The Young Team

by Graeme Armstrong

A put ma hands up tae show it’s over n nobody tries tae stop me on ma way oot.

  A picture wit everybody else wid be doin the night we leave. Nae doubt fur Wee Kenzie n Danny it wid be back tae business. Livin two contradictory lives, one ae actin mental n chasin wee guys fur money n the other, hidin fae real cunts who ir after them n scrabblin tae pay their bill. Their lives revolved around the piles ae notes at the end ae the week, avoidin a kickin n makin a slim profit tae remind themselves it’s aw worth it. Headin always intae a storm ae trouble, in the predictable ways, yir downfall as a mental cunt or a dealer wid come sooner or later. They wid git set up, robbed, smashed, caught or end up wae a filthy habit ae their ain, which wid see them just as dead n buried.

  Fur Paul Addison, it wid likely be back tae his sheltered existence. He wid dae well n move on n forget, largely unscathed fae his experiences, cos they wur almost aw second-hand. Maybe that’s how he always hus a nice-lookin burd, n how he kin dae shit wae hur like go tae the pictures n even on holiday n that on his own. He looks different, Paul. It isnae just through money, even though his family hus plenty. It’s his attitude that’s different. How he wid spend his money in the town on clothes rather than on a quarter ae green or a gram ae gear, but wid happily smoke a joint or sniff a line ae yours. His styled hair n soft features scream metro compared tae somecunt like Big Kenzie, who’s aw rough worky charm. In recent months, A hud barely spoke tae Addison. He wid still oblige yi a chat n promise tae gee yi a phone, but it wid never come. We’re friends by name only noo, when we call each other mate there’s nae conviction in it. It’s just a throwaway word yi use cos yi used tae use it.

  Danny Stevenson hus always been ma best pal growin up. There’s always that familiarity between us, even though we’ve drifted in recent years. He’s still that wee boy A knew sittin in his granny Agnes’s bit. We’ve been through it aw the-gither, right fae the start. Stealin drink oot our maws’ cabinets tae git our first spinny heads, goin n meetin our first burds the-gither. Aw that shit that meant suhin, cos it’s made yi who yi ir. Those first summers seem tae be aw A kin take away fae it, the only positive. Maybe even those memories ir rose-tinted. Our lot is suhin simple, there’s nuhin glamorous tae it. Nane ae us ir rich, our parents manage n provide fur us. We stay in no bad hooses n ir taken care ae. Plenty huv it a lot worse on the same streets. We’re lucky fur that. Poverty isnae part ae our story. Folk like Broonie huv nae choice in the matter. He wid plod on as always wae his da in tow, dain the best he kin wae the little he hus.

  When A sit n think ae the boys A feel down. A know they’ll still be there livin that life ae ours tae the usual beat. The routine is a sort ae perfect symmetry wae the past, present n future. There’s nuhin really definitive tae any these parts ae yir life here, bar age n the passin ae days. Strangely, even wae these daft routines filled wae nuhin but drink n drugs, time seemed tae fly. There’s nuhin different goin on tae separate the days, weeks n months that drift by n time gits away fae yi. Our teenage years passed in a blur, pleasure tae pleasure n the bad times that inevitably follow. Hangin on desperately tae memories ae when it wis good, n stuck wae the damage we’ve done tae ourselves. It’s ironic really. The more yi chase the buzz, the less yi find it. The real taste ae these pleasures become suhin more n more elusive n forgotten n yi find yirsel trapped in a cycle ae constant need n yearnin fur escape, seekin release but findin only oblivion.

  A linger a moment before A go doon the stairs. Ma room seems different, maybe cos A’m aboot tae leave home properly fur the first time. A pack as much as A kin carry intae two holdalls but leave ma Trainspotting n Tupac posters where they ir. There’s still a Union flag hangin on the other wall n eld pictures ae the troops fae years back. A sit a while starin oot ma windae, broodin on the way things ir aboot here n ae everyhin up tae this point. A light a fag n dream lost without conclusion before the door goes. Patricia is waitin ootside, legs crossed n smokin as she leans against the motor, dangerous n beautiful as ever.

  We hit the road towards the M80 n drive along the whole length ae the Campsies on the Stirling road, headin towards Glasgow before veerin aff. Their outline is black noo against lighter blues ae those stretchin nights. The eld summers wur endless n full ae possibility n adventure, dain aw nighters wae the troops n chasin the buzz. We lit fires in the woods as the darkness came in around us, n sat drinkin wine n smokin joints until aw the light wis gone. Patricia smokes oot the windae n plays wae her phone n doesnae notice ma eyes never leavin them, till they fade oot ae view, as we turn aff towards the M74 south n Newcastle.

