by James Kelman
Aye you’re fucking right I’ll no listen … Gavin shook his head and he leant back in the armchair and inhaled deeply on his fag and blew the smoke at the ceiling. Patrick had poured four whiskies and he handed them about and also gave out the jug of water. Gavin accepted his drink without reply. And Patrick said, It’s my life.
Dont say that to me.
Cause it’s the truth?
I dont want to hear that, it’s rubbish.
Patrick nodded, returning to the chair at the rear of the settee. Gavin was sitting forwards, sipping at his whisky and looking at the blank television screen – the set was to his right, standing on the appropriate section of a piece of tall wooden furniture. Patrick drank from his can of superlager. It wasnt so much that it was better than the homebrew – and it wasnt at all – it was just that it tasted so much thicker and sweeter; in fact it was quite sickly; the homebrew was better, tastier.
Davie Jordan was saying, The last job I had was when … when was the last job I had?
How the fuck do I know, muttered Gavin.
Arthur said, You had that wee driving job.
Och I dont count that that was murder so it was.
It was a job, Arthur said.
Och I dont count it I mean for God sake the money was rubbish; ye gave them their whack and you took what was left it was rubbish. Private hire, he said to Patrick.
Some guys do okay on the private hire, said Gavin.
Freddie Sweeney from Gilshie Hill, said Arthur, he’s working out Duntocher way and he’s making a fortune. Ye want to see inside the cunt’s house! Me and Maureen were up visiting a couple of months back; it’s a fucking palace. Videos and hi-fi and all new furniture, ye want to see it!
Gavin was nodding.
Ah but ye aye hear these stories, answered Davie with a look over his shoulder at Patrick. Eh Pat?
Some guys are doing well, said Arthur. That’s just a fact.
The trouble is getting the wheels, said Gavin.
That was my trouble. Davie continued speaking to Pat: See I was in partners with this fellow, but it was his motor and he took all the best times I mean he had bloody Friday and Saturday nights and all that whereas I was getting left having to rely on it raining on Sunday morning so the cunts would want a lift to the bloody church or the chapel.
Pat laughed loudly.
Know what I mean Paddy! Davie grinned.
If it was your own transport but, ye wouldni have had that problem, Gavin said.
Aw I know, that’s what I’m saying. But I’m saying as well that it’s no a goldmine.
Who’s saying that! Nobody’s saying that! Gavin frowned. Arthur was indicating to him that the music had stopped. Anything you like, said Gavin.
A change of mood?
Gavin shrugged.
No want to just flip sides? asked Davie.
A wee change of mood eh? Arthur winked at Patrick: Just trying to get this pair away from fiddles and bagpipes.
It’s your national heritage, replied Davie. Dont tell me you’re wanting to stick on rock music!
What’s wrong with that? cried Arthur.
Nothing at all, said Gavin.
Davie said, Ah well I just feel as if I’m getting too auld for it sometimes.
Rubbish, cried Arthur, you’re never too auld to rock and roll. Bo Diddley! On ye go the Bo, you’re a dancer!
Davie winked to Pat, jerking his thumb at Arthur.
Stick him on if you like, said Gavin.
Gonni climb up the stair and get me my records then? Arthur laughed, he stubbed his roll-up out at the side of the tiled fireplace.
Gavin stared at him. Arthur, for fuck sake, there’s an ashtray at your fucking feet!
Aw aye Gavin sorry … Arthur sat back on the armchair. It’s yous putting down rock, it’s getting to me!
I used to quite like Elvis, said Davie to Pat, but I’m talking about when I was a snapper I mean fuck ten or eleven year auld I was at the time, I grew out of it … Davie tugged at the corner of his moustache. The King of rock and roll but you’ve got to admit it.
What? frowned Arthur.
I mind when he died, the wife was upset but I canni say I was particularly bothered except in a kind of sympathetic way.
What d’you mean? Pat asked.
For Elvis. I felt sorry for him. A big fat bastard as well remember? But still and all, ye had to feel sorry for him. He was the greatest right enough.
