Looking For the Possible Dance

by A. L. Kennedy

  ‘That was when you saw me. I was there another time. A couple of weeks before that, I followed you home. Lesley and her boyfriend locked up –’

  ‘She doesn’t have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Aye she does, wee Sammy. Did you not know? Jesus Christ, you work with them, I thought at least you’d know that.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Aye, I’ll tell you later. So Lesley and Sammy lock up and you’re off down the street to choose between the corpy and the deregulated bus. You waited for quite a while.’

  ‘You’re guessing.’

  ‘Nope. There was a wee boy at the bus-stop in a red jersey, he asked you for a cigarette and you told him you didn’t smoke. You looked thinner than I thought you would and you were tired.’

  ‘I don’t know if I like you watching me.’

  ‘I do it all the time.’

  ‘But I know about it now.’

  ‘I only ever do it to make sure you’re safe. And because you look nice. Give us a kiss.’

  Margaret gave him a kiss.

  ‘And let’s dance.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dance with me, Maggie. Go on.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got any music we could dance to.’

  ‘No, no, no. What we do – I hold you, like this. Waltz position. Mm hm?’

  ‘I’m still here.’

  ‘That’s good. I’d hate it to be someone else. Because now we lie down and we dance. No music.’

  They steered each other towards the sofa.

  ‘I don’t think this is called dancing. I think dancing is something different.’

  ‘We can try it your way next time.’

  That was faster, too: like being approached by a bulldozer, a hard mind. Margaret thought she might prefer it slow.

  The evening after she came home from the dentist, Margaret asked Colin again.

  ‘Why did you come back?’

  ‘Hm?’

  They were almost sleeping, neat in her bed together, a good fit. His head had been lying across her arm just long enough to make it sore.

  ‘Why did you come back?’

  ‘I’m not back, yet, I’m still catching my breath.’

  ‘Not just now; then.’

  ‘Hm hm, mm hm, huh.’

  He gave a little cough that moved them both and then turned to face her.

  ‘Why I came back? From London?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘I wanted to see you again.’

  ‘And.’

  ‘Why should there be an “and”? Why should there have to be an “and”? Are you not worth coming back for, all by yourself? Or do I lie to you so often that you can’t believe me when I say that I came back for you?’

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘No, it’s not alright. I came back because of you. I’ve tried every way I can to prove it. I can’t do anything else.

  ‘It wasn’t great in London and I’ll admit, I didn’t like it there, but it wasn’t all that bad, either. I ended up lodging with my Uncle Archie and he sorted me out. He ran a fish shop. “You canny be a useless dope fiend and work in a fish shop.” That’s what he said. At least, that’s what he said to me. Personally, I still reckon it’s the only way to do it and stay sane. Archie was entirely off his head – all that radiation and raw sewage, to say nothing of the actual fish. But it could have been worse and there wasn’t anywhere else that I could go. You think it’s hard to find a place to live up here? A nice wee job in the city? Down there it was impossible. Everything was impossible. There was nowhere I could go. There was no one I could be with that didn’t mean trouble.

  ‘I had to stay with Archie and he did a lot for me. He spoke to my mother and I saw her before she died – we made friends again. Archie even offered to leave me his wee fish shop, to make me a partner. I said I was coming back here. He told me I was crazy. “I’ll go anywhere you like for any reason, but I’ll not move a half an inch for a woman. Not me. I’ve the smell of them every day at my work and that’s more than enough.” That’s what he said.’

  ‘I’m glad you came.’

  ‘Are you really.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK.’

  Margaret didn’t like it when they argued in bed. You were meant to be peaceful and nice to each other in bed.

  It was also the place where they slept.

  ‘Colin? McCoag?’

  Margaret’s voice seems louder in the dark.

  ‘Mm hm.’

  ‘Colin?’

  ‘Awwff. I’m no gonny get any sleep tonight, am I?’

