CHAPTER 1

FINAL KICK AY THE BAW

Govan Stadium, Glasgow Blue Crew n Glasgow Green Machinederby match, nil-nil. There's a minute left oan the clock but it'llprobably be five or six; there's been a few casualties n the ref's had hishand in his poacket mair than a pervert wi Parkinson's sittin' stage sideat a strip club.

It's ma first appearance fir the "big team" albeit as a late replacementfir Rodrigo Alvarez, oor young South American striker. Ah don't knowhow he lasted as long oot there. Those green n white bastards had beenstuddin' the hell oot ay the wee tanned fella's ankles n calves every otherminute ay the game. Wankers. Peckin' away at him like a woodpeckeroan an oak tree. Fair play tae wee Alvo though, keepin' the heid n gettin'oan wi the job at hand. None ay this divin' pish wi the weeman eitherlike a lot ay these Latin types. Nope. Set ay baws oan him like a coupleay water melons. Fae the dugoot ah could hear the hatred echoin' in thescreams ay oor fans every time "they" drapped the wee chap.

"Ya dirty hackin' bastard."

"Fir fuck's sake ref."

"Git that cunt aff."

Ah agreed wi aw ay it, but the weeman just goat up, dusted himselfaff, even managin' a smirk tae appear oan his face that only riled themup mair.

Alvo wis a great advert fir the game, n loved the badge oan the frontay oor blue strip as much as he loved his ain wife; a wee Argentinianhottie by the way, skin as smooth as a billiard baw, lips oan `er thatwid've pished themsels laughing at Angelina Jolie's efforts, n ah hadnae doubt she shat rose petals intae the bowl at their massive hoose inBothwell. There wis even a rumor goin' aboot that he'd kissed the clubbadge mair times than his burd's juicy lips. That's how much he lovedGlasgow Blue Crew Football Club.

Resilient the wee fella might've been, but the final tackle fae that bamMcCluskey wid've been enough tae drap Brock Lesner the enormousUltimate Scrappin' gorilla. The gaffer – big Walter Wallace – wis ootthe dugout like a greyhound efter a fake rabbit. Ah thought the bosswis gonnae run right ontae the field n lamp the cunt himsel, but hestopped right at the edge ay oor team box beside the sideline, givin' thelinesman whit fir. Half the crowd wir goin' mental but the other halfwir a bit quiet, worried even. It wis a bad wan, n their wis nae doubtwee Alvo wid be spendin' mair than a few weeks up in the stand; hisknee wis gubbed.

The lads in the luminous orange jaickets wir awready halfway acrossthe field in the direction ay the Polisland Road end, stretcher in theirhands. The ref had his hands full anaw, but wis gettin' right in abootthings, breakin' up a few scuffles, but he had pointed tae the penaltyspot and there wis nae changin' that.

The gaffer finished givin' the linesman an ear bashin' n turned roon,his vision zoomin' like lasers right intae ma eyes, nearly burnin' a holein ma retinas. He shouts.

"BILLY, TRACKIE AFF, YIR OAN WEEMAN."

Ah nearly asked him fir a few minutes so ah could shake aff theboner he'd jist gave me. Ah'd always dreamed ay gettin' oan the parkfir any game never mind a derby match, n ah wis instantly excited.Fortunately ah wisnae too blessed in the troosers department so ahfigured naebody wid notice ma rager.

Trackie tap n bottoms wir aff rapido, swifter than a wee virgingettin' his gear aff efter hearin' the words "fancy yir Nat King."

Ah git tae the edge ay the field right beside the gaffer jist as the boysin orange are carryin' wee Alvo aff. He's awright, hands in the air wihis thumbs stickin' up. The crowd's goin' bonkers.

"THERE'S ONLY WAN RODDY ALVO," begins tae blare awaroon the stadium.

Ah can tell the wee fella's in agony, but he's tough as a burnt sirloin.He's ma hero in case yi hadnae figured that oot by noo. He evenmanages tae give me a high-five oan the way by.

"Git intae them Billy Boy," he says. "Nice hard-on by the way."

He might be fae South America, but he's fair taken tae the Scottishlingo.

