by James Kelman
Sandra had begun drying herself.
Are you sure he’s just to get toast?
Ask him and see.
Aye, well, if you leave it to him he’ll no eat anything.
He had cornflakes.
I know that, but it’s hell of a cold outside; he could be doing with something hot in the belly.
Fine, make him an egg then.
Aye but he’ll probably no eat the fucking thing.
Well . . . Sandra shrugged; she finished dressing and made to lift the babybath. But he did so instead; tipping the water into the sink. She took the bath from him and rinsed it out. Dont worry about it, she added.
Aw naw, naw, I’m just eh . . . He grinned. See when I was a boy! He chuckled and lifted the thing to lift the eggs out the frying pan. Bacon though, he said, I mean you’d think he’d go for that. Christ, how often do we have it!
Sandra poured the tea.
Surely he’d eat a slice of bacon?
She glanced at him.
And he grinned, Just kidding. Honest.
Thank God.
D’you believe in God? He sniffed. What I mean is an item such that it is more powerful than finite items, such that it makes them tick? Cause I dont, let me tell you, I think it is all a load of shite, a load of fucking codswallop, just stuck there to mislead the workers. That’s the trouble but, they’re all a bunch of bastarn imbeciles, the workers, the lower orders. Eh! He grinned, lifted the bacon from the grill to lay on the plates. Sandra also grinned; she cupped his right hand in her own.
He nodded. I like the way you do that it eh . . . makes me feel something or other – great; it makes me feel great.
She kissed him and walked to clear the clothes-horse. He laid the food on the table. She said, If you dont go in what’ll happen?
Nothing; I’ll just have to go up to Head Office for the wages. After a pause he added, I’m going in but. Anyway, with a bit of luck I’ll just march in, get the dough and march back out.
I hope so.
I’ll play it cagey, boxing clever, sidling through the door, up to the counter – in my stocking soles so they’ll no notice ...Heh! the wee man; I’ve got the wee man with me! Psychological warfare for fuck sake I’ll sit him on the counter. They wont give me a sherriking in front of him surely! Eh I mean how can they humiliate a man in front of his boy? I ask you, is that the done thing!
Sandra smiled as she took a slice of toast across to Paul.
Potato scones, he said, it’s the one thing missing from this breakfast.
Well I told you to buy them.
Aye I know, but you’ve got to buy the whole fucking packet nowadays, they’ll no let you take a couple.
We would’ve used them up.
Ah. He shrugged and pushed the plate of toast towards her as she sat down. You’ll be okay about yesterday afternoon? about taking it off?
She nodded, then she looked at him. And he wont deduct any money from me either . . . She paused, then began to eat.
He studied the food on his plate.
Sorry.
I wasnt getting at you Sandra.
O I know you werent.
He reached over to hold her hand for a short time. Last night . . . I didnt expect you, I didnt expect you to be back like that. I mean I never really thought about it, what I would do, if you didnt. Too much . . . he shook his head.
I’m sorry Rab.
O christ shut up.
There are parties whose attention to a variety of aspects of existence renders life uneasy. It cannot be said to be the fault of Hines that he is such a party. A little leeway might be allowed him. A fortnight’s leave of absence could well work wonders. A reassembling of the head that the continued participation in the land of the greater brits.
Fuck off.
Hines is forced into situations a dog wouldnt be forced into. Even a rat. It is most perplexing. Hines has a wean and he treats this wean as a son i.e. a child, a fellow human being in other words yet here is he himself being forced into a situation whence the certain load of shite as an outcome, the only outcome, an outcome such that it is not fair. It is not fucking fair. Hines is fucking fed up with it. He is not to be treated like this. He has already decided not to be.
As also his wife. This very morning she has suggested things may yet prove brightly. And even prior to that he himself
Paul tugged on his hand, wanting to stop at a shop window. There was a fine display of toys and games, the tinsel and Xmas paper, coloured lights and the rest of it. Paradise for any kid, to be locked in overnight.
