thing to say.
He decides to keep it light. — How come ye brought them up tae be Jambos?
Elspeth looks at him in mild dismay. — Greg’s dad takes them to Tynecastle.
— Our family was eywis Hibs. Tradition, ay.
Elspeth openly scoffs at him. — You can fuckin sit there wi a straight face and talk about our family? Aboot traditions? You, whae spent maist ay yir life in the jail, then just ran away tae California. She ramps up her anger. He looks at the glass in her hand. Wagers it isn’t the first of the day. — Where were you to take your nephews, or even your ain sons, where were you to take them anywhere ? Elspeth’s bile spills from her. — Did their uncle Frank ever take them to Hibs?
— Fair comment, Franco concedes, picking at a lace on his trainers. — I just thought that with us having a Hibs background you might have dug your heels in a bit, that’s aw.
— What? Like ah gie a fuck about any ay that pish. She scowls at him. — I see what you’re daein, Frank. I see what you’ve become. You’re the same evil bastard but you’ve justlearned to control your anger. I can see it in your eyes, the same murderous, selfish killer’s eyes –
Breathe . . .
Franco finds himself bristling, as a volcanic rage wells up in him. That same shite Tyrone had come out wi, the nonsense about ma eyes. One . . . two . . . three . . . — What are you talking about? He shakes his head, lets himself fall back into the chair. — Your eyes are your eyes! Relax and enjoy the joust. If you lose your cool first, you lose. — How can I change my eyes? Ye want me to wear zombie contact lenses or something?
— You’re worse. Elspeth takes another sip of gin. — You’ve learned how tae be sneaky and manipulative. At least when you couldnae control that rage ye were honest.
Frank Begbie draws in another deep breath and drops his voice. — So if I freak oot and smash the place up . . . he looks around the comfortable room, — . . . that would be me being honest ? But if I try and talk things through with people, then I’m a psycho? You’re no making any sense, Elspeth, he snorts dismissively, pointing at her drink on the coffee table between them. — That’s a big glass ay gin, hen. Maybe you want tae ease up. Your old man’s daughter?
Elspeth is stung by the remark. An awareness that you are drinking too much is one thing, but another party openly registering it is a different matter. She thinks about Greg, and wonders how much he has picked up on. Surely not the boys . . .
She raises her head to see her brother looking at her, as if he’s read her thoughts. Franco might have been fearsomewhen he exploded but he was always scariest when he nursed his wrath, keeping his powder dry. That simmering incubation had never lasted long, it had always been beyond him to prevent his molten anger erupting, but now it seems to her that he’s mastered that art. In Elspeth’s mind this makes him even more dangerous. The air is thick with a veil of threat. She has never felt that directly from Frank before, despite witnessing him administering violence to other family members, notably Joe.
Frank breaks the silence, gets to his feet, standing over her with a strange smile. — But then mibbe if your ain life was a wee bit more fulfilling you might no drink so much. Just putting that out there, he says, dissolving into unselfconscious American, and wandering through to his room.
On the bedside cabinet, the Tesco phone is now displaying 100 per cent charge, but Franco finds that he can’t open it. — Unbelievable, he says to himself, drawing in a deep breath, and opting to relax by lying on the bed, reading A Clockwork Orange on his Kindle. He recalls seeing the movie of it in his youth. Reading is a struggle, but a rewarding one, as his mind works the pulsing symbols into sounds, then rhythms in his head. Don’t read books, sing them , was the breakthrough advice he’d been given by the specialist in prison.
There
He decides to keep it light. — How come ye brought them up tae be Jambos?
Elspeth looks at him in mild dismay. — Greg’s dad takes them to Tynecastle.
— Our family was eywis Hibs. Tradition, ay.
Elspeth openly scoffs at him. — You can fuckin sit there wi a straight face and talk about our family? Aboot traditions? You, whae spent maist ay yir life in the jail, then just ran away tae California. She ramps up her anger. He looks at the glass in her hand. Wagers it isn’t the first of the day. — Where were you to take your nephews, or even your ain sons, where were you to take them anywhere ? Elspeth’s bile spills from her. — Did their uncle Frank ever take them to Hibs?
— Fair comment, Franco concedes, picking at a lace on his trainers. — I just thought that with us having a Hibs background you might have dug your heels in a bit, that’s aw.
— What? Like ah gie a fuck about any ay that pish. She scowls at him. — I see what you’re daein, Frank. I see what you’ve become. You’re the same evil bastard but you’ve justlearned to control your anger. I can see it in your eyes, the same murderous, selfish killer’s eyes –
Breathe . . .
Franco finds himself bristling, as a volcanic rage wells up in him. That same shite Tyrone had come out wi, the nonsense about ma eyes. One . . . two . . . three . . . — What are you talking about? He shakes his head, lets himself fall back into the chair. — Your eyes are your eyes! Relax and enjoy the joust. If you lose your cool first, you lose. — How can I change my eyes? Ye want me to wear zombie contact lenses or something?
— You’re worse. Elspeth takes another sip of gin. — You’ve learned how tae be sneaky and manipulative. At least when you couldnae control that rage ye were honest.
Frank Begbie draws in another deep breath and drops his voice. — So if I freak oot and smash the place up . . . he looks around the comfortable room, — . . . that would be me being honest ? But if I try and talk things through with people, then I’m a psycho? You’re no making any sense, Elspeth, he snorts dismissively, pointing at her drink on the coffee table between them. — That’s a big glass ay gin, hen. Maybe you want tae ease up. Your old man’s daughter?
Elspeth is stung by the remark. An awareness that you are drinking too much is one thing, but another party openly registering it is a different matter. She thinks about Greg, and wonders how much he has picked up on. Surely not the boys . . .
She raises her head to see her brother looking at her, as if he’s read her thoughts. Franco might have been fearsomewhen he exploded but he was always scariest when he nursed his wrath, keeping his powder dry. That simmering incubation had never lasted long, it had always been beyond him to prevent his molten anger erupting, but now it seems to her that he’s mastered that art. In Elspeth’s mind this makes him even more dangerous. The air is thick with a veil of threat. She has never felt that directly from Frank before, despite witnessing him administering violence to other family members, notably Joe.
Frank breaks the silence, gets to his feet, standing over her with a strange smile. — But then mibbe if your ain life was a wee bit more fulfilling you might no drink so much. Just putting that out there, he says, dissolving into unselfconscious American, and wandering through to his room.
On the bedside cabinet, the Tesco phone is now displaying 100 per cent charge, but Franco finds that he can’t open it. — Unbelievable, he says to himself, drawing in a deep breath, and opting to relax by lying on the bed, reading A Clockwork Orange on his Kindle. He recalls seeing the movie of it in his youth. Reading is a struggle, but a rewarding one, as his mind works the pulsing symbols into sounds, then rhythms in his head. Don’t read books, sing them , was the breakthrough advice he’d been given by the specialist in prison.
There
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