That Was a Shiver, and Other Stories

by James Kelman

  Also by James Kelman

  Novels

  The Busconductor Hines

  A Chancer

  A Disaffection

  How Late It Was, How Late

  Translated Accounts

  You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free

  Kieron Smith, boy

  Mo said she was quirky

  Dirt Road

  Short Story Collections

  An Old Pub Near The Angel

  Short Tales from the Night Shift

  Not Not While The Giro

  Greyhound for Breakfast

  The Burn

  The Good Times

  If it is Your Life

  A Lean Third

  Drama

  Hardie and Baird: the Last Days (BBC radio & theatre)

  The Busker (theatre)

  In the Night (theatre)

  One, two – hey! (theatre)

  The Art of the Big Bass Drum (BBC radio)

  How Late It Was, How Late (WDR German radio)

  Spanner in the Works (WDR German radio)

  They Make These Noises (theatre)

  Herbal Remedies (theatre)

  Essays

  Some Recent Attacks: Essays Cultural & Political And

  The Judges Said

  That

  Was a

  Shiver

  and Other Stories

  James Kelman

  Published in Great Britain in 2017 by Canongate Books Ltd,

  14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE

  www.canongate.co.uk

  This digital edition first published in 2017 by Canongate Books

  Copyright © James Kelman, 2017

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 78689 090 0

  eISBN 978 1 78689 091 7

  Typeset in Bembo by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire

  for

  Gill Coleridge

  CONTENTS

  Oh the Days ahead

  The Cartwheels of Life

  Clinging On

  This has no Title

  The State of Elixirism

  (Tzekovitz was Another)

  Pick up the Pieces

  A Friend

  One has One’s Weans

  Bringing her to the Library

  Did the Pixie speak?

  Volcanic Matters

  The Principal’s Decision

  Words and Things to Sip

  Human Resources Tract 2: Our Hope in Playing the Rules

  The Twitch

  Untethered

  The Truth that Timmy knew

  Out There

  God looks down

  Back in that town

  A Night at the Theatre

  Items Precarious

  That Was a Shiver

  OH THE DAYS

  AHEAD

  Andy’s hand was on her shoulder and maybe he squeezed a little, but the lower part of his body was against her and he was still hard. He had the boxers on and she wore pants but she still must have felt it, of course she would have and shifted from him. She seemed asleep but maybe not. But her breathing. She was awake. He raised the quilt and settled on his back, arms by his side. He was happy to lie there. Yes he was tired but he would hardly sleep now. That was that, and he had to go to work, sooner or later.

  What did it matter? She shifted position, turning into him. Are you awake? she whispered.

  Yeah.

  Your eyes were closed. I thought you were sleeping

  I was concentrating on your face.

  Remembering what I looked like?

  He turned to her, reached to brush her cheek with his index finger, tracing the cheekbone. The light glinted on her eyes. He leaned to kiss her cheek, his hand on her arm, but she was resistant. He withdrew and settled on his back. You’re not good at relaxing, she said.

  He didnt reply, then was stretching as far as he could, pushing down as far as he could, feeling a reaction to this at the ankles and over the tops of his feet and lower limbs, stretching out his toes, pushing up his hips. A couple of moments later he changed position, changed it again, then moved onto his side away from her. He was wishing away the erection. His feet had come out from under the duvet so that would help. How could she even think he was sleeping! It was just ludicrous. Did she not bloody

  who cares. He was tired; tired and weary and needing to sleep, he really did need to sleep. He had an early start. Why could he not sleep? Surely he was past this stage in physicality for christ sake! Maybe it wasnt a stage. Eternal erections. All these years and still governed by that bloody drive to wherever, who cares. The gap between their bodies was less than ten inches – ten centimetres. That was a reasonable estimate. Definitely not ten inches, but the warmth, her very presence. Did she expect him to ignore that she was there lying beside him? It was stupid.

  She really did not want sex.

  That is how it was and he had to accept it. He had accepted it. She didnt ask him to keep on the boxers but she kept on her bra and her pants so that was that. By invitation only. He had to keep them on. Although it was his bed!

  Mind and body. His mind was willing but his flesh was weak. In principle he did understand. He did. It was just this damn body of his, it seemed unwilling to accept reality. He grinned.

  There was a twitch from her side as if she had felt his facial muscles move. Very interesting that she should ‘feel’ the face muscle but not a full-blown hardon. Life, who cares. But why had she come to bed with him? It was difficult to believe she would, unless – unless what? He had to get used to the idea. And sleep, if he could sleep, he just couldnt sleep. How could he with her there! My god. But would he scream? Do males scream? Of course they do. If not the precedent was his, to be his his his, all his.

  The unmachoness. So what, bloody nonsense.

  Wearing his shirt too! Ah well. An old one. Did he have new ones? She chose it. He offered his entire wardrobe! She chose the old shirt, a comfy old effort he should have dumped years ago – although he did like it, a good old shirt, and she chose it! He grinned again. That was typical. How like a woman! Just like so amazing at times how they seem to know certain things!

