Greyhound for Breakfast (23 page)

Three boys jumped forward. They freed him and hoisted the bag back up onto the counter. Tommy gazed at the men. After a moment the thin man said to the crew-cut man, ‘Well Jimmy, what do
you think now?’

‘Ach the kid’ll be okay.’

‘Give him a weer run,’ suggested the big man, ‘that six is a big bastard. Somebody else can do it.’

‘No mister,’ said Tommy, ‘I can do it. I’ve helped my brother before.’

The crew-cut man nodded then smiled. ‘Right Wee MacKenzie. Put the strap over one shoulder just. The left’s the best. Don’t put your head under either, that’s how that
happened. It’s a question of balance. Just the one shoulder now. Okay?’

Tommy nodded, pulled the strap on, and the crew-cut man pushed the bag to the edge of the counter. ‘Ready?’

‘Aye.’

‘Right you are kid, take it away.’

Tommy breathed in deeply and stepped away from the counter, bending almost horizontal beneath the weight. He struggled to the door, seeing only the way as far as his feet.

‘Open it!’ shouted the thin man.

As the door banged shut behind him he could hear the big man say: ‘Jesus Christ!’

Tommy reached the top of Garscadden Road and turned into Drumchapel Road by the white church. His chest felt tight under the burden and the strap cut right into his shoulder but he was not
staggering so often now. It was getting on for 5.30 a.m. When he looked up he saw the blue bus standing at Dalsetter Terminus. About fifty yards from it he looked again, in time to see the driver
climb up into the cabin. Tommy tried to run but his knees banged together. The engine revved. He half trotted in a kind of jerking motion. The bus seemed to roll up the small incline to the
junction. Fifteen yards now and Tommy was moving faster on the downhill towards it. An oil-tanker passing caused the bus to stay a moment and Tommy went lunging forwards and grabbed at the pole on
the rear platform. The bus turned into the main road and he swung aboard with his right foot on the very edge, managing to drag on his left, but he could not pull up the bag. The weight strained on
his shoulder. It was pulling him backwards as the bus gathered speed. Nobody was downstairs. His chest felt tighter and his neck was getting really sore. The strap slipped, it slipped down,
catching in the crook of his elbow. He clenched his teeth and hung onto the pole.

Then a cold hand clutched him.

‘
PULL
!’ screamed the old conductress.

He gasped with the effort. She wrenched him up onto the platform where he stood trembling, the paper-bag slumped between his legs, unable to speak.

‘Bloody wee fool!’ she cried. ‘Get inside before you fall off!’ She helped him and the bag up the step and he collapsed onto the long side-seat with the bag staying on
the floor. ‘I don’t know what your mother’s thinking about!’ she said.

He got the money out of his trouser pocket and said politely, ‘Tuppny-half please.’

At the foot of Achamore Road he got down off the platform first and then got the paper-bag strap over his left shoulder again and he dragged it off. He heard the ding ding as the conductress
rang the bell for the driver. On the steep climb up to Kilmuir Drive he started by resting every twenty or so yards but by the time he had reached halfway it was every eight to ten yards. Finally
he stopped and staggered into the first close and he straightened up and the bag crashed to the concrete floor. He waited a moment but nobody came out to see what had happened. A lot of the papers
had shifted inside the bag and he heaved it up and bumped it down a bit, trying to get them settled back, but they did not move. His body felt strange. He began doing a funny sort of walk about the
close, as if he was in slow motion. He touched himself on the shoulder, his left arm hanging down. Then he walked to the foot of the stairs and sat on the second bottom one. He got up and picked
out a
Sunday Post
but it stuck halfway it was so tightly wedged; when he tugged, the pages ripped. Eventually he manoeuvered it out and he read the football reports sitting on the step.
Then he did the same with the
Sunday Mail
. A long time later he returned the
Reynolds News
and stood up, rubbing his ice-cold bottom.

He completed the first close in five minutes then dragged the bag along the pavement to the next. At the faraway flat on the top landing, as he pushed through the rolled up
Post, Mail
and
World
, the dog jumped up snapping and yelping and he jammed three fingers in the letter-flap. He sucked them walking downstairs. At the third close he left the newspapers sticking
halfway out. At the fourth he dragged the bag on to a point between it and the fifth and he delivered both sets of papers at once. He was down to about two to three minutes a close now.

