Monica bursts oot greetin. ‘Aw shit. Wit’s wrong?’
‘Naw, son. Sit down.’
‘How? Wit is it?’
It’s only then A see these cardboard cut-oots ae aw ma pals. They aw stare at pints or halves. Even the die-hard Celtic fans ir here. A look towards the young wans. Wee Briggy is greetin in the corner n Broonie is holdin him up. Aw the young wans ir sobbin away intae themselves. Ma ain elder pals ir lookin red-eyed tae. The lassies ir aw the same, tears n runnin mascara. A glance back tae Monica. ‘Wit’s happened?’ She sobs again. Big Kenzie is glancin around n headin tae the bar. He knows wit’s comin n goes tae git the drinks in in anticipation. Fresh tears fill Monica’s eyes n she holds us tight, before shakin hur heed.
‘Wit is it? Tell me, Monica. A’m just oot the cells. Suhin bad’s happened eh?’
‘Wee Toffey’s been stabbed, Azzy. He’s gone.’
Last of the Mohicans
It’s dark n rainin, the usual purple haze n orange ae the lamps. A bounce oot ma motor when A see them standin at the lane just aff the high street. They’re smokin a joint oot the way ae the camera’s beady eye. A kin see Matty n his skanky burd laughin n talkin in oot the rain. Ma hood is up n A’ve git a Rangers scarf roon ma nose n mouth. They’ve no seen me marchin up the lane n he doesnae see the first punch. A’m aw over the top ae him n he’s roarin aboot it wisnae him n he’s sorry. A’m bootin fuck oot his heed. It isnae particularly makin me feel better but A’m fuckin oot ae control, no stoppin. His mad burd tries tae scratch ma eyes oot n A stick the heed on hur. She falls wae a broken nose, splattered everywhere. Azzy, stoap fuck! Stoap! Matty is shoutin fae the deck. The two ae them ir fucked, lyin on the ground. A stand back shocked at wit A’ve done n sprint like fuck back up the lane n bounce intae ma motor n fly away …
A wake up para fae the night before. A hud fuckin lost it. Smashin Matty wis a natural reaction but headerin his burd wis too far, even if she wis tryin tae set aboot us. We dished oot violence fur violence without blinkin, but cunts who huv nae limits otherwise, huv high morals when it comes tae certain things. Cunts in the jail fur hittin wumen ir labelled ‘beasts’, same as paedos n predators n cunts who hurt weans. It’s a dirty term n it’s comin. A never really stopped tae feel bad aboot any it, cos it’s just the way things ir aboot here. We exist within a culture ae violence. If yi dished it oot this time, yi would end up on the receivin end next time. Involvin somecunt’s burd is aw sorts ae bad news but. If yi crossed that line, yi wur fair game fur anyhin. Nae calls or texts yit but A’m sure it’s gonnae come. A’m constantly on edge, half expectin ma maw’s windaes tae come through or the door tae git booted aff its bronze hinges. A’m huvin fits ae mad paranoia aboot the million n wan ways ma ain demise wid come. A kin see green wine bottle shards gittin stuck in ma neck n me bleedin oot as the latest trainers kick ma heed in. A see cold flashes ae kitchen knives n lock-backs piercin ma body n young Azzy dyin in a frantic scrabble n confusion. How wid it come n how long wull they mourn me? A cannae justify it tae maself this time, even in revenge. A’ve gone too far.
Everycunt is takin Toffey’s death bad. Naecunt hus been on the computer talkin as usual. The Orange Hall hus been empty n cunts seem tae be keepin the heeds doon. Everycunt’s maw n da wid be worryin like fuck n keepin them in. Ma ain maw looks as if she’s aged another five year since Tam n Monica brought me home that night. A sat in the shower fur hours listenin tae the water runnin doon the drain then fillin the bath n emptyin it again. A did this until there wis nae hot water left in the taps n A wis lyin in a cold bath, wrinkled tae fuck n shiverin.
The door gits chapped n A dive up n grab ma baseball bat n clutch it. A’m creepin doon the stairs still wae a fag stuck between ma lips. The nicotine n smoke burn ma nose n eyes n ma pulse is poundin in ma temples. ‘Aye?’ A shout fae the other side ae the closed door. ‘Alan? Is that you?’ an unusual voice asks. A’m peekin through the letter box. A see a pair ae smart brown shoes n navy trousers. Ma first thought is it’s the polis n A go tae run. Maybe A’ve git a warrant oot fur smashin Matty n his burd. If that’s the case, then A’ve broken ma bail conditions n A’m goin straight tae Polmont or Addiwell on remand. If it’s the polis, A’m oot the back door n over ma neighbour’s fence, then Tijuana, Mexico.
‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s Donald McGiver.’
A pull the door open n rest the bat in the corner. It’s the big man himself. He looks elder. A hudnae seen him since A left school. A heard he hud retired this year fae the eld school, the big chief finally layin doon the headdress. McGiver is a different breed tae the new types. New school buildings n ways huv replaced the eld wans we knew.
‘Hello, Alan.’
‘Eh, awright, sir. Yi comin in?’
‘Thank you.’ He might look a bit greyer but his frame is still broad n strong. It’s strange tae see him in civvies. Usually it wis his grey suit, white shirt n red tie, the only colour apart fae the thread-vein contour lines on his face beside the thick moustache. A make tea n walk back intae the livin room wae the mugs n hand him wan. ‘Firstly, I want to express my condolences about young Lucas. I know he was a close friend of yours.’
‘Aye. It wis a shock.’
‘So it all flared up again?’
‘Never stopped really.’
‘I still keep in touch with the old place and help when I can. It was disappointing to hear of this. I hoped your lot would have moved on. You, especially.’
‘Nah, still stuck in the rut as per.’
‘Do anything with those two Highers you worked so hard to get?’
‘No yit naw, A wis thinkin aboot college but it never happened. No yit anyways.’
‘Work?’
‘Nah, nuhin. It’s that recession. Naewan’s takin on n folk ir gittin paid aff constant.’
‘Not easy at the moment. Especially not around these parts.’
‘No meanin tae be rude, but is this a social call?’
The big man shifts in his chair n laughs. ‘No, Alan. It’s not a social call. There’s been a flare-up of territorial violence in school and the new headmistress asked me to get involved, give her a bit of info about the area and so on. She’s pretty new to it.’
‘She’s in fur a shock then.’
‘Well, this is it. It’s complicated schooling in this area with these tensions. They don’t come with a manual for the senior management team to follow. They need to learn it from scratch and quickly. They’re trying to prevent any more tragedies like this.’
‘A understand. So, how kin A help yi, sir?’
‘No, that’s not why I’m here. Your name has been floating around the school, something to do with Matthew O’Connor and his girlfriend.’
‘Aye, we hud a run in.’
‘In response to Lucas?’
A nod.
‘The school was vandalised at the weekend. Azzy W is a dead man and words to that effect.’
We follow in the hallowed footsteps ae the YT legends before us.
‘Bit ae paint’s no gonnae hurt us.’
‘I just thought you should know in case they are genuine threats.’
‘A’m sure they ir. They’re aw lookin fur me n Danny.’
The two ae us share a look. ‘Nobody has been caught …’ McGiver says wae a concerned expression.
‘It wis them, but who knows who done it. Could huv been any them.’ Matty’s reaction told me it wisnae him. It’s never the main cunts. It wid huv been wan ae their younger wans or a periphery cunt tryin tae make a name fur himself or who huv bad parents who drank n didnae show them any love. That’s the way it works. There’s wounded pups aboot here that turn intae wild animals wae nae empathy. They’re the stone-cold killers who plug cunts n jump on their heeds. The main men ir the popular, bold cunts but usually, they irnae killers. They huv their pick ae the burds n pals, too much tae live fur tae throw it aw away fur a moment ae senseless n serious violence. It’s always the wee cunts yi huv tae watch, the ootsiders.
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‘Leaving that aside, how can you break the cycle? It’s too late for Lucas, but not you.’ We both sit n ponder this a minute. It seems barely believable after aw these years that we’re actually here. McGiver sighs and looks deflated. He hud always tried his best fur us n wis often accused ae being a Coach Carter wannabe, his damning indictment. It wisnae true. McGiver seen potential in people that others didnae. That wis his powerful gift. The understandin in the big man’s face is unparalleled.
‘A’ve stopped takin drugs n that. The lassie A’m seein has asked me tae move tae Newcastle fur a few month tae see how we git on.’
‘That’s all positive. Is moving a possibility?’
‘Aye. A’m oot on bail fur an ABH but A could always come back up fur a day tae appear n head straight back doon.’
‘What’s stopping you?’
‘A dunno, nuhin noo, A suppose.’
‘Sounds like a viable option. Things will calm in time, and perhaps you’ll gain some valuable perspective elsewhere.’