The gaffer glances doon at the wee bulge in ma shorts n startsshakin' his heid, tryin' tae keep a straight face, stayin' focused oan thetask at hand, but ah could see he wanted tae start pishin' himsel.

"Ah'm jist a wee bit excited gaffer. Don't worry, ah'll no let yidoon."

"Yi better no, you're takin' the penalty Billy."

Ah nearly shat masel, n wi the blink ay an eye ma stonner wisaway.

"Nae bother gaffer," ah said wi a wee wink.

He winked back, slapped me oan the back n aff ah toddled towardsthe penalty box.

The ref handed me the baw. Ma hands wir shakin' like a batteryhen n ah wis feart ah wis gonnae drap it, but a few deep breaths sortedme oot.

"In through the nose, oot through the mooth," ah kept tellin'masel.

Ah placed the baw doon oan the spot. It sat up nice. Good startweeman. Ah took five steps back, ignorin' aw the shite I could hearcomin' oot the mooths ay their manky fans. The big German fella,Helmut (an appropriate name if ever there wis wan) in goals fir theydobbers wis starin' me doon wi his Neanderthal face that wis jistdesigned fir a job oan the radio.

"Don't even acknowledge him weeman," ah said tae masel.

The ref gave a short peep oan his whistle. The fans ached wianticipation. Ah hopped forward. Hopped? Whit the fuck? Ma rightleg swung like it wis tryin' tae kick a school bully's bawbag intae the tapcorner. Ma right leg? Ah'm a leftie. Swing n a miss. There's a massivegasp fae the crowd. Ah faw oan ma arse. Where the fuck's ma leg?

* * *

Ah bolt upright. Ah'm sweatin' like a Catholic priest under investigation.Ah'm in ma maw's hoose, in the spare room, no at Govan Stadium. Ahdon't play fir the Blue Crew. The bed sheet underneath me is soaked.There's a big sweat ring aroon me that looks like the chalk ootline wherea deid body used tae be. It's a weird shape though, missin' a bit. The onlyrealistic part ay the dream wis ma right leg, gone fae jist below the knee.Reality comes floodin' back, n ma previous joy turns tae tears, again.

CHAPTER 2

TOES

Dreams, or should ah say, nightmares, wir almost a daily event.They wirnae always at night either. They'd sneak up oan me atany moment, even noddin' aff oan the bus or somethin'. That happeneda few weeks back. Ah'd been at ma physiotherapy session. It'd beena tough wan, knackered me oot. Oan the way hame I must've dozedaff, heid probably bouncing aff the windae as well as the noddin' up ndoon. Ah was in another world, back in Afghanistan, right before theincident. As soon as the explosion went aff ah bolted upright, lettin' oota roar, ma whole body drippin' wi sweat, laughter echoing fae aw theseats ahint me. Ah ignored them, didnae even turn roon. Ah don't sitnear the front ay the bus any mair if ah can avoid it. Noo ah git as closetae the back as ah can.

Yi hear ay folks losin' a leg n think tae yirsel, "ah don't think ahcould deal wi that." They're right anaw. Ah'm strugglin', n ah don't jistmean in the physical sense. Naw, ah'm strugglin' upstairs, in the nut.It's killin' me. Why me? Ah keep askin' masel that. The next personthat says, "mibby it was jist meant tae be," is gonnae git ma prostheticleg firmly inserted in their arsehole, sideways. If God's plan fir me wistae have ma leg blown aff while servin' ma country then he's wan sickbastard. That's why ah've given up oan religion. Load ay pish in mamind noo.

Ah need tae stop feelin' sorry fir masel though, accept that there'snae goin' back n jist git oan wi things. Isabel is really helpin' a lot;she's ma physiotherapist. She's helped me so much wi the physical sideay things, but she's been an absolute star wi the emotional side anaw.She's goat six toes oan each foot. Showed me. Whipped aff the Reeboktrainers n white ankle socks right in front ay me. Ah wondered whitshe wis daen. Ah'd jist been complainin' tae her aboot bein' aw self-consciouswi people starin' at me aw the time, n havin' an ex-girlfriendwho'd obviously been repulsed wi ma leg. Ah kinda stopped talkin',wondering why she wis takin' aff the socks n shoes, but partly hopin'the rest ay `er gear wis comin' aff anaw (see, ah'm a total dreamer). Nextminute she's sittin' back in a chair in the wee gymnasium, feet in the airwigglin' toes at me. It took me a wee while, coontin' in ma heid. Wan,two, three, four, five, SIX! Whit the fuck!

