Free Greyhound for Breakfast by James Kelman Page A

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!’