Ma phone rings in ma pocket again. A go tae just leave it n Michelle notices ma expression. ‘Avoiding somebody, son?’
‘Awk it’s nuhin.’
The call gets ended n they phone straight back. She gives me the look only an unconvinced woman kin gee yi. ‘You sure? Is everythin awright?’
‘It’s absolutely nuhin tae fret aboot.’
‘Alan, yi know if something is wrong, you can tell me n Thomas.’
‘You n Tam are well matched – both as stubborn as each other!’ A laugh.
A pull ma phone oot as it buzzes away again. Mum Mob. A laugh n show hur the phone as A answer it. She blushes a wee bit n stands back tae let me git it. ‘Hello? A cannae talk, Mum. A’m doon in the hospital wae Tam n Michelle. They’ve just hud their wee one.’ Ma maw’s greetin doon the phone. ‘Wit is it?’ A say, panicked noo, the sense ae impendin doom floodin intae me n takin over ma brain.
‘Someone’s put the window through again!’
‘You’re fuckin kiddin me on.’
‘No, I’m not. I’ve called the police n they’re on their way.’
‘A’ll be there the noo.’
Michelle looks even more worried. ‘What is it, Alan?’
‘Nuhin, Michelle. Nuhin fur you two tae worry aboot,’ A say wae a forced smile.
‘But you need tae go?’
‘Aye, pretty much.’
‘Please be careful. You’ve got a look.’
A hold ma hand up tae stop hur n take another look at Tam sleepin over his baby daughter. A gee Michelle a hug n A make ma way towards the exit.
The Supernatural Force of the Friday Feeling
It used tae rage within yi, a powerful force that burnt away aw reason n there wis nuhin left but you n the night before yi. It wouldnae let yi eat or hide away fae it, cos it wis a demon n aw it wid accept wis drink, drugs n madness. It happened every week, regular as clockwork, yet it wis still a tough wan tae overcome. The start point wis always the anticipation. The infernal waitin tae half three after school or work finishin. That fuckin yearnin fur freedom n the explosion within yi on the way oot that starts the fire. There wis nae gittin by it, nuhin anycunt could dae tae control it. It’s maimed n killed n trapped many a man intae foolish and diverse lusts and eventually perdition itself, if yi couldnae resist its seduction.
There wis nae buzz really. It wis aw aboot the pursuit, a journey but never a destination. Wae every joint yi smoked or pill n line yi took, yi went further fae it, n yi ended up losin yirsel somewhere along the way. Yi chased it aw fuckin night n nae amount ae drink or drugs wid bring it back. Yi admitted defeat every Sunday mornin n even if yi tried again, yi never found wit yi wur lookin fur. The buzz wis only ever the initial spark – never the fire that followed. It wis aw a lie. The only method tae the madness, that yi hud a good run but eventually yi huv tae slow doon or stop the shite fur good. Most cunts dae that naturally, they git a burd, git married n huv weans n that’s it. Once that happens yir partyin days ir over, apart fae the occasional blowoot. If yi took it tae the edge like us, yi either got oot, n stayed oot, or yi got fucked up like the others, heads wasted, depressive, psychotic or suicidal – if the madness itself didnae git yi jailed or killed first. Eventually, if yi keep goin regardless, there wid be nuhin left but memories n a broken n burnt-oot shell … where yi drink tae remember n yi drink tae forget simultaneously n yi find nae peace.
That is the only sensible philosophy ae on-it.
Yi thought yi wur missin oot without it, but yi wurnae cos the Friday Feelin, that eld demon, is a clever one. A realised the truth a few year back, when A moved away n wisnae really drinkin n wis drug free. It wis an agony no tae go on-it tae begin wae, a sacrilege tae suhin sacred n a wasted weekend cos yi didnae spend it oot yir barnet. That lasted aboot a year, feelin like a traitor n a borin bastard. That fury n loneliness ae being the only wan left sittin in alone, when aw yir troops n even yir burd wis away oot – but you wur the only wan stayin the path. Through that deep solitude, yi discover it’s a sacred path cos it’s the road tae redemption n release fae aw this fuckin shite. That wis when A realised it hud fuckin lied tae me aw along.
