‘And Patricia?’
A gee hur a wee sad look n she returns the serve. Monica isnae askin if we’ve finished. She’s askin me tae acknowledge the fact that A wis a dick leavin wae hur in the first instance. ‘Ah, that wan is over A think.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, Monica. She wis asking, n back then she was ma only way oot ae here. We wur never that suited.’
‘I’m not denying she did you a favour! Why did you split up, then?’
‘Because … A realised it wisnae tae be.’
‘Patricia never got you, Azzy. All she seen in you was the means to escape as well, and a guy who was nice enough to treat her well.’ Monica’s eyes drift doon like she’s said too much. She husnae come here tae go over eld ground. A’m no naive enough tae think that. ‘Anyway, that’s your life, boy. What are you going to do now then?’
‘A’m only stayin fur the summer, then A’m away again.’
‘Where you going to go?’
‘Anywhere. Everywhere.’
Monica smiles. ‘Sounds like the makings of a plan.’
‘And wit aboot you?’
‘Just finished uni. Graduate at the end of the month.’
‘Wow, congrats! Where did you go again?’
‘Thanks! Stirling. Did English n French, joint honours.’
‘How did yi get on?’
‘Got a 2:1. I did an English dissertation so going to organise my own year abroad starting in September. Going to go to Paris and live for a year, work as an English teacher.’
‘That’s amazin, Monica.’
‘What about you? Stacey said you were at college. Did you do your HND?’
‘Aye, still waitin fur results. Means A kin go tae uni as well eventually. Straight intae third year dain suhin. No sure wit A want tae dae really.’
‘Aw, Alan, you should. Changes your life, honestly.’
‘Haven’t applied fur any courses fur this year. Probably will at some point. Need tae work n git some money behind me before A kin dae anyhin.’
Monica glances downwards. She’s heard aw this nonsense fae me before aboot changin ma life n dain suhin. Tae this point, at twenty-wan, aw A’ve managed is an HND. It’s definitely better than nuhin but isnae enough tae show somebody ae hur achievements that A’m fur real.
‘You should get into a course n work part-time. Doesn’t cost up here to do one anyway. With that and a student loan, you can survive and live a wee bit.’
‘First A need tae decide where A want tae be. Not hangin around here fur long.’
‘There’s nothing here for you, I suppose.’
‘Nah, just eld friends n family.’
She laughs n shifts, almost uncomfortably. ‘Old friends eh. You seen any of the boys?’
‘Just a couple. Went tae see Tam.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. He always liked you, know he looked after you.’
‘He wis one yi could always trust.’
‘What was he saying about you being back?’
‘The big yin wis happy tae see me. Stacey wis mad worried n tellin me tae watch maself.’
‘What do you think I’m thinking?’
‘Dunno, Monica. You tell me.’
We link eyes n she smiles. ‘I’m thinking, it’s great to see you … but don’t dare let me hear of anything happening to you. So just the summer and away? Lot can happen in a couple of months.’
‘Don’t worry aboot me! So – yi been seein anybody? Dominic?’
Monica gees us a wee wink n that smile. ‘Lecture over. Eh, nope! Me n Dominic finished about a year back, he’s away to Australia, but that wasn’t part of my plan. Not been seeing anybody for ages. Just doin my own thing.’
‘Cool,’ A say, tryin ma best tae act mega casual.
‘Better get going anyway. I’m meeting the girls in Merchant Square. Just thought I’d pop in and say hello. Maybe we’ll continue this convo another time.’ A see her oot n intae a taxi n she’s away. A bounce back up the stair n lie on ma bed n light a smoke.
Ma eld room feels different, but it hud barely been touched, like a shrine tae ma youth n the past. The big Trainspotting line-up poster is still on ma wall, orange against royal blue emulsion, a Union flag n a couple ae eld pictures ae the troops. There’s wee pea-size dents on ma walls where A hud shot eld posters wae a BB gun when A wis A wee guy. Sorry, Buffy, you wur tidy as fuck, but a decent headshot target. On the other wall, there’s a Tupac poster. The writin underneath: TUPAC SHAKUR 1971–1996, Only God Can Judge Me. Still in the corner, there’s an eld school bag ae mine, covered in mentions. Still wae AZZY W 2K4 YTP written on it. There’s the boy’s mentions on it anaw but they’re aw faded away wae rain n time.
