Agnes Owens Read Online Free Page A

lolly.’
    â€˜Anyway I’ve pit it in the haunds of ma lawyer.’ His eyes were hard and vengeful.
    Before any more was said the bus rumbled up. Justice wasforgotten. We kicked, jostled and punched to get on, and I was first. Before Willie managed to put his foot on the platform I turned to him saying, ‘I heard it wis McDonald’s dug ye run ower.’
    In his agitation he sagged and was shoved to the back of the queue.
    â€˜That’s enough,’ shouted the hard-faced conductress. The bus drove off leaving Willie stranded.
    â€˜I hear that somebody battered Johnny Morrison last night,’ said my mother conversationally as she dished out the usual indigestible hash that passed for a meal by her standards.
    â€˜Whit’s this then?’ I asked, ignoring the information.
    â€˜Whit dae ye mean “whit’s this”? It’s yer dinner.’
    â€˜I don’t want it.’
    â€˜D’ye know whit I’ve paid for it?’
    â€˜Naw, an’ I don’t want tae.’
    â€˜You really sicken me. Too much money an’ too many Chinese takeaways, that’s your trouble.’
    â€˜Shut up, an’ gies a piece o’ toast.’
    â€˜Oh well, if that’s all ye want then,’ she said, mollified.
    She was very good at toast.
    Then her opening remark dawned on me. ‘Whit wis that ye said aboot Johnny Morrison?’
    She poured out the tea, which flowed from the spout like treacle. ‘Jist as I said. He opened the door aboot eleven at night an’ somebody battered him.’
    â€˜Whit for?’ I asked. I would have seen the connection if it had been Willie.
    â€˜How should I know? He got the polis in but he didny recognise the man. He had a pair o’ tights ower his heid.’
    â€˜Tights,’ I echoed. ‘Do ye no’ mean nylons?’
    Stranger and stranger, I thought. I could hardly see Paddy McDonald wearing either tights or nylons, just to give somebody a doing. Anyway, two odd socks were his usual concession tostyle. And why batter Willie’s brother? Not unless he was out to get the whole family.
    I was soon put out of my bewilderment. On Saturday night I saw Paddy McDonald in the Paxton, swaying like a reed in the wind. His expression was one of benignity for all mankind, but like a bloodhound or his lurcher he spied me straightaway.
    â€˜There ye are son. Here whiddy ye want tae drink?’
    Straightaway I said, ‘A hauf an’ a hauf-pint.’ I was in a reckless mood and heedless of hazards. It was a Saturday, and I was out to enjoy myself. I was going to get bevvied.
    He took a roll of notes from his pocket and waved one of them in the direction of the barman like a flag of victory.
    â€˜You seem to be loaded,’ I said.
    â€˜Aye.’
    â€˜Did somebody kick the bucket and leave you a fortune?’
    â€˜It’s no’ a’ that much,’ he replied modestly. ‘Only twenty pounds.’
    â€˜How dae ye manage tae have that on a Saturday?’ McDonald’s money was usually long gone by that time. He got his dole money on a Friday.
    He was lost in a reverie of happy fulfilment. Before he could make any disclosures Johnny Morrison entered. Both his eyes were a horrible shade of yellowish green and there was a bit of sticking plaster above one of them. McDonald regarded him with concern. ‘That’s a terrible face ye have on ye Johnny.’
    â€˜D’ye think I don’t know. Ye don’t have tae tell me!’ replied Johnny with emotion.
    â€˜Have a drink John,’ said McDonald. ‘Wi’ a face like that ye deserve one.’
    He waved another pound at the barman.
    After doing his duty by Johnny he turned to me and put an arm round my shoulder.
    â€˜I wis really sorry aboot Johnny,’ he whispered.
    â€˜Wis it you that done it then?’
    â€˜Dear God naw, though I know how it happened.’ Dreamily he paused.
    â€˜How?’ Now I