— It wisnae like that, Tam, it jist happened, wi jist started seein each other.
— You kin ride whae ye like but ye dinnae fuck wi Tommy Cahill!
— Ah ken that, Tam, fir fuck’s sake, ah’d nivir dae that! You’ve been good tae me n ah appreciate it.
— Gled some cunt does, eh sais, awfay piteously in ma book. Eh might be a bastard but ye git the impression thit eh’s quite lonely and a bit sad underneath it aw. No thit somebody like him wid ever admit it, but. — One question. Did you and her touch ma dug?!
— Naw! Ah’ve grown awfay fond ay Ambrose! Ah’d nivir dae nowt tae um, ah squeal in ootrage. One thing the auld boy taught ays: if yir gaunny lie make it as close tae the truth as possible.
— Right. Hopefully ye ken better.
— Too right ah do, Tam. Ah work for you.
— Aye, and dinnae forget it, the hoor threatens. — Now ah want ye tae find that fuckin dug. Some cunt’s taken um n you’d better find oot whae!
— Dinnae worry, Tam, ah’m right oan the case, ah say, then ah git a wee thought. — Jist thinkin, Tam, whae wid it benefit if Ambrose wis oot the wey?
— Jenni!
— Ah hae ma doots, Tam, ah’m sure she’d huv said something tae me, or ah wid huv kent if somethin wis up wi her, ah endeavour tae explain. — Whae else? Mind, Ambrose is a fightin dug…
Thir’s a long silence.
— That big fuckin scrotum-faced Montgomery cunt… he fuckin dies! Eh started knockin oaf that posh wee Lara whin ah wis aboot tae move in…
Ah think ay thon Calculon, the robot actor oot ay Futurama and his barry catchphrase: ‘That’s what I wanted you to think.’ — Dinnae jump tae conclusions, Tam, lit me investigate, ah tells um, leavin the haulage man seethin oan the end ay the line.
Still, the wee seed’s been planted. No even sae much ay a seed as a hoor ay a field.
But ah go back intae toon wi a heavy hert. Ah nivir did tell Jenni whit happened tae Midnight. The hoarse might no huv been much ay a performer but the hoor wis certainly fuckin well hung. So ah suppose thit ah agreed wi Tam Cahill’s course ay action, cause ah wis jealous. His big back between her legs, n her gaun, ‘Midnight fuckin this, Midnight that,’ aw the fuckin time. So ah thoat that wi yon hoarse away the lassie might huv peyed a wee bit mair attention tae me. Worked a fuckin treat n aw! Soon forgoat about perr Midnight whin she hud a new pet!
She’s been tryin tae git ays intae aw thon pseudo goth stuff; read Sylvia Plath poems, Anne Sexton, and that kind ay gear. Does nowt fir me, bit ah go along wi it soas tae git her intae ma twin interests ay ridin n Cat Stevens (pre-Islamic incantation, ah stress), ya hoor. One thing she did gie ays thit ah loved: that novel Reluctant Survivor whaire the boy brings the bird back tae life by lickin her oot. Ah think she might be tryin tae tell ays somethin here. Thir’s yin chapter thit’s practically a guide tae cunnilingus, n it’s goat a fuckin dog-ear, ya hoor!
Steven hadn’t told Josephine, that although he did find her body irresistible, he prided himself on his ability to give good head. Eating pussy was an obsession for him, and he boasted to Tom in the locker room after the workouts or squash games that there was no woman he couldn’t get a response from. So, to some extent, she was a vanity project for him. Nobody was more surprised and delighted than he was when his skills proved to be effective.
Ah read oan, thinking aboot aw the stages. Spread the flaps tae isolate the pubic hair n git it oot the road. Save up a loat ay gob n splash it oan, letting it roll fae yir tongue oantae the pussy. Keep the first licks nice n slow, n dinnae be feared tae git a bit vocal tae show thit you’re intae it. Test the clit softly fir sensitivity reactions, seein if the burd goes nuts the first time ye hit the spot, then it’s game on, or if it might be a longer haul. Dinnae be worried aboot gittin the fingers gaun; thir’s a loat doon thair tae play wi!
