— Jist gaun by what ah fuckin heard, Dunky replied, unconcerned. He rolled over, feeling the blazing sun bite into his face.
— Dinnae fuckin spread aroond stories, right, Jimmy dug in. He knew it was that cunt Clint, with his big mouth. He could see Clint's huge, loose, slavering gob, just before Semo had shut it so deliciously with that hammer. He could see Alan Devlin, shouting at him to put they fuckin crisps back. He could see, in his mind's eye, the smiles Devlin got from the girls, including Shelley, and how powerless they seemed to be to do anything but giggle with a sexy nervousness under his patter. Jimmy had tried Devlin's style, but it never hit the mark, not in the same way. He felt like a little girl secretly putting on her mother's dress.
— Aye, right, Dunky scoffed.
Dunky wasn't really making an issue of it, but Jimmy was. He stood up and jumped on top of his friend, pinning him to the ground. He grabbed a handful of Dunky's red hair and twisted. — Ah sais dinnae fuckin spread roond stories! Right?
In the background Jimmy could hear the encouraging wheeze of Semo's low, mirthless laugh. Jimmy and Semo, always Jimmy and Semo. Just like it was always Dunky and Clint. Semo's hammer had been symbolic, it had changed the balance of power between the four of them. This was in case Dunks forgot exactly what that blow had meant. — Ah sais right?! Jimmy growled.
— Right! Right! Dunky squealed as Jimmy relaxed his grip and rolled off him. — Fuckin radge, he moaned, dusting himself down.
Semo sniggered uncontrollably. — Ah'd ride her, he said. — Ah'd ride her mate n aw. That Sarah. That would be awright, eh, Jimmy? You wi that Shelley n me wi that Sarah.
Jimmy allowed himself a smile. Semo was his best mate. The concept was not without appeal.
7
Shelley was reading Smash Hits while her mother was making the tea. Liam out of Oasis was a shag, she considered. Abby Ford and her pals at the school were always going on about Oasis. Abby Ford always seemed to have the money for clothes and records. That was why all the laddies at the school were hanging around her. Shelley had to concede that she liked the way Abby wore her hair. She would let hers grow. She'd been daft to get that crop, but it had annoyed her mother. Abby was okay, although Sarah didn't like her. Shelley and Abby had chatted a bit. Maybe her and Sarah would become pals with Abby Ford, Louise Moncur, Shona Robertson and that crowd. They were alright. Shelley wished that she could get the money for good clothes.
But Liam out of Oasis. Mmm-hmm. Better even than Damon or Robbie or Jarvis. Looking deeply into Liam's eyes, in that picture, Shelley fancied that she could see a bit of his soul in them. It was as if he was staring only at her. Shelley Thomson convulsed appreciatively that only she could crack this secret code in these eyes, and feel this bond between them. It would be great if Liam could meet her, possibly when Oasis played Loch Lomond. He would see what a great pair they would make, and that they were really meant to be together! Love at first sight! She didn't know whether she would keep the baby or get rid of it. That would of course be up to Liam as well; he would have to be consulted. It was only fair. Would he want to bring up someone else's child as his own, an alien as well? If he loved her, and she could tell, by the way he looked at her, that he truly did, then it would present no problem. It would be brilliant if Sarah married Noel. That would make them sisters-in-law. How good would that be?
— Shelley, tea, her mother said briskly. Shelley put down the copy of Smash Hits and went up to the table. The image of Liam's soulful, brooding eyes still burned and she imagined him touching her breast and felt a fluttering current of electricity in her stomach. She sat down to oven chips, sausages and beans, eating in brisk, economical movements. Shelley ate like a horse, and even though she was pregnant (she didn't know for how long, having had very little morning sickness), she was as thin as a rake. She was crazy for chips, she loved the ones at the chippy, especially with the curry sauce. Her ma's chips – small, crinkly and ungenerous – they never really cut it.
