Doug Johnstone - Smokeheads

‘That’s what passes for law enforcement on the island?’ said Adam, shaking his head.

‘Pretty much,’ said Molly. ‘There are a couple of decent cops here, but Joe and Grant treat it like the family business. Joe’s dad did it before him for thirty-five years, his grandad before that.’

‘They look a right pair of cunts,’ said Roddy.

‘Correct,’ said Ash.

Molly glugged at her pint.

‘You OK?’ said Adam.

She slurped, trying to get through her drink. ‘I really think it’s best if I go home.’

‘Stay for a bit, Moll,’ said Ash. ‘If you leave, you’re letting them win.’

‘I don’t need the hassle.’

Roddy puffed his chest out, sensing a damsel in distress. ‘What’s Joe’s problem anyway?’

Molly sighed heavily. ‘It’s a long story.’

Ash was agitated and fidgeting. ‘Sis, you’ve got nothing to feel bad about.’

‘I know that.’

‘I’m not sure you do.’

‘It’s not as simple as you think.’

Ash’s eyes widened. ‘I hope to fuck you’re not making excuses for that bastard.’

‘Of course not. You know how I feel about him.’

‘It doesn’t matter what happened to him, the way he treated you was unforgivable.’

‘I know that, it’s just…’

‘What do you mean?’ said Roddy.

Ash’s mouth was running off. ‘Joe gave her this big sob story for years…’

‘Ash, please…’ Molly said, but Ash had a tailwind.

‘All the Ileach thought his dad was this pillar of the community, a friendly copper and upstanding member of society, all the while he was beating seven shades of shite out of Joe and his mum behind their front door.’

‘Can we change the subject?’ said Molly.

‘Then once Joe left home and joined the force in some perverted attempt to please his twat of a dad, his mum killed herself, threw herself over the side of the ferry one night on the way to the mainland. That’s the story anyway. Joe lost it, basically, turned into a total nutcase. Round about then his dad keeled over from a massive coronary. Just as well because I reckon Joe was about to do the job for him.’

Molly looked nervously over at Joe and Grant. ‘I’m sure the guys don’t want to hear all this crap.’

Ash couldn’t be stopped. ‘But none of that matters a fuck, it’s no excuse for what he did to you.’

‘What did he do?’ said Roddy.

‘Ash, that’s enough.’ Molly gave her an evil glare, which finally seemed to get through.

‘I’m just saying he’s a total arsehole,’ said Ash. ‘And all the domestic abuse in the world isn’t an excuse for that.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Roddy said to Molly. ‘We’ll look after you. Stay.’

Molly laughed bitterly. ‘You’ve no idea.’

She finished her beer, stood up and put her coat on, fumbling with her arms in the sleeves.

‘Wait,’ said Adam, reaching for her. ‘If you’re definitely going, at least let me walk you home.’

She looked at Adam, then at Joe. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Please.’

She sighed. ‘OK, whatever. Let’s just get out of here.’

Adam downed his whisky and pulled his coat on. They said goodbye and made their way through the crowded bar, Molly leading. A few feet from the door, Joe appeared and grabbed her arm.

‘Leaving so soon?’

Molly tried to shrug him off, but he had a tight hold.

‘Let go,’ she said. ‘I’m going home.’

Joe looked at Adam and laughed. ‘With him? Fuck me, your standards have slipped.’

‘Let go of her,’ said Adam, his pulse pounding in his throat.

Joe laughed again. ‘Or what?’

‘Or I’ll make you.’

‘Just leave it,’ said Molly, struggling.

‘Did you hear that, Grantie?’ said Joe as his short-arsed mate appeared next to him.

‘Yeah,’ said Grant, his eyes darting back and forth, the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth.

‘This cunt wants some action.’

‘Why don’t you just leave us alone?’ said Adam.

‘You come into my local and leave with my wife and expect me to hold the fucking door for you?’

‘ Ex — wife,’ said Molly.

‘What’s the problem here?’ It was Roddy at Adam’s side.

‘It’s OK, I’m handling it,’ said Adam.

Joe laughed sarcastically. ‘It’s OK, he’s handling it, so fuck off.’

‘Sounds like you need a lesson in manners,’ said Roddy.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Joe, rolling his eyes. ‘Listen to college boy.’

He released Molly’s arm, then in a swift movement punched both Roddy and Adam square in the face, buckling them over. He kneed Adam under the chin, knocking him off his feet, then rained punches down on the back of Roddy’s head, Molly grabbing his arm but failing to stop the blows.

Luke arrived and shoved Joe off balance, enough for Ethan to pull Roddy out of reach. Adam looked up and shuffled backwards as Molly and Ash helped him up. Joe and Grant glared at them.

‘You lot, out.’ It was the barman, pointing at Adam and the rest.

‘He started it,’ said Roddy, holding his nose.

The barman was nonplussed. ‘Doesn’t matter. I want you out.’

‘You can’t bar me,’ said Ash. ‘I fucking work here.’

‘You and Molly can stay, those four are leaving.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Adam, wheezing and rubbing his chin.

‘Let’s just go,’ said Molly, leading Adam to the door.

The whole pub watched.

‘Run along now,’ Joe hissed between his teeth, fists clenched at his side.

As Roddy passed, Joe dummied a headbutt, sniggering as Roddy flinched.

‘You better hope I never see you cunts again,’ said Joe. ‘I won’t go so easy on you next time.’

‘Well, this is me.’

Adam’s heart sank. They’d only walked a couple of minutes; he wanted more time with her. They stood outside a small brownstone terraced house on the Back Road behind the bay, Gillespie nameplate on the door. The others had gone back to the B amp;B where Roddy had more coke and three bottles of Ardbeg single cask stashed. Adam grimaced as he fingered the two Viagra that Roddy had slipped into his pocket.

Molly smiled. ‘How’s the nose?’

‘Just a scratch,’ he said, raising a hand to it.

‘It’s still bleeding,’ she said. ‘Christ, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Yes it is, I married the arsehole.’

Adam laughed and a bubble of snotty blood popped from his nose. ‘Aw, shit.’

‘You’d better come in till that stops bleeding.’

‘It’s fine.’

Molly fished keys out of her bag and opened the door.

‘Come on,’ she nodded inside. ‘I’ve got a thirty-year-old sherry-butt Laphroaig needs drinking.’

‘Ninety-seven bottling?’

‘The very same.’

‘Well, in that case.’

He followed her to the living room and she fetched the whisky. The decor was old-fashioned, patterned wallpaper, saggy sofas, mahogany display cabinets. There were framed pictures of Molly and Ash as kids, then as young women smiling with an old couple.

‘Mum and Dad,’ said Molly, handing him a glass of dark amber.

‘This their house?’

‘It was,’ said Molly, touching the picture. ‘They’re dead.’

‘Shit, sorry.’

Molly shrugged. ‘Mum got cancer two years ago. At least it was quick. Six weeks after diagnosis she was gone.’

Adam shifted awkwardly.

‘Dad drank himself to death not long after,’ said Molly. ‘Easy to do on this island. They found him on the beach one morning after a skinful.’

‘Christ, Molly, I’m so sorry.’

‘You’ve nothing to feel sorry about.’ She looked at him. ‘Your folks still alive, then?’