The others laughed.
My auld man used to keep dogs.
Aye fucking chihuahuas!
Are you telling us you’ve bought it? asked Kelly.
Ronnie did not reply.
Are you?
Ronnie dragged on the cigarette, having to squeeze the end of it so he could get a proper draw. He exhaled the smoke away from where the greyhound was lying. Jimmy Peters was looking at him. Ronnie looked back. After a moment Jimmy Peters said, I mean are you actually going to race it?
Naw Jimmy I’m just going to take it for walks.
The other three laughed loudly. Ronnie shook his head at Peters. Then he gazed at the dog; he inhaled on the cigarette, but it had stopped burning.
Does Babs know yet? asked McInnes.
What?
Babs, does she know yet?
What about?
God sake Ronnie!
Ronnie reached for the box of matches again and he struck one, got the roll-up burning once more. He blew out the flame and replied, I’ve just no seen her since breakfast.
Tam McColl grinned. You’re mad ya cunt, fucking mad.
How much was it? asked Kelly. Or are we no allowed to ask!
Ronnie lifted his beer and sipped at it.
Did it cost much?
Fuck sake, muttered Ronnie.
You no going to tell us? asked Kelly.
Ronnie shrugged. Eighty notes.
Eighty notes!
Ronnie looked at him.
Jimmy Peters had shifted roundabout on his seat and he leaned down and ruffled behind the dog’s ears, making a funny face at it. The dog looked back at him. He said to Ronnie, Aye it’s a pally big animal.
Ronnie nodded. Then he noticed Kelly’s facial expression and he frowned.
Naw, replied Kelly, grinning. I was just thinking there — somebody asking what its form was: oh it’s pally! a pally big dog! Fuck speed but it likes getting petted!
That’s a good joke, said Ronnie.
The other four laughed.
Ronnie nodded. On you go, he said, nothing like a good fucking joke. He dragged on the roll-up but it had stopped burning once again. He shoved it into the ticket pocket inside his jacket then lifted his pint and drank down all that was left of the beer. The others were grinning at him. Fuck yous! he said and reached for the leash.
McInnes chuckled: Sit on your arse Ronnie for fuck sake!
Fuck off.
Can you no take a joke? said Jimmy Peters.
A joke! That’s fucking beyond a joke.
Kelly laughed.
Aye, said Ronnie, on ye go ya fucking stupid bastard.
Kelly stopped laughing.
Heh you! said McInnes to Ronnie.
Ah well no fucking wonder!
Kelly was still looking at him. Ronnie looked back.
McInnes said, You’re fucking out of order Ronnie.
I’m out of order!
Aye.
Me? Ronnie was tapping himself vigorously on the chest.
Aye, replied McInnes.
It was just a joke, said Jimmy Peters.
A joke? That was fucking beyond a joke. Ronnie shook his head at him; he withdrew the dowp from his inside ticket pocket and reached for the box of matches again; but he put it back untouched, returned the dowp to the ticket pocket, lifted the empty beer glass and studied it for a moment. He sniffed and returned it to the table.
The others resumed the game of Shoot Pontoon.
And after two or three minutes Tam McColl said, Heh Ronnie did you see that movie on the telly last night.
Naw.
We were just talking about it before you came in.
Mm. Ronnie made a show of listening to what McColl was saying, it was some sort of shite about cops and robbers that was beyond even talking about. Ronnie shook his head. It was unbelievable. He stared at the cards on the table then he stared in the direction of the bar, a few young guys were over at the jukebox.
Jimmy Peters was saying something to him now. What was it about, it was about fucking the football, going to the football. Ronnie squinted at him: What?
Three each, said Jimmy, what a game! Did you see it?
Ronnie shook his head. He glanced at the shelf in beneath the table, the four pint glasses there, dribbles of beer in each. It was fucking beyond belief.
That last goal! said Jimmy.
Ronnie nodded. He clapped the dog’s head, grasped its ears, tugging at them till at last it shook his hand away. He sniffed and muttered, I’ll tell yous mob something: see if this fucking dog doesnt get me the holiday money I’ll eat it for my fucking breakfast.
The others smiled briefly. And Kelly said, So you are going to race it?
Ronnie shrugged. He didnt feel like talking. It was time to leave. He felt like leaving. It would be good to be able to leave; right now. He reached to clap the dog, smoothed along its muzzle.
Heh Ronnie, said McInnes. Where you going to keep it?
Ronnie wrapped the leash round his hand and he nodded slightly, lifted the box of matches.
No in the house? grinned Tam McColl.
There was a silence.
You’re fucking mad!
Whereabouts in the house? asked Jimmy Peters.
Ronnie struck the match and tilted his head while getting the roll-up burning; he exhaled smoke: The boy’s room, he said. Just meantime. He’s no here the now. He’s away with a couple of his mates. Down to London. . He sniffed and dragged on the dowp again.
The others had been sorting the cards out after a new deal.
We never knew he was going, said Ronnie, no till the last minute. One of his mates got a phone call or something so they had to move fast.
Move fast? said McInnes.
It was a job they were after. They had to move fast. Otherwise they wouldnt fucking get it.
Aw aye.
Ronnie shrugged.
Kelly glanced at the greyhound and said, What you going to call it? You got something fixed?
Eh. . I dont know. The guy I got it off says it’s up to me. The way it works, most of them’s got two names, one for the kennel and one for when it races.
Kelly nodded. Has it definitely raced Ronnie I mean I’m no being cheeky?
Aye Christ it’s qualified at Ashfield and it’s won three out of ten at Carfin.
Honest?
Aye, fuck sake.
What’d they call it?
Ronnie sniffed. Big Dan.
Big Dan? Tam McColl was grinning.
What’s up with that ya cunt ye they’ve got to call it something! Ronnie shook his head, and he glanced at Kelly: You heard of it?
Eh naw, no really.
Ronnie nodded.
I’ve never been to Carfin but; never I mean — have you?
Naw.
You sure it’s won there? asked Jimmy Peters.
Aye Christ he showed me, the guy; it’s down in black and white.
Whereabouts? asked Kelly.
Whereabouts? Ronnie squinted at him.
Where’s it written down?
The fucking Record.
Aw.
Kelly said, You talking about the results like? On the page?
Ronnie looked at him without saying anything in reply. He lifted his empty beer glass and swirled the drop at the bottom about, put the glass to his mouth and attempted to drink, but the drop got lost somewhere along the way. He said, Plus I saw its form figures and that on a race-card.
Kelly nodded.
Both McInnes and McColl and now Jimmy Peters were looking at him. Ronnie said, In the name of fuck! What yous looking at!
Aye, well, muttered McInnes, Your boy’s fucked off to England and you’ve went out and bought a dog.
What?
There was no further comment. Ronnie shook his head and added, For fuck sake I’ve been wanting to buy a dog for years.
Aye, well it’s a wee bit funny how it’s only the now you’ve managed it.
What?
Your boy goes off to England and you go out and buy a dog. . McInnes stared at Ronnie.
Who was it you bought it off? asked Kelly.