ye just sit thair n say nowt tae the cunts, thir straight oantae the dole. Thill say: That cunt jist cannae be bothered.

  — It’s hard for me man . . . ken? It’s difficult tae git it thegither like that, likesay . . . ken? Ah git sortay likes, pure shy, ken?

  — Tommy gied us some speed. What time’s yir interview again?

  — No till half-two, likesay.

  — Well, ah’m at one. Ah’ll see ye back here at two. Ah’ll gie ye ma tie tae pit oan, n some speed. Buck ye up a bit, let ye sell yirsel, ken? So let’s get tae work oan they appos.

  They placed the application forms on the table in front of them. Renton’s was already half-completed. A few entries caught Spud’s eye.

  — Hey . . . what’s this man, likesay? George Heriots . . . you went tae Leithy man . . .

  — It’s a well-known fact thit ye nivir stand a fuckin chance ay gittin anything decent in this city if ye didnae go tae a posh school. Nae wey though, will they offer a George Heriots FP a porterin joab in a hotel. That’s only fir us plebs; so pit doon something like that. If they see Augies or Craigy oan your form, the cunts’ll offer ye the joab . . . fuck, ah’d better go. Whatever ye dae, dinnae be late. See ye back here in a bit.

  2 — Process: Mr Renton (1.00 p.m.)

  The trainee manager whae welcomed us wis a mucho spotty punter in a sharp suit, wi dandruff oan the shoodirs like piles ay fuckin cocaine. Ah felt like takin a rolled up fiver tae the cunt’s tin flute. His biscuit-ersed face and his plukes completely ruin the image the smarmy wee shite’s tryin tae achieve. Even in ma worse junk periods ah’ve nivir had a complexion like that, the poor wee bastard. This cunt is obviously along for the ride. The main man is the fat, stroppy-lookin gadge in the middle; tae his right thirs a coldly smiling dyke in a woman’s business suit wi a thick foundation mask, who looks catalogue hideous.

  This is a heavy-duty line-up for a fuckin porter’s joab.

  The opening gambit wis predictable. The fat cunt gies us a warm look and says: — I see from your application form that you attended George Heriots.

  — Right . . . ah, those halcyon school days. It seems like a long time ago now.

  Ah might huv lied on the appo, but ah huvnae at the interview. Ah did once attend George Heriots: whin ah wis an apprentice joiner at Gillsland’s we did some contract work there.

  — Old Fotheringham still doing his rounds?

  Fuck. Select from one of two possibilities; one: he is, two: he’s retired. Naw. Too risky. Keep it nebulous.

  — God, you’re taking me back now . . . ah laugh. The fat gadge seems tae be happy wi that. It’s worrying. Ah feel that the interview is over, and that these cunts are actually going tae offer us the joab. The subsequent questions are all pleasantly asked and unchallenging. Ma hypothesis is fucked. They’d rather gie a merchant school old boy with severe brain damage a job in nuclear engineering than gie a schemie wi a Ph.D. a post as a cleaner in an abattoir. Ah’ve goat tae dae something here. This is terrifying. Fatso sees us as a George Heriots old boy fallen on hard times, and he wants tae help us oot. A gross miscalculation Renton, you radge.

  Thank fuck for spotted dick. A fair assumption tae make, considering every other part of him seems tae be covered in zits. He gets tae nervously ask a question: — Ehm . . . ehm . . . Mr Renton . . . ehm . . . can you, ehm, explain . . . eh, your employment gaps, ehm . . .

  Can you explain the gaps between your words, you doss wee cunt.

  — Yes. I’ve had a long-standing problem with heroin addiction. I’ve been trying to combat this, but it has curtailed my employment activities. I feel it’s important to be honest and mention this to you, as a potential future employer.

  A stunning coup de maître. They shift nervously in their seats.

  — Well, eh, thank you for being so frank with us Mr Renton . . . eh, we do have some other people to see . . . so thanks again, and we’ll be in touch.

  Magic. The gross git pulls down a wall of coldness and distance between us. They cannae say ah didnae try . . .

  3 — Process: Mr Murphy (2.30 p.m.)

  This speed is el magnifico, likesay. Ah feel sortay dynamic, ken, likesay, ah’m really lookin forward tae this interview. Rents sais: Sell yirsell Spud, n tell the truth. Let’s go for it cats, let’s get it on . . .

