Breakfast on Pluto by Patrick McCabe Read Free Book Online

God.
    Melty-eyed Irwin ate a handful of chips and gave me the peace sign. ‘Wait till you hear him on the bass. Rob Strong is a fucking genius, man – I’m telling you!’ Across
the town the Plattermen answered him with a piledriving Afro-Cuban number. As Irwin joined Charlie on the table and they both took the bottle-mike for Santana’s ‘Oye Como Va!’,
managing ten whole seconds before the Italian owner came running with a screech – as Jojo’s eyes at last met mine and did his face go – whoosh!
    *
    How the dancehall fight started I haven’t the faintest idea, to be honest with you! I do seem to remember someone pulling my sleeve and enquiring as to my gender. After
that, all I remember is: ‘ Skree! ’, and the women losing their minds as the bikers tried to get a kick at me. You can picture the scene, I’m sure – leather jackets,
hefty boots and ‘Kill the hooring nancy queen!’ As out of nowhere comes a vision! Jojo! I can’t believe my eyes! My not-so-secret admirer with fists now squared and, lit with
drink, ready to tackle them, one by one!
    ‘Leave him alone! Fucking leave him alone! He’s a Tyreelin man!’
    Did he beat them up, each and every one? Well – not quite! Though definitely managed to scare them away! And then does what? Goes all coy and slinks away – as if suddenly a
stranger!
    Except not to me, by a long shot – no! Old Puss a favour just does not forget!
    ‘Come back!’ I called after him. ‘Jojo!’ Adding, in a whisper – ‘Darling.’
    ‘What happened?’ Irwin squeaked, coming up for air – some soldier! (It was Jojo the IRA should have recruited – not him!)
    As through the streets I then did wander, searching for that heart of mine – Jojo Sweetness, saviour of his girly! Running him to earth in the alleyway by the New Pin Cleaners my heart
skipping a beat and, truly, little tears coming misting to my eyes as his hand I took, not a word between us whispered as I touched it – so cold and sweaty-fearful? – and nibbled gently
on his earlobe. ‘Thank you so much,’ I murmured and mascared eyelashes permitted droop a little. How could he be so afraid?
    ‘It’s OK, Jojo. It’s OK, pet!’ I said and then was gone, a kiss blown back across the night now quiet. Along with three mimed and simple words: ‘ I love
you .’
    ‘Where the fuck were you? We were searching everywhere for you!’ bawled Irwin Smash-the-State when I got back. Charlie was reading The Mersey Sound to a telegraph pole.
    ‘Oh, nowhere, Irwin, honey!’ I beamed, utterly consumed by the proud, exquisite, giddy tremor of a girl who knows she’s loved!

Chapter Fourteen

A Head on Him Like Barney Gillis’s Cockerel
    It was an ordinary midweek afternoon in early summer in the town of Tyreelin. Eamon Faircroft had been dead some months now and already time had begun its healing work on the
soul of Patrick Pussy. Obviously he would never forget the man with whom he had spent such a short but beautiful time, occasionally, as he sat there on the summer seat, feeling the corners of his
mouth begin to twitch and behind his eyes a little glitter-twinkle starting as he recalled some joke that Eamon had told him, or an idiosyncratic story they had shared on the way to Enniskillen
where they dined out every Sunday. But now, he realized, it was over and there was nothing for him but to pack his bags once and for all.
    Especially when he was unceremoniously thrown out of his abode, fag-puffing workmen hammering planks across the door as Puss she weepily waved goodbye.
    ‘What you’re doing, you’ll never know!’ she said. ‘The memories this place holds!’
    ‘Oh, fuck off, Mrs Braden!’ bawled one of them and chased him with a plank.
    ‘In trouble again?’ laughed Pat McGrane (old classmate) as he pulled up in his Anglia, on his way across the border to see his girlfriend.
    ‘’Fraid so, Pat!’ simpered a tattered Puss as off went Pat tooting his horn.
    Fortunately, for all the