He rolled a smoke. It was good being without the uniform. Worthwhile paying the busfare just for the privilege. Although the pockets of the jeans were hell of a tight for the hands to rest inside comfortably so he had to put them into the jerkin pockets which were far too open to the elements. Nothing was dropping from the heavens thank fuck but the wind was really powerful. Paul was okay, having the mittens and balaclava; warm hands and ears. Adults dont wear balaclavas. They seem to regard them as childish. Balaclavas for adults could take a trick; fashionable designs perhaps, manly for men, womanly for women etc.
The nearer to the garage the more people he was nodding to. On wages-day this area is full of them. All going off with their cash to here there and everywhere. It’s an astonishing life. You see them all doing this that and the next thing. Hines seldom does this that and the next thing. What does he do. Fuck all. He’s always skint. How come he’s always skint. A grave A and a grave B but still quantifiable.
Aw christ though it can be fairly disquieting, how one’s belly reacts to mental shudderings, especially when aforementioned shudderings are an effect of the utmost cabbage kettles. One fine day Hines R. was arrested. It was like this man: there he was heading along nicely nicely when all of a sudden bang; right out the fucking door. And for what too! fuck all. Screwing the wife and forgetting to set the fucking alarm clock cause he fell asleep. Terrible. Really bad, bad, really, really bad.
A sweetie shop. Inside he pointed the lollipops out to Paul. But Paul preferred a packet of sweeties then outside he paused to stare in the window again. Hines stayed to let him look for a time then he picked him off the ground. I know you’re a bit big for this lifting son, he said, but I want to talk to you. This is one of these wee moments in life which you’re earmarked to remember once I’m dead and buried. You’re dad’s going to get a telling off. More than that; he’s probably going to get a line – maybe even a Head Office line. And Head Office lines arent good, they’re bad in fact, murder polis. Actually I’ll probably be getting the boot if that happens, the chop, doomed to a life without buses. It means – hopeless really, bad. Here . . . he put the boy back onto the pavement.
Only a few people were in the Office. At this time of the day the vast majority would already have collected their wages. He took his place at the counter behind a queue of three, and rolled a cigarette. Paul wandered off, chewing his sweeties and gazing at the objects of interest. Harry Cairney was the Deskclerk on duty earlier this morning but he would have finished by this time. It was for the best. He would maybe have been a bit irritated by the sleeping-in; he could even have taken it personally, the way some folk do. That’s a strange thing, how people take things personally.
The Wagesclerk had pushed the sheet of paper across the counter. Hines Robert 4729 being underlined in red ink. The Wagesclerk muttered, Hang on a minute, and walked away over to a small room at the rear of the area, where the Deskclerks went for their tea and so on. The red line had been done free-hand and wasnt too straight, not squiggly, but not straight either.
Campbell. Hines inhaled and exhaled. He was eating a roll as he came over, not glancing in the direction of Hines, not acknowledging that this was Hines which was fine really because they disliked each other very greatly. He pulled out a drawer, humming to himself, bringing out a slip of paper; then he brought out another slip of paper which he laid near to Hines. Sign there conductor, he said; they want to see you at Head Office
directly.
Hines nodded; he frowned. What d’you mean directly?
Directly, right away, they want to see you just now; you better go home and get into your uniform.
Hh; I’m no working but.
Aye I know you’re no, you slept in.
Hines nodded. Naw eh . . . how can I put on the uniform?
What you on about?
Well if I’m no working; how come I’m to put on the uniform?
Campbell gazed at him. Look, just sign there for your line, they want to see you at Head Office.
Aye I know but I’m no actually being employed the day I mean so . . . Paul was beside him, trying to edge his way in between Hines and the counter.
After a moment Campbell said, Either it’s the day or you’ve got a 10 o’clock for tomorrow morning: suit yourself.
Hines sniffed. It’s my day-off tomorrow.
Well the bloody next day then.
The next day’s Saturday. I didnt know they worked Saturdays up at Head Office.
Look Hines just sign and take your line; they want to see you right away.
