— Is it Ayr United that Kilmarnock batter? ah ask.
Eh shakes ehs heid n laughs. — Well, Ayr n Killie are rivals, aye, but they arenae that often playin in the same league. So maist o’ the real bother doon there used tae be at the big junior games. Ah wis a Darvel man and in the cup games against the likes o’ Kilwhinning or Cumnock thir wis always bother before, during n after the game. It sometimes got very, very vicious as well. If they had the numbers, ye would never have heard o’ Rangers versus Celtic!
Mrs Ewart’s made some tea, n she brings it through oan a tray. — Quiet Duncan, ye shouldnae be encouragin they laddies! She’s laughin though.
Mr Ewart grins, like he’s windin her up. — It’s jist social history, that’s aw. Ah mean, ah dunno what it’s like now, but they were all minin towns. The work was hard n thir wis a lot of poverty. People had to huv an outlet. It wis pride in yir toon or village, in whae ye are, whaire ye come fae.
— Well they dinnae need an outlet. Thi’ll end up in the bloody jail, that’s where they’ll end up, she warned.
Carl smiles at me and ah try no tae look back, soas no tae annoy Mrs Ewart. Ah ken ye shouldnae really say things aboot yir mate’s ma, but ah really like Mrs Ewart. She’s goat barry tits. It makes ays really feel ashamed, but ah’ve hud a wank aboot her before.
The Professionals came oan n we settled doon tae watch it. Ah kept lookin ower at Mrs Ewart’s legs, the wey she kicked oaf they slippers. She catches me n smiles, n ah gits a beamer n looks back at the screen. The Professionals are barry. Ah’d be Doyle n Carl wid be Bodie, even if Doyle’s goat hair like Terry.
Doyle.
Polmont.
The knife.
The boy fae Clerie.
Ah look back tae the screen. Even though it wis great, ah could still feel that sick, dreaded Sunday night feelin settlin in, worse thin ever.
No Man of the House
Whin ah wake up ah’m a bit happier though, in fact it’s the first time in yonks thit ah’ve been lookin forward tae the school oan Monday. Ah fuckin hate the place, n ah cannae wait till summer until ah’m sixteen n ah kin git the fuck oot ay it. They tell ays ah should stey oan, they say thit ah could be good if ah applied masel mair. Aw ah like but, is French. If they’d lit ays dae French aw the time, or mibbe another language like German or Spanish, ah’d nivir be oot ay school. The rest is shite. Ah’d like tae go tae France tae live one day, n huv a French bird, cause the lassies ower thaire are beautiful.
Ah’m wantin tae hear aboot the match but ah’m no wantin tae hear aboot ootside Clouds. It’s probably blown over by now though.
Clouds! Blown over by now!
But it worries ays whin ah think aboot it. Sometimes ah feel thit things are awright, then ah git this shudder thit nearly stoaps ma hert. Muh Ma kens thit something’s up wi ays. Ah find it hard tae meet her eyes. Ah’m up right away n oot early, callin roond fir Billy n Carl first, which nivir usually happens.
Wi gits tae the school n it’s Monday assembly in the Gym Hall. McDonald, the heidie, he’s sittin up thaire on the platform, lookin aw grave n serious. Thir’s a loat ay chatterin which stoaps as soon as eh gets up. — It’s indeed unfortunate that we have to start our week on a sour note. Mr Black, eh says, nodding tae Blackie whae stands up next, settin oaf another buzz ay whispers aroond the hall.
The cunt looks really angry. Thirs rid strips doon each side ay ehs face. Eh clears ehs throat n wi aw shut up again. — In all my years of teaching experience, I have never, ever been ashamed to say that I was a member of this school . . .
— Radge nivir went tae this school, what’s eh oan aboot? Billy whispers tae ays.
— . . . until I witnessed some sickening behaviour at the football game at Easter Road on Saturday. There was a group of youths, obviously hell-bent on causing trouble, who dragged the name of this . . . of this whole city, this whole city, eh swings ehs airms wide, — right through the dirt, eh moans. As usual, the cunt stoaps fir effect. Everybody’s heids go doon, but it’s only a few sooky, snobby wee cunts n one or two lassies thit huv hung thum in shame; wi jist aboot everybody else it’s tae stoap um seein thit wir aw aboot tae burst oot laughin. — And it pains me to say this, eh cairries oan, — but some of those involved were pupils at this school. One of them is known to many of you. He left last summer. A fool of a boy known as Terence Lawson.
There were a lot of stifled giggles. Ah wished Terry wis there tae hear this. A fool of a boy! That’s Terry!
— The other young idiot was not known to me. But there was one thug, strutting as boldly as you like, being frogmarched by police officers around the track for the television cameras, for the whole world to see! One boy from this school! Blackie’s fuckin tremblin now wi ehs anger. — Step forward Martin Gentleman! What do you have to say for yourself?
