The Busconductor Hines

by James Kelman

  Hines grabbed her. He increased his hold of her, he laughed abruptly, relaxing the hold and increasing the hold; again laughing and she began laughing, that chuckling sound; it begins from way deep in her throat and makes a noise like gloogle gloolg. He kissed her on the lips, his tongue along her lower teeth; he felt her relax, returning the kiss with genuine aggression, the kiss mattering in itself. She liked kissing him. This was the great thing; and probably an explanation of why their lips always fitted together so well – a kiss can be really erotic, one kiss and one kiss only, if that kiss is right, is enough to get things moving immediately. Her skin through the jumper; the actual texture of the jumper, lamb’s wool maybe or something akin; the size a bit big for her, the upper trunk slenderish; her tits through it as though she had left off her bra altogether but probably because she buys good bras that their material resembles flesh almost or maybe just so thin the skin through it cannot be concealed. She could get him from nothing; just sitting in the same space and it altering, naturally enough, an inter-something-or-other connected with radiation or something giving off from each other that one hand is moving to the other’s hand, this drawing together as reaction, then the fitting together so exactly right. All parts of her. Those dances they used to have in just that kind of awareness, playing, dancing towards and dancing away, circling, an occasional touch, the tremble; then another record and sometimes when it was a slow one and they danced holding he got hard and they had to move from the floor, her shielding him.

  Paul . . .

  Asleep; he was dead-beat.

  They kissed again. Over her shoulder he saw the gas burning in its steady flame; the arrangement on the mantelpiece seemed different, the note either not there or lying so flat it couldnt be seen; and the blind drawn at the window. She had maybe given the whole place a going over. She moved and he was aware of her jumper again, of how slender her body was, or just the jumper being that bit too big for her. But he felt he could put his arms right round her and still be touching the sides of his own body, as though she was eating less than she should be – skinny, not slender. He moved to look at her and they both smiled. He shook his head. Aw Sandra.

  I’m sorry Rab.

  Jesus christ. He clutched onto her now, his chin on her shoulder, his eyelids shut; she shifted to kiss him, she was beautiful; his hands beneath her jumper and lightly on her skin, his fingertips to that spot at the base of her spine, and moving upwards on her spine, to beneath the strap of her bra, then out and he brought his hands out from her jumper. Fancy going to bed?

  She smiled.

  What is it?

  O . . . She shook her head as she stepped to the armchair and began to undress.

  How come you’re so beautiful?

  She stuck her tongue out at him, chuckling as she released the catch on her bra. Her tits jutted out as she turned to lay the bra on top of the chair.

  He undressed and switched off the main light; she switched on the bedlamp. Lying down on his side he cupped his chin in his left hand, gazed at her until she moved nearer to him and he shifted so that she could lie above his left arm, it lying exactly beneath the pillow, within the space between her head and right shoulder, comfortably. She looked at him before they kissed. That can be a strange look. A look to see something or other – as though she isnt a hundred percent certain who he is. And when he broke the kiss she looked at him in the same way, before it continued, now pulling him more closely in to her. Sometimes he was unsure about holding her too tightly in case her breasts got too squashed by him, by his chest – one time years ago she gave him a kind of punch there, on the chest, and winced and rubbed her knuckles, not having been aware of how hard male chests can be. He manoeuvred her onto her back and they looked at each other. He kissed her throat and down to kiss her nipples, reaching to take down her pants; her head rose a little, her right arm lying over his back, to nibble at the lobe of his ear; she laughed and lay back on the pillow. Her legs parted as he positioned himself to enter. The opening felt so narrow.

  God Rab you feel huge.

  Hh.

  It’s because it’s a while.

  I’m no hurting you?

  No.

  You sure . . . christ . . . He breathed out and relaxed a moment, then pushed up slowly. He opened his eyelids but hers were closed; he kissed the tip of her nose and settled onto her, but taking his weight on both elbows. He grinned. Dont move or I’ll come.

  O.

  Ssh.

  She made as though to speak.

