Greyhound for Breakfast (8 page)

Between 12 and 1 o’clock every Sunday the boys met up the field and played football for the rest of the afternoon. They stopped for breaks whenever they felt like it;
these they spent lying around smoking and chatting, unless it was raining, in which case they found shelter till it eased off enough to resume. Occasionally when somebody produced a pack of cards
the game was forgotten about. Today was like that, plus the rain had become a downpour, looking as if it was on for the day. A few of the boys went home. Ten or so others gathered in the back close
of a tenement to continue the cards. Then a man came down the stairs and told them to get to hell out of it. They went slowly, a couple of them staring back at the man till they were outside on the
pavement. Matt then let it slip his house was vacant but insisted his maw and da had given him his last warning about bringing people in. He refused to even consider disobeying them. He kept on
refusing till finally they offered him a bribe of 10 pence a skull. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘on condition the game stops whenever I say so.’

They spoke in whispers when he led them upstairs and into his room. The bed was used as the card table, the boys crouching or kneeling roundabout it. The game alternated between brag, pontoon,
banker and chase-the-ace. After a couple of hours just five players remained. Arthur had the bulk of the money and his only real rival was Jimmy. The other three were just hanging on by the skin of
their teeth. Beside Matt there were Dougie and Eddie: Eddie kept dashing out the house and round the street to his own place where he was thieving money from his grandfather’s coat pockets,
his mother’s purse, his big sister’s purse, his young brother’s secret bank. The last time he returned it was with a packet of ten cigarettes which he sold to Jimmy for 20 pence
more than the retail price. Dougie had been in and out the game at different times since the start, but then he would find a coin from somewhere and buy his way back in. Matt himself had managed to
survive by selling pieces on jam for 15 pence, cups of tea for 10. But the clock ticked on and he was beginning to show the strain. Every few minutes he jumped up and rushed ben the living room to
look out the window. In fact it was really the bread worrying him the most. A couple of slices just were left and his da would be needing sandwiches for work tomorrow. It would be a total disaster
if there was nothing there in the morning.

Jimmy passed a fag to him. He took two deep draws on it, passed it on to Dougie. Eddie was shuffling cards and getting set to deal. ‘I want to change the game,’ he said.

‘No again,’ muttered Arthur.

‘Brag,’ said Matt.

Arthur shrugged. Eddie dealt the cards and the others posted the kitty money. Matt lifted his cards and dropped them at once, there was a noise from outside: his hand went to his face and
covered his eyes. Jimmy whispered, ‘Fucking hell man . . .’

The front door was opened now and people in the lobby. Matt’s parents had friends with them. They could be heard walking down to the living-room then the door clicked shut. Matt glanced
about at the others. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, ‘Sshh; just keep quiet.’ He got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Minutes later he was back and
he had a radio with him, he turned on some music. ‘I told them yous were in and we were listening to records. It’ll be alright if we keep it quiet . . .’ Matt added,
‘They’ve got a drink in them anyway.’

He knelt down at his place and the game continued, each of the boys making sure the coins did not chink. But less than quarter of an hour later the door banged open and Matt’s da was
glowering at them. ‘Right yous mob,’ he said, ‘Think we’re bloody daft or something!’

Nobody moved.

‘Right!’ he said, jerking his thumb at the door.

The other four got up onto their feet but Matt looked at the floor and stayed where he was.

‘You and all,’ cried his da.

Arthur was nearest to the man, he was about an inch taller than him. ‘It was just for pennies we were playing Mister McDonald,’ he said.

Matt’s da frowned at him: ‘Think I’m bloody daft?’

‘Honest.’

Instead of replying Mister McDonald glared at his son. ‘I thought I told you I didnt want you hanging about with this yin?’

Matt sniffed. His face went red.

‘Eh? I’m asking you a question.’ Mister McDonald jerked his thumb at Arthur and added, ‘Thinks he’s a flyman so he does!’

‘Naw he doesni.’

‘Aye he does.’ The man glanced from Arthur to Jimmy and the other two boys, then noticed Matt looking at him and he glared: ‘What’s up with your face?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I’ll bloody nothing you.’

‘Da . . .’ muttered Matt.

His father stared at him for a moment longer. Then he pulled the door fully open: ‘Okay, the lot of yous, ben the living-room!’

‘What?’ Matt frowned.

‘Ben the bloody living-room,’ roared his da. The four boys walked out into the lobby immediately and he beckoned Matt onto his feet and waved him out as well. He walked behind them,
then stepped in front to open the living-room door. ‘In yous get,’ he said.

