What am I thinking of suicides for, what was I sayin? No no, hen, there’s something important, I’m sure of it. You need to sit here. You hold my hand. She’s fine here, sister. She’s just keeping me company which is more than my bad-bitch girl would do. Ooh do you not just hate that wan? Sister. Does she not just strike you as somewan who thinks her shit doesnae stink, eh? She’s no that young, sister isnae. Wantae watch yourself, sister, or you might end up in here with only oor Senga’s lassie to visit you.
I tried to call the girl after my mam. Wee Jean, she was supposed to be. Her father said it was a boring name, and I was that knocked out after the birth I didnae argue. He gied her the name Cliodhna, if you please! There’s a name that thinks its shit doesnae stink, eh? Stupit. When we got back home I cried her Jean. Jeannie Johnstone, my family name. She wouldnae take poor Alec’s name even though he was a better father to that ungrateful besom than she deserved. Och, the men. They’re easy enough to work, if you know how. I knew how, and that girl of mine she sure did, oh, I’ll tell you that. But she never got the measure of them, eh. She was always letting them get away, take it too far.
He was a handsome wan, right enough. That wan she went with. We watched them all coming in in the trucks, all of us women, and we had the vegetables ready to throw, and I have to say all of us noticed it. It was like sunlight was shining off of him, that boy, that English boy with the blond hair. You get a feeling – oh aye, you know whit Ah mean, hen! You know whit! How could a boy be that beautiful, a boy? I didnae want to let on, didnae want them to guess, so I worked up a big greener in the back of my throat, hit him right in that beautiful face. I watched it dripping off him, off his cheekbone, my spit. Bloody scab. Bloody damn scab.
It was that feeling got me intae trouble in the first place, with her father. They were the same type. Nae moral fibre, nae nothing there. Oh, it’s fine to be able to turn a lovely tune, so it is, to make people dance, but no when it’s your wife’s wages are putting dinner on the table and you’re drinking yourself stupit with your beardy pals, with a baby crying, with a rich American woman winding her fingers in your hair. Oh aye. They just mince about daein whit they fancy, and it’s left to the likes of you and me to feed them. There were the clues that my lassie was goingty turn oot like her daddy but I didnae mind them like I should’ve. She didnae get a job, she wantit to stay on at the school, she would go into the toon on a weekend and spend poor Alec’s and my money on lipsticks, do you know, money she lifted from the savings jar. Lipsticks and records and fancy coffees, the bad bitch. It was boys bought her fancy coffees, probably. I’d like a bitty more tea, this wan’s gone cold. Aye, there we go. I will drink it. I am drinking it.
Oh aye, there’ll be naebody smiling on oor Senga’s lassie, right enough. Nice lassie but no braw. Still, you take pride in the beauties, you tease oot their hair before you send them off to school, you buy them ribbons and then what happens, eh? You’ve raised a wee hoor with no morals. If I had my time over again I would’ve spoiled those looks of hers somehow. She had brains, my girl did. She could’ve done something. Because she’s a woman grown now and what has she got tae show? No man, no job, no hoose, no weans. Too late for aw of that now. I said that to her, I did, we were sitting beside the Christmas tree because those lights kept flashing on and off – see, I still remember things, hen. That’s just the same as what happened to her daddy, I told her, drank himself to death eftir all his fine girls left him, eftir that American bitch sent him packing. And there he was, fifty and nothing. Just like my girl. It was near Christmas. It’s her birthday just eftir. She was fifty, she’ll be fifty-one. Naw, how old is she now? That canny be right. That wee thing fifty. She never looks her age. She got that from me because her daddy was ruined at the end. I’ve never looked my age either. Folk aye thought I was a teenager when I was thirty! Somewan thought I was Alec’s daughter wance, in a bar! Me! No a bad wee trick to have up your sleeve, because sometimes it’s harder to keep yourself looking nice, you know? When you haven’t got the money for it. Mind you, I’d always keep us respectable, me and her. Not like her father wearing holes in all his elbows. It was when we would meet in that wee Italian café where the waiters were all a bit racy, you know, and I’d sometimes just ask her right out, what on earth are you wearing? Rags? I raised you to have self-respect, I’d tell her. I mean, I was always proud that she kept her lipstick up. Aye, she got that from me. She was always bonny, my girl. But och, no, I couldny be doing with her clothes. I was affronted somewan might see us together – well, it was all right eftir Alec died, I suppose. Naebody left to care then. But she never came home. I suppose she won’t now, that’s what oor Senga’s lassie says.
