Smokeheads by Doug Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

tongue stuck between his teeth.
    ‘This cunt wants some action.’
    ‘Why don’t you just leave us alone?’ said Adam.
    ‘You come into my local and leave with my wife and expect me to hold the fucking door for you?’
    ‘ Ex -wife,’ said Molly.
    ‘What’s the problem here?’ It was Roddy at Adam’s side.
    ‘It’s OK, I’m handling it,’ said Adam.
    Joe laughed sarcastically. ‘It’s OK, he’s handling it, so fuck off.’
    ‘Sounds like you need a lesson in manners,’ said Roddy.
    ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Joe, rolling his eyes. ‘Listen to college boy.’
    He released Molly’s arm, then in a swift movement punched both Roddy and Adam square in the face, buckling them over. He kneed Adam under the chin, knocking him off his feet, then rained punches down on the back of Roddy’s head, Molly grabbing his arm but failing to stop the blows.
    Luke arrived and shoved Joe off balance, enough for Ethan to pull Roddy out of reach. Adam looked up and shuffled backwards as Molly and Ash helped him up. Joe and Grant glared at them.
    ‘You lot, out.’ It was the barman, pointing at Adam and the rest.
    ‘He started it,’ said Roddy, holding his nose.
    The barman was nonplussed. ‘Doesn’t matter. I want you out.’
    ‘You can’t bar me,’ said Ash. ‘I fucking work here.’
    ‘You and Molly can stay, those four are leaving.’
    ‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Adam, wheezing and rubbing his chin.
    ‘Let’s just go,’ said Molly, leading Adam to the door.
    The whole pub watched.
    ‘Run along now,’ Joe hissed between his teeth, fists clenched at his side.
    As Roddy passed, Joe dummied a headbutt, sniggering as Roddy flinched.
    ‘You better hope I never see you cunts again,’ said Joe. ‘I won’t go so easy on you next time.’

11
     
     
    ‘Well, this is me.’
    Adam’s heart sank. They’d only walked a couple of minutes; he wanted more time with her. They stood outside a small brownstone terraced house on the Back Road behind the bay, Gillespie nameplate on the door. The others had gone back to the B&B where Roddy had more coke and three bottles of Ardbeg single cask stashed. Adam grimaced as he fingered the two Viagra that Roddy had slipped into his pocket.
    Molly smiled. ‘How’s the nose?’
    ‘Just a scratch,’ he said, raising a hand to it.
    ‘It’s still bleeding,’ she said. ‘Christ, I’m sorry.’
    ‘It’s not your fault.’
    ‘Yes it is, I married the arsehole.’
    Adam laughed and a bubble of snotty blood popped from his nose. ‘Aw, shit.’
    ‘You’d better come in till that stops bleeding.’
    ‘It’s fine.’
    Molly fished keys out of her bag and opened the door.
    ‘Come on,’ she nodded inside. ‘I’ve got a thirty-year-old sherry-butt Laphroaig needs drinking.’
    ‘Ninety-seven bottling?’
    ‘The very same.’
    ‘Well, in that case.’
    He followed her to the living room and she fetched the whisky. The decor was old-fashioned, patterned wallpaper, saggy sofas, mahogany display cabinets. There were framed pictures of Molly and Ash as kids, then as young women smiling with an old couple.
    ‘Mum and Dad,’ said Molly, handing him a glass of dark amber.
    ‘This their house?’
    ‘It was,’ said Molly, touching the picture. ‘They’re dead.’
    ‘Shit, sorry.’
    Molly shrugged. ‘Mum got cancer two years ago. At least it was quick. Six weeks after diagnosis she was gone.’
    Adam shifted awkwardly.
    ‘Dad drank himself to death not long after,’ said Molly. ‘Easy to do on this island. They found him on the beach one morning after a skinful.’
    ‘Christ, Molly, I’m so sorry.’
    ‘You’ve nothing to feel sorry about.’ She looked at him. ‘Your folks still alive, then?’
    ‘My dad is, my mum died from a stroke ten years ago.’
    He felt a tingle as she touched his arm, and thought about the last time he’d seen his dad. Christmas lunch just the two of them, his wee sister unable to make it back from whatever glamorous shit she was