Elvis was fucking rubbish, muttered Arthur and he stood to his feet. I’m going up to get auld Bo – let Pat hear what it’s really like. Fuck yous and your highland music!
I know Bo Diddley, said Pat, he’s good.
Aye well just to let ye hear it, replied Arthur and he placed his glass of homebrew and whisky tumbler on the window-ledge as he made his way from the room.
Gavin raised his eyebrows at Davie: That’s you upsetting the big yin again Jordan!
Well I’m no meaning to, said Davie. I dont think he should call Elvis rubbish but do you? I mean a lot of folk liked Elvis.
Gavin said to Pat: The big yin’s a purist. He likes the blues and all that; he thinks Elvis stole a lot of songs.
Pat nodded. How can ye steal a song.
Aw quite easy, replied Gavin, and then ye make a fortune off your records and dont pay the poor cunt that wrote it.
Aye, true, I was actually more thinking of the traditional stuff.
It’s probably just because I said the word ‘fat’, said Davie – know what I mean, the way he’s putting the beef on himself! Mind you, if somebody did steal the songs it wouldni have been Elvis, it would’ve been one of his entourage – that Colonel Parker maybe! Who says he stole songs anyway, apart from the big yin?
Gavin shrugged. The record business is as corrupt as fuck, who knows.
When Gavin finished the last of his homebrew Pat gave him across a can of superlager then he gave one to Davie and put one on the arm of Arthur’s chair. He should have contacted the secretary’s office to tell them he was going home at dinnertime. It wasnt so good of him not to. The boats were definitely being burnt to a cinder. He just hadni been up to it. He needed to get away: and so he got away. End of story. Pat shivered. He was staring at the carpet and he closed his eyes because of something almost like its echo, the echo of the shiver, passing across the top of his spine and neck christ was somebody thinking about him at this moment in time? Alison? Was Alison god the very thought that she could actually be thinking about him. In any way whatsoever. Imagine her even thinking about him. In any way whatsoever. And yet, after last night.
He wasnt going to say anything at all to Nicola about it. Maybe that had been at the back of his mind in coming here, a quiet word with her about it, about the situation. Nicola was good.
Davie Jordan was speaking to him: Is this the first time you’ll be without a job Paddy?
Eh I suppose so.
You’ll learn, answered Gavin.
What will I learn?
You’ll learn it’s no funny, for a start.
I dont expect it to be funny.
Davie said, Heh Paddy how long ye been at the teaching?
More than five years now, nearly six.
Your first job?
More or less – I had a labouring job for a few weeks.
Gavin shook his head: A very few! They gave him the bullet. It was me got him in as well! Then he started giving cheek to the siteclerk.
It was him that gave me the cheek.
Ye fucking got me into bother so ye did ya wee cunt! Gavin grinned, The Doyle family was bad news!
Pat laughed, but only for a moment, and he sighed and his head bent, he stared at the floor then shut his eyes.
Davie was speaking to Gavin about something. Pat felt like crying. He kept his eyes shut and his head lowered. The outside door closed. Big Arthur came in carrying one LP record and he said to Gavin: No chance of a bowl of that soup you were boasting about?
I was just waiting for you! Gavin got up and walked
to the door, he paused and said quietly, Okay brother?
Aye.
Sure?
Aye. Just no feeling that good.
Ye want a lie down?
Naw.
I’ll give you a bowl of soup.
I’m no really that hungry.
Gavin’s soup’s a legend! called Davie.
He makes it with flank mutton, said Arthur, then he shovels it onto a couple of slices of bread and we get tore in!
It’s a family trade-mark; I learnt it from my maw … Gavin was smiling as he opened the door. Then he wagged his finger at Pat, indicating the bevy on the table: Nicola isni gonni be too pleased with you brother!
Uch well.
It’s him she loves, said Gavin to the others.
Young brothers, said Davie, what can ye do except lie down and die! It’s cause they’re no a threat.
Gavin had left the room.
And Davie said: It’s true, that’s how women like them.
