Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [23]
Effie had stepped in. None of the other lads had been bothered about their mate kicking a bloke. Thought it was a bit of a laugh, in fact, egging him on, cheering and that. But they weren't at all happy about their mate kicking a woman. Which didn't seem fair to Park, even if the woman in question was his daughter. But despite the injustice of it all, Martin and Effie hauled him away, and thanks to their intervention Park was spared a more serious doing.
Later, in the bedroom, on top of a thick duvet, something cold pressed to his cheek.
Effie moved the cloth, dabbed his forehead.
He turned his head.
Effie knelt on the bed, leaned over him. "You okay?" she said.
"Long time since I was in bed with a lovely woman," he said.
Martin cleared his throat.
"You're not in bed," Effie said. "You're on it. Anyway, how does your face feel?"
"Hurts when I stretch it," Park said, opening his jaw wide, stretching his lips. It hurt, exactly like he'd said it did. "Ow." Maybe overdoing the sympathy card, was he?
Effie said, "Don't stretch it then, you bumshite."
That was nice. Being called a bumshite. No, really. Hardly anybody felt comfortable enough with Park to call him anything other than sir or cunt. He tended to provoke extreme reactions. Bumshite was good. There was an intimacy in the word that made him smile.
Anyway, that's why Park had to be careful when he got violent.
Yardie threw him out of his house the next day, claiming that he'd been there too long already. Truth was, he'd thrown him out for belting one of his friends. But, anyway, whatever. Yardie was an arsehole and it didn't matter what had pissed him off. Park missed Yardie's mum, though. She made great pancakes.
Park was homeless for a couple of months until Effie and Martin had finally persuaded him to stay with them till he got himself sorted. Sweet as a honey-dunked nut, that was. He owed them.
So right now, much as he'd have liked to go clubbing just to annoy the copper who'd ordered Martin and Grant to take him home, he was happy enough to head off to bed. Well, head off to the settee. Point was, he wasn't heading off to collapsed cardboard and newspapers. And tonight he'd have Liz to curl up next to.
***
"HOW WAS GRANT?" Effie asked, pressing a button on the TV remote.
"Wee bastard," Park said. "Wouldn't drink. And then he wouldn't let me drink. I'm still thirsty."
"Should have seen your dad with the policeman," Martin said.
She asked, "What policeman?"
"I never got parole," Park said. "So I don't have to be nice to the wankers."
"You didn't hit a policeman, Dad?"
"Wish I had. Now, never mind that. How's my girls? What've you been up to?"
They were on the settee, next to each other. Liz already looked better.
"I'm good," Effie said. "We watched a movie about this guy who stores the souls of dead people in a hotel in his brain."
"And I thought it was just me," Park said. "Any good?"
"I liked it. Thinking about going to bed now, though. Mum's tired."
"She had her medicine?"
"Yep."
"She say anything?"
"Dad, she never says anything."
"Don't give up hope, Eff."
"She's been farting a lot. In fact, it's time she had her pad changed." She turned to face Liz. "Eh, Mum? You a bit smelly?"
"I'll do it," Park said. "You and Martin get off to bed."
"You sure?"
"What, you think I can't change a nappy?" Park said. "Changed yours often enough. I'm a dab hand. Off you go."
"I don't mind."
"Go on," Park said. "Fuck off."
Once they'd gone he spent a couple of minutes trying to guess where Effie'd put the nappies. He knew they were somewhere, cause he remembered taking them from the Home.
No joy, so he went to ask her. He stood outside the bedroom door and listened. Martin was telling her about the cop and the puddle. Park knocked on the door.
Effie answered in a black dressing gown. She apologised. She'd stuck the nappies out of the way, on top of her wardrobe. She shouted to Martin to fetch them.
He brought them over, wearing