There’s nae choice, no really. A grab ma Rangers scarf n wind it roon ma neck n over ma chin n mouth. A pull ma jade Marseille tracky on n pull a Nike Air hoody over the top ae it aw. Monica understands n doesnae offer any more protest. It’s still snowin like fuck. A could be dain wae ma own Mera Peak, which is wrapped n tucked in the back ae ma maw’s wardrobe. A’m ready noo. She beckons me wae a single finger n A kiss hur n feel hur hand go tae ma face, pure elder lassie manoeuvre. Right on cue, ma mobile starts ringin in ma pocket n A rush tae answer it before it wakes ma maw. It’s Danny. ‘Yelt, ma man! Huv yi heard?’

‘Aye, mate, A’m in ma bit wae Monica.’

‘Ya dirty dog! Yi comin up this Toi? We’re ootside your bit!’

‘Aye, mate, course fuck.’

‘HURRY UP, YA DICK! WAAA! HERE WE FUCKIN GO!’

Monica is laughin n shakin hur heed. A grab two Budweisers A hud stashed doon the back ae ma drawer. They wid go doon smooth on the road tae the Toi’s scheme n wid take the edge aff any blows tae come. A kiss hur wan more time n we creep doon ma stairs. She gees me a cuddle n a kiss on the cheek before disappearin intae the night.

We’re mostly aw here, bar Addison. He doesnae stay oot late n dae aw nighters wae the troops. Danny, both Kenzies, Finnegan, Broonie, McColl, Rab, Bailey, Whytey n Big Eck. His face looks a bit fucked, n he’s git a shiner ae a black eye. A git passed an open bottle ae wine aff Whytey n take a healthy tan oot it. He tells me tae finish it n A feel the warm rush ae Tonic in ma cheeks. A light a snout n we aw start walkin doon the hill towards the woods. ‘Yass, Azzy wee man! Here we fuckin go! First battle intae the Toi!’ Big Kenzie says.

‘Ready fur dain a bit?’ Stacey’s man, Big Rab Ryans, asks us.

‘Yir fuckin right A’m ir.’

‘A heard they jumped yi the other week, Azzy?’

‘Aye, Ryans, but we smashed them in school n got them back …’

He shakes ma hand. ‘Let’s git up here n set aboot these cunts.’

We’re aff intae the snowy night, walkin towards the Toi’s scheme. A few troops have brought weapons n they compare them as we walk under the last orange ae the street lamps. Wine bottles, a cosh n at least wan blade. Bats n that ir wan thing, but knives ir another level. A never carry cos A don’t want tae kill somecunt. There’s nae comin back fae that.

The eleven ae us head intae the woods n start our trek through the darkness ae the trees. They seem tae swallow us as we disappear intae them.

‘Azzy boy n fuckin Monica Mason – no bad, son!’ Big Kenzie shouts fae the front.