  PART VI

  Collapse

  NEW RESEARCH EXPOSES THE ‘GLASS FLOOR’ IN BRITISH SOCIETY

  Less able, better-off kids are 35% more likely to become high earners than bright poor kids.

  Social Mobility and Child Poverty Commission

  Language

  2012

  The Quayside is lit blue n orange n shimmers on the black Tyne. A walk tae the motor wae ma bag n throw it in the back seat. A’m headin back towards the M6. Porter Robinson, ‘Language’, blarin oot the speakers. It’s Friday mornin, quarter past two, n A settle in fur the couple ae hours home – tunes on n fly back up the road. A git the feelin only a Scot kin when yi cross the border, like even the air changes or suhin n, even though things looked just the same, that these fields ir yours n those wans ir theirs. A feel a strange sensation ae home as see the ferris wheel at M&Ds lit up, n A turn aff fur Bellshill n Coatbridge. A’m lookin at familiar places but A feel like a stranger, like when A hud been on holiday when A wis young, n when A came back, just fur a couple ae hours, home felt different. Ma mind starts tae race wae the troops n the past floodin back. A feel eld feelings wash over me as A stare towards the early sunrise spreadin across the Campsies. A’m almost glad tae be home.

  A drive home the long way, through our town centre, tae see if it’s changed ataw. Three year feels like a lifetime when yi hud never left before. A only visited once, tae attend court, n that wis it. The PF drapped it tae a common assault fur us both. Big Kenzie got shafted wae 300 hours CS n A wis admonished. It still left yi wae the record but nae further action fae the court. That wis the cost ae being along fur the ride. Ma maw came down a couple ae times tae see us but apart fae hur, A never seen anycunt else. A wisnae just physically gone, but separate fae the past n ma eld life in an attempt tae build suhin meaninful. The foundations wur never secure wae Patricia. Ma departure wis too impulsive n back then, it wis just an attempt tae defuse a tickin timebomb. Before leavin Gateshead, A packed ma shite n wrote a note tae say A’d call soon. Maybe it wis revertin tae type, comin back. A’m nervous aboot it. There’s an unspoken resentment aboot cunts who leave. Folk rarely left, n if yi did, yi wur obviously too good fur a place like this n the people in it, eld pals or fuckin no.

  The place husnae changed. Ramshackle start-up businesses wae shutters doon dominate the town centre. There’s nae shops worth actually goin tae, just off-licences, pubs, takeaways n tannin salons. These wid change hands or, at least, tradin names every few month. The other units ir filled wae junk n charity shops plus the odd wee wan fur granny fashion n other budget shite like pound shops n that. The Job Centre on the corner shares punters wae the pubs n the rest. A big Farmfoods stands in the middle ae it n it’s really the only shop that’s busy. The high street n the main street used tae huv loads ae shops. Yi used tae huv an Intersport n JD years back. There wis decent shops n families used tae walk aboot doon here. Aw that’s left is a new underclass. Poles n other Eastern Europeans n the mad dossers who just walk about the main street. Home fur them must be bad if they chose, oot ae the full ae Europe, tae come n build a future here. Slightly better than the former USSR, our tourist poster should read. Eld folks do wit they’ve always done, still traipsin roon dismayed as they speak aboot the good eld days when it wisnae like this.

  The worse the place got, the more shops moved away tae big purpose-built shoppin centres like the Fort at Easterhoose. Even fuckin Cumbernauld hud the
Antonine Centre, a far cry fae the Indoor Market, which is just an Aladdin’s cave ae pure junk n passin shite. They built a new retail park in the nineties n it wis hailed as the saviour ae our town. It wis gonnae be like the Faraday Park in Coatbridge – that even hus a Marks & Spencer food hall, the hallmark ae a town dain no too bad. Their retail park hus become home tae aw the decent shops – JD, Next n Pets at Home n aw that. Their actual town centre, Main Street, is the same as ours – lifeless, but dominated by a chapel n Asda’s instead. Our new retail park hud a McDonalds, Halfords n Argos, but over the years nuhin else stayed n an eld Focus DIY store wis replaced wae bargin shops that came n stalled n hud a closing down sale n left. Tesco moved in instead. It wisnae the saviour ae the town – it ensured that future businesses knew they couldnae make it, n everybody followed suit n packed up n left the centre tae die a death. The full place hud become a ghost toon apart fae the eld pubs. They wid survive.

  When yir in a modern n vibrant city, this place feels like Bosnia by comparison. Some backwards backwater, in dire need ae resuscitation n life support. Life here is the way it always hus been n nuhin seems tae huv changed, maybe bar me. These places huv a way ae undoin transformations, ae dousin dreams n encouragin that acceptance ae this reality. That new you, too readily forgotten and efforts cast aside in the shadow ae the past n the greyness ae the broken town around yi. A feel like an ootsider as A drive intae our scheme, para n watchin over ma shoulder awready.

