The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs by Irvine Welsh Page A

it every time he looked at her in a certain way. Skinner felt it too, and it shamed him. He’d been stupid. He loved Kay, although things were still pretty tense between them after his behaviour at Christmas. Kibby, though, had nobody, Skinner considered with a treacherous, gloating pity. — There’s no stigma in being a virgin at twenty-one. For most people, he grandly contended.
    Skinner’s baiting of Brian Kibby was relentless enough in the office, although it was skilfully presented by its architect as just a series of light-hearted wind-ups, based on a genuine, if obviously patronising, friendship, rather than any real malice. However, at the local further education college on their day-release studies for the Certificate of Public Health Management, his viciousness came into its own. Surrounded by many of his peers, the flamboyant Danny Skinner was remorseless: heckling, abusing and humiliating the tongue-tied and socially awkward Brian Kibby at every turn. It got so that in certain places, notably the college refectory during coffee and lunch breaks, Kibby was literally scared to open his mouth, lest he draw Skinner’s attention to him. Other students became either willing accomplices or unwitting stooges, but most were happy to acquiesce rather than face the sharp end of Danny Skinner’s tongue.
    That tongue, though, also had its softer side, which was enviedby Kibby, almost as much as he detested its more brutal aspect. The female workers at the council, or more often, the students in the college, were seldom spared Skinner’s verbal charms. Danny Skinner often seemed incapable of letting a girl pass him by without registering a smile, wink or comment.
    The abhorrence Skinner had felt towards Brian Kibby, so deep that it often appalled and dismayed him, had grown steadily over the few months of their acquaintance. It had reached the point where he assumed it had evolved to an unsurpassable level. But one incident would elevate this animus to even greater heights.
    The engagement ring intended for Kay Ballantyne had been burning a hole in Danny Skinner’s pocket. It was a raw, cold Saturday, with searing gales blasting the city from the North Sea, but the town was nonetheless busy with shoppers, taking advantage of the January sales.
    — Let’s just take a wee walk through the gardens, Skinner had suggested to his girlfriend. As they descended the steps at the floral clock, now barren for the winter, the throb of a bass line rumbled in the air. Something seemed to be going on at the Ross Bandstand. They heard a wavering voice rising, and saw some groups of freshly scrubbed-looking people, clad in clean brushed denim, and ascertained that some kind of gospel rock band was playing.
    — Let’s check this out, Kay suggested.
    — Naw, let’s just sit down here for a bit. Skinner pointed at an empty park bench.
    — It’s too cold to sit out, Danny, Kay protested, stamping her feet, and pulling some windswept strands of hair out of her eyes.
    — Just for a minute, I’ve got something I need to say to you, he pleaded.
    Intrigued, Kay followed him, and they sat on the bench. Skinner looked sadly at her. — I’ve been an idiot, a total arsehole. At Christmas . . .
    — Look, we’ve been through this before, I don’t want to talk about it. Kay shook her head. — Let’s just put it behind us. It’s Saturday and I –
    — Please, angel, just listen to me for a second, he urged, fishing a small box out of his pocket. — I love you, Kay. I want to be with you always.
    She gasped as he snapped it open and she caught the sparkle of the diamond ring.
    Skinner slid off the park bench on to his knees in front of her. — Kay, I want to marry you. Will you marry me?
    Kay Ballantyne was in shock. She’d come to believe that he was bored with her, and wanted them to finish, and that this was what all the drinking was about. — Danny . . . I don’t know what to say . . .
    Skinner looked tensely at her.