Free Runaway by Peter May Page B

nothing’s changed. Except it’s the son beating up the father. That violent gene must have skipped a generation, because Dave’s the gentlest man I ever knew. And he doesn’t deserve this.’
    Donnie’s face turned ugly as he pulled a wad of banknotes from his pocket, all scrunched up in his big fist, and waved it at Jack. ‘Aye, well, your gentle fucking pal was stealing from his own family.’
    ‘Only so I could get oot yer hair once and for all!’ Dave said.
    Donnie turned on him again, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘It’s my money!’
    ‘And this is his house,’ Jack said. ‘And I’ll bet you don’t pay him a penny in rent. So maybe he’s owed it.’
    ‘Come on,’ Dave said. ‘Let’s just go.’
    And he tried to squeeze past Donnie to get his rucksack. But his son grabbed his coat and pushed him up against the wall again.
    ‘You’re going nowhere, you old drunk!’
    The sound of smashing glass stunned them all into silence, broken only by Donnie’s wife’s startled little squeal. Pieces of glass showered across the hall carpet. Jack stood with his walking stick still raised. The brass owl’s head had shattered the glazed door with a single, sharp strike.
    ‘Let him go!’ His voice rang out in the stillness that followed. Commanding. Imperative.
    And Donnie let go of his father, as if the old man were suddenly burning hot in his hands.
    ‘I did nothing to stop his father. And maybe you think I’m too old to stop you. But you’d be making a mistake if you did.’ He swung his walking stick to smash the brass head of it into the wall, gouging a deep hole in the plaster and sending white dust into the still air of the hall. ‘That’d make a hell of a mess of your skull.’
    Donnie’s wife said in a shaky voice, her hands raised as if to calm them, ‘Now there’s no need for this, boys.’
    Jack ignored her. ‘Give him the money.’
    For several long moments Jack could see that Donnie was weighing up his options. In the end he thrust the money at his father.
    And Jack half turned to Ricky. ‘Get his bag.’
    Ricky looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, wide-eyed and startled. But he leaned over quickly to retrieve Dave’s rucksack. Dave joined them in the doorway and the three of them retreated down the path towards the waiting Micra.
    They heard Donnie’s voice roaring behind them, ‘Don’t even think about coming back here, you old bastard. You’ll not get over the door.’
    Jack swivelled and saw Donnie almost recoil, as if from a blow. ‘ Dave’s door,’ he said. ‘Not yours. And maybe you’d better think about getting a place of your own. Because I’m sure Dave won’t want to see you here when he gets back.’
    ‘Aye, exactly right,’ Dave called from the safety of the gate.
    As they got into the car, Ricky glanced at his grandfather and said, ‘I thought you didn’t believe in violence.’
    Jack said nothing, but he sat shaking silently in the passenger seat. And feeling alive for the first time in a very long time.
    III
     
    They parked on Battlefield Road, opposite the infirmary, on the hill that climbs from the Rest to the Langside roundabout. Beyond the roundabout itself the elegant columns of a Greek Thomson church that was now a restaurant were lit up as evening leached the last daylight from an overcast sky. Yellow lights burned in all the windows of the old infirmary; wards like legs extended from the main building to oriel windows looking south.
    ‘Who are we meeting here?’ Ricky asked.
    ‘We’re no’ meeting anyone,’ Dave said. ‘We’ve come tae get him. He’s no’ too well, so we’re gonnae have tae gie him a hand.’
    Ricky looked worried. ‘What do you mean, “not too well”?’
    Jack said, ‘He’s got terminal cancer, Rick. And they’ve attached him to all sorts of monitors after a heart attack.’
    Ricky’s concern turned to horror. ‘And they’re just going to let him walk out?’
    Jack and Dave exchanged glances. ‘Not