  Stacey’s tryin tae look ragin. There’s a wee smile anaw but, cos A know she’s happy tae see me really. She’s just dain the inevitable big cousin bit, which is tae be expected. A’m surprised tae see hur sittin rollin a joint. It’s a disappointment n it strikes me that ma big cuz might no huv moved on as far as she ought tae. We’re sittin in hur flat, a nice wan-bedroom in the town centre, private-let in a new block. Stacey looks elder. She’s lost the layer ae foundation n hur blonde highlights ir gone anaw. Hur hair is back tae its natural dark brunette n wae a straight fringe cut in. She’s sittin in an oversized knitted jumper n skinny jeans. ‘Your hair’s lookin long!’ she says. It isnae really.

  ‘Aye well, A wisnae gittin a fuckin short back n whallop doon there. Tryin tae be stylish n aw that, know? Didnae realise yi wur still smokin that bad dope!’

  ‘Aye, A started again, never really stopped.’

  ‘Yi should git aff that shit.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Enough aboot me, anyway. Wit are yi doin back up here, son?’

  ‘Seein ma favourite cousin, of course.’

  ‘Yi know what A mean. We’ve no seen yi up here fur three years n the day yi just text n turn up at nine o’clock in the mornin at ma front door.’

  ‘Me n Patricia’s finished, sah A’ve naewhere else tae go.’

  ‘So you’re just goin to turn up after three years away n say … awright, troops, wit yees been upty?’

  ‘Fuck knows. Just fur the summer n A’m away again.’

  ‘Away where?’

  ‘Somewhere, fuckin anywhere away fae here. Away fae you!’

  ‘Aye right, you’ve been missin yir big cuz, wee man! You better watch, by the way. They’re all goin to think you’ve sloped them, n yir old pals fae the Toi will be glad tae hear you’re back.’

  ‘Aye, tell me suhin A don’t know.’

  ‘How come you n Barbie finished anyway? In fact, she was more Sindy – cheaper, know?’

  There wis nae fatal spark, nae catalyst fur ma departure, but the slow passin ae days n realisation ae more wasted time. It’s the dreams ae suhin different that makes yi feel it, a beyond A cannae quite make oot yit. When yi hear how other young folk spent their time, aw those experiences n adventures, the feelin ae lost time hits us hard. How kin yi explain that sadness inside tae cunts who huv never conceived ae it? We just chased the buzz that much that we furgot tae live in between.

  ‘Just cos.’

  ‘Fine then! Well yi can stay here the night if yi want …’

  ‘Nah, cheers anyway, cuz. A don’t want tae put yi oot n besides, A needty face the music n tell ma maw A’m back up the road wae nae job, nuhin. Don’t worry aboot us, A’m no daft. A’m no plannin tae go n start a war wae they dafties. A’m gonnae go n see Big Kenzie n see wit’s happnin.’

  ‘It’s no you A’m worried aboot. Be careful, wee man.’

  A light a smoke as A walk back tae the motor. It isnae just the air that changes up here. A kin feel it awready, in the back ae ma mind. It’s that fuckin irrational aggression towards strangers n yir own attitude changin fur the worse. Yi kin blame it on these streets aw yi want, but it’s in yi, part ae yir complicated psyche fae years ae violence n watchin yir back. It’s the persona yi force yirself tae adopt up here. It’s everythin fae the clothes yi wear, the length ae yir hair, the way yi speak n the thoughts runnin through yir fucked-up brain. Like it or no, there wid always be that residual energy here, that thing that washes over yi soon as yir back in yir own area. It’s that wee voice in the back ae yir heed, talkin tae yi in yir own accent, eggin yi on, tauntin yi n tellin yi you’ve become a pussy or a clown n the only way tae redeem yirsel is tae drink a bottle ae wine n smash somecunt.

  A’m walkin up the path n feelin a wee bit nervous. There’s movement behind the frosted glass. The door opens n A’m faced wae a pair ae slippers, leggings n a big bump. ‘Azzy? Nice tae meet yi, son! Thomas isn’t in. Yi want tae come in n wait? He’s finishin early the day.’

  ‘Nice tae meet yi finally, pal! Aye, nice wan, cheers.’

  Michelle leads us intae the livin room n A sit on the sofa. The place is nice, light-brown carpets n aw cream furnishings, big telly in the corner n a wee glass coffee table. A kin see how her n Tam ir suited. She’s pretty, tall n wae a kind face. Thick n long auburn hair n heavily pregnant.

