I’ll miss Danny because …
I had put doon:
… he’s my best mate.
Spud read it and looked at us all, choking up, but particularly focused on Audrey and Molly. Molly was tearing a coupon out of some magazine, while Audrey bit into the knuckle of her right thumb. He kept glancing fae one tae the other. As we exchanged hugs, he held an alarmed Audrey, then Molly, for a painfully long time, and even gave Skinny-Specky the same treatment. He looked tearful and confused as he was taken oot, turning back tae gaze at the lassies with a poignant expression. In the corner Sick Boy stood, jaw clenched tight, but I knew that look, could tell that the fucker had pulled some sort ay stunt!
A taxi had arrived and Spud’s ma, Colleen, came and took him away. I couldnae help wilting inside under her judging stare as I waved him goodbye fae the doorstep. As the taxi ground doon the gravel path, wi Spud still looking back in sad confusion, Sick Boy pulled me intae his room. He was bent over, face contorted, barely able tae speak through his laughter. ‘Did you … did ye see his face? Did you actually see him … oh my God … did ye see him … checkin oot the lassies? These big, sad, puppy-dog eyes? Huding them in that desperate embrace?’ He exploded in a loud guffaw. I slowly started tae understand.
‘I wrote in his card: “I’ll miss Danny because … he’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever met, and I think I’ve fallen in love with him.” I kent he’d think that it was one of the lassies! Result! Did you actually see the dippit fucker’s pus?’
I couldnae help but join in the laughter. Poor Spud. ‘You bad bastard … the poor cunt’ll be gaun mental …’
‘Positive affirmation though, that’s what the group’s aboot,’ he roared.
‘Yes, but based on honesty.’
‘Just lubricating they social wheels a wee bitty.’
So we went intae the recky room sniggering like daft wee bairns, Tom commenting about how he was glad tae see us in such high spirits.
At the process review meeting, we discussed the journals, Tom urging us tae share their contents in the group. Of course, not one cunt except me has written a fucking thing, or if they had, they were keeping stumpf. So was I. I started tae entertain the perverse but plausible notion that every bastard secretly has a junky War and Peace sitting in their rooms.
Another disappointment for Tom (what a fucked-up trade he’s in!), and the meeting ended after the usual shoulder-shrugging, nail-biting, crap jokes and virtuous platitudes.
Sick Boy and me had a wee idea, so I asked Tom if we could use the electric typewriter in the office. ‘Ah’m ready tae start on the writin, but ma handwritin’s that bad, ah need tae use the typewriter.’
‘Of course!’ he said, nipples doubtlessly rock hard at the prospect of a juicy wee self-disclosure feast. ‘Feel free. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed!’
Feel free.
Poor Tom, the journal and diary will never come to light, but I’d led the cunt to believe that some sort of breakthrough was imminent. The fact is that, encouraged by Sick Boy, I’d decided tae get my ain back on the Currans, my old neighbours fae the Fort, for causing that scene at Wee Davie’s funeral and generally casting aspersions on the clan Renton. I got out the sheets ay Council Housing Department notepaper procured fae Norrie Moyes. I got Sick Boy tae help me compose the letter, his trusty Collins dictionary on his lap.
City of Edinburgh District Council Housing Department
Waterloo Place, Edinburgh
Teclass="underline" 031 225 2468
Director: J. M. Gibson
Mr and Mrs Oliver Curran
D 104 Fort House
Leith
Edinburgh EH6 4HR
25 March 1985
Dear Mr and Mrs Curran,
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD UNITED TENANCY SCHEME
As you may well be aware, the central government policy of promoting the sale of council housing has led to a decline in Edinburgh District Council’s levels of housing stock, most markedly in the higher amenity properties. This obviously has an adverse impact upon our ability to discharge our housing obligations to all our citizens in need.
In response to this and in keeping with our commitment to equal opportunities and fostering a multicultural Edinburgh, the council has developed an innovative progamme known as the Neighbourhood United Tenancy Scheme (N.U.T.S.). This scheme seeks to integrate homeless families into current housing provision (with special points for ethnic minority families) and follows a needs-based and city-wide inventory of our existing housing stock.
It has come to our attention that your daughter has recently married and moved out of your three-bedroom apartment tenancy at the above address.
Please note that as of Monday, 15 April 1985, this room will now be allocated to Mr and Mrs Ranjeet Patel.
The kitchen and living-room facilities will initially continue to be solely for your personal use as cooking and refrigeration equipment is to be installed in the room allocated to the new family. Please note, however, that this is subject to review. You will, of course, be expected to share toileting facilities with Mr and Mrs Patel, their children and elderly parents.
In order to facilitate a smooth and effective transition to N.U.T.S., the council are, in partnership with the Lothian Education Department, running classes at a centre near you, on basic Bengali language and culture, which, under the conditions of your tenancy agreement, you are expected to attend. This comes under the banner of Cultural Unification for New Tenants Scheme. You will be notified of the dates and venue of these classes shortly.
You have three working days to appeal against this ruling. To do so, please contact Mr Matthew Higgins at the above number on extension 2065, quoting reference: D104 FORT/CURRAN/CUNTS.
Thanking you in advance for your cooperation regarding this matter and I look forward to working with yourselves and other tenants in the area to ensure the success of this exciting and innovative project.
Yours sincerely
J.M. Gibson
J.M. Gibson
Director of Housing
The contact guy, Higgins, was a supervisor in another section. Norrie hates him, so we were doing him a favour as well. We finished and were laughing our heids off. Attracted by our vociferous frivolity, Skinny-Specky and Tom came in, the latter asking, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Just doing the journals, like you says.’
‘I didn’t realise it would all be quite so amusing …’
‘It has its lighter elements,’ Sick Boy said, arching a Roger Moore eyebrow at Skinny-Specky Amelia.
‘Good, we could use some appropriate levity at the group meeting,’ Tom said urbanely, and Skinny-Specky shot him one of those admiring groupie I’ll-gam-ye-right-now looks.
Day 27
My puckish diversions with Sick Boy unfortunately meant that I now had to knuckle down and knock out something for Tom. So last night I stayed up writing, looking out into the moonlight filtering through the thin trees into the walled garden. The old stone wall tells you that an ancient house was probably sited here, most likely a grand villa, before being torn down to put up this fucking ugly, utilitarian construction.
But with this pen and blank notepad, just looking outside, I’ve never felt so focused or alive. I came close when I was writing essays at the uni, but this is different. Instead ay building facts tae develop, challenge, then ultimately sustain a hypothesis, writing freestyle subjective stuff in ma journal makes me feel I’m getting closer tae some sort of veracity. By writing, you can use your own experience but detach it from yourself. You nail certain truths. You make up others. The incidents you invent clarify and explain as much as, sometimes more than, the ones that actually occurred.