  Ssh . . . He was having to smother a laugh. He placed his head on the pillow above her left shoulder. Think of churches. That old lady in the blue skirt walking up the path – Auvers, somewhere in France; where the sun shines. Going down some Rue, in the early evening, just the pair of them, heading for a meal, then onto some café for a chat and maybe a dance or something, Gaite Parisienne, the lassies kicking out, wee Toulouse with the sketch pad, the Seine in the moonlight, picked out on the ripples. Careful.

  What d’you mean?

  Nothing – a twitch, you twitched.

  Sorry.

  He was suppressing laughter.

  Sorry! She began to chuckle.

  They kissed now and he was moving and not able to stop, christ and he was having to thrust and come almost without an orgasm but having to cry out all the same.

  He lay on her, still taking the weight on both elbows. It’s okay, she said but he continued to take it. After a while he grunted and she said, Dont come out yet.

  Okay.

  God Rab it feels like the Niagara Falls.

  He grinned and kissed her.

  I forgot to bring in the tissues.

  Use the sheet.

  . . .

  Naw, it’ll be okay. Either that or you’ll have to walk on your hands to the fucking cludgie.

  O God.

  They both began laughing until she cried: It’s coming out, you’re coming out. And he felt himself slipping out then was unsure whether he was maybe still in. He moved onto his side and got out of bed at once and dashed to the tallboy, into the top drawer for the box of tissues. She took a couple. She wasnt rushing. It doesnt matter now, she said. I suppose it’s time the sheets were changed anyway.

  Aaahh.

  She glanced at him.

  It’s great to be alive.

  She smiled.

  He stretched, his fingertips to the ceiling, on tiptoes, muscles as tensed as they could be. He relaxed enough to breathe out deeply, prolonging it then breathing out again, the final old air, before gasping in the fresh. Aah. Christ. Fancy a coffee?

  She nodded. See that bag over there . . .

  He went to the kitchen-cabinet, the pull-down section lying out and the paper bag, containing two chocolate covered doughnuts. Absolutely fucking disgusting. I dont know how you buy this stuff Sandra I really dont.

  Cheaper than tobacco.

  Aye but christ sake I mean! When the water had boiled he made the coffee and placed the doughnuts and cups on the television set, beside the bed. Back between the sheets he stared at his doughnut and frowned. I have reason to believe that in certain sections of America one daubs one’s erogenous zones with honey and one’s partner licks it off.

  Sounds interesting.

  Aye, strange fucking place America; it’s a doughnut-loving nation apparently.

  It was me told you that.

  Very sorry.

  They dont have ordinary cakes, just assorted varieties of doughnuts.

  Monopoly land, what d’you expect.

  No but it’s funny . . . She studied the doughnut before taking the first bite. She was aware of him watching but continued as though indifferent, and she was managing to eat without getting any of the chocolate onto her face, except where a spot stuck to her upper lip, then out poked her tongue to ensnare it. It’s actually quite tasty, she said. When he grinned she made a face at him.

  How much were they?

  I’m not telling you.

  Dear but?
>
  Yes.

  A moment’s silence; then he laughed and she grinned. Aye, he went on, life can be a startling item at times – I was just saying that very thing to a crabbit auld cunt who stepped onto my platform the other morning. Excuse me mrs I said I’m well aware your complaints are justified but in regard to the startling nature of the world, the ascendancy of certain stars and so on . . . He grinned and ate his last mouthful of doughnut. He got out of bed, collected the tin from his jerkin pocket and paused to slap at the soles of his feet before returning. It’s great to see you.

  Hines had said it while prising the lid off the tin. And he added, I didnt expect it I mean eh.

  She handed him her cup and while he leaned to put it on top of the television she put her arm round his back; he closed the tin and placed it next to the cups. How come you’re so beautiful?

  You’re a terrible flatterer Hines.

  Hh; cant even get telling the truth nowadays.

  She slapped his chest.

  Ah! She’s beating me next!

