Every Short Story by Alasdair Gray 1951-2012

by Gray, Alasdair

  The furnishings of the house are got when the Liddels marry and carefully kept, cleaned and polished ever since. In the mid thirties they purchase an electrically powered vacuum cleaner, and nearly thirty years later a refrigerator and washing machine. By the seventies it is evident that the sitting room needs a new carpet – they can no longer turn it round so that the worn parts are hidden by furniture.

  “I am loth to dip into our savings,” says Mr Liddel, “since the cost of living is increasing at a rate faster than our pensions, and despite what Harold Wilson says this trend will continue, since the blighter will not tackle the problem at the root. But a new carpet is essential. Shall we consider letting the bedroom? If I hunted the barrows for a wee secondhand fridge and hot-plate and electric kettle we could turn it into a bed-sitting room.”

  “Oh dear! Would they not need to come into the kitchen?”

  “That would be subject to negotiation. And remember, we need take in nobody who strikes us as unsuitable.”

  So Mr Liddel, who once did unpaid secretarial work for his branch of the Transport and General Workers Union, writes on a plain postcard that a small bed-sitting room with homely atmosphere is available for £5 per week c/o Liddel, 51 Minard Road, use of shared bathroom and kitchen between stated hours subject to negotiation, and two minutes’ walk to nearest launderette. On payment of half a crown this is displayed in the nearest newsagent’s window. The first to respond is a smartly dressed man who calls late next evening when the Liddels are about to have supper.

  “Well now!” he asks briskly, “What can you show me?” Mrs Liddel ushers him into the bedroom with a meekness which is half pretence, for she is very proud of how neatly they have fitted everything in. The stranger glances round and says, “A lot smaller than I expected for the price. Never mind, this is a good district, I’ll take the room. I’ll only want it for a fortnight – you don’t mind?”

  “Oh no!” says Mrs Liddel thankfully, for there is something about the man she does not like. He steps to the door, closes it, opens it and rattles the knob saying, “Where’s the key?”

  “I’m afraid it hasn’t got one – the tenants before us must have lost it and we never felt the want of it – all the other doors have keys.”

  “Hm! That isn’t exactly satisfactory now, is it? Five pounds a week for a room without a key! I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m starting work with a firm of locksmiths. Tomorrow or the day after I’ll put on a really good mortise lock. Don’t worry about the labour – I won’t charge you for that. You won’t even need to pay the full price of the lock, I’ll give you a trade discount of thirty-three and a third per cent. The cheapest you’ll pay for a good quality mortise lock is seven pounds ten shillings, two-thirds of which is a fiver – exactly my first week’s rent. How about that?”

  Mrs Liddel is appalled to hear herself murmuring, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Well, I’ve had a hard day and feel like an early night,” says the man, removing his coat and jacket in one piece and casting them over the bed foot, “Don’t wake me tomorrow. I’ll probably be up and out before anyone else has opened their eyes.”

  “But your luggage!”

  “I travel light. I’ll get what I need tomorrow,” says the man, removing his necktie.

  “I’d better introduce you to my husband – he’s in the kitchen.”

  “No introductions tonight!” says the stranger firmly, unbuttoning his shirt and walking toward Mrs Liddel until she retreats before him into the lobby. “Tomorrow will be time enough!” and he closes the door on her.

  Mrs Liddel enters the kitchen and tells her husband of this. He says, “Was that wise?”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t wise!” she says, almost tearfully. “I don’t want a lodger who goes to bed without even brushing his teeth.”

  “Did he tell you the name of the locksmiths he’ll be working for?”

  “No. I wanted to ask who they were but it didn’t seem polite.”

  “I’ll have a word tomorrow with that lad!” says Mr Liddel darkly, “Thank goodness you didn’t give him the key to the front door.”

  They eat Welsh rarebit on toast with a cup of warm milk, then Mrs Liddel cleans up and sets the table for breakfast while her husband uses the bathroom, then she uses the bathroom and follows him to bed. She lies as still as possible beside him till three in the morning then says, “I can’t sleep for worrying.”

  He says, “Nor can I.”

  She rises and makes two cups of cocoa. They drink them with an aspirin pill which they think good for nervous states, then they sleep soundly till half-past ten. They have never wakened so late since their youngest daughter was teething.

  “Perhaps he’s left for work?” says Mrs Liddel hopefully.

  “We’ll soon see!” says her husband. He washes, shaves and dresses with even more care than usual, then knocks firmly but quietly on the bedroom door. No answer. He opens it. The door opens inward but not far, because the bed is behind it. Peering round the edge Mr Liddel’s eyes meet those of the stranger who lies on the quilt in his trousers, vest and stockings, looking straight across the top of a paperback book in his hand which has an indecent picture of a woman on the cover.

  “Now you know why paying guests prefer doors with keys,” says the stranger, smiling unpleasantly. Mr Liddel is too embarrassed to reply.

  He closes the door, returns to the kitchen and after an hour of closely reasoned thought returns to the bedroom, knocks once loudly and enters with a firm tread. He says, “It is customary for paying guests to give rent in advance.”

