Greyhound for Breakfast (27 page)

The dog was sitting at the gutter, staring down in the direction of the river. It was wondering what was happening. And Babs as well. And the lassies maybe; them thinking he was in the
boozer.

The pier was derelict around here, it was a pity. At one time the steamers pulled in on their way down the Firth. And boats went to America, £5 for the one-way trip. When was that? That
was fucking years ago. The turn of the century.

Ronnie peered through the fence; he tied the leash round a spike and rubbed his hands together. The wind coming down the Clyde; he moved his shoulders into a hunch. The cigarette packet and
matches were back in his pocket again. He was going to save them for later. He didnt need a smoke just now. It was just habit. But he did need another pish. And he would have to wait a minute
because there was a couple walking past, man and a woman with the arms linked. And the way they stared at the greyhound it was as if they thought it was there by itself. Ronnie stared after them
and there was something in the way they walked that made him think they were wanting to look back but were doing their best not to. It was funny the way people were, how they acted, always so
fucking self conscious and embarrassed about things. All they had to say was, Is this dog yours? And he would’ve said, Aye. And that would’ve fucking been it, end of story.

But people didnt do things like that. They didnt do things as simple as that. They had to do it in a devious sort of – they had to be devious, that was it, they just had to be fucking
devious. That was it, that was human nature, they just had to be fucking devious. Even the boy – eighteen years of age and just as devious as the rest of them. All he had to do was tell them
and that would’ve been that. But no; what he does is fuck off and then gives a phonecall from a fucking motorway cafe. And Babs is up to fucking high doh worrying about it. Unbelievable. Just
like a fucking wee wean. Eighteen years of age! Ronnie had been his father at that age. Eighteen! Fuck sake. It’s no that young. It’s young, but no that young. Eighteen. Christ
Almighty.

It was getting dark. What time was it? When he was in the pub it was 7. It was after that. Nearer 8, when he left. Probably it was 9, it’d be 9 now. And they’d think he would be
really paralytic. It could even be after 9.

Heh Ronnie!

Christ! McInnes! McInnes had come after him. McInnes. Where was he? He wasnt here at all. It hadnt been a shout. But it was like a shout. As if somebody had shouted on him. An apparition. A
fucking ghost! The docks was a creepy place but, deserted and fucking derelict. And this pier, how you could see the actual particles of coaldust lapping in on the surface of the water, onto the
steps for fuck sake, if you wanted to commit suicide you’d choose a better place, you wouldnt want to fucking choke, if you wanted to fucking choke you’d do something else altogether, a
bottle of fucking pills maybe.

What did he buy it for? He shouldnt’ve bought it.

Ach well. It was too late. He had it and that was that. Poor old bastard. Maybe he wouldnt race it at all, maybe he
would
just keep it as a pet, and fuck them. Bastards.

Here was somebody else coming. Another couple.

That was funny how the shout had happened, it sounding like a shout, from inside the head. And it was McInnes; it was his voice. It wasnt Babs for instance, if you’d expected that, because
maybe to do with telepathy, her thinking he was about to do himself in or somefuckingthing and so trying to reach out to him, the way twins are supposed to.

She would maybe be worrying about him now. Would she? Aye, she would be, she would be worrying about him because he hadnt phoned. Fuck sake, of course she would; what was the fucking point of
fucking, trying to fucking keep it away, of course she’d be fucking worrying about him. On top of the boy; on top of the boy she would now be worrying about him. And the lassies, they’d
know something was up because they’d see the way she was looking; if they were watching the telly, they’d see she wasnt really seeing what was on, her attention would be fucking, it
would be nowhere near it, wondering if the phone was going to ring; and the boy as well, if he was okay – London for fuck sake, what could happen down there, things were bad down there, weans
on the street, having to sell themselves to get by, the things that were happening down there, down in London, to young lassies and boys, it wasnt fucking fair, it was just fucking terrible, it was
so fucking terrible, it was just so fucking terrible you couldnt fucking man you fucking Jesus Christ trying to think about that it was Christ it was so fucking terrible, it was so bad. Ronnie had
the cigarette packet in his hand and he opened it and took out one; when he was smoking he returned it and the book of matches to his pocket. He inhaled twice without exhaling, let it all out in a
gasp. He leaned his shoulder against the fence, inhaled again, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. He would just tell Babs something or other, what the fuck he didnt know, it didnt fucking
matter; what did it matter, it didnt fucking matter.