Not Not While the Giro

by Kelman, James

  Last time I let yous get me drunk, chuckled Sammy. I’ll no have a secret left by the time we get back down the road . . . And he tugged the blankets up over his shoulders. Me and Chas went into the kitchenette for a wash. When we returned Sammy was sitting up and knotting the laces on his boots, ready to leave. Ach, he said, I cant be bothered washing. I’ll wait till we get to the canteen.

  Clatty auld bastard, I said.

  Not at all. It’s to do with the natural oils son – that’s how yous pair keep getting hit by the midges.

  Rubbish, said Chas, you’re a clatty auld cunt.

  We parked in the place behind the canteen. Nobody was around. It was a Saturday, but even so, the three of us were always first into the canteen each morning. The woman smiled. As she dished out the grub she said, You lot were the worse for wear last night.

  Aye, said Chas, what happened to that dance you promised us?

  Dance! you couldnt walk never mind dance. You keelies, you’re all the same.

  Aw here wait a minute, cried Sammy. Less of that race-relations patter if you dont mind.

  It’s these teuchters Sammy, I said, they’re all the same so they are. Sooner we see a subway the better.

  Away with your subways! The woman was piling the boiled tomatoes and bacon onto my plate . . . What’re you wanting subways for?

  Never mind what we’re wanting subways for! Chas chuckled.

  Aye hen, grinned Sammy, you can do a lot on a subway!

  Is that so! well just dont be trying any of that tonight.

  We carried our trays across to the table near the big windows. Sammy returned them to the rack once we had taken off our stuff. Actually, he said, I dont think I’ll go to the club the night.

  Thank Christ for that!

  Naw son seriously.

  But dont count on it, grinned Chas. He winked as he sliced a piece of bacon and dipped it into the egg yolk. He’ll be there spoiling everything as per fucking usual.

  Naw Chas honest. I’ll have to take a look at the car. That bloody chinking sound’s beginning to annoy me – besides which, we’re spending too much on the bevy so we are. O Christ, he added, this food, it’s bloody marvellous. I’ve never eaten like this in my puff.

  While he spoke me and Chas were automatically covering our plates. Sammy seldom put in his teeth this early.

  I’ve got to agree with you, said Chas, it’s some grub right enough.

  I snorted. I’ll never know what yous pair got married for.

  Sammy grinned. Will you listen to the boy!

  After the second mug of tea we went back to the car to get the working-gear. Even when Sammy opened the boot the smell of it hit us; first thing in the morning was always bad. The boilersuits we had had to borrow from the factory stores, they were stiff and reeking of sweat; probably they had been left behind years ago by some squad of subcontractors.

  Chas had slapped himself on the wrist suddenly and he turned up the palm of his hand to show us the remains of a midge. Look, he said, a bit of fucking dust. Aye Sammy, we definitely need a tin of cream or something.

  I’ll see Joe.

  O good, I said.

  Sammy glanced at me.

  The chlorine tank we were working on stood at the very rear of the factory, not too far from the lochside. Its lining was being renewed. We had to strip away the old stuff to prepare the way. The tank was about 40 feet high and about 18 in diameter. On top was a small outlet through which the scaffolders had passed down their equipment; a narrow walkway separated it from a factory outbuilding. There was also a very small tunnel at the foot which us three had to use; it was quite a tight fit, especially for Sammy.

  To allow us maximum daylight the scaffolders had erected the interior staging with minimum equipment. The platforms on which we worked were spaced about 8 feet apart. When we finished stripping a section of old lining we had to shift most of the planks and boards to the next, to make it safe to work on. But generated light was also necessary. In fact it would probably have suited us to have had the maximum scaffolding stuff rather than extra daylight. It was safe enough but we had to be careful; since the tank was circular the platforms couldnt cover the entire 18 feet. Chas had spotted a potential problem in connection with this. It was a bevel in one side. He had pointed it out to us yesterday evening.

  While he went off to switch on the compressor I fiddled around with the air-hoses, giving Sammy a chance to sneak on ahead into the tunnel; somewhere inside was a place where he planked the chisels and other stuff. He was a bit neurotic about thieving and wouldnt even tell us where he kept it all.