Time and Wounds
A couldnae imagine Danny anyhin but larger than life. A don’t know wit tae expect. They said he’s in some state, paranoid n takin panic attacks, heed ruined. Yi just never know wae these kind ae things, anxiety, panic n depression. Every wan is different n hardwired intae the uniquely complicated psychology n psyche ae the sufferer. How bad it’s gonnae be is the random chemistry ae yir brain n yir external experiences ae stress n trauma, level ae substance abuse n time. These conditions latch ontae yir past, adverse childhood experiences n natural fears n possess yi like a demon tae be exorcised n dragged aff yi. If only it wis that simple.
A’m just gonnae turn up at his door unannounced. Maria or Big Brian wid let me in n hopefully Danny wid appreciate ma visit. A drive, rather than walk, roon the corner tae his door n huv a quick look aboot before A bounce up. There isnae a soul aboot, even fur a Saturday. The place is fuckin dead. A gee the door a couple ae chaps n stand back n wait. A hear keys rustlin n A’ve git that wee nervous feelin again. It’s Maria that answers n she looks surprised tae see me. ‘Long time no see, Alan son! How yi doin?’
‘No too bad thanks, Maria. Is Danny in?’
She gives a wee tired nod towards the stairs. ‘Danny’s always in, Alan. Yi had better go up n see him.’
‘Yi sure that’s awright?’
‘A don’t think it’ll do any harm. Me n Brian are worried about him, son.’
‘Aye, A heard he wisnae dain very well. Is he awright but?’
‘He’s here with us n that’s the main thing. We’ve done what we can – tried tae coax him out his room tae come n see the family n his pals, but he’s not right. Go n see for yourself. See if you can help him, son.’
‘A’ll see wit A kin dae.’
Maria stands oot the way n A walk slowly up the stairs. A knew this hoose as well as ma ain. A spent years runnin in n oot their back door, stayin fur tea n havin water fights in the back garden, wae Big Brian pourin buckets ae icy water over yir heed fur scootin him wae a fuckin pump-action Supersoaker XP65. A hope tae fuck the cunt is gonnae be awright. Whether we fell oot or no, yir best mate is always yir best mate. Whatever hud happened wae us is water under the bridge. Time n wounds n aw that shite.
‘Awright, Danny.’ The cunt turns slowly tae look at us. He looks zombified, eyes pure heavy n face aw thin n grey. A half-smile comes tae his lips n he gees us a clumsy wink.
‘Awriiight, eld son.’
‘Good tae see yi, mate.’
‘Fuckin yeeears, man innit. Fuuuck sake.’ Danny’s aw over the shop n hus wee white bits ae foam at the corners ae his lips. He’s holdin on tae his words like they’re made ae treacle n he hus tae chew each wan as he says it.
‘You been takin blues, ya cunt?’
‘Ayeee maaan … cruuunched a striiip this mornin.’
‘Wit fur, son?’
‘Cooos ma heeed’s friiied.’
‘Wit wae but?’
‘Everyhiiin, mate.’ He leans back in his wee swivel chair n spins roon. The cunt looks fuckin miserable. His room husnae changed at first glance, still wae a Tricolour n Celtic posters, but the edges ir dirty. There’s full ashtrays n empty tins lyin aboot like he’s hud a wan-man party which hus tailed on indefinitely.
‘Danny, yi know yirse
l they only make things ten times worse. Ir yi depressed, son?’ The cunt lets oot a laugh like a hyena. Folk kin be obnoxious when they’re full ae blues. They don’t really mix wae other people.
‘Depressed? Me? Nut. A’m luvin ma wee fuckin life! Danny Bhoy partyin aw the time on top non-stop, gees a fuckin yaaaldi!’
A cannae even laugh along wae the cunt n A’m no sure if he’s tryin tae be a dick or he’s just oot it. A light a smoke in silence n sit on his bed, lookin aboot me.
‘Welcooome tae peeerty central! Azzy fuckin bhoy, back in the mix two kay six, ya pricks! The number wan fuckin man, Alaaan de la Williams!’
This time A dae laugh n shake ma heed.
‘Wit you laughin it, haaard maaan?’
A wait tae see if he’s serious. His heed is doon n he’s growlin over at us. ‘You, ya fuckin nugget! Look the nick ae yi! Lyin in this dump fuckin talkin a power ae shite. Yir tuned tae the moon, ya cunt.’ The cunt looks at me, aw vacant, n blinks. Noo genuinely offended, instead ae the big man routine.
‘Well excuuuse meee! Tryin tae git a weee fuckin perty wae the boys!’
‘Wit boys, ya maddy? Yir sittin here melted oot yir fuckin nut on grass n blues n cans, depressed oot yir scone!’
Danny seems tae chew on this a minute. Poutin his lips n blinkin away. He isnae even fuckin on this planet. The cunt’s hand goes tae another strip n starts a fidgetin wae the wee pills.