That’s what.
That’s what.
Naw, that can’t be right either. That’s no right.
Naw.
Oor Senga’s lassie would look so much better with a wee doddy lipstick, really. There’s all that colour in her face, she needs to pull it somewhere. A nice red lipstick like my girl wears, maybe a wee bit more to the purple to even oot they big red cheeks. I told her that. She said she’d wear some at the funeral.
Well.
All alone, I told her. You’ve left me all alone. I told her that I’m telling everyone – I tell the doctor, when he comes in here. I tell him my daughter never comes to visit me. Aye well, she should hear it, so she should. She was quiet on her birthday – usually she’d shout back at me. Ach well, whit wummin wants to turn fifty, eh? Funny to think of my girl fifty. Getting the flushes. Not a chance of a baby now, eh no. I gave up on that a long time ago. All the time others spent messing aboot wi grandchildren they’re too auld to care for, I wis general secretary of the local Labour Party! Aye. I kept the whole thing ticking. Elected three cooncillors. Ye might as well be putting something back into the community. Do you know, they took a vote as to whether they were goingty throw me and Alec oot, eftir what she did? They did. Oh, there’s no shame like it, there really isn’t. Because they’re all looking at you, too. Every time you’re down the shops. I couldn’t show my face at the picket any more because they’d all turn their backs on me. We stopped drinking at the Labour Club for a while. That’s whit she never got, that bad bitch. She never worked oot the way her actions hurt her mammy. Thoughtless, the pair of them. He never realized that if you drink that money, we cannae buy food for the baby. If you run off with some American tart, you dinnae get to see your daughter. Aye. Consequences. Aye, dinnae love a dreamer, hen. You take my advice. And it just goes to show you, doesn’t it? I thought I’d got her away from his nonsense early enough, but it was in that blood. Changing her name, didn’t matter. Teaching her whit’s right, didn’t matter. Bringing her up in a community with values, and she’d just turn her back on all that and betray them. It had all just died down, although I don’t think my poor Alec’s heart ever recovered, and then she got herself on the telly, and it was all happening again. And nobody had the work by then so they just blamed my girl for it. Poll tax! Who was she to go on the telly singing aboot the poll tax? She was on the telly singing aboot solidarity. The hoor. Somewan left a burning jobbie on oor doorstep, and the front windae got broken.
I thought you’d be pleased, she says to me, when we were in that wee café in Ayr. She was aye saying that. She’d tell me all these things that she was doing, always something different every year, could never settle down, that wan. And she aye said it like she was back at school, showing me a shitey picture, you know the sort of thing that weans do, bless them, like she was wanting me to be proud of her. Proud! Of whit? Of her in that big bloody rabble that were on the telly marching in London, with tattoos and those scaffy black boots? I saw them. We had a word for folk like that when I was growing up, hen. Naw, she never got that it wisnae aboot the action you took. It wis aboot why ye did it. We did it because we were a community and they were ripping oot oor heart, and we had tae fight them. We did it because ordinary working folk aw over the country were being put oot their jobs they’d had all t
heir lives, their hooses. Her, she just floated. I told her that, under that Christmas tree, I said you just drift aboot, don’t you? She meant nothing more than a wee bitty thistledown, my girl did, at the end of the day. Oh, she would always have these causes, she’d tell me, these issues, these things that had to be fought, but I would be trying to say to her, what do they mean to you, eh hen, really? I’m doing what’s right, Mum, she’d say. And do you know whit, oan her last birthday I’d finally had enough of it. This nonsense. I said, aye, could have done with you daein whit wis right when you were sixteen, missy. Bit late noo, noo you’ve wasted your life, is it not? Because I could see she was trying. The lassie wis trying. But we couldny have her in the house again. No eftir.
