oan n ah’m ower tae Maggie n ah’ve goat ma airms roond her. She’s tryin tae push ays away but she’s no tryin that hard, if ye ken what ah mean. — Wi wir jist muckin aboot, ah tells ehr. — Now lit’s jist aw sit doon n relax.
— Ah cannae relax! How kin ah relax! Muh Ma n Dad’s doon in Blackpool n ma Uncle Alec’s here! Eh’s eywis drunk n eh’s awready set ehs ain hoose oan fire! Ah’ve goat tae watch him aw the time . . . it’s no fair, she greets, n she’s really blubberin away now.
Ah tries tae comfort ehr, while watchin Gail pull her breeks oan wi nae knickers. She might try tae steal a pair fae Maggie later, cause ah think that big black bush ay hers might jist show through they thin cotton troosers otherwise. Mind you, ah didnae think she’s that far tae git hame.
— Nivir mind yir Uncle Alec, Maggie. Gail shakes her heid. Aw she’s interested in is her pants. Mind you, that makes two ay us!
Maggie’s a bit feart ay her Uncle Alec. She’ll no go doon and face um, even tae make us a cup ay tea. — You dinnae ken um Gail, eh’s eywis drunk, she slobbers. Mibbe it’s an excuse, mibbe she kens that as soon as she goes oot the door ah’ll be right up yon Gail again.
— Awright, ah’ll go doon n say hiya, n make some tea, bring it up here. Wi a wee biscuit, ah goes, imitatin the wee Glesgay laddie oan that British Rail advert. Perr wee cunt thought it wis a big deal tae git a biscuit oan a train. Probably is through thaire though, thi’ll be like gold dust for they fuckin scruffs. Aye, Glesgay patter, ye cannae beat it, or so they keep tellin any cunt daft enough tae listen.
Ah head doonstairs hopin that the boy’s no one ay they psycho cunts. Thing is, it’s nice tae be nice n ah find that maist cunts are usually awright by you if you’re awright by thaim.
Uncle Alec
It’s a mawkit fuckin hoose this, it hus tae be said. Muh Ma’s no goat much money, but even whin she wis oan her ain, before she took up wi that German cunt, she hud oor place a palace compared tae this. Maggie’s room is the best in the place, it’s like it belongs in a different hoose.
It’s funny, but when ah git doon the stairs intae the front room, ah find that ah recognise the boy. Alec Connolly. A right tea-leaf eh is n aw.
This Alec boy looks at ays wi what muh Ma calls a real drinker’s face, aw flushed n wi liver spoats crawlin up the neck. Still, ah’d rather huv somebody like that aroond thin that yon German cunt that she goes wi. Steys in aw the time, nivir drinks, n grumbles at me if ah come in steamin oot ay ma heid. The sooner me n Lucy git a place ay oor ain, the better. — Aye, aye, the Alec gadge goes, aw sort ay frosty.
Ah jist winks at the auld cunt. — Awright, mate. How’s it gaun? Jist up the stair wi Maggie n her pal thaire, playin some records.
— So that’s what ye call it now, is it, eh says, but it’s a sortay laugh. This cunt’s awright: he disnae gie a fuck really. Ah’m sure this room’s goat even mair boggin since ah wis last in it. Ma soles stick tae the cracked lino, n tae the fusty square ay cairpit in the middle ay it.
Alec’s sittin in a battered ermchair tryin tae roll a fag wi shakin hands. Oan the coffee table in front ay him thir’s piles ay cans, a half-emptyhalf-boatil ay whisky n a big gless ashtray. Eh’s wearin a worn blue suit n tie, it’s nearly the same colour as the cunt’s eyes, which stand oot in ehs ruddy coupon. Ah jist shrug. — You’re Alec, aye? Ah’m Terry.
— Ah ken who ye are, ah’ve seen ye oan the lorries. Are you Henry Lawson’s laddie?
Uh-aw. Eh kens the auld cunt. — Aye. Ye ken um?
— Ah ken
ay
um, bit eh’s goat a few years oan me. Drinks in Leith, eh. How’s eh daein?
