ALAN BISSETT is from Falkirk and now
lives in Glasgow. He is author of the novels
Boyracers
(Polygon,
2001), The Incredible Adam
Spark (Headline, 2005), and the
forthcoming Death of a Ladies’
Man (Hachette 2009). He was
short- or longlisted for the prestigious
Macallan/Scotland on
Sunday Short-Story Competition
four years in a row. He is also a former lecturer in
Creative Writing at the Universities of Leeds and Glasgow.
Alan has recently adapted his novel Adam Spark
as a
stageplay, and has written a series of monologues,
Times When
I Bite, which he will be
performing himself onstage in the new year and is also in
production as a film. April 09 will feature two more new
plays: a script for The Arches New Director Award-winner,
Sacha Kyle, entitled The
Library, as well as The Ching
Room, to be co-produced by The Traverse and Oran Mor and
directed by the Traverse’s director-in-residence, Cheryl
Martin.
Alan also writes the occasional academic criticism, as well
as an intermittent blog for The
Guardian. In 2007 he featured
alongside Malcolm Middleton (ex Arab Strap) on the
critically-acclaimed music-literature crossover
album Ballads of the
Book. He is highly in demand
as a live performer – in schools, at book festivals, and,
increasingly, as a support act for indie bands. His
spoken-word set has featured at such famous music festivals
as Connect, Latitude and Holland’s Crossing Borders.
Alan performs Moira at
DiscOmBoBulAte:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?gl=GB&hl=en-GB&v=Squ3kKk0njI
with
Malcolm Middleton for Ballads of the Book,
entitled 'The Rebel on his Own Tonight'
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEp5AMySuGg&feature=related
Extract
from
Death of A Ladies’ Man
Published
by Hachette, July 2009
neck exposed like a glacial pass slopes sweeps to the
shoulder fingernails clamberover lift her bra-strap she
softens mmmm skin
warm incisors
press Julie
leans in we touch tongues flic flick flicker everything
slow everything slooooow Julie giggles
Oh
Charlie thistinyweeroom
Careful now Charlie hair
smells of cigarettes andisthatstrawberryshampoo Dust in the
air she leans on a full shelf !the books! !careful!
slowlymoveherround My Hands her waist My Touch she BITES me
the minx OW move upgear
now nails
drrr aag on the small of her back spreads herself against
me softpit of her neck rolling shifting she whispers
Come on Charlie earlobenibble
playing like a lioncub testing teeth I grin
What? she
says
Your eyes she
raises her skirt holds her breath knickerflash the
sheerlacypeach she squirms I look stare up/down thinking
What in the name of god am I doi
Bell rings.
‘Shit.’
Julie fussed with her skirt, pulled and hitched, quick as a
phone-box change. ‘We'd better go,’ she said, lowered
herself from her position against the bookshelves and took
her marking, instantly vocational.
Charlie felt doused with cold shower. ‘Okay,’ he said,
‘Quick. Before the wee bastards break out their cages.’
They looked at each other. He narrowed his eyes. Hers
smiled slyly. Something pulsed in the space between them
and he felt it begin again, felt the air melt again, become
globules between them, but just as she leaned forwards to
kiss him, just as she inclined her head and touched his
mouth with hers and he closed his eyes and she raised her
hand to his hair again, the doorknob rattled.
Julie froze against his lips.
Gavin? Charlie
whispered.
Julie frowned.
Keys at the other side of the door. Charlie
panicked.
I have to hide!
She
went
no no no no no.
His hands made claws:
What, then?
The key shook in the lock. She shooed Charlie behind the
door –
Move! Move! –
then opened it, smooth as a hostess welcoming guests. He
heard corridor noise bloom and Gavin’s voice, surprised,
say, ‘Oh. Julie. I didn’t think anyone was in here. The
door was locked.’
‘Sorry, must’ve shut behind me,’ Julie said, and her voice
pinged, professional. ‘Looking for Animal Farm?’
‘Yeah,’ said Gavin, ‘Set Text time again. Whoo!’
Books shifted. Julie grunted.
‘Cheers,’ said Gavin. ‘More at the back there, I think.’
‘These?’
‘S’okay, Julie, I’ll get them.’
‘No! I mean. It’s fine.’
Charlie heard her walk into the depths of the book cupboard
and Gavin come in after. He squeezed behind the door so
tightly he felt tubular.
‘There.’
‘Thanks.’
Books were being passed. An international resolution, it
seemed, was being passed. C’mon, c’mon.
‘So, Julie, what is it you’re starting with the third
years?’
‘Um...Of Mice and Men. Just popped in here to pick it up.’
Gavin said, ‘Oh.’ And the sound hovered like a soap-bubble.
‘That’s in my room.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yeah. I told you that this morning. You asked if you could
borrow them.’
‘Did
I?’
‘You did. So, uh, why did you come here to get them?’
‘Must’ve forgotten.’
After a while, Gavin said: ‘Let me guess. You didn’t want
to come to my room?’
‘What?’ said Julie, ‘Course not. I forgot, that’s all.’
‘Julie, we can’t let this be awkward. We still have to work
together.’
‘Well, Gavin, it’s chats like this,
in book cupboards,
that make it awkward.’
‘Right. Sorry.’
There was silence for a few seconds.
Get rid of him,
Get rid of him, Charlie’s
mind drummed, like fingers on desk. This
really isn’t
the time to negotiate the terms of your break-up. Then
something occurred to him, sat there in the front of his
psyche like a grimacing Imp of the Perverse. He wondered if
she’d motioned to Gavin:
Charlie’s here. Be! hind! the! door!
He
suddenly felt convinced that there was a game being played
here, at his expense, that Julie and Gavin had rehearsed
beforehand. That feeling was so strong and unexpected that
he nearly pushed the door from in front of him just to see
what they’d do. Ha! I’m
onto
the two of you! But then he heard Gavin say, ‘Okay, good,
so you know where the books are,’ and Julie trill, ‘Right,
thanks,’ and a few words were exchanged about some kid who
was playing up in the third year (‘fucking Darren
Clarke
again?’)
and Julie and Gavin chatted out the Many Tribulations of
Darren Clarke and Charlie’s mind reeled, reeled, and he
wasn’t breathing. Eventually Gavin said, ‘Send him to me,
we’ll sort him out once and for all,’ before he was gone
into corridor noise, and Julie shut the door.
She
bent. Exhaled.
‘That was close,’ Charlie said.
When she stood her eyes accused.
He laughed.
‘It’s not funny,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Charlie tucked in his shirt. Julie started
pacing up and down the book cupboard, a general whose
troops had just been decimated.
‘Think he wondered why the door was locked?’
‘Nah,’ Charlie said, doing his tie.
‘I
mean, why would the door be locked? Why would I be in here
myself with the door
locked?’
‘Did you mime something to him, Julie?’
‘What?’
‘Did you point to me?’ he said. ‘It went quiet for a second
there. You tell him I was behind this door?’
‘As
if,
Charlie’ she said, ‘Why the hell would I do that?’ Then she
folded her arms across her marking, stood on her tiptoes
and kissed him, primly, on the nose. ‘Young man, we need to
be more careful.’
They kissed on the mouth. A tackle.
‘Not at school, Mr Bain,’ she said, ‘Okay?’
‘Yes, Miss Carell.’
She left.