  “But your wife and I agreed that ...”

  “My wife agreed to nothing – it was you who did all the talking. If you are not prepared to observe customary procedures I will not tolerate your presence here.”

  “Are you suggesting I am a cheat?” cries the stranger indignantly.

  “I suggest nothing because I know nothing!” says Mr Liddel steadily, “I know neither your name, nor occupation, nor antecedents, nor destination. You may be a cheat. You may be an honest man. The burden of proof lies with you.”

  The stranger sighs then says frankly, “Mr Liddel, it is clear that you and I have kicked off on the wrong foot. I feel it will be better if I seek accommodation elsewhere.”

  “I agree.”

  “However, I don’t see why I should be penalized for a lack of communication between you and your wife. It may take several days for me to find a room as convenient as this at such unexpectedly short notice.”

  “You may stay here rent-free for one more night but no longer!” declares Mr Liddel, and next morning the stranger vanishes taking nothing with him but a bathroom towel, leaving nothing but some stains on the bed-sheets and the pornographic book.

  Mr Liddel spends an hour tearing the book into small pieces and flushing them down the lavatory pan – if he put it in the midden a cleansing worker might find it and think a tenant of the close had been reading it.

  “Shall we take the postcard out of the shop window?” asks Mrs Liddel after airing the bedroom and changing the sheets.

  “Goodness me, I forgot it was still there!” says Mr Liddel, astonished. The doorbell rings.

  Outside a whimpering little girl is held up with difficulty by a woman who seems not much bigger, and who says, “Is this the place that has the room?”

  Mrs Liddel is so full of a wish to take the child into her bathroom and wash it that she does not answer until the question is repeated.

  “Yes!” she says, glad to feel her husband looming behind her, “But it’s too small for more than one lodger. Look!” She opens the bedroom door to prove she is telling the truth. The small woman not only looks but edges inside and gives a cry of delight: “But this is a great wee room! I’ve no seen a room as nice as this for years – it’s got everything! Look at the wee fridge! And that picture of a horse! And that lovely quilt on the bed! My man will like this fine.”

  “We are not prepared to let so sm
all a room to a family of three,” says Mr Liddel heavily, “It would be fair to neither the family nor ourselves.”

  “We’re very quiet people,” explains Mrs Liddel anxiously.

  “Oh we’re quiet people too!” cries the small woman, “And we’re in a basement in Cessnock just now and it’s damp, dead damp and Theresa has this cough which won’t go away and a lovely clean room like this is just what we need and MacFee my man is a real hard grafter out all day and half the night you’ll hardly ever see him please can we please can we stay I mean oh Mister what if Theresa died I don’t think she’ll ever get better in that place and nobody wants a couple with a wee wean och Mister be a sport!”

  Mr Liddel is alarmed to find three female faces looking up to him, his wife anxiously, the small woman eagerly, the small girl (who has fallen silent) with open-mouthed astonishment. He clears his throat but it brings no ideas. At last he says, “You may stay here for a week – or a fortnight at most – while you search for alternative accommodation of a more suitable nature. But the rent, the rent will not be five pounds, it will be ... it will be six! In advance!”

  “Oh thanks Mister that’s great I’ll just run off now and we’ll come in an hour or two it’s a great relief getting a room in a nice quiet clean place for a change I don’t think we’ll ever find a more suitable place than this cheerio see you later!”

  She leaves. The Liddels stare at each other.

  “The arrangement I proposed was a purely temporary one,” says Mr Liddel, “Did I not make that plain?”

  “Oh yes!” says his wife, nodding, “But I’m not sure she took it like that.”

  After dark that evening the mother and child return with a small man who shakes Mr Liddel’s hand and a bigger man who stands behind the small man, watching. “Thanks a million, you won’t lose by this,” says the small man, “My pal here is helping with the flitting. Mum’s the word – you won’t hear a thing.”

  Mr Liddel watches from the kitchen doorway with Mrs Liddel keeking round his arm as the men deftly, swiftly, almost furtively carry into the bedroom old suitcases tied with rope and a variety of bulging sacks, some hessian and some plastic. When the bedroom door is finally closed with all the luggage and visitors inside, the Liddels shut themselves into their kitchen. Mrs Liddel prepares supper. Mr Liddel sits at the table, drums his fingers on it then says ruminatively, “I wish our paying guests would tell us their names and occupation, discuss procedures for sharing the bathroom, and pay their rent in advance. Shall I go and talk to them about it?”

  “Perhaps not tonight – let them settle in first,” suggests Mrs Liddel, spreading mashed sardines on buttered slices of hot toast. While eating these they gradually hear a faint slithering rustle. It comes from the bottom edge of the kitchen door. In little jerks the point of something brown and triangular is creeping across the linoleum, growing larger as it advances. Mrs Liddel shudders with dread. Her husband slowly rises, goes to the door, stoops, grips the point of the thing between thumb and forefinger, pulls the whole of it out and lifts it up. It is a cheap envelope with six crumpled pound notes inside.