I wish women liked me, muttered Arthur. He looked at Pat and he seemed to be speaking seriously, so Pat nodded and he continued. They never ever fell for me, know what I mean? and I’m talking about when I was a boy. I was quite a good dancer as well – no that that makes any difference – jiving and that, I was good at it, even if I say so myself.
You better, said Davie, cause no other cunt will!
I’m talking about before I got married Pat … Arthur shrugged and swallowed whisky.
A sob story, grinned Davie.
Is it fuck.
Davie winked at Pat.
It’s the truth. Whenever I was interested in any woman she was never interested in me.
Aye but was there no ones that were interested in you and you wereni interested in them? Patrick asked.
What?
I’m saying was there no women that were interested in you, but you wereni interested in them?
Naw, no really. Arthur paused a few moments and when he stopped frowning his forehead became a mass of wrinkles. He unzipped his pouch of tobacco.
Sob story, said Davie.
I’m just telling ye the fucking truth Davie.
Pat nodded. I’ve never been that lucky with them either. I dont know what it is, maybe being there in the right place at the right time or something. I never seem to really knock it off. That’s me turning thirty as well.
Ach you’re still a boy, said Davie, I’m bloody forty-two. Forty-two!
When did you get married?
Bloody twenty! Stupid. Better being like yourself, single man and all that, playing the field. Eh Arthur?
Depends. I was twenty-eight when I got married so I know what Pat’s talking about. Sometimes ye felt as if ye were getting stuck. It sounds fucking stupid but there ye go. Arthur glanced at Pat: Is that what you feel?
Sometimes aye.
Do ye no go up the dancing or that? said Davie.
I canni be bothered. I mean there is this woman I fancy, but things areni working out at all at all. But who cares! Slàinte! Pat chuckled. He studied the whisky in his tumbler before drinking most of it.
Slàinte, said Davie and he also drank.
So I’m thinking of maybe heading south.
London?
Naw.
Birmingham?
Maybe no England at all.
You talking about emigrating? said Arthur.
Naw eh, just, I might go to Europe. Spain.
Spain? Arthur was surprised.
I quite fancy it.
Ah well, said Davie, you’re single; so you’re as well enjoying yourself while ye can. If it was me but I think I’d shoot off to Canada or Australia. If you’re there it’s so bloody big ye can just fuck off to wherever ye like, whenever ye like. Eh Arthur?
Aye. When I was a boy I was going to join the Hudson Bay Company of Canada. Ever heard of it Pat?
Aye, it’s a famous name.
True but nowadays a lot of folk wouldni know what ye were talking about if ye fucking said it to them.
Davie said, You never telt me ye were going to join them before.
Aye, fuck sake, nineteen I was; I sent away and filled in the forms and all the rest of it. I was all set to go but I changed my mind.
What kind of a deal was it? Pat asked.
Well ye see it was a big trading company and they went right across the north part of Canada, trading with the Indians and the Eskimoes and white men as well, fur trappers … Arthur puffed on his roll-up, then had to give himself another light to get it smoking. Ye bought furs and pelts. Ye could be twenty-one years of age and get charge of your own trading post. And I think at that time you were on your fucking thirty quid a week. But I’m talking twenty year ago so it was good dough. See as well Paddy what I was thinking was because ye were stuck away up in the fucking wilderness and all that, the ice and snow, that you’d have fuck all to spend the wages on. So you could save a fortune. Then move down to the city if you wanted. Maybe four or five – even six – year working for them and then you move down to the city with a right few bob in the tail. Okay it would’ve been fucking lonely but you would’ve stuck it out. It would’ve been fucking worth it.
D’you regret no going?
Aye; sometimes.
The door opened and Gavin pushed in carrying a tray with bowls and spoons and slices of bread that were already margarined. He returned to the kitchenette and came back with the pot of soup, he laid it on top of two place-mats on the table. What happened to the music? he said, carrying his own bowl of soup to the armchair.
We were yapping, Davie replied.
I was telling them about the Hudson Bay Company in Canada. I was going to join them when I was a boy. I fancied the life. Plus being able to make a few quid … Arthur had risen to get himself a bowl of soup.