  It was a fair climb to the section we were on. One of the snags of the job was this continual climbing. The chisels kept on bouncing out the hammer nozzles and it seemed like it was my job to go and get them – and when they fell they always fell to the bottom of the tank. Once Chas arrived we adjusted the hammers onto the air-hoses and fixed on the chisels then one by one we triggered off. Half an hour later we stopped. Earlier in the week I got a spark in my right eye; while along at the First-aid I discovered we were not supposed to stay longer than 30 minutes without at least having a quarter of an hour break out in the open.

  Sammy had gone off to make his morning report by telephone to the depot. Back at the lochside he explained how Joe had been unable to drive up yesterday. They had needed him for an urgent job. But he would definitely arrive some time today.

  Is that all? I said, What I means is did they no even apologise?

  Aye, what would’ve happened if we were skint! said Chas.

  Well we werent skint.

  That’s no the point but.

  I know it’s no the bloody point. Sammy sniffed, then he nudged the spectacles up on his nose a bit. The trouble with you son you’re a Commie.

  Naw I’m no – a good Protestant.

  Sammy snorted. After a moment he said, I could always have seen that whatsisid, Williams, he would’ve subbed us a few quid.

  Aye and that’d be us begging again!

  He’s right, said Chas. They must be sick of the sight of us in this fucking place. Fucking boilersuits and breathing-masks by Christ we’re never done.

  Aw stop your moaning.

  Heh, you definitely no going to the club the night?

  None of your business.

  Chas grinned, Course he’s going. Saturday night! Dirty auld bastard, he couldnt survive without sniffing a woman.

  Ah well, said Sammy, nothing wrong with sniffing. And I’ll tell you something . . .

  We know we know – when you get to your age it’s all your fucking good for.

  Sammy laughed.

  Joe turned up in the afternoon, during one of the breaks out the tank. We were at the shore, skliffing pebbles on the surface of the water. The last time he came we were doing exactly the same thing. The time before that we had been standing gabbing to one of the storemen, and it was pointless trying to explain about conning the fellow out of a couple of new boilersuits. Joe never heard explanations. His eyes would glaze over.

  Heh Joe, I said, the First-aid people said we were supposed to get a quarter of an hour break every half hour, because of the fumes, the chlorine and that.

  Is that right . . . Joe nodded. He was lighting a cigarette, then chipping the match into the loch.

  That’s what they said.

  Aye, it’s kind of muggy . . . He gazed towards the head of the loch where several small boats were sailing north, the gannets flying behind and making their calls. He sniffed and glanced at his wristwatch, and glanced at Sammy. Fancy showing me your bevel? he said.

  Aye Joe.

  They walked up the slope. We waited a bit before following. Joe had gone off alone, and Sammy paused for us to catch up with him. He’s away to see if whatsisid’s arrived yet – he’s supposed to be coming in to see the bevel . . . Pulling a rag from a pocket he wiped his brow and neck, and then wrapped it round his head like a sweatband. Must be hitting the 80’s, he grunted. I’ll tell you something, we�
�re better off in the fucking tank.

  What did he say about it? said Chas. Did he say anything?

  Sammy looked at him.

  The bevel I mean.

  Aw aye. Naw, he’ll have to have a look.

  Heh, I said, Sammy! d’you notice the way he went your bevel; your bevel. As if you’d put the fucking thing there yourself.

  Ach it’s just his way . . . Sammy continued walking.

  Another thing, I said, I bet you he asks that cunt Williams about the quarter of an hour breaks.

  No danger, said Chas.

  In fact it wouldnt surprise me if he knew about it in the first place – just forgot to fucking tell us.

  As usual, muttered Chas.

  For God sake! Sammy stopped and glared at us.

  Well no wonder Sammy, sometimes he treats us as if we were the three fucking stooges.

  The boy’s right, said Chas. I notice he’s no saying anything about the wages.

  They’ll be in his bloody car.

  Aye and they’ll stay there as long as possible, just in case we nick away for a pint or something.

  Sammy’s face reddened; he nudged the spectacles up on his nose. He turned and strode on to the tunnel. We watched him crawling inside.

  Chas shrugged. We’ve upset him now.

  Ach, no wonder. He’s letting Joe take the piss out him.

  He’s no really.

