Free The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs by Irvine Welsh Page A

but he forced it down like his black pudding, only feeling the need to pursue her when the front door loudly slammed. A cold Stella from the fridge took the edge off this impulse, although he picked up his mobile and called, only to get her answering service. He looked at her wasted breakfast and slopped it into his pedal bin.
    Skinner decided that he’d call her again later, once she’d settled down and saw what a nippy cow she was being. Instead, he went to fridge and took out another can of Stella Artois. Then he picked up his mobile once more and pressed Rab McKenzie’s number. — Roberto, where’s the meet, ma man?
    The game was being televised, and this fact, plus the general festive vibe, conspired to decrease the hoolie element on both sides. The mob scoured the grot bars of Tolcross for Rangers boys through for a day out eyeballing strippers, but all they found were some sagging-faced winos singing sectarian songs and renditions of an old Tina Turner number. After half-heartedly thumping a few civilian bigots out of boredom, they headed back down to Leith and the game but Skinner and McKenzie and some others left irked and wearied after twenty minutes and made their way back to the pub which they had made their pre- and post-match base.
    In the bar, without realising what he was doing, Skinner found himself smoking a cigarette. He was supposed to have packed it in the other week but had lit up and taken two drags on a B&H before he figured out what was happening. — Cunt, he said, grinding his teeth together as he took a harsh hit of personal loathing in his chest.
    The beers slipped down so easily, and Skinner was pleased that he was matching McKenzie drink for drink. Later on, Gary Traynor and his latest sidekick, a heavy-built guy Skinner knew in vague hostility from a youthful negative encounter as Andy McGrillen, suggested going up to a bar in town. Skinner meantto phone Kay but the alcohol and cocaine had kicked in on the way, distorting time, compressing hours into fifteen-minute blocks. — Whae wis the best obscure cartoon character ever? Traynor asked Skinner, running a hand over his shorn skull.
    Skinner thought about this for a second. He couldn’t think of anyone, so he shrugged.
    — Ah liked that cute wee duck oot ay
Tom and Jerry
, McKenzie said.
    Skinner shot Traynor a look, both of them quite overwhelmed the big man could be that sentimental. McGrillen, in awe of McKenzie, kept studiously quiet. In order to avoid bursting out in a smirk, Traynor advanced a proposition: — Naw, fuck off, it hus tae be Sawtooth oot ay
Wacky Races
.
    — Sawtooth? Whae the fuck’s that? Dinnae mind ay that cunt in
Wacky Races
, McKenzie looked doubtful.
    — That’s cause the cunt’s obscure, Traynor explained. — Eh’s Rufus Ruffcut’s sidekick, mind, in the wooden car wi the circular sawblade wheels. Every cunt minds Dick Dastardly and Muttley, Penelope Pitstop, Peter Perfect, Professor Pat Pending and the Ant Hill Mob, but they aw forget aboot Rufus Ruffcut and Sawtooth.
    — Aye! Right! Rufus Ruffcut wis the big lumberjack boy n Sawtooth wis the squirrel thit wis wi um in the motor. Got ye, said McKenzie.
    — Naw-naw, Sawtooth wisnae a fuckin squirrel, Traynor shook his head. — Eh wis a fuckin beaver. Tell um, Skinner!
    — Best cartoon American beaver since Pamela Anderson, Skinner laughed.
    Later, as they were making their way out of the bar, Skinner saw McGrillen push some boy and there followed a flurry of blows between them. McKenzie and Traynor steamed in but something made Skinner step back into the shadows, and watch his three mates take on five guys. They didn’t need much help, but Skinner wasn’t going to offer any, not for McGrillen.
    Afterwards he concocted a set of barely plausible lies, namelythat he was having it in the doorway with one guy, but he realised from their silent disappointment that they knew, as much as he did, that he had bottled it. That one moment of fear, of