Free The Acid House by Irvine Welsh Page B

since Joanie. It has though. This wonderful lady has made me feel blessed human again. She really is a fine person.
    She held my hand as we sat looking into each other's eyes for a few seconds.
    I cleared my throat with a sip of scotch. — One of the great things about getting older, Marianne, is that the impending presence of the grim reaper concentrates the mind somewhat. I'm very attracted to you Marianne, and please don't be offended by this, but I'd like to spend the night with you.
    — I'm not offended, Jim. I think that would be marvellous, she glowed.
    This made me a little coy. — Might be somewhat less than marvellous. I'm a little bit out of practice for this sort of thing.
    — They say it's a little like swimming or riding a bike, she simpered, a little drunk.
    Well, if that was the case, Old Jim Banks was about to get back in the saddle after a gap of ten years. We went to her room.
    Despite the alcohol, I had no problem in getting an erection. Marianne pulled off her dress to expose a body that would have done justice to some women many decades, never mind years, younger. We embraced for a little while, before slipping under the duvet and making love, first slowly and tenderly, then with increasing passion. I was lost in it. Her nails scored the flesh on my back and I was screaming, — By God Joanie, by God ...
    She froze like a stiff corpse underneath me, and punched the mattress in frustration as tears bubbled up from her eyes. I moved off her. — I'm sorry, I half moaned, half sobbed.
    She sat up and shrugged, staring into space. She spoke in a dulled, metallic tone, but without bitterness, as if conducting a cool and dispassionate epitaph. — I find a man I care about and when he makes love to me he's imagining I'm somebody else.
    — It wasn't like that, Marianne . . .
    She started sobbing; I put my arm around her. Well, Jim Banks, I thought, you've got yourself into another right blessed muddle-up here, haven't you?
    — I'm sorry, she said.
    I started to pull my clothes on. — I'd better go, I said. I walked towards the door, then turned back. — You're a wonderful woman, Marianne. I hope you find someone who can give you what you deserve. Old Banksie here, I pointed sadly at myself, — I'm just kidding myself. I'm a one-woman man. I exited, leaving her with her tears. I now had my business to attend to. There was to be no reprieve after all. I knew it was for the best; I knew it now more than ever. The kids, Paul and Sally, were strong enough. They'd understand.
    Back at my cabin I left Marianne a note. I'd left letters for the kids in the ship's mail with a videotaped recording, explaining what I intended to do. The note to Marianne didn't say much. I just told her that I was here for a specific purpose; I was sorry we'd got so involved. I had to fulfil my destiny, that was how I saw it.
    According to the maps I consulted we were in the Adriatic now, no doubt about it. I tied the length of cord through the holes in the middle of the weights, and slung it over my shoulder. It was difficult to get the stretchy tracksuit bottoms over the weights and the rest of my clothes on. I fought into my waterproofs, barely able to walk by the time I left my cabin.
    I slipped along the empty deck, struggling to remain erect. The sea was calm and the night balmy. A couple of lovers enjoying the moonlight looked suspiciously at me as I shuffled past them to my spot on the starboard side. Ten years, almost to the day, Joan, when you slipped out and away from me, away from the pain and hurt. I lift one leg, with an almighty effort, over the barrier. I'll just get my blessed breath back, take one last long look at the purple sky, then allow my weight to shift and I'll spill from this rail into the Adriatic.

SEXUAL DISASTER QUARTET
    A GOOD SON
    He was a good son, and like all good sons, he really loved his mother. In fact, he completely worshipped the woman.
    Yet he couldn't make love to her; not with his father