The Socialists go on about your comrades, your class, your union, and society. Fuck all that shite. The Tories go on about your employer, your country, your family. Fuck that even mair. It’s me, me, fucking ME.
((Indie Sick Boy RP from Irvine Welsh's novels. Mun & Muse 21+))
It’s not quite the reception she was aiming for. But she shrugs it off, tells herself that it doesn’t matter. Meg’s theory is that the world is wide enough for her to run away from everything if necessary, and that six months down the line this won’t even matter. It’ll be a funny story to tell some other man in some other city about! So she drops her shoulder and leans against the door frame. “I know, it’s embarrassing as fuck but… Listen, alright you can’t tell anyone else about this. Really.” She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s this easily spooked, she’s normally hard as nails but there’s something about the combination of the theme music and the opening credits that’s sent her into a bit of a spiral. “I was watching The X-Files and I’ve kind of… scared myself. I don’t know anyone else in Edinburgh…”
“The X-files…” For a moment is brain struggled to make the connection between the 90s sc-fi drama and abject terror. To be honest, he felt he was going to need much longer than a moment to make that connection. “The thing wi the aliens and the fella from Californication?” He pushed a hand in his messy hair, turning to make his way into the flat and towards the kitchen. “Ye came all the way over here because yer afraid of 90s aliens?” Si couldn’t help but laugh at that, flicking on the kettle absentmindedly.
“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing.” God, this really is embarrassing. She wants to turn around and run, hide away somewhere and pretend this never happened. If only she didn’t have the Uber app, because she had no change for a taxi, and then she would never have got here in the first place to embarrass herself. But she’s here now, and the door is open, and Simon’s standing there not looking best pleased with her. “I’m really sorry. Can I - Can I come in for a cup of tea or something?” She’s got no choice but to forge ahead and commit to whatever awful choice she’s currently making. She leans a little closer, drops her voice, hopes that her big hazel eyes will win him round. “Look, I’ll explain it all properly but… I know it’s late.” She bites the corner of her lip, agitated, before tilting her head and blinking. “I wanted to see you…” She purrs at him, her last chance at convincing him to let her in.
“I uh… yeah.” He was confused to say the least, he hadn’t pegged her as the i needed to be with you type. He fucking hoped she wasn’t they were a nightmare to shake without a huge fucking scene. God he wanted to go back to bed, there were few rules Simon abided by, but a good night’s sleep was one of them. Puffy eyes were not a good look. “Ye all right darlin? We dunnae get a whole lot of ‘just poppin’ round’ visitors at two o’clock in the mornin if ah’m honest wi ya.” Please don’t be turning into a crazy stalker lady…
This is embarrassing. Meg hasn’t even got the excuse of being drunk or high, she’s just genuinely got a taxi to Simon’s place while sober at two in the morning because she wants to see him. Even worse, she’s here in desperate need of his company because she scared herself watching The X-Files. What kind of horror writer gets scared at that? It’s really, really embarrassing. Still, she rings his doorbell and pulls her coat tighter around her, mentally shouting at herself for being here in his tee shirt of all things. It should be illegal how comfortable his Fred Perry shirts are - she can’t be blamed for stealing them.
For a long while he didn’t even register the door was going, it wasn’t until Mark shambled unceremoniously into his room and started lobbing things that he bothered to open his eyes. After an angry chorus of it’s a fuckin bird, it’ll be for ye! Simon dragged himself to the front door, scrubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “Jesus darlin’, wha on earth…” Si looked at her with a mixture of confusion and slight annoyance - a woman showing up in the dead of night was never a good sign.
“What was it?” She tries her best to sound casual, like she’s just moving the conversation along. But really, Meg has this horrible gut feeling that he’s spinning her this story about Lisa anyway. Because Simon is a catch around here, Meg is bright enough to see that. He might have an addiction to heroin, but he dressed sharply and he knew how to talk to girls. He had more charm than Renton, miles ahead of Begbie and Spud. How any of them managed to get girls surprised Meg, which sounded mean but when you compared them to the boys she was used to from London… Well.
“That is awfully picky of you. I didn’t have you pegged as a john - that’s what they’re called, right? I figured you were the type to enjoy the chase. You learn something new every day.” She’s saying all the right things, in all the right ways. She has to prove to him that she’s the cool girl who doesn’t mind, even if she does mind quite a bit. She’s just as aware of her reputation as he is of his.
“She wanted someone who can hook her up, her dealer has done a runner.” No wonder, the fucker wasn’t half shady… even on the scale of low class drug pushers. “Ah havnae seen her fer a while, se we went fer a drink.”