  Well how come he’s still climbing scaffolding at his fucking age? he should be permanent down in the depot.

  True. Chas sniffed, Come on – we better go and show the auld cunt we still love him.

  He was pounding away with the hammer. He ignored us while we were preparing our stuff. Finally he switched off the power. About bloody time and all, he said, get cracking. I thought yous had went for a pint right enough!

  How could we! it’s your fucking round.

  Sammy shook his head and turned back to the wall of the tank again, and triggered off. Chas winked at me. We worked on steadily. Then without having to ask I knew we were past the half hour. I saw Chas pause to demist the goggles he wore; he adjusted his breathing-mask and shrugged when I gestured at my wrist. We continued with the hammers.

  About 5 minutes later the signal came from below; somebody was climbing the scaffolding. Both Joe and Williams. We stopped work. Sammy went off to show them the bevel and me and Chas had a smoke, sitting on the platform. We could hear snatches of their conversation. Williams said something about Monday being a Bank Holiday and Chas started laughing quietly. I fucking knew it, he whispered, we’ve knocked it right off.

  What d’you mean?

  He shook his head, then he whispered: You still fancy having a go at the Ben?

  Fucking right I do, climbing it, aye. How?

  Ssh.

  Heh, heh yous two! Joe was calling. We got up and climbed to the next platform. He and Williams stood beside each other. A couple of yards away Sammy stared at the floor, puffing at a cigarette and scratching his head. Joe gestured us closer and said, I think we’ve got it beat. Look . . . he pointed at a couple of planks. Now Chas, if you and Sammy stand at the bottom end of them the boy’ll be able to go out and do the lining.

  What?

  See look . . . Joe tugged Chas by the elbow who then stepped aside while Joe placed the planks one on the other; he pushed them like that out over the gap being caused by the bevelled side of the tank. See what I mean? he said. And he wiped his hands.

  Eh . . .

  Look Chas . . .

  But before Joe could continue Williams had stepped forward. The thing is, he said, the weight. You and Sammy, together you must make about 3 or 4 of the boy. If you two stand on the bottom end of the planks he’ll be able to get out at the top. You’ll balance him no bother.

  Chas didnt reply and I glanced at Sammy.

  Save us a hell of a lot of bother too, added Joe. What d’you think?

  Eh . . .

  Joe sniffed and turned: What about yourself Sammy?

  Ah, I’m no too sure Joe, being honest.

  I think it’ll work fine, said Williams. He’s light – you two’ll balance him easy.

  We could use three planks if you like, said Joe.

  O naw. Sammy glanced at him: You couldnt use three planks. Naw Joe they’d just spread, it’d have to be two.

  Aye . . . Joe nodded. He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered them round everybody. What d’you reckon? he said to Chas.

  Eh . . . Chas sniffed. Then he shook his head slowly. I’m no sure Joe.

  Worth a try but eh? Joe turned to me. Eh young yin? what d’you think? could you give it a go?

  After a moment Williams said, Wait a minute, I’ve got a suggestion. What weight d’you think I am?

  I shrugged.

  Well I’m a good bit heavier than you though, agreed? Now look, if you and one of your mates take one end then I’ll go out the other. Well say the three of you.

  That’s better, grinned Joe.

  Williams tapped himself on the belly and chuckled, Dont remind me! No, seriously . . . He looked to Sammy and Chas. The three of you to balance me as opposed to you two balancing the boy, what d’you say?

  At least to give it a try, said Joe.

  It’s no the same thing, I said.

  Yes, said Williams, it’s only a try though.

  Aye but the hammer. Sammy said, It’s the hammer Mr Williams – once it starts vibrating and the rest of it.

  I know, fair enough.

  It’s different from just standing there, I said.

  Joe cleared his throat.

  Tell you what, said Williams, while I’m out I’ll give it a blast with a hammer, will that do you?

  I didnt reply.

  Ah come on, said Joe.

  But it’s no the same thing.

  We’re no saying it’s the same thing.

  I just want to see how it works, shrugged Williams.

  There was a moment’s silence then Sammy came across the platform. No harm in seeing how it works, he said. Come on Chas . . . He also waved me forward onto the planks. I hesitated but he nodded me on. He stood at the back, me in the middle, Chas to the front.

