Read Anglo-Irish Murders for Free Online

bang. When they had come to a halt, he said, ‘I don’t care how you feel about it. I’m going back to see what that was.’
    ‘Oh, all right.’ They got out together and surveyed the road. ‘Good grief,’ she said, ‘that’s an impressive pothole.’
    ‘It’s enormous. A deathtrap. And must be the second one we’ve met in less than a mile.’
    ‘Odd. It’s been a very good road until now. Well, come on, come on. Get in.’ She switched on the engine, put her foot gingerly on the accelerator and uttered words Amiss had never thought to hear from her. ‘I think I’d better go slowly for a while.’ Her caution was fully justified. By the time they reached their destination, they had encountered more than three dozen substantial potholes.
    It was not until they had located the restaurant, ordered lunch and the baroness had finished delving into her oysters that she looked over at Amiss, contentedly finishing his fish soufflé. ‘I still can’t fathom the craters.’
    ‘Nor can I.’
    ‘Better consult a native.’ She summoned a waiter. ‘We’re puzzled by the condition of the road we took here. Without warning it turned from a class A road suitable for a Formula One race to a bogtrotters’ boreen that would challenge a Landrover. It’s the same country. It’s even the same county. What’s going on?’
    Unlike Amiss, the waiter had not winced at the word ‘bogtrotter.’ He looked at her indulgently. ‘What you’ve left out of your calculations, mam, is that it’s a different constituency. And they won’t give us a minister.’
    ‘What do you mean minister? What sort of minister? Cloth? Government?’
    ‘It wouldn’t be a priest I’m talking about here, but a fellow down there in Dublin with the power to get good roads for his constituents.’
    ‘Do you mean a minister for transport?’
    ‘Not necessarily, mam. Any minister would do. Any fellow with the clout.’
    Seeing their puzzled faces, he pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘I can see you’re not political people,’ he observed kindly. ‘Or maybe they do things differently in England. But the way it is here, do you see, is that Mickey Pat O’Shaughnessy in the constituency next door was Minister for Fisheries and was able to do a good turn for the boyo in charge of forestry who then did another deal with the lad who does transport who’s a pal of the EU commissioner. So, with help from Brussels and a bit more from the lottery, all the roads in Mickey Pat’s constituency were attended to in the last few years.’
    He gazed at them sadly. ‘The way it is is they’ve got it in for us up here for reasons I won’t trouble you with now but go back to certain matters I could tell you about that have to do with the Taoiseach’s * grandfather. This shower would do anything to keep us from having a minister. They’d rather make the thickest BIFFO a minister than one of our own.’
    ‘BIFFO?’ asked the baroness, who was frowning with concentration.
    ‘Saving your presence, mam, a BIFFO is a Big Ignorant Fucker From Offaly.’
    He sighed. ‘So we have to live with the potholes. Mind you, I’d say at the next election we’ll get our revenge. Isn’t Bandy Corcoran intending to stand as a candidate on the holes issue and won’t he trounce the rest of them?’
    ‘I know my grasp of Irish politics is slimmish,’ said the baroness, ‘but is it really possible to win parliamentary elections over an issue like potholes?’
    ‘Sure, missus,’ said the waiter, ‘isn’t one of the democratic joys of this country and our PR * system that you can win an election on anything as long as you’re not up against a widda?’
    ‘A widda?’
    ‘Or a son. Or a daughter. You know, someone entitled to inherit the seat.’ He looked at her kindly. ‘It’s all a bit beyond you, isn’t it? But it’d take a good while to explain and I’ve work to do. You’ll pick it all up eventually with the help o’ God.’ He collected their plates, smiled