by James Kelman
Oh well, the tube or a walk? She enjoyed walking up from the station but tonight she was taking a tube; her railcard covered it anyway. It was her mind but her mind was jumpy. A funny expression, ‘jumpy’, but it was how she felt. If she could have relaxed she might have done it, she might have walked, because she did enjoy it, although she preferred walking down to walking up. There were hills in London even if you didnt notice them.
But the night ahead, things to think about, she wanted to be clear and just have it worked out, work through things and what she would do, walking helped the process, it could.
Perhaps she would walk. She had a choice of tube stations too. Usually she travelled to the one nearest the casino but not necessarily. Really, it was six and half a dozen. What did it matter? just save hassle, that was the important thing, making life easy, so so important, it was.
The train had arrived at Charing Cross and she still hadnt worked it out but that was her and her indecisiveness; she was so hopeless when it came to decisions, she just seemed to do things, or else didnt do them. Why didnt you do it? You said you would and now you didnt.
I changed my mind.
She changed her mind. Was that ‘allowed’?
But did she ‘change her mind’? Did she even have a ‘mind’? Mind. People were people. Helen didnt care about any of it, only Sophie, worries about Sophie like if the childminder, Azizah – Azizah was good and Helen was so lucky to get her, she was so nice, and responsible too, and clever, and would follow instructions. Sophie would be put in bed and would sleep. Azizah would leave the door open and sit in the corner with the reading lamp. Sophie would know she was there and be comforted, and that was that. Helen was walking across the station platform now, she was going to walk because she wanted to walk; it gave her time to think, to just think; clear her brain and think, and everybody rushing around too in the same way, everybody just like here there and everywhere, all roundabout, and bad-mannered too some of them it was like not even seeing people the way they barged past.
She paused by the exit then continued, glad to be outside – and the rain too, it was raining; she hadnt expected the rain, although why not? If it had been raining earlier, why not now? Quite heavy too, and heavier, getting heavier. She had the brolly, and kept walking while bringing it from her bag. People were even sheltering my God it was heavy. She returned the brolly into her bag, headed back to the station, and downstairs to the tube.
Even here the choice. Nothing came like in a straightforward way, decisions always; one tube or two? one with a walk and two with less of a walk. So so busy. People out for the night and going home, and here and there, others. Where they all were going. Hostels. Foreign people went to them, and students, downmarket hotels; DSS places with sheets of cardboard as pretend walls dividing the lodgers and these very heavy guys on the reception and grunting at you; broken locks and windows and dirt, and stains; and some lodgers were elderly people with nowhere else to go; their last resting place my God what kind of life? all their days, and working so hard just to survive and some not able to because not everybody is able, they cant all manage. People cant, they cant; they try and they cant. So where do they go? If that was Brian, that was the life, people are critical and they dont know the situation.
Even the busker, sounding so professional and so so accomplished, really, and yet here he was at the foot of the escalator, trapped, it was like slavery. Imagine his girlfriend, she would be so so angry, and no wonder my God such a fine musician condemned to this, is this all he would get from life?
It didnt matter about the Big Issue but she gave the woman the money, the same woman. Sometimes three nights in a week. She didnt look too grateful. Some do and some dont; different at different times. Everybody has a bad day, they cant always be cheery. ‘Have a nice day,’ and what is theirs? And if they were too grateful. For Helen it was like why? why should they have been? Did they think you were something? like if she was rich. Because people dress in a certain way doesnt mean they are rich, if they thought that. Helen might have had a job but that didnt make her rich either for God sake who would think that?
There was a wee old gypsy woman sold it too. She might not have been a gypsy. Just a wee woman and old. Where did she come from? Where did she go? What happens to people? It was like a dream or a figment. Was she ever there in the first place! A wee round woman and quite plump. How could she be plump if she had no food? sitting on the pavement; small and round and you thought about grandchildren and she would have been making a big pot of soup and kids would be home from school and having a laugh and she would make them all sit down and ladle them out the soup, that was her, near Leicester Square, her back to the wall. Big Issue. Nobody wanted it; nobody in the entire world. Helen had the image, her sitting there my goodness why was she smiling? she was always smiling and it was almost like unpleasant. Helen didnt like seeing her, and no wonder, going where she was going, gamblers gambling, and the winers and diners and money and jewellery flashing about. You saw the anger there too; sometimes you did. People just looked at you and just like oh you had money and they didnt. That was the attitude and they were so wrong, so so wrong.
