Naw I’ve no.
Aye you have.
Oanny resumed the search. He discovered a crushed packet in the hip pocket of his trousers. It was an unusual place to have put it. He shrugged and smiled briefly, flourishing the packet for Victor’s benefit, but Victor just looked away and returned to the empty fireplace. Ah fuck you too, grunted Oanny, taking out a cigarette. He had to straighten it before getting it alight.
Eventually the other three arrived back at the table together. When he gestured at the packet they each helped himself to a cigarette — even Fat Stanley although he was supposed to have stopped. Nobody spoke. Oanny sniffed through one nostril and made a display of peering at the ex-railway clock on the wall which had not ticked for years.
A sound came from Fat Stanley. And he seemed to be making a great effort not to smile. That way he puffed on the fag without inhaling. What a waste. Imagine giving your last fag to a cunt like him! Typical.
It dawned on Oanny: some kind of conspiracy was on the go. Alec had started smiling but not at anybody in particular. Fucking carry on. Oanny shook his head and grunted unintelligibly.
What’s up with you? asked Alec.
What’s up with me? Nothing up with me.
Glad to hear it. . A moment later Alec began to footer with the tip of his cigarette, showing great concentration, whistling under his breath. And Victor had turned his head away. Christ! Oanny shook his head again and said:
Okay. How much?
What?
Fine, aye, you’ve made me ask.
Ask what? said Alec. What you talking about?
Aw forget it, forget it.
Naw, I thought you said how much or something. . Alec’s forehead creased. Fat Stanley was now openly grinning. And Alec added: How much for what?
Oanny glared at him. The doggie in the fucking window! He dragged deeply on his cigarette and shifted on his chair, staring in the direction of the serving hatch in the snacks area. Any of yous got a drink left? he muttered.
You’ve done it all! replied Victor.
Aw aye, aye, I’ve done it all, on my tod, aye, I swallowed the whole fucking lot.
Near enough.
Oanny turned and he stared at Victor.
Naw, said Alec, if you hadnt fallen asleep you’d have seen for yourself.
Thanks.
Alec’s right, murmured Victor.
Is he? Aw good. Good for Alec. I’m glad to hear it. Who’s fucking talking to you anyway? It’s Alec I’m talking to, no fucking you. Alright? Oanny frowned across at Alec: All I asked was how much we lifted.
Fair enough. And all I’m asking is how much you put in the kitty?
What? Oanny sat back in the chair. How much had he put in the kitty? He stopped himself searching his pockets again. How much had he put in the kitty? In the kitty? How much? What kind of a fucking question was that? He glanced sideways at Alec. It could not be a real question. Surely no. He scowled and made as though to say something but his attention was diverted by Fat Stanley who had begun wheezing in that way he had.
Eh? asked Alec.
Oanny looked at him and grinned. Fuck off!
The other three laughed loudly. But it subsided soon and Alec lifted the crushed cigarette packet and attempted to get it standing upright. He tried again, watched by the other three. He began smiling. Fat Stanley was also smiling. Oanny snorted: I was beginning to think you’d lost your touch!
Were you! Alec grinned.
Can you blame me? I mean when was the last time you got us a turn?
Fuck the last time Oanny this is this time.
Aw aye, I know.
Victor nodded. You want to have seen it Oanny we cleaned the fucking school.
What?
Magic by the way. I’ve no seen anything like it for ages.
Every hand he was getting, continued Fat Stanley. Naturals all the time. Must’ve done near a 10-timer!
Eight just, said Alec.
Jesus! Oanny shook his head, smiled.
Two hundred and twenty. . Alec sniffed, inhaled and exhaled smoke.
Ho! Ya beauty! Oanny slapped the palms of his hands together, his eyebrows raised. But before anything further was said a minor disturbance broke out at the serving hatch. Somebody was bawling about soup. A drunk. Ellen had reached through from the kitchen, placing four bowls on the counter. That soup’s already ordered! she was shouting and then she slammed down the hatch. The drunk still stood there staring at the bowls of soup then staring at the folk sitting nearest him. One of them was Tommy Rollo, the guy who managed the place and dealt the cards. Away home son, he said.
Naw, said the drunk. It’s no fucking right so it’s no. I was wanting soup and she wouldnt give me it and then. . He waved his hand at the four bowls, just as Fat Stanley and Victor appeared at his elbow.
Pardon me, said Fat Stanley while he lifted two of the bowls and passed them to Victor, lifted the other two for himself. The pair of them returned the way they had come.
It’s no fucking right, muttered the drunk.
Mind your language, said Tommy Rollo.
The kitchen door opened and Ellen came out, pulling on her coat over her shoulders.
Heh missis, said the drunk, a bowl of soup eh?
Away and get your bloody wife to make it. What do you think I’m just here to cater to the likes of you! Ellen glared.
He looked at her. Aw hen, he said, no need for that.
She shook her head.
Look son, called Tommy Rollo, we’re no in the mood. Ellen stops when the cards stop. You should know that by now.
A few of the men at the two bench-type tables muttered their agreement. Ellen had walked to sit down on the chair next to Rollo and he poured her a glass of gin from a half bottle of Gordon’s. The drunk waited a moment then walked in a purposeful stride to the exit. As soon as he had gone an elderly man in a khaki-coloured trenchcoat cried: That was telling him Ellen!
She ignored him. She sipped at the gin, snapped open her handbag and got a tipped cigarette out, gave herself a light.
*
The rain was no longer falling when they came downstairs and out through the close onto the pavement but the ground was still wet and there were many puddles around. Considering the time of night the city was busy. But it was a Friday and young folk were heading home from the dancing or whatever. Few taxis were available and almost everybody seemed to be heading in the direction of George Square. From here the all-night buses departed hourly.
The Square itself was brightly lit. The Christmas decorations had yet to be dismantled. There was a lot of hustle and bustle. Queues of folk lined the different bus stops; some were in uniform, mainly transport workers going home off backshift. A couple of guys were touting razor blades and other things, plus the newpaper vendors. Girls stood alone, in couples, in groups, as also the youths watching them — some speaking in really loud voices. Now and again policemen strolled by in pairs, gloved hands behind their backs, occasionally pausing to chat to bus inspectors. A newspaper vendor exchanged words with Tommy Rollo and Ellen and he gave them a Daily Record without taking money for it. When Alec bought one he winked and said, I thought you’d have landed in Majorca by this time!
Alec smiled slightly, glanced at the headlines before folding the paper away into his side coat pocket. As they continued along the newspaper man called: Yous going up the Duke?
Aye! replied Fat Stanley.
Maybe see yous later on!
No if we see you first, grunted Oanny.
Fat Stanley grinned. He’s no that bad, he added.
Fucking idiot, muttered Oanny.
Alec had stepped on a bit and was walking with Rollo and Ellen. They cut down a side street and about twenty yards along a cobbled lane. It was quite dark, light glinting on the cobbles occasionally. Rollo pressed the doorbell and the chime rang out inside. When the door opened the guy behind it greeted Rollo and Ellen and smiled at Alec: Long time no see!