Ecstasy by Irvine Welsh Page B

terrifying and incomprehensible. She wore her professional demeanour like a tramp wears a new tuxedo. – There are one or two irregularities … she said slowly.

A Slag’s Habit
    She ain’t changed the fucking lock yet; she knows what she’d get if she tried that one. I’d kept my set of the keys for this shithole after I moved out. I told her that I needed a place of my own. It was best all round. But yeh, I still kept a key for this gaff though, so I could come round and see the little un; stands to reason that I’d want to do that. She hears my key in the lock and looks at me all funny as I step in. The little fellah’s here though, he comes out from behind her.
    She smokes in front of him n all. Forty a day she fucking well smokes. Slag’s habit. I hate to see skirt smoking. Different in a geezer like, but common in skirt, especially young skirt. I mean, I ain’t talking about my old gel like. I mean she gets little enough bleedin pleasure out of life as it is, I wouldn’t deny her her snout. In young skirt though it’s too fucking tarty. Then there’s the health aspect to be considered. That’s what I said to her the last time I was up. I warned the slut about smoking in front of the nipper. You gotta consider the bleedin health aspect, I told her. Don’t bear thinking about.
    – He needs new shoes, Dave, she says.
    – Yeah? Well I’ll get him a pair then, won’t I, I tell her. I ain’t giving her no more bleedin dosh. It’ll only go on the cheapest pair with the balance on snout for that slag. I ain’t that fucking soft.
    The little un’s looking at me.
    – Ow’s my boy then, eh?
    – All right, he says.
    – All right? I goes, – Wot’s all this about all right? Wot about a kiss for your old pop then, eh? He comes over and gives me a nice wet slammer on the side of my gob. – That’s my boy, I tell him, ruffling his hair. I’ll have to stop this kissing lark though, he’s getting far too bleedin big for that. Could make him soft, that palaver could; even worse , turn him into one of them queer blouses you see hanging around. Ain’t natural that. I turn to her, – Oi, that queer-arsed nonce ain’t still hanging around the school, is he?
    – Nah, ain’t heard no more about it.
    – Well if you do let me know straight away. Ain’t no sick-beast coming near my boy, ain’t that right, son? Remember what I told you, if anybody mucks about with you at that school?
    – Kick em in the bollocks! he says. I laugh, and give him a bit of shadow boxing. Heavy hands for a little kiddie; a chip off the old block that one, if The Slag brings him up good n proper that is.
    The Slag. She does look pretty tasty today though, made up n all. – You seein anybody, gel? I ask her.
    – Not at the moment, she goes, all sort of snooty like.
    – Get your fucking knickers orf then.
    – Dave! Don’t talk like that. Not in front of Gary, she says, pointing at the little fellah.
    – Yeah, right. Listen, Gal, you take this dosh n get yerself some sweets. There’s the car keys, this one opens the door. Wait for us in the motor, right? I’ll just be a few minutes. Got some things to say to your mum; grown-up’s things like.
    The little geezer toddles off with the dosh, then she starts giving me a hard time.
    – I don’t wanna, she says.
    – I don’t bleedin well care what you bleedin well want, do I, I tell her. No fucking respect, that was always The Slag’s problem, a sort of personality defect. She puts on that fucking face, but she knows the score and she’s getting her kit off and going through to the bedroom. I get her on the bed and start kissing her, my tongue in that horrible ashtray mouth. I get her legs open and get up between her easy enough, the dirty slag’s like a sodding dripping sponge down there, and I start giving her one. I just want to blow my fucking load and get on out of there, down to the bleeding car. The thing is, whenever I get into her, I can’t bleedin well come … and