The boys shuffled inside. Matt’s maw was sitting chatting with two other women on the settee and a man was sitting on one of the armchairs, glancing at a newspaper and sipping from a can
of export beer. When Mister McDonald closed the door and herded the five into the centre of the room his wife whispered loudly, ‘In the name of God what’s he playing at now!’ And
she laughed briefly then sipped at a glass of martini.

Matt marched across to her: ‘Hey maw what’s up with him at all is he cracking up or something?’

Missis McDonald laughed.

‘Is he bevied?’ asked Matt.

‘Oh uh! Imagine saying that about your daddy!’

‘It’s no bloody wonder the way you bring him up!’ called Mister McDonald; he winked at the other man and said, ‘Telling you Pat, she lets this boy get away with murder.
Right enough, he’s her favourite!’

The man grinned.

Mister McDonald slapped his hands together and moved his shoulders, he winked: ‘Fancy a wee game of cards?’

‘What?’

‘Eh? No fancy it?’

‘A wee game of cards?’

‘Aye, fancy it?’

‘Ah well I’m partial to a wee game now and then, I must say.’

Mister McDonald winked again: ‘That’s the way Pat that’s the way.’

Missis McDonald said to the two women, ‘Are you listening to this!’

‘I’m trying no to!’ replied one, and she gave Pat a look.

Pat held his hands palms upward and said, ‘Just a wee game hen . . .’

‘Tch!’ She shook her head and reached for a cigarette from an open packet on the coffee table.

Matt gazed at Missis McDonald: ‘Maw is he going daft!’

‘Hh! I thought you knew that by this time!’

Both men were smiling. Mister McDonald nodded to Pat and he stood up, then he indicated the chairs round the dining table and he said to the boys, ‘Okay lads, grab a pew.’

‘Naw,’ shouted Matt.

‘Shut up,’ replied his da.

‘Maw! Will you tell him!’

‘Hh!’ His mother raised her eyebrows and she glanced at the other two women: ‘Men are so bloody thick arent they!’

‘Maw . . .’

Missis McDonald ignored him. She picked a cigarette out from the packet, got her lighter from the table. Matt turned from her. The two men were already seated and taking loose change from their
pockets and setting it down at the edge of the table. Some of the coins made a noise and Missis McDonald cried, ‘Would you at least have the sense to put down some bloody
newspaper!’

‘Sorry,’ answered her husband, and winked at the other man: ‘Newspaper Pat, have we got such a commodity?’

‘Da . . .’

‘What is it son?’

‘Da, we’re no playing with you.’

‘Aye you are.’

‘Naw we’re no.’

‘Aw sit down and stop moaning . . .’ Mister McDonald winked at Pat: ‘I wonder who he takes after eh!’ He glanced round at Arthur: ‘Heh son will you pass that paper
there!’

The newspaper was on top of a glass display cabinet and Arthur got it quickly and handed it to the man.

‘Now sit down.’

Arthur glanced swiftly at Matt but he sat down. Jimmy and the other two boys did likewise. ‘That’s better,’ said Mister McDonald, spreading pages of newspaper about the table.
The other man had taken his cigarettes out and placed one in front of Mister McDonald; he looked at the boys as if about to offer them one as well, but he changed his mind and put the packet away
into his side jacket pocket. Matt was still standing midway between the dining table and the settee. His father looked at him and said, ‘Where’s the cards then?’

‘Jesus Christ!’ cried Matt.

‘Hear that language?’ said his maw to the other women; the three of them laughed.

Matt went striding out the room and crashed the door shut. Mister McDonald called to his wife, ‘That’s bloody ridiculous the way he’s acting! Eh?’ He glanced at Pat:
‘Imagine acting like that in front of visitors but? Eh? In our day? Can you imagine? You’d have got your bloody arse skelped.’ He called to his wife: ‘That boy, it’s a
bloody good hiding he needs!’

‘Aye well why dont you do it then!’

‘Aye I’ve a good mind to.’

‘Good!’ She winked at the two women and lifted her glass of martini, reached for the bottle to top it up.

Mister McDonald was lighting the cigarette given to him by Pat. He blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling, then said: ‘Okay. Cards.’

‘Eh . . .’ Dougie sniffed. ‘They’re in Matt’s room Mister McDonald.’

‘Well just go and get them son – naw! Dont . . .’ He pushed his chair backwards and leant to the sideboard, pulled out a drawer; he took a pack of cards from it.
‘We’ll play with the good yins.’

