Across at the rearmost table Jimmy Peters and McInnes were sitting on their own. Ronnie arrived and put his pint down, tucked the leash beneath his right shoe heel, and he nodded towards the bar: According to that yin there’s going to be all sorts of complaints about the dog.
That right? said Jimmy Peters.
Too wild or somefuckingthing! Ronnie grinned and sipped at the beer. You want to have seen it in the park as well, with all the wee weans! Ronnie grinned: I mean they were fucking poking it and everything and all it did was look at them, it didnt even notice.
The other two nodded.
I mean I’ve been with it all day and it’s fucking. . Ronnie stopped and shook his head, he grinned. He brought out his fags and gave one to each: It’s just won its first race!
Fucking must’ve! chuckled Jimmy Peters, taking the cigarette and looking at it.
But it didnt stretch to a pint! added McInnes.
Ronnie nodded. It was a wee race!
You’ve cheered up since this afternoon.
Me?
Me! said McInnes.
Well. . Ronnie sniffed.
You were like a fucking bear with a sore head, said Jimmy Peters.
After a moment Ronnie nodded.
You were!
Aye well no wonder man I came in for a pint and I got a fucking row!
Jimmy Peters chuckled.
McInnes said, Naw you didnt.
Aye I did. Ronnie smiled. I mean I fucking expected it right enough, the slagging.
It wasnt a slagging.
Aye it was.
McInnes pursed his lips.
Let’s face it, said Ronnie, it was a slagging.
Eh. . began Jimmy Peters. Ronnie looked at him and he shrugged.
Mind you, said Ronnie, I was expecting a wee bit of interest, just a wee bit.
Och come on, muttered McInnes.
Well, replied Ronnie, just a wee bit would’ve been fucking something; better than nothing. But naw; fuck all, just the four of yous trying to take the piss out me.
We werent trying to take the fucking piss out you! Jimmy Peters replied.
You were.
We fucking werent!
Aye you fucking were Jimmy — the two of yous were in it just as much as McColl and Kelly.
Jimmy Peters stared at him then looked away. But McInnes sniffed and leaned closer to Ronnie, and he said: I’ll tell you something man you better screw the fucking nut cause the way it’s going you’re going to wind up bad news, bad news. I’m no fucking kidding ye either.
What?
McInnes sat back and grunted, That’s all I’m saying.
What’re you meaning but?
McInnes shook his head.
Eh?
I’m no saying anything more Ronnie; you fucking know what I’m meaning.
Ronnie continued to gaze at him, then he frowned at Jimmy Peters and reached for the beer, sipped at it and put it down, lifted it again and sipped some more, gulping it down this time. He inhaled on the cigarette and stared towards the clock. And his hand lowered onto the head of the greyhound, and he grasped its ears.
Dont take it personally for God sake, said McInnes.
Naw.
Jimmy Peters said, It’s just you’re fucking, you’re under pressure and that. The young yin, have you heard from him? the boy.
Ronnie shrugged. Then he said, Look, you dont really think I went out and bought the dog because of that, the boy, because he’s away; eh?
Naw, Christ.
Cause I’ve been wanting a dog for ages. Fuck sake.
Jimmy Peters nodded.
And I’m no the only one — Kelly, he’s fucking been on about it more than me. Eh?
Aye.
Ronnie shook his head: I mean I’ve got to laugh at yous cunts. All talk. All fucking talk.
McInnes was looking at him. Ronnie looked back at him. McInnes said, This is you out of order again.
What?
This is you fucking out of order, again.
What d’you mean?
The way you go on. . McInnes shook his head and stared at the floor.
Ronnie stared at him.
Aye, God sake, the way you go on!
What! Ronnie’s face screwed into a glare.
Leave it.
Leave it?
McInnes looked at him then looked away. Jimmy Peters was looking away too. Ronnie sniffed and glanced at the dog, it was asleep, poor big fucking beast, sound asleep. Greyhounds were short-haired. The top of its head was really smooth. He reached to stroke it, it didnt feel like hair at all, more like a kind of material. He took a long draw on the cigarette, ground it out beneath his shoe on the floor.
Jimmy Peters said, I see the Celts’re going to sign that Thomson?
Ronnie nodded.
No a bad player.
Aye.
No Celtic class, muttered McInnes.
It needed a feed as well, it was probably starving. That was another thing about greyhound owners, how they were really tight, they treated their dogs like racing machines, no sentiment. The guy he had bought it from probably never fed it because he knew he was selling it, so it was probably fucking starving.
That movie. .
Ronnie frowned slightly, then nodded. What time does it start? he asked.
Jimmy Peters smiled. Naw, he said, I’m talking about that one that was on last night — fucking brilliant, did you see it?
Nah.
Were you out? asked McInnes.
What?
I was just asking if you were out, last night; you were no in here?
Naw.
McInnes nodded. Oh by the way, he said, that fucking Hammurabi won again!
What! You’re kidding?
7 to 1.
For Christ sake!
7 to 1. . McInnes smiled, shaking his head. They’re sending it to Royal Ascot.
Many’s that it’s won? Jimmy Peters asked.
Four.
Four on the trot, added Ronnie.
Jimmy Peters grinned. Pity you couldnt’ve bought a horse!
Ronnie looked at him.
Imagine coming in here with it! Peters laughed: Imagine the faces!
For fuck sake! Ronnie began chuckling.
McInnes was smiling.
A pint and a barrel of oats! cried Peters. Heh barman, a pint and a barrel of oats!
The three of them were laughing now. Gradually they stopped. Ronnie began stroking behind the dog’s ears and it opened its eyes for a moment, made a movement in its mouth as if it was thirsty. It would be thirsty. When had it last had a drink? Ronnie hadnt given it one. And the guy he’d bought it from, probably he hadnt either. The truth of the matter is Ronnie was feeling bad. He probably shouldnt’ve bought the dog, if he wasnt going to look after it properly. It just wasnt fair. The lassies would help right enough. They were good, they helped. They would take it for walks. Babs would just — she wouldnt bother, she would be okay. He was just fucking, it was him, he was daft, stupid, coming home with a greyhound, it was out of order. Jimmy was talking. Ronnie nodded, acknowledging something; he didnt know what the fuck it was he was acknowledging but he was fucking acknowledging something! He smiled, he raised the pint to his lips and swallowed beer. Jimmy pushed the tobacco pouch towards him and he rolled himself a smoke. It was time to leave. He struck a match, lighting his own before offering the light to Jimmy; then he finished off the beer and wiped his mouth quickly. Okay, he said, lifting the leash. And he got to his feet.
You off? asked Jimmy Peters.
Aye.
I’ll be heading that way myself, said McInnes, glancing towards the clock.
See you the morrow, said Jimmy.
Aye. . Ronnie gave a slight tug on the leash and the dog rose from the floor. And he left the pub quickly, in case McInnes came along the road with him. They both lived in the same street. He didnt want McInnes to know, that he wasnt going home just now. He wasnt going to go home just now, definitely not. He wasnt feeling right for it. That was it in a nutshell. What was that thing about Hamlet? Like a king. Something. Ronnie just felt fucking, he felt lousy. He hadnt been feeling as lousy as this before. Last night for instance he had been feeling good. He had made the phonecall and he knew he was the only one who had made any inquiries. And eighty quid as well; it was about exactly what he had saved up, almost the total sum. Everything just seemed spot on. And the guy himself seemed okay. If it was possible to trust a doggie-man! Ronnie grinned. They couldnt all be fucking rogues. Surely to fuck!