Ah couldnae see Marty Gentleman at first. Ah did see Dozo Doyle grinnin fae the side, ehs newly shaven heid n ehs mad eyes. Then ah sees Hillier, the PE boy, signal tae Gentleman tae leave the line, n ah can see um now. Eh’s no easy tae miss.
— Stick yir fuckin school up yir hole, ya radge! Gentleman said, as eh stepped oot the row. Thir wis a loat ay laughter n oooohhs comin fae the rows. In fact it wis dead like whin muh Uncle Donald used tae take us tae the pantomime in the Kings at Tollcross, tae see Stanley Baxter n Ronnie Corbett in Cinderella n that. Hillier tried tae grab ehs airm, bit Marty brushed um oaf n stared um doon. The cunt shat it.
— This is the mentality . . . do you see! Do you see! Blackie sweeps ehs hands forward taewards Gent, who’s walkin tae the door n giein the cunt the Vs. — This is the mentality . . . this is what we’re up against! We’re trying to teach! We’re trying to teeeaatch . . . Blackie squawked fae the stage.
Gentleman turned roond tae the stage n shouted so much that eh nearly cowped over, rockin forward oan ehs taes. — FUCK OFF, YA RADGE! STICK YIR FUCKIN JESUS UP YIR ERSE!
— YOU’LL NEVER SET FOOT IN THIS SCHOOL AGAIN! Blackie howls.
Mair ooohs, mair laughter. The best fuckin panto any cunt here’s ever seen, that wis fir sure.
— Dinnae fuckin well worry aboot that, ya cunt! Too fuckin right ah’ll no! Gentleman roared, then turned ehs back n walked oot fir good.
A lassie called Marjory Phillips started gaun intae a laughin fit n bit her finger tae stoap herself. Billy n Carl wir nearly greetin. Ah goes, — A gentleman, but no a scholar. No now anywey, n the cunts start laughin n it spreads doon the line.
Barry!
Blackie’s rabbittin oan n oan, but eh’s oaf ehs fuckin heid n McDonald’s tellin the cunt tae sit doon. Then wir dismissed. It’s aw gaun roond the school, every cunt’s aboot wettin thirsels. Gentleman wis right tae dae what eh did, that cunt Blackie wis oot ay order. It wis ootside ay school ooirs; fuck all tae dae wi him. The wey ah see it is thit we should’ve goat a fuckin medal fir standin up tae they cunts. Bit Gentleman wid be leavin the school in a month or so anywey, so it makes nae fuckin odds if they expel um or no. Lucky cunt gittin lifted cause that’s him offski for good. That’s what would be great aboot gaun tae work; yir no gaunny git hassled jist fir fightin at the fuckin fitba. Ye git treated like a wee bairn here.
When ah gets back hame ah goes doon tae the chippy for muh Ma. Ah’m steyin in the night n watchin the telly. Wi eywis go tae the chippy oan Monday cause muh Ma disnae finish her cleanin joab till late n she’s nae time tae make something. Ah gits a fish supper, two pickled onions, a pickled egg, a roll n a can ay Coke n ah’m sittin watchin the news. Ah’ve jist finished eatin whin thir’s a knock oan the door. Ma gits it n ah hears the voices. It’s men’s voices. Hers is aw high, thaires is low.
It’s the polis. Ah jist ken.
It must be somethin tae dae wi the auld man. It hus tae be. Eh wis last heard ay doon in England. Birmingham, or somewhaire near thaire.
Then they come in. Muh Ma’s lookin at ays, ehr face aw white wi shock. The polis ur starin at me n aw, but thir coupons look like thuv been carved ootay stane.
It’s fir me.
Ah cannae say nowt. If it’s fir me, ah cannae say nowt.
Muh Ma’s greetin, pleadin, bit they say they need tae take ays doon tae the station. — It’s a mistake Ma, it’ll aw be sorted oot. Ah’ll be back in nae time, ah say. She looks at ays n shakes her heid. She’s in real pain. — Honest, Ma, ah plead. It’s nae good, cause she’s mindin ay the knife. She went oan and oan at ays tae git rid ay it, n ah telt her, promised her thit ah’d flung it away.
— Come on, Andrew, son, a cop sais.
Ah get up. Ah cannae look at muh Ma. Sheena’s pattin Cropley. Ah try tae wink at her but she’s keepin her eyes doon. She’s keepin thum doon in shame, like the sooky kids in assembly.