"Holy shite," wis aw ah could say.

"See, you're not the only one who's a little different, Billy," shereplied, givin' me a wee smirk n a couple ay raised eyebrows.

"Better tae have twelve toes than eight."

"So, you'd rather have three legs than two?"

"Yi know whit ah mean. Ah'd raither have two full legs."

She jist let oot a sigh n shook `er heid at me.

"The point is this, Billy. Most people have ten toes. I have twelve.Would you have known I had two extra if I hadn't shown you?"

"Of course no."

"OK, so by the time I am done with our sessions here, nobodyis going to know you have a prosthetic leg. You might have the veryslightest of limps, but it'll be under the leg of your trousers most of thetime, like my toes under my shoes and socks. People who don't knowyou will have no idea about your leg. You'll blend in to society just likeeveryone else."

Isabel wis great. She made aw the sense in the world. Ah hadnaebeen wrang aboot ma ex-girlfriend Charlotte though. The cow dumpedme right eftir ah goat back fae Afghanistan. Bitch ripped ma heartoot.

CHAPTER 3

THANK YOU TRIPTAE THE HOSPITAL

Ah hated people tryin' tae help me, especially the wans that knewaboot ma leg. Ma maw wis a different story but. She could daewhitever she wanted tae spoil me. See, ah knew she jist loved me. Shewis feelin' sorry fir me like everbody else, but maws are jist different, nthat's the end ay it. At twenty-three ah felt ah wis a wee bit auld tae belivin' wi Maw, but ah wisnae ready tae be back oan ma ain. Ah lovedthe wee touches; extra blanket oan the bed, slippin' a hot water bottleunder the sheets afore ah called it a night, n always makin' sure there wisa good stock ay Irn Bru in the fridge – ma hangover cure ay choice. Ahcouldnae cook worth a fuck anyway, n she did the finest fried breakfastyi could feast yir eyes oan.

"So physio's aw done, but yir payin' Isabel a wee surprise visit then?"said ma maw, givin' me a wee smile as she flipped over the rashers aybacon in the fryin' pan.

"Aye, she's done wonders fir me. Ah jist wanted tae say a wee personalthanks. Ah don't think ah said enough at the end ay ma final session."

"That lassie's fantastic. Ah can hardly believe how she's transformedyi," said Maw, almost spacin' oot a wee bit, like she wis reflectin' backtae the beginnin'. Her eyes started fillin' up.

"She's the best. Ah don't know whit ah wid've done withoot `er.And you of course Maw. Ah mean, ah don't know whit ah wid've donewithoot you anaw. N when a say Isabel is the best, ah mean she's thebest other than you, of course," ah said, backpeddlin' like fuck.

Maw jist laughed. She knew whit ah meant.

"Wid yi like me tae come wi yi the day?" she said. "Mibby ah couldgit that Isabel lassie a wee bunch ay floowers."

"Naw, it's OK Maw, ah'll pick `er up some chocolates n floowersmasel afore ah git tae the hospital. Ah appreciate yi wantin' tae give yirregards, but ah really want this tae be a personal thing. Anyway, ahreally dae have tae learn tae stand oan ma ain two feet" ah said, givin'her a wink n a cheeky grin.

She laughed oot loud this time. She loved it when ah made jokes,particularly wans that wir tae dae wi the injury, but `er eyes wir stillglassy; she knew it wis still a brave face ah wis puttin' oan, n a mechanismah used tae combat the depression.

* * *

Ah lapped up the remains ay tomato sauce n saft egg yolk wi the corneray ma pan breed toast, washin' it doon wi a wee swally ay coffee n ahwis done.

"Home run as usual, Maw."

"Anytime son, yi need tae keep yir strength up."

She gathered up ma empty plate fae the kitchen table, dunked it inin the basin ay soapy water, a quick couple ay wipes wi the wet cloth, nontae the same blue plastic dish rack she'd had since ah wis a wee boy.

