The Papers of Tony Veitch by William McIlvanney

son. Come in. Mickey, is it? Ah’ll make a cuppa tea. We’re just finished. Gus comes every Saturday fur his dinner. Then Ah know he’s gettin’ at least wan good meal in the week. Ah don’t know why he canny stay here a’ thegither. But that’s the young yins nowadays.’
    â€˜Ah know whit ye mean,’ Mickey Ballater said.
    â€˜Ma. Don’t bother wi’ tea. We’re on our way somewhere. We were passin’ an’ we jist came in to settle an argument. Ah told ’im ma brother’s a genius. He would know.’
    Gus realised that his brother was improvising desperately, didn’t know what to say next. Hook Hawkins noticed that the doorway to the balcony was open and continued talking.
    â€˜Look, we’ll no’ disturb ma Da’s telly. We’ll nip out on the balcony. Okay, Gus?’
    He went out onto the balcony, followed by Mickey Ballater.
    â€˜Fair view, innit?’ he said.
    â€˜No’ bad at all.’
    Gus put down his book slowly. He looked at his mother and couldn’t be sure whether her expression was what she really felt or a determined cover-up. It seemed to suggest her older son was an awful wag. Gus crossed and stepped out onto the balcony.
    Three was a crowd out there. It was thirteen storeys up and Mickey Ballater seemed impressed.
    â€˜Never seen the Gorbals from this high up. Seen it from doon there, right enough. Surprised how wee it is. When Ah wis in among it, Ah thought it went on forever. Ah suppose this is progress, eh?’
    Gus said nothing. Half of his head was still dealing with Aimé Césaire’s Return to my Native Land . He hadn’t worked out how he came to be standing on the balcony of his parents’ house with his brother and another heavy. He was waiting to catch up with events.
    â€˜Gus,’ Hook said. ‘Mickey wants to ask you about Tony.’
    â€˜Tony who?’
    â€˜Come on, Gus. Tony Veitch.’
    â€˜Tony Veitch? What’s this about?’
    â€˜Tony Veitch,’ Mickey said.
    â€˜What’s he to you?’
    â€˜Money,’ Mickey said. ‘That’s what he is. Just money.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜He owes me money.’
    â€˜Tony owes you money?’
    â€˜Ah’ve come a long way,’ Mickey said. ‘It’s gettin’ to feel longer. Ah didn’t do it for nothin’. He owes me money.’
    Gus saw his father still watching television, his mother clearing up. The programme was an old film on BBC2, a grey actor talking nonsense to a grey actress listening nonsensically. It was the kind of film about which the clever Sunday papers would find something clever to say, like ‘a delicate sense of period’ or ‘survives in spite of itself’. It was just crap, a lot of people making what money they could in the way they knew best.
    Gus felt angry. Why was his father watching it? He had had a life more harrowing than any of their melodramas. And he hadn’t once seen what had happened to him shown on that screen. Gus saw his parents in cameo, peripheral to this moment, peripheral to their own sons, frozen into decoration. He resented it. His anger spilled over.
    â€˜What’s this about?’ he said to his brother.
    â€˜Mickey’s just askin’ a question,’ Hook said. ‘Where’s Tony Veitch?’
    â€˜Naw.’ Gus was staring at his brother. ‘What’s this about?’
    â€˜Where’s Tony Veitch?’ Mickey said.
    Gus didn’t look at him.
    â€˜I’m talking to my brother,’ he said. ‘What’s this about?’
    â€˜Gus,’ Hook Hawkins said. ‘People are lookin’ for Tony.’
    Gus looked at his parents a moment.
    â€˜Why don’t you organise gang-fights in the kitchen?’ he said. ‘You bring a hoodlum to ma mammy’s house?’
    â€˜Listen,’ Mickey said.
    â€˜Naw. You listen.’ Gus Hawkins