Trainspotting (31 page)

– Yeah, likesay . . . it's too heavy . . . Spud briefly Wonders whether or not Gav is having an indirect dig at him, by going on about people who are always bombed, before deciding that it's an innocent remark. Gav was alright.

Spud's muddled brain turns to sex. Everyone seemed to bag off at the party, everyone except him. He really fancies a ride. His problem is that he is too shy when straight or sober, and too incoherent when stoned or drunk, to make an impression on women. He currently has a thing about Nicola Hanlon, whom he thinks looks a bit like Kylie Minogue. A few months ago, Nicola had been talking to him as they walked from a party at Sighthill to one at Wester Hailes. They had been having a good crack, becoming detached from the rest of the group. She had been very responsive, and Spud had chatted freely, high on speed. In fact, she seemed to be hanging on his every word. Spud wanted to never get to that party, wishing that they could just go on walking and talking. They went down into the underpass and Spud thought that he should try to put his arm around Nicola. Then a passage from a Smiths' song, one he'd always liked called: 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out', came into his head:

and in the darkened underpass

I thought Oh God my chance has come at last

but then a strange fear gripped me

and i Jjust couldn't ask

Morrissey's sad voice summed up his feelings. He didn’t put his arm around Nicola, and his attempts to chat her up were half–arsed after that. Instead, he jacked up in a bedroom with Rents and Matty, enjoying blissful freedom from the anxiety of wondering whether or not he'd get off with her.

When sex did happen for Spud, it was generally when he was possessed by a more forceful will. Even then, disaster never seemed to be too far away. One evening, Laura McEwan, a girl with an awesome sexual reputation, grabbed a hold of him in a Grassmarket pub, and took him home.

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– Ah want you to take my arse virginity, she had told him.

– Eh? Spud could not believe it.

– Fuck me in the arse. Ah've never done it that way before.

– Eh yeah, that sounds . . . barry, eh likesay, eh right . . Spud felt like the chosen one. He knew that Sick Boy, Renton, and Matty had all been with Laura, who tended to attach herself to a company, fuck every guy in it, and then move on. The thing was, they had never done what he was about to do.

However, Laura wanted to do some things with Spud first. She bound his wrists, then his ankles together with sellotape.

– I'm daein this because ah don't want you to hurt me. Dae ye understand? We do it from the side. The minute ah start tae feel pain it's fuckin over. Right? Because nobody hurts me. No fuckin guy ever hurts me. Ye understand me? She spoke harshly and bitterly.

– Yeah . . . sound likesay, sound . . . Spud said. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He was shocked at the imputation.

Laura stood back and admired her handiwork.

– Fuck me, that's beautiful, she said, rubbing her crotch as a naked Spud lay trussed up on the bed. Spud felt vulnerable, and strangely coy. He'd never been tied up before, and never been told that he was beautiful. Laura then took Spud's long, thin cock into her mouth and started to suck him off. She stopped, with an expertise part intuitive, part learned, just before an ecstatic Spud was about to come. Then she left the room. Spud started to get paranoid about the bondage. Everyone said Laura was a nutter. She'd been shagging everyone in sight since she'd got her long–term partner, a guy called Roy, committed to a psychiatric hospital, fed up with his impotence, incontinence and depression. But mostly the former.

– He never fucked me properly for ages, Laura had told Spud, as if that was justification for getting him banged up in the nuthouse. However, Spud reasoned, her cruelty and ruthlessness was part of her attraction. Sick Boy referred to her as the 'Sex Goddess'. She came back into the bedroom, and looked at him, bound and at her mercy.

– Ah want you to dae us in the arse now. First though, ah'm gaunnae Vaseline your dick heavily, so that it doesnae hurt me when you put it in. My muscles'll be tight, cause this is new tae me, but I'll try tae relax. She toked hard on a joint.

Laura was not being strictly accurate. She couldn't find any Vaseline in the bathroom cabinet. She did, however, find some other stuff she could use as a lubricant. It was sticky and gooey. She applied it liberally to Spud's dick. It was Vick. It burned into him, and Spud screamed in excruciating agony. He writhed fitfully against his bonds, feeling like the tip of his penis had been guillotined off.

– Fuck. Sorry Spud, Laura said, open–mouthed.

She helped him off the bed, and assisted him into the toilet. He hopped along, tears of pain blinding him. She filled the sink with water, and then left the room to search for a knife to cut the binding on his ankles and wrists.

Balancing precariously, Spud put his cock into the water. It stung even more violently, the shock making him recoil. As he fell back, his head crashed against the toilet bowl and split open above his eye. When Laura came back, Spud was unconscious, and thick, dark blood was oozing onto the lino.

