it, I suppose it must look like the rest ay the world’s lordin it, Franco says.
— Ye goat a sub? Joe asks, in a completely different tone. Franco had realised early into the conversation that external kindness or scorn made zero difference to Joe’s mood. It was purely determined by the units of alcohol flowing through his system, and the fractured, internal narrative his fuddled brain was jumping through.
Franco rises, fishes out a crisp tenner from his pocket. Places it on the table. — See ye behind the goals.
11
THE SECOND SON
He had walked past the old Leith Academy school in Duke Street, now converted into flats, recalling sitting beside skinny, ginger-headed Mark Renton in the English class. How he struggled to understand the words on the page, and he knew that the teacher, Hetherington, a bullish, rugby-playing man with a beard, and leather elbow patches on his checked jacket, would ask him to read again. In his mind’s eye he saw the teacher scanning the room, making his eyes big, as young Frank Begbie’s insides packed densely and seemed to fall through him. — Francis, if you could read next . . .
The anticipatory glee of his humiliation filled the room. Then, next to him, Mark Renton, whispering, — Julie visited the cinema with Alice.
— Julie visited the cinema with Alice . . . Franco repeated.
— Very good, Francis Begbie. But I’d appreciate it more if Mark Renton would keep his mouth shut. The next line, Francis.
The squiggles danced before his eyes on the page, reverbing. — Sh . . . sh . . . sh . . .
— What did Julie and Alice – remember them? What did Julie and Alice visit the cinema to see, Begbie? What film did they see?
The laughter building in slow ripples around him. He could feel Renton, only Renton, sharing his anger.
— Can anybody help Francis Begbie?
Can anybody help Francis Begbie?
— Elaine! You never let us down!
Then the sooky voice of Elaine Harkins, entitled, impatient. Francis Begbie held everybody back again . — They had decided to see Gone with the Wind , starring Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh. Alice went to purchase some ice cream and popcorn from the refreshments stand.
The refreshments stand. Paggers at Tyney.
Frustrated by the local electrical shops, Franco decides that his best bet is to get a UK mobile. He opts to pick up a cheap one on a pay-as-you-go deal, and heads to Tesco’s at the Foot of the Walk, which he remembers being a Scotmid. Hopefully, he considers, he won’t be needing this device for long. Stepping outside, he tests it by calling Terry. It goes straight to voicemail (— Terry here. If yir a lassie, leave a message n ah’ll get back tae ye. If yir a laddie, dinnae bother. Simple as.) but at least he knows it works. Looking across the street to the Marksman Bar, he recalls old associations, then thinks about family.
As he crosses through the Kirkgate Centre, Franco is aware that a gaunt but wiry young man in a red Harrington jacket is staring right at him. It’s Michael, the younger of his two sons with June, whom he has heard is gaining a reputation.
As he moves over to the wall by the shuttered store, the boy’s slitted eyes widen slightly. — Aw, it is you, Michael says, dismissively. — My ma said ye were coming back ower.
Franco wants to retort, no, it’s somebody else . Instead he manages, — Aye. Want tae get a cup ay tea?
Michael considers this for a second. — Aye. Awright.
As they head down Junction Street, Franco notes two youths, wide and loud, coming down the road towards them. On spotting their approach, the young men fall abruptly silent and avoid eye contact. Franco is accustomed to inducing such a reaction in Leith, and turns to his son in a half-apology before realising that Michael hasn’t seen the boys and is striding ahead, lost in thought. Franco examines his profile, can’t see anything of himself, or for that matter June. The boy seems like a totally discrete entity.
The Canasta
— Ye goat a sub? Joe asks, in a completely different tone. Franco had realised early into the conversation that external kindness or scorn made zero difference to Joe’s mood. It was purely determined by the units of alcohol flowing through his system, and the fractured, internal narrative his fuddled brain was jumping through.
Franco rises, fishes out a crisp tenner from his pocket. Places it on the table. — See ye behind the goals.
11
THE SECOND SON
He had walked past the old Leith Academy school in Duke Street, now converted into flats, recalling sitting beside skinny, ginger-headed Mark Renton in the English class. How he struggled to understand the words on the page, and he knew that the teacher, Hetherington, a bullish, rugby-playing man with a beard, and leather elbow patches on his checked jacket, would ask him to read again. In his mind’s eye he saw the teacher scanning the room, making his eyes big, as young Frank Begbie’s insides packed densely and seemed to fall through him. — Francis, if you could read next . . .
The anticipatory glee of his humiliation filled the room. Then, next to him, Mark Renton, whispering, — Julie visited the cinema with Alice.
— Julie visited the cinema with Alice . . . Franco repeated.
— Very good, Francis Begbie. But I’d appreciate it more if Mark Renton would keep his mouth shut. The next line, Francis.
The squiggles danced before his eyes on the page, reverbing. — Sh . . . sh . . . sh . . .
— What did Julie and Alice – remember them? What did Julie and Alice visit the cinema to see, Begbie? What film did they see?
The laughter building in slow ripples around him. He could feel Renton, only Renton, sharing his anger.
— Can anybody help Francis Begbie?
Can anybody help Francis Begbie?
— Elaine! You never let us down!
Then the sooky voice of Elaine Harkins, entitled, impatient. Francis Begbie held everybody back again . — They had decided to see Gone with the Wind , starring Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh. Alice went to purchase some ice cream and popcorn from the refreshments stand.
The refreshments stand. Paggers at Tyney.
Frustrated by the local electrical shops, Franco decides that his best bet is to get a UK mobile. He opts to pick up a cheap one on a pay-as-you-go deal, and heads to Tesco’s at the Foot of the Walk, which he remembers being a Scotmid. Hopefully, he considers, he won’t be needing this device for long. Stepping outside, he tests it by calling Terry. It goes straight to voicemail (— Terry here. If yir a lassie, leave a message n ah’ll get back tae ye. If yir a laddie, dinnae bother. Simple as.) but at least he knows it works. Looking across the street to the Marksman Bar, he recalls old associations, then thinks about family.
As he crosses through the Kirkgate Centre, Franco is aware that a gaunt but wiry young man in a red Harrington jacket is staring right at him. It’s Michael, the younger of his two sons with June, whom he has heard is gaining a reputation.
As he moves over to the wall by the shuttered store, the boy’s slitted eyes widen slightly. — Aw, it is you, Michael says, dismissively. — My ma said ye were coming back ower.
Franco wants to retort, no, it’s somebody else . Instead he manages, — Aye. Want tae get a cup ay tea?
Michael considers this for a second. — Aye. Awright.
As they head down Junction Street, Franco notes two youths, wide and loud, coming down the road towards them. On spotting their approach, the young men fall abruptly silent and avoid eye contact. Franco is accustomed to inducing such a reaction in Leith, and turns to his son in a half-apology before realising that Michael hasn’t seen the boys and is striding ahead, lost in thought. Franco examines his profile, can’t see anything of himself, or for that matter June. The boy seems like a totally discrete entity.
The Canasta
Similar Books
