‘Awk, yi know what A mean, Azzy. You’re just playin dumb cos you’ve still git feelins for hur! It’s cute.’

‘Aye right, man!’

‘Tryin to say, if she phoned you n said, Azzy, A want yi, son, yi would tell hur to fuck off?’

‘A’m no denyin A did like hur, but it’s done wae. A’m glad she’s happy n aw that.’

‘Defo over hur then?’

‘Aye.’

‘Prove it then!’ she says as she turns n pulls me intae hur. We’re walkin up the back lane. There’s a big conifer leanin over an eld broken fence n we’re underneath it. She’s aboot an inch away fae ma face, givin me the look.

‘Wit you wantin?’ A say, laughin n takin the last puff ae ma Jeffrey.

‘Yi know what A want! A’ve been tryin fur years to get yi on yir own.’

‘No that hard when yir shackin up wae fuckin JP. Toi wan n aw that. Phhft! Scrubbed!’

‘Aye well, touché, mister. You’ve fancied Monica Mason fur about ten years. Chasing hur like a wee puppy. When she wasn’t cool enough, yi moved on tae Gemma.’

She hus me bang tae rites there. Of course, A huvnae forgotten aboot Monica. Gemma wis different, a passin thing. Patricia, another species entirely. More beautiful n deadly. ‘That you got me figured oot aye?’

‘Azzy, had you figured out the first time A seen yi, son.’

‘Aye so yi did.’

‘So … yi goin to take me home or keep me waitin any longer?’

The mist hus turned tae a thick fog n darkness hus drawn in noo – wae the orange ae the lamps it’s that usual purple haze. It’s gone ten. A’ve been here hours, in Patricia’s lair, pure boudoir material. A glance towards ma maw’s paper n eggs, sittin on Patricia’s bedside table, heavy patched. She glides back fae the bathroom n spills across the bed. They’re satin sheets n there’s aboot a million pillows n cushions. A’m somewhere in the middle among the bizarre collection ae fabrics ae varied colours, materials n sizes. Ma bed is a single wae a polycotton sheet n duvet and wae Rangers tartan curtains hanging. This is a double wae a big, comfy but silent mattress. The sheet is silken n aw fancy. A feel like Aladdin or fuckin Lawrence ae Arabia.

Patricia’s cuddlin in n moanin pleasurably as she rolls aboot under the covers, still in lingerie. After five minutes she settles without a word n crashes oot like a true hedonist. Lassies like hur ir like a hit or a line – yi huv that first rush ae pleasure n after that yir hooked n yi start doon the road towards a bad place. No matter the consequence, yi wid be back cos she’s blonde n toned n hur dark eyes n laugh knew the same as you did, that yir fucked.

‘Patricia?’

‘Mmmm.’

‘A needty git doon the road.’

‘Mmmm … cool, see ya.’

She doesnae see me oot. A’m oot in the haze noo. It’s pitch black, nearly eleven. A zip ma jakit against the cold. A’m thinkin aboot hur black stockin tops n hur body in that low light, the shadows ae hur contours. A’m sparkin a fag when A hear footsteps.