I did.
Donnie stands up again, rubbing at his goatee. ‘Y’r da’ kept the clippin’ from the Daily Record aboot y’r transport deal in his wallet.’
‘He was a bastard to me.’ I’m shouting.
Donnie shrugs. ‘Aye, he had issues all right. But they sorted him oot second time in Bar L. Ye won’t know, but y’r da’ wasnae right in the head.’
This is too much information for me to process. ‘Seriously?’
‘Aye, mental health issues. It also made him angry. IED is the name for it noo. Intermittent Explosive Disorder.’ He pronounces the three words with care. ‘Took years for them tae sort it oot. But when they did, he wis a new man.’
‘My father was ill when I was a kid?’ I’m shocked.
‘Who knew aboot that sort of stuff back then?’ Donnie is rubbing his hands together for warmth. ‘Jamie, come doon. Come
