“It’ll make a buck massive horny,” he said. “A buck’ll ride for twelve hours flat off a this stuff, Patch!”

Would you not, thought Patrick, get a bit cheesed off with twelve hours worth of riding?

“Says here,” says Tee-J, “a sure way to know a young one who’s been at the meth is that she’ll have fuck knots in her hair. From all the riding.”

“Fuck knots?”

“From her head slappin’ up and down off the pillow, like?” said Tee-J. “For twelve hours, Patch!”

It was great to see enthusiasm in the boy no matter what it was that put it there. The plan was they’d try offload some of the stuff in Roxy’s car-park when they got to town. Of course Tee-J was already burning a rock from a Diet Coke can with holes cut in.

“Arra Teedge!”

“Well I ain’t drinkin’,” he said. “And don’t worry, Patch. I’m definitely not gettin’ into any scraps tonight.”

Of course Patrick knew sure enough what way this was ending up Tee-J-wise. There was poison and rage in the half-eejit and he hadn’t licked them off the ground. There’d be the bust and the bail and the summons. And he could see himself already, stood up in the courthouse, with his white face on, explaining why the brother had failed to appear:

Tee-J gone to England, judge.

But even so the town was laid out below them as they came down the dual carriageway, and it was full of promise.

“And what are you making of it all, Mr McGurk?” said Patrick.

“Arra sure you wouldn’t know which end is the toes,” said Mr McGurk.

Mr McGurk was a plastic leprechaun attached to the dashboard on a spring and he bobbed along comically as the Hitachi sped. How he had ended up being called Mr McGurk neither of them could remember. Both brothers would do Mr McGurk’s voice but Tee-J did it brilliant. He did Mr McGurk as a cranky old farmer who was always giving out. Mr McGurk was six inches of green plastic but entirely alive. He was made alive by their love for each other.

11

  

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