‘Jokes aside, ya proddy cunt, wit you been uptay anyways? How come yir back? A wis startin tae think yi wur away fur good.’

‘A know, mate, fuck it’s been a while. A done awright doon there, wis workin n done an HND at college.’

‘Fuck sake, nice wan. Yi always wur a brainy wee cunt. Sah, where’s the catch?’

‘Me n Patricia finished.’

‘Always knew that wee scudbook wis a wrong ’un.’

‘Thomas, fuck sake …’

‘Sorry, hen, but she wis. Always runnin aboot wae aw us n they fuckin Toi wans at the same time. Wee scheme-hoppin cow! Dis yir maw know yir up?’

‘Naw, no spoke tae hur. Just left Stacey’s bit there.’

‘Ufft! She’ll be bealin!’

‘Aye she’ll be worryin n aw that. Seen much ae the troops?’

‘Wee John isnae workin yit. He’s runnin aboot dain stuff fur the McIntires wae Broonie these days. Usual patter.’

‘Aye, tell us aboot it! Wit aboot Danny?’

‘Phhft! Danny’s a fuckin house mouse noo, sir. No seen the cunt fur months. Think he’s still aboot wae aw them but he’s no wit he used tae be the cunt. Heed’s frazzled wae the fuckin gear. Skinny noo.’

‘N Broonie’s runnin aboot wae Kenzie?’

‘Wee fuckin Broonie Beefcake! Wanty see him noo. Fuckin solid, the wee cunt. Wee baldy tank, drivin an Audi A3!’ Big Kenzie’s patter’s always class. ‘Your other wee mates Finnegan n Toni ir in a bad way, sir. Two ae them run aboot like junkies noo, mate. Bad craic.’

‘Sounds like things huv changed.’

The front door gets chapped n opens. Michelle goes tae git up but Big Kenzie is awready on his feet. She catches ma eye before she’s shoutin, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me,’ a voice comes back. A know who it is. A’m slidin back up the couch again, waitin on Wee Kenzie’s arrival. Tam walks back in n stands just in front ae him. Kenzie looks elder, thin fair hair still gelled, n wearin a Lacoste tracky. A normally wore jeans n that noo.

‘No way.’

‘Happnin, Kenzie.’

‘Phhft! Fuck you dain back up here. Thought you wur too good fur the boys, eh?’

‘Fuckin nane ae that, John, ya wee dick.’

‘Naw, Tam. A’ll say wit A fuckin want. Azzy fuckin Williams fucks aff fur aboot four year n just turns up n says “happnin”. Nae chance. Yi kin fuck aff back doon tae England, ya slopin bastard.’

‘If you’re gonnae start yi kin get out ma house, John.’

‘A’m sorry, Michelle, but it’s the fuckin truth,’ John says, flappin his arms aboot like a fuckin turkey.

‘Least Azzy wis tryin tae sort himself out – he moved away wae his burd, what dae yi expect?’ Michelle says, offended fur us.

‘Exactly, ya fuckin wee dick. Don’t dare come in ma fuckin gaff n start geein ma pals cheek or A’ll smash fuck oot yi, ya wee trumpet.’

‘Tryin tae say you’d hit yir ain brother before a fuckin stranger? Didnae hink so.’