Aye but what I dont understand is how it’s to be accomplished.
What’re you bloody on about! Campbell had whispered this; but the anger was apparent even to Paul and he was gripping Hines’ hand. Hines inhaled and exhaled, he patted the boy’s head. Naw, he said, it’s just eh . . . I dont see how I can go to Head Office the day. And it’s my day-off the morrow. Then next week I’m backshift so how can I get a 10 o’clock line for then, unless it’s a 10 o’clock at night line.
Campbell took a cigarette from his packet and lighted it; he looked at Hines.
I mean as far as I can see I’ll no be able to go for another week at least – no unless they agree to see me in civvies. But even then, it means I’ll be going when I’m no actually working
i.e. I’ll no be getting paid. I mean tell me this: if I was working the morrow and got taken off my shift on a 10 o’clock, would I still be getting paid while I went up to Head Office?
Campbell exhaled smoke. Go and see your Shop Steward.
Aye but . . .
Go and see your Shop Steward.
Aye I know I mean I’m going to but . . .
Here. Campbell pushed the slip of paper nearer to Hines.
I cant sign, no if it means I’ve
Look Hines I’m no going to stand here arguing with the likes of you. Either you sign for this Head Office line or you dont. What’s it to be?
Naw eh . . . I’m no being cheeky or anything; I just dont understand how it’s to be accomplished properly. I mean how it’s actually possible for me to go. No unless I’m wearing the uniform and I can only really wear it when I’m getting paid to.
Campbell snatched the two slips of paper from the counter and strode back to the Deskclerks’ room. The Wagesclerk was examining his sheet of paper with all the signatures. Hines ground out his cigarette on the floor and moved along to him; he nodded and turned the sheet round, signed his name. The Wagesclerk hesitated a moment but then gave him his wages-envelope. Hines checked the amount. The pay-receipt and money were always arranged so that the contents could be counted without opening the actual envelope. He put it into his pocket and took Paul by the hand, turning to leave. Barry McBride walked over, grinning slightly; obviously he must have been witness to some of the proceedings. Behind him came another driver – Scott was his name and he was a bit of an idiot.
Hines shrugged. They’re trying to give me a 10 o’clock line . . . He grinned: I mean it’s half-past fucking twelve!
Barry chuckled.
Scott said, Sammy’s up the stair. You going up to see him? Suppose I’ll have to. He grinned again and left the Office. Upstairs in the corridor he waited by the notice-board. Paul gave him a sweetie. He chewed it, staring at the notices; then the door opened downstairs and he could hear Scott’s voice. Quickly he bent to Paul. Listen son, he whispered, you probably dont know it but this is great fun. Just look and listen and you’ll be fine. But dont worry. Whatever you do dont worry, okay?
Paul looked at him in that straightfaced way he has.
Hines smiled. It’ll be quite hard to follow. But if you just watch the faces . . . Okay; just watch the faces. Whatever you do dont worry – you’re a hell of a worrier for a 3 year old!
I’m four.
Four! Jesus christ right enough! Hines winked and led him along the corridor. In the bothy the Shop Steward was sitting at his usual table, reading a newspaper. How’s it going Sammy?
Ah no bad Rab; how’s yourself?
So so . . . He lifted Paul onto a chair and then sat down on another. Naw, he went on, a wee bit of bother with Campbell there.
Sammy paused, and nodded; he folded the newspaper away into a side pocket and bringing out his cigarettes he offered one to Hines who declined. He lighted his own while Hines began rolling one. The door opened and in came Barry, Scott and a couple of others; they sat at a table not too near and not too far from them. Sammy glanced at Hines.
Ach it’s daft really. I just wouldnt accept a Head Office line.
Sammy nodded and waited for him to finish rolling the cigarette, then struck a light for him.
See I’m no working the day and they want me to go up and see them this afternoon. I mean I’m supposed to go home and put on the uniform.
Aye.
The point is: if I’m no working what in the name of god should I go and put on their fucking uniform for?
