How Late It Was How Late

by James Kelman

  I’ll just use these auld newspapers eh?

  On ye go… Sammy got the tobacco and sat down on the armchair, he rolled a smoke. He had nay control, so he had to get used to the idea; so it was as well relaxing. Boab was a good guy, but that had fuck all to do with it. He just didnay want cunts nosing about the place. The last thing he wanted was the guy’s missis at the door christ almighty he could imagine Boab telling her the state of the place and her wanting to come and tidy it all up. Of course she wouldnay do that. She wouldnay do that; no unless she knew Helen was away. But she wouldnay know Helen was away. Except cause the place was clatty. And Boab would report that back. It was a fucking certainty. Just so stupit man so stupit; the usual, mountains and fucking molehills. Sammy sighed. Aye, he said, I didnay mention it but she’s away a visit the now; the girlfriend, she’s down seeing her weans.

  Aw right.

  Her first marriage and that, the weans live with her ex.

  Ahh.

  See they’re at school and that so I mean she didnay want them to interrupt it, their studies, if she had brought them to Glasgow.

  Aye I know what ye’re saying.

  He’s alright but, her husband, her ex, I’m no saying nothing against the guy.

  Fucking bullshit man Helen’s husband was a total bampot of the first order. What was he saying all this crap for there was nay need for it it was just fucking nonsense, he should have stuck on the music. He cleared his throat and did that – the first tape his hand touched; it was Patsy Cline, he turned the volume down.

  Where is it they stay? said Boab.

  Sammy kidded on he hadnay heard.

  Eh Sammy?

  What?

  Where do they stay? the weans.

  Dumfries.

  Aw Dumfries…! Aw.

  How ye know it like?

  Well no really son – ye’re talking years ago, when the kids were wee. See me and Marie, we got the len of a caravan off an auld auntie of hers. A country place down south of Stranraer. Christ my memory’s away, some bloody caravan site, on that wee neck of land. The Irish boat, I mind the Irish boat.

  Sammy held the ashtray and nudged ash into it. Boab was a talker thank fuck. Off he went. When he finished the painting he was wanting to clean the fucking brush as well but Sammy said: Naw, honest, I’ll do it myself.

  Ye sure?

  Aye.

  Cause it’s nay bother.

  Naw Boab honest, I’ve got to get used to doing things myself.

  Right…aye, I know what ye’re saying.

  I’m no an invalid aw the gether! Sammy smiled. I appreciate the painting but.

  Och christ!

  Naw serious, it’s a help.

  Ye’d have done the same yerself.

  Naw but…

  Och!

  Sammy went with him to the front door. It wasnay that he didnay trust him, he did trust him. It was just

  christ almighty. Fuck it. It doesnay matter, ye just dont take chances, ye dont take chances. That’s all there is to it. Sammy went back into the living room. He switched cassettes then opened the window to let out the paint fumes, and the wind just about lifted the window out his hand, he fought to get the spoke into the hole. Christ. He leaned his elbows on the sill, feeling the draught on his face. Things were a palaver; he was gony have to get used to the idea

  leave me if you need to

  I will still remember

  angel flying too close,

  to the ground

  Christ he liked that song. It was just fucking sad. Auld fucking Willie

  He sat down on the chair and felt for the tobacco. Mind you, he could have done with a pint. That was a week now, a week without. Which wasnay bad considering he had dough in the pocket. He could have done with talking to some cunt too, talking honest; somebody he could trust. Just getting clear about things. The idea of the blanked out Saturday. Ye wondered about that. There was nay point but ye still did. That was how having a wee word with the Leg, just getting things clear. The trouble is if Sammy had blanked it then the Leg would probably have fucking blanked it as well. With a bit of luck. With a bit of luck.

  He couldnay be bothered moving. What he should have done was hit the boozer and got himself a wee half bottle and a couple of cans, and he could have sat here, quite happy, just listening to the music – plus working things out, it was an idea to work things out. He just couldnay be bothered. It was an effort. Life. That was how ye had to keep going. What ye could control. If ye could control it, whatever ye could control. If ye couldnay control it then fuck it man what’s the fucking point, there’s nayn, ye’re as well just

  ye leave it, ye just leave. Know what I’m talking about, if ye cannay control it then just fucking leave it, forget about it.