Ever after, when A went on-it A wis subconsciously seekin that first night oot wae the troops drinkin nearly ten years ago, the first pill yi took n the first joint yi smoked, before the dreamstate broke. The feelin ae chasin the burds when yi wur young wae reasonable ambitions n runnin aboot wae the troops in our YT brotherhood. Those first feelings ir the very essence ae the Friday Feelin n our entire lifestyle, but suhin hud gone sour along the way. It wis a long, lucid dream turned nightmare, constantly pullin yi back fae those first euphoric sensations. Promisin yi those feelings again, but only takin yi further fae yirsel, further fae home n further doon the rabbit-hole intae addiction, decay n nothingness.
The big party is the night. Wan last attempt tae resuscitate the dyin summer wae a few bottles ae wine. There’s a strange air aboot this wan n everycunt’s invited, regardless ae aw the shite that hus happened recently. Danny wis always pally wae Kenzie, much more than me. A always preferred Tam but they two hud been thick as thieves at wan point. Even Kenzie’s wee terriers Gunny n that ir invited. A cannae forgive Kenzie fur his wee hand, however insignificant, in Stevie Broon gittin done, but it’s up tae Broonie tae make his mind up aboot wit he deserves. Any acts ae vengeance wouldnae make any difference, apart fae maybe givin him a moment ae brief, meaningless n violent pleasure. A suppose if he kin forgive, then A kin at least forget. Maybe it’s right tae bury the hatchet n end the summer wae redemption.
Ma door gits rattled n A hear footsteps on the stairs, ma hand drifts doon tae the bat before Broonie bounces intae ma bedroom. ‘Hi, son!’ he says n launches his bulky frame doon on ma eld, worn armchair. The thing creaks under his weight ae muscle mass. He lights a fag, then looks fur an ashtray. ‘Fuck, this thing hus seen better days, mate,’ he says, rockin back n forward.
‘Aye nae wonder! Wae cunts like you chuckin theirsels on it fur ten year!’
‘Ya cunt yi!’ he says wae an eld smile that A know.
‘Yi gawn the night then, Azzy?’
‘Tae Danny’s empty?’
‘Aye, man.’
‘A dunno, mate, tae be honest.’
‘Is it cos Kenzie’s gawn?’
‘The company wis wan reason, aye.’
‘Mate, it wis me that invited Kenzie n Gunny.’
‘Aye?’
‘Aye, man. A just want aw the boays the-gither. Cunts ir movin on n aw that. Wid be a fuckin shame no tae huv wan last party. Just fur …’
‘Fur eld times’ sake?’
‘Exactly, mate. That’s wit A’m talkin aboot. Just aw the boays, know wit A mean? Git a few bottles n a few cans n a few laughs.’
Broonie’s powers ae persuasion ir unintentionally strong. A light a fag maself n blow the smoke oot the windae.
‘Yi gawn then?’
‘Aye fuck, A’ll go.’
‘Cool beans, mucka. Fuck A’ve been up aw mornin makin CDs fur the night, by the way. A made yi wan, mate. Wae loads ae A State of Trance tunes n that oan it. The wans yi like n that.’
‘Aw cheers, man. Stick it on.’
Broonie jumps up tae the eld silver CD player ma maw bought us oot Woolies aboot ten year ago. It’s still workin fine. He’s fiddlin aboot wae the side openin n stickin it in n puts the tunes on low. A wee trance prayer starts tae whisper in the corner, driftin doon n around us. Broonie looks back tae his usual self, as much as yi kin. He contents himself pokin aboot yir room n messin it up as he goes. Lookin in yir bedside drawers, huntin fur suhin n nuhin. If yi hud tae ask him wit he’s lookin fur he’d just say dunno n laugh. That’s Broonie awright. Then, he’ll sit perfectly still n stare n talk slow. That’s just grief A suppose … and withdrawal. As far as a knew the cunt wis drug free since his da passed. ‘You still aff everyhin, Broonie?’