  His bloody neck was sore. She had the big pillow. He only had two on this bed, the good one and the bad one; the bad one was like a handkerchief or something, he would have been as well with nothing at all, but it made it difficult lying on his side. The best way was on his back but he didnt sleep on his back. On his front was difficult because of his nose getting in the way and most of all the lower regions. But even the nose. How could ye forget the nose. The nose aye gets in the way. Lie on yer front and forget about it. Yes but how can one, one cannot fucking forget it, then it pops and blood everywhere. His was a bleeder. Forget noses.

  He thought the erection had gone but it hadnt.

  Do erections ‘go’? Where do they go to? What happens to the unused physicality, unused energy? Is something absorbed? What about the sperm that does not ejaculate, does it just get sort of submerged or kind of thinned out and then

  Shut up ya fucking fool.

  But it is true that we cannot survive without them but for 99.999% of the time they get in the way, they just get in the way. One might be glad to do without them. Except do what without them?

  He was not bothered about not having sex but there was a physical reaction against it. Nor could he ignore her body. He stroked the curve of her shoulder. He wished for a pencil for a go at drawing her shoulders and neck, the hair straggling a
t the nape. She shifted onto her back and he withdrew his hand. Do you never sleep? she asked.

  Her name was Fiona and she was powerful. This had not occurred to him. She came to his bed on the understanding there would be no sex but how could ye take such nonsense at face value? Can women do this? It was just crazy. He was to keep on the boxers. Utter madness. Maybe she regarded them as a kind of chastity belt. Of course these boxers were more like whatever. Where the hell had he bought them anyway? The January sales at Lidl.

  How could he go to bed with a woman in the expectation of not having sex? In the name of god. This was not like going to bed with a long-term girlfriend for christ sake they had only met!

  Exactly. So why would she have come to bed with him if not on a certain understanding? Jesus christ what time was it anyway!

  He must have left his damn watch on the kitchen table or someplace. Usually it was next to the bedside lamp. Probably it was about three o’clock. But it could have been later. There was light but this was early June.

  He heard the sound of her breathing; a murmur. Was she sleeping? Maybe she was. Maybe she truly was. He raised himself up onto his elbow to see her, and he could in this particular light and she looked good. Man, she did. She just looked good really, the shape of her shoulders and neck and just her body, her hair and so on, just everything. He kissed her on the nose, softly, his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek. Was she beautiful? Actually she was. She seemed to be. He tried to remember her completely. He couldnt: not completely. He entwined her hair with his fingers, twisting it and turning it.

  Definitely she was awake. And cleared her throat as if to speak. He whispered, Shh, and started massaging her scalp. He wondered if she was smiling. It felt like she was, but maybe not. She might have been strained. Her eyes were shut. Then they were open again, and maybe she smiled. He stopped the massaging.

  I wonder if they all got their taxis, she said. Sometimes they’re hard to get at this time of night. Although there’s usually plenty around here. How long has yer phone not been working?

  He had moved from her and was lying on his back again.

  Eh? she said. Has it not been working for a while?

  Yeah. He shrugged. No I mean.

  Why dont ye get it sorted?

  Get what sorted?

  Your phone.

  I need a new one.

  Why dont ye get one then?

  I’m waiting for my stocks and shares to come in.

  She paused a moment then slapped him on the shoulder. It took him by surprise. Hey, he said, that was sore.

  I dont like it when you’re sarcastic. She slapped him again, and again it took him by surprise. He was taken aback and it must have shown. But he could see her smile, and whatever it was – maybe that combination, hitting him with a smile on her face – the reaction was immediate god almighty, the proverbial knee getting hit by the proverbial fucking hammer, doi oi oing. From nothing to full, raging bloody hardon. She didnt realise the effect she had, she didnt realise, effect she was having! Christ! He moved suddenly to grip her by the shoulders in a sort of pretend-manner moving onto her as though to pin her down. He leaned to kiss her on the lips his body against her not pressing in but touching the length and she would have noticed how hard he was. She must have. She couldnay not have. That was impossible. His eyes had closed. When he opened them he saw she was studying him. He was a specimen.

  She knew the state he was in. He rested back from her, on his elbows. His breathing was harsh and he needed to calm down; he was sick of this, it was like a stupid game. How stupid could it get? The duvet was mainly on her side so he could let his right leg lie outside; help the calming-down process. But this was ridiculous. He felt like saying it to her I mean for fuck sake what age are we at all it’s not like we’re bloody eighteen years of age! Christ almighty!

  Yet maybe she didnt know. Maybe she lacked experience. She had been married to the one guy for years and from what he could gather he was not the most physical of chaps.

  What did that mean? Did he not like sex? Did he not notice sex? Was he – what? What on earth did that mean? Not the most physical of chaps? But it wasnt her said that it was him, he thought the words, picking up from her. He had just picked up that her husband wasnt really bothered.