  I will still remember

  angel flying too close

  Fucking song man. Some of these songs. Funny how

  then yer belly goes. Sammy’s fucking belly man it kept fucking going it kept fucking

  it was into knots.

  Later on he ran a bath. At last. Cause he must have been pure fucking minging man ye kidding – ten days without a real wash! fuck sake.

  Plus the aches and pains. The hot water would do his body good. Then the bruising; probably there was a lot of auld skin to come off. It would be at the yellow purple stage. Nature takes its course, if ye let it.

  He was using the radio to time himself. A good programme started from 10 till midnight and he was just gony lie there steeping and enjoy it. Then the auld fucking beard man the stubble, it was gony be at the hairy stage if he didnay watch it, and that would be tricky. He had a bit of a sensitive neck at the best of times. When he was a boy he couldnay shave without leaving scars and rashes all ower the place. Which wasnay helped by the auld man insisting Sammy used these ancient efforts where the blades came separate and sometimes if ye hadnay fastened them down right it was fucking murder polis man telling you blood flying everywhere. Sammy’s brother didnay have to cope with it, cause Sammy had fought the battles and he just took the victories, by the time he started shaving the auld man had gave up the struggle and he was dished up a packet of fucking disposables.

  All these fights with the auld man. It’s a shame, when ye come to think about it.

  What d’ye do but bringing up a family. Take Sammy’s own boy. Ah fuck it, life, it can be awkward. And time passes. Then it’s too late.

  The trouble with Sammy’s first wife was her mammy and daddy. Her mammy says this and her mammy says that and her daddy says this and her daddy says that. A nice looking lassie right enough, if ye didnay see the petted lip. That kind of lower lip on a woman man it’s dead fucking sexy, then ye discover what it means: a petted bastard.

  Ach she was just fucking young, ye’re allowed to be young, fuck sake, I was young, we’ve all fucking been young.

  He wasnay gony shave at all, he was gony grow a beard. He hadnay had one for years. Plus he didnay want to slice off his nose. While the bath filled he made a cup of coffee and rolled two fags, carried a dining chair into the bathroom and set the fresh clothes and stuff on top of it. The water was too hot. He would just have to wait a bit longer.

  Naw he fucking wouldnay man he would just run in some cold! Fucking auld man again for christ sake how come he was thinking about him all of a sudden? these moves to watch the dough, which included no putting cold water into hot because ye had paid for the heat. It used to drive Sammy’s maw crackers. Ye spent half an hour waiting for the fucking water to cool down. It didnay even save money! It was just how the auld man hated giving cunts anything, especially the fucking capitalists. Ye pay for hot water, he said, so ye’ve got hot water, so ye dont fucking turn it into cold. Dont give them the satisfaction, fucking fat bastards.

  Well he didnay say that cause he didnay swear. He did swear but no in front of the weans, no unless he lost his temper.

  He turned on the cold again then got the clothes off. He climbed in using both hands on the rim of the bath, visions of misj
udging it and his foot getting stuck and tripping. The 10 o’clock news roundup was on the radio. The usual shit. Plus the water was still too fucking hot and he had to run in even more cold afore able to kneel down. His bollocks drooped into the water. They aye caught it first. Nay wonder ye wound up with all these burst veins.

  He lowered himself down a bit, reaching the point where if the door’s gony go it aye fucking goes. Only he wasnay gony answer. Unless it was Helen. And she had a set of fucking keys anyway. Even her but if she had forgot the keys, she would have to wait as well. No unless she was wanting to undress and splash in beside him. If so he would consider it. On condition she promised to leave his body alone. Stop it Helen now that’s enough, nay fucking tickling baby I’m trying to fucking steep know what I’m talking about cleanliness hen cleanliness! Sammy laughed. Soon he was sinking down under the water, sliding along till his feet hit the end of the tub. Safe at last. He lay there all warm and comfy, the world gone, all the trials and tribulations, out the fucking window, just him existing in the middle of a massive big ocean, a wee toty island, just lying there, a whale drifting by, the mind getting set off by the music, it was some kind of christian thing for christ sake that was the fucking problem with country man it was like the sally army ye had to put up with god for a fucking half hour, ye heard good fiddles and banjos and it turned out to be a jesus-loves-me effort