Ya hoor; ah nivir kent thir wis that much in it!
So ah’m sittin at hame, watchin eftirnoon telly, wi a hard-on. It’s yon Richard n Judy; husband-n-wife team; aye, ya hoor. Could even see a wee future fir me n Jenni in a similar kind ay role, though mibbe jist Scotland rather thin UK-wide.
Whin ah hears a knock oan the door ah ken it’s her. She gies ays a kiss n the wee felly doonstairs is right up oan parade. Ah dinnae ken if it’s pressure on the thigh or the light in ma eye, but her ain een fair sparkle wi shaggers glint n wir helpin each other oot ay wur clathes as we head up the stairs tae ma fusty single kip.
Aye, ya hoor, nae wonder she gied ays that fuckin novel!
Eftir the event wir makin post-coital plans fir a sportin double-heider. Wir gaun doon tae Hawick tae see Lara in the event the morn, then back up tae Bathgate that evening fir the semi against the hoat tournament favourite n current holder, Corstorphine’s ain Murray Maxwell. They say thit whae wins this yin wins the cup. But Jenni’s a wee bit contemplative. She’s gaun oan aboot Tam n the dug, Ambrose; him n yon other dug fightin. She tells ays how she wis thaire wi Monty n thon chipmunk-toothed hoor fae Dunfermline.
— I hate these bullies. I wish somebody would put them in their place. All of them, n she’s lookin at me wi intent.
— Eh aye, nivir liked that Monty or ehs mate, ah goes weakly. But the thoat ay fightin Big Monty. Back at the skill ah’d uv raised they white pair ay hoor’s knickers up the figurative flagpole in the gesture ay surrender, afore ye could say Mixu Paatelainen. Big Monty, Wee Jason. The fitba player, the ugly, craggy centre half, versus the wee jockey. It wid be ‘attach yir teeth tae ehs baws n hud oan fir dear life’, like that nippy wee dug in the news thit saved its owner fae gittin mauled by a bear ower in America. Yir one chance in they circumstances, aye, ya hoor, sor.
Aye, they halcyon days back at Beath High. No that snobby wee Lara n Jenni went thaire but; bussed up tae St Lenny’s for Posh, Rich Bairns up in St Andrews. Mind ay thum climbin intae that Mrs Grant’s motor in they school uniforms. Ya hoor, ah used tae mind ay it every night!
28.
HAWICK AND BATHGATE
WE’RE HEADING DOWN to Hawick in the car, following the horsebox driven by Dr and Mrs Grant, and containing Scarlet Jester. Jason was sweet to volunteer to sit in the back and let Lara and myself be up front together, not that I particularly wanted to be beside her.
When we get down to the showgrounds, we head to the tented marquee café to relax for a bit. Well, Jason and I relax. Lara goes up to get some coffee; she’s nervy and antsy. Jason’s been strolling around, checking things out, letting on to everybody. I saw him introducing himself to an old couple: — Hello, I’m Jason King, he says, flashing a toothy smile and extending a hand that they feel moved to take. I can’t stop sniggering at his antics, but perversely, he seems sincere enough. — Goat tae make an effort tae be social, likes, especially wi the auld folks. Thi’ll no be oan this planet much longer; aw that accrued wisdom gaun tae waste, he says sadly. Then he looks up at the blackening Borders sky. — Thir’s some big cumulus clouds ready tae pish doon oan thir parade. Hope Lara’s ready tae gie thon hoarse the ride ay its life, he winks at me.
I nudge him in the ribs and we both get the giggles, then go for a little stroll. I stop and say hello to Angela Fotheringham and Becky Wilson. Becky isn’t competing either. — To be honest, she tells me in hushed conspiracy, — it was all getting a bit too much like hard work.