Oh ho ho, it wis a fine procession, let me tell you, hen. Dod Mackay and his bony-necked wife heading it up, all the wee nosy buggers from around the street. Wummin I’d stood with on the picket just the day before, hissing at me. Because it was me they blamed. All of them. Because I’d lived away, because I’d opened my legs and brought this bad blood back home. And Dod clears his throat and he calls me Mrs McIvor, no Eileen like he’d cried me every day of oor lives, Mrs McIvor. We have reason to believe your daughter is fraternizing with the scabs at the barracks. Talking like he’s a police officer or something. And oor Alec comes to the door and he’s saying, Dod man, whit are ye talking aboot? And Dod’s bitch of a wife opens her mooth and screams at me, looking that pleased with herself, aye, she’s away up there just noo. I saw her. Walking up the road kissing that big blond yin. Probably letting them all get it up her, so she is.
Here’s whit I said that would cost me, really. I said, don’t you dare talk aboot my daughter like that, you common bitch. I said, don’t you dare. And I would’ve went for her but for Alec holding my arms back. Aye, that bit of loyalty, that’s what did it for me. Funny, eh. And Dod’s saying to Alec, you need to sort this oot, pal. You need that girl telt or the whole town’ll tell her.
Dod loaned us his car so we could drive up there and get her before the rest of them did. He was always all right wis Dod, shame aboot that arse ay a wife ay his. The barracks wis aboot half an hour away, so who knows what Brenda Mackay was doing up that way, oh wait, did her brother not work the farm up there? Aye, that was maybe it, hen, that was maybe it. Alec walks right up and bangs on the door and marches in. They were all English, all young boys, I remember that. Probably no that much older than her. They’d have to be, really, to come up there. All away from their own mammies. They’d have to be young to not understand why they shouldn’t. Alec was shouting which of you scab bastards has got my daughter here, and that wis the last time he’d call her that, right enough. And one of them goes to him, calm down mate, in that funny flat accent they’ve got, and he wheels on him, he says I am not and will never be your mate.
They were in a barn oot the back, like a pair ay animals. Alec hauled him off, the blond one, off the top of her. I minded my spit running doon his cheek and I felt glad. I hoped it wis hot when it hit him. She wis naked apart from her slip, round her waist, and I marched up and got her by the ear. I told her to cover herself and we got her into the back of Dod’s car still barefoot, covered her with the tartan rug in there to get her back into the hoose. Scab hoor, I wis muttering, and when we got there, that’s what they’d painted on the wall. Aye, I said those things to my own daughter, hen, and I don’t regret it. She wis. She did that. They were chucking things at her as we walked her back into the hoose, they were swearing. My ain folk, folk I’d known aw my life.
Alec couldnae even look at her. I want her oot ma hoose, he said, and he went away and locked himself in the toilet. Me and her, we went up to her room. I brought her a binbag because it was aw we had, and I told her she’d better put her things in it. She was crying, breathing like an asthma attack, and she looked like wan of her daddy’s Highland Marys under that rug. Mammy, she says to me. Mammy please.
I’m no made of stone, hen. I’m no. That wis still my girl there, in front of me. But whit could I dae? She couldny stay with us, no now. And who in the town would take her in? Nobody. What aboot ma Highers, she’s saying, whit aboot the school? And I’m saying, you’d no get through a day alive at the school eftir this, baby. She went to get into my arms for a bit cuddle there but I couldny do it. I stepped back. Why did you dae it, my girl? I asked her. She says, because I felt sorry for him, Mammy. They’re all so lonely. They’re all so scared. Load a shite if you ask me. She saw something she fancied so she went for it. Didnae think. That’s what. That’s what.
What will I do, Mammy? she’s asking me. I said at first why don’t you see if your fine boyfriend will take you down tae England? They might have you there! But she needed my help, still, despite whit she’d done. So I took her to the train station – it was hard getting her oot the door, right enough, some of the younger wans started pushing the car about while I was trying to start it. The girl was crying oot their names – she was at school with some of them. Charlie, she was crying. Davy. Dinnae. Dinnae.