  never mind, never mind; ye let it go and ye stop fucking

  ye stop

  Aaahhh – the only problem being how ye’re so vulnerable, just so relaxed, the ideal time for some cunt to reach ye – how easy it was, the ideal time, the ideal place, and he didnay have one weapon to hand; not one. He hadnay even shut the bathroom door. He hadnay snibbed the front door either more to the point. Hell with it man it wasnay a worry. But ye made wrong moves in life. It couldnay be denied. It was naybody’s fault either, sometimes ye felt strong and ye battered on and done something. And it turned out wrong. Ye werenay as strong as ye thought. That happened a lot. So ye had to be on yer guard. Cause ye wound up getting soft; lackadaisical, know what I’m saying, ye took things for granted. Fucking stupit. One thing about this no-seeing carry on, it was a lesson, a hard fucking lesson. Once it came back things would change. And it was him gony do it. She had been wrong ower the argument. The one on Friday morning: it wasnay her place to tell him he couldnay go out earning. She had a job so she made a few quid. He didnay. Fucking simple as that man know what I mean, basic economics. She had been out of order. She didnay have an argument. A pittance once a fortnight. How could ye live on it ye couldnay. She said it was alright cause she had her dough coming in but fuck it man ye’re no gony kip up with a bird and then fucking let her pay for everything; he was never a ponce, yer man, that was one thing, he wasnay a poncing bastard.

  So England. That was what he was thinking about now. When and if. If and when.

  If and when. There was a difference. Nay matter what ye always came back to it, it was you, it was down to you, you yerself. Even this bath, that was good, a step in the right direction. Maybe he would shave. Cut the toenails. Even the fucking eyes man, the more ye thought about it, there was a good chance it was temporary. Probably a nerve in the spine had got tampered with; so all it would need was it to be retampered with. And once it was back. He had spoke about it afore to Helen; England, she wasnay against the idea; it was just the weans, she didnay want to be too far away. No till they were aulder. Imagine losing yer weans but! For a woman I’m talking about. Alright Sammy had lost his but that was different. Plus he saw Peter every now and again. She didnay. Auld Helen man it was a shame. Nay wonder she got depressed. Ye had to be grateful for small mercies. When ye think about it. Then again the boy was getting to that age; a bit of a worry; dope was the main thing; Sammy had seen too many cunts. The boy seemed okay but ye never know. Mind you if he knew Sammy was blind he would come and visit him. Nothing surer. But Sammy didnay want him coming visiting him. He didnay want him even fucking knowing. No the now. No till he had things sorted. Once he had them sorted things would be different.

  He let his head sink beneath the water, listening to the loud roaring noises inside his skull. He had started thinking about some things he didnay want to think about. Life was awkward. More than awkward. Ye took these chances. Course he had aye taken chances. That was the way his life had went. Even as a boy, when he was into the gambling; the things he had done. Nay wonder the auld man cracked up. See when ye think about it. If ye had yer time ower again. Sometimes but ye had to smile; ye did. It wasnay something cheery right enough. In fact it was the fucking opposite, the opposite of cheery. Sammy just didnay seem to have the same nerves as other people. Like it was

  bullshit man bullshit. He raised his head out the water. There was the music blasting. One of the few country shows ye got on the radio so ye aye looked forward to it, they played a lot of outlaw stuff and he used to tape it if he had a spare fucking tape, then when Helen got home he would replay it. She never went straight to bed when she finished the shift, she was aye a bit high and wanting to relax first, maybe talk about the cheeky bastards that had been in the pub that night, kick off the shoes in front of the fire, Sammy giving her shoulders a rub. Or else he stuck on the scrambled eggs and toast, the music in the background. No that she was particularly into country music, soul was her game. But some country was soul for fuck sake. She was beginning to see it now but it had took a while. Plus if he wasnay there, if he wasnay there she never listened to it. It was all these women soul singers. They all seemed to speak during the songs. That was what Sammy didnay like. Fine if they just fucking sang their song man but they didnay, it was all this: Girls, you know the song I’m gonna sing, if your heart’s been broke in two, here’s what you gotta do,