Davie and Pat also began helping themselves.
It was good soup. It was thick with vegetables and there were bits of flank mutton floating about which they ladled out and put between two slices of bread. Pat ate his without paying attention to the others and when he finished he refilled his bowl immediately.
Gavin called: Help yourself!
Pat grinned. He hadnt bothered eating at dinnertime and was starving and this soup was probably the best grub he had had for a fortnight. He would definitely have to acquire better eating habits. Learning to cook vegetables would be a good place to start. It was more of developing the habit than anything else, if he could just get into the habit of it, of buying carrots and turnips and cabbage etcetera. He could buy it all at the weekend and then work out what he was going to eat on a daily basis, and then pin the menus on the wall. Making a big pot of soup was something to consider. He could make a really big stack of it on the Sunday evening and it would last him through the week, and then when he came home from work he could just heat a bowl of it up for himself. It would be ideal.
He got another slice of bread, gave himself another ladleful of soup.
Remember and help yourself to the soup! called Gavin.
Pat grinned. I’ll remember!
He telt me he wasnt hungry, said Gavin to the others.
Arthur was putting the Bo Diddley album on and Davie was getting more soup. The company was relaxing. It was good.
They were friends, this trio of neighbours; they shared their grub and they shared their drink. They got on fine together. They were friends. And they were not all making him feel excluded; that was one thing, they were not making him feel awkward. That’s two things.
So, two things is not bad for one afternoon. Plus here is a third: that Doyle P for Pat Paddy or Patrick is actually here in this abode when parties of the teaching profession are dutybound not to be, when they should be at their fucking desk and giving the weans what-for. If he had known they were into the homebrew earlier he would have left school at the morning interval. No he wouldnt have. And there was no point trying to lasso the moon. None of it mattered except that here he was at this present moment. And eventually, should he so desire, he could just lie down
on the carpet and go to sleep. A bit of something hard caught in between his two front teeth; he picked it out. A wee stone. A wee stone in his teeth. The hazards of being a soup-eater.
Some family photographs were on the glass sideboard near where he was sitting. They looked fine. Pat could see himself in a small group study that had been taken on the wedding day. He hadnt been Gavin’s best man but there was nothing sinister about it. They had been friends at the time, just with Pat being in his early days at uni he was not always around the place. And Gavin always had a lot of friends; he was a popular type of bloke.
These family photographs could render a person jealous of somebody else’s existence!
Gavin and Nicola and wee Elizabeth and John. God. He just hadni been feeling well recently, mentally, these past few days and weeks – otherwise he would never have dodged up that close to avoid seeing them. That was a fucking awful thing to have done. As awful as anything he has done for a long while. But he wouldni have done it if he had been okay. Imagine if they ever found out! Imagine how it would be! Heh Gavin, Patrick said, I actually saw yous the other night. I’m talking about Sunday. Yous were coming along the road but I kept out your way.
What?
I kept out your way. It’s a long story … Pat smiled. Actually I was a bit halfcut and I didni want to gibber in front of the weans!
Is this gen?
Aye. I hid up a close.
Gavin didni say anything. He had placed his empty bowl on the mantelpiece and lighted a cigarette. Patrick dunked the bread he was holding into the soup. Gavin pursed his lips, then said, We were only wanting to see if you fancied coming with us up to maw and da’s. We had been in at the Barrows and we were going straight. I says we’d be better phoning first but Nicola says naw because you would’ve made excuses. Gavin sniffed. He said to the other two: She worries about him. Cause he’s on his tod and that, she thinks he doesni look after himself properly. She thinks you’re in a rut Paddy my boy.
We’re all in a bloody rut! said Davie.
Gavin continued, If ye just phoned maw and da occasionally. Ye know what like they are. They worry. In other words they’re normal parents.
Pat nodded.
They’re getting on Pat know what I mean.
What age are they? Arthur asked.
Eh … Gavin frowned at him for a moment, before answering. The auld man’s fifty-seven; my maw’s a couple of year younger.