She was different from her mum, she smugly reflected. Her mother, who just needed to look at a McCain's oven chip for another few not-quite imperceptible fat cells to cluster around her stomach and under her chin. Shelley saw this as a defect in her mother's character. Her mother looked haggard. And bloated. Was it possible to look both at the same time? Too right, Shelley thought, looking up at Lillian staring out of the window from behind the net curtains, a fearful expression on her face. She always seemed to be thinking about something ominous. Shelley had to keep in with her, though. Her mum liked Oasis as well. There was the possibility, slight, but nonetheless real, that they would go to Loch Lomond together. Her mum once joked that she fancied Noel. A joke, but it had been tasteless and it had cut Shelley to the quick. Imagine if her mum got off with Noel! Married him! Ugh! It would spoil things between her and Liam if that were to come to pass. No way. Noel would have more taste than that.
There wasn't enough food; she'd be hungry again soon. Tonight she'd go down to the chippy. Jimmy Mulgrew would be there. He was okay, but she didn't fancy him. He was too real, too here. Too Rosewell. He was awkward. Jimmy never knew the right things to say, like Alan Devlin at the garage did, or like Liam would. Okay, so Liam was from somewhere just like Rosewell really, but he had moved on, had shown that he had what it took to become a star. But she'd go to the chippy anyway, and then get home for The X-Files.
8
Jimmy and Semo were hanging around on the corner outside the chippy. The pubs were ready to close in half an hour. Jimmy wanted some chips but he and Semo had been barred by Vincent, the proprietor, for previous acts of minor theft and vandalism. Jimmy's heart rose when he saw Shelley and Sarah walking towards them. Shelley gave him a coy smile and Jimmy felt something move inside of him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but what could he say? Here, in front of Semo and Sarah? What could he say to this tall, slender beauty who kept him awake at nights and who had been responsible for his sheets becoming as stiff as a board since she had flowered in the last few months and had got a number one like that Sinead O'Connor lassie? This called for genuine courtship, not darkened gropes down the quarry with the likes of Abby Ford and Louise Moncur whom he and Semo had christened 'The Reservoir Dogs'. But how could he ask her out? Where could they go? The pictures? The botanics? Where did you take lassies on proper dates?
Inspired by the shining moon overhead, which illuminated the obelisk of the office block above the garage, Jimmy moved towards her. — Eh, Shelley, goan git ays some chips, ah'll gie ye the money likes. Vincent's only went n barred us, eh.
— Awright then, Shelley said, taking the money from him.
— Mind n git curry sauce oan thum, Shel, he smiled, chuffed at her not registering negatively to his referring to her in that more intimate and informal way.
They watched the girls move into the chip shop. — Two fuckin wee rides but, eh? Semo observed, parting his dry lips with a darting tongue and rubbing at the swelling on his jaw. — Ah'd shag thum baith, he hissed, then he grabbed Jimmy and gave him a theatrical pelvic hump.
Inside the chip shop Sarah turned to Shelley. — They're fuckin daft! Supposed tae be sixteen! They wouldnae ken what tae dae wi a real woman! The girls sniggered at the image of the boys through the shop window as they jostled and rucked with each other in nervous excitement.
9
The craft was many millions of light years from the Earth, and many millions more from its native solar system. Its occupants could witness, through the technology the Cyrastorian youth so professed to enjoy, images of the planet in great clarity. They knew that it was almost as effective as the pictures they could see through the Will, but this was easier and lazier. It gave the Cyrastorian Youngers and their solitary Earth friend time to enjoy a fag.
— Been a few fuckin changes wi the boys since ah wis last oan Earth, the ex-Hibs casual Mikey Devlin said to Tazak, the Cyrastorian youth's leader, as the monitor on the ship panned the East Stand at Easter Road.
— Ah kin bet, mate,
the tall, gangling Tazak replied, puffing on his Regal King Size. The substance called snout that his stumpy Earthling friend, whom he towered over, had introduced them to; it was a truly wondrous experience. He remembered that first time, when he had coughed up his virgin lungs. Now he was on forty a day.
Mikey scrutinised the faces, zeroing in on a few recognisable ones. — That wee cunt Ally Masters, used tae run wi the Baby Crew. Looks like ehs a top boy now. Nae fuckin sign ay the wee brar bit, eh.
Tazak smiled at his friend. — Well, we pey these cunts a visit the night. See what thir up tae, eh?