‘Aye, maybe a few month will let everyhin cool doon here. Or it’s gonnae be me gittin stabbed or goin tae jail.’
McGiver seems tae consider this a moment n nods. ‘That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say yet. Everyone makes their own choices in this life, right or wrong, good or bad. The only life you can truly affect is your own. Do what’s right for you and your family. I’m sure your mother will be glad to see you out of harm’s way.’
We shake hands and A see him tae the door. Before he walks oot, he says his final piece. ‘You’re a survivor, you know.’ A watch him pull his collar up and walk away. He raises a hand but doesnae turn. A think back as A watch him go, n remember him chasin us doon the eld corridors when we wur doggin it. He’s a man ae few words at times but he believes in yi n that means suhin. A’m no quite livin up tae that belief yit n that weighs heavy on ma heart. Teachers like McGiver ir the last ae that generation, last ae the best.
The Lost Boys
The air seems tae change around us n everythin is bleaker than before. Yi become desensitised tae the routine tragedy here. Such n such got plugged, this wan hung themselves n that wan died cos drugs or drink. It ceases tae shock n outrage n becomes run ae the fuckin mill, normal. Yi barely blink when yi hear. Aye? Fuck sake, man. That’s shite, n back tae it. It’s only ever really a matter ae time before the next. It took suhin terrible tae happen tae wan ae our ain before A’m disillusioned at last. A wake up fae that dream ae innocence, where the good times never end n we aw live forever.
There’s nae words fur a young cunt’s funeral really. Yi cannae describe a boy’s mother greetin doon the front pew wae his father wrapped around hur. Yi kin barely look at hur when she passes like a member ae the livin dead, nae make-up n messy hair. There is nae decorum in her sufferin, nae poise tae her pain. Yi wid think it’s hur who hus died, apart fae the ungodly wailin comin fae deep inside hur, like a grown wean greetin fur her ain maw, proof ae life and death. A see hur glancin at aw ae us, other young boys like hur son, momentarily resentful that it’s hur boy in the coffin n no wan ae us. Apart fae those few seconds, she is completely oblivious tae the fact there is anybody else in the room, except the wooden box containin hur son and hurself, in hur personal holocaust.
A find maself sittin starin at the coffin n no really listenin tae wit is goin on. There’s nae words ae redemption fur me the day n the minister’s prayers didnae offer any peace yit. There’s a symphony ae lassies sobbin n cunts sniffin. A’m just blank, nuhin n empty. This scene is forever tattooed on ma soul. A walk oot in ma suit wae the crowd, just an observer tae this strange ritual ae death. Cunts ir shakin hands n gittin intae limos but A’m just lightin a smoke n standin wae ma pals, a silent young team, dressed aw in black, ties n tights n tears.
It’s a slow day that dawned long, drew oot n set sadly. A find maself dreamin ma way oot the lingerin drunkenness at the wake. Aw the troops huv stayed on long after the other traditional mourners huv passed oot the door and intae the night. We’re aw gittin served the day, a rare moment ae wilful blindness by the bar staff. The tables ir full ae empty pint glasses, halfs and long wans. Everybody’s bleary eyed n red faced, some talkin loud, others barely whisperin under their own warm boozy breath. Everybody’s looser, more settled intae the ritual ae the day. Sometimes a lassie will greet n return the forced still ae the gatherin. Yi kin awready see life returnin behind the grief, cunts laughin at jokes and reprimandin themselves in their heed. It’s natural tae forget n move on. It happened almost immediately. Yi huv tae or yi git trapped in a cycle ae depression n pointless longin fur things tae be different. Yi cannae change nuhin. More than a fortnight hus passed n it’s long since sunk in that Wee Toffey is gone n isnae comin back.
Patricia takes me by the hand n leads me intae the toilet. She’s puttin a line oot n sniffin it aff hur compact mirror. A’m no takin any drugs but she’s kissin me n talkin softly in ma ear wae a rhythmic melody like the Pied Piper played, n A’m wan ae the enchanted weans followin hur. A’ve git ma back against the wall n ma hands ir on hur black dress n slim curves. A’m a wee bit drunk n she’s fleein on the ching. The eld jukebox is playin through in the lounge, eld tunes, the best tunes fae the summers years ago.
‘Mon, son. We needty go!’
‘Where, back tae your bit?’ A say, hopin tae go n sleep wae hur n forget.
‘Newcastle A mean.’
‘When?’