When we got to the train station she was calmer. She was holding the neck of her binbag tight. I never liked that place, she told me. Aye, I said, well it knows that noo, doesn’t it? There’ll be trains to Ayr coming, my girl. Your best bet is to get as far as possible, then choose a town, look for work in a hotel. You’ll need to scrub floors now. And I pulled the jar out of my bag, the savings jar. That’s yours and Alec’s money, she said. Aye, I said, but you’re going to need it more than us, hen. Well, I was wrong there. Oor Alec never got another job eftir the mines and I ended up with another wan living off me, although at least it wisnae his fault. The cough finished him off in the end, so it did. It got most of them that way, no compensation either. Oh, I’ve seen a lotty people die, hen, and I bet I’m no as old as most of them in here. No as old as that wan, anyway. State of her. You’ve got dribble on your face, dear! Dribble! Goan wipe her mouth, hen, it’s making me sick to look at her.
I took a wee bit of her hair in my finger, but I didnae touch her, and she got oot the car and went to the platform. She didnae wave, and I didnae see my girl again till she was – whit, twenty-five? Twenty-seven? She wrote me a letter. Alec found it but he didnae say anything. I couldny talk aboot her again, in the hoose, or in the town. I wis allowed to stay as long as I didnae mention my girl. And where else would I have gone? Back up to Inverness? Back to the islands, to her father’s snooty Wee Free sister? Naw, I wasn’t having that thrawn wee besom take my life away from me. No my home.
Where’s your home, hen? Is it far from here? Is it bonny? My home’s no bonny. I don’t know that I’ll ever see it again, anyway. Not unless my girl takes me away. She might be all right, to go back there noo. Those wans she was at school with, they might still remember though, aye, maybe we should just leave it. It’s better if she doesny exist, so it is. No, no, you need to stay here till I mind of it, what it is, the thing. I’ll need to get my nails done, I know that much. I’ll maybe need the hairdresser in. I’ve got the money, you just ask sister. It’s a big thing, hen, a big thing I’ve got coming up. Did you see I had a visitor earlier? She knows all aboot it. She had something she had to tell me, but it couldny be right. She’s going to come and pick me up, though – that was it, hen, I’ve minded now. She’s going to come and pick me up in a week. We’re goingty go out then for the funeral and it’ll be fine, so I’ll need my hair done. I’ll need my hair done for that.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A novel is a group effort, as one of my favourite people always says. This one wouldn’t have been possible without the effort of a pretty wonderful group, all of whom deserve thanks:
•Bekah Mackenzie, Caitrin Armstrong and Ellie Shaw, for decades of friendship in general and support and encouragement on this book in particular
•Simon Sylvester, Rachel McCrum and Lisa Brideau, for very useful early feedback
•Catriona Duffy, for politicizing Clio’s lipstick
•Jen Dolan, for organizing Adele’s
ward
•Gemma Cossins and Rhiannon Handslip, who found a home for Hamza
•Gillian Steel and Rowena Goalby, for lending me space to write in
•Charlene Boyd, Kate Robertson, Outi Smith, Irene Bissett and Bridget Innes, for childcare, without which writing would and could not have happened
•Sarah-Jane Forder, for a thorough and thoughtful copy-edit
•Jordan Mulligan at 4th Estate, for being the most passionate advocate a long and unwieldy political novel with multiple narrators could ever hope for
•Charlie Brotherstone, for continuing to believe in me over many years
•and Alan Bissett, for understanding, loving, fact-checking my knowledge of 1980s blue-eyed soul, letting me bounce ideas off him, and working so very, very hard to earn money for both of us so that I could finish this book in time before our second baby was born. This one’s always for you, fella.
About the Author
KIRSTIN INNES is an award-winning writer and journalist living in the west of Scotland. Her first novel Fishnet won the Guardian’s Not the Booker Prize in 2015.
About the Publisher
Australia
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New Zealand
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