  ‘Don’t be cross.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m fucking tired, it’s some ridiculous time of the night, in fact it’s in the morning, and I want to be asleep. I asked if I could sleep with you. I know that involves a wee bit of staying awake as well, but I would like to sleep. At least try to. Or how about molesting my body instead of my mind.’

  ‘I just wanted to tell you something.’

  ‘Is it something exciting?’

  ‘Come here a minute.’

  He reaches to touch her face.

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’

  ‘Come here.’

  Margaret fits her head against Cohn’s shoulder, feels his hand curl round to rest along her waist. She’s always thought he does that very well.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re here. I mean here in general. Not just in bed.’

  ‘I’m not going to go away. Unless you want me to.’

  ‘I don’t want you to.’

  ‘Good. I’m going to sleep, now. Night, night.’

  Margaret lies in the thick of the dark and thinks of something she cannot tell Colin, something she cannot explain which sometimes wakes her in the night, like a cry springing up from out of clear water.

  She was in her room. Twenty-one years old, newly graduated, and reading in bed with the little brown lamp on; the little brown lamp that Margaret chose to take away with her to England; the old lamp she has slept beside, on and off, for a decade or more. The lamp lit what she remembers and cannot say, because it is probably unsayable.

  She was reading a book she had borrowed from her father, because most of her books were still in England and she couldn’t go to sleep without reading, at least for a while.

  When a knock came at the door, she had almost forgotten which house she was in, was almost unsure of the country around her. Her father’s face seemed surprising as it edged round the door.

  ‘I’m sorry, Margaret, I’ve surprised you.’

  ‘No. No, it’s fine.’

  ‘Can I sit on the bed?’

  ‘You always used to.’

  ‘Well, you’re bigger now. I have to ask.’

  They were quiet for a while, until Margaret brushed the back of his hand.

  ‘Mm hm, well, you see, I was thinking about what you said at dinner, there. About going back down south and I thought you might, maybe put it off. There are some nice wee jobs going up here, I’ve been looking for you. I mean, you’ll be staying up here, in the end. You should probably have my room now – it’s bigger and you’ll make it the way you’d like. We’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I need to go back down.’

  ‘Of course, you’ll have friends and – You’ll soon make friends up here again. I see that Susan and Barbara quite often. Remember, from school? They ask about you.’

  ‘Dad. Look, I might not come back. At least, I will come back, but not to stay. I’ll probably live down there.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Some of us have got a flat together. It’s very nice. You could visit me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘Well, I’m still not sure.’

  ‘What’s he called?’

  ‘No, it’s not like that.’

  ‘I knew there was someone, but I thought you would have told me, I thought I must be wrong, because you would
have said. You didn’t say.’

  ‘Dad. I would have told you if it was serious.’

  ‘He’s not touched you.’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he’s touched you. I don’t want to know if he’s touched you.’

  ‘It’s alright, you’d like him.’

  She felt his hand tightening round hers, the skin smoothed with age. Strong bone. His voice was very soft when he spoke again and he didn’t look at her.

  ‘Please don’t go. Just don’t leave me. Please. Please. Margaret, please. I can’t – I was waiting for you to come back. Please.’

  He fluttered his free hand towards the lamp and she turned it off. She let him cry in the dark. When she held him, she could feel him trying to pull in breath and his tears on her neck, just below her ear and running down. When he spoke, she felt that, too, as the sound moved in his throat and chest.

  ‘Please. You were always such a good girl. If you leave me, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t bear it. Your mother went away. She never came back. You’ll never come back.’

  His breath flailed out again.

  ‘Of course I’ll come back. Silly. I’ll come back. Mum can’t come back – she died. I love you. I still love you.’

  ‘She didn’t die, she fucking left me. Did you think I would tell you that? Your mother was a fucking slut? She ran away the first chance she got because I was no bloody good? She might as well have died. Leaving her baby. Leaving me. You’re like her, you know that, you always were like her. I knew it.’

