Dead Men's Trousers

^Epilogue Summer 2016 _{I Met You in the Summertime}

We make an odd quartet, me, Vicky, Alex and the old boy. Fishing off Santa Monica Pier, catching zero wi our solitary cheapo rod, compared tae the mair dedicated anglers with their specialist equipment and bait. But this is about nothing mair than being together. There will be a good eighteen months of fannying about with documentation for my father and son. Social services in Holland are being cunty, and lawyers will get richer, but we’re no going anywhaire.

Alex obviously reminds the old man ay Wee Davie. He’s indulgent with him, more than I am, certainly more than I ever was ay my wee brother. I hated all the gob, snot, shit, pish, sound and general radge behaviour that emanated from him; saw Davie as little mair than a human excrement factory, designed tae facilitate ma constant social embarrassment on the streets of Leith. Never got how the old man could stand it. Well, that’s one ay the benefits ay developing a thick skin. I’ve learned to accept it all, even love it, in my own kid, not that he’s as clarty or as full spectrum as my brother was. He’s never gaunny play for Hibs, though, or front a happening band, or, saddest of all, know the rapture ay making love wi somebody. But he’s never gaunny be a skagheid, or spend his adult life having tae babysit DJs. Most of all, he’ll live wi the sun in his face as long as there’s a breath in my body.

I catch Vicky correcting her hair, the Pacific breeze constantly whipping out strands across her face. She likes my old boy, and seems fond ay Alex. Even when he looks at her and says for the zillionth time, — I asked for one, not two.

It’s not all roses, though. She’s made it very clear that she doesnae want kids, which I totally get and suits me tae fuck, but the idea of living wi somebody else’s teenaged handicapped one is something she never considered signing up for. We’re talking about how complicated our lives are and it’s no the time tae discuss moving in together. But we’re talking about no talking about it a lot. And will continue tae do so.

Life isnae so bad. Conrad has settled into the Vegas residency, with his eager eye on his forthcoming upgrade to XS, and has Emily and Carl as regular guests. No, it didn’t last between Conrad and Emily, but they’ve stayed close, and their collaboration raised her status and profile. Maybe that was her plan all along. Conrad moved his permanent base to Miami, after I hooked him up with the personal trainer there. I thought he’d run like fuck, as she has a pretty fearsome rep, but they get on and he’s stuck with the programme. The results have been spectacular. He’s gone from 354 to 226 pounds and is still shedding. I don’t have to help him get laid now. Post-Conrad, Emily has moved to New York. She’s in the studio a lot more and the results have been highly encouraging. The Vegas residency will mean less travelling, and neither she nor Conrad is as clingy now. They’re just growing up, I suppose, but a lot quicker than I ever did. And I have Ivan, the Belgian-formerly-known-as-treacherous, still tearing it up, back on my books.

Carl has moved tae LA; the cunt is in West Hollywood, but I don’t think he’s given up on Helena yet, and I sense that might only set him up for more hurt. However, ye never can tell a windae-licking Jambo cunt anything.

And here, walking through the hazy tendrils ay heat, under the pale blue sky, comes the other odd quartet, though the rest ay the world would see them as normality squared. Heading towards us, along the sand, is the artist-formerly-known-as-psychopathic, his wife and his two wee girls, one ay whom – the youngest yin – has a definite Daughter-ay-Begbie edge. At her urging, probably for the umpteenth time, he hoists her into air, to her rapture. The older one, Grace, a very bright kid, is chatting tae her mum, who embraces Vicky, as my dad shakes hands with Franco. Sauzee, their dog, bounds over tae Toto, and they sniff each other, deciding that they get along.

Of course, I had to take Spud’s daft wee mutt. Alex loves him, sits with him across his knees, dispensing rhythmic strokes over his head and down his back. Neither of them tires of this. I sometimes watch tae see whae’ll end it first, and they only stop when it’s mealtimes. Even I’ve gotten attached tae Toto and I’m no really an animals guy, especially small dogs.

Franco takes advantage ay Eve charging after our canine pals, and comes over, playfully squeezing my bicep. — There’s ma fuckin hero. He looks wistfully at the two girls, playing now with the pooches. — Could have lost it all.

— It’s cool, bud, I whisper. I’ve got big money in the bank thanks tae him. He did sell the heads for me, at about forty per cent more than I paid for them. Franco, Melanie and I agreed tae play down that horrible incident with the rogue cop. The stalker is likely to get banged up for at least ten on abduction, assault and breaking and entering charges. I’ll be in court soon as a witness. I’ve given Vicky and Dad a broad outline. Time enough to tell them all the details later.

I’m working out a lot, going for runs with Vicky. I’m eating well, and keeping off the drink and drugs. I occasionally dae NA as a lifebelt, like before I go travelling with the DJs, and have an app tae tell ays where the meetings are in each city I visit. I’m watching my weight, for the first time: I was always a thirty-two-inch waist. Now Billy’s thirty-fours fit me just fine. My tribute tae him and Spud is tae wear them until they fall off.

But maybe we’ll all have some ice cream. Just like when Franco and I first met back at that van, outside the Fort, him carrying the Tupperware bowl. This time he won’t be chasing radges, and I won’t be chasing drugs. My phone rings, and I step down the beach to take it. It’s Gavin Gregson, the publisher in London. The one I sent Spud’s manuscript tae, with just a few corrections. Well, two words mainly, both on the title page. He will reiterate to me about how excited they are to be publishing my book next spring. I think about Sick Boy’s words, that you can only be a cunt or a mug, and you really can’t be a mug. A thousand things go through my mind at once. Maybe atonement is about doing the right thing. But who for? I see Vicky smiling at me, as Alex does a wee dance on the spot. What do I do? What would you do? I let it ring another couple of times, then hit the green button. — Gavin, how goes?