Mikey knew what that familiar glow in his friend's large brown eyes meant. He was up for some serious mischief. But there was a bigger issue. The time was at hand. His time, their time, and Tazak's adventurism could not be allowed to fuck things up. Whether you were in space with internal or external technology at your disposal which could obliterate solar systems, or on the streets looking for a row, it was timing that was important. Mikey Devlin was a top boy. He knew the same rules applied anywhere in warfare. — Ah'm playin it cool first, mind. Ah'll stey up here until ye git the cunts tae see things oor wey, then ah'll come doon. Once they fuckin tubes see who organised the whole deal, they'll accept me as the main man. N wir no jist talkin aboot the cashies here. Wir talkin the whole fuckin Planet Earth, ya cunt.
— As long as this fuckin scam ay yours works oot, ya cunt. A smile played across Tazak's small mouth, as he held his Regal King Size in his long, thin fingers.
— Course it will. Wir no jist joyridin here, gaun doon thaire n takin some cunts in thair sleep n stickin fuckin tubes up thair erses fir the crack. This is when we formally announce oor presence. This is whaire we brek aw yir Cyrastorian rules. Youse goat the boatil?
— Too right wi fuckin huv, Tazak said, somewhat defensively.
— You ken the auld cunts back it your place. They dinnae study Earth in great detail any mair. They ken it'll soon be fucked, eh. Aw they want is for you cunts no tae interfere, jist leave thum alain. But if youse go in and install ma crew as top boys oan the planet, then yis kin rule fae a distance and these auld cunts'll pick up fuck-all sign ay any ay youse extraterrestrial radges oan the planet. That's goat tae be the game plan, man.
— Sounds awright n theory . . . Tazak puffed on his tab.
Mikey smiled, flashing his large teeth at the young Cyrastorian. This was a gesture his friend, accustomed as he was to the Earthman's startling appearance, never found less than disturbing. — It's mair thin awright! Listen tae me, ya cunt! Ah wis the cunt thit organised Anderlecht in the UEFA Cup.
— That's fuckin nowt tae this but, Tazak replied.
— It's the same fuckin thing: a city, Brussels, or a planet, Earth. Jist fuckin specks in the solar system.
— Suppose, Tazak conceded. He had to defer to the maturity of the Earth casual. This had been a worrying development recently.
It had been some time since they had struck up their unlikely friendship. Tazak had been a novice Younger on a ship of Elders who had been sent on an errand to randomly pick one Earthling whom they would study and learn Earth language and culture from. The Earthling, Mikey Devlin, was seized in an Edinburgh club when they had stopped Earth time, and he had, after the shock, proved to be only too willing to assist them. Mikey actually requested to extend his stay, wanted as he was by local police on Earth for a wounding offence at Waverley Station after a full-scale pagger. Mikey Devlin had struck up a deal with the aliens. All they had to do was to go back with him to Earth with him on occasion, and find him some lassies to shag. The Elders were happy to oblige. Mikey, though, had befriended some of the alien youth, particularly Tazak, who would take him to Earth on their old cruising ship, enjoying his company. Mikey was a shrewd cunt and his stock had risen with the aliens and soon he became accepted as one of them. He encouraged the Youngers in the consumption of tobacco, a drug they seemed strongly predisposed towards. Their snout addiction kept them tied in a strange way to Planet Earth, and meant that Mikey would always be able to visit home. For his part, the only thing Tazak couldn't get used to was the rank, sweet smell of the Earth alien's skin.
Mikey thought that the aliens' naive interest in physical technology was a load of shite, and he had studied the power of the Will intensely, learning how to resource some of its wonders. He kept his disdain of the youths' interests to himself as he liked them, and he had to concede that the Cyrastorian Elders were boring cunts.
10
The gathering of the posses and the tribes in the non-salubrious area of old Midlothian and south-east suburban Edinburgh had puzzled the travellers themselves as much as the authorities. Various New Age sages and pseudo prophets had advanced their theories, but the local authorities could do nothing and the government would not intervene as the population in the makeshift camps rose to over twenty thousand.
11
The local dealers were having a field day and Jimmy and Semo, high from an anticipated success with Clint Phillips in the criminal injuries scam, thought they'd try their hands at more private enterprise. Semo had a good contact in Leith and they went into town in a nicked car to score some acid, in the hope of punting it to the travellers. They drove into the port and picked up their friend Alec Murphy, who took them down to a flat in the Southside, telling them that they were going to meet a guy Murphy simply referred to as the 'Student Cunt'.