  — I see from your application form that you attended George Heriots. The old Heriots FPs seem to be rather thick on the ground this afternoon.

  Yeah, fat-cat.

  — Actually man, ah’ve goat tae come clean here. Ah went tae Augie’s, St. Augustine’s likesay, then Craigy, eh Craigroyston, ken. Ah jist pit doon Heriots because ah thoat it wid likes, help us git the joab. Too much discrimination in this town, man, ken, likesay? As soon as suit n tie dudes see Heriots or Daniel Stewarts or Edinburgh Academy, they kinday get the hots, ken. Ah mean, would you have said, likesay, ah see you attended Craigroyston?

  — Well, I was just making conversation, as I did happen to attend Heriots. The idea was to make you feel at ease. But I can certainly put your mind at rest with regards to discrimination. That’s all covered in our new equal opportunities statement.

  — It’s cool man. Ah’m relaxed. It’s jist that ah really want this job, likesay. Couldnae sleep last night though. Worried ah’d sortay blow it likesay, ken? It’s jist when cats see ‘Craigroyston’ oan the form, they likesay think, well everybody thit went tae Craigie’s a waster, right? But eh, ye ken Scott Nisbet, the fitba player likesay? He’s in the Huns . . . eh Rangers first team, haudin his ain against aw they expensive international signins ay Souness’s, ken? That cat wis the year below us at Craigie, man.

  — Well, I can assure you Mr Murphy, we’re far more interested in the qualifications you gained rather than the school you, or any other candidate, went to. It says here that you got five O Grades . . .

  — Whoah. Likesay, gaunnae huv tae stoap ye thair, catboy. The O Grades wis bullshit, ken? Thought ah’d use that tae git ma fit in the door. Showin initiative, likesay. Ken? Ah really want this job, man.

  — Look Mr Murphy, you were referred to us by the Department of Employment’s Jobcentre. There’s no need for you to lie to get your foot in the door, as you put it.

  — Hey . . . whatever you say man. You’re the man, the governor, the dude in the chair, so tae speak, likesay.

  — Yes, well, we’re not making much progress here. Why don’t you just tell us why you want this job so desperately that you’re prepared to lie.

  — Ah need
the hireys man.

  — Pardon? The what?

  — The poppy, likesay, eh . . . the bread, the dosh n that. Ken?

  — I see. But what specifically attracts you to the leisure industry?

  — Well, everybody likes tae huv a good time, a bit ay enjiymint, ken? That’s leisure tae me man, likesay. Ah like tae see punters enjoy themselves, ken?

  — Right. Thank you, the doll wi the makeup mask sais. Ah could sortay like, love that babe . . . — What would you see as being your main strengths? she asks us.

  — Er . . . sense ay humour, likesay. Ye need that man, goatay huv it, jist goatay huv it, ken? Ah’ll huv tae stoap sayin ‘ken’ sae much. These dudes might think ah’m a sortay pleb.

  — What about weaknesses? the squeaky-voiced kitten in the suit asks. This is one spotted catboy; Rents wisnae jokin aboot the plukes. We have a real leopard cub here.

  — Ah suppose man, ah’m too much ay a perfectionist, ken? It’s likesay, if things go a bit dodgy, ah jist cannae be bothered, y’know? Ah git good vibes aboot this interview the day though man, ken?

  — Thank you very much Mr Murphy. We’ll let you know.

  — Naw man, the pleasure wis mine. Best interview ah’ve been at, ken? ah bounds across n shakes each cat by the paw.

  4 — Review

  Spud met Renton back in the pub.

  — How did it go Spud?

  — Good catboy, good. Possibly too good, likesay. Ah think the dudes might be gaun tae offer us the job. Bad vibes. One thing though, man, ye wir right aboot this speed. Ah never seem tae like, sell masel properly in interviews. Cool times compadre, cool times.

  — Let’s huv a drink tae celebrate yir success. Fancy another dab at that speed?

  — Wouldnae say naw man, would not say no, likes.

  Relapsing

  Scotland Takes Drugs In Psychic Defence

  Ah couldnae mention the Barrowland gig tae Lizzy. No fuckin chance ay that man, ah kin tell ye. Ah had bought ma ticket when ah got ma Giro. That wis me pure skint. It was also her birthday. It was the ticket or a present for her. Nae contest. This was Iggy Pop. Ah thought she’d understand.

