Read After the Lockout for Free Online Page A

arms and back and head.
    â€˜I’m going to kill you,’ Pius cries, and it sounds like the most absolutely truthful statement he’s ever made in his life. You hear women scream and they’re all telling him to stop but they’re all too spineless to make him. You peek from your foetal positionand, seeing a lull, launch yourself at him. You clatter into his midriff and crash over the table. Tea and wake sandwiches go flying. Back on your feet, you see your mother through eyes bathed in blood and tears. A slice of ham has landed on her cheek. Pius puffs desperately for air, his face is purple. Your mother is dead and this yellow-belly runs away into a bottle just when you need him most.
    â€˜You’re nothing but a drunken coward,’ you say as you run out the door.

    We have the compartment to ourselves. Not many heading north at this time of night. I pull down the blinds and scrape the flecks of bacon and carrot off the lapels of my suit. Charlie’s too civilised and conscientious to put his feet up on the empty chairs beside him but I’m not. I pull the trilby hat down over my face and make myself comfortable. It’s a rickety old bone shaker but I’m soon nodding off. One minute we’re between Clontarf and Sutton and Charlie is saying something about how the Madden footballers have reached the county final; the next he’s poking me with his cane and telling me to wake up, we’re near Armagh. The train is stopped. I see lights further up the line, but outside it’s darkness.
    â€˜This isn’t a scheduled stop,’ Charlie says.
    The train starts moving again, chugging its last mile or two, and I hear compartment doors being slid open up the hallway. I peek out. Two soldiers stand in the hallway a few compartments down smoking cigarettes and pointing their rifles to the ground. A third soldier, tall and slender and wearing an eye-patch, comesout of the compartment, and they move on to the next one. They’ll be in on top of us in a moment.
    â€˜I’m not even home yet and already the harassment starts.’
    â€˜I’m sure they’re not looking for you, Victor.’
    â€˜When you’ve been lifted as many times as I have, Charlie, you know fucken tyranny when you see it.’
    â€˜Don’t start now.’
    â€˜I bet you the officer puts on an English accent. Wait till you see.’
    â€˜Victor, please.’
    There’s no way the train will get to the station before they get to us, snailing along like this. I lie back on the seat and pull the hat down over my face and a moment later, I hear the compartment door slide open.
    â€˜Right, wake up, we need to take a look at your …’ the officer begins – he is putting on a sort-of English accent – ‘Charlie Quinn! Get up and let me shake your hand,’ he cries, sounding fit to burst.
    â€˜I’d like to, Hugh, but’ – Charlie makes a tap, tap, tap – ‘I’m not as good on my feet as I used to be.’
    â€˜Oh. Of course, I’m sorry.’ Hugh slumps down into a seat and sighs. I’d love to get a look at this fellow, but I stay hidden beneath the hat.
    â€˜How’s the eye?’
    â€˜Doesn’t bother me at all. I got away very lightly compared to some.’
    â€˜True enough. Poor old Frank Jennings lost half his face. And you heard about Bob Morrow?’
    â€˜No justice, is there?’ Hugh rises and stands over me, close enough that I can smell the tobacco off him. I fidget. ‘This fellow with you?’
    â€˜Cousin of mine. Name of John Swift. Why, who are you looking for?’
    â€˜Just keeping our eyes open.’
    â€˜I’ll wake him up and check him,’ says another voice, a Scottish accent this time.
    â€˜Let him be, Hugh,’ Charlie says calmly, ‘he had a lot to drink earlier.’
    â€˜Shut it, you,’ the Scottish accent snaps.
    â€˜Stand down, Campbell,’