‘Dain wit?’

‘Roofin, mate. He says he’ll help me git ma papers if A’m any good. Plus A kin sell ma maw n da’s hoose n take that candy wae me. They reckon it’ll go fur aboot fifty grand!’

A big smile crosses both our faces at the same time.

‘Fiddy geez? Dis she know that?’

‘Dis she fuck n A’ll no be tellin hur! That’s fur Broonie boy tae git set up when A git up there. See how it goes fur a few months n git a place n that. If A like it, A’ll bang a deposit doon on a gaff n just fuckin stay.’

‘No fuckin bad, son.’

‘Surprised ma maw n da didnae sell the hoose fur a fuckin cargo, the cunts!’

A oblige wae a laugh. We both know it’s true. It’s amazin the place is even worth that after the condition the Browns kept it in. The interior décor wid be ripped oot n the stones wid remain. The cheap price wid make a quick sale n then Broonie wid be free.

‘Wit aboot you n Monica?’

Hur name gees ma heart that wee sting roon the edges, especially when A wake up, expectin hur slim waist tae be under ma arm. Then A realise she’s still gone n the feelin vanishes. ‘That wan is on hold, bud. Fur now, at least.’

‘You wur fuckin daft on hur, wint yi?’

‘Suhin like that, mate.’

‘Fuck it’s no too late. Just git yir arse on a fuckin plane. A’ll tap yi fur gawn soon as A git ma fuckin dough. Nae hassle tae. Yi don’t even need tae pay me back.’

‘Cheers, son. Means a lot.’

‘Got yir fuckin back, Azzy big man.’

‘Always, cuz.’

It’s gone three o’clock n Friday is rollin on wae perfected bravado. A pulse beats around the system again, reanimation intae dead matter. The demon thrivin on the static in the air. Awready, as A watch the agonisin tick ae the clock, A kin feel it buildin inside, ready tae explode n drive me bang on-it. Oot wae the troops n fuckin causin it. Broonie’s lookin more restless anaw. He’s tappin his feet on the laminate n playin wae a lighter, then fiddlin wae his jakit n gettin ready tae boost.

The two ae us jump in the motor n head doon tae Broonie’s bit. He’s talkin away aboot suhin but A’m driftin away n no really payin attention. Ma mind is on the night ahead n its many possibilities. It’s pullin ma strings, tellin me tae forget aboot ma worries n tan ma bottle ae wine n prepare fur battle. Broonie gits a text n holds his phone up tae me as we arrive at his bit. ‘Mate, everycunt is in Danny’s bit the noo gittin on-it. A’m gonnae bounce in, git ready rapid n head straight up. Wit aboot you?’

‘Aye A’ll prob dae the same, cousin.’

‘Right chusty! A’ll see yi later, G!’

Part ae me doesnae feel like goin tae Danny’s, n A’ve git that bad feelin like A shouldnae go on-it. A’m flyin roon the scheme, towards the shop at the bottom ae the hill. A’m gonnae dae the same as Broonie, dump ma motor at ma bit n git ready, but as A’m passin by the shop ma heart starts fuckin poundin n that rage starts buildin in me. The distinctive black BMW is parked roon fae the bookies. Matty n Si ir in the front n there’s heads in the back. A slow doon as A roll by but they’ve no noticed me. A’m thinkin aboot ma maw’s windaes n the fifty phone calls over the last week, about Broonie and Wee Toffey n aw their fuckin shite n it’s makin me feel mental. Ma mare sensible side appeals fur calm, go home, take stock n plan ma departure, but A kin feel it gittin worse, like a battle drum pulsin in yir veins. An eld feelin, like years ago …