  — Ye can buy fuckin tickets fir Iggy fuckin Pop but ye cannae buy me a fuckin birthday present! That wis her response. See the cross ah’ve goat tae fuckin bear here man? Pure madness, ma man. Dinnae git us wrong. Ye can see her point. It’s ma ain fault though, like ah sais, ma ain fault. Pure naive, that’s Tommy here. Auld fuck the wind. Ah lead wi ma chin aw the time. If ah wis a wee bit more, what’s the word? duplicitous, ah would have said nothing aboot the tickets. Ah get too excited, and pure open ma big mooth far too wide. That’s fearless Tommy Gun for ye. Pure sucker.

  So ah havenae mentioned the gig since. The night before the event Lizzy tells us that she pure fancies going to the pictures to see that The Accused. She tells me that her that was in Taxi Driver is in it. Ah don’t really fancy the film; too much hype and publicity. That’s really besides the point though, if ye ken what ah mean, cause ah’m sitting here wi the Ig gig tickets in ma tail. So ah’m forced tae mention Barrowland and the man.

  — Eh, cannae the morn. Ah’ve got the Iggy Pop gig at Barrowland. Me and Mitch are gaun through.

  — So ye’d rather go tae a concert wi Davie fuckin Mitchell than the pictures wi me. That’s pure Lizzy. The rhetorical question, the stock-in-trade weapon ay burds and psychos.

  The issue’s become, like, a pure referendum on our relationship. Ma instinct is tae be upfront and say ‘yes’, but that would probably mean bombing out Lizzy and ah’m addicted tae having sex wi her. God, ah love it. Daein it fae behind as she groans softly, her pretty head resting on the yellow silk pillow-cases in ma gaff; the ones Spud knocked for us oot ay the British Home Stores in Princes Street as a flat-warming present. Ah know ah shouldnae be disclosing aboot our life, man, but the image of her in bed is so strong that even her social coarseness and permanent sense ay outrage fail to weaken it. Ah jist pure wish that Lizzy could always be like she is in bed.

  Ah try tae murmur seductive apologies, but she’s so harsh and unforgiving: sweet and beautiful only in bed. The permanent viciousness of that expression will force out her beauty long before it should disappear. She calls me all the fuck-ups under the sun, then a few more for good measure. Poor old Tommy Gun. No longer the greatest fighting soldier; now the greatest shiteing soldier.

  It’s no Iggy’s fault. Cannae really blame the boy, ken? How wis he tae know when he stuck the Barrowland doon oan his itinerary, that he’d cause punters, whae he doesnae even ken exist, aw this hassle? Pure freaky whin ye think aboot it. Still, he’s just another straw on the back of the camel. Lizzy’s the pure steel woman. Ah’m happy though. Even Sick Boy’s jealous ay me. Being Lizzy’s boyfriend does confer status, but fame costs, as they say. By the time ah leave the pub, ah am in no doubt of my lack of worth as a human being.

  At home ah take a line of speed and guzzle half a bottle of Merrydown. Ah pure cannae sleep, so ah phone Rents and ask him if he fancies coming round tae watch a Chuck Norris video. Rents is off tae London the mom. He spends more time doon there than he does back here. Something tae dae wi giro-drops. The cunt’s in some kind ay a syndicate wi these punters he met when he worked on the Harwich-Hook of Holland cross-channel ferry, years ago. He’s gaunnae see the Ig at the Town and Country while he’s in the Smoke. We toke some grass and laugh our heads off as Chuck kicks fuck out of commie antichrists by the dozen, that constipated and stoical expression never leaving his face. Straight, this is unwatchable. Stoned, it’s pure unmissable.

  The next day ah’ve got terrible mouth ulcers. Temps, Gav Temperley, whae’s moved intae the flat, says that it serves me right. Ah’m killing myself with speed, he tells me. Temps says that I should have a job, with my qualifications. Ah tell Temps that he sounds a lot more like ma mother than any friend is entitled tae. You can see Gav’s point though. He’s the only one working, for the fuckin dole, and he’s always getting tapped up by the rest ay us. Poor Temps. Ah think me n Rents kept him awake last night as well. Temps resents dole-moles having a good time, like all workies do. He pure resents being hit for info by Rents every day, about claim procedures.

