Shuggie Bain
Page 45
With that Mrs Kelly turned towards the market, towards the dark pubs that lay under the railway line. They watched her go, stumbling along the alley, with her arms full of shopping bags. She stopped at the corner and, with a low swing, launched the bag of tinned salmon at the girl with the blond hair and black roots. Mrs Kelly raised her arms as though she had scored a goal, and then she stumbled onwards and was gone.
“Jist don’t start!” Leanne warned. She closed the zipper on her anorak till it covered the lower part of her face.
“I won’t.” He kept his eyes on the damp pavement and tried to calm himself. “Do you feel any better?”
Leanne scoffed and then she shrugged. She pulled her wet hair away from her face, and caught it in the elastic band she kept around her wrist. He was sad to see her pretty face grow so taut and hard again.
Shuggie wiped the mud from his shoe on to the back of his trouser leg. He reached out and pulled a loose thread from Leanne’s sleeve, her wrist was cold to his touch. “My mammy had a good year once. It was lovely.”
Leanne said nothing. She put her chewed thumbnail back in her mouth and sat alone with her thoughts. Shuggie let her be. It had stopped raining, and he watched the boatman tether his dinghy to the riverbank and straighten his bent back.
They still had the rest of the day together, and even in the damp the thought warmed him. “So!” Shuggie tried his hardest to sound brighter. “What do you want to do now?”
Leanne wiped her eyes. She turned out the empty pockets on her denims and held them out like flapping flags. “Hows about we jist walk around for a wee while, eh?”
“Jeezo. Who’s predictable now?”
“Me?” She laughed for what felt like the first time in a long while. “No way. We both know ye just want to go gawp at the big handsomes up the Virginia arcade!”
He felt the flare of shame. He shook his head as if to deny it, but something in her eyes stopped him then. He drew a sharp breath between his front teeth.
Leanne reached out and jabbed him sharply in the ribs. “Pack it in. ’Asides, I think the one ginger lad with the pierced ears might have been making eyes at youse.”
“Really?”
She grinned. “Mibbe. Mind you, he does have that one gammy eye, so who the fuck knows.”
Leanne swung the bag with her mother’s dirty underclothes and pretended to launch it deep into the Clyde. Then she slipped her free arm into his and tried to shake him loose of his worry. He nudged into her shoulder like a tugboat, until they both were turned away from the river.
Shuggie dropped their rubbish into a council bin. “You know, hearing about your Calum did make me wish we could go up the dancin’ one time?”
Leanne was still swinging the dirty bag, and now she howled with laughter. It was so loud, so vibrant, it made the videocassette jakeys jump with fright. “Ha! You? Get to fuck wi’ those poncey school shoes,” she squealed. “There is no way Shuggie Bain can dance!”
Shuggie tutted. He wrenched himself from her side and ran a few paces ahead. He nodded, all gallus, and spun, just the once, on his polished heels.
Acknowledgments
Above all, I owe everything to the memories of my mother and her struggle, and to my brother who gave me everything he could. I am indebted to my sister for encouraging me to set this into words and share it with you.
This novel would not be in your hands without the belief and passion of Anna Stein, a slow reader but a courageous agent. Thanks also to Lucy Luck, Claire Nozieres, Morgan Oppenheimer, and all at ICM Partners and Curtis Brown. Thanks especially to my editor, Peter Blackstock, for his patience, his bravery, and for being firm but gentle with Shuggie. Morgan Entrekin and Judy Hottensen were enthusiastic supporters, and my gratitude to Elisabeth Schmitz, Deb Seager, John Mark Boling, Emily Burns, and all at Grove Atlantic. Thanks to my friends in the north, Daniel Sandström and Cathrine Bakke Bolin, and to Ravi Mirchandani and all at Picador UK for bringing this novel home. My sincere gratitude to Tina Pohlman, for first steps and her incredible generosity. Debts are also owed to my early readers: Patricia McNulty, Valentina Castellani, Helen Weston, and Rachel Skinner-O’Neil for all your insight and encouragement.
The last words of this book belong to Michael Cary, he read it first, and nurtured the heart of it, like he always does.
About the Author
Douglas Stuart was born and raised in Glasgow. After graduating from the Royal College of Art in London, he moved to New York City, where he began a career in fashion design. Shuggie Bain is his first novel.
First published in the UK 2020 by Picador
This electronic edition published in the UK 2020 by Picador
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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ISBN 978-1-5290-1930-8
Copyright © Douglas Stuart 2020
Cover Image © Jez Coulson/insight-visual.com
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