‘Want me tae git that fur yi?’
‘Thaaat wouuuld be lovely.’
A lift the strip aff the floor where he’s dropped it n throw it right in the bin. It hits aboot ten empty beer tins n piles ae used tissues n bounces ontae the floor.
‘Cluuumsy bastert!’ Danny reaches doon tae pick up the pills n decks it right aff the seat n knocks the bin flyin. There’s a knickerbocker glory ae fag n joint douts, empty cans ae lager n balled-up hankies spillin aw over the boggin laminate. Danny is lyin among it aw laughin n mincing his curses.
‘Fuck sake, son. Let us help yi up.’
‘NAAAW!’
A sit back on the bed n light another fag. Danny’s still huntin fur his lost strip ae diazepam among the rubbish. A see it lyin n pick it up n stick it in his hand.
‘Awww cheeers, Alan son.’
‘Wit’s fuckin happnin, Danny mate? Wit huv yi pushed the button fur? How kin A fuckin help yi?’
‘Yi cannae heeelp me, son. A’m fucked.’
‘Naw yir no. Yir just huvin a hard time the noo. Things wull git better, mate. A’ll help yi git aff the blues n git yirsel up on yir fuckin feet again.’
Danny’s sittin cross-legged among the mess. ‘A thought you hated me, eld son.’
‘A never fuckin hated yi. A wis just angry cos Wee Toffey.’
‘Thaaat wisnae ma fauult.’
‘A know. A’m sorry. A shouldnae huv lost it at yi. Furget it, mate.’
Different Paths
Addison heard A wis back n texts while A’m sittin in ma maw’s. He tells me he’s gonnae come roon n say awright. A bounce oot n light a fag n wait fur the cunt. He flies roon the corner n pulls up in a new reg, silver BMW 320i coupe, a fuckin beaut. A’m drivin a black Mark IV Golf GT TDI, but an 03 plate wae ninety thousand on the clock. He’s his usual trendy self in a black knitted jumper wae styled hair n designer stubble. There’s a tall blonde sittin next tae him wae hur chin up smokin a Marlboro Gold oot the windae. Paul gees me a quick look, up n doon, tae check wit A’m wearin, in case A embarrass him in front ae his new burd. Guilt by association, warrant oot fae the fuckin fashion polis.
‘Nice to see yi, Alan. How’s tricks?’
‘No bad.’
‘You working?’
‘Just arrived back up the road. Wis livin wae Patricia in Newcastle. Thinkin aboot uni next year.’
‘Oh yeah? Doing what?’ Thick wae implication. Uni is pretty tough, Azzy. Maybe you’d be better out digging the roads or something? Maybe get a trade, bro?
‘No sure, mate. English or suhin.’
‘Ah nice, man.’
‘Wit aboot yirsel?’
‘Just about to do my final honours year, man. Finish next year n hopefully get a job with my dad’s company.’
‘Awk you’re sorted, bro. Who’s yir friend?’
‘That’s Felicity.’ She nods in ma direction n obliges me a smile while she flicks hur smoke.
‘Hiya,’ A say tae her, but she doesnae reply. ‘Wit yees up tae?’
‘Ah just heading into town for dinner.’
‘Cool, mate … well, A’ll let yees go! Nice tae see yi anyway.’
‘Same, mate … Take it easy.’
A watch the BMW fly oot the street n disappear roon the corner. Paul hus obviously grown up, cleaned himself up n got himself a nice burd. There wis nae need fur him tae stay associated wae aw us noo. It wis aw half-tone pleasantries n awkward silences. A doubted somehow that he wid be runnin aboot the dancins in our wee town or hangin aboot the eld gaffs full ae troops. Being a ned fur him wis a fashion statement, nuhin more. Fur the rest ae us it wis a lifestyle n a culture n who we aw wur. Paul never aligned himself wae cunts who wur gonnae fuck their lives up. There’s nae betrayal tae his success. Maybe him n Felicity huv a nice flat in the West End, handy fur Ashton Lane and Byres Road. In a way A’m happy fur him. He’s got his beyond n he’s gone.
Ma phone starts buzzin away. It’s Stacey. ‘Wit’s happnin, cuz?’
‘Have you been on the computer?’
This is it. A knew deep doon it wis gonnae come, it wis just a matter ae when. ‘Naw, A’ve deleted aw ma profiles when A left. How, wit is it?’
‘Si O’Connor’s posted about you.’
‘Sayin wit?’
‘Guess who’s back troops? The wan n only, Azzy fuckin Williams.’