  Even how she smiled, there was an uncertainty about her. So apart from him, her ex-husband, apart from him, what males did she know? Some women just married guys that asked them. Maybe she was one. So she didnt really know other guys. She didnt realise they wanted bloody sex all the fucking time jesus christ not all the time but just like these times when they were geared up for it and just like my god lying in bed with a woman ye had just met and was damn beautiful and sexy for christ sake.

  Oh god. He really needed to calm down. I’m sorry, he said, I’m just tired.

  When d’ye start work?

  The back of eight.

  I dont work Saturdays, she said.

  Lucky you.

  She said nothing. Then she yawned.

  Want a coffee? he asked.

  She looked at him as if he was daft.

  Or tea?

  Do you have any hot chocolate?

  Hot chocolate. He laughed.

  What’s so funny?

  Nothing. He grinned. Are ye serious but?

  What do ye mean?

  Hot chocolate? Ye think I would have hot chocolate?

  Pardon?

  I did used to have some.

  It doesnt matter, she said.

  I’ve got peppermint tea and like eh green tea.

  Fiona smiled. Your friends go on nonstop, she said, everybody talking and talking and talking. I thought they would never be quiet. That what-dye-call-him? Him with the ponytail.

  Tony.

  He plays in a band?

  He does, aye . . .

  She was looking to hear more but he could not be bothered. Tony was Tony and not really a friend. Well he was a friend, he wasnt a pal. Pals are friends but friends might not be pals.

  Andy, she said.

  Yeah?

  She didnt answer.

  What? he said.

  Nothing.

  So if it was nothing why mention the guy? Tony in some ways was a shit but fair enough; who cares, who cares. She didnt know that. But he was a shit. Especially with women he was a shit, just like women didnt seem to know until it was too bloody late, the guy was just a fucking – whatever, not a friend, well he was a friend, just not a pal. Who cares anyway. Andy was tired. She surely appreciated that. He had stretched out on his back again. What the hell time was it? Maybe there would be no sleep either. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could doze.

  She was talking again. He was awful high though wasnt he? Ye would’ve thought he was on something. He acted like he was.

  Andy closed his eyes.

  You were high as well, she said.

  Pardon?

  Ye seemed to be.

  I’m no sure what ye mean by ‘high’?

  Do you play in a band? You yourself, do you play in a band?

  No.

  You’ve got that guitar.

  Aye well I’ve got a fishing rod too. Actually I’ve got two fishing rods. What I mean by that, I dont do any fishing.

  She shifted onto her back now and seemed fully awake. He wondered whether to switch on the light. She was gazing at him. Why not? she asked.

  He looked at her.

  If ye’ve got two fishing rods?

  I only mean I’ve got two fishing rods and dont go fishing and it’s the same with guitars. I’ve actually got three of the buggers, if ye go in the other room. Plus a keyboard plus a fiddle. I sold my sax.

  God . . .

  Only kidding. What I mean is because I’ve got something doesnay mean I am something. I’ve got guitars but I dont – whatever, I’m not in a band. So to answer yer question: no, I dont play in a band.

  Ye dont have to be nasty.

  Nasty? I’m not being nasty.

  I only a
sked a question.

  I know ye did, sorry.

  I thought ye played in a band because of how the blonde woman asked if ye would play when she sang.

  Andy stared at her.

  I know she asked ye and ye wouldnt, however ye said it, I saw ye shaking yer head. And then she asked him with the ponytail, the old guy.

  He wouldnt like ye calling him ‘old’.

  Well he is. When you wouldnt play she asked him. It would’ve been nice if ye had played.

  Andy nodded.

  I thought ye were going to. I’ve seen her in there before, the blonde woman. I would like to have heard ye. I thought ye would have and ye didnt. It would’ve been nice. Why didnt ye?

  The thing is she was wanting to sing and it didnay matter who played. Well it did, but only in a wee way. She doesnay really care. It’s her thing and that’s that, whether it was me or somebody else. Anyway, I didnay have my guitar.

  He offered ye his. Him with the ponytail. I saw him offering.

  Andy sighed.

  I saw him.

  Yeah well.

  Dont be so jaggy.

  I’m not.

  Yes ye are, ye’re edgy. It’s hard even to talk to you. Ye just seem to get stressed. I would like to have heard ye play, that’s all. I would just like to have heard ye play.

  Sorry.

  It’s not sorry. Ye dont have to say sorry. I dont need to know yer business. Obviously there’s something. But I dont care.

  There isnt anything.

  The way ye’re acting.

  I didnt know I was acting. It’s Barbara ye’re talking about.

  Fiona lay still. After a moment she said, I dont care. Just obviously there was something the way ye were acting. What about him with the funny hat, the man with the whistle? Is that a real instrument or what? I mean like a real musical instrument?

  Of course.

  He doesnt play in a band though does he? in a real band, I mean like playing a whistle!

  Andy chuckled.

  Seriously? It’s a real instrument?

  Are you kidding?

  No.

  That’s Joe Wylie. Joe Wylie. He plays everything, the pipes, the flute, sax, clarinet, pibroch, the bloody bassoon. Everything.

  What he plays them all?

  Andy grinned. He carries the whistle in his pocket.

  So he can just come out and play?