  ‘I love you, Daddy, I love you.’

  There seemed to be an absolute silence, Margaret couldn’t say for how long. And then her father breathed, spoke.

  ‘Don’t cling to me. You don’t need to cling to me. I know where I am now. I know just where I am.’

  He pulled her away, but she lifted her hands to his head, gripped it, held it still, and kissed him. He stopped moving.

  ‘I’m fine, Margaret. You go to sleep, now. I’m fine.’

  He touched her shoulder and then stood up from the bed. All she saw was the block of light when he opened the door and the dark shape he made. She didn’t sleep.

  In the morning, he called her down for breakfast in the way that he always had and they ate in silence, while their plates and cutlery battered and scraped.

  Then, ‘Margaret, I’m sorry. I say things that I don’t mean, I’m getting old. Forget what I said about your mother, she did the best she could and I never should have told you otherwise.’

  ‘It’s alright.’

  ‘No. It’s not. Finish your tea. We should go to the shops this morning, buy you some clothes. You’ll want to look nice when you go back south.’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  But Colin had gone to London and that was that. Margaret had to come home again and explain. Her daddy was sympathetic. She knew he was also pleased.

  ‘I’m sorry. I am sorry. If he’s for you, he’ll come back. If he’s not there’ll be someone else. You’re very pretty – you’ll be able to pick a nice one. Come on, don’t be sad.’

  ‘I can’t help it. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Don’t make yourself alone. No one has to be like that. It’s not a good habit to have, love. Don’t be alone.’

  He hugged her, gave her that silence again. The one that happened sometimes when they touched.

  WATCH THIS

  James shivers and scrunches his fingers, lets out a smile. He is about to enjoy himself. He begins to eat his Snowball, not entirely carefully, and Snowballs should always be eaten with great care.

  Almost five minutes pass before anyone speaks.

  ‘James Watt, you will never, ever be given one of those things again. That was a treat. And now you’ve spoiled it.’

  James shrugs his hands. A few more fragments of coconut fall and stick to the table-top.

  ‘James, this is ridiculous. That is enough. I’m sorry, he’s perfectly capable of eating like anyone else. He just isn’t trying. Irene, I’m sorry, hen.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sorry. He’s disgusting, that’s all. You’re disgusting.’ Irene lurches up with the movement of the train, wiping her mouth with a thin, white hand. James is quiet, looking at her face. ‘I’m going to get some paper and then I’m going to sit in the buffet car.’ The three still at the table watch her sway along the aisle, her dark hair clipped like a boy’s and barely touching the collar of a bottle green cardigan. Margaret thinks how young she would look, if you couldn’t see her face. She must have an old face.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear, Irene’s always been highly strung. She was – she was disappointed. Wanted a girl, you see. And the other thing, of course. The man just upped and left her. His father. Just upped and left. She says things she doesn’t mean, sometimes. Doesn’t she, James.’

  James holds his hands out carefully to be cleaned, waits for the flannel to wipe his face and dab the flecks of marshmallow from his sweatshirt. Mainly, he just shuts his eyes.

  ‘That’s a good man, James, good man. Be patient for your Auntie May. That’s right.’ May kisses him very quickly on the cheek before Irene returns with some toilet-roll and starts to wipe the table clean. She doesn’t speak, takes her purse from her handbag and leaves again.

  ‘Do you know dear, I don’t think the buffet car will be open yet and that will be another upset for everyone. James likes you and he’s fine on his own, just fine. You wouldn’t mind sitting here with him for a while? He doesn’t take fits.’

  ‘Um, no, that’s alright.’

  ‘I’ll not be long. Be good James, there’s a man. You’re such a plaster sometimes, I don’t know.’

  James and Margaret are quiet a little. He drags some paper under his hands and then wipes his eyes.

  HI

  ‘Hi.’

  FUCIT

  ‘What do you mean?’