‘N fuckin wit. It wis obvious they wur gonnae find oot sooner or later.’
‘Who do yi think told them?’
A huv a few ideas. ‘Who cares, honestly?’
‘You should.’
‘They’re no gonnae come lookin fur me. Cos if they dae then we’ll huv it oot n that’ll be it. In some ways A want it over n done wae. A’m no goin lookin fur trouble, chill oot!’
‘Awww, Alan! This is fucked up, son.’
‘Wanty calm doon, Stacey?’
‘A can’t. A’m worried somethin is gonnae happen to yi.’
‘There’s nae point fuckin worryin. If suhin happens then it happens.’
‘Back to aw that, Alan? What about uni? What would Monica say if she heard you talkin like that? Bet you wouldn’t fucking say that to hur!’
She’s right, obviously. A don’t want Monica tae see that side ae us anymore. A defo don’t want hur tae think A’m still a dafty. ‘Naw, maybe no. Yi forget it’s no me lookin fur trouble. It’s they cunts!’
‘Yi knew trouble wis goin to find yi up here.’
‘A’ve naewhere else tae go. Fuckin hell!’
‘Just run. Even fur a month or two! Go n kiss n make up wae slutty knickers. Tell hur yir sorry n yi miss hur!’
‘Nae chance, Stacey. Azzy Williams doesnae fuckin run.’
She sticks the phone doon n doesnae say bye. The cat is oot the bag, Azzy fuckin Williams is back. A’m no as para as Stacey. Yi became used tae cunts sayin they’re gonnae smash yi n its effects ir diluted over the years. As fur the rest, A’m back where A started. Azzy Williams, twenty-wan years eld, lyin back in ma single bed in ma maw’s like a wee dick teenager, dreamin aboot burds n wit tae dae fur a laugh. Monica is on ma mind. A still heavy like hur n seein hur took me back tae the eld days. A dunno how we compared noo. Her, a graduate n movin on n me lyin in a tracky wae Trainspotting n Tupac posters still on ma walls.
The Toi Boiz
It’s two hours later when A’m woken wae the windae smashin. A wis dreamin n the noise wound its way in – ma maw screamin broke the dream. A’m fuckin soakin wae sweat n ma eyes ir stuck the-gither but A bounce up rapid n pull on an eld Rangers tap n trainers wae nae socks. A grab ma bat n fly d
oon the stairs. Ma maw’s screamin fae hur bedroom, STAY IN, ALAN! Fuck that. A huv a quick swatch oot the front windae before A bounce oot in case there’s a team waitin. The broken glass is aw over the carpet n there’s a half brick lyin in the middle ae it aw. The venetian blinds ir aw fuckin bent. A rip the door open n peer oot intae the dark n behind parked motors fur any sign ae movement, but the street is dead.
A run doon the steps n intae the garden n bounce over the fence. A’m joggin noo, right up tae the end ae the road. A hud parked ma motor further doon the street in anticipation ae this shite. Ma maw’s at the doorstep noo in hur dressin gown n a few neighbours’ lights ir on cos the noise. She looks fumin. The last thing she wants is the neighbours tae see me oot on a rampage wae a bakey bat. Ma maw’s spittin oot ae firm lips, ‘Get in here, NOW!’ A keep the bat low n stand wae it bat on the threshold. A wish somecunt made a run for it. A’d fuckin kill them fur dain this tae ma maw’s hoose. She’s pullin ma arm back in the door. ‘Please, come back in.’
‘Awright, awright. A’m sorry, Mum.’
‘Second night back! Two nights it took for this nonsense to start again!’
‘A’ll move oot.’
‘Where will you go? Wherever you go here this trouble is going to follow you.’
‘Naw it won’t. A’m gonnae settle it, once n fur aw.’
‘Oh, Alan, please don’t talk like that.’
A didnae mean tae say things like this in front ae ma maw. What A said in anger, she took fur gospel, n it kept hur up nights when A hud calmed doon n wis perfectly safe. She hud heard far too much violent talk across the years, talk ae smashin n stabbin fuck oot cunts in revenge, that would never materialise once yi sobered up n yir blood wis wiped aff yi wae antiseptic. Wumen suffered as witnesses n nurses tae our wars, it wis the wans who love yi who cleaned yi up n hud tae deal wae the aftermath, time n time again. ‘A’m sorry. A didnae come back lookin fur trouble, Mum.’
‘I know that. But there’s idiots here that will drag you back in! You can’t keep losing your temper and running out to hit folk if they throw stones at your windows. Alan, you’re playing right into their hands. People can’t bear to see others getting on.’
The Young Team Page 21