The sweat was lashing oaf Sickboy. He was trembling.

Bastard. He stole ma gear then tried tae chiv me when I called him oot.

Fuck 'im. I feel like shit masel'. I've bin daein' turkey for twa days. Skin creepin'.

I'm offski. They're a' losers.

I want somethin' else. Better. Whit? Fuck knows.

Right noo I want an Irn Bru. Ma mooth's like a sewer. A' that boakin' yisterday.


I sneak intae the corner shoap. Been here afore. The wee Paki guy doesnae know shit from snot.

I snaffle a coupla cans and plank them in ma poackets. Turnin', but...

"Don't dae it" she says, touchin' ma haun'.

She's a stotter. Long blonde hair, Rangers blue eyes, lips like raspberry ripple.

I'm thinkin' "run tae fuck", but I'm stuck tae the spot. Like paralysed. Like she's done some sort o'

magic oan me.

"I've seen ye here afore" she says. Voice like meltin' chocolate.

"Ahmed's wired up tae the cops, noo. Ye'll get done."

Deep breath. Christ, she smells so good. Why does she care?

"Gies the cans" she says. "I'll pay for them, if..."

Aye, here it comes. There's always a catch. An angle.

"If ye'll come tae six o'clock mass wi' me."

So, she's wan o' them. A pape. A Fenian. We hate them, don't we?

I never really understood why. Just...well, they're different, intit? Jeez. Wi'oot thinkin' I hear masel

say "a'right". Is this like whit the alkies cry "a dry drunk"?


So I'm kneelin' beside her in the Roman church. The smells are great. She ca's thae swinger

things "thuribles". The chantin' makes me shiver. A'body's singin', prayin'. This cannae be real. I

feel somethin' deep inside. I want tae believe. I feel I belong here. I'm transformed.

She turns, kisses my cheek.

"Welcome tae God's love."