'Nothing much.'
'Still practising the black arts?'
'No, I gave that up. It’s a mug’s game.'
'Never thought I’d hear you say that, Billy boy.'
I raised my drink to my lips, hiding my expression behind the glass and taking a long gulping swig, all the quicker to finish and get out of there.
'Aye, well, it’s true.'
Johnny seemed to have forgotten he had a round of drinks to deliver. He stood there waiting for me to tell him why I’d given up my calling. I let him wait. Johnny Mac had never been good at silences.
'I ran into your mum in the town the other week.' Johnny hesitated waiting for me to say something then broke the pause again. 'She said you’d been not well.'
'I don’t know where she got that from.'
'You’re all right then?'
I held my arms out.
'See for yourself.'
Johnny looked dubious.
'That’s good.'
I forced my face into a smile.
'I’m doing fine, you know what my old dear’s like. I get a cold and she thinks I’m on my bloody deathbed. She’s aye been like that.' I strained the smile wider. 'Like the man said, reports of my death were much exaggerated.'
Johnny nodded, his eyes still on my face.
'Glad to hear it.'
From across the room I caught sight of a slim, dark-haired woman in her late twenties.
Even before she started making her way towards us I knew she was with Johnny. Johnny’s dark curls and quick smile had given him his pick of women, but he’d always gone for good Catholic girls, fresh-faced Madonnas who refused to sleep with him. Johnny had left his faith at the schoolhouse gates, but in those days it seemed that the tenets of the church were destined to rule his sex life. Johnny’s girl was clear-skinned and sober, but her eyes were amused. She slid her hand round his waist, his grin reappeared and I reckoned that after a certain age even good Catholic girls started to put out.
'There’s men at that table complaining their throats are cut.'
Johnny slammed his forehead with the back of his hand.
'I’m sorry, Eilidh love. I ran into William here and he kept me talking.' He flashed me a look. 'He’s a right chatterbox this one.'
Eilidh smiled. She was the staid side of fashionable, her hair long and simple, brushed into a side parting. It was her smile that kept her from being homely. Her smile and her eyes, a violet blue I’d have thought was painted on if I’d seen her on a movie poster. I wondered what she did for a living. Johnny liked them saintly. I took in her low-heeled brown boots, her coordinating skirt and jacket, just a shade away from a suit and guessed teaching or social work.
'Will you join us?'
I shook my head. For some reason I was having difficulty meeting her look.
'I’m sorry, I can’t.'
Eilidh didn’t try to press me, simply shook her head in mock exasperation and leaned past Johnny to take the three remaining pints in hands that looked too small to span the glasses.
'It was nice to meet you, William.' She smiled at Johnny. 'I’ll give you ten minutes then you’d better come over.'
Johnny gave her a kiss that threatened to topple the pints.
'You’re a wee doll.'
'I know,' Eilidh smiled again. 'One hundred per cent pure gold.'
Johnny watched her careful walk to the table, 'Who would have thought I’d end up henpecked?'
He looked more proud than bowed. I followed his gaze, watching the slim figure depositing the drinks on the table.
'She’s a good-looking girl.' Johnny gave me a stern look that was half mocking but fully meant and I added, 'My womanising days are over.'
'You’re a broken man right enough. You shouldn’t give up yet though. Ye canny whack the love of a good woman. As long as she’s your own.'
'Aye, point taken.' I drained my glass and held out my hand. 'It was good to see you again, John.'
'You too. Maybe we can meet up for a drink when you’ve got more time.'
'I’m not in town for long.'