‘Phftt, mate. Aw A’m dain noo is smokin n drinkin.’
‘Fuck that’s the be
st way, man.’
‘If A’m gonnae dae anyhin, A’m gonnae keep it legal, couple ae beer n twenty Regal. Cigarettes and alcohoool!’ He’s kiddin on he’s playin the guitar.
‘Wise words.’
He seems tae ponder this a moment, a brief flirtation wae a philosophical imaginin ae his conditionin, then back tae the CD n his fag, smokin away in the ashtray.
‘Wit’s the sketch fur you noo, Broonie?’
‘Wit yi mean? Work n aw that?’
‘Aye.’
‘Fuck A’ve been talkin tae that wee burd fae Coatbridge.’
‘Aye?’
‘Aye, man. We’ve met up a few times n that.’
‘Wit dis she dae?’
‘She’s a dental nurse, but she’s movin up tae Elgin. Hur family stays up there.’
‘Elgin? Away up Inverness way?’
‘Aye, she’s asked us if A fancy it. Said hur uncle’s got a job fur us up there wae his ain company n that.’
‘Dain wit?’
‘Roofin, mate. He says he’ll help me git ma papers if A’m any good. Plus A kin sell ma maw n da’s hoose n take that candy wae me. They reckon it’ll go fur aboot fifty grand!’
A big smile crosses both our faces at the same time.
‘Fiddy geez? Dis she know that?’
‘Dis she fuck n A’ll no be tellin hur! That’s fur Broonie boy tae git set up when A git up there. See how it goes fur a few months n git a place n that. If A like it, A’ll bang a deposit doon on a gaff n just fuckin stay.’
‘No fuckin bad, son.’
‘Surprised ma maw n da didnae sell the hoose fur a fuckin cargo, the cunts!’
A oblige wae a laugh. We both know it’s true. It’s amazin the place is even worth that after the condition the Browns kept it in. The interior décor wid be ripped oot n the stones wid remain. The cheap price wid make a quick sale n then Broonie wid be free.
‘Wit aboot you n Monica?’
Hur name gees ma heart that wee sting roon the edges, especially when A wake up, expectin hur slim waist tae be under ma arm. Then A realise she’s still gone n the feelin vanishes. ‘That wan is on hold, bud. Fur now, at least.’
‘You wur fuckin daft on hur, wint yi?’
‘Suhin like that, mate.’
‘Fuck it’s no too late. Just git yir arse on a fuckin plane. A’ll tap yi fur gawn soon as A git ma fuckin dough. Nae hassle tae. Yi don’t even need tae pay me back.’
‘Cheers, son. Means a lot.’
‘Got yir fuckin back, Azzy big man.’
‘Always, cuz.’
It’s gone three o’clock n Friday is rollin on wae perfected bravado. A pulse beats around the system again, reanimation intae dead matter. The demon thrivin on the static in the air. Awready, as A watch the agonisin tick ae the clock, A kin feel it buildin inside, ready tae explode n drive me bang on-it. Oot wae the troops n fuckin causin it. Broonie’s lookin more restless anaw. He’s tappin his feet on the laminate n playin wae a lighter, then fiddlin wae his jakit n gettin ready tae boost.
The two ae us jump in the motor n head doon tae Broonie’s bit. He’s talkin away aboot suhin but A’m driftin away n no really payin attention. Ma mind is on the night ahead n its many possibilities. It’s pullin ma strings, tellin me tae forget aboot ma worries n tan ma bottle ae wine n prepare fur battle. Broonie gits a text n holds his phone up tae me as we arrive at his bit. ‘Mate, everycunt is in Danny’s bit the noo gittin on-it. A’m gonnae bounce in, git ready rapid n head straight up. Wit aboot you?’
‘Aye A’ll prob dae the same, cousin.’
‘Right chusty! A’ll see yi later, G!’