  ‘A’ve seen eld pics ae yees aw – in case yi wondered how A recognised yi. You’re far travelled, son!’

  ‘Tam been showin yi the eld albums? Just arrived back up the day.’

  ‘Aye, wans ae you in a blue Berghaus, ya wee ned! Thomas wae blond hair, like Eminem, n his ears pierced wae hoops n all this! Yees were a pure riot!

  ‘We wur cool as wee guys! The eld Mera Peak wis minted. Still hangin in ma wardrobe at ma maw’s bit, so it is.’

  ‘Aye keep tellin yirself that, son! Leave it hangin in that wardrobe! He doesn’t know yi were comin, does he? Told me the other day he hadn’t spoke tae yi in months n he misses yi.’

  ‘Naw, it wis unexpected. A kin see yees huv been busy anyway! How far along ir yi?’

  ‘Eight weeks tae go!’

  ‘Cannae believe it! Tam’s gonnae be a da! Crazy. Sorry A didnae catch yi before A left … it wisnae a good time fur any us.’

  ‘Aw A know all about that. Don’t worry! Thomas talks aboot yi aw the time. Wee Azzy this n that. Said you were one ae the good ones! Unlike his wee brother n his lot.’

  Wee Kenzie is another matter. A key goes in the door n A cannae help sittin up a bit straighter on the couch. Michelle pulls herself up wae a wee groan n walks tae the door. A hear their voices fae the hall. ‘Hiya, son. Yir pal’s here tae see yi.’

  ‘Awrighty! Who’s in?’

  ‘Go see fur yirsel.’

  A hear Tam’s heavy footsteps comin in. ‘Awright, big yin.’

  ‘NO WAY! Wit’s fuckin happnin, Azzy, ma boay!’ The big man comes over n shakes ma paw n bear hugs us. He husnae changed a bit, still the roadside tan, hi-vis vest n thick stubble tae hide his scar. He’s put on a few pounds anaw but looked bigger aw roon, like a grown guy. A almost feel emotional seein the cunt. He looks it anaw.

  ‘Long time no see, brother.’

  ‘Fuckin three years, ya wee cunt! Where the fuck yi been?’ Tam throws his bag n jakit on the rug n sits doon on the chair opposite. Michelle comes in n he jumps up n sits on the couch next tae me.

  ‘Congrats by the way! Cannae believe yees ir expectin a wean, man. That’s mad!’

  ‘Cheers, son. Wis unexpected, but we cannae wait.’
r />   ‘Yees know wit yir huvin?’

  ‘Naw, it’s a surprise. Thomas didnae want tae know. So it’s aw neutral stuff in the room, yellow n white! He’s hopin it’s a wee boy, obviously.’

  ‘A’m no botherin. But A kin see wee Ryan McKenzie, next fuckin superstar striker fur the Celtic. Git a free season ticket n he kin look after me n his eld maw!’

  Michelle catches ma eye n shakes hur heed. ‘Or it’ll be Scarlett McKenzie n ma wee lassie will hate football n if she does like it, she’ll be a wee blue nose!’

  ‘Aw nut! A’ll leave the now! Take her wae yi, Azzy son. He’s a blue anaw, Michelle.’

  ‘You wan ae us, Michelle?’

  ‘Course I am! Cumbernauld Loyal!’

  ‘Aye, Azzy, nae fuckin joke – her brother’s in the Sons ae William! Plays the flute the cunt! Marches up n doon like a fuckin lunatic kickin the pope. Hur da goes tae the sash bashes n aw that.’

  Michelle’s laughin fae the armchair n kiddin on she’s playin the flute like Gazza.

  ‘Did yees hear aboot the new Rangers pub doon the street?’ Tam asks.

  ‘Naw?’ Michelle says.

  ‘Aye, the fuckin Administration Bar it’s called.’

  ‘Hopefully it wull huv a swimmin pool in it tae keep you cunts oot!’ A say.

  Big Kenzie’s laugh shakes the fuckin hoose. We’re both laughin anaw.

  ‘Keep laughin, Azzy son! See if yees ir laughin when yir playin pub teams every Saturday n we’re in the Champions League where we belong! Hail hail! The Celts ir here!’

  ‘Most successful team in the world, mate. It’s aw aboot the Rangers!’

  Their wee hoose is sittin nice. Yi kin see it’s a feminine space, dotted wae wee touches ae Tam’s shite. Guy’s hooses never hud flowers or ornaments or canvasses wae more flowers on it. It’s no a showhoose but. Yi feel comfortable in their space n yi kin sit back on their couches.

  ‘Jokes aside, ya proddy cunt, wit you been uptay anyways? How come yir back? A wis startin tae think yi wur away fur good.’