The Barbershop Seven by Douglas Lindsay Read Free Book Online

becoming suspicious?
    Without any further stabs of conscience, Barney tucked into his pie, chips and peas, all the time plotting his wild revenge. It was sad that it had to come to this, he thought, but they had brought it upon themselves. Particularly that bastard Wullie.
    Another thought occurred. Perhaps he could poison some of the customers as well. They were asking for it, most of them. He got carried away for a second on a rollercoaster of genocide. Calmed down. He was Barney Thomson, barber, not Barney Pot, deranged dictator. Still, the thought was there, if it ever became necessary. A lot of them deserved it, that was for sure.
    His mind began to wander to a grand vision where he was in the shop with two other barbers, neither of whom anyone would go to, while there sat a great queue of people all waiting for him. He would take three quarters of an hour over every haircut, and annoy as many of them as possible. Heaven.
    He was reluctantly hauled from his dreams by the telephone. He stopped, a forkful of chips poised on the cusp of his mouth, and looked at Agnes. Her eyes remained glued to the television, oblivious to the clatter of the phone.
    'You going to get that, Hen?'
    She scowled. 'Can't. Faith and Puberty are about to have it out with Bliss.'
    Executing his trademark eye rolling and head shaking routine, he tossed the fork onto the plate and stood up to get the phone, hoping it would be a wrong number.
    'What?'
    'Hello Barney, it's me.'
    He breathed a sigh of relief. It was one of the few people from whom he didn't mind receiving a call, his drinking and dominoes partner, Bill Taylor. This would be a call to arms.
    'Oh, hello Bill, how you doing?'
    'Not so bad, not so bad. And you?'
    'Oh, can't complain, can't complain.'
    They discussed trivialities for a few minutes, such as Bill's brother Eric having told his girlfriend Yvonne that he loved Fiona. Finally, however, Bill got to the main item on the agenda.
    'Fancy going out for a few pints the night?' he said.
    'Oh, I don't know, mate. I need to see my mother. She'd be a bit upset if I didn't go. You know what they're like, eh?'
    'Well, how about a couple of pints before you go. I'll meet you down the boozer about half seven, eh?'
    'Aye, that shouldn't be too bad. Can't stay too long though.'
    'Aye, aye.'
    Barney said his goodbyes and trudged back into the sitting room. He tried to ignore the television while he polished off his dinner, then he slumped into the armchair and fell asleep. He dreamt of poison and of long prison sentences and of chain gangs and electric chairs, and then he awoke with a start at just about the time he needed to.
    As he left the house, the aftermath of dinner remained where it had been for over an hour, while Chastity and Hope attempted to bundle Mercury into the boot of a car, in what he assumed to be an entirely different soap from the one he'd suffered earlier.
    'I'm going to the boozer, then Mum's. All right?'
    'Yes, dear.'
    'I'll be back about ten.'
    'Yes, dear'
    He waited for some more reaction, waited in vain, then walked out, slamming the door as he went.
    ***
    'A ye, well that's all very well,' said Bill Taylor, brandishing his pint, 'but who is to categorise depth? Eh? Everyone is capable of depth. Nietzsche said, "Some men consider women to be deep. This is untrue. Women are not even shallow." Well, to me that's a load of mince. Now, I'm no feminist or nothing, but I've got to say, even women can say stuff that's deep too. Most of what they come out with is pants, but it doesn't mean they can't say something intelligent every now and again.'
    Barney nodded in agreement. 'I never realised that you were a student of Nietzsche?'
    Bill grunted, burying his hand in a bowl of peanuts. 'I wouldn't go that far. Obviously I've studied all the great philosophers, but I'm definitely not a fan of Nietzsche.'
    'Me neither. Typical bloody German. Spent his life writing about some kind of master race, then he went off his napper,