A Decent Ride Read Online Free Page B

past them, bound for Leith Docks. Terry senses Maggie is quickly going off any boil she might have been on, but thankfully, a cab approaches, driven by Cliff Blades, a drinking friend of Terry’s from the Taxi Club in Powderhall. — Hop in, Terry! Blades cheerfully sings in his English accent, before he notices their demeanour, dress and locale, and puts two and two together. — Ah . . . you’ve been at the crematorium . . . sorry for your loss. Anyone close?
    — Naw, it wis the cemetery, ay. Aye, her uncle, Terry sombrely nods to Maggie, — and a very close pal ay mine. Maggie, this is ma mate Bladesey, and he forces levity into his tone. — Dinnae get him started on Scottish nationalism, for fuck’s sake.
    — Scottish
independence
please, Bladesey ticks.
    — No, I won’t be doing that, she says pointedly.
    Cliff Blades, despite being English, is a keen advocate of Scottish independence, while Maggie, though privately convinced of the argument, still holds the Labour Party whip in the council chambers.
    Bladesey is known to be discreet and drops Terry and Maggie off at her place in Craigleith. Terry is surprised how rampant she is, how Maggie leads him straight to the bedroom without any pleasantries. Surely he couldn’t have expected her to be the chaste, demure teenager he’d encountered in this scenario all those years back? It seems that Maggie is just pleased to get a bit of solid cock inside her, with no questions asked. He’d heard the split from this Colin guy had been long and protracted. Now with her daughter at university, she can let rip again.
    And they do, with gusto.
    Later, as they are lying in bed, and Terry is looking at his watch, wondering how long it will take him to get another erection after just spending himself (he reckons somewhere between three and four minutes), they hear the sound of the key in the door coming from downstairs.
    — What . . . Maggie sits up, torn out of a satisfying post-coital doze, — what’s that . . .?
    — Some cunt’s in the hoose, Terry says. — You expecting anybody?
    — Nuht . . . Maggie is out of the bed and into a robe. Terry follows, pulling himself into his grey trousers. Used to leisurewear, the material feels strange against him.
    On going downstairs, Maggie immediately heads into the open-plan kitchen and sees her daughter Amber, making a sandwich. — What . . . I thought you were in Glasgow, at the university . . .
    — I’ve come home for Lacey’s twenty-first this weekend. Amber briefly looks up.
    — I’ve been at my uncle Alec’s funeral; I was just having a lie-down . . .
    — Evidently, Amber snorts, as she sees a bare-chested Terry appear behind her mother.
    Maggie is torn. Part of her just doesn’t want her daughter to see her like this, while another part tries, in futility, to stress to herself that it’s no big deal. — I . . . we . . .
    — Mum, what you do with your life is your business. Really. She looks at Terry.
    — Terry. Ah’m . . . eh, I’m an old friend of your mother’s.
    — That’s also pretty apparent, Amber says. There is a charge in her voice, and Maggie can’t make out whether it is because her daughter disapproves, or is hostile to any assumption on her part that she might. — Well, I’m going to stay at Kim’s and give you guys some space.
    — Nae need, ah’m just off. Shift on the taxis, ay. Nice tae see ye, Scarlett.
    — I’m Amber.
    — Sorry, wrong colour, Terry grins, and heads back up the stairs.
    After a spell, Maggie follows him into the bedroom, where she finds him putting on his shirt and buttoning it. — Fuck!
    — She’s a tidy young lassie. A credit tae ye, Terry says, pulling on his jacket.
    Maggie sees the glint in his eye. — Don’t even think about it!
    — What dae ye take ays for! Never crossed ma mind, Terry protests. He is never as convincing as when he is blatantly lying, and despite a lifetime spent in council chambers, Maggie just about buys it.
    Terry calls Bladesey