  you gotta do the best you can

  with what you got,

  dont let your troubles get you down

  Fucking shite man propaganda. Whereas country music was for adults. Some of it anyway. That’s how ye hardly got it on the radio, they dont fucking like ye listening to it, the powers-that-be, know what I’m saying, adult music, they dont like ye listening to it. Mind you but this programme Sammy was tuned into, the cunt that did his DJ had a bad habit of talking ower the intros I mean they dont fucking do that for the classical stuff, the cunts wouldnay dream of talking ower the opening bits, the first movement, these fucking MPs man they would ask questions in parliament if they started that kind of carry on, the House of Lords and aw that, there would be a fucking revolution man these MPs and their constituents.

  Sammy’s bottle went.

  For no reason.

  Just that sudden feeling man right in the gut, right in the fucking pit. He raised his head to listen. Then gripped the sides of the bath and pulled himself up out the water. It took a minute for the water noises to die down. Still that buzzing in his ear too it interfered with things, if ye were trying to concentrate; plus the radio was on too loud – he had left the living-room and bathroom doors open so he could hear it uninterrupted and that fucking outside door man he hadnay fucking snibbed it for fuck sake he hadnay even fucking snibbed it! imagine no even snibbing the fucking thing! fucking idiot man, fuck sake, crazy fucking

  Okay.

  He breathed in through his nose, relaxed the shoulders. He should have snibbed it but that was daft, imagine forgetting to snib it. What would it have done but it wouldnay have done fuck all, if they wanted in man, if they wanted in they would fucking get in. End of story. Sodjers or fucking junky fucking shooting-up bastards, if they wanted in they would get in; simple as that. Hell with it, Sammy was up out the bath, gripping the sides, steadying himself, then ower and out. He dried himself. He got the clothes on, keeping it quiet, he sidled out and into the lobby, and across and into the living-room, straight in and flinging the door back; then he closed it. He stood still. The music blared and he heard nothing. His hand moved to the right, gripped the frame of the dining chair. He wanted to turn down the radio volume but didnay want to cr
oss the floor to get it else he was gony be caught, caught in the middle, away from the door. Okay. He wet his lips to speak out loud but didnay; instead he reached behind, grabbed the handle and twisted it to open the door and was through and out, shutting it firm behind. Two things this done; catching anybody in the lobby by surprise, and any cunt left in the living-room would have to open the door or else abseil six fucking storeys. He closed the kitchen door. But he had nay weapon he needed a weapon. The lobby press. He went there immediately, rummled around for the hammer but couldnay find it, maybe Boab had shifted it, he kept looking a wee bit longer then came a loud chap chap at the front door and he turned too sudden, his forehead cracked against the jamb ya bastard he reeled back but caught himself from falling and went fast to the kitchen for the bread knife, it was in the drawer, he stuck the blade in his right trouser pocket, his hand gripping the handle, covering it. Okay. He was at the front door now. That was a fucking crack he had took man he felt the side of his forehead, half expecting a fucking dent in it; these things, know what I’m talking about

  okay. He couldnay hear nothing. Fucking radio man. He listened hard. Nothing. There wasnay a spyhole even if he could have seen through it.

  Water rolled down behind his ears. He was aware of his back, the damp; he felt up under his t-shirt, wet, he had forgot to dry it. He hadnay even fucking washed he had just

  christ almighty, okay; he sighed, relaxed his right hand, his wrist. Maybe he was hearing things. Anybody there? he said, and said it again louder: Anybody there?

  One thing was for fucking certain he wasnay opening nay fucking door man fuck that. Either they were there or they werenay. They would let him know. Okay. He snibbed the door. He got the chubb key from the peg and done the double-lock. He stayed there listening then turned away. Who gives a fuck. He shook his head, he kept his hand on the knife, he went ben the living room, found the radio and turned down the volume: there was a movement, from across the room.