Helen entered the casino via the main entrance lobby, downstairs to the cloakroom. Here the staff area was linked through a side door. The restroom was known as the ‘green room’ as though it was the theatre or television. It irritated one of the older women because she had been an actress. Helen could sympathise, but not too much. Casinos were part of the entertainment industry. And they had their own ‘uniforms’, the sexee ladee frocks, so they were actresses too. And the boys in their wee mauve waistcoats and black bowties, just silly, although they looked nice, quite manly, or else camp; both at once, appealing to the women and the men.
She was glad she had taken the tube for the extra twenty minutes; just being able to relax, my God. This evening was different, different but not different. She had no idea and no plan but something was going to happen. She knew it was. And she was going to do it, at the end of the shift. She was. She knew she was, and felt quite level-headed. If that is what it was, ‘level-headed’, just like relaxed, and her mind too, so so relaxed.
It wasnt true she had no idea or plan; only that she hadnt worked it out. She knew it was going to happen; something, whatever.
If she had walked from Charing Cross she would have got soaked. Not soaked, but wet. Only it wouldnt have been pleasant, not for a walk; walking was a pleasure and this evening it wouldnt have been. So it was a good decision. She could make them! good decisions. Not if you believed her ex, that was the last thing, any decision. You were seen and not heard, that was women. A dealer she knew so lost it with her husband she tried to stab him with a bread knife but his chest was like so so bony the knife bounced off. ‘Bony bastard’, that was what she called him. One of these ‘Glasgow women’. That was how Helen thought of them.
Although she was one herself; and felt that she was. Oh well, if that meant a fighter, thank God. But was she? Sometimes she wasnt, like not a real Glasgow woman, she was just
what was she?
Oh God, she didnt know, she didnt know, just whoever, whoever she was.
So weird. But minds are weird. Mo would have laughed at her saying that but it was true. Men acted ‘differently’. Men ‘rationalised’, women acted on ‘impulse’. Men ‘thought’ it through whereas women didnt. So they said, if you believed them because it was them saying it; at the same time giving themselves a pat on the back. That was men, stealing compliments at the slightest opportunity.
But even ‘it’, what did ‘it’ mean, they thought ‘it’ through? it was just stupid, it was like thinking of the thing before it happened but how could they? they werent God, men werent God – they only thought they were.
The door opened. Michel came in; a Belgian man, he was older, he gave a little wave, cheery. Helen was finishing a cup of tea. Others had already arrived, including Jill. Nobody was talking. A listings magazine lay on a nearby chair opened at th
e classifieds. Helen began browsing. She needed new curtains. They had to be thick, the ones she had werent thick enough. Old ones Mo got from somebody but so like thin a material the light came through, so how could you sleep? you could not sleep. Furniture too, if ever she got her own place and unfurnished so she could do it however she wanted, just however, her and Sophie, and real bedrooms, Sophie would have a real one, it would be wonderful, so wonderful.
An Inspector had moved in behind her chair. Helen was collecting the discards. She wished she could kick off her shoes. It was a silly rule that dealers werent allowed. Nobody would have noticed unless lying on their back beneath the table. Except the ‘odour’. Management dont care for ‘odours’. Of course the place already had one, according to a card tacked up on the ‘green room’ noticeboard: ‘essence of greedy bastard’ mixed with ‘sweaty body’.
When gambling people are forced to wait. They have no choice. Occasionally somebody shivers. Two men once bet on how long it took her to shuffle and deal the next hand. It wasnt a criticism. Now a guy was looking straight at her. Why shouldnt he have been she was the dealer and it was allowed.