  “Goodness!” sighs Mrs Liddel thankfully, “It just goes to show.”

  “Show what?”

  “That if you leave people alone they usually do the right thing.”

  “Mibby. Time will tell.”

  Before dawn next day the Liddels are wakened by their front door stealthily opening and closing. Seconds later departing footsteps sound from the street.

  “That’ll be him going to work,” says Mrs Liddel, “He must be on an early shift.”

  She suspects she hears two pairs of departing men’s feet but is not sure of this and has no wish to alarm her husband. “Mhm!” says Mr Liddel who suspects the same thing and has no wish to alarm his wife.

  That morning the only sign that the Liddels have guests are three visits from enquiring neighbours. At one o’clock a strong smell of frying spreads through the house from the bedroom. At two Mr Liddel goes a thoughtful walk with the dog and ten minutes later Mrs Liddel taps the bedroom door. After a while it is opened wide enough to show an inch-wide vertical slice of face with an eye and corner of mouth in it.

  “Is something wrong?” asks the mouth. Mrs Liddel had meant to ask that. Instead she says, “When would you like to use the bathroom? For a bath, I mean.”

  The small woman is so astonished she opens the door wide enough to show her whole face saying, “I thought you didnae want us outside this room.”

  Mrs Liddel blushes because this is almost true. She says, “Will I put the immersion heater on? You can have a bath in forty minutes.”

  “Aye. Sure. Thanks a lot.”

  “And would you mind raising the blinds and opening the curtains?” asks Mrs Liddel, noticing the woman is fully clothed, “Three neighbours noticed they were shut this morning and called to ask if Mr Liddel or me was ill. You needn’t be afraid of people looking in from the street when the blinds and curtains are open – the lace half-curtain and rhododendron make that impossible.”

  “Sorry, I didnae know. I’ll open them now.”

  While the woman does this Mrs Liddel peers in and sees the wee girl sitting on the bed staring at her with an astonishment she shows to everyone but her mother. She wears a frilly nylon party frock much too big for her, and most surfaces in the room are covered with a huge variety of cheap colourful children’s clothing. Mrs Liddel wonders if the mother has spent the day dressing and undressing her daughter like a doll. She says carefully, “Mr Liddel has gone for a walk in the park – would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “On Thursdays Mr Liddel changes his library book. He won’t be home till five. Would your wee girl like to play on the kitchen floor? I keep it very clean.”

  Under the influence of strongly sweetened tea and Mrs Liddel’s talent as a listener the small woman explains that her name is Donalda, that MacFee her man is a scrap merchant, that he is not Theresa’s father.

  “Oh?” says Mrs Liddel.

  “No,” says Donalda, “Definitely not. Do you like sex?”

  “It is not something I’m able to talk about,” says Mrs Liddel gently.

  “I’m not surprised – it’s not a nice thing. In fact it’s nasty. I hate it most of the time. MacFee’s different – he’s very keen on it. He’d thump me if I didnae give it to him once a week. I wonder if he does it the right way. I mean, if that’s all there is to it why is there all this fuss about it?”

  “I’ve sometimes wondered that,” admits Mrs Liddel.

  “Still, give sex its due – I wouldnae have met MacFee if it hadnae been for sex.”

  “Oh?”

  “No. You see I was once a very bad girl – a real hard case. I went on the streets – know what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  “The SS had cut my money and were after Theresa so I parked her with my mammy who’s a very decent spud if you don’t try her too often, then I went to Bath Street and sort of stood about. Some other lassies were doing it too but they were bigger than me so I kept well away from them. Then a guy comes up and says ‘Hiya honey how’s tricks? Where we gonna go?’ He wasnae a Yank, he just talked that way. I says ‘I don’t know where to go. Do you know a place?’ He says ‘Deed a do’ and takes me round a corner into a lane, then he pushes me into a doorway and starts acting like a lunatic. He slaps me real hard and says ‘Don’t scream or I’ll murder you! Who are you and what do you mean? What do you mean?’ Then he slaps me again and says ‘Who’s your man?’”

  “Oh no!” cries Mrs Liddel, who has heard nothing so appalling. Donalda is pleased by this reaction. She says, “Well of course I was bubbling and greeting but I was too feart to scream so I says ‘I’m nobody! I’m nothing! I don’t mean anything at all! I don’t have a man!’ That made him madder than ever. He says ‘How can you be nobody when you’re taking bread out of decent people’s mouths? My woman’s a professional and you’re nothing but a stupid cheap we
e amateur, I hate you!’ and he slaps me a lot more. And I girn and greet and say I’m sorry and promise if he lets me go away I’ll never come back and never do it again. He says ‘Life is not so simple as that hen. The polis are pals of mine. If I call the cops and charge you with soliciting they’ll put you in jail.’ So I beg and plead till he says he’ll give me another chance, then he takes me to Mrs Mitchel.”

  “Who was she?”

  “She lived near the start of Parliamentary Road,” says Donalda, “I was to bring guys to her place and she’d lend me a bedroom and handle the money. She helped me tart myself up a bit, then he took me back to Bath Street.