  They rolled together until she was on top of him and she raised herself, her tits drooping so well and perfect and he craned his neck to meet them, taking each nipple in turn between his lips; she moved onto her side eventually, then onto her back, Hines managing to shift position while keeping mouth to nipple. He came away and they kissed, her hand now between his legs and their tongues touching within the other’s mouth; he was attempting the insertion and she moved for him. They were still kissing but his head now rested next to hers on the pillow, and his left foot steadying against the bottom wall of the recess. He began the thrust, she going with it. A rhythm was settled into. Later he was set to climax and halted; she had also halted. He listened to her breathing. A few moments just, then it would be right to resume.

  That sensation of dread, that terrible feeling, the alarm clock having failed to be set, it had stopped long ago, he had forgotten to set it. He was out of bed and lifting Sandra’s wristwatch, which had also stopped – sometimes she neither winds nor wears it for days at a stretch. The light told him nothing; it could be 4.30 a.m. or maybe as late as 8. Ben the front room he gazed to the street, a man walked to the corner, the sound of a heavy vehicle passing away up on the main road. About 7 perhaps but not later than 8. He crossed to the cot, arranged the blankets over him, went to the lavatory. He could not go to work. He had missed the shift by two hours. He could go in and ask to sign spare. They would not allow him to sign spare unless desperately short of staff. But they would not be short of staff – not on a Thursday, wages-day. He would stand at the counter. He would stand there. He would roll a smoke. He would be standing. Harry Cairney was the Deskclerk this morning; he was better than most but insufficiently so; he was not able to be as good as all that. Hines would be at the counter, smoking, and having to speak. He was not going in. He was not going in.

  Time is it?

  Late. He sniffed, I forgot to set the alarm.

  O.

  Terrible. Terrible.

  What’re you going to do?

  Ach.

  You going in? it cant be that late surely?

  He said nothing. He went to the sink and filled a kettle for tea or coffee or whatever the fuck. His record was too bad to be true.

  Should you not go in?

  Aye, suppose so. Jesus. He gripped the edge of the sink. He took his hands away, he parted the blinds to see out. It was just too bad to be true.

  When were you supposed to report?

  The back of 5.

  What time is it now?

  Eh.

  Switch on the radio.

  Aye . . . He walked to the mantelpiece to get it and he lifted it. The water could be heard heating. It’s getting bad really, he said, the timekeeping Sandra, it’s out the window just now I mean . . . he sniffed. She took the radio from him and fiddled with the knobs. I cant seem to get into it. That’s eh. And my day-off tomorrow as well, the wages next week I mean, hh. It’s bad but Sandra, really bad. He was shaking his head. He shrugged.

  Would they not give you a spare?

  He shook his head.

  Are you sure?

  No on a Thursday. Afternoon aye but no the morning. It would be a case of well, turning up just, letting them see I’ve showed the face, so my name doesnt go into the book – well it still goes in right enough but no as bad, no as if I’ve just taken the day off without telling them I mean, without letting them know; that’s the worst thing. But even then . . . even then, the way things stand.

  7.27. She switched off the radio. You could be there for 8 if you hurried.

  10 to.

  She was waiting for him to say something.

  10 to.

  At least to show your face.

  Aye. He sniffed, Coffee? Tea?

  And you can get your wages at the same time.

  Aye . . . He returned to the sink with the cups from last night, rinsing them out from the tap. He spooned in the coffee powder, waited for the water to reach boiling point. He got the tin from the television and rolled a smoke. He sneezed when the sulphur reached his nose. And he continued to sneeze while pouring from the kettle into the cups.

  You should’ve put something on.

  Aye, bloody freezing. He paused to sneeze again before carrying the coffees across, and he put them on the television before getting into bed. She snuggled into him. He put his arm round her, sitting up with a pillow behind his back.

  They sipped their coffee.

  What was it you did again? last night. Over in Knightswood I mean.

  Nothing – just put on my coat and left.

  Aye but did they no say anything? I mean surely they said something.

  No. I just told them I forgot you were coming home early.

  Hines chuckled.

  They didnt believe me of course. Dad’s eyebrows: you know the way he can look, as if he’s done everything possible and now he’s powerless.

  O christ!