Laura called the ambulance, and Spud woke up in hospital with six stitches above his eye, heavily concussed.

He never did get to fuck her in the arsehole. The rumour was that a frustrated Laura phoned up Sick Boy shortly after this, who came and stood in for his friend. Soon after this disaster, Spud turned his attention to Nicola Hanlon.

– Eh, surprised wee Nicky wisnae it the perty, likesay . wee Nicky, ken, likesay? he told

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Gav.

– Aye. She's a dirty wee hoor. Takes it aw Weys, Gav said casually.

– Aye?

Noting, and savouring, the ill–disguised trepidation and concern on Spud's face, Gav continues, gleeful inside, but talking in a stiff, brisk, businesslike manner. – Aw aye. Ah've poked it a few times. No a bad wee ride, likes. Sick Boy's been thair. Rents n aw. Ah think Tommy tae. He wis certainly sniffin roond it fir a bit.

– Aye? . . . eh, right . . . Spud feels deflated, and optimistic at the same time. He'll have to try to stay straighter, he resolves, thinking that he seems to miss everything that is going on under his nose.

Over at the table, Begbie indicates that he is in need of more solid nourishment: – Ah'm fuckin Lee Marvin. Lit's git some scran, then hit a decent fuckin boozer. He looks bitterly around the cavernous, nicotine–stained bar, like an arrogant aristocrat finding himself in reduced circumstances. In fact, he has just seen the old drunkard at the bar.

It is still dark when they leave the pub, and go to a cafe in Portland Street.

– Fill breakfasts aw roond, Begbie enthusiastically looks at the others. They all nod approvingly, except Renton.

– Naw. Ah'm no wantin meat, he says.

– Ah'll huv your fuckin bacon n sausage n fuckin black puddin then, Begbie suggests.

– Aye, sure, Renton says sarcastically.

– Ah'll fuckin swap ye ma fuckin egg n beans n tomatay then ya cunt!

– Awright, begins Renton, then he turns to the waitress. –Dae ye use vegetable oil whin ye fry, or fat?

– Naw, fat, the waitress says, looking at him as if he is an imbecile.

– Moantae fuck, Rents. Makes nae difference, Gav says.

– S up tae Mark what he eats, Kelly says supportively. Alison nods. Renton feels like a smug pimp.

– Fuckin well spoilin it fir ivray cunt, Rents, Begbie growls.

– How am ah spoilin it? Cheese salad roll, he turns to the waitress.

– We aw fuckin agreed. Fill fuckin breakfasts aw roond, Begbie states. Renton cannot believe this. He wants to tell Begbie to fuck off. Instead he fights the instinct and slowly shakes his head. – Ah dinnae eat meat, Franco.

– Fuckin vegetarianism. Fuckin loaday shite. Ye need meat. A fuckin junky fuckin worryin aboot what he pits in his boady! That's a fuckin laugh!

– Jist dinnae like meat, Renton says, feelin silly as they all snigger.

– Dinnae fuckin tell us ye hate killin fuckin animals. Remember they fuckin dugs n cats we used tae fuckin shoot Wi the air rifles! N the fuckin pigeons we used tae set oan fire. Used tae fuckin tape bangers – fireworks likes – tae white mice, this cunt.

– No bothered aboot killin animals. Jist dinnae like eatin thum, Renton shrugs, embarrassed that his adolescent cruelties have been exposed to Kelly.

– Fuckin cruel bastards. Dinnae ken how anybody could shoot a dug, Alison sneers, shaking her head.

– Well, ah dinnae ken now anybody could kill and eat a pig, Renton points to the bacon and sausage on her plate.

– S no the same.

Spud looks around: It's eh, likesay . . . Rents is daein the right thing, but it's kinday the wrong reasons. We'll nivir likesay, learn tae love oorsels, until we kin look eftir weaker things, likesay animals n that . . . but it's good thit Rents is vegetarian . . . likesay, if ye kin keep it up . . . likesay . . .

Begbie vibrates his body in a floppy way and gives the peace sign to Spud. The others laugh. Renton, appreciative at Spud's attempt to back him up, cuts in to deflect the slagging away from his ally. – Keepin it up's nae problem. Ah jist hate meat. It makes us puke. Endy story.

– Well, ah still fuckin say yir fuckin spoilin it fir ivray cunt else.

– How?

– Cause ah fuckin sais, that's fuckin how! Begbie hisses, pointing to himself

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Renton shrugs again. There was little sense in arguing further. They hurry the meal down, all except Kelly, who plays with her food, oblivious to the ravenous stares of the others. IEventually, she scrapes some bits and pieces onto Franco and Gav's empty plates.

