‘They’re just young lads and like all young lads they’ve had their wild moments,’ somebody said in a deep voice. Ryan Souter sat with Marco Grant at the end of the table, both of them with their great mucky boots up on the table, so I’d not be able to clean it until they were gone.
‘Maureen’d ken aboot that,’ said Marco. ‘Had any wild moments the day, Maureen?’
I kept my head down and kept scrubbing. My overall was tight under my oxters. [Don't you just hate that?]
‘You’re a young thing, aren’t you Maureen, under all that fat?’ said Ryan and Marco snorted crisp flakes over the table. ‘G’wan and tell us about some of they wild moments wi’ the lads on the football team.’
Marco wiped his mouth with his sleeve and it came away crusted with slobber and soggy crisps.
‘Maureen wouldny ken about that, Ryan. She’s never had a wild moment in her life.’
Ryan slid his feet of the table, landing them on the floor with a big dunt, and leaned forward over the table to Marco as if to talk quietly, but really his voice was even louder than before. ‘But if she did take it intae her heid tae have a wild moment, it would be fine, eh, Marco? Her Dad says so.’
Marco’s feet dunted on the floor too and he bent forward, so their heads almost touched, but his voice was a shout. ‘So she could glass somebody, like John McKay, and that would be OK?’
‘Just dandy. Or she could smash up the school like Gus, and that’d be fine too.’
‘Or even murder somebody,’ Marco said. ‘And that would be dandy, because they’re just young lads and they’ve had their wild moments.’
[No complaints here, except that she hasn't murdered them . . . yet. And that I'm having to use my dictionary.]