Ah goat up slowly n gave `er a cuddle afore ah headed oot tae thehospital. She wis like a python, squeezin' the life oot me like ah wis arabbit or somethin'. She wisnae cryin', but ah could still picture her tearsbouncin' aff ma shoulders like they had durin' previous embraces.

"Ah'll see yi when ah git back, Maw."

She gave me that resigned nod, knowin' a trip tae the pub fir a fewpints oan ma ain wid be oan ma agenda afore ah made it back tae thehoose.

It was a nice mornin', fir early September anyway. The sun wistryin' tae peek its heid oot fae ahint a big grey cloud shaped like thecontinent ay Africa that looked like it wis dyin' tae spill its guts doonoan everybody, but fir noo it wis behavin' itsel. Ah jist hoped it stayedthat way until ah made it ontae the rid forty-four bus.

Ah limped ma way doon West End drive n hung a right ontaeBellvue Crescent. There wis barely a limp anymair, ah jist felt it wisworse than it wis n obvious tae everybody that ah wis hidin' somethin'.The street was quiet other than a wee auld man in a tartan bunnetwalkin' his little Jack Russell. The dug was starin' me doon, lookin' atma face, then doon at ma leg, then back intae ma eyes as it squirted oota yellow stream ontae the bottom ay a green lamppost. Ah hated theywee fuckers n their Napoleon complex. If it could've talked ah'm sure itwid've made some comment aboot havin' three mair legs than me.

Ah needed tae chill oot a wee bit. Ah wis gettin' angry wi everythin',wi the world in general. Ah mean, whit wis the point in gettin' madat a tiny dug takin' a leak? Efter aw, who wis ah tae be mouthin' affaboot a Napoleon complex. That summed me right up n that wis aforema accident. Aw five feet seven ay me always tried tae be tough ncompensate. Toughness wis like ma Ferrari for they rich guys wi smallcocks. It had only goat worse when ma real handicap had kicked in,but it wis time tae chill oot noo ah wis a hunner times better than ahhad been.

Ah took the left up the lane towards Cardinal Newman school,readin' the graffiti oan the fences oan each side, statements aboot wholoved who, various emblems ay the local "B-Hill Boys" gang, n fitba-relatedreligious bigotry like "FTP," aimed at annoyin' the Catholicpupils ay the school (ah was surprised naebody had scored it ootawready).

A group ay rowdy teenagers kicked a baw aboot the ash park. Therewis aboot seven or eight ay them. Wan ay them wis quite the player,runnin' rings roon aw the others. They wir the wans makin' aw thenoise, no very happy wi their skillful pal.

"Pass it ya wee wank."

"Greedy cunt."

"Smell yir maw," said the last wan that goat nutmegged, holdin' hismiddle n index fingers under his nostrils as he now stared at the backof the fourteen year old version ay Willie Henderson. They clocked me,went quiet real quick, checkin' oot ma leg. They knew who ah wis. Ahfelt like the Western villain who'd jist burst through the wooden swingdoors ay the saloon, everyone silent n stoppin' whit they wir daen,including the piano player.

"Yi've got some good skills weeman," ah said, fightin' ma innerthoughts tae tell them tae stop lookin' at ma fuckin' leg.

"Thanks Billy," said the wee fella.

Ah thought aboot stoppin' n talkin' fir a bit, but just kept goin'. Ahdidnae need any sympathy talk and ah definitely didnae want tae missma bus.

A sprinkle ay rain started. Nothing major, jist enough tae beannoyin'. Ah hurried as best ah could, over the railway bridge at theback ay the Busby Sports Centre, then up ontae the main road. Threepeople wir sheltered in the clear Perspex bus stop so ah knew ah wis stillin good time fir the forty-four.

A young couple holdin' hands didnae even acknowledge me as ahgot tae the stop, too busy gazin' intae each others eyes, nae doubt wishin'they were auld enough tae own their ain hoose (well, bedroom really).Ah wis sure the young boy wis hopin' the back seat wis gonnae be free sohe could slip his young blonde burd a wee sneaky finger or mibby git hertae rub his baws, even if his jeans had tae act as a temporary barrier.