Aye. Sammy sniffed, glanced sideways at Paul.
I mean surely if they want to see me on garage business they should be doing it on garage time i.e. I should be getting paid.
Sammy looked at him.
Eh? What d’you think?
Well . . .
Christ sake Sammy I mean they’re wanting me at Head Office and I’m supposed to go on my own time and wearing their fucking uniform. And if I dont go the day they’ll hit me with a 10 o’clock the morrow morning, right? so I get pulled off my shift to go straight up. But I’ll still no get paid. My time stops as soon as I step off the fucking bus.
Aye. Is that how you never took the line off Campbell?
Hines nodded.
What’s it for? your line.
Ach. Couple of sleep-ins and that. It doesnt matter, no really.
Naw I’m just asking . . . Sammy glanced at the water-boiler; Scott had gone across to make a pot of tea, he was rinsing out a few cups under the cold water tap.
Hines shrugged. What d’you think?
Well, Christ, I dont know to be honest. Eh . . . Sammy sniffed. What makes you think you’ll get hit with a 10 o’clock the morrow morning?
Campbell told me I would.
Did he . . . Sammy scratched his chin. Just for sleep-ins?
I’ve had a couple of bookings as well right enough.
Aye still, you’re no expecting a 10 o’clock line unless it’s bad Rab I mean you know as well as I do, 10 o’clock lines, pretty serious.
Ach I dont . . . probably just wanting to get fucking rid of me.
Sammy snorted.
Hines looked at him.
That’s no the way they work, come on.
What d’you mean come on? all I know is I’m back here 18 months and I’m still no up the fucking driving school!
Aye well you know the reason for that. Your record’s bloody hopeless – that’s how you’ve got the line. Christ Rab I mean the other day you’ve signed-off and no even been out on the blooming road! I heard about it as soon as I walked in.
I had a bad stomach, diarrhoea, ask anybody – Harry Cairney’ll tell you.
Aw I know, I know; I’m no saying you were at it . . . Sammy stopped and sat back from the table as Scott laid down two cups of tea, murmuring, I’ve put in the sugar . . . I mean look at it this way, continued Sammy. if you say to me, Sammy – will you go and find out my chances of getting up the driving school.
I wouldnt say that.
Naw, hold on, I’m just
But
I would never say it.
I know you wouldnt, I’m just trying to show you something.
What you trying to show me?
Well your record for heaven sake it’s murder. If I walk in to fight for you what happens: they bring out your file. End of story.
Aw good, good, that’s you told me my record’s bad.
Sammy looked at him.
My record’s got fuck all to do with it.
Aw that’s a good yin. Sammy folded his arms for a moment; he then reached for his tea and sipped at it; he lifted his cigarette from the ashtray, and glanced sideways at Paul . . . I mean what’re you wanting me to do Rab? I mean if you’re wanting me to come up to Head Office with you then I will – course I will, it’s my blooming job.
I’m no asking you to do that.
Naw I know you’re no and I’ll tell you something for nothing: you should’ve been up that driving school years ago. And you would’ve been if you’d screwed the bloody nut – so there’s no use coming in here with your complaints.
What’re you talking about?
Aye, you know fine well what I’m talking about. Sammy sipped at his tea and then put the cup down; he glanced at those at the other table. I’ve heard your moans and groans Rab, I’ve heard them.
No from me you’ve no! you kidding? I’ve never fucking said a word about it. Hh.
Aye well I’ve heard it. That mate of yours, shouting his bloody mouth off. Dont think I dont know cause I do.
You talking about Reilly?
I’m no naming any names.
Hines shook his head. Paul gazed at him. He reached to pat him on the head. You too warm? he said, and tugged the balaclava down to lie on his shoulders. He glanced at Sammy who had been glancing at him; each glanced away. Hines inhaled on his cigarette; it had stopped burning; he struck a match to relight it; then he said, Look Sammy I’ve got nothing to do with Reilly; if I was wanting to make any complaints I’d come and make them.