Greyhound for Breakfast (5 page)

Three raps at the door. His eyes opened and blinked as they met the sun rays streaming in through the slight gap between the curtains. ‘Mister Brown?’ called
somebody – a girl’s voice.

‘Just a minute.’ He squinted at his wristwatch. 9 o’clock. He walked to the door and opened it, poked his head out from behind it.

‘That’s your breakfast.’ She held out the tray as if for approval. A boiled egg and a plate of toast, a wee pot of tea.

‘Thanks, that’s fine, thanks.’ He took it and shut the door, poured a cup of tea immediately and carried it into the bathroom. He was hot and sweaty and needed a shower. He
stared at himself in the mirror. He was quite looking forward to the day. Hearing the girl’s accent made it all even more so. After the shower he started on the grub, ate all the toast but
left the egg. He finished the pot of tea then shaved. As he prepared to leave he checked his wallet. He would have to get to a bank at some point.

The Green Park was a small hotel on the west side of Sauchiehall Street. Eddie had moved in late last night and taken a bed and breakfast. Beyond that he was not sure, how long he would be
staying. Everything depended.

He was strolling in the direction of Partick, glancing now and then at the back pages of the
Daily Record
, quite enjoying the novelty of Scottish football again. He stopped himself from
smiling, lighted a cigarette. It was a sunny morning in early May and maybe it was that alone made him feel so optimistic about the future. The sound of a machine, noisy – but seeming to come
from far away. It was just from the bowling greens across the street, a loud lawn-mower or something.

He continued round the winding bend, down past the hospital and up Church Street, cutting in through Chancellor Street and along the lane. The padlock hung ajar on the bolt of the door of the
local pub he used to frequent. Farther on the old primary school across the other side of the street. He could not remember any names of teachers or pupils at this moment. A funny feeling. It was
as if he had lost his memory for one split second. He had stopped walking. He lighted another cigarette. When he returned the lighter and cigarette packet to the side pockets of his jacket he
noticed a movement in the net curtains of the ground floor window nearby where he was standing. It was Mrs McLachlan. Who else. He smiled and waved but the face disappeared.

His mother stayed up the next close. He kept walking. He would see her a bit later on. He would have to get her something too, a present, she was due it.

Along Dumbarton Road he entered the first cafe and he ordered a roll and sausage and asked for a cup of tea right away. The elderly woman behind the counter did not look twice at him. Why should
she? She once caught him thieving a bar of Turkish Delight, that’s why. He read the
Daily Record
to the front cover, still quite enjoying it all, everything, even the advertisements
with the Glasgow addresses, it was good reading them as well.

At midday he was back up the lane and along to the old local. He got a pint of heavy, sat in a corner sipping at it. The place had really changed. It was drastic – new curtains!

There were not many customers about but Eddie recognized one, a middle-aged man of average build who was wearing a pair of glasses. He leaned on the bar with his arms folded, chatting to the
bartender. Neilie Johnston. When Eddie finished his beer he walked with the empty glass to the counter. ‘Heavy,’ he said and he pointed at Neilie’s drink. The bartender nodded and
poured him a whisky. Neilie looked at it and then at Eddie.

‘Eddie!’

‘How’s it going Neilie?’

‘Aw no bad son no bad.’ Neilie chuckled. The two of them shook hands. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘London.’

‘Aw London; aw aye. Well well.’

‘Just got back last night.’

‘Good . . .’ Neilie glanced at Eddie’s suit. ‘Prospering son eh?’

‘Doing alright.’

‘That’s the game.’

‘What about yourself? still marking the board?’

‘Marking the board! Naw. Christ son I’ve been away from that for a while!’ Neilie pursed his lips before lifting the whisky and drinking a fairly large mouthful. He sniffed and
nodded. ‘With Sweeney being out the game and the rest of it.’

‘Aye.’

‘You knew about that son?’

‘Mm.’

‘Aye well the licence got lost because of it. And they’ll no get it back either neither they will. They’re fucking finished – caput! Him and his brother.’

Both of them were silent for a time. The bartender had walked farther along and was now looking at a morning paper. Neilie nudged the glasses up his nose a bit and he said, ‘You and him
got on okay as well son, you and Sweeney, eh?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘Aye, I suppose.’ He glanced at the other men ranged about the pub interior, brought his cigarettes and lighter out. When they were both smoking he called the
bartender: ‘Two halfs!’

‘You on holiday like?’ said Neilie.

‘Couple of days just, a wee break . . .’ he paused to pay for the two whiskies.