They are asked to leave after chanting: – Oooh to ooh to be, oooh to be a Hibby! when a nervous and uncomfortable looking guy in a Hearts shell–top walks in for a takeaway. This sets off a medley of football and crap pop songs. The woman at the counter threatens to phone the police, but they vacate the premises with good grace.

They stop off at another pub. Renton and Kelly stay for one drink, then slope off together. Gav, Dawsy, Begbie, Spud and Alison continue drinking heavily. Dawsy, who has been teetering for some time, passes out. Begbie gets in tow with a couple of psychos that he knows at the bar, and Gav has a proprietory arrn around Alison.

Spud hears T'Pau's 'China In Your Hand' starting, and immediately realises that Begbie is up at the juke–box. He always seemed to put on either that one, Berlin's 'Take My Breath Away', the Human League's 'Don't You Want Me' or a Rod Stewart song.

When Gav staggers off to the toilet, Alison turns to Spud. –Spu . . . Danny. Let's get ootay here. Ah want tae go hame.

Eh . . . aye . . . likesay.

– Ah dinnae want tae go hame oan ma ain Danny. Come Wi us.

– Eh, yeah . . . hame, right . . . eh . . . right.

They slink out of the smoke–filled bar as surreptitiously as their wasted bodies allow.

– Come hame an stey Wi us fir a while Danny. Nae drugs or anything. Ah dinnae want tae be oan ma ain just now, Danny. Ken what ah'm sayin? Alison looks at him tensely, tearfully, as they lurch along the street.

Spud nods. He thinks he knows what she is saying, because he doesn't want to be alone either. He can never be sure though, never, ever quite sure.

FEELING FREE

Alison's getting really terrible. Ah'm sitting here Wi her in this cafe, tryin tae make sense ay the rubbish that she's talkin. She's bad–mouthing Mark, which is fair enough, but it's starting tae get oan ma wick. I know that she means well, but what about her and Simon, who just comes along and uses her when he's got naebody else tae fuck? She isnae exactly in the best position tae talk.

– Dinnae get me wrong, Kelly. Ah like Mark. It's jist that he's goat a load ay problems. He isnae what you need right now.

Ali's being protective because ah got fucked ahout wi Des, and the abortion and aw that. It's such a pain in the arse though. She should hear herself. Tryin tae kick heroin, n she feels she's in a position tae tell everybody else how tae live thir lives.

– Aw aye, n Simon's what you need?

– Ah'm no sayin that Kelly. That's nothing tae dae wi it. Simon's at least tryin tae keep off the smack, Mark doesnae gie a toss.

– Mark isnae a junky, he jist uses sometimes.

– Aye sure. What fuckin planet are you oan Kelly? That’s how that Hazel lassie tore up his caird. He cannae leave the gear alane. You're even talkin like a junky yirsel. Keep thinkin like that, n you'll be oan it as well, soon enough.

Ah'm no gaunnae argue wi her. It's time for her appointment at the Housing Department anywey.

Ali's doon tae see aboot her rent arrears. She's pretty mad, like, screwed–up and tense; but the guy behind the desk's awright. Ali explains that she's oaf the gear n she’s been for a few job interviews. It goes quite well. She gits given a set amount tae pay back each week. Ah kin tell thit Ali's still uptight though, because ay the wey she reacts when these guys, workies, whistle at us ootside the GPO.

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– Awright doll? one shouts.

Ali, crazy fuckin cow that she is, turns oan the guy.

– Have you goat a girlfriend? Ah doubt it, because yir a fat, ugly prick. Why no just go intae the toilet wi a dirty book and have sex wi the only person crazy enough tae touch ye –yirsel. The guy looks at her wi real hate, but he was lookin like that anywey. It's only like, now he's got a reason tae hate her, rather than just because she's a woman. The guy's mates are gaun: – Whoooaah! Whoooaah!, sortay egging this guy on, n he's jist standin thair shakin Wi anger. One ay the workies is danglin like an ape fi the scaffoldin. That's what thir like, low primates. Too mad!

– Fuck off ya boot! he snarls.

Ali stands her ground though. This is embarrassing, but sortay fun n aw, cause a few people have stopped tae check out the hassle. Two other women, like student types Wi backpacks, are standing alongside us. It makes me feel, like really good. Crazy!

Ali, god, that woman is mental, sais: – So ah wis a doll a minute ago whin ye wir hasslin us. Now that ah tell ye tae fuck off, ah'm a boot. Well, you are still a fat, ugly prick, son, and ye always will be.