James Kelman - Greyhound for Breakfast

Oanny was getting pushed by some cunt, right on the shoulder, pushing him. Cut it out, he grunted then opened his eyes. Fat Stanley was grinning down at him. Alec’s done the business, he was saying, Come on! Wake up!

The chemmy had finished right enough, the chairs been shifted back from the big horseshoe table and everybody stood about the place chatting. Across at the empty fireplace Alec was in company with a couple of people. Oanny closed his eyes again but opened them immediately. Fat Stanley had said he would be back in a minute and was making his way towards the serving hatch in the snacks area, walking in that funny way he had, as if wanting not to be seen but knowing he was going to get found out. He paused to say something to Alec and then to Victor — Victor with the fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, on the fringes of the company as usual and trying hard to look lackadaisical about everything, but anybody who knew him could tell his nerves were just as shot to fuck as ever.

The smell of soup.

Last orders had already been given in to Ellen and some of the guys were sitting with their bowls, dipping in slices of unbuttered bread, slurping quickly in case the saturated bits fell onto the table top. The place was full of tables. The horseshoe one where the chemmy was played but a great many weer ones too, and not all of them were circular. In the snacks area two huge bench-type tables stood side by side and about forty or more bodies could have sat roundabout in comfort. Not a single table was covered. They all looked ancient. Initials, slogans and dates and stuff had been knifed into them, grime was embedded in the carvings. If you dug in a fingernail it would bring out thick lengths of it. An in-joke circulated: if you were described as ‘definitely hungry’ it meant you had been spotted eating a chunk of bread after it had fallen onto the top of the table.

Oanny was raking about in the pockets of his coat and jacket. Glancing beneath the table he saw a can of lager. It was open. He lifted it and gave it a shake, then swallowed the dregs without checking to see if it had been used as a makeshift ashtray. He shuddered and smacked his lips, wiped the corners of his mouth with his hand, began searching through his pockets again. It attracted Victor’s attention and he signalled he was needing a smoke. Victor frowned and kidded on he did not understand but then he drew a few steps over to him and muttered, You’ve fucking got some.

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.