About three quarters of the way through the delivery he noticed the dairy had opened at the wee block of shops. Some of his customers had paid him at the same time as he was giving in the papers
so he had enough for an individual fruit pie and a pint of milk. In the newsagents he bought a packet of five Capstan and a book of matches. After the snack and a smoke he raced around the rest of
Kilmuir and finished the first part. He had twelve
Sunday Mail
extra and was short of eight
Sunday Post
plus he had different bits of the
Observer
and the
Times
.

On the long road home he had to hide up a close at one point when he saw Mrs Johnstone the Sunday school teacher passing by on her way to church. As soon as he got into the house he rushed into
the bathroom. He brushed his teeth to get rid of the smell of smoke then he sat down to toast and egg. His father was still in bed. At about this time John would usually have finished the run
completely and be in the process of cashing in down at the paper-hut. His mother did not make any comments about it. Shortly after eleven he made the return journey to Kilmuir Drive and began
collecting the money. There were also some outstanding sums to collect which John had left notes on. One family owed nine weeks’ money. Tommy had delivered papers to them in error, against
his brother’s instructions and they never answered the door when he rang and rang the bell. Other people were not in either. Some of them he managed to get in when he went back but by the end
of it all he still had a few to collect. He got a bus back to Dalsetter Terminus. The conductor told him it was quarter past three.

He walked slowly up to the junction at the white church. He had money in three of his four jeans’ pockets. One of the ones at the front had a hole in it. In the other front one he had a
pile of pennies and ha’pennies and threepenny bits; all his tips. In the two back pockets he was carrying the sixpences, shillings, two-bob bits and half crowns. He had the 10/- notes folded
inside the Capstan packet which he held in his left hand. There were three fags and a dowp left in it.

The three men were alone in the hut. They were sitting up on the counter smoking and drinking lemonade. The big man stood down. ‘You made it!’ he cried.

Tommy looked at him but did not reply.

‘Right,’ said the crew-cut man coming over with a wooden tray, ‘pour the cash on and we’ll get it counted.’

Both men stacked and quickly double-checked the money while the thin man marked up the pay-in chit for £7/5/4.

‘Much did you say?’ echoed the big man.

‘Seven pound five and four.’

‘Well he’s only got four and a half here!’

‘What?’

‘Four and a half.’

‘Christ sake!’

The crew-cut man shook his head. ‘No more money kid?’

‘No. Just my tips.’

‘Your tips!’

‘His tips,’ said the big man.

The thin man smiled. ‘Get them out,’ he said.

Tommy hesitated but then he lifted out all the change from his right front pocket, dumped it onto the counter. The crew-cut man counted it rapidly. ‘Twenty-two and seven,’ he said,
‘plus it’s a twenty-five bob run.’

The thin man nodded.

‘Seven and nine short,’ said the crew-cut man. He looked at Tommy. ‘You’re seven and nine short kid.’

Tommy frowned.

‘You still got money to collect?’

‘Aye.’

The crew-cut man nodded. ‘Good, you’ll get it through the week then eh?’

‘Aye.’ Tommy gazed across at the big man who had taken the wooden tray of money over to a desk. The thin man was also over there and writing into a large thick book.

‘Okay kid,’ said the crew-cut man, ‘that’s us locking up now . . .’ He lifted a key from a hook on the wall and came to the counter, vaulted across it, landing with
a thump nearby the door. He opened the door, ushering Tommy out. ‘MacKenzie’ll be back new week eh?’

‘Aye.’

‘Good, good.’

The thin man called, ‘Is he looking for a run?’

The crew-cut man nodded and said, ‘You looking for a run yourself?’

‘Aye!’

‘Okay then son, as soon as one falls vacant I’ll tell your brother, eh? How’s that?’

‘Great, that’s great mister.’

‘Right you are,’ answered the crew-cut man and he shut the door behind him. Tommy heard the key turning in the lock.

His mother opened the door when he arrived home. She cried, ‘It’s nearly four o’clock Tommy where’ve you been? What happened?’

‘Nothing mum, I was just late, honest.’

‘Just late!’

‘Aye, honest.’