  Right then Tom, said Joe to Williams, and he passed him a hammer with the chisel already fixed onto the nozzle. You ever worked one before?

  Dont tell me – you pull the trigger! He took the hammer, checked it was securely attached to the air-hose then gave it a short burst. He manoeuvred his way along the planks, moving out on the top end, right over the gap at the bevel. Okay? he said.

  Fine, called Sammy.

  He put the chisel to the lining and triggered it off; the planks spread and we lost our footing, the hammer clattering and Williams yelled, but he managed to twist and get half onto the edge of the platform, clinging there with his mouth gaping open. Joe and Chas were already to him and clutching his arms, then me and Sammy were there and helping. When he got up onto the platform he sat for a long time, until his breathing approached something more normal. Nobody spoke during it all. His face was really grey. Joe had taken his cigarettes out and passed them round again. When he had given Williams a light he said, How you feeling Tom?

  Williams nodded.

  We continued smoking without speaking.

  Eventually he glanced at Joe: Think I could do with a breath of fresh air.

  Joe nodded. The four of us climbed down with him coming in between; he was still shaky but he managed it okay. When we came out of the tunnel he said, Jesus Christ . . . He smiled and shook his head at us. Joe went with him.

  Down at the lochside Joe reappeared, and distributed the wages and subsistence money. While we checked the contents against the pay-slips he gazed towards the foot of the loch. The mountain peaks were distinct. Below the summit of the Ben a helicopter was hovering. Joe watched it for a time. Good place this, he said, a rare view.

  Full of tourists but. Sammy shook his head. Can hardly get moving for Germans.

  Joe nodded, he lit a cigarette. Pity about
that fucking bevel, he said, we’ll no manage to get the scaffolders out till Tuesday at the earliest – probably Wednesday . . . He glanced in the direction of Sammy.

  Aye.

  Puts us back.

  Sammy nodded. Then he sniffed. Mind you Joe there’s a fair bit of clearing up we can be getting on with – all that stuff we’ve stripped and that.

  Aye . . . Joe inhaled on the cigarette. It’s a nuisance but.

  How’s thingwi – that whatsisid, Williams?

  Aw he’s fine, fine. A bit shaky.

  Sammy nodded, he nudged the spectacles on his nose.

  Heh look at that! Joe had turned and he pointed out to where a motor launch and a water skier could be seen. Christ sake! he said. And he stood watching them for a long while. At last he glanced at his wristwatch. He turned and snorted.

  Sammy looked at him.

  So where is it the night? the social club?

  Doubt it Joe – bloody car, it’s acting up again.

  Joe nodded.

  What about yourself?

  Aw! The time I get back down the road . . . He sniffed and glanced back at the loch, then he said, I suppose, I suppose . . . He glanced at his wristwatch. Okay Sammy, mind and phone in as soon as the scaffolders arrive.

  Will do.

  And eh – just do as much as you can, in the tank and that.

  Aye well I mean that clearing Joe . . .

  Once he had gone the three of us continued sitting there, smoking, not talking for a while.

  Charlie

  Charlie had one suit and he wore it all times. He worked for a stone-cleaning outfit travelling throughout England and Wales, and in his situation this was perfect. He owed a fortune in maintenance back payments for a wife and three weans he had left up in Lanarkshire somewhere. He was self-employed. In theory he subcontracted himself out to the stone-cleaning outfit – something like that. What it did mean was that he was more or less untraceable. I was living in digs in Manchester at the time, had just survived a lean spell and now moved into the house paying a week’s cash in advance. Not a bad place. Long-distance lorrydrivers inhabited it mostly. During the weekends few people were around, and until Charlie arrived I had the lounge and dining room virtually to myself. Charlie seldom went anywhere except to his work, Friday being the only day throughout the week he would not stay for overtime beyond 7 p.m. And before entering the house that evening he always spent an extra couple of minutes slapping the grey dust from out of his suit. After eating his meal he stepped down to the local pub but rarely drank more than five pints of bitter, he had always returned long before closing time. I doubt if he particularly enjoyed drinking beer. I think he just needed company occasionally, and also to get rid of a couple of quid in a bona fide sort of manner – before making it into the betting shop on the Saturday afternoon.