Part ae me doesnae feel like goin tae Danny’s, n A’ve git that bad feelin like A shouldnae go on-it. A’m flyin roon the scheme, towards the shop at the bottom ae the hill. A’m gonnae dae the same as Broonie, dump ma motor at ma bit n git ready, but as A’m passin by the shop ma heart starts fuckin poundin n that rage starts buildin in me. The distinctive black BMW is parked roon fae the bookies. Matty n Si ir in the front n there’s heads in the back. A slow doon as A roll by but they’ve no noticed me. A’m thinkin aboot ma maw’s windaes n the fifty phone calls over the last week, about Broonie and Wee Toffey n aw their fuckin shite n it’s makin me feel mental. Ma mare sensible side appeals fur calm, go home, take stock n plan ma departure, but A kin feel it gittin worse, like a battle drum pulsin in yir veins. An eld feelin, like years ago …
A’m back in mine n the Friday Feelin is reachin new peaks – it hud been fuckin simmerin away aw day, stable fuel without fire, but noo it’s a volatile compound waitin fur wan wee source ae ignition. Ma fuse is lit n it’s sparkin away, headin towards the charge. A’m pacin ma room, a blur ae ma orange Trainspotting poster, Union flag n Tupac Shakur. A’m smokin fags listenin tae Broonie’s CD fae earlier, but the trance tunes ir pickin up, gittin faster n only addin tae ma higher state ae consciousness. A cannae eat n A cannae sleep cos the Friday Feelin is a powerful drug in itself. A feel oot ma nut, chargin on nicotine, adrenaline n anger. It’s only a matter ae time before A fuckin blow. There’s a bottle ae wine sittin starin at me. Its yellow label n green body callin oot fur me tae neck it n huv a wee fuckin tan. Git it doon yi, son. Even Tupac is talkin tae me, fuckin noddin n tellin me tae dae it. On ya go, Azzy boi! Keep it OG, playa! Makaveli the Don. THUG LIFE! A go fur it, crack its gold crown n gee it a wee screw aff. Drink, long n deep, a good fuckin healthy neck oot it n feel that instant warm rush ae alcohol n caffeine. Tonic is the fuel. The tunes ir fuckin blarin n the Azzy boy is on-it. Fuck yi, Friday Feelin, yir no gonnae know wit’s fuckin hit yi, cos the fuckin Azzy boy is gonnae show them aw, fuckin big or small, who’s still dain a bit. A light a Mayfair n take a deep draw. Cannae whack it.
A’m halfway through ma wine when the door gets rattled. A only just hear it over the tunes. It creaks open n A kin make oot footsteps on the stairs. A’m no grabbin no fuckin bats cos the Azzy boy is mad-wae-it n ready fur anyhin. A bounce aff the bed n go tae open the door. A’ve got the fuckin buzz noo n the Friday Feelin is coursin through ma veins, almost unnecessary cos the damage is done. There’s nae calmin doon, nae veerin aff-track once yi started oan it. A’m oot on the landin waitin fur whoever is comin up the stairs.
It’s Stacey, n she’s git a look on, wan like yir fuckin maw in a bad mood wae yi.
‘Hiya,’ wae nae feelin.
‘Wit’s the matter wae yi? It’s Friday bells!’
‘You’re drunk, wee man.’
‘Phhhft, the Azzy boay’s no drunk, fuck sake.’
‘Aye yi are. Fuckin stinkin of Buckfast as well.’
‘A’ve no even been swallyin, ya dafty!’
‘What’s happened tae you? You’re like a different guy fae the one who came up. Back sittin in trackies n a Rangers tap, drinkin wine n steamin early evening. Charming, Azzy. Fucking charming, son. What a hit wae a decent lassie you’ll be.’
‘There’s nae decent lassies aboot here anyway, don’t worry.’
‘Naw, yours fucked off, didn’t she? N just as well if this is how you’re plannin tae conduct yourself.’
‘Aw calm it, Janet. A’ve no drank properly fur ages.’
‘Why are yi sittin on yir own guzzlin Tonic anyway?’
‘A’m no, fuck. A took two drinks oot ma bottle while A’m gittin ready tae go oot. Drinkin Tonic wine n feeliiin fiiine!’