Laughing he turned to look at her, that ‘as if I would ever do anything to hurt you’ twinkle in his eye. And the Oscar goes to… “A john? Aye, maybe where yer from - here they’re just punters. Tha’s more Begbie’s racket, why pay fer somethin ye can get fer free?” Of course, she didn’t need to know that he did on occasion sleep with ladies of less than stellar reputation… although he was sure you didn’t count as a customer if you were the pimp…
Some re-run of something is rumbling in the background, Meg had mainly just put it on for noise to fill the silence in the flat. She’s not sure where Mark’s gone, but she’s glad he’s not here for this. It’s a bit difficult having emotional discussions with the boy you’re sort of seeing and sort of living with when he lives with his best friend. She frowns, picking up on Simon’s meaning. It wasn’t so much that Begbie had been telling her things, as Meg adding a few things up for herself. Although it seems she might have come to the wrong conclusion.
“Right. So Lisa is… That’s Lisa. With the…” She trails off, sips her tea again to try and save her embarrassment. She’s trying to salvage this after all, she doesn’t want to come across like an obsessive girl who can’t take a hint! In fact, she hasn’t even picked up any signs from Simon that he’s getting fed up of her. Which is why she had convinced herself he has to have girls on the side. “What’s your preference then?” She asks, trying to act playful and teasing despite the weird feeling in her stomach.
“Aye, Lisa with the fuckin’ H.I.V virus - I mean, she’s a junkie and a hooker, but she doesnae deserve tha…” Simon shook his head as if it were the greatest tragedy in the world, but really he didn’t care. Sure, it was sad, but as long as it wasn’t him… “Ah was helpin her out wi somethin - worried were ya?”
He squeezed his arm around her shoulders, chuckling a little and pushing his head playfully against hers. “Ma preference… well, ah’ve always like ma hookers te have a vagina and no’ deadly illnesses. But maybe ah’m just picky…” He was winding her up of course, deliberately misunderstanding her, partly to wind her up… and partly so he didn’t have to follow this particular conversation down the rabbit hole.
Sharing the flat with Renton had a tendency to cause minor domestic dramas - who used the last of the milk, who ate all the biscuits, who used all the hot water. But that’s not the reason for Meg’s sulky mood. She didn’t even think it was that obvious, but it’s clear Simon’s picked up on it. She leans her head on his shoulder without even thinking about it, not sure how to explain her thoughts while keeping her laissez-faire cool girl image. She told herself she wouldn’t even bring it up, that she wasn’t bothered, but as time goes on Meg is finding herself more and more concerned with being Simon’s main girl, if not his only.
“No, my Jammy Dodgers are still hidden.” She shrugs, sips the tea before speaking. “Did you have a good time with whoever tonight?” She pauses. “Nevermind. It doesn’t even matter. I don’t know why I asked.” She shrugs, tries to laugh off the green eyed monster.
Ahhh, the triple denial, the female equivalent of screaming I DO MIND VERY MUCH in a bloke’s face. He’d seen it a million times, his mother, his sisters, every bird he’d ever shagged - no it’s fine, doesn’t matter, forget it. “Oh aye?” Laughing he slung his arm around her shoulders, pretending to watch the telly with a vacant expression.
“It was all right aye, why? Has Begbie been tellin ye things? Because ah swear te god fer a homophobe that man dunnae half fancy a lot of poofters.” He turned to her with his eyes twinkling, the smug look of a man who was about to be proven right. “Ma mate, Lisa - she’s… shall we say, got some extra equipment like. Fair play to her, se can de what she wants - but it’s no’ my preference.”
Simon drew Meg in originally with his rascal streak - his sly grin, the way he pulled her in for kisses in front of photographers, the fact that she almost had to work for his attention. He was unlike the boys she’d dated in London, totally different and new. But dating the bad boy wasn’t a picnic, and Meg had consigned herself to the fact that she’d have to be the best option on a night out or Simon would be distracted by other girls, for example. Still, that didn’t mean she had to like it! She just rolled her eyes and got on with it, expecting things to eventually fizzle out and when it did, she’d return to London.
But right now, she’s drinking tea on his sofa waiting for him to get in. She hears the door click shut, and sighs. She doesn’t even know why she stayed at his when she could have gone back to her hotel room. But here she is, hands wrapped around the mug and shaking. His head pops round the corner and she smiles at him. “Hey, you. Have a good time?”
Meg appeared to have just moved in with him and Rents, they had never really talked about it but she was just always there now. What really raised an eyebrow was the fact that he didn’t seem to mind. Usually when a girl started to get a little too invested you couldn’t find Sick Boy for the puff of smoke he left behind. But here he was, coming home to a girl wearing his shirt and drinking tea from his mugs. “Aye, no’ bad, no’ bad.” Discarding his jacket he moved to sit beside her, opening his mouth to launch into one of his usual tirades before noticing the lull in her mood.
“Hey, wha’s up wi ye ma darlin? Has Rents been nickin’ all yer biscuits again? Av’e told ye, just kick the ginger bastard.”