She finished shuffling the cards, handed the marker to the player whose turn it was to cut. If there was a smell she barely noticed it. Most places have a smell. Such is life. Think of dogs. Not only a smell: a look, a feel and a sound. That is what life is, if you dont like it.
Her right forefinger was tapping the baize where a bet was to be placed. She dealt:
a card a card a card, a card a card a card: and one for the bank, a ten.
A card a card a card, a card a card a card. Pause.
Card card stay, card bust, stay, card bust, stay, stay. Ten to the ten.
Helen raked in the chips and onwards:
a card a card a card, a card a card a card, and one for the bank, a seven.
A card a card a card, a card a card a card. Pause.
The same guy looking. She didnt care for the way he was doing it, that smile; no, she didnt care for it.
The Inspector had moved from behind Helen’s chair but was watching her when she glanced in his direction. Inspectors have to ‘watch’, that is their job. Dealers as well as punters. If she fell asleep! Imagine, head lolling, that would be her. There were times she got tired, and she could have slept, certainly, just like dozed off in the middle of everything. Imagine the punters, their lucky day, reaching across for the chips. Would anybody waken her up in case she got fired? Yes, some generous soul. They werent all horrors; far from it. But when had the ogler sat down? she hadnt noticed till she saw him looking.
Whose word was that, ‘ogler’? A dealer Helen worked beside who gave names to them all and was good at mimicking their mannerisms. Any oglers in tonight? Eyebrows up, down and sideways. He was another talented person. In every place she ever worked there was somebody. What was it about casinos? It was one of these jobs, like in Hollywood restaurants, who was serving the food? you never knew if it was a well-known actor ‘between jobs’. So they said anyway, if it could be believed. Fantasy-land; people hoping to get ‘discovered’. They expected it to happen. Everybody was somebody. They had their own talents or like things about them that were special or they thought were special.
The ogler was the opposite. He had nothing.
He was so not her type, my God. And if one person felt that way then the other must also, they must know something, if there is not a single solitary spark, just the exact opposite, the opposite of a ‘spark’. And surely if it is as strong as that my God!
Helen sighed. The Inspector would have noticed. Is there a problem? Yes, I am tired!
Split aces, doubling up. A player had halted proceedings and was waiting on her. His English was bad but he knew the game. She reached to sort out the bet. He nodded but not in approval; it was as if she had made a mistake and he had corrected it.
Between him and the ogler. And ‘wealthy woman’ had been at her table earlier. Helen called her that. It was her own name for the woman. Her man was the gambler, he played roulette and she kept out his way. She wasnt friendly. She didnt have to be.
Where did the money come from? What had her man ever done in the world? Unless it was her; she could have been something.
Then the ones who were there and werent there. That was how they acted, even like texting, and the cards were there and waiting; the game held up for them. So cool, just so cool. Money didnt matter, sitting at your table but like they were someplace else, gazing across to the other tables or over to the lounge or the bathroom or the exit, or a girl walking by with a tray of drinks or if a slot-machine was paying out. Anything at all, like they had no interest in the cards, fingering their cigarette packet. If they wanted to go out for a smoke why didnt they? Even when another player glanced at his watch, they looked at him doing it. Imagine looking at somebody looking at a watch. Was that not weird? What does that say about boredom? They wanted to be someplace else but here they were stuck in a casino, oh well, so they just had to sit at a table and gamble their money. Perhaps they were insomniacs. They only came because they couldnt sleep and were fed up with all-night television. Where else could they go? But did they have to go anywhere? Why didnt they stay at home and read a book? Or get on with the damn housework; they could do a wash or a pile of ironing. If people needed something to do Helen would give them the key to her door and they could go and do her ironing.
She didnt smile at the thought. But if she had. If she laughed aloud. They would all wonder about that. Some wouldnt like it. Dealers laughing. It wasnt encouraged. What were they laughing at? Weeks ago an elderly man caused a disturbance about this; he didnt like ‘croupiers laughing’! You fucking smug bastards! He shouted it across the floor. All because they were laughing. And they were only laughing about something silly. It was nothing to do with him losing his money, or about anybody losing their money. Croupiers dont laugh when people lose their money, not even the ones they dislike. Anyway, not openly. And if it was an okay subject to laugh about then laugh, but quietly. Dont make a fuss. People dont want a fuss, not unless it is a jackpot, everybody crowding round, then it is okay.
