Free Greyhound for Breakfast by James Kelman

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