— The Student Cunt's awright. Eh isnae really a student at aw, Alec explained. — He's no been tae a college or nowt like that fir years n years. Bit ehs goat a degree: economics, or some shite. But it's like, eh still sounds like a fuckin student, ken?
The boys nodded in a vague comprehension.
Alec warned them about the Student Cunt, who, he felt, tended to formulate the most banal observations as rambling, philosophical propositions worthy of further speculation. On his day, Murphy observed, in optimum conditions, and in the right company, the Student Cunt could be mildly amusing. Such days, circumstances and companies were, he felt, increasingly few.
Mounting the steps of the dealer's flat with growing anticipation and excitement, Jimmy Mulgrew felt that he had made the big time. He swaggered in like a gangster, checking his look in a mirror in the hallway. He would see Shelley down the chippy later, drop a few hints about 'business'. She couldn't fail to be impressed. Alan Devlin was yesterday's man, Jimmy thought, with a vigorous rush of confidence. A fuckin garage attendant! Top boy my hole! He'd lost it, and the cunt was just treading water. Jimmy's time had yet to come.
Jimmy's fantasies deflated quickly as a guy with a mop of curly hair and black-rimmed glasses ushered them into the front room. There was a woman with lank brown hair and a vesty red top who was feeding a baby from a bottle. She didn't even register their presence.
— Alec . . . hi . . . said the Student Cunt, seeming a little put out at the observation of Alec's friends' relative youth. — Can I have a private word?
Alec turned back to Jimmy and Semo.— Hud oan a minute, boys, he said, disappearing into the kitchen with the Student Cunt. Alec knew he shouldn't have brought them up to the Student Cunt's pad. He hadn't really been thinking.
— How old are these guys? the Student Cunt asked.
— Sixteen and seventeen, Alec said. — Young team, fae oot at Rosewell, but sound cunts, like. Ah mean, ah mind you said that ah could jist bring any cunt ah wanted sorted up here.
— That's all very well ceteris paribus, Alec, the Student Cunt said, — but it's a truism that youth are always impressed by new things and therefore tend to run off at the fucking mouth and I can do without labdicks up my fucking arse.
— These boys ken the score, Alec shrugged.
The Student Cunt's eyes rolled doubtfully behind his spectacles.
In the living room, Jimmy was feeling the embarrassed silence with the mother and the baby. He reckoned Semo must have been too, because he was compelled to break it. — How auld's the bairn? he asked.
The woman looked up at him, her eyes
cold and detached. — Three months, she said uninterestedly.
Semo nodded thoughtfully. Then he pointed at the woman. — Listen, see whin ye hud the bairn, he asked, — wis it sair?
— What? The woman looked at him in a more focused manner.
— Whin ye hud the bairn, wis it sair?
She looked him up and down. Jimmy gave an involuntary snigger, feeling as if a small motor which he couldn't switch off was oscillating his shoulders from a space in his chest cavity.
— Naw, Semo began seriously, — it's jist, like, ah cannae imagine what it must be like tae huv tae dae something like that . . . it's too freaky, eh? Ah mean, ye cannae really think aboot a livin thing growin inside ay ye, cause it wid like freak ye oot, ken what ah mean?
— Ye just git on wi it, the woman shrugged.
— Ye jist git oan wi it, Semo repeated, nodding reflectively. Then he turned to Jimmy. — Ah suppose ye fuckin well huv tae, eh! He laughed. — Cannae take it back! He looked at the woman. — It's true bit, eh?
Jimmy started sniggering again, as the woman on the couch shook her head and picked a bit of fluff out of the baby's ear. The Student Cunt came through and, with a startled, apologetic expression aimed at the woman, ushered the boys from the Rosewell young team through to the kitchen.
Alec winked at them as the Student Cunt opened a cupboard, pulled out a clay jar marked SUGAR, lifted a bag out of it and rummaged inside, producing some tabs. — Fifty strawberries, he smiled.
— Sound, Jimmy grinned, and settled up.
They went back through to the living room and sat down. The Student Cunt put a tape on. As it started, Jimmy stole a glance at the woman with the baby, before clamping his jaw shut to stop himself from sniggering. He thought of Clint's jaw wired up, and heard soft, appreciative wheezes coming from inside his chest as he vibrated softly on the couch.