One ay the cops looks a right cunt, bit the other one’s awright, eh’s talkin aboot the fitba n that as we git intae the car. Ah’m tryin no tae say too much, in case thir tryin tae git ays talkin soas ah’ll shop some cunt by mistake. Mr Ewart’s comin doon the road in ehs overalls wi ehs bag for ehs piece. Eh sees me in the car, n eh’s comin ower, but ah cannae look at him. Ah feel thit ah’ve lit everybody doon.
Ah’m gled whin we speed oaf, soas eh cannae git ehsel involved. Eh’d try tae help, ah ken eh wid, n it wid jist embarrass ays mair. Ah dinnae think the cops even seen um.
It feels like the end ay the world.
Doon the station they take ays intae a room n leave ays thair. It’s goat two orange plastic chairs wi the black metal legs like at the school, a green Formica-topped table n yellay-cream waws. Ah dinnae ken how long um thaire fir. Seems like ooirs. Aw ah kin dae is think aboot Setirday night, aboot the boy’s face, aboot Polmont; aboot bein daft enough tae pill the knife, stupid enough tae gie um it, mad enough tae take it back.
What the fuck wis ah thinkin aboot? Three times stupid in the space ay aboot as many seconds.
The two polis come back intae the room wi this other guy in plain clathes. Eh’s goat a grey suit oan, n a long face like a horse’s. Thir’s this wart oan ehs nose, n ah cannae stoap lookin at it. It makes ays think aboot ma pluke n how ah shouldnae huv went tae Clouds wi a spot. Ma thoats stoap n freeze inside muh heid whin the boy pills ma knife oot ay this bag.
— Is this your knife? eh asks me.
Ah jist shrug, bit ah’m shakin inside.
— We’ll be taking fingerprints from you in a wee minute, Andrew, the nice cop says tae me. — We also have witnesses tae say that you had one like it.
Thir’s this fly crawlin up the waw behind the boy.
— And we’ve goat witnesses tae say that you were running from the scene of the assault and others to testify that they saw ye put something intae the rubbish bin where we found the knife, the cunty cop says, drummin the table.
— What we’re trying to say Andrew, the plain-clothed guy says, — is you can make things easier on yourself by telling us the truth. We know that it’s your knife. Did you give the knife to anybody else that night?
It wis Polmont. Ah dinnae even ken the boy’s name. Polmont. It’s like eh wis a ghost. Polmont did it. They’ll find that oot. They’ll see that.
— Naw . . . ah sais.
The plain clathes boy wi the wart starts again. — Ah know yir faither, Andrew. Aye, he’s done some silly things in his time, but he’s no a bad man. He’d never get involved in anything like this. Thir’s no wickedness in him, and I don’t think there is in you. I saw the laddie that was slashed by that knife. It tore aw the nerves in his face, he’ll be paralysed doon the side ay his face for life. I think thir wis wickedness in whoever did that. Think aboot what your dad would think ay that. Think aboot yir mother, son, what’s she gaunny feel like?
Muh Ma.
— Once more Andrew, did you give that knife to anybody that night?
Ye nivir grass.
The fly’s still thair, eh’s climbin again.
— Andrew? The hard cop says.
— Naw.
The boy wi the wart looks at ays and blaws oot some air. — On your own head be it.
Ah’m a mug, ah’m gaun doon but thir’s nowt ah kin dae. Ye dinnae shop nae cunt. But surely some cunt’ll tell thum it wis Polmont. Thi’ll no lit me dae time, no Doyle n that, no the rest ay the boys. They’ll tell Polmont, they’ll git it pit right.
The fly zooms oaf the waw.
Ah’m no gaunny be the man ay the hoose any longer. Thir isnae a man ay the hoose now.
Muh Ma.
Aw fuck, what’s muh Ma gaunny fuckin dae?
Carl Ewart
Sex Education
— These things just happen in their ain time son, my auld man said through a blue haze ay Regal smoke, obviously embarrassed. This wisnae his scene, but my mother had insisted that he sat me doon n talked tae me. She’d seen that ah was ‘aw anxious and depressed’ as she put it. But this was purgatory tae my perr faither. Ah’d seldom seen him lost for words, but this was daein it awright.
These things just happen in their ain time. Just the news ah wanted, Dad, thanks for that. Ah didnae need tae say, ‘Aw aye, n what time is that then’, cause it was written aw ower ma face. He knew it was bullshit, ah knew it was bullshit. Things dinnae happen, ye huv tae make them happen. The question was, and we baith kent it: ‘How the fuck dae ye make them happen?’
— Ah mean, he coughed, now looking really disturbed as the smoke cleared fae ma eyes, — ye get aw that kind ay stuff at school. Ah mean, we goat nowt like that when we were at school.