  It’s tae my mother’s ah go, tae tap some cash for the gig. Ah need dosh for the train fare as well as drink and drugs. Speed’s my drug, it goes well with drink, and ah’ve always liked a drink. Tommy the pure speed freak.

  My Ma gives me a lecture on the dangers of drugs, telling me what a disappointment ah’ve been to her, and tae my dad, who, although he doesnae say much, really worries about me. Later when he comes in from work, he says while my Ma is upstairs that she mightnae say much, but really worries about me. Frankly, he tells me, he’s really disappointed in my attitude. He hopes ah’m not taking drugs, scrutinising my face as if he can tell. Funny, I know junkies, dope-heads and speed freaks, but the most fucked-up punters on drugs I know are pish-heids, like Seeks. That’s Rab McLaughlin, the Second Prize. He’s blown the fucking lot, man.

  Ah tap the cash and meet Mitch in the Hebs. Mitch is still seein that lassie Gail. It’s obvious though, that he’s no gittin his leg ower. Listenin tae um fir ten minutes, ye kin pure read between the lines. He’s in a pure bevvying mood, so ah tap some cash off ay um. We tan four pints ay heavy then get on the train. Ah dae four cans of Export and two lines ay speed during the journey to Glasgow. We down a couple in Sammy Dow’s, then get a taxi to Lynch’s. After another two pints, might’ve been three; and another line of speed each in the bog, we sing a medley of Iggy songs and go ower tae the Saracen Head in the Gallowgate, opposite the Barrowland. We drink some cider and wine chasers, dabbing frantically at salty speed in silver foil.

  All ah can see is a blurred neon sign when ah leave the pub. It is pure fucking freezing here, I kid you not my man, and we move towards the light and into the ballroom. We head straight for the bar. We have more drinks at the bar, although we can hear that Iggy’s started his set. Ah rip off my torn t-shirt. Mitch lines up some
Morningside speed, cocaine, on the formica-top table.

  Then something changes. He says something tae us about money which ah don’t catch, but ah can feel the resentment. We have a heated, slurred argument, exchanging punches, ah don’t recall who strikes the first blow. We cannae really hurt each other or feel force on our fists or bodies. Too wasted. Mind you, ah step up a gear when ah sees the blood flowing fae ma nose onto my bare chest, and ower the table. Ah get Mitch’s hair in a grip and ah’m trying tae smash his heid against the wall, but ma hands are so numb and heavy. Someone pulls me off, and throws us out the bar, down a passage. Ah get up, singing, following the music into the packed hall of sweating bodies, pushing and shoving ma way tae the front.

  One guy headbutts me, but ah ride it, no even stopping tae acknowledge my assailant, still pure jostling to the front. Ah’m pure jumping aroond at the front of the stage, a few feet away from The Man. They are playing ‘Neon Forest’. Somebody slaps me on the back saying, — You are mental, by the way, my man. Ah sing out, a twisting, pogo-ing mass of rubber.

  Iggy Pop looks right at me as he sings the line: ‘America takes drugs in psychic defence’; only he changes ‘America’ for ‘Scatlin’, and defines us mair accurately in a single sentence than all the others have ever done . . .

  Ah cease my St Vitus dance and stand looking him in stunned awe. His eyes are on someone else.

  The Glass

  The problem wi Begbie wis . . . well, thirs that many problems wi Begbie. One ay the things thit concerned us maist wis the fact thit ye couldnae really relax in his company, especially if he’d hud a bevvy. Ah always felt thit a slight shift in the cunt’s perception ay ye wid be sufficient tae change yir status fae great mate intae persecuted victim. The trick wis tae indulge the radge withoot being seen tae be too much ay an obviously crawling sap.

  Even so, any overt irreverence took place within strictly defined limits. These boundaries were invisible tae outsiders, but you gained an intuitive feel for them. Even then, the rules constantly changed wi the cunt’s moods. Friendship wi Begbie was an ideal preparation for embarking on a relationship wi a woman. It taught ye sensitivity, an awareness ay the other person’s changing needs. When ah wis wi a lassie, ah usually behaved in the same discreetly indulgent wey. For a while, anywey.