‘Aw n where are yi fit fur going? No out that door A hope, cos yi fucking stink.’
‘Look, yir ma big cuz n A love yi, but if yir just here tae fuckin moan yi kin git oot!’
‘Wit’s happened tae yi?’
‘Wit dae yi mean?’
‘Is this the transformation complete? Between somebody away fae here n movin on n back tae their fate? Cos no kiddin, it’s like Jekyll n fuckin Hyde.’
‘Aw calm doon!’
‘Don’t be stupid! You’re so close, cuz. So close tae actually realising this place is dead. Come on, Alan. You know it, pal.’
Ma bravado ease
s fur a moment. Stacey is like a sister n a best mate, aw rolled intae wan. Wan ae the cool burds fae Big Kenzie’s lost generation. She wis always wan ae ma best pals really. Always there tae pick up the pieces when it aw went wrong. A owed hur that respect. ‘So, tell me in your infinite wisdom, wit is a guy tae dae?’
Stacey glances doon towards a holdall, which ma maw’s been surreptitiously fillin wae ma washed n ironed clothes. There’s a suitcase being filled in the front room anaw, where aw ma T-shirts n socks keep disappearin intae. This is her gentle nudge oot the door. She wid gee me some candy n that wid be me. Bon voyage, motherfuckers.
‘See that bag sittin on the floor?’
‘Aye.’
‘Pack it n beat it. How’s that fur infinite wisdom? No that complicated, is it?’
‘N go where?’
‘Yi know where. Yi either go n get your woman in Paris – who’s missing you like mad, by the way – or yi go it alone, somewhere else long-term. Anywhere yi like, son! Take yir pick. It’s a big world oot there.’
‘Aye! A’m hearin yi.’
‘So which is it?’
‘A dunno yit, fuck sake! It’s a big decision.’
‘Well yir no gettin any younger sittin there bumpin yir gums, rubber on the wine!’
A smile at Stacey n shake ma heed.
‘Get it sorted, pal.’
‘A wull, A wull.’
‘Use your head, son. A needty go. Just remember before yi head out that door tonight, what happens tae you, happens tae your mum n me as well. We’re the family that care aboot yi. It’s us three against the world.’
‘A know yees dae. A dae anaw.’
‘Well don’t break your maw’s heart n come back in a box. Or put someone else’s boy in one. Cos either of those options n that’s Angela finished. Yi hear me?’
‘Loud n fuckin clear.’
‘A hope so, Azzy Williams. Yir my wee cuz n A love yi.’
‘Awk same, ya dofty.’
A wait till Stacey is doon the stair n oot the door before A take another long tan ae ma bottle n light a fag. Tupac’s noddin tae us again, salutin us in ma quest fur street fame, the bold yin. Secretz of war, Outlawz. Thug 4 life. He understood the troubles ae a west-coast weekend warrior like Azzy W n we’re brethren ae our individual struggles fur fortune, social justice n redemption. ‘Tupac, ma man! Wit’s happnin, captain? Lanarkshire boys fuckin runnin it, coozan!’ No doubt, lil playa! Stay up! West coast! ‘Wit will A dae, Tupac?’ A ask him, but he’s just a poster again n he doesnae huv an answer fur me. Ma phone buzzes wae another withheld number. It’s they fuckin Toi dafties. It’s happnin noo, the Friday Feelin almost hus me. Wee Toffey is on ma mind. It isnae anyhin as noble as revenge, cos it’s a mortal sin tae use his death tae justify more violence. They tanned ma maw’s windae but she doesnae care cos it’s only broken glass n metal venetian blinds. The phone is still ringin, piercin intae ma brain n makin us feel worse. A know if A answer, it’s happnin. There’s nuhin tae hold us back noo cos A’m fuckin mad-wae-it n aff ma fuckin heed. Jekyll n fuckin Hyde? Azzy fuckin Williams, ya dafty. Young Team fur life, kick tae kill n stab fur fun. Hit the green button n here we fuckin go.
The Young Team Page 29