‘Pack a bag tomorrow n ask your mum fur money. She’ll want you away from here anyway!’
‘Just up sticks n leave like that?’
‘Why does it need to be any more complicated than that?’
‘Cos it is fuck.’
‘Only if you make it more complicated!’
‘Fair doos. So the flat’s just sittin there fur us? N you’re aw ready?’
‘Aye. That’s what A’ve been doin the last few days, getting ready to go. A’m goin next week with or without you. A’m sick of this, Azzy.’
‘Sick ae wit?’
‘All of this shit. All them out there, total deadbeats doin nothin with their lives. A’m not gonna hang about to see who’ll go next.’
‘Sound then.’
‘What does that mean? Sound as in “doesn’t matter”, or sound as in “aye let’s go”?’
‘A’ll come wae yi. Defo, new start n aw that.’
‘Are yi sure?’
‘Hunner per cent.’
‘Aw A’m so excited, son! This is gonna be amazing!’
There’s a bang fae the cubicle wall n Patricia jumps. A open the door tae see who it is. It’s Danny, rubber n bouncin aff every wall in the place. He’s raisin his arms n shoutin aboot suhin. A kin see he’s buckled fae swallyin aw day so A’m tryin no tae say nuhin. Deep doon, A’m still ragin at him fur slashin Si. We huvnae really spoken properly since then. We walk by him n back intae the lounge where everycunt is. The session is still goin strong wae more glasses on the table n faces redder after our half hour chat. Danny marches back intae the hall after us. He’s git his arms up n he’s shoutin. Everycunt is starin at him. ‘Aw aye! Fuckin Azzy boy’s too good fur the boys noo, eh!’
‘Sit doon.’
‘Naw, son. Naw, son. A think yi should tell everycunt yir news, tell yir fuckin pals aw aboot yir wee trip.’
A shake ma heed n go tae sit doon. He’s rubber n there’s nae point startin.
‘Aye that’s fuckin right, everycunt. Big mad mental fuckin Azzy Williams. Tap man fae the young team, Big Kenzie’s fuckin bumchum! Aw mooth n nae action! It wis me that hud tae sort Si oot, aye, ME. Fuckin Danny Stevenson, on top non-stop runnin amok, yee haaa!’
‘Sit doon, ya fuckin dick. Toffey’s family’s over there, ya ignorant cunt.’
‘Naw. A think yi should tell everycunt how yir fuckin slopin cos yi think yir too good fur everycunt noo. Aye, you n yir fuckin burd. Look the fuckin nick of yees! Pair ae riots!’
A kin see Tam growlin at him, gittin ready tae intervene. Wee Kenzie
is shoutin, Sit down, Danny! He knows if the big yin gets up there’s only gonnae be wan endin. ‘Aye, Aye, John! A’ll sit doon when A’m good n ready tae. Aye, mad mental Azzy bhoy! Where wur yi when Toffey wis gittin plugged fuck oot ae? EH? Yi wur takin it up the shiter aff fuckin Tam in the jail, ya dick!’
A bounce straight by Patricia n attack Danny. A’m skelpin fuck oot him, right, left, right. He’s tryin tae fight back wildly but he’s rubber n A’m totally kosher, compos mentis. His nose is burst aw over the floor n cunts ir pullin me aff but A manage tae volley the heed aff him before A git dragged back. A’m seethin wae fuckin anger n the cunts holdin me loosen their grip, in fear ae gittin whacked a jab in the crossfire. Ma grief n pain made us superhuman, a wild animal, capable ae murder maself.
‘IT’S YOUR FUCKIN FAULT HE’S DEID, YA LOUSY CUNT!’
Danny’s face is in a state n he looks up fae the floor. Everycunt in the place is starin at us, shocked at the sudden violence. He looks fuckin wretched on the floor in a drunken mess n pishin blood oot his mooth. ‘Wit dae yi mean, ma fault?’
‘IF YOU HUDNAE SLASHED SI, THINKIN YI WUR FUCKIN MENTAL, NONE AE THIS WID HUV HAPPENED! A FUCKIN HATE YI, YA CUNT!’
Everywan is starin in silence. Patricia n Monica look horrified. Ma face is red wae anger n A kin feel ma pulse beatin in ma eyes. A want tae attack him again but he’s fuckin pitiful sittin in a heap. He starts greetin fae the floor.
‘A didnae mean it. A’M SORRY!’
‘It’s too fuckin late fur that noo. Git tae fuck.’
The Young Team Page 18