It wis fuckin useless though: their sex education lessons. Gallagher fae Science showin ye aw they diagrams ay cocks n baws cut in half, n the insides ay lassies’ fannies; canals n tubes n unborn bairns n aw that sortay stuff. Stuff that would put ye oaf huvin a ride. It made me feel squeamish; the wey a lassie’s tit looks inside, like it’s fill ay seaweed. Ah used tae like tits. Ah do like tits, and ah want tae keep likin them; ah dinnae want tae think ay them as bein fill ay seaweed.
This is the worst time ever.
Aw ah want tae ken is: HOW DAE AH GIT MA HOLE cause it’s drivin me fuckin mental!
Then eftir the slide show n the advert for rubber johnnies they tell ye: go tae a teacher you feel ye can talk tae if ye huv any problems. Ah should go tae Blackie. Eftir aw, he’s the yin ah’ve goat maist connection wi. Ah’m always gittin sent tae his office fir the web. That would be radge. Excuse me sir, how dae ah go aboot gittin ma hole? Did Jesus get his hole, or did eh die a virgin like Mary? Did God shag Mary and if so did that mean that he broke one ay the ten commandments ‘thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s wife’ or is there a different rule for him?
Fuckin barry that would be, ah dinnae think!
What ye want tae ken is:
(1) How dae ah chat up a bird?
(2) How dae ah get her horny, what steps dae ah take? Dae ah go fir the tit first, or feel the fanny? Dae a stick ma finger up it and burst the hymen, like the cunts a year above me who’ve obviously never had a ride in their life tell ye, or is there another wey ay gaun aboot it?
(3) Do I pee when my cock’s up a bird’s fanny or just shoot spunk like when I’m havin a wank? Ah hope it’s the second cause it’s hard tae pish wi a hard yin.
(4) What does the bird dae durin aw this? It’s jist soas ye ken what tae expect.
(5) Do I wear a rubber johnny? (If so, nae problem, I’ve started trying them on so ah ken how tae fit them.)
(6) What aboot VD? No jist offay feelin a lassie’s tit, surely. Awright, Gallagher’s sex education classes did come in a bit useful: cleared that yin up. Ah wis stupid as fuck tae repeat that nonsense at Clouds that Donny came oot wi at Tynecastle the other week. Of course, Birrell n Gally gied ays nae brek at aw.
And Blackie’s gaunny say: Well Mr Ewart, I’m glad you came to me to discuss those matters. I think the best way forward for us to sort out this problem is for you to come home with me where my wife, a former page-three girl, and much younger than me, will show you the ropes.
N ah’d say, I couldnae possibly Mr Black . . . sir.
Well, you could do me a
good turn, Mr Ewart. Once my wife’s showed you what to do, would you be so kind as to return the favour and teach my daughter? She’s ages with you, and she’s a virgin. And she looks absolutely nothing like me, in fact they say that she bears a striking resemblance to Debbie Harry of Blondie . . . not that I follow such silly nonsense as pop music. I do hope you will consider my request, Mr Ewart, as I would also be prepared to make it worth your while in expenses.
Okay then sir, that’s great by me.
Good man, Carl. And let’s dispense with this ‘Mr Black’ and ‘sir’ nonsense. Call me Cunt Features. After all, we’re both men of the world.
Okay, Cunt Features.
Naw, it doesnae seem likely at aw. So ah asked ma faither, who kept lookin shaky and muttered something aboot how ah should be climbin trees n things like that. Then eh composed ehsel and gave me a talk aboot bein careful aboot pregnancies and VD. Then, for the grand finale, he said, — When ye find a nice lassie ye like, yi’ll ken the time’s right.
Ma auld man’s advice: find a nice lassie n treat her right.
Like aw ma auld man’s advice, ehs ten commandments, it husnae really done ays that much good. Thir’s nowt aboot gittin a lassie, jist aboot no hittin lassies. Ah ken no tae hit a lassie. What ah want tae ken is how tae ride yin. Ma auld man’s useless rules. Ehs patter’s just goat ays intae bother at school, wi the likes of Blackie, for standing up for masel and tryin tae back up other cunts thit dinnae thank ye fir it. And the auld man’s tense cause one important bit ay advice eh gied ays disnae match up wi the other things eh says.
One ay ehs rules is thit ye eywis back up yir mates. Fine. Then eh says ye never grass anybody. Well, how kin ye dae baith wi Gally? How kin ye back him up withoot grassin oan Polmont? Cause Polmont’s no gaunny gie ehsel up. Ah cannae make um dae it, no even Billy or Terry, nor Topsy and the boys fae the scheme that ah go tae Herts wi, oan the L.F., even they’ll no mess wi the likes ay Doyle n Gent. Especially no for another Hibby like Gally, even if eh is well liked. Doyle’s family, thir no jist hard cunts, thir gangsters. Thir’s a difference.