smoky black city sky hanging like a pile of bricks in a flimsy net above the heads of its inhabitants. The citizenry would frequently look up in anxiety, waiting for it to drop its load on them. Yet most Burgh boys and girls still nipped around briskly: they had processed their hangovers and had yet to break their resolutions, enjoying the wave of optimism a new year brings.
One exception was a fur-headed, dry-mouthed Danny Skinner who was writing a report in earshot of a buoyant Brian Kibby, now recovered from his mauling by Foy, and enthusiastically recounting his recent adventures to Shannon McDowall. — The weekend there, Kibby said in his high, almost girlish nasal whine, — we were up in Glenshee, he explained as Shannon nodded indulgently, sipping black coffee from her Pet Shop Boys mug.
A more clued-up soul than Kibby might have suspected that Shannon was bored and humouring him, but having a massive crush on her served to obliterate his antennae somewhat. In his troubled life dealing with his father’s illness and the tensions in his family, Shannon, the video games – particularly
Harvest Moon
– the model railway and the Hyp Hykers had become his main sources of respite. Shannon and one Hyp Hyker particularly. — . . . n thir was a bunch of us; me, Kenny, that’s the guy who runs the club, he’s a great laugh but pretty mad, Brian Kibby chortled, — and Gerald, who really tries tae keep up, he let his face screw up in a slightly indulgent manner, — but we call him slowcoach, n there’s Lucy . . . Kibby was about toexpand on the main object of his desire when he was cut short by a terse intervention.
— These trips you go on, Brian, they wee treks in the country, Skinner proceeded in prosecution lawyer manner, as he’d learned from Foy, — any rideable females go along?
The elicitation of Kibby’s blush had been Skinner’s sole intention and he wasn’t disappointed. Shannon rolled her eyes and tutted under her breath, busying herself in her paperwork.
— There’s some girls that go – Brian Kibby began hesitantly, looking towards Shannon, who was ignoring him, her head bent over her papers.
— Like the fucking clappers, I’ll bet, Skinner cut him off.
Kibby stammered, feeling like he’d already betrayed Lucy in some unspecific yet deep way, — Eh . . . I dinnae . . . you cannae . . .
Skinner’s mouth tightened, and from Kibby’s point of view his face took on a preternatural hue. — Bet there’s a few rides there, eh?
Shannon McDowall looked first at Kibby then at Skinner. Her glance was dismissive. Skinner caught it and gestured in appeal.
— There’s some nice lassies, aye, Brian Kibby said, quite assertively, and as a result he instantly, for a few precious seconds, felt that he had captured the moral high ground.
Skinner’s expression was stony and serious. — Rode any?
Brian Kibby looked disgusted and turned away, but Skinner saw that the attempt to construct a mature façade was a smokescreen in order to cover his virgin’s humiliation. Shannon McDowall tutted again, shook her head, rose and marched over to the bank of filing cabinets. Colin McGhee grinned over and let his brows rise, tacitly giving Skinner the audience he needed following Shannon’s departure.
— Why so coy, Bri? Skinner said matter-of-factly. — A simple question: rode any birds at this hiking club of yours?
— Nane ay your business! Kibby spat, and stormed off,heading for the toilets, passing Shannon, who moved back to her desk.
Skinner turned to her. — Looks like I touched a nerve!
— Don’t be so fucking horrible, Danny, Shannon said. Brian Kibby could go on, but he was a nice wee guy, just a bit innocent.
Skinner winked suggestively at her, causing Shannon to feel a slow pang of desire she wished she didn’t. That drunken snog at the Housing Department party. It had just been one of those things, a piece of nonsense neither mentioned again, yet she was reminded of
One exception was a fur-headed, dry-mouthed Danny Skinner who was writing a report in earshot of a buoyant Brian Kibby, now recovered from his mauling by Foy, and enthusiastically recounting his recent adventures to Shannon McDowall. — The weekend there, Kibby said in his high, almost girlish nasal whine, — we were up in Glenshee, he explained as Shannon nodded indulgently, sipping black coffee from her Pet Shop Boys mug.
A more clued-up soul than Kibby might have suspected that Shannon was bored and humouring him, but having a massive crush on her served to obliterate his antennae somewhat. In his troubled life dealing with his father’s illness and the tensions in his family, Shannon, the video games – particularly
Harvest Moon
– the model railway and the Hyp Hykers had become his main sources of respite. Shannon and one Hyp Hyker particularly. — . . . n thir was a bunch of us; me, Kenny, that’s the guy who runs the club, he’s a great laugh but pretty mad, Brian Kibby chortled, — and Gerald, who really tries tae keep up, he let his face screw up in a slightly indulgent manner, — but we call him slowcoach, n there’s Lucy . . . Kibby was about toexpand on the main object of his desire when he was cut short by a terse intervention.
— These trips you go on, Brian, they wee treks in the country, Skinner proceeded in prosecution lawyer manner, as he’d learned from Foy, — any rideable females go along?
The elicitation of Kibby’s blush had been Skinner’s sole intention and he wasn’t disappointed. Shannon rolled her eyes and tutted under her breath, busying herself in her paperwork.
— There’s some girls that go – Brian Kibby began hesitantly, looking towards Shannon, who was ignoring him, her head bent over her papers.
— Like the fucking clappers, I’ll bet, Skinner cut him off.
Kibby stammered, feeling like he’d already betrayed Lucy in some unspecific yet deep way, — Eh . . . I dinnae . . . you cannae . . .
Skinner’s mouth tightened, and from Kibby’s point of view his face took on a preternatural hue. — Bet there’s a few rides there, eh?
Shannon McDowall looked first at Kibby then at Skinner. Her glance was dismissive. Skinner caught it and gestured in appeal.
— There’s some nice lassies, aye, Brian Kibby said, quite assertively, and as a result he instantly, for a few precious seconds, felt that he had captured the moral high ground.
Skinner’s expression was stony and serious. — Rode any?
Brian Kibby looked disgusted and turned away, but Skinner saw that the attempt to construct a mature façade was a smokescreen in order to cover his virgin’s humiliation. Shannon McDowall tutted again, shook her head, rose and marched over to the bank of filing cabinets. Colin McGhee grinned over and let his brows rise, tacitly giving Skinner the audience he needed following Shannon’s departure.
— Why so coy, Bri? Skinner said matter-of-factly. — A simple question: rode any birds at this hiking club of yours?
— Nane ay your business! Kibby spat, and stormed off,heading for the toilets, passing Shannon, who moved back to her desk.
Skinner turned to her. — Looks like I touched a nerve!
— Don’t be so fucking horrible, Danny, Shannon said. Brian Kibby could go on, but he was a nice wee guy, just a bit innocent.
Skinner winked suggestively at her, causing Shannon to feel a slow pang of desire she wished she didn’t. That drunken snog at the Housing Department party. It had just been one of those things, a piece of nonsense neither mentioned again, yet she was reminded of
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