Pat grinned at him. ‘I hope they’re no marked!’

‘You better believe it!’ Mister McDonald winked once more, started shuffling the cards. ‘What is it we’re playing lads?’ He looked at Arthur.

Arthur blushed. ‘Eh . . .’

‘Ponnies?’

‘Eh naw eh it was eh, it was eh – brag, it was brag.’

‘Brag . . .’

‘Aye.’

‘Three or four-card?’ asked the other man.

‘Three. Deuces floating.’

Mister McDonald frowned at Arthur: ‘Deuces floating!’ He grinned at Pat. ‘Deuces floating! Long time eh!’

‘Aye you’re no kidding! Deuces floating!’ Pat glanced across at the three women but they were talking about something and did not notice, and he grinned at Mister McDonald:
‘Years since I’ve played that.’

Mister McDonald shoved the cards to Jimmy. ‘Want to get the ball rolling son.’

Jimmy lifted the pack.

‘Better shuffle first.’ Then he glanced suddenly at Arthur: ‘You ready Big Time?’

Arthur did not say anything. His face was red. He saw Eddie looking away and he placed his hands on the edge of his seat and gripped it.

‘It’s a game I’ve always liked but, brag . . .’ Pat tapped ash into the ashtray; his jacket cuff caught on a page of newspaper and he straightened it carefully.
‘What about the post?’ he said to Jimmy.

‘Two pence.’

Mister McDonald smiled: ‘We’ll no get rooked at that anyway, eh Pat!’

Pat grinned.

Twenty minutes passed. The door clicked open and Matt appeared. His da called, ‘Fancy a game?’

‘Nope.’

‘It’s no a bad game Matt,’ said the other man.

Matt nodded. He was holding a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches in his left hand. He displayed it: ‘Hey Jimmy you left your smokes in the room.’

Jimmy gazed at him.

He opened the packet and extracted one, put it in his mouth and got out a match, lighted the cigarette, handed Jimmy the packet and matchbox.

His maw had been watching and she laughed. ‘See that!’ she said to the other women. ‘He’s a big boy because he smokes!’

Mister McDonald frowned at Matt. ‘Is this you smoking in the house?’

Matt ignored the question and said to Arthur: ‘How’s it going?’

‘Okay . . .’

‘A wee bit slow mind you,’ said Mister McDonald. ‘Eh Pat?’

‘Well . . . I suppose . . . Maybe if we stopped the deuces floating?’

Mister McDonald nodded then winked. ‘I was thinking about a wee game of ponnies.’

‘Aw aye. I dont mind.’

‘How about it lads?’ Mister McDonald had glanced at Dougie and Eddie, and now at Jimmy and at Arthur. But nobody responded. They looked to Matt eventually and he walked across to his
maw and whispered something to her.

She paused then called to her husband: ‘Right, that’s enough.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Time for the boys to go home for their tea.’

Mister McDonald sniffed; he looked at the boys. ‘Have yous to go home for your tea?’

No reply.

‘Eh lads? Is it teatime?’ He grinned.

Matt shouted, ‘Da, they’ve got to go home!’

‘Nobody’s asking you.’

Matt glared at his mother who shrugged, turned to the other women and shrugged again. The boy strode out the room. ‘Dont bang that door!’ cried Mister McDonald. But Matt did bang it,
and his bedroom door could be heard banging as well. ‘Some temper that boy,’ muttered the man.

‘See you!’ called his wife, ‘you’re just bloody stupid, so you are!’

‘Aw thanks . . .’ He winked at the other man. His face became serious and he said to Arthur: ‘You can deal son.’

‘Eh . . .’ Arthur gazed at Jimmy, Dougie and Eddie.

It was Jimmy who spoke. He coughed beforehand, then said, ‘Eh Mister McDonald, see at ponnies, what you usually do is dish round the cards first.’

‘Mmhh.’

‘Because it’s the bank. You’ve got to see who gets it first.’

‘Aw.’

Jimmy hesitated and looked at Arthur who was staring at the table, as if he was reading something in the spread newspaper. Mister McDonald shifted on his chair and said to Pat, ‘See what I
thought, I thought give the boy the bank cause he’s won most of the cash.’ He pointed at the columns of coins in front of Arthur. ‘Know what I mean? I thought it’d give the
lads a chance to win something back.’

‘I take your point.’

‘And it saves time.’ He paused, glanced at Arthur: ‘No think so son? A wee bit of excitement as well eh!’ He rubbed his hands together and smiled. ‘Do you no want
the bank?’