‘Tch! Away and take off these old trousers then and I’ll make you a piece on cheese! And go and wash yourself in the bathroom you’re filthy! Look at your face! Where did you
get dirt like that?’

When he came through to the living room after his piece was on a plate on the sideboard and there was a cup of milk. His father was sitting on his armchair reading the
Mail
and drinking
tea, a cigarette smouldering on the ashtray. ‘How did you get on?’ he asked over his spectacles.

‘Okay dad.’

‘What a time he took!’ said his mother.

‘Any problems?’ asked his father.

‘Some but it was okay really. I’ve to collect people through the week.’

His father nodded.

‘Were they not in to pay the money?’ asked his mother.

‘No, and I went back.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘The man said I might get a run soon. He’ll tell John.’

His father nodded, his gaze returning to the paper.

‘That’s good son,’ replied his mother.

Then his father murmured, ‘See and save something.’

Tommy nodded, biting into the piece on cheese.

I’ll tell you something: when I stepped outside that door I was alone, and I mean alone. And it was exactly what I had wanted, almost as if I’d been demanding it.
And that was funny because it’s not the kind of thing I would usually demand at all; usually I didnt demand anything remotely resembling being outside that door. But now. Christ. And another
thing: I didnt even feel as if I was myself. What a bloody carry on it was. I stared down at my legs, at my trousers. I was wearing these corduroy things I mostly just wear to go about. These big
bloody holes they have on the knee. So that as well. Christ, I began to think my voice would start erupting in one of these bloodcurdling screams of horror. But no. Did it hell, I was in good
control of myself. I glanced down at my shoes and lifted my right foot, kidding on I was examining the shoelaces and that, to see if they were tied correctly. One of those stupid kind of things you
do. It’s as if you’ve got to show everybody that nothing’s taking place out the ordinary. This is the kind of thing you’re used to happening. It’s a bit stupid. But
the point to remember as well; I was being watched. It’s the thing you might forget. So I just I think sniffed and whistled a wee bit, to kid on I was assuming I was totally alone. And I
could almost hear them drawing the curtains aside to stare out. Okay but I thought: here I am alone and it’s exactly what I wanted; it was what I’d been demanding if the truth’s
to be told. I’ll tell you something as well: I’m not usually a brave person but at that very moment I thought Christ here you are now and what’s happening but you’re keeping
on going, you’re keeping on going, just as if you couldnt give a damn about who was watching. I’m not kidding you I felt as great as ever I’ve felt in my whole life, and
that’s a fact. So much so I was beginning to think is this you that’s doing it. But it bloody was me, it was. And then I was walking and I mean walking, just walking, with nobody there
to say yay or nay. What a feeling thon was. I stopped a minute to look about. An error. Of course, an error. I bloody knew it as soon as I’d done it. And out they came.

Where you off to?

Eh – nowhere in particular.

Can we come with you?

You?

Well we feel like a breath of fresh air.

I looked straight at them when they said that. It was that kind of daft thing people can say which gives you nearly nothing to reply. So I just, what I did for a minute, I just stared down at my
shoes and then I said, I dont know how long I’ll be away for.

They nodded. And it was a bit of time before they spoke back. You’d prefer we didnt come with you. You want to go yourself.

Go myself?

Yes, you prefer to go yourself. You dont want us to come with you.

No, it’s not that, it’s just, it’s not that, it’s not that at all, it’s something else.

They were watching me and not saying anything.

It’s just I dont know how long I’ll be away. I might be away a couple of hours there again I might be away till well past midnight.

Midnight?

Yes, midnight, it’s not that late surely, midnight, it’s not that late.

We’re not saying it is.

Yes you are.

No we’re not.

But you are, that’s what you’re saying.

We arent. We arent saying that at all. We’re not caring at all what you do. Go by yourself if you like. If you had just bloody told us to begin with instead of this big smokescreen
you’ve always got to draw this great big smokescreen.

I have not.

Yes you have. That’s what you’ve done.

That’s what I’d done. That’s what they were saying: they were saying I’d drawn this great big smokescreen all so’s I could get outside the door as if the whole
bloody carry on was just in aid of that. I never said anything back to them. I just thought it was best waiting and I just kind of kidded on I didnt really know what they were meaning.