Neilie emptied the fresh one into the tumbler he already had. ‘Ta son,’ he said, ‘it’s appreciated.’

‘You skint?’

‘Aye, how d’you guess! Giro in two days.’

‘Nothing doing then?’

‘Eh well . . .’ Neilie sniffed. ‘I’m waiting the word on something, a wee bit of business. Nothing startling right enough.’ He pursed his lips and shrugged,
swallowed some whisky.

‘I hope you’re lucky.’

‘Aye, ta.’

‘Cheers.’ Eddie drank his own whisky in a gulp and chased it down with a mouthful of heavy beer. ‘Aw Christ,’ he said, glancing at the empty tumbler.

‘You should never rush whisky son!’ Neilie chuckled, peering along at the bartender.

‘I’m out the habit.’

‘Wish to fuck I could say the same!’

Eddie took a long drag on the cigarette and he kept the smoke in his lungs for a while. Then he drank more beer. Neilie was watching him, smiling in quite a friendly way. Eddie said, ‘Any
of the old team come in these days?’

‘Eh . . .’

‘Fisher I mean, or Stevie Price? Any of them? Billy Dempster?’

‘Fisher drinks in T. C.’s.’

‘Does he? Changed days.’

‘Och there’s a lot changed son, a lot.’

‘Stevie’s married right enough eh!’

‘Is that right?’

‘He’s got two wee lassies.’

‘Well well.’

‘He’s staying over in the south side.’

‘Aw.’

A couple of minutes later and Eddie was swallowing the last of his beer and returning his cigarettes and lighter to the side pockets. ‘Okay Neilie, nice seeing you.’

Neilie looked as if he was going to say something but changed his mind.

‘I’m taking a walk,’ said Eddie.

‘Fair enough son.’

‘I’ll look in later.’ Eddie patted him on the side of the shoulder, nodded at the bartender. He glanced at the other customers as he walked to the exit but saw nobody he
knew.

It was good getting back out into the fresh air. The place was depressing and Neilie hadnt helped matters. A rumour used to go about that he kept his wife on the game. Eddie could believe
it.

There was a traffic jam down at Partick Cross. The rear end of a big articulated lorry was sticking out into the main road and its front seemed to be stuck between two parked cars near to The
Springwell Tavern. The lines of motors stretched along the different routes at the junction. Eddie stood at the Byres Road corner amongst a fair crowd of spectators. Two policemen arrived and
donned the special sleeves they had for such emergencies and started directing operations. Eddie continued across the road.

In T. C.’s two games of dominoes were in progress plus there was music and a much cheerier atmosphere. It was better and fitted in more with the way Eddie remembered things. And there was
Fisher at the other end of the bar in company with another guy. Eddie called to him: ‘Hey Tam!’

‘Eddie!’ Fisher was delighted. He waved his right fist in the air and when Eddie reached the other end he shook hands with him in a really vigorous way. ‘Ya bastard,’ he
said, ‘it’s great to see ye!’ And then he grinned and murmured, ‘When did you get out!’

‘Out – what d’you mean?’

Fisher laughed.

‘I’m being serious,’ said Eddie.

‘Just that I heard you were having a holiday on the Isle of Wight.’

‘That’s garbage.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Aye, fuck, I say so.’ Eddie smiled.

‘Well, I mean, when Sweeney copped it . . . Then hearing about you . . . Made me think it was gen.’

‘Ah well, there you are!’

‘That’s good,’ said Fisher and he nodded, then jerked his thumb at the other guy. ‘This is Mick . . .’

After the introductions Eddie got a round of drinks up and the three of them went to a table at the wall, the only one available. An elderly man was sitting at it already; he had a grumpy
wizened face. He moved a few inches to allow the trio more space.

There was a short silence. And Eddie said, ‘Well Tam, how’s Eileen?’

‘Dont know. We split.’

‘Aw. Christ.’

‘Ah,’ Fisher said, ‘she started . . . well, she started seeing this other guy, if you want to know the truth.’

‘Honest?’ Eddie frowned.

Fisher shook his head. ‘A funny lassie Eileen I mean you never really fucking knew her man I mean.’ He shook his head again. ‘You didnt know where you were with her, that was
the fucking trouble!’

After a moment Eddie nodded. He lifted his pint and drank from it, waiting for Fisher to continue but instead of continuing Fisher turned and looked towards the bar, exhaled a cloud of smoke.
The other guy, Mick, raised his eyebrows at Eddie who shrugged. Then Fisher faced to the front again and said, ‘I was surprised to hear that about Sweeney but, warehouses, I didnt think it
was his scene.’