  FUCIT

  ‘Why did you wind them up?’

  FEDUP

  ‘Are you fed up now?’

  YES

  ‘What do you want to do? Is there anything you want to do?’

  NO

  ‘Sure? Why are you going south?’

  DON KNOW DON WANT TO STAY GLASGOW I HAVE FRIENDS

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to go, either, but I have to. I could tell you why. You want to know why, do you?’

  NO

  ‘You could always plaster instead.’ James gave her a look. Slowly. ‘It’s alright, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. James Watt wasn’t a plasterer anyway, was he? Eh? He was an inventor, you know that?’

  YES COURSE NOT A KID STEAM

  ‘Sorry. I should have know you’d know. Is that why they called you James?’

  DON KNOW.

  ‘Let me tell you why I’m going south, going right down the line. Take your mind off things.’

  NO

  ‘Sure?’

  NO TIRED TANKS THANKS

  And he pushes the papers away, lets his eyes close.

  ‘I hope you don’t snore, James Watt.’

  James waves a hand and smiles, but nothing more, and Margaret turns to look out of the window.

  The hills are growing into mountains beneath thickening rain. Tall gates with little bells along their crossbars whirl beside the track; if you can fit your lorry beneath the bells you’ll be safe to go under the power lines that are racked across the moors. The bells save your life. Margaret travels too fast to hear if the bells ring when the rain hits them, or if they swing in the wind. Into her mind comes, ‘Saved by the bell,’ and almost before she hears it, she is thinking of something else.

  James Watt dozes, knowing he shares his name with a leading Industrial Revolutionary – a man of steam who disapproved of trains.

  Margaret watches the black jets peel around the mountains, on exercise. She does not like them. They have the shape of gliding hands; palms down and fingers stretching forward, thumbs tucked in. The hands go in pairs, in three-
dimensional black, pushing paler shadows into the heather and the grass. Margaret wonders if the grass they touch turns yellow, or the heather dies.

  To keep her mind from the aircraft, she turns to look at James, considers what she would have told him about her journey, if he had wanted to hear. She isn’t sure she understands her story, but she might have if she explained it to somebody else. That might have been useful.

  Even now, it seems so unclear. Why she is leaving Glasgow and possibly staying away; there must be a reason for that. Not the ceilidh. Not what happened there. It must have been something before or after the ceilidh; something which happened or failed to happen and now is pushing her away from home.

  It seems to have begun with a man called Graham nipping his cigarette out and saying this:

  ‘I fully believe that fish have souls.’

  Some around the table will later learn that he made a note of this sentence, and others he will say, in the course of several bus journeys during that week. For now, he will be as impressive and spontaneous as he intends.

  ‘I believe all fish have souls and all feel pain. I believe that when I pull them with my hooks up on to land, where I let them drown, they suffer anguish, terror and the pain of death. When they fight me as I play them, they are fighting for life, when they twitch on the bank and they are dying, it may well be that the sound of their grief goes back into the water, that they cry out in a way I cannot hear. They may even mention my name. It is a serious thing, to catch fish. I do not take it lightly.’

  Margaret looked round the room, at Graham’s wife and John from the fishing club; two mountaineers, Lesley, Sam, Heather from the canteen, Mr Lawrence and their local councillor. Only the rising tissues of cigarette smoke moved, everything else was still for Graham. Mr Lawrence stared at him and through him and into the far wall behind. Graham didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘But I also believe that men have souls and by that I mean human beings of every sort. For the good of our souls, we must eat and find things to do; work with companionship and meaning.

  ‘I kill fish for the good of my soul. I fish with my wife and we provide ourselves with food. My children, and others of our acquaintance, are familiar with trout. The children of the unemployed, more than any others, should know the taste of salmon, or brown and rainbow trout. In fishing, I find the work I am unable to find elsewhere; in fishing, I am the laird and not the ghillie.