The most smiling Helen did was to herself. Usually it went with what she was thinking. Or if she found something funny.
Then if other people didnt. It wasnt her fault.
Mainly it was silly things. Quirky things. Others didnt see the fun, so then if she had to explain it didnt seem funny at all. You just smiled to see it the first time. It wouldnt be funny if you were telling it because it wasnt happening, it was just you telling about it happening. Mo said she had a weird sense of humour. What was weird about that? Some things were funny and some things werent. Comedians on television were supposed to be funny but they werent. Most of them spoke nonsense. They had an easy life and brought other people down; that was how they got their laughs. They stood on the platform acting cool like in their smart outfits, clever clever and laughing at everything, laughing at people. Helen didnt like that. It was daft actions made her laugh, clowns from the circus. They were truly funny. Really, they were, and it was like real fun. Old black and white films too. They showed them in the morning so if you couldnt sleep you turned on the telly and that is what it was. Sophie at school and Mo out someplace. Helen could lie on the chair and enjoy them, like with the blanket over, just doze off, it was so so relaxing. She read through the coming movies for the week in the Sunday paper and drew a line round the ones that appealed. Mo said she was ‘quirky’. Okay if she was. So that was another one, if she was ‘quirky’, she didnt care.
She stacked the deck, handed the marker to the next player in line: the ogler. Who else? Ogling her boobs. Oh well, yes, of course. Letting the gaze linger long enough for her to know what he was doing. Because he wanted her to know. It wasnt enough to ogle, they needed you to know.
They look at you and do what they want, if they want to smile and laugh at you they can. It is the easiest thing in the world because like you are trapped. Except you have your clothes
on so let them look and just get on with it. Contempt is what Helen felt for them. And any women at the table because if they see it happening why do they not help? If one man gets you they all can.
She needed away. This is what she needed. She had too much going on in her life anyway, what did it matter, horrors like him, she had just so much, so so much, being stuck here, she didnt want to be and even thinking about home and sighing at the table, apropros nothing, just sighing. Sophie was asleep long ago. Azizah too, home in her own house, long ago; she remembered things and was responsible, and a bright girl and just really responsible, she was, they were so so lucky to get her.
The bugger was pretending to be caught like with his hand to his chest, Who me? Infantile behaviour, yes, but more than that he was in control, and she was the one being controlled. Exactly, of course, so so obvious, so so obvious, she was a woman and she was the employee; so there it was twice; he was not only a man but a customer; he had bought the right to control. She would have been as well a prostitute. Bought and sold by Mr Ogle. Mr Ogle. He was whispering into his mate’s ear. Guys like him usually had mates. Otherwise he wouldnt have been doing it. It was a show-off sham and that is all he was.
He whispered loudly enough to be heard by her and the other players. He used a stagey Scottish voice to make a fool of her and make a fool of Scotland. She ignored it. Once upon a time she smiled at that stuff. Not now. Others would have slapped his face and criticised Helen for letting him get away with it. Mum was one; oh yes, Mum. Although ignorant of the entire proceedings. Nothing about any of it. That is what she knew, nothing. Bloody damn all, except how to be critical, if it was Helen. Oh yes, if it was Helen, Mum would have given her the ‘look’ with that tut tut thing she did then the sigh. That was her like just so so – and she knew nothing at all about casinos, and about working in England, nothing, nothing at all. Had she even been in England? She didnt know a single solitary thing about any of it but when it came to being critical my God, if it was Helen, that was a bandwagon. Helen was sick of it. If that was ‘family’, what did it mean, blood and water, it was just nothing, only what you made it like if you made it important it was important, if you didnt you didnt. What kind of family did they ever have? Dad was Dad and oh God