Whae gies a fuck aboot that cunt. — Awright, ah mean . . . ah dinnae ken. Seems tae be fine. We dinnae really git oan, ah tell this Alec gadge, but ah think eh tippled that as soon as the auld bastard’s name was mentioned.
This Alec
— Ah cannae relax! How kin ah relax! Muh Ma n Dad’s doon in Blackpool n ma Uncle Alec’s here! Eh’s eywis drunk n eh’s awready set ehs ain hoose oan fire! Ah’ve goat tae watch him aw the time . . . it’s no fair, she greets, n she’s really blubberin away now.
Ah tries tae comfort ehr, while watchin Gail pull her breeks oan wi nae knickers. She might try tae steal a pair fae Maggie later, cause ah think that big black bush ay hers might jist show through they thin cotton troosers otherwise. Mind you, ah didnae think she’s that far tae git hame.
— Nivir mind yir Uncle Alec, Maggie. Gail shakes her heid. Aw she’s interested in is her pants. Mind you, that makes two ay us!
Maggie’s a bit feart ay her Uncle Alec. She’ll no go doon and face um, even tae make us a cup ay tea. — You dinnae ken um Gail, eh’s eywis drunk, she slobbers. Mibbe it’s an excuse, mibbe she kens that as soon as she goes oot the door ah’ll be right up yon Gail again.
— Awright, ah’ll go doon n say hiya, n make some tea, bring it up here. Wi a wee biscuit, ah goes, imitatin the wee Glesgay laddie oan that British Rail advert. Perr wee cunt thought it wis a big deal tae git a biscuit oan a train. Probably is through thaire though, thi’ll be like gold dust for they fuckin scruffs. Aye, Glesgay patter, ye cannae beat it, or so they keep tellin any cunt daft enough tae listen.
Ah head doonstairs hopin that the boy’s no one ay they psycho cunts. Thing is, it’s nice tae be nice n ah find that maist cunts are usually awright by you if you’re awright by thaim.
Uncle Alec
It’s a mawkit fuckin hoose this, it hus tae be said. Muh Ma’s no goat much money, but even whin she wis oan her ain, before she took up wi that German cunt, she hud oor place a palace compared tae this. Maggie’s room is the best in the place, it’s like it belongs in a different hoose.
It’s funny, but when ah git doon the stairs intae the front room, ah find that ah recognise the boy. Alec Connolly. A right tea-leaf eh is n aw.
This Alec boy looks at ays wi what muh Ma calls a real drinker’s face, aw flushed n wi liver spoats crawlin up the neck. Still, ah’d rather huv somebody like that aroond thin that yon German cunt that she goes wi. Steys in aw the time, nivir drinks, n grumbles at me if ah come in steamin oot ay ma heid. The sooner me n Lucy git a place ay oor ain, the better. — Aye, aye, the Alec gadge goes, aw sort ay frosty.
Ah jist winks at the auld cunt. — Awright, mate. How’s it gaun? Jist up the stair wi Maggie n her pal thaire, playin some records.
— So that’s what ye call it now, is it, eh says, but it’s a sortay laugh. This cunt’s awright: he disnae gie a fuck really. Ah’m sure this room’s goat even mair boggin since ah wis last in it. Ma soles stick tae the cracked lino, n tae the fusty square ay cairpit in the middle ay it.
Alec’s sittin in a battered ermchair tryin tae roll a fag wi shakin hands. Oan the coffee table in front ay him thir’s piles ay cans, a half-emptyhalf-boatil ay whisky n a big gless ashtray. Eh’s wearin a worn blue suit n tie, it’s nearly the same colour as the cunt’s eyes, which stand oot in ehs ruddy coupon. Ah jist shrug. — You’re Alec, aye? Ah’m Terry.
— Ah ken who ye are, ah’ve seen ye oan the lorries. Are you Henry Lawson’s laddie?
Uh-aw. Eh kens the auld cunt. — Aye. Ye ken um?
— Ah ken
ay
um, bit eh’s goat a few years oan me. Drinks in Leith, eh. How’s eh daein?
Whae gies a fuck aboot that cunt. — Awright, ah mean . . . ah dinnae ken. Seems tae be fine. We dinnae really git oan, ah tell this Alec gadge, but ah think eh tippled that as soon as the auld bastard’s name was mentioned.
This Alec
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