Excerpt
Michael Carrick sat, head lowered, below a white sheet in a barber’s chair, while Jim Patterson tried to tame his unruly hair with comb and scissors and shears.
“I haven’t seen that brother-in-law of yours around the place for quite a while,” said Jim.
“I don’t suppose that would worry you, Jim,” Michael remarked. “You’re hardly all that fond of him, are you?”
“There’s a lot more I like better,” Jim said.
“I hear you had a bit of a row with him after old Finn’s funeral.”
“A bit of a row! I could have killed the bastard. He threatened to kill me. No one’s going to put a rope around Ireland’s neck and separate head and body, he says. Anyone who tries, I’ll kill him, be he Carson or Craig or Lloyd George or King George. Or even Jim Patterson. I’ll never forget it. I was furious. I had to leave the house or I’d’ve wrung his neck.”
“You’d’ve picked the wrong boy-o, Jim,” Michael said. “Flynn Casey’s one tough character.”
“I suppose he’s back in Dublin,” Jim said.
“I wish to God he’d stay there,” said Peter Templeton from one of the chairs along the wall. “That one’s a danger to all of us.” Peter was a middle-aged dentist in Lisnaglass, a tall, slim man with thinning, oiled hair slicked down, and a greying moustache.
“I agree with you there, Peter.” Jim’s hands stopped moving, and he turned his head to look at Peter Templeton. “No doubt he’s involved in all the trouble they’re having down there. Letting de Valera see how tough he is.” He refocused his attention on Michael’s curly hair.
“No, he’s been down there with Nora and the wee’n,” Michael explained. “They’re looking after his Uncle Finnegan while his aunt’s in hospital. She broke her leg, but she’s home again now. Flynn and Nora will be home at the weekend. He has to start back with McGuigan on Monday morning or he’ll lose his job at the quarry.”
