Read Online The Barbershop Seven by Douglas Lindsay - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Douglas Lindsay
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'I can't believe you're serious.'
'Why not? They're bastards, aren't they? You says so yourself. Especially yon Fenian, Porter.'
'Wullie's worse.'
She looked sad, downcast. 'I don't know. A good Protestant lad gone wrong.'
Barney gazed upon his mother with wonder. That her mind was now undoubtedly caught in a tangled web of senility was completely lost upon him, so delighted was he to find an enthusiast. He was about to broach the subject of poison, when she realised that the adverts had long since finished. She held up her hand and returned her gaze to the television.
The presenter, an annoying curly-haired man with thick Yorkshire accent, was holding up a gigantic pair of shorts, festooned with numerous revolting stains. A caption at the bottom of the screen gave a choice of four celebrities. The giggling girl, all lipstick and false breasts, partnered by Lionel Blair, pressed the buzzer, giggling some more. 'Pavarotti!' she ejaculated, and with a 'Good guess luv, but not correct this time. A big hand for that try though, ladies and gentlemen', from the presenter, the audience erupted.
And so the show continued for another ten minutes, before with a 'thanks for watching, ladies and gentlemen, please tune in next week when once more it will be time to Name That Stain!', it was over. Cemolina lowered the volume again, turned back to Barney, the look of the easily satisfied on her face.
'So, you're going to blow their heads off?' she said, her look giving a stamp of approval.
Barney stroked his chin in murderous contemplation. 'I was, eh, thinking of poison. D'you know anything about it?'
Cemolina grabbed the arms of the chair, lifting herself up an inch or two. She was a slight woman, but still she presented an imposing figure, especially to the weak son.
'Poison!' she shrieked. 'Poison, did I hear you say?'
Barney flummoxed about in his seat for a second, a landed fish. Recovered his composure enough to speak, although not enough to stop himself looking like a flapping haddock.
'What's wrong with poison?'
Her head shook like a tent in the wind. 'It's womany for a start. You'd have to be a big jessie to want to poison somebody. Did I bring you up as a girl? Well, did I?'
'No, mum,' he said.
'No, you're damned right I didn't. Act like a man, for pity's sake. You've got to give it laldie, Barney, none of this poison keich. Blow their heads off. Carpet the floor with their brains. Or get a hammer and smash their heads to smithereens.'
'Mum!' There was a growing look of incredulity on his face, horror in his voice. He had long known that everyone had their dark half, but he'd never really thought that everyone included his own mother.
Cemolina looked aghast. 'You want them dead, don't you? You says so yourself, so what are you blethering about?'
'Aye, aye, I do, but something simple. I don't like mess.'
She screwed up her face, waved a desultory hand. 'Well, I didn't think you'd be that much of a big poof. I just thought that if you were going to do it, you might as well have some fun while you're about it.'
Barney looked at his mother with some distaste. Maybe she was mad. But then, it had been him who'd been thinking about killing them in the first place. She had merely added some enthusiasm to the project.
'Ach, I don't know, mother. I'll have to think about it. I certainly don't think that I could beat anybody's head to a pulp.'
She scowled at him and turned her attention back to the television to see which quiz show would be on next.
'I cannot believe you're being such a big jessie. Your father would've been black affronted, so he would,' she said, turning the volume back up. 'Black affronted.'
'Yes, mum,' said Barney.
He couldn't do it. Not anything violent. He knew he couldn't. Perhaps, however, he could get someone else to do it for him. A hired hand. There was a thought. And as the opening strains of Give Us A Disease started up, he sank further into the soft folds of the settee and lost
'I can't believe you're serious.'
'Why not? They're bastards, aren't they? You says so yourself. Especially yon Fenian, Porter.'
'Wullie's worse.'
She looked sad, downcast. 'I don't know. A good Protestant lad gone wrong.'
Barney gazed upon his mother with wonder. That her mind was now undoubtedly caught in a tangled web of senility was completely lost upon him, so delighted was he to find an enthusiast. He was about to broach the subject of poison, when she realised that the adverts had long since finished. She held up her hand and returned her gaze to the television.
The presenter, an annoying curly-haired man with thick Yorkshire accent, was holding up a gigantic pair of shorts, festooned with numerous revolting stains. A caption at the bottom of the screen gave a choice of four celebrities. The giggling girl, all lipstick and false breasts, partnered by Lionel Blair, pressed the buzzer, giggling some more. 'Pavarotti!' she ejaculated, and with a 'Good guess luv, but not correct this time. A big hand for that try though, ladies and gentlemen', from the presenter, the audience erupted.
And so the show continued for another ten minutes, before with a 'thanks for watching, ladies and gentlemen, please tune in next week when once more it will be time to Name That Stain!', it was over. Cemolina lowered the volume again, turned back to Barney, the look of the easily satisfied on her face.
'So, you're going to blow their heads off?' she said, her look giving a stamp of approval.
Barney stroked his chin in murderous contemplation. 'I was, eh, thinking of poison. D'you know anything about it?'
Cemolina grabbed the arms of the chair, lifting herself up an inch or two. She was a slight woman, but still she presented an imposing figure, especially to the weak son.
'Poison!' she shrieked. 'Poison, did I hear you say?'
Barney flummoxed about in his seat for a second, a landed fish. Recovered his composure enough to speak, although not enough to stop himself looking like a flapping haddock.
'What's wrong with poison?'
Her head shook like a tent in the wind. 'It's womany for a start. You'd have to be a big jessie to want to poison somebody. Did I bring you up as a girl? Well, did I?'
'No, mum,' he said.
'No, you're damned right I didn't. Act like a man, for pity's sake. You've got to give it laldie, Barney, none of this poison keich. Blow their heads off. Carpet the floor with their brains. Or get a hammer and smash their heads to smithereens.'
'Mum!' There was a growing look of incredulity on his face, horror in his voice. He had long known that everyone had their dark half, but he'd never really thought that everyone included his own mother.
Cemolina looked aghast. 'You want them dead, don't you? You says so yourself, so what are you blethering about?'
'Aye, aye, I do, but something simple. I don't like mess.'
She screwed up her face, waved a desultory hand. 'Well, I didn't think you'd be that much of a big poof. I just thought that if you were going to do it, you might as well have some fun while you're about it.'
Barney looked at his mother with some distaste. Maybe she was mad. But then, it had been him who'd been thinking about killing them in the first place. She had merely added some enthusiasm to the project.
'Ach, I don't know, mother. I'll have to think about it. I certainly don't think that I could beat anybody's head to a pulp.'
She scowled at him and turned her attention back to the television to see which quiz show would be on next.
'I cannot believe you're being such a big jessie. Your father would've been black affronted, so he would,' she said, turning the volume back up. 'Black affronted.'
'Yes, mum,' said Barney.
He couldn't do it. Not anything violent. He knew he couldn't. Perhaps, however, he could get someone else to do it for him. A hired hand. There was a thought. And as the opening strains of Give Us A Disease started up, he sank further into the soft folds of the settee and lost
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