Eddie made no answer.

‘Eh . . . ?’

‘Mm.’

‘Best of gear right enough,’ Fisher added, still gazing at Eddie.

Eddie dragged on his cigarette. Then he said, ‘You probably heard he screwed the place well he never, he just handled the stuff.’

‘Aw.’

‘It was for screwing the place they done him for, but . . .’ Eddie sniffed, drank from his pint.

‘Aye, good.’ Fisher grinned. ‘So how you doing yourself then Eddie?’

‘No bad.’

‘Better than no bad with that!’ He gestured at Eddie’s clothes. He reached to draw his thumb and forefinger along the lapel of the jacket. ‘Hand stitched,’ he said,
‘you didnt get that from John Collier’s. Eh Mick?’

Mick smiled.

Eddie opened the jacket, indicated the inner pocket. ‘Look, no labels.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means it was fucking dear.’

‘You’re a bastard,’ said Fisher.

Eddie grinned. ‘Yous for another? A wee yin?’

‘Eh . . . Aye.’ Fisher said, ‘I’ll have a doctor.’

‘What?’

‘A doctor.’ Fisher winked at Mick. ‘He doesnt know what a doctor is!’

‘What is it?’ asked Eddie.

‘A doctor, a doctor snoddy, a voddy.’

‘Aw aye. What about yourself?’ Eddie asked Mick.

‘I’ll have one as well Eddie, thanks.’

Although it was busy at the bar he was served quite quickly. It was good seeing as many working behind the counter as this. One of things he didnt like about England was the way sometimes you
could wait ages to get served in their pubs – especially if they heard your accent.

He checked the time of the clock on the gantry with his wrist-watch. He would have to remember about the bank otherwise it could cause problems. Plus he was wanting to get a wee present for his
mother, he needed a couple of quid for that as well.

When he returned to the table Fisher said, ‘I was telling Mick about some of your exploits.’

‘Exploits.’ Eddie laughed briefly, putting the drinks on the table top and sitting down.

‘It’s cause the 2,000 Guineas is coming up. It’s reminding me about something!’

‘Aw aye.’ Eddie said to Mick. ‘The problem with this cunt Fisher is that he’s loyal to horses.’

‘Loyal to fucking horses!’ Fisher laughed loudly.

‘Ah well if you’re thinking about what I think you’re thinking about!’

‘It was all Sweeney’s fault!’

‘That’s right, blame a guy that cant talk up for himself!’

‘So it was but!’

Eddie smiled. ‘And Dempster, dont forget Dempster!’

‘That’s right,’ said Fisher, turning to Mick, ‘Dempster was into it as well.’

Mick shook his head. Fisher was laughing again, quite loudly.

‘It wasnt as funny as all that,’ said Eddie.

‘You dont think so! Every other cunt does!’

‘Dont believe a word of it,’ Eddie told Mick.

‘And do you still punt?’ Mick asked him.

‘Now and again.’

‘Now and again!’ Fisher laughed.

Eddie smiled.

‘There’s four races on the telly this afternoon,’ said Mick.

‘Aye,’ said Fisher, ‘we were thinking of getting a couple of cans and that. You interested?’

‘Eh, naw, I’m no sure yet, what I’m doing.’

Fisher nodded.

‘It’s just eh . . .’

‘Dont worry about it,’ said Fisher, and he drank a mouthful of the vodka.

‘How’s Stevie?’

‘Alright – as far as I know, I dont see him much; he hardly comes out. Once or twice at the weekends, that’s about it.’

‘Aye.’

‘What about yourself, you no married yet?’

‘Eh . . .’ Eddie made a gesture with his right hand. ‘Kind of yes and no.’

Fisher jerked his thumb at Mick. ‘He’s married – got one on the way.’

‘Have you? Good, that’s good.’ Eddie raised his tumbler of whisky and saluted him. ‘All the best.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I cant imagine having a kid,’ said Eddie, and to Fisher he said: ‘Can you?’

‘What! I cant even keep myself going never mind a snapper!’

Mick laughed and brought out a 10-pack of cigarettes. Eddie pushed it away when offered. ‘It’s my crash,’ he said.

‘Naw,’ said Mick, ‘you bought the bevy.’

‘I know but . . .’ He opened his own packet and handed each of them a cigarette and he said to Fisher: ‘You skint?’

Fisher paused and squinted at him, ‘What do you think?’