  They laughed for a time, then Sandra went on: They did know something was up, the way I wasnt talking. The afternoon was fine. Just after tea-time, that was the worst: I knew you’d be home. O God, I couldnt stop thinking about what you’d do when you found the note.

  Hh.

  I cant imagine not living with you Rab.

  . . .

  What’ll we do?

  He said nothing.

  I was thinking if you went on the broo I could go full-time and you could find something else – anything; part-time, it wouldnt matter because we’d be able to save either way. It wouldnt be for long. Once we had enough gathered we could leave, leave Glasgow I mean, just go away.

  Right enough.

  Even if you couldnt find anything you would still get money, from the broo.

  For a year, aye.

  A year’s good; we could save in a year.

  D’you think so?

  Yes; we would live on my money.

  I doubt it.

  Well I think we would. And even if we found we couldnt we’d at least manage to save something.

  Aye, true.

  Well then?

  Hh.

  Sandra was looking at him.

  What happens if we get the dangerous-building notice next week?

  We wont.

  Aye but we could.

  They’ve got that whole side to do yet.

  Aye I know but still I mean, it could happen; anyway, even if it doesnt, it’ll happen in a couple of months. Then these council rents, hell of a stiff so they are. I doubt if we could save much.

  I disagree Rab.

  He nodded.

  We would manage on my money; yours would go straight into the bank.

  Aye . . . He nodded, his lips pursing; and he nodded again.

  She sipped coffee then passed him the cup and he placed it next to his own on the television.

  So, he smiled, what do we do then? once we’ve got the sum, assuming we can save the fucking thing – what do we do?

  We leave.
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br />   Hh.

  She smiled.

  He turned and kissed her forehead. Aye but where to?

  God I dont know, anywhere.

  He laughed.

  It doesnt matter Rab, not really; just as long as we get away from here.

  The ice-bound plateaus of the southern reaches.

  It doesnt matter.

  Hh.

  It doesnt.

  Naw, I know.

  Well then!

  Okay okay. He laughed and kissed her forehead. Just so’s I’ve got it: I get the boot or I jack it; I go on the broo and you go full-time; we’re saving the dough and arriving at a certain sum; once we’ve got it we leave; we just fucking leave. Right?

  Why not? We just decide on a time really – say a year. By that time we can work out where we’ll go.

  It could even be Australia.

  Yes. You get the forms beforehand. Andy said he’d get you a job easily.

  Aye but no now; he’s left.

  Well your Uncle then.

  Hh.

  She chuckled.

  I smell a rat.

  Yes I know, it’s too simple for you, that’s the trouble.

  Europe. What about Europe? could we go to Europe? France or someplace?

  Yes.

  Yes! Ha! Christ! He pushed down beneath the sheets and tugged the quilt right over his head and laughed loudly. Out he came to sit where he had been sitting. No we couldnt, no really.

  Why not Rab? We would just arrive. We would just make sure we were arriving at the start of the summer. Remember that person in Isobel’s college? Northern France, for four months. We would just need a tent, and my brother’s got one; he would loan us it.

  Hines laughed.

  And if you stopped smoking ...! She rapped him one on the shoulder. He had been prising off the lid of the tin. He replaced the tin on the television and took her head onto his chest.

  She grinned, shaking her head slightly. Her left leg came to lie in between his. He already had an erection. Oho, she said.

  Hines laughed.

  Paul was chortling, his frequent shrieks could be heard. Between him and where Hines was at the oven, Sandra had arranged the clothes-horse with towels so that she could use the baby-bath without the boy seeing her.

  The bacon grilled while the eggs crackled in the frying pan; on a plate to the front of the grill compartment lay a pile of buttered toast; the tea infused near to the frying pan. The table was already set. Hines glanced at the label of the cornflakes packet then flicked the hot grease onto the egg yolks to get them turning white while at the same time keeping them runny. Paul’s shriek. Hines walked round the clothes-horse. Actors on the television. He watched for a moment. One actor had biffed another on the head; and this other was bouncing about then doing a cartwheel which carried him across to the first whom he kicked on the bum, and then cartwheeled out through a doorway. It was well worked.