and places like that. If she had, she’d’ve been so insufferable, Sandra conceded to herself. Itwas only Wullie that had told her, not long after they started going out, that he was dating the lassie all the other guys knew as ‘The Hollywood Blonde’.
With sudden violence the rain thrashed like stones on the window, so hard that her heart seemed to split in two, one part rushing for her mouth, the other to her stomach. There was a time, she thought, when it all meant nothing; the wind, the rain, the drunks outside. If only Wullie would wake up and take her in his arms and hold her and make love to her, like they used to, sometimes all through the night. If only she could close the distance between them, just shake him awake and ask him to embrace her. But somehow, these were not the words either of them expected to come from her tongue.
How had the few inches between them become such a chasm?
Lying in the bed gazing at the featureless ceiling, with panic slicing through her in waves, a dazzling fissure opened up in Sandra’s mind. Through it, she could almost feel her sanity sliding into an abyss, leaving her a zombiefied shell. And she was on the verge of embracing it, comfortably, just to be like her husband, Wullie, who would sleep and sleep and sleep right through the mayhem until morning.
Terry Lawson
Juiced Up
Stevie Bannerman can be as wide as fuck. It’s awright fir him sittin in the van aw day, it’s me that’s oot in aw weathers humpin fuckin crates oaf the back ay this lorry in the rain, stoapin at the pubs and clubs, then door-tae-door back roond the schemes here. Cannae complain mind you; thir’s loads ay birds gaun past, and bein oot here n the fresh air, checkin them oot, it’s the spice ay life. Too right.
They wanted ays tae stey oan as well, sais ah could dae a couple ay O grades if ah pit ma mind tae it. But what dae ye want tae stey oan at school fir when yuv already rode jist aboot every bird thair that’ll go? Waste ay fuckin time. Ah’ll huv tae git ma mate, the Milky Bar Kid, telt aboot that.
Goat the horn bigtime this mornin. Eywis the same eftir ah’ve been up the Classic the night before, watchin the dirty movies. Ah wanted tae go doon tae Lucy’s eftir, but her auld man’ll no lit me stey ower. Supposed tae be fuckin well engaged n aw. Time enough fir that whin yis are mairried, the cunt goes. Aye, like him n Lucy’s ma ur bangin away aw day?
That’ll be right.
We’re back at the scheme n Stevie’s stoaped the lorry at the waste. Ah couple ay auld fuckers come up tae ays. Thuv goat they toothless mooths thit pit ays n mind ay that pair ay worn oot auld dessy boots ah’ve goat in ma wardrobe, the one’s wi stitching burst in thum. Ah boat a new pair wi ma first week’s wages but ye cannae bring yirsel tae chuck the auld yins oot. — Two boatils ay orange, son, one wifie sais. Ah pull oot a couple ay boatils ay Hendry’s fae the toap crate, n take the pound and gie the change back. Sorry, missus, ah ken the juice you’re needin pumped intae you n it disnae come in fuckin boatils.
Yir no gittin it offay me anywey, missus!
They git oan thir wey n then ah see yin thit might be gittin it offay ays. Ah ken yon bright wee face next tae ays, it’s Maggie Orr. She’s wi ehr mate, another ride whae ah’ve seen aboot but whae ah dinnae ken. Well, no yet anywey.
— A boatil ay lemonade n a boatil ay Coke, wee Maggie sais. The year below ays at the school. Mair meat oan a butcher’s knife. Used tae feed her up whin ah wis monitor oan the school dinners. Ma mate Carl, the Milky Bar Kid, he’s goat the hoats fir her bigtime. Thoat eh wis in thaire cause eh wis hingin aboot wi her n Topsy wi that daft band that thir meant tae be in, n aw that crowd fae the Herts bus. Heard eh made a bit ay a cunt ay ehsel in front ay her last Setirday. Mibbe that’s how eh’s aw keen tae come wi us tae Hibs oan Setirday. Ye ken the wey ehs mind works, that cunt.
— They tell ays ye
With sudden violence the rain thrashed like stones on the window, so hard that her heart seemed to split in two, one part rushing for her mouth, the other to her stomach. There was a time, she thought, when it all meant nothing; the wind, the rain, the drunks outside. If only Wullie would wake up and take her in his arms and hold her and make love to her, like they used to, sometimes all through the night. If only she could close the distance between them, just shake him awake and ask him to embrace her. But somehow, these were not the words either of them expected to come from her tongue.
How had the few inches between them become such a chasm?
Lying in the bed gazing at the featureless ceiling, with panic slicing through her in waves, a dazzling fissure opened up in Sandra’s mind. Through it, she could almost feel her sanity sliding into an abyss, leaving her a zombiefied shell. And she was on the verge of embracing it, comfortably, just to be like her husband, Wullie, who would sleep and sleep and sleep right through the mayhem until morning.
Terry Lawson
Juiced Up
Stevie Bannerman can be as wide as fuck. It’s awright fir him sittin in the van aw day, it’s me that’s oot in aw weathers humpin fuckin crates oaf the back ay this lorry in the rain, stoapin at the pubs and clubs, then door-tae-door back roond the schemes here. Cannae complain mind you; thir’s loads ay birds gaun past, and bein oot here n the fresh air, checkin them oot, it’s the spice ay life. Too right.
They wanted ays tae stey oan as well, sais ah could dae a couple ay O grades if ah pit ma mind tae it. But what dae ye want tae stey oan at school fir when yuv already rode jist aboot every bird thair that’ll go? Waste ay fuckin time. Ah’ll huv tae git ma mate, the Milky Bar Kid, telt aboot that.
Goat the horn bigtime this mornin. Eywis the same eftir ah’ve been up the Classic the night before, watchin the dirty movies. Ah wanted tae go doon tae Lucy’s eftir, but her auld man’ll no lit me stey ower. Supposed tae be fuckin well engaged n aw. Time enough fir that whin yis are mairried, the cunt goes. Aye, like him n Lucy’s ma ur bangin away aw day?
That’ll be right.
We’re back at the scheme n Stevie’s stoaped the lorry at the waste. Ah couple ay auld fuckers come up tae ays. Thuv goat they toothless mooths thit pit ays n mind ay that pair ay worn oot auld dessy boots ah’ve goat in ma wardrobe, the one’s wi stitching burst in thum. Ah boat a new pair wi ma first week’s wages but ye cannae bring yirsel tae chuck the auld yins oot. — Two boatils ay orange, son, one wifie sais. Ah pull oot a couple ay boatils ay Hendry’s fae the toap crate, n take the pound and gie the change back. Sorry, missus, ah ken the juice you’re needin pumped intae you n it disnae come in fuckin boatils.
Yir no gittin it offay me anywey, missus!
They git oan thir wey n then ah see yin thit might be gittin it offay ays. Ah ken yon bright wee face next tae ays, it’s Maggie Orr. She’s wi ehr mate, another ride whae ah’ve seen aboot but whae ah dinnae ken. Well, no yet anywey.
— A boatil ay lemonade n a boatil ay Coke, wee Maggie sais. The year below ays at the school. Mair meat oan a butcher’s knife. Used tae feed her up whin ah wis monitor oan the school dinners. Ma mate Carl, the Milky Bar Kid, he’s goat the hoats fir her bigtime. Thoat eh wis in thaire cause eh wis hingin aboot wi her n Topsy wi that daft band that thir meant tae be in, n aw that crowd fae the Herts bus. Heard eh made a bit ay a cunt ay ehsel in front ay her last Setirday. Mibbe that’s how eh’s aw keen tae come wi us tae Hibs oan Setirday. Ye ken the wey ehs mind works, that cunt.
— They tell ays ye
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