Fuck me. That cunt. Dancing. And the fucker has moves. Is that really fucking Francis Begbie? Maybe it’s me. Maybe my Begbie beliefs are inculcated from another era. Maybe I just need tae let go ay aw that shite, like Jim Francis evidently has.
6
SICK BOY – IN SEARCH OF EUAN MCCORKINDALE
Drink and drugs are a whippersnapper’s game: there is little worse than a hangover or an E comedown after you hit fifty. Even under the licence of Christmas, you just feel weak and stupid, as the facts have to be faced: the meagre, diminishing returns of fun to be squeezed out in no way justifiy the subsequent extended horror show.
So I’m half submerged in this comfy couch, in front of the big flat screen and blazing coal fire in the McCorkindale home, a pot of tea by my side. I’m channel hopping, trying tae keep in a positive frame of mind. I can see Ben, outside in the garden, talking into his mobile phone, all big smiles. I decide that I’ll hang around here a few days longer, once I get him packed off south, after the Hibs–Raith encounter. I was set against Scottish independence, believing that we’d totally fuck it up. Now I’m changing my mind: the vibe and confidence in the city suggests we’d cope better than the shit-show down south. I’m thinking of calling Jill, speculating about an Edinburgh Colleagues, maybe identifying some more raw recruits and licking them intae shape!
I’m distracted by Carlotta, man-marking her darling brother, literally looming right over me. Obviously on her agenda: a missing hubby, the disgraced man of this formerly esteemed household. Carlotta isn’t going to move, or speak, and I don’t know how long I can keep pretending she isn’t staring at the top of my head. It’s been her MO since she was a kid. Always knew how tae use the power of brooding, silent outrage to increase the air pressure. I elect tae cashie it oot. — Hi, sis. Just trying to decide on my viewing. There’s… I pick up the handset, hit the guide button and read the screen, — ‘an enchanting romantic comedy starring Audrey Tautou’ that isn’t Amélie –
— You find Euan! You find ma husband! I look up and she’s glaring at me. Her voice set in that controlled, precise way of hers.
I turn to her and spread my palms. — Sis, I really can’t take volume right now… which is the wrong thing tae say as her eyes burn with murderous Latin passion. — He’ll show up when he’s go —
— FIND HIM!
What could be worse than walking those cold streets in that dead zone between Christmas and New Year? Staying here and enduring that banshee wail. I cough out my agreement and she heads off, her feet thumping up the wooden stairs. I’m putting on my coat in the hallway, with scarf and hat, as Ross comes through with a silent stare that commands a response. That laddie is perhaps his mother’s son.
— How’s Pitch and Toss? And what’s cuz Benito up to outside? Lady shenanigans, no doubt.
Then I realise that this little fucker is only balling his fists at me as if he wants a square go! — Mum said that you set Dad up with that woman, his high voice bleats.
Saucy mare, her! And cheeky little cunt, too! Well, the smart wee fucker is going head-to-head with the big boys now. I fix him in an even gaze, and lower my voice. — Maybe the blame was yours though, buddy, and I watch his mouth flap open in disbelief. — Maybe you made Euan want to prove himself, with you going on about being too much ay a pussy virgin tae git yir hole.
— What… How did you… Who said –
— You may wish tae factor that into your calculations. I flick my scarf over my shoulder and start buttoning my coat up.
His eyes blink rapidly in concert with his trembling lips. – You shouldnae… You don’t… He tries to run away, but I reach out and grab his arm. — Get off me!
— Go on, run to Mamma, I sneer. That stops his struggle in its tracks. — That’ll work, if your quest in life is to stay a virgin forever. That’ll ensure you achieve your goal, awright.
Ross’s head is hung low. It’s as if he’s looking at the imaginary Minecraft world he’s set up on the floor.
— Lift your head up, I tell him. — Be a man, for fuck sake.
He physically struggles to do this. — But… but… but…
I assist him, wrenching his chin north. Forcing him to look into my eyes. — You can’t get your hole. Fine. I get it. I understand how important it is, and I release my grasp ay his face. I note his chin dips a bit but his eyes remain set on mine. — Your mother won’t help you get laid, Ross. Your father… well, come on, I tell him, feeling a little disloyal. But nobody asked Euan to fuck Marianne or for them to get fruity with the video camera. That horny hoor… her sluttish adventurism is suddenly exciting to me. I should have ridden her, not that prick… — But I will, I tell him, watching his eyes suddenly bulge. — If you want it.
Yes, even through his despondency, something in those lamps has ignited! — You… you’d do that for me?
— Of course I will. I punch his airm. — Blood is thicker than water. I want you to have a full sex life, tae be able to talk tae women and enjoy congress with them, and I pull him into the alcove by the front door, lowering my voice. — I don’t want to see you wasting your teen years on guilty masturbation, choking whenever a girl you fancy steps into the room, I explain, enjoying the shade of Jambo maroon his coupon is bursting out into. — I had a great friend, Danny Murphy, his name was; he never got any action, I wistfully recount. — So the boy grew up wrong. I don’t want any ay that nonsense for you, good buddy.
I feel my blandishments move him, but he’s still suspicious. — What’s it to you? Why do you want to help?
— Well, I have one considerable advantage over your mum and dad.
— What?
— I don’t see you as a daft wee bairn. To me you’re a normal young guy who is just trying tae make his way in life, and I realise that this is the most important thing in your world right now.
— It is! Ross squeals in gratitude. — I’m glad somebody understands!
I nod upstairs, urging him to lower his voice by dropping mine. — Well, naturally I do. Have you any idea what I do for a living?
Ross swivels his head to check the coast is still clear. Then he faces me, sucking in his bottom lip. — I’ve heard Mum and Dad talk about it. It’s like an escort agency.
— Exactly. I’m in the business of hooking up lonely and frustrated people with desirable members of the opposite sex. It’s what I do.
— You could –
Again, I take my voice down a notch, and nod up the wooden staircase. — Shh… Yes I could, I hiss. I can hear Carlotta thrashing around in rage, slamming doors too hard, stamping across the sanded floors. I gaze out to the garden where Ben is ending his call, doubtless ready to come in and hit me for cash. The kid is a money-guzzling machine. I blame the Surreyites and their careless indulgence of him, or, perhaps more realistically, their planned humiliation of one Simon David Williamson; forcing me to compete in a game I can never win. — What you need is an experienced woman to guide you through this cherry loss.
Ross looks at me in horror. — But I fancy –
I cut him off. — I know who you fancy; some feisty, pixie-faced wee heartbreaker at school, who struts around well aware that she’s a playground supermodel. But to hunt that sort of game you need the tools, and I ain’t just talking about that cannon in your troosers, which I’m hoping is a Williamson 9.5 rather than a McCorkindale 5.5, if you get my drift.