Read Online Agnes Owens by Agnes Owens - Free Book Online Page A

off and all was quiet again. Flossie was grateful. He asked if I would like a job as a bouncer. ‘Naw, but I’ll have a double whisky.’
    When I returned home my mother was watching the telly as usual.
    â€˜Some carry on that wis,’ she said. ‘Ye’ll no’ catch me in one o’ these lounges again.’
    â€˜It was a’ your fault anyway.’
    She was amazed, ‘My fault!’
    â€˜If it hudny been for the fact that ye were encouragin’ Proctor Mallion I wouldny have taken ye to the Paxton. I thought ye must be havin’ a right dreary time when ye took up wi’ a character like him.’
    She appeared to be so stunned that she became breathless. Finally she said, ‘Me, takin’ up wi’ Proctor! The only reason he was in the hoose wis because I wis sellin’ him that set o’ tools lyin’ under yer bed. They’ve been lyin’ there for ages an’ I could never get cleanin’ the room right because o’ them. I only got a fiver but it was well worth it tae get rid o’ them.’
    â€˜Wait a minute,’ I said, scarcely able to credit my ears. ‘You didny gie him ma set o’ tools that took me two years tae pay up when I wis an apprentice brickie?’
    â€˜Well, ye never had them oot the box as far as I can remember.’
    â€˜Ye don’t understand,’ I said slowly, my head beginning to ache. ‘Ye never use yer own tools if ye can help it. Ye always nick somebody else’s. If ye took yer own tools they wid jist get nicked.’
    She was unperturbed. ‘How should I know that?’ Then she had the cheek to add, ‘How’s aboot makin’ a cup o’ tea?’
    â€˜Get lost!’ I replied.

Up Country
    C ome this particular Saturday, a day I normally look forward to with great enthusiasm, I lost interest in the usual programme. Maybe I was becoming too aware of increasing pressures. All Friday night’s talk had seemed loaded to me. Usually discussions go above my head unless I’m personally involved, but phrases like ‘Are ye lookin’ for trouble’, ‘Stick the heid on him’ or ‘He’s only a Tim’ pierced through my ears and stuck in my brain until, for no apparent reason to anyone, I threw a glass at the mirror behind the bar.
    â€˜Bouncer!’ shrieked Flossie.
    I walked out voluntarily to save any bother. So here I was on Saturday morning heading for a bus to take me to the splendours of the west away from alcoholic fumes and unreliable moods.
    Collie Lumsden and a mate were sitting on the wall at the bus stance. Collie used to work beside me on the building sites until he gave it all up to be a full-time alcoholic.
    â€˜Where are ye gaun?’ he called.
    I replied, ‘Up country.’ At present I was not on the same wavelength as him and did not fancy his company. To cover up I asked civilly, ‘Waitin’ for the boozer tae open?’
    He nodded then offered me a can of lager. Collie always took it for granted everyone was gasping for a drink. Usually he was right. Reluctantly I took the can, wishing the bus would hurry before I was sucked back into my familar social life.
    â€˜That’s an idea,’ he said with inspiration. He turned to his mate, ‘We’ll get the bus up tae the Clansman. It should be open by thetime we get there.’ I was fed up. I could see how things were going.
    Luckily his mate replied, ‘Don’t be daft. You are barred in the Clansman.’
    Collie was incredulous. ‘For Christ’s sake, when wis I barred?’
    â€˜Dae ye no’ mind dancin’ on tap o’ the table when ye wir last there? Then they pit ye oot.’
    â€˜Christ,’ repeated Collie, dismayed, ‘I don’t mind that. Maybe ye’re right.’
    The bus moved into the